Long Deem Poems
Long Deem Poems. Below are the most popular long Deem by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deem poems by poem length and keyword.
Destiny determined that I do not forget that first Tuesday
in November 1980, and eight years later he said goodbye. So much good accomplished; so much evil averted. With a belief system developed over many years, he had an honorable philosophy tested and tried over time.
Losing his first attempt at national leadership, he was later
triumphant. He led the way rather than join the popular bandwagon, and unlike today's leaders, he believed that the latest polls were designed for information, not for adjustments of his opinions and the political slaughter of his opponent. Because of what he did yesterday, I believe in tomorrow.
A shining light, he was believable and earned our trust. I felt safer from our enemies, prouder, more confident, and certain.
He didn't draw lines in the sand but simply did what he said. When he forewarned interest groups, there were swift followthroughs that set a new tone of action in leadership. I don't deem him great because his domestic actions aided me personally. His common-sense principles
that benefited us all was the hallmark of his greatness.
I still hear the echoes of his words saying to us that our best days are ahead, and we haven't seen anything yet. Because of Ronald Reagan and the God he believed in, the God that our nation seems inclined to dethrone, we will remain ashore between the two great oceans and continue to be that Great Beacon of Light God intended for us to be.
012920PoSpCtest, Ode To A Great President of The Past, Sheri F. Harper HM
When my life was spent
I lay on my death bed,
All bent and in torment
Wondering about where shall I be led?
I was scared,
The truth was now ready to be bared
Is there life after death,
Is hell there where I shall now give my worth?
It came, like a flash of lightning
I never felt any painful burning
I just closed my eyes
And opened them to new skies
He was there, a fair knight
He looked at me with expectation
My own spirit was shining so bright
I feel my heart melting, faced with this divine revelation
It was a world so still
Yet, I could not refrain myself from feeling a thrill
I was with God
I was, at last, with the leader of the herd!
A world it is, ruled by eternity,
It is there, a sanctity
Peace prevails
The Lord, for such, entails!
It matters not, he said
If you believe your life was not lived
Life on Earth is a temporary phase
Meant to shower you with false praise
Those who get attached to its false vision
Keep returning to its endless illusion
Be calm, be happy, here, you shall be free
Free to be as you do deem yourself to be!
I walked through the valley of darkness.
How breathtakingly beautiful it was.
Gaze of birds watching over me,
I draw a veil molded in ocher clay.
I walked holding my breath.
Unseen, the ticking sound of unseen birds,
I walked through that valley of darkness,
Drawing yet another veil.
I do not pray.
At least not in this moment.
Though my body is feminine,
Inheriting the wild instincts of a seven-generation cat,
Before a swarm of cockroaches can infect me in an instant,
I sense it beforehand and let out a fierce roar.
"Meow!" "Hssss!"
Why, you ask?
The life of the slum
Always cries out,
Even within its depths,
Building its own cruel pyramid,
To attack me—
Someone they deem even less than themselves.
It is not that I do not care
or your worries that I share
Your problems though they be
are not really about me
Sympathy not much
feelings out of touch
Concern forgive my yawn
angry I feel rather calm
Wrong or right
good or bad
let it be
I am sleepy
So stew on for awhile
I am neutral timid and mild
Maybe a nap and after I wake
we can sort it out, see what's at stake
Simmer down and go slow
ease off and let it go
If you blow your top
will it ever stop
Mediocre as it seems
dumb to others sure its deem
but important to you you you
for the hundredth time walk me through.
Some say men give you sanctuary
others deem them sedimentary.
My cousin claims they’re alive to cheat
anyone and everyone that they meet.
Yet some can’t help but fall in love
saying he was their match; the other glove.
Some blame the syllables of adoration muttered in their ear
or the TV for unveiling marriage without fear.
Whether men are thought wonderful or wild
I possess one with a mild
temper, who’s been with me for fifteen years
we don’t grasp each other’s hands or even kiss
believed by some to be a couple’s bliss.
Yet if sorrow haunts me
or if tears grace the floor,
he is forever there to adore.
Instead, I enjoy stroking his hair,
as we lounge by the fire without a care.
His interests involve watching birds flutter about
outside in the lawn, where he’d enjoy getting out.
I chose him, yet he chose me
sat upon my lap, the rest was history.
I know upon him my heart is set
he isn’t employed, but on me he’s spent
a thousand purrs and mews of hello,
and unwavering trust enough to know
that I will always provide for and care
for my trusted feline companion…
I know he’ll always be there.
deep and late into the hem of night
my thoughts question uncertainties,
perhaps my heart does not believe in life
anymore, and deem men as anti-heroes;
so i lock the door of my tactile pores,
yet i speak of men in my accepted duality
somehow, honoring the smell of their laughter,
and their taste of affection with anger
to sketch their contours with my skin
on white linen between ceiling and lamp;
that when i open my eyes to look at their faces,
i see the whole universe.
then to recall how gazing through a skyline
the moon reflects tints of past flames and strangers,
as peak of moments’ rapture explodes
slicing the darkness ...changing whimpers to wonder...
that all i could say is “ thank you”,
appreciating my imperfectly perfect world...
i recall filling a basin of warmth for them
when streams of giving chains me
in the under –toe of hunger’s ebbs and tides,
embracing the divine wonder in their beings.
-------------------
* if we perceive a man or woman from a perspective
of seeing his/ her inner beauty despite some flaws, wouldn't
it be a wonderful place to be?
*inspired by Louis Armstrong’ “ what a wonderful world”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCp3K3XUhvU
Frank H's I Recall Contest
by nette onclaud
Sometimes, it's just too difficult to
speak of a single hero. I must confess,
I did give some thought to the subject,
but the number three took over; and I
I was compelled to go with it.
I have known them all of their lives.
All three of them have served gallantly.
They were brave, bold, and battle tested.
To me, they are heroes unsung. That is,
until now. And I shall be the first to tell them so.
From region to region, they supported and defended me
when I was dejected, dismissed, and highly disregarded.
At first glance, by sight or by status, one would not deem
them heroes as do I. Indeed, they were my wind beneath
that kept me flying, my bridge above those troubled waters, and my sail across the many windy waters of life.
They are most precious and special to me.
Their heart and soul were infused with mine.
Not one, but each of them danced to the drum beats of 'loyalty'. My goings and comings; my callings were theirs also. No. I cannot pick one. They were as one.
Last night as I lay awake, I was consumed with the
thought of them and their sacrifice. When I considered
their bravery and their warrior spirit, I teared on my pillow.
They never said no, but were always willing to leave friends
and face any foe, whether people, places, things, or weather.
My heroes are few, not lightly considered, but highly regarded.
Before last night, I had not thought of them as the heroes they are.
If one were to ask them, they would probably say that I was there for them.
Based on what I was feeling, recalling, and sensing last night; how every beat
of my heart was warmed by the thought of them, their support is the greater story. I tell you, last night I was inspired and overwhelmed by the heroics of our three children who have stood up and stood by me for over 40 years.
022222PSCtest, To Honor My Hero, Anoucheka Gangabisson. 2P
Written: June 03, 2024, For Miranda Hawley
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The breeze rippling through your locks breaks my heart
Missing them, I clasp my hands at my side
I saw streams streak off your neck and apart
I should sustain your side and grant my snide
You catch my eye and dance as we used to
I know you'll dance lost at a spiteful dance
You twirl while on fire; no one can spot you
You dance to relieve pain; your soul askance
My chest niggles from your intense envy
I wish to hear your rage and ease my pain
To deem you as plague, this soul might levy
I can't hold this within; tears are a strain
What I hear is triggering mental fears
My heart hates distrust as you dance with tears
unfortunately I rouse,
incapacitated, fettered,
fuzzily sensitising to
my bedchamber, I ruminate
and periodically deem adequate.
eyes hanging with encumbrances,
engendering the plagued gaze,
empty and dull of scintillation
that flickered out lang syne,
inadvertently blighting all
who love me enough to meet it
with sorrow and remorse.
bitter utterances resound—
sarcastic, playful, yet
it swipes at my skin, scarring,
each reverberation swells
the ache, once dull, now palpitating,
degrading my ability to exist.
repugnance laces my features,
sewn into the cavities and pits
inside I can’t otherwise fill;
dentition stained, a miasma
of decay, tainting energy
emptily pledged to sustenance.
my body a vinyl record
obscure, weakened, aimless,
and the community the stylus,
passing over me, yet somehow
boldly navigating my scratched shell,
incapable of realising
impairment is done to the core,
ignorant that the music,
even with perpetual
interrogations “are you okay?”
like a broken record,
erelong will stop playing.
diamond grazing integument
unravelling muscle, a dazzling show,
zenith of the symphony,
populace vocalising and jiving
over the sound of my wails,
misconstrued to entertainment
solely from my torment.
severed sinew gathers in
accruals of sanguine liquor.
unseamed as the music crackles,
fading to a somehow louder silence
upon the tragic epiphany
of my lacerated cadaver.
Introducing my roommate Leong to my Saturday morning cartoon binge habit proved to be one of my BEST ideas EVER. She’s a very animated watcher, frequently laughing, gasping in horror and, in the end, delighted by these silly shows.
It’s almost a case for convergent evolution, how two creatures, from opposite ends of culture and the world can be so similar.
I find myself watching her, for her reaction, as much as the shows themselves - I’ve seen them before but I rediscover them vicariously and emotionally through her. We can spend hours dissecting character arcs and plot twists - we’ve found a small, stress-free heaven.
It’s 10:40am Sunday morning and Leong is dipping celery in barbecue sauce for breakfast again. “THAT’s just gross,” I deem, holding my hand up to block my view of this travesty.
“You should TALK,” she says, “Flexatarian!”
I gasped, like a slapped Chris Rock in the face of this naked aggression. “Why am I a flexatarian! I demand, my mind reeling for context, “because I ordered the potato burrito at taco bell?” I look around for some sort of rescue or validation, but we’re alone.
“That’s so FAUX,” I say, in an injured voice, shaking my head sadly. “I’m by the book carnivore,” I say, holding my fingers in a three-fingered girl scout pledge.
“And you have to live with that trauma,” Leong says, scooping an extra large dollop of sauce with her celery as I make gagging and heaving sounds.
.
slang
Flexatarian - someone who’s only a vegetarian when it’s convenient or showy.
faux - untrue
*Convergent evolution: how life evolves in certain predictable ways because they work the best. For example: how flying has evolved independently at least four times on earth: in birds, bats, insects, and pterosaurs. Ultimately, this theory predicts that we will meet other “humans” if we ever get out and explore the universe - those Star Trek green, human aliens may actually be real somewhere.
*I have a no “show off” rule which this may violate..