Long Deal out Poems
Long Deal out Poems. Below are the most popular long Deal out by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deal out poems by poem length and keyword.
Does an ‘act’ that gets praised by a stranger reveal an act’s worth
Or reflect more the generous heart that observes? To feel love’s
Sure a gift, a response I return, no receiver can earn.
All the good man perceives, a brave witness ‘Love’ lives in all hearts,
Its expression’s no accident, roles that we play are bit parts.
We are actors, in touch with Bard’s beautiful lines that we clutch
At like straws, though we all sink and rise in life’s play. And the dove
That returns to the ark of our being, Bard’s gift (and God’s mirth?)
Am I brave to embrace the worst parts of myself (like the best),
And to love each ‘mistake’ that has helped me to grow? Can I touch
‘Like a wife’ my life’s pain, trust to feel joy, all sadness is gain
(That our God must feel too if He’s Love?) Must Creation reflect
Who God is (the ‘I AM?’) and if not, then why not? Is respect
Owed? God ‘needs’ to demand one prove Love? A dad sacrifice son!
Owed a God who creates ‘in own image’ but feints in the clutch
To let ‘man’ feel pain too (his God feels)? By pain’s ‘gift,’ are we blessed?
Can you dare to presume that you understand God, that His Word
In the Bible’s a ‘Truth’ you can deal out to others as if
(Are you God?), ‘our thought’ win true God’s nuance? Man’s ego ‘IS SIN!’
Your soul fries at the moment you step in-between me and God!
God’s relationship’s intimate, never a mob scene! Sound odd?
My faith’s ‘Colored’ to you? Might that mean God uniquely loves too!
‘Faith in God’ is not one size fits all. You’re NOT God; faith’s His riff!
Don’t compare yours to others, and Trust Him, else prove faith’s absurd!
Did Christ die for your sin or to show you God’s Love that was there
All along? “Greater love has no man’ than he lay down his life,”
But God’s Grace, (if God’s Heart can save man, it’s been there from the start),
Did not need Christ to Die! Ten commandments in truth more a ‘joke’
Meant to help us be humble? Does God by Christ’s death then provoke
The thought ego’s a ‘pipe dream,’ that service to others supreme
If we’d please Him? Let ‘Cross’ be my pride; the Church blush to be wife,
For Groom’s blood is the dowry He paid. Pray, “God’s real!” Does He care?
Brian Johnston
14th of August in 2019
do you find that anywhere else?
undeserving love and care,
right from when you were born,
to the day you can talk back at them.
yes, your parents' decisions can be a little warped,
they may get your hopes up, only to say no,
but they spent those precious years of their lives,
for growing you up,
can' t you ignore your musings,
when it comes to caring for them?
always remember, that their words can seem cruel,
but never their intentions,
they may tell you to just go away,
but if you do, they wouldn't know what to say,
for they gave birth to you, baby,
they will never let you be lonely.
working all day and night,
they can get tired, too.
overlook their hurtful words,
as only with them you'll find utmost comfort.
imagine the day they held you in their hands,
for the first time they felt that way,
they had created a new life,
whom they wanted to be perfect in every way.
now, they scold you when they think you're on the wrong path,
for they thought you were flawless.
and their love is meant to give you freedom,
not tie you back.
they can get stressed and tired,
and hurt you unknowingly,
baby, don't make a big deal out of that,
you won't find their love,
at any other place.
they created you and accepted you with all your flaws,
and decided to make you better,
but when they show you their bad or a weaker side,
it's your job to not make them feel worse,
for they gave birth to you darling,
be a little unfair to yourself,
when it comes to loving them.
give them gifts or even a hundred cards,
but what makes them smile is your efforts,
to make them feel like the best parents in the world.
forget your desires and dreams when they need your help,
blur that ego the world throws at you,
if your pride comes in the way while talking to them,
they don't deserve your anger and frustration,
for they have given you all their dedication.
make them feel like they're the luckiest,
even if they seem a bit ignorant sometimes,
they haven't known you all their lives,
but you have,
they're allowed to shout at you,
you're not.
you need to swallow that false pride,
and be a little unfair to yourself at times,
when it comes to loving them.
Poetry on trial?
I’m going to indict poetry, for infecting my soul
Does it serve any purpose, or has it lost control
This may seem quiet strange, perhaps unorthodox
Peruse this if you will, whilst it’s head layeth on the block
No need for a foundation, build it in the clouds
But it does require structure, interwoven by shrouds
Mocks me with Humpty Dumpty, as my life falls to bits
Sends me down a path, of bifurcation and twists.
Yes poetry is stealthy, it attacks from every side
Attempting to outflank you, then pounces in surprise
Soon levity returns, it wants to chill you out
Where did this come from, shaketh your head in doubt.
Bow before it in deference, or leap into the sky
Cut to pieces on razor wire, see the birds that flyeth by
Pit Romeo and Lothario, in a competition of charms
Find a new born baby, dead in its mother’s arms.
Send shivers down ones spine, Hairs stand on your neck
Deal out a winning hand, then rearrange the deck
Be a photon of light, amongst trillions on our sun,
Reminisce ole times, when life beheld such fun.
Be scarred by it’s violence, Drawn into the mystique,
Blown away by the punchline, The havoc it can wreak
Drown in melancholy, or bathe in its delight
Overcome tragic heartbreak, awestruck by it’s might.
Empathize with the poor, in their cornucopia of dirt,
Curse the wealthy no better, in their hubris of self-worth,
Surrounded by loved ones, on your terminal breath,
Then Cryo-frozen in a machine, trying to forgo death.
So yes I’ve tried poetry, it was given a fair trial
Now to pass sentence, and do so, with some style
I condemn it to life, with no chance of parole
Simultaneously I grant pardon, for it’s me who lost control.
By
David Kavanagh
... the child within me is the one who stands back up. My inner child is the bravest part of me. Because she is driven with a desperate hope & desire. She possesses true innocence, which drives a native faith that things will someday get better. The reason I'm alive, is because I don't have the heartt to break her spirit. Because, I cant bring myself to destroy the hope & purity she holds.
How dare I even consider killing off her drive, her purpose, & her beautiful tenacity. She possesses a light that most people could never exude themselves. She is a fire that burns intensely, while also offering her light & warmth to other's who need it. She's a warrior without even realizing it. She's hyper focused on her dreams of true happiness. And its inspiring others.
However, her hope is only alive because of her innocent ignorance. Because she hasn't seen what happen's next. That she to face what damage see next! She hasn't seen what darkness she has yet to face. What damage she will both receive, and deal out, under the pressure. She doesn't know that the voices get louder, or that the monsters get stronger. She doesn't know that the That people shell put her faith in will abandon her. That she'll be left to bleed by herself. She doesn't know that all those who she's shared her fire with had no intentions of giving in return. That she will be used until she's no longer needed. That she'll be ignored when she begs for help. That she'll be fighting for her life until her soul gives.
But worst of all, she doesn't know that shell look in the mirror someday and realize; that the monster she feared the most, that she fought the hardest to kill, was herself.
And theres only way to Finally End The War.
Pure filth in the sick terrain of disease
amoeba,bacteria gnawing on carrion putrid
smelling awful the fetid wafts captured noses
puissance in resistance aided by gear little
toll was heavy like a hammer of God.
Sins overgrew like wild moss the citylines
many had looted gravely many others of toe to hairs
yet others had ditched several in rat holes of despair
raped with fierceness so brute that victim felt killed for years
purloined so skillfully, that heist remained unknown to official years
killed and tilled the intestines of many
they were lying in river bed fanny
earning dough was a zero sum game
they erased yours and put their name
living on the margin like a zombie dead
did you have the courage left that you always had.
Cycle had moved a round and done turnabout
earth shook and took all it could get
nature was shaking the societal glass
where scum had gathered thick at bottom
as it threatened to have the pure also pretty rotten
quaking in anger and seeth the plates moved and moved
the evil empires were down and razed, seeking insurance claims
they had to build again the regimes ,ugly and bad
good guys got a deal out of destruction and death
as they went about collecting the carcasses of all
You heard them mumble in bated breath toll:
Pure filth in the sick terrain of disease
amoeba,bacteria gnawing on carrion putrid
smelling awful the fetid wafts captured noses
puissance in resistance aided by gear little
toll was heavy like a hammer of God.
TV channel shutter bags clicked mad......the quake tragedy ..nobody bothered to check the
social and criminal background of those dead....vis a vis their real activities-which were
largely unknown ,anyways!
Elden Hewett smiled at the sight
of Gretta Coburn moving his way,
she had worked here at his saloon,
ever since that dark, tragic day.
He pinched her as she walked by,
said,”Now I think it’s time you see,
you got no husband left to help you,
you’re gonna need to make real money.
“Let me make you one of my girls,
you’ll have your own room upstairs,
you will make more coin than waitressing,
and you’ll have money for all your cares.”
Gretta pulled herself away and said:
“I have told you this all before,
I got no interest in being your ‘girl,’
I’m not working as some damnable whore!”
Elden shot up quickly to his feet,
said,”I’m right tired of this here game.
If you want to keep on working here,
you’re going to do what I say!”
Just then the front doors broke open,
and a male figure paced on in.
The whole room gasped as Red entered
with two guns and a chilling grin.
Gretta stammered,’R-Red, h-how?
How can what I see be true?”
Elden’s blood ran quickly cold,
“Y-you’re dead…I-I saw to you!”
Red just grinned, and said,”Am I?”
Then strode over to them rather bold.
Elden said,”Yes! I know that you’re dead,
I saw your god damned funeral!”
Elden’s grin faded, hand moved to his gun,
saying,”I know your people bushwacked me.
You’ve been eyeing my wife for a long time,
I should just put a bullet in thee…
“But I’ve never been a violent man,
murdering you is a step to far.
So you and I will both settle this,
sit on down, and deal out the cards.
“We’ll play one hand, the winner takes all,
if I lose I’ll go far from this place.
But if I win you’ll pay a great price
for trying to bring my wife to disgrace...”
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
three issues are at stake in poetry writing at present: first, whether or not we can write an emotionally charged (subjective) material/topic such as love (loving, not loving, not being loved), freedom, and justice effectively with artistic objectivity. This is more complicated by the notions of choices (and voices,) individual self-determinism, self-sufficiency, and individual sanctity over collectivism.
Voices say this: Humankind have Choices, Choices have Consequences, Consequences have Risk or Reward! It is those Voices (heard or unheard) and Choices (risk or reward) that make lines or volumes and make us who we are as Poets--living and dying with our Choices!*
Second, we poets are of a tender-heart, vulnerable, and victims to violent shifts of response and emotions that relationships bring to us. We are sensitive, however, so being, we are beneficiary of human benign neglect and gross oblivion around. We do a great deal out of something ignored as trivia!
Third, whether we poets are misfit in a misshapen society or we are misshapen at a misfit time, really I am not quite sure myself! But one thing I am certain about is this: the poet struggles with SOMETHING more than his/her own myth: to be able to see the relations of the unrelated, to curve out a creative originality, and to muse about if pleasurable pain (painful joy) is bearable and if living and loving truly is ever possible of to date! For no wrong life can be lived rightly!
Poet,
Less than that, what good is Poetry for?
*Listen to the Poet and Folksinger Leonard Cohen's "Choices"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBDKKFJuXos
Form:
Others have fallen,
publicly shame slain by the Me Too sword
Men of high society pedigree,
reduced to outcast leprosy members only
And the rave wave rage of women’s anger rises
against heifer treatment by male baboons,
perpetrated on them since the beginning of time
Now is a dangerous time for
testosterone predation
But, low priests of the phallic order
bless the foul practitioners of
lewd, misogynist behavior disorder
They serpent sway in hypnotic bliss
to the charmer’s sound ...
erogenous vibrations
sensually stimulate their injustice scales
They follow the Pied Piper blindly,
lemmings going over the cliff
But the cult idol is unmoved by their dying worship
The high priest of chaos theology
remains untouchable
His hands violate feminine flesh
with no repercussions
His hurtful words are
loathsome macho rat bait for feline debate —
that which he violates is that which he hates
Giving erect denials,
though taped confessions are heard,
he smiles with disdain ...
Untouchable is his favorite word
FBI ... fuggit ‘bout it
He wickedly wonders why everybody
is making a big deal out of it
Thinking of women as mere cattle,
who were made to sacrifice their bodies
for his ravenous carnal desires
A sperm wolf moving among the ova herd,
he howls with tweet glee ...
Untouchable is his favorite word
He boastfully mocks the fallen,
calling them men of weak pedigree
Mongrels of male impotency
Untouchable ... impervious to all
his mortal enemies
He believes his dog treatment of women,
gave him the canine path to a teflon presidency
If I were a tree, I would be an oak. A laughing oak with dazzling shiny hair.
My leaves would twinkle and spin and prance happily in the summer.
I would watch over the squirrels with their chattering ways, and smile.
Loving the way they flip upside down and backwards to steal bird seed.
Robins, cardinals, wrens and meadow larks would alight on me.
Claws so gentle, I would barely feel them, but I would know they were there.
I'd not have to be the largest, but it would be nice to be one of the tallest.
Lovely to be one of the top three in a forest of oaks, surrounding a meadow.
In autumn I would let my leaves turn the happiest reds, oranges and yellows.
Always competitive, I would want them to turn before the other trees’ leaves.
I'd hold on to them the longest though, so leaf watchers could gaze in awe.
Cars would travel far into the country to see my beauty, and take photos.
In the winter I would be a tall foreboding soldier. Black brown against nature.
The ants, beetles, gnats and spiders would be hidden deep into my knothole.
I would shelter them from the elements and stand my ground, a guardian.
I would not make a big deal out of it, but I would be like a savior.
Along comes spring, my happiest time. I would sing a melody so sweet,
It would shame the birds. They would stop tweeting, to listen in awe.
It would outshine rainbows and buttercups. I would do this silently, on the sly.
When people wake for the day, I would be silent. Meeting their small expectations.
It I were a Tree
Written 2-3-2021
Contest Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
I went to get ready, for our very last date.
She'd kill me for sure, if I showed up late.
I polished my shoes, put on a clean shirt.
Then bought her some roses. What could it hurt?
I thought to myself, as I knocked on her door.
I was ready to end this, I couldn't take anymore.
The day I first met her, she had ribbons in her hair.
Every time she spoke my name, my heart would float on air.
When we first started dating, it didn't take long.
For me to realize, that this was all wrong.
She made a big deal, out of every little thing.
She was not for me, that's how it seemed.
It had to end quick, I had made up my mind.
I had to act now, or I would run out of time.
She thanked me for the roses, then gave me a kiss.
That was one thing for sure, I would really miss.
We went out to eat, and then went to our spot.
I really think, she enjoyed it a lot.
Our spot was a cliff, looking over a lake.
By the time we got there, it was already late.
I put on some slow music, and we danced all night.
She had a sweet smile, and her eyes shined bright.
When we got back to the car, I kissed her goodbye.
I felt kind of sad, and I can't explain why.
I walked to my side, and pushed the pedal to the floor.
She tried to escape, but her dress was caught in the door.
As she flew off the edge, screaming in fear.
I only shed, one lonely tear.
The car hit the water, and ended its flight.
I felt a sense of relief, as I left the crash site.