Long Concurred Poems
Long Concurred Poems. Below are the most popular long Concurred by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Concurred poems by poem length and keyword.
The Truth is often hard to find and even harder to hold on to
So many things within our own mind everyday something new
For the truth you can not replace being defined by its very Name
Unfounded without Grace for the truth is we're all filled with shame
Truth has and always will exist and will be shown to you in the end
For the Truth is right in our midst as people continually try to bend
You can not find the Truth alone, but only your heart is able to see
And see the Light Truth has shone as the same Truth set you free
The Truth will oft Call out to you but you must open up that door
Only then will you know what is True as your heart will be sure
The Truth is the Life and Way, sheep are lost without a Shepherd
That you understand I pray even though you have never concurred
Not by deeds but by His Grace alone will one come to see His Glory
But there's one thing you must face, you don't even know His Story
Right next to You by Your side a Truth you could never comprehend
How many times He has tried as with Him there's no fences to mend
“That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth
the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart
that God hath raised him from the dead,
thou shalt be saved.”
Romans 10:9 (KJV)
For too long we have been twirled about by mind
and we see now that we're still at the start line,
since thoughts orbit fears that grip us in their bind,
mirroring desire that let's us not align
with the pulse of innocence, joyful and kind,
being whispers of love that for love does pine.
In bondage to form and conditioned belief,
we're stirred by cry of soul, begging for relief.
Our body is merely dust, yet we are proud
of our ethnic group or method of worship;
religious intolerance, ignorance shroud,
employing rigid views, shooting from the hip,
doing more harm than good, cacophony loud,
denying all souls are forged from the same chip,
labelling God and fighting wars in His name;
dwelling in lower mind, which is a big shame.
Liking not what we see, yearning to be free,
as a rebel, a nerd, we renounce the herd,
simply choosing with throb of love to agree,
whereupon bliss within our pure heart is stirred,
and we’re then no longer tied to a mind tree,
for with whispers of conscience, soul has concurred.
Recognising the same sun shines upon all,
vaporised self is engulfed by a bliss squall.
Beyond belief, that's merely rooted in thought,
we imbibe God's love and light, which we cognise,
transcending fears and desires ego begot,
living in the now, ceasing to weigh and size,
reducing thereby feral cravings to naught,
beholding in wonder, bliss pulsations rise.
In time dissolved stillness, choosing to be still,
by God's bountiful grace, we heal and voids fill.
09-December-2022
_______________
What I believe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Angela Tune
Blunt deadly weapons of mass destruction
electrify, fracture, and
jeopardize *****Sapiens
species (and entire biosphere)
continuity rent asunder
doomsday declared (nuclear winter
gallows humor spelt
with eternal snow day)
dystopian authors outflanked
nuclear fallout wreaks worst
rocky horror picture
effected upon mankind
global (worldwide)
big screen radioactive
wee willy weber webbing
materiel severely seared
sepsis poisons deoxyribo
nucleic acid future generations
organic fiber cursed
simultaneous single simulcast
broadcast airs live after Royal Wedding
audience participation demanded
bumping ugly fleshless
formed fruitless fatal fumes
anomalies all – blinded
beastial begotten bemoan
brethren brood
brutal burnt offerings
crackling, snapping,
and popping surreal muck
shapeless liquified populace
sloshing helter skelter
quests slither towards
aimless destination
bone a fied skeleton crews cruise
crying cretins creep cavalierly
crepuscular cratered city
cruel mushroom clouds
cloaked croaking cellophane charred
cancerous clumps career,
clomp continuously
chaos charts choking climate
cold comfort commanded collusion
commander in chief concurred
crumpled coveted constitution credo
crass conceit communicated
cooly came clean concerning
consensual coital cavort
crazy cream craving characterized
condoned combined crunching
crotch crab free **** -
condom free crux
contractual commingling
cashiered coverup
chic chica chick
cigerette chewing
clutched cocked club
choked chicken concluded
das capitol business
before he returned
to regularly broadcast program
the sea son finale
last chapter of human race
no winners, nor survivors
bleak contaminated Earth gasping
heaving jackknifed lost in vape
nonpareil planet reduced to vapor!
"we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred"
When heavy clouds shroud the moon with lotus lies,
we walk through fiery flashes of illusion,
seeking blurred validation from starless skies,
whilst in uncertainty, hearts find seclusion.
Darkness unfurls crowned eagle feathers to rise,
letting ego flee through alchemist's vision,
surrender to serenity glazed with gold,
there's a sunset that slumbers in rain so cold.
Grace ebbs and flows through ripples of black and white,
listen to the sagas of echoing breeze.
In the abyss of your soul, is cosmic light,
and with faith intact, confined fears we shall freeze.
When doubts we cleanse through clear consciousness in sight,
keys to a meadow, mirroring inner trees,
Standing firm, unshakable midst storms of strife,
In zen we reap colors to the root of life.
But betwixt twisted tendrils, bud of peace weighs,
and It is from the demise of pride, zest thrives.
Transforming rusty browns to vermilion rays,
a prism of sparkling hope, through which mind survives.
Love is an essence served in jasmine arrays,
whilst with compassion embraced, contentment strives.
So let shackles of shallow shadows unchain,
behold the aura of pink roses to reign.
in the timeless past, one day my heart stirred
wishing to know truth of the universe
head melded with heart, with silence concurred
birthing a verse without need to rehearse
pulse of God is single, words are dual
so the symbols weaved were for me alone
yet since divine magnetism was the fuel
music of the spheres, mind needed to hone
be it chance or fate, I joined poetry soup
where members made music, as of soul’s rhythm
for me it was a coup, to join this group
to contour waves felt in a structured algorithm
lost in a maze of forms, I first felt like a fool
but help was at hand and friendly criticism too
though I burnt as I learnt, it was like being back to school
so each day my muse refreshes itself here anew
just as waves of the ocean flow together
and leaves on trees sway gently in wafting breeze
each souper views the other as his or her soul brother
plucking inspirations from the void, heart chooses to seize
I sat and watched quietly
the shuffle of her feet,
the forceful lean upon the walker
and I wondered – how did it come to this?
Just yesterday she knew my name,
last week she appeared to be herself
and spoke clearly plans for the holidays
and I concurred – we’d travel to be with family.
Then in the night, the darkness came
it surrounded her in triumph,
unawares she called out to me
and there it was - the strangest feeling of not knowing.
She’s not that old, barely forty-eight
you know it’s the new thirty-one
when all the world lay at your feet
looking forward to retirement - never meant to come.
How many years lead to this
while we were planning futures and travels,
working hard and saving up
for years to share - then reality set in we were already there.
A view of Alzheimers from the outside.
Dolores VOICED NOT A WOMAN OF SORROW DAUGHTER OF REJOICE-
Delores, daughter humanity the world of Sorrows.
Spanish named and is a form of Dolores.
Named of a time
Generations of pain, of sorrow
Father sought to gift you voice
Within Himself cause you to rejoice
Yet blessed, in the Fathers arms
Only humanity “dolor”
A righteous God, a loving Father
Choice chosen His daughter Delores
To pen His words, play His music
To gather the children lead
His mission, His Holy decision
There’s no thought in sorrow
Sings Hope’s in Him Abba Father
Herbs of His spirit
Swindle never in malice
Created to go tell it
From Germany unto Paris
Songs of the Father from His heart to her breath
His virginal words ever heard
Soul concurred cognate sung
Sings the woman girl of the Lord
There’s no sorrowful in her
For she is voiced in her Father God Hallelujah
There’s no thought in sorrow
Sings Hope’s in Him Abba Father
Dolores who as she, ever chattered
Learnt piano other instruments
Taught children and others God’s compliments
No pains, no sorrow God’s “dolorous”
God’s voice His delighted daughter
Daughter Delores
Minister of Music
Delores Matthews
8/5/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
. for public domain
I would not ask you for your key,
your dreams are years ahead of me.
It's pain to wait here at your door.
I cannot hold one minute more.
Please come and open up your door!
Please come and open up your door!
"You need not ask me for a key.
Your dreams and years await for thee.
You need not hurt here at your door.
You need not wait a minute more.
Please come and open up your door!
Please come and open up your door!
"Dream your dreams, pass on the years.
You have no need for fruitless tears.
I'll wait here on the other side",
was the answer there replied.
So I opened up the door
my future self stood there before.
Neither of us spoke a word,
nothing said, and nothing heard.
Both in silence. Both absurd.
Both are one we both concurred.
Maybe they don't know, my pen
We've been crafting before my age of ten.
We've been friends for quite a long time
You and Ayinde- Partners in crime;
Together We've written about love and hate,
About true inspirations, and ideas we contemplate.
Koda, we wrote about life and it's tribulations
And it's manual that has no stipulations;
We wrote about cool, falling springs
About imaginary eden with roses and swings.
We wrote about the eclipse that just reoccured,
We're so gifted even Shakespeare concurred;
We did write 'bout an okin from Offaland,
And only those in the bloopers will understand.
We wrote about oppression and corruption,
And about a land of plenty, with no'ing for consumption;
Thousands of poems, performed in the African Hall,
With you and I, gracing the geography laboratory hall.
We are inseparable my dear bamboo pen,
Who made me an oracle amongst men.
[Contains - for effect - deliberate miss-spelling
and bad grammar]
That old pirate cave was a tourist attraction
The guide was in period dress
In old pirate garb and a well practiced script
This tale he would tell to impress…
*
“Rob ‘The Rum’ was often glum
It’s how the grog would make him
And spiteful too, with things he’d do
And kids would go home shaking
He’d scare with ‘pirate antics’ boasts
And frighten them with tales of ghosts
Until one day they all fled, crying
But horses hooves left six there, dying
At threat of the noose they told him deny
the stories he’d told and that ghosts were a lie
At last he conceded, then lost and dejected
said, ‘There ain’t no ghosts, I stand here corrected.’
But justice it seems weren’t too fair in them days
So though he concurred he was hanged anyways
But maybe his God tried to save that old sot
For his neck never broke with the slip of the knot
And so with legs kickin like some headless chicken
He begged and he pleaded to be cutted down
And folk turned away but one heard him say
‘My ghost shall forever lay waste to this town.’
And even today there’s people what say
They’ve seen old Rob here in his cave
I do not deceive and you should believe
That you’re either you’re stupid or brave.”
*
Then outside the cave into which they were crammed
A loud banging sound as a car door slammed
Every head turned to see what went on
And the Pirate announced it was time he was gone
An angry, but tatty, faux pirate, appeared
In fancy dress clothes and a clearly fake beard
At first he said nothing, his face wore a sneer
And then he yelled, “How did you lot get in here?”
One visitor said, “Yer man let us in,
the one with ugly great scar on his chin.”
The faux pirate said “It’s a slack time of year
It’s the middle of winter… there’s only me here.”
He turned to the clatter of horses on cobbles
And fled when he had an attack of the wobbles
And a voice, just an echo announced to the party
“You do know there ain’t any ghosts…
Me hearty.”
9 January 2022
Contest: A Ghost Story
Sponsor: Angela Tune