Long Consoled Poems
Long Consoled Poems. Below are the most popular long Consoled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Consoled poems by poem length and keyword.
If you go away, and my heart breaks
Weeping, for the moments
We spent in the light of the morning
Whispering our dreams, our hearts – memories
Weeping, for the days – we colored with praise,
The nights – we taught the stars to sigh,
The joys, the smiles, the stirrings of insight
The warmth and the healing, the beautiful feelings.
If you go away, and my heart slowly breaks
Weeping, for the sweetest grace
When we spent our summers in our garden
When we spent our autumns in our cabin
When we spent our winters remembering
What it means to love – with a love so alive
Love so kind and wise, love that will surely survive
Even though, this time.. there are tears I can’t confide
Tears that won’t deny – what it means to abide.
If you go away, and my heart breaks – yes, it breaks…
Just thinking of the day, when I’ll finally say
Goodbye to the hopes we’ve shared,
The plans we’ve made together,
The feelings that will last forever,
The music of our prayers, our praise
The still that comes when we finally say…
Adieu, farewell, see you again one day –
If you go away, and my heart – oh my, how it shall break
Weeping for the ways we loved one another
The ways we shared our hearts and souls
The ways we carried one another’s load
The ways we were meant to be consoled
The ways our lives were intertwined
The ways we felt so very alive!
If you go away, and my heart – yes I know it will break
Weeping, weeping – so I can only pray
For God to hear what I need and believe
This love won’t die and though you’ve gone
I will know that, one day, very soon…
I’ll see you up there, - more than just a prayer
Awaiting my spirit, and oh, dear – I don’t fear it
When I go home to the love that came from above
And meet you again, my soul’s sweet friend…
If you go away, and my heart – who’ll surely break
Is weeping so deeply all I can see
Is the glistening of hope – amid the shadows,
I know that this love, it will stay – and I’ll pray
That God sees the hues of my missing you
And comforts my soul so that I’ll surely know
You are there – You’re home – with the One who decides
When you and I meet once more – when you and I…
Gather on that distant shore…
If you go away …
Weeping, praying, tears can never say…
All the grief that I’ll be feeling
All the pain my soul’s concealing
If you go away.
Today’s the day they bury the woman who birthed me.
Not my mother.
There is no sadness in my thoughts.
No tugging at the heart.
The tender bond between a mother and daughter we did not share.
She was merely a woman in the world of billions who chose life over abortion only to give me torment and agony during the life we breathed in air together.
I will not miss her. I will not cry over her. I will not give credit to her.
This woman never loved me. Never consoled me. Never gave me the warm hugs a little girl needs to have. Never kissed my forehead in loving affection. Or told me I was beautiful inside and out.
She never encouraged my dreams, my goals, my aspirations.
She never instilled confidence that every little girl needs to survive in this cruel world.
She never taught me the essentials of being a woman as I emerged into one.
She never said, “I love you” gently into my ears.
She didn’t protect me from the devil, who night after night, raped and tortured me.
I was the enemy. The one who invaded her sacred vow to my father. The other woman I will always be. Not the daughter she was blessed with.
I clawed my way out of the hole she so viciously threw me down in. I let go of the victim and embraced the survivor.
She can never hurt me again. Never pour salt in the wound. Never hurt my daughter as she wounded me.
Somehow I was given the grace to shower my daughter with love and affection. I pour my love all over her. I console her when she is sad. I embrace her with hugs. I kiss her forehead with loving affection. I tell her how brilliant and beautiful she is inside and out.
I encourage her dreams and goals in life and push her towards her aspirations.
I have made sure she has confidence that will get her through challenges in her life.
I have taught her how blessed she is to be the young, emerging woman she is becoming. I have taught her to embrace her body, her mind, her soul.
I tell her every day how much I love and adore her and how much I am blessed she is mine to keep.
I protect her. But also allow her to fall so she can learn to pick herself up.
I let her know she is my everything and my life with her is an adventure.
I am blessed beyond all treasures.
I am nothing like the woman who birthed me. We only share DNA.
I will forever be a motherless daughter. But I will not be a daughterless mother.
Form:
This sinner here --Michelle--
learned at St. Peter Chanel
there's no point to rebel
Life without God is Hell
Not just a state of mind
also an afterlife confined
to weep, & teeth-grind
all happiness -- behind
It would NOT be fun--
not "a day in the sun!"
no chance to go for a run
the joys of life -- done
Never chillin' with friends
too late to make amends
from Love, the soul rends
and remorse never ends
I don't know about you--
thoughts of Hell make me blue
but it really exists -- it's true
souls could avoid it if they knew
A big pothole in the crosswalk
won't disappear just cuz we balk
we have to watch where we walk
to be safe, lock, barrel and stock
To step up safely, it'd be smart
to climb the ladder to God's Heart
via her--who from Him--isn't apart
the Immaculata's sweet help is a start
Say, Mary be a mother to be now
she's closer to her Son than me --or thou--
from His Cross, He did endow
her to be a mother to us all --and how!
Mary's every word in the Holy Bible
can clear up any anti-Jesus libel
her love for all nations, intertribal
more devotion-worthy than Cybele
I hope Jacinta, Francisco, and Lucia
keep up their intercessory Ave Maria
praying till the world's end: good idea
for peace in Russia, Ukraine (& Korea)
These kids turned their lives around
with the fervent prayer life they found
their sacrifices for sinners did abound
due to their vision of Hell so profound
St. Faustina also envisioned Hell & told
to lovingly warn us, not abrasively scold
read her beautiful story and be consoled
Divine Mercy's testament is New, & Old
We have a way out, with the Lamb
(in other words, the Great I Am)
it's not too good to be true, no sham
Divine Mercy doesn't wish to damn
Ceaseless tortures? No thanks!
I'd rather join the ranks
of all the repentant cranks
giving up our sinful pranks
So then here's my advice
gotta be better than "nice"
but God's grace will suffice
to grow virtue from vice
He's the Way, Truth, and Life
He understands our strife
Urging us with Love, not a knife
Loving us though our sins be rife
There's a twist to this story
I look forward to Purgatory
as more purifying than gory
for God's greater glory
Ultimately I say: Aim Higher
God created us with the desire
after this short life, to retire
to sing in Heaven's choir
MY FATHER'S GENTLE HANDS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I remember my father’s hands as a plumber’s hands—fiercely strong, calloused, rough, knuckle-battered, and dirty after a long-day’s work. Those hands shoveled; unclogged drains and toilets; repaired leaks; and installed pipes, commodes, and bathtubs. Those hands provided.
I remember my father’s hands as a fisherman’s hands—perfectly patient, tenacious, self-confident, and unwavering as he held his fishing line and lure stabile, waiting for a fish to take the bait. “Keep your hands steady. Stay focused,” he prompted me when I asked him to teach me how to fish from his flat-bottom boat. Those hands fished longer than they ‘plumbed,’ rarely missing an opportunity to commune with nature, seldom losing a fish. Those hands fed.
I remember my father’s hands as a treasure hunter’s hands—firm, certain, and capable, listening intently to his metal detector’s tones learning to discriminate the sound a good coin makes compared to the choppy, broken sound a junk target makes. Those hands searched, discriminated, and found soulful answers to life’s complex questions and dilemmas.
I remember my father’s hands as gentle healing hands—kind and comforting as he wiped away the tears that sometimes streamed down my face. Without saying a word, those hands loved, consoled, and encouraged—always righting my world.
I remember my father’s hands—full of strength and hope as he took my trembling hands in his. Those hands gave me courage—the courage to reach up in search of everything impossible, leaving me with the unbridled sense that to do anything less was the greatest impossibility of all. Even now whenever I need courage, I can feel his hand around mine helping me to feel invincible once again.
In my mind’s eye, I often see my father’s hands—every line and every wrinkle. They told a story about the kind of man he was. I’ll remember my father’s hands for the remainder of my life. I’m grateful for him, for his enduring spirit and presence, which continues to grace my life despite his passing some years ago.
Dad's hands tell a tale
they did countless loving things
they touched and guided
they shaped and molded
they encouraged me to reach
they held the stars in place
they held rising sun
they sought deep understanding
they chased lonely moon
Excerpts from "Cordoba"
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Withered Roses
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
What shall I call you,
but the nightingale's desire?
The morning breeze was your nativity,
an afternoon garden, your sepulchre.
My tears welled up like dew,
till in my abandoned heart your rune grew:
this memento of love,
this spray of withered roses.
Ehad-e-Tifli (“The Age of Infancy”)
by Allama Iqbal aka Muhammad Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The earth and the heavens remained unknown to me,
My mother's bosom was my only world.
Her embraces communicated life's joys
While I babbled meaningless sounds.
During my infancy if someone alarmed me
The clank of the door chain consoled me.
At night I observed the moon,
Following its flight through distant clouds.
By day I pondered earth’s terrain
Only to be surprised by convenient explanations.
My eyes ingested light, my lips sought speech,
I was curiosity incarnate.
Excerpt from Rumuz-e bikhudi (“The Mysteries of Selflessness”)
by Allama Iqbal aka Muhammad Iqbal
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Like a candle fending off the night,
I consumed myself, melting into tears.
I spent myself, to create more light,
More beauty and joy for my peers.
Longing
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Lord, I’ve grown tired of human assemblies!
I long to avoid conflict! My heart craves peace!
I desperately desire the silence of a small mountainside hut!
Life Advice
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This passive nature will not allow you to survive;
If you want to live, raise a storm!
Destiny
by Allama Iqbal
loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Isn't it futile to complain about God's will,
When you are indeed your own destiny?
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(22) And the pangs of childbirth drove her unto the trunk of the palm-tree. She said: Oh, would that I had died ere this and had become a thing of naught, forgotten! (23) Then (one) cried unto her from below her, saying: Grieve not! Thy Lord hath placed a rivulet beneath thee, (24) And shake the trunk of the palm-tree toward thee, thou wilt cause ripe dates to fall upon thee. (25) So eat and drink and be consoled. And if thou meetest any mortal, say: Lo! I have vowed a fast unto the Beneficent, and may not speak this day to any mortal. (26) Then she brought him to her own folk, carrying him. They said: O Mary! Thou hast come with an amazing thing. (27) O sister of Aaron! Thy father was not a wicked man nor was thy mother a harlot. (28) Then she pointed to him. They said: How can we talk to one who is in the cradle, a young boy? (29) He spake: Lo! I am the slave of Allah. He hath given me the Scripture and hath appointed me a Prophet, (30) And hath made me blessed wheresoever I may be, and hath enjoined upon me prayer and almsgiving so long as I remain alive, (31) And (hath made me) dutiful toward her who bore me, and hath not made me arrogant, unblest. (32) Peace on me the day I was born, and the day I die, and the day I shall be raised alive! (33) Such was Jesus, son of Mary: (this is) a statement of the truth concerning which they doubt. (34) It befitteth not (the Majesty of) Allah that He should take unto Himself a son. Glory be to Him! When He decreeth a thing, He saith unto it only: Be! and it is. (35) And lo! Allah is my Lord and your Lord. So serve Him. That is the right path. (36)The sects among them differ: but woe unto the disbelievers from the meeting of an awful Day. (37) How well they hear and see and hear them on the Day they come unto Us! yet the evil-doers are to-day in error manifest. (38) And warn them of the Day of anguish when the case hath been decided. Now they are in a state of carelessness, and they believe not. (39) Lo! We Only, We inherit the earth and all who are thereon, and unto Us they are returned. (40) And make mention (O Muhammad) in the Scripture of Abraham. Lo! he was a saint, a prophet. (41)When he said unto his father: O my father! Why worshippest thou that which heareth not nor seeth, nor can in aught avail thee?
For more information please visit:
http://www.quranexplorer.com/quran/
Heavy and eerie silence reigned therein,
The dark rooms looking as sullen as mean,
As if they had taken serious offence
Against me who had failed in their esteem,
My heart feeling contrite was heaving tense,
To have halfway deserted my fond dream.
No one was there my inner thoughts to share,
None who so some forgiveness to me spare,
Aimless I wandered into my blank mind,
And wished I could that royal guitar find
To inveigle my heavy heart to sing:
O Fire, this poor moth that in vain wished once
To fly away, hast returned broken wing
To thee, forgive him just this one instance,
Burn away both his wings and make him lame,
Nay, consume him in thy red scorching flame.
As I wailed clue-less, my soul sinking low,
Two warm teardrops fell from above on brow.
Dark and deep clouds hung overcast on hills
That day, the gloomy woods and bare river
Awaiting in suspense with monsoon drills,
An ominous calm prevailed all over.
And soon it all shivered— land along sky,
A wild tempest blew forth O howling by,
Through pathless woods glaring its lightning teeth,
Like a raving maniac snapping chain,
Wishing to unleash hell, terrible pain
To whoso there’s on hills, whoso beneath!
And not a soul around was in the camp
To wipe dark of my heart, nor light a lamp,
I could sense: a woman lying on face—
On a carpet below the bed, clasping
Her wounded heart, and pulling hair in stress,
Blood trickling down, in utter pain, laughing
Still, bursting into a hard wringing wail,
Now, rend her bodice, now beat breasts gone frail,
And from nowhere winds roared in from windows,
The pouring rains soaked further her sorrows.
Through night the storm never did cease to rage,
Nor did my fair lady's passionate cry,
I wandered from room to room, a blind man,
Unremitting sorrows my companion,
And yet none there who could have consoled me,
As I heard the cry: ‘stay back, all is false',
Maher Ali the mad was there, no doubt,
The old tenant of this odd wailing house,
‘Tell me what’s false?' I could not help but ask,
Waiving me off was how he responded,
Repeating, ‘stay back, stay back, all is false'.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali, Kshudhaarto Paashaana.
It felt like someone was tugging at his veins
His head…
Ow!!!
A carnival of noisy masquerades!
His head hurt
His eyes hurt too
His tongue was dry
The side effects of “the cure”
IVs
Tablets
Needles
Tubes
Machines
PaIN!!!
Discomfort
Nausea
He hated this feeling
He missed his life
This wasn’t his life
Someone must have played a really mean prank on him
This life wasn’t his
He couldn’t wait to give it back
He missed his life!
This was medical torture
The cure!
The torture!
He couldn’t take it anymore
He didn’t look like himself
He didn’t feel like himself
He wept!
This was too much to take
He had no strength to talk
The cut was healing
But it hurt like hell!
He held on to his bible
The words in this book consoled him
They strengthened him
They filled him with hope
He needed hope
This journey was difficult
He fell down to his knees
He wept so hard
He cried out,
“Lord help me!
I can’t carry this yoke!
It’s heavy…heavy…so heavy!
It’s crushing me!
Please lift it off me!”
His tears wet his cotton shirt
He was so sweaty
So he dropped the book
He continued to weep
He cried out to the Lord
He wept!
Tears and sweat
Washing his face
He heard a bird chirp
It chirped so sweetly
His cry interrupted the beautiful song it sang
He stopped
And he listened
Eyes close
He enjoyed the melody coming from outside his window
It was so sweet
So perfectly harmonized
He opened his eyes
The bird was right outside his window
Perfectly colored creature
Red
Pink
Yellow
Black
It was magnificent!
What a great Creator!
He looked down at his bible
It lay open on the floor
He smiled at the highlighted verse
A message of love
It brought him more hope
Strength
And courage
He wiped his damp face
A message of hope
A promise
He received it with faith
He encouraged himself
He would beat this illness
He would win the battle
Oh yes he would!
Deuteronomy 31:8
King James Version (KJV)
And the Lord, he it is that doth go before thee;
he will be with thee, he will not fail thee, neither forsake thee: fear not, neither be dismayed.
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
Twitter:@sylviaoz
© SylviaChika 2016
Crushed
Crushed by life, I bear the weight,
Of dreams undone and love too late.
A heavy heart, a mind in chains,
A soul adrift in endless pains.
The world, a pressing, cruel embrace,
Leaves marks unseen on my worn face.
In every breath, I feel the squeeze,
Of unseen hands that never ease.
Each step, a struggle, each day, a fight,
A battle waged from dark to light.
The smiles I wear, the words I say,
Are shields against the fray.
My family laughs, their voices clear,
A distant sound I barely hear.
They thrive in sunlit realms of grace,
Unaware of my silent chase.
The future looms, a shadowed beast,
With every hope and joy deceased.
I stumble through this bleak terrain,
With nothing left but numbing pain.
No comfort in the stars above,
No solace in the ones I love.
Their warmth a distant, fleeting glow,
While deep within, the darkness grows.
Crushed by life, I sink and fade,
A ghost within the daylight made.
In silent screams, I find my end,
A broken path I cannot mend.
Birth is the start of a long fall,
A journey where we lose it all.
From light to dark, from hope to pain,
We tumble through the endless rain.
The first breath drawn, a whispered sigh,
The beginning of a slow goodbye.
Innocence wrapped in tender care,
Unaware of burdens we’ll bear.
Each step we take, each path we choose,
Brings closer still the things we lose.
The joy we find, the love we hold,
Are fleeting moments, tales consoled.
Life’s climb is steep, its edge so near,
With every height, a growing fear.
The dreams we chase, the stars we seek,
Are shadows that grow ever bleak.
In childhood’s arms, we learn to stand,
But soon enough, we leave that land.
Adulthood comes with heavy tolls,
And with it, burdens on our souls.
The weight of years, the scars of time,
In every fall, a silent chime.
Reminding us of what we’ve lost,
Of innocence turned cold as frost.
Birth is the start of a long fall,
A spiral through life’s shadowed hall,
We grasp at light, we fight the night,
But in the end, we lose the fight.
And so we fall, from first to last,
A journey through the shadows cast.
From birth to death, we lose it all,
In this long, unending fall.
A friend corned an expression that arrested me. I had heard something similar before, but not exactly the way he said it. I have not been able to get away from the depth of its meaning. In my heart, I was saying, "Wow, I have for the longest time felt that way, but now I have words to express it. In a class that my friend was teaching, we were speaking of issues that sometimes defy comprehension and often leave us in a state of wonder and questioning. We often feel alone in an answer-free zone.
In this mystery zone, God is there, but we are challenged by life's adversities, illnesses, and by walls and roadblocks of the theological variety. In this mortal life that comprises thrills of victory and agonies of defeat, sometimes we are only consoled by the words of my friend, "Eternity is the great equalizer".
Is it just me, or do you also feel that our prayerful pursuit for answers, truth, and understanding, often fall short of genuine satisfaction.? We feel that we have a right to know the rhymes and reasons; that we deserve to understand the times and seasons; that divine healing is our portion of 'the children's bread'. We feel that our God has given us the keys to unlock such doors of mystery. So as his dear children, we do not feel any way defiant as we stand
upon what we perceive to be His promises to us.
At the same time, if God chooses to leave us in a state of, "What, why me, how come and how long, who, where, and when?", our love for the Father and submission to Him and His Sovereignty must become and or remain standard-fare.
Yes, our hearts are pure and our prayers are genuine. Yet, sometimes we are left with a sense of, "If I must drink this bitter cup, it's okay Lord, it's in your hands, and I will always keep faith with you, trusting you no matter what to the very end because you, Father, more than myself or anyone else, know what is best for me". Yes indeed, my dear friend Bob said it best. "Eternity is the great equalizer. Therein, we find closure.
05302018cjPSSent to Bob61918