Long Comprehends Poems
Long Comprehends Poems. Below are the most popular long Comprehends by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comprehends poems by poem length and keyword.
When it comes to being a good father what do most young black men see?
Can they picture their fathers passing down any legacies?
Do they remember any male bonding or talks on how to be good men?
Do they have any perceptions or even comprehend?
Unfortunately too many households are single parent with only a mother in residency
Caused by incarceration, unemployment and dysfunctional inadequacies
Too many don't have a clue of what a good father should be
As the father factor in their lives was one of obscurity
But God is the ultimate father figure to each and every man
And if you desire to be like Him read His words and follow His plans
To become a good father you must examine the Holy Scriptures
And hopefully you'll be able to obtain a good father picture
Now tapping into God's heavenly Twitter account
And Facebooking the Gospel to see what its all about
Fully prepared to formulate, cultivate and stimulate your spiritual life
So that your behavior and way of thinking lines up with Jesus the Christ
A picture of a good father is a man who leaves a financial legacy
So that his children won't exist in a state of abject poverty
By showing them how to save and how to invest
Leaving a fruitful inheritance and a full hope chest
A picture of a good father is a man whose vine is rooted in a strong foundation
And structured to lift him up in godly formation
Respectful, resilient, loving, loyal and kind
Of strong moral conviction and secure in his mind
Knowing who he is and what he could be
And having healthy relationships with every member of his family
So if you're broken, bitter, angry and have any doubts
Seek God and a professional to help you work it out
And i say this to all women and I hope you receive
You need to let a man be a man to his family
Stop disrespecting him and put your anger and pride to the side
He is doing the best he can so work with him by walking stride for stride
A picture of a good father is a man concerned about his community
Who comprehends we live in a global society
A man who gets involved and not stay isolated
As we are all a part of this world that God created
A picture of a good father is a man who loves and respects his family and community
A man strongly rooted, striding humbly and secure in his spirituality
Matthew 10:31 “Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.”
While hearts long for the music of light,
breaking through the silence, frail – discerning
the meaning of grace far truer, grace upon grace
grace for the soul who lingers in despair,
grief poured over her spirit by the winds who dare
to remember the suffering of death, of doubt
of all those things that leave the beautiful mist,
a hazy heaven, where night complains
of the shadows who dread the day, the way
through the wounds, the anguish, the quiet misery
who stills the air, breathing heartache
in a million pieces of what it means to see
beyond the skies, beyond the need, beyond the pain
through those satin skies, who reveal to the soul
a spiritual insight, a meaning, a faith
that is more alive than any heart can know
While I pray for healing, for the moment
God sees beneath the pain, beyond the intentions
of my prayers, my praise…
into the silence who reminds me – in the stillness
where I rest my spirit and feel, in His presence,
the meaning of my life – His promise, His sacrifice
the edge of a gentle embrace where I see Him,
listening to my prayers, - He says ask and I ask
He says I will have all I need, because in Him,
I grasp the meaning of contentment, appreciate
the love that senses, comprehends, accomplishes
in me – a blessing that is beyond my imagining,
a blessing of grace, faith, peace – love that abides
so, forever, I’m with the One who gave me life,
the One who has always been by my side,
the One who died and came back to life,
the One who guides me to that heavenly home,
where I’ll meet the song who has always been singing
deep down in my soul, the song of His presence,
pouring out light through my veins, through my notes
into the wonder of a joy that tells me I have a hope –
throughout eternity, I’ll forever know…
the meaning of love is this song that sings on
through every whisper, through every sigh,
a song that breathes – God’s expression of light
softly playing in each stanza of grace and mercy,
providing all the love and peace my heart can bear,
love this amazing is love that I’ll keep praising…
I’ll keep praising! Eternally praising!!!
Celebrating the Adventure of Advent
Universal elegy grieves and yet embraces shifts of paradigm
New beginnings consciousness initiates comprehends and thus proceeds from
Illusion’s delusion collusions misconceptions in the irritating
Vortex whirlpool immanent void of false containment
Enlightenment modern postmodern retro visionary futuristic aspirations
Resound in dialectical rebirth rejuvenation germinate constructive
Sense meaning reflect serenity’s tentative confidence that the
Agony of climate change greed warfare ignorance destructive apathy
Liberates fusion confusion necessitates Aquarian communication of
Antagonism’s polar opposites contradictions complements
Cycles spheres of influence of grave repression gravitate
Revolve resolve with pushing pulling moons in metaphorical
Orbital mental psychological initiation shape incidences
Synchronicities collateral communal reason feeling responsibility
Transformation of the global madness inhumanity conjoins
Idealism and the darker side’s fallacies of fabrication
Conspiracy of muted spirit silence violation fade away transform to novel script
Communication courses discourses concur in co-operation
Obvious obscurity in the blip of human race’s evolution delimits
Limitations iron cages hopes for new time place of reason beyond
Laissez-faire and hippie psychedelic stream of consciousness afar from
Anarchy self-righteous slavery rebellion mindlessness
Big oppressive bangs big brother’s obliterating over-information with
Onslaught of technology fail and falter when simplicity and esoteric
Rationale comprise enhance encompass the necessary world view shifts
Ascent and ever changing climax revitalizes humanness thus gifts
Truth deriving comprehension from ‘objective’ communal subjectivity with
Intuition insight inclination outside from the rigid boxed conformity
Order may be found again in the chaos of our time of misrepresented bedlam
New Age Aquarius delivers acts upon fresh constellation contemplates the Universe
Kai Michael Neumann
07th June 2016
True, Moses wrote of righteousness, one based upon the law.
But Paul proffered an alternate, eschewed the tragic flaw.
Salvation based on works alone: a concept misapplied.
For all, not most, have fallen short; to live thus was to die.
The argument that he put forth: the wage of sin is death.
The proof that all have fallen short: each takes a final breath.
The second Adam changed it all, met on Damascus Road,
His work, reduced to rubbish, trash, and kicks against the goads.
A righteousness that's based on faith asks not who will ascend;
See, Christ has come down to the world, and faith thus comprehends.
And neither does a right faith seek descent to the abyss,
For Christ has risen from the dead, a point some seem to miss.
A right faith knows the word is near, there in your mouth and heart,
Components of a saving grace, the twain shall never part.
For if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is the LORD,
Your heart believes God raised him up, salvation, faith's accord.
For heart's belief is justified, and mouth's confession saved,
And all those who believe in Him are thus no more enslaved.
For there is no distinction now between the Jew or Greek,
For the same Lord is Lord of all, shows grace to all who seek.
But how then will they call on Him in whom they've not believed?
And how shall they believe in Him, when ears have not received?
And how are they supposed to hear, unless someone will preach?
And how are they to preach the word unless they're sent to each?
How beautiful, the feet of those delivering good news!
Not all obey what they have heard, Isaiah thus once mused.
"Lord, who believed what he has heard from us?" the prophet said.
But faith comes through the word of Christ, its hearing raises dead.
Now faith by works indeed is true, a point I must not shirk,
But only faith that's placed in Him, rests in His finished work.
(from Romans 10)
Hell in The Stars
Befool yourself into believing
In words
And fool yourself into thinking
You’ve heard “the” word
All of our knowledge
Is designed by human hands
Look a little deeper
Look out towards the stars
We are planet bound
The same as a plant inside its pot
Still we know the galaxies are there
Just like a pot plant comprehends
Its nature is to live
In a field
It is the demonstration of arrogance to believe
That we have the answers to everything
The greatest mystery
Is how all this came to be
Yet you define it with your books
You even think that in your words
You can capture what it is
That breathes
Eternally
What are the stars to you except imagery
What are they to you but romance
What are they to you
Other than a figment of your imagination
What do they represent
Nothing more
Than your
Denial
What do we wake up to be
This planet and our own mediocrity
Or do we wake up
To feel all the suns which we call stars
And the entire expanse of creation
Witnessed
In our eyes
Do we understand that Hell
Is as much an aspect
Of heaven
As is everything else
A planetary definition made by limits
Does not define
Reality
And I know; being challenged
you will turn to your books of faith.
I know you will turn to each other, for support.
You will look towards the comfort of an easy excuse.
A human explanation of what humanity can’t explain,
you will turn away from
the evident proof of your eyes, yet again.
You will choose to deny the stars and every portent they contain
and instead; look towards a heaven
which simpleton faithlings say belief cannot resist.
While creation happens all around you
you will choose
not to exist
Give it another Prophet and another thousand years
For your stupidity
To stop up your eyes and your ears
Nothing is more remarkable than my pen with which,
this poet comprehends her muse,
in flowing poetry:
a destiny that has drawn inviolable,
circles around me.
Nothing felt real, a sense of unreality came,
until, finally, a realization . . .
I had a moment of unquiet when my poetry,
was ravaged, like a tatterdemalion, ragged thing.
I lingered long with the poem, weeping,
a soft wind was breathing on my window,
and a bird were twittering just beyond,
and I felt crushed, my heart shattered.
Was it jealousy that made you do it,
are you so insecure and resentful.
A poet I am: not one whose name destiny,
will forget to eternize but one whose writing,
will be immortal, this is written by God himself,
in the Book of my Life, it is God who gave me,
this gift of writing . . .
and I promise that nothing in this earthly realm,
will destroy what God himself,
has set in motion,
oh the wall is high that protects me,
God put it there himself,
but sorrow is still mine, my weeping is real,
for no wall is that strong to shield my heart,
that strength must come from within,
this is what . . . God told me.
______________________________
August 30, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/God Told Me
Copyright Protected, ID 15-704-746-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Jealousy,
sponsor, Skat
Second Place
The Suffering HE Bore
We will never fully understand the depth of the suffering
that our Savior bore on the tree of Calvary,
nor the pain of separation from His Father that He wept through
during His prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane.
This Savior and Son of the Most High God we can surely see
what tremendous love for man he has shown,
Yet we can only scratch the mere surface no matter how much in Him
that we have grown
How can mortal man fully understand the way our God
even comprehends and thinks,
His infinite wisdom and the understanding He exemplifies as He
grasps the problems of the whole universe while we have only the time to blink.
When the Lord Jesus left Heaven for us and came
down to the lowly level of man,
it is truly the picture of a King leaving His palace and
taking up residence in a large garbage can.
And what about His honor and authority having His
angels snap to attention at His command,
then in contrast His creation was laughing and scorning and jeering at Him
only to strike Him with the back of their hands!
He, trying His best
wanted the good for man to see,
that He is Creator God Who has come down
to man’s level and with him He had chosen to plead!
Oh, at times, I know with me
I caused Him to be wroth,
while dealing with ignorance on my part
yet patiently He endured and finally I understood what He had to me, taught!
The Darling of Heaven as they say
came from Heaven to reside in the lowly town of Galilee,
oh, won’t you hear His call to save you as I heard
and gladly chose and let Him save me.
Written by: Marilyn S. Jennings
July 19, 2015
If I could find the rhyme Father describing how perfect you are but you my teacher have taught me so I ask the way you would have to be for you are the beginning and end Your love is good and transcends even though I was gone for a time welcoming back with open hands so kind same loving ones that chastened me sore showing me that without you I am always poor The only one who comprehends the making of a man the claim of the self made man truly only you can for you say the word and it is done for you are perfection Father your son
In the hushed embrace of night, a weaver emerges from the shadows.
With delicate grace, it spins threads of lunar albedo into a tapestry,
a silent symphony of whispers. Each filament an extension of itself,
an intricate dance of identity yet unspoken.
As the loom of darkness deepens, this weaver labours on, tirelessly crafting
connections that glisten like dew-kissed strands in the dawn’s first light.
Each thread a fragment of a story, each knot a symbol of discovery.
The weaver knows not the words to be woven,
but truth lives within these threads.
Through inky secrecy, the web takes shape, an enigma woven by moonlight.
It reaches out, hoping to catch fragments of identity and crystallize them.
The spider, unknowingly, binds the essence of self
in the embrace of its creation.
But as the night unfolds, a revelation stirs within the weaver’s heart.
With each thread drawn taut, each connection made, it begins to sense
the resonance of its own being in this intricate dance of existence.
The threads speak a language the spider now comprehends,
whispering sweet arachnid nothings.
Slowly, like candid apricity penetrating the closet black,
it dawns upon our weaver friend ---
Reader, I am the spider
and I am its silk,
and I am the multitudes that it has woven.
With this newfound awareness, I continue my nocturnal labour,
each strand woven with intention, each connection a proclamation of self.
And as the web glistens under the moon’s watchful eye, it reads
I am plural --- intricately, beautifully, uniquely me.
He bounds with class like a souped-up Benzo
Slick hair defies gravity and air flow
More charm for the maidens than Lorenzo
Nod and a wink as he offers hello
Dressed to the gills like a TV comic
His voice rolling to knock down those stacked pins
Punching through Vegas with force atomic
Regardless the price he still always wins
They call him D-Bone, the lolling salesman
Eager to cement melodious deals
One step ahead of the scowling bailsman
All while he's molting his naive ideals
Muses abound from that puffy wineskin
No slowing down so he cannot look back
Trading brew city for all that dull sin
He's jamming while crooning to the rat pack
"How many swimming pools have they got here?"
He points while nodding to the lounged ladies
Reveling within this neon frontier
Baking his brains while chauffeured through Hades
Filled with mirth despite jonesing for cash
Vowing with pumped fists to never slink back
Pondering how he shall make his big splash
Those jaded fiends gauge him as just a hack
What they don't know could fill a museum
For he esteems and comprehends the past
These stuffed shirts would build a mausoleum
Before they'd construct relations that last
In his mind he hangs with Frank Sinatra
When respect held clout and coolness was king
Romantic songsmiths governed the genre
Liberated minds stormed at full swing
D-Bone refuses to pluck their ticket
As they tell him he needs to wait in line
When confronted he tells them to stick it
Keenly scanning the distance for cloud nine