Long Comradery Poems
Long Comradery Poems. Below are the most popular long Comradery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Comradery poems by poem length and keyword.
I collect smiles
From those I haven’t seen in a while
They always remind me why
I feel blessed to be a part of their life
Their light, their insight and quiet
Feelings of comradery and cheer
Kindness that is so alive and so real
Love that kindles whispers of inspiration
Flowing through my mind and coloring
My imagination in joy, hope and peace
All the flavors of beautiful dreams!
I gather laughter
From the hearts and souls who share
Parts of their life and love, their wonder
The sweetness of lives so adorable,
So brilliant and warm and promising
Like a flower just opening to show the world
It’s feathery joy, it’s bloom of such glory
Unfading, flaming with vibrant hues
Of peace that whispers of sensational
Attraction to love, praying and praising
The One who creates every amazement!
I store up happiness
From spirits alive with the joy that comes
Alive on the lives of those who know love
Will stir feelings to breath deeply of light
Which pierces the darkness, dancing rays
Of sunny intuition which sooths the gaze with
Delicious freedom from the worry, the fear
That seems to live on broken hearts, broken
By the pain that comes from losing a friend
Losing love that would never ever end
To the past who stares back in wheezing
Wishes, lingering on the emotion who grows silent
Like a prayer being spoken by the soul
Who knows that only God can comfort and heal
With His gentle presence, His grace, His will
To give the gift of contentment to those who
He chooses to love tenderly because He truly is
A good, good Father, a friend, a serenity
So real that we can’t comprehend His creativeness
Or His mystery – He is the One I believe in
With appreciation for His gift to me – His love
That is stronger than any worry, fear or tear
His love is the reason I know what it is to be redeemed
By a grace that lives in the center of love so precious
A love that is alive, the answer to survival…
Jesus, the help who knows all about me and loves me
With a love that is beyond my comprehension.
It is a love that gives and lives forevermore!
I collect this gift for me…
Inside a heart who believes in Him
The One who shines down truth in me
And gives me a second chance to be
The woman that loves unconditionally
With a love that He pours into me!
I feign to remember
that day walking back
from turfed fields
sweat on the brow
robots on the mind.
Only, in that lockered room
did I feel that chill of fear
preeminence crawling up my spine,
snickering teammates entering,
I loitered no longer.
Or tried to,
My feet sank through the floor
petrified
as he loomed, eyes dark
wicked with intent
predator upon prey
flight and adrenaline
kicking my teeth in.
Stone shattering
I bolted, like a deer
only to get hit by the headlights
ragdolled against the table
freedom swallowed by dread.
Helpless, he threw himself
against me.
time after time after time
while all they did was watch
cackling like hyenas.
My rage grew as
the cacophony of laughter increased
building with each thrust
against me, vision darkening
painted red
as he threw me aside.
Red blackening
turning inward instead.
Heart of gold? Bah!
I left that room stumbling,
Rage boiling,
trust shattered,
acid eating away at the “gold”
of my heart.
Comradery turning
Into betrayal and painted masks.
Yet
all I wanted to do is break him
like he broke me,
snap his bones one by one
let him scream like I did,
watch him curl into a ball
to weep as I did
only for no one to save him
like no one saved me.
You can “forgive” easily, but forgetting?
You can never “forget” being helpless.
It curls into your soul like a disease
quiet but still lingering.
Waiting.
Watching.
“Gone” but never truly gone.
Criticism's only good,
When it is carefully given,
And if and when it's used toward,
Some sought after stipend;
For it can often cause great pain,
Considering what must follow,
For it involves admitting faults,
A bitter pill to swallow;
For often few admit the faults,
Even to themselves,
That by chance could be their own,
And hide them on the shelf,
Way in back and in the dark,
In a corner of their mind,
Where even they can't see them,
And hope no one will find,
This tiny flaw in their veneer,
Of sparkling perfection,
Of their personality,
Their personal conception,
Of their own demeanor,
Their sense of dignity.
It's delicate and easily bruised,
So tread most carefully,
Or you mayhap could lose a friend,
And create enemies,
Where once you found acceptance,
And close comradery.
Bounty so beautiful
it is beyond the horizon
a dream in reality
kaleidoscoped in brutality
as the sun rose and the moon shines
in the blackness of the void
divide consciousness blurred
so many angels scream
as humanity heralds
the one demon that stares at them
surrounds them with a choice yet
you heed his voice comradery camaraderie
Demon wails calling your name come here
11/5/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
My Angel
My sons on a secret mission full of bravery, loneliness, comradery.
His smiling face I miss so dear, now his aloofness is quite so clear.
Rich politicians making victims from the military industrial system, as they send out the youth to fight battles they would never send their kids on.
Cowards, and hypocrites, selling, negotiating international arms deals to allies that only stab our nation in the back, as they secretly meet behind closed doors to attack.
War, organized religion, money, greed, power, commodities are the fall of man.
One country flexing their arm muscles while wearing a wife beater shirt; stating that their nuclear weapons are more powerful than the others.
A machismo of sorts, taking over the media with no conscious for the real men and women that die and sacrifice for others.
Humans are so combative, so ruthless, so ugly, such cowards.
The peace loving hippies love to justify their hatred for war.
A Justification for a theatrical sort that embraces love through eccentric high brows and their self education appointed by a family lineage of war or peace, of power, or slavery, of hope or despair.
I miss his gregarious smile, his witty little jokes, as I await to hear from him; from an island that was once war torn.
Killed off by the small pox disease, an island that survived several violent take overs. Once governed by Spain, China, and now America.
A super typhoon or two that scared off the locals, and tourists.
Where our brave sailors await their destination to an unknown underwater siege, as they place their lives in the hands of their military seniors.
Freedom is not free, peace is not peaceful, war is raw, the scared hearts that defend my words in this story, fend off cyber criminals that hold our future, and our presence for ransom.
A thorn of crowns that weep for the brave ones, a mother cub , waiting
patiently for her eldest to return.
In a perplexing state of frenzy, a worried mind, an accelerated heart beat, I see his gregarious smile once again, and I know my angel will return.
Dear Poetry Soup,
I have known and enjoyed you since 2021
I decided this would be a lifetime connection
As you were personable, special and so much fun
When l first met you were friendly and comforting
You felt like home
But sadly you have changed of late
You are distant and our relationship is now unknown
Poets have become discontent and restless
As there is many a concern
A disconnect is now present
Many poets have left …vowed never to return
Sadly, you no longer feel the same ….as you once did
Comradery and connections have faded
Perhaps it is time for a change of ingredients
So the Soup is current, tasty and upgraded!
Insatiable - Quest For Perfection historically
From The Republic of Plato's Socrates
Offspring with high intelligence, comradery
Athletic, science minded, co operative
Tailor made 8 cell diagnosis selects finest
Anxious embryo developer keen to accelerate
Pleasurable reflection held in liquid nitrogen
White gold filled syringe holder operates
Selective patronage of top notch chromosones
Sought out the prestige of Nobel Bank of Sperm
Files boasted outstanding bio father credentials
Mothers maintain reputation of ability to discern
Nobel's demise came in failure to maintain stock
Eugenics launched acceptance of IVF technology
Petered genius imput, deposits from general flock
Duped recipients faithfully awaited tiny prodigies
Varied outcomes, 215 proclaimed, now adults
Demonstrate unclear connection between elite
Genes giving invincible humans as sure result
Driven by nurture to thrive, rationale incomplete
9th September 2020
Kai Michael Neumann, Sponsor
Clutching At Straws
Friendships are formed in many different ways,
some are by mutual choice and others by chance.
A sincere comradery will last forever and always
while a few have turned into passionate romance.
Confidants often find themselves telling each other
the darkest secrets and the desires of their lives,
things they don't share with a sister or a brother.
Silly or naughty plans that only a friend contrives.
But what defines a friend? Is it a confidant or a lover?
Someone online with whom we have good chats
and quickly makes us want to know more and discover
what's in their belfry, secretly hoping it's not bats!
Friends offer a shoulder to cry on and an ear attuned
when troubles are too hard for one to bear all alone.
It's important to help a friend who's feeling marooned,
and all they need to do is make a call on the phone.
Through understanding, we acquire a discerning heart,
one that sorrows over sad times and rejoices together
whether friends are always together or far apart.
The best buddy is there in times of stormy weather.
The word 'friend' only has six letters. It's a small word,
but if I call you 'ally' it's because you have my respect.
The friendship bond causes emotions to be stirred.
I'd do anything for a treasured friend when we connect.
August 5, 2022
Friendship Contest
Sponsor: Beata Agustin
If we must shine, let it not like flies
Bright like the beautiful tune of butterflies,
While hunted by foes around the den of faeries,
Sing at us like hungry overfed dogs.
If we must shine, Aaa! Let it but mildly shine,
Even as we dance awaiting our unknown end
In truth, shall the rue yet monsters coy
For life still lives even if, it ends my friend!
My comradery! let’s then meet as we toy!
We may felt frightened yet again as we journey
Life is sweet with thorns in armour of bravery
And the million blows taste like honey!
That which lies is a choice of life or slavery?
Like lions we will face the cowardly fear!
Almost strangled to the wall, yet fighting to hear!
Great Grandpa Moses first built the old shack
in the summer on nineteen twenty-three,
thrown up with big logs, hard maple and oak,
it only measured twelve feet by fifteen.
There have been two expansions since those days,
a real bathroom and a whole upper floor,
with the bunkrooms it will sleep eight people,
but gets crowded if you add any more.
It sits way back in the Northwoods forests,
in an empty corner way up in Maine,
amidst logging roads sits four hundred acres
that have for so long boasted of our name.
In the Fall months in has been the site
where we’ve taken close to one hundred deer,
one at a time, you got to follow laws,
we’ve just been doing it for many years.
And though the hunt carries its own appeal,
it’s comradery that has made this place,
all that goes on when nightfall has settled
and we sit ’round the fieldstone fireplace.
The amount of beer consumed on these grounds
may strike a rock star as very obscene,
not to mention the cards tossed fast about,
and the stories told that nobody believes.
Outside stretches a ground-level deck,
an outdoor room in the long, warmer months,
a hand-made table sits there upon it,
a good space where we often clean our guns.
The land is mostly an evergreen swath,
though forty acres cleared form a good plot,
to keep the herd big, it’s around this place
where we get them more likely than not.
Though it was deep in a small old-growth patch
where my father bagged the family’s only moose,
he’d been lucky, got a permit that year,
and shot the bull while it fed under spruce.
I’d like to say I got a deer every year,
but hunters can be well-known for their lies,
I usually get a buck every other,
those whitetails really know how to survive.
These days some of my older nephews
want to run power and wifi to the joint,
whenever they do well all roll our eyes,
they seem entirely to miss the point!
And now my boy Mose, though you be but one year,
I pray you will not become like those fools,
and grow to have may adventures here,
one day I know you will love this place too.