Long Drawing Poems
Long Drawing Poems. Below are the most popular long Drawing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Drawing poems by poem length and keyword.
At the altar, see
our shadows serving
under the hand
of our Majesty’s Spirit.
In this succinct space,
how does God lean
into us, light up
our souls - with healing,
comfort, ameliorating whys.
His Spirit overshadows us.
Undeserving mankind,
less than an iota of sand,
means much more
than we can fathom
to the weightiness
of the savior’s cause.
God’s face had turned
from sin - to bridge the gap,
a worthy sacrifice;
completing the action,
resurrection after death.
That same Holy Spirit
in operation,
at the altar -
we should be duly in awe,
thankful beyond measure,
drawing closer
to His safe, loving, grace-full arms.
In the meadow she sits
Beneath a pale blue sky
Her dark hair cascades
Before I
In sight of her curves
Undulations of bliss
Pert by the breeze
My lips do so wish
Her lips of scarlet
Send signals to me
Alluring, drawing
To lie beside thee
Our bodies lie bare
Naked as born
As the sun delights
Rays in adorn
We face each other
In temptation touch
The inevitable
Absorbing so much
Our lips finally meet
Kissing, tasting
Hands in roam
Invitation in waiting
Undulations of two
In torso unite
Unification
Like waves we delight
Motions, movement
Captured enjoy
Internal rapture
Our loving employs
Excitement flows
In adrenalin rush
Peaking, reaching
The meadow in hush
Sighs of joy
Reverberate
No other moment
Could compensate
Our internal streams
Now in passionate flow
Two hearts in adjoin
Beating, growing
In the meadow we sat
Chatting and kissing
For their will be again
Two hearts in wishing
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-11.php
Seeking God* is great since it brings me spiritual revival...
He graciously wrought changes in my life by His grand arrival
He assured me salvation from hell’s condemnation and sinful survival
Giving me life eternal, assuring me heavenly and divine upheaval.
Communing with God is a special event to me constantly...
As He reminds me to live by faith continuously
And leads me through His Word of truth ceaselessly
So I can obey Him, relying on His faithful ways confidently.
Meeting God is grand moment, as He shows me His loving kindness...
Healing my soul’s affliction with His forgiveness
Clearing my blurred vision thru His wisdom’s enlightening brightness
Caring for me, lifting me from my weakness.
Drawing near God is vital while I trust the power of His might...
Smiting my arrogance in my submission to His sovereignty’s height
Reproving me of my disobedience to bring me to what’s right
Upholding me in His strength so that I can always walk in His light.
Fellowshipping with God is remarkable, making me Spirit-filled...
While He talks to me in prayer that causes me to be soul-stilled
He deals with me by His precepts, correcting my being self-willed
So I can delight in Him fully – living for Him, so divinely-thrilled.
Abiding in God is a wondrous time toward divine winning...
To bring the lost to the Savior Who can rescue them from sinning
To fulfill my part for the Great Commission along His consistent training
And help build lives for His glory with His love, constraining.
Togetherness with God is necessary so I can overcome temptation...
Despite offenses, my Father works for my character-transformation
Amidst troubles, my Comforter cheers me, with His joy and compassion
In my struggles, my Lord fights for me, along His peace and protection.
*Psalm 63:1-2 O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; To see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary.
April 30, 2018
Perhaps I see what I want to see.
Maybe something is beautiful because I deemed it so.
Or rather, I cannot pinpoint what stands out.
But why is it up to me for that decision?
How cruel.
Eyes fixated, hair shining through dazzling sunlight.
A pink dress tinged with white flowers,
sewn into patterns of sticks and branches.
Lipstick of red hues, or maybe, it was licorice black.
Too many choices to keep track of.
I don’t like to list options.
I speak of memories and experiences.
Brunettes, redheads, I can’t bear another thought.
A drawing board of dreams and fantasies,
I cannot stop thinking through obsessed observations.
Why must they all be so beautiful,
How can I convince myself that I am worthy?
Worthy of such intelligence, dignity, and affection.
I’m nothing more than a petty jester, a fool.
And yet they,
They are extraordinary.
I grew up living in the countryside
an only child, adopted and on my own
it's something I've never regretted at all
looking back now like a river with one stone
I found I could cope with myself
having a stammer people was not my thing
so I found ways to spend my time
a lover of football it became my wedding ring
Across from our backyard was a field
'The Honie' was its name, there I did play
on my own, a football and me my all
many an hour spent no matter wet or grey
The grass never got cut but I kept it down
with my ball, me and team imagination
doing everything a team does as one
win and lose but never got relegation
I did love 'My Homie'
a place to spend many an hour
so many memories to call upon
drawing them from above like a shower
(This is written about my favourite place in my childhood and the memories it has for me.
Football - means soccer as we play it in the UK.)
He is six, and a big story teller. Amazing drama.
His teacher brings his drawing to me. His mom being beaten by dad.
He apparently was part of the action. He fell on the floor to protest.
The story was similar when it got to me except this time
Dad was being beaten by Mom. He fell on the floor to show me his part.
I asked if anyone hit him. No. Is he safe at home? Yes.
Does he think Mom and Dad will fight again? He shakes his head no.
I pass this along to the social worker.
His third version includes grandma
Who apparently smacked Mom and Dad. She was the perpetrator.
Does he play video games? He surely does. Watch violent movies?
Oh, yes.
He throws himself on the floor a fourth time.
Did anyone hit him? No.
Does he like throwing himself down on the floor?
Apparently. Nothing reportable here.
I picked the ball lock
got them back
at least for the day
went outside….alone
performed some unsupervised
“manly” work.
They had that familiar feel
of old friends …
reuniting on the playground
dancing merrily to a shared rhythm.
Oh, the thrill of it!
The sashayed sway,
subtly drawing up
in a cold breeze,
the tightness of the
fight or flight tremor,
love’s memory
stiffening on the whim
of fancied fantasy.
DAMN!!!!
The grass is cut
hedges trimmed
thorny roses pruned
the smell of earth and sun and joy
unfiltered through a mask.
Just another day outside
With the boys.
John G. Lawless
©8/10/2021
Golden years in time of summer and autumn;
gilt leaves turn into their color artwork.
The cool ushers the night's drawing in warm fires.
Days smile at withered scarlet blossom wreaths.
Dreary days bring them here both together;
since children, brothers not in blood, but in bond.
They sit warm on a park bench as they indulge
in enjoyable recollection of past events.
As warm at noble heart as leal in bone.
They grace the distant past they have left behind.
With their wilds as children they changed the world as adults.
They leave their memories for another time they meet.
But never mind, you will always find them
sitting on the same park bench with joyful noise.
4/15/2019
Again the well of poetry was dry,
My pail was drawing up no deep inspired
Thought or subject matter. All was dull, tired,
Stale water, no exciting trick to try.
Once more the fountain gave me naught but sigh
And sigh of lukewarm breadth — of old expired
Content, no fresh drop of song so desired.
Blessed muse of music, you heard my dire cry!
Pulling at the cord, hoisting and heaving,
I felt the bucket slosh again—with life!
Patiently, ladling out ideas delayed,
I splashed myself with fresh drink. Relieving
A murky mind, I felt renewed and rife.
And thus of nothingness was something made.
I watched the morning glow as the universe gets ready for the evening show, everything was in place and they were getting ready to run the big race, but time was on their side and on wisdom they had to rely, the birds were singing the trees were dancing, and the morning celebrates with a grin.
The people gather around from country, state, city, county and town to join the celebrations and gallivant around the town. They were dressed in fine linen adorn with golden trimming, hundreds of them descend on the stage to join the parade in costumes made from laces.
I have never seen anything like this before, everyone was on the dance floor. producers. directors and designers and the chorus and the actors were leaning together on the sides while the big band entertained everyone.
The crowd gets bigger and thicker, and the children began to scatter, moving from door to door and asking for more; trick or treater the sound kept repeating and the wind began to howl, some got their bags full, and others did all that they could, but some bags were half empty, and some children were unhappy.
The universe enters the town once more knocking on every door, but no one was around; all the houses were empty and bright lights shines majestically from every roof, the people could not understand that winter was creeping upon the land.
Chilly breeze flow through the trees telling everyone that winter was drawing near, and they had to prepare, but the people act as if they didn't care, they walk around, the street, greeting the people that they meet, adorn in fine costume, they move slowly to the rhythm vibrating in the town.
Some people came in late and could not find the place, they had to walk in a straight line until they reach the gate. Coordinate with the precision of time, and you don't have to join the line.