Long Elizabeth Poems
Long Elizabeth Poems. Below are the most popular long Elizabeth by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Elizabeth poems by poem length and keyword.
Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is Lord alone! “to love him with all our heart, with all your understanding, with all your rength, and to love your neighbor as yourself” is worth more than all burnt offerings and sacrifices. Mark 12:29, 33
In the readings for today
God asks for the totality of our lives
All heart
All thought
All strength
It seems like there would be little left for us further
We must also love our neighbors
Ourselves
When our hearts are divided among many different objects
Desires
It is indeed difficult to love ourselves
Our neighbor
But when our hearts are united with God alone
We have access to an infinite source of love
Elizabeth Duffy
Turned to Poetry: Jac R. M.
WDate: 3022021
Poetry Form: Sonnet
For what I write- is that the reason why?
You visit me and spend with me some time
Perhaps it is for words that make you sigh
Or truth you find well hidden in my rhyme?
Is it, perchance, to see a coy sweet smile
The vision of a woman in your mind
Perhaps forgetting troubles for a while
Elusive peace in what I write you find
But if I leave and can no longer write
Will time erase my presence from your heart?
If brokenness and strife have dimmed my sight
In coming days, will I no more have part?
Sought after and adored if I’m to be
For naught else let it be than being me
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I’ve been thinking about this community a great deal lately. We claim that we love each other. We claim to be there through thick and thin. FEW…yes, FEW can stake a claim to that. I’ve been under the weather for the last couple of days. I’ve been ill….AND….I’ve been forgotten. I know, it is easy to point the finger. There have been poets here who have gone missing, and I do often wonder where they are…..if they are ill, disheartened or just disinterested. I wish I could say that I’ve always sent a little message saying that they are missed. I haven’t. Yes, we are all in love with poetry, but I hope we can see beyond the poet’s words and into his/her heart…..There abides a person wanting to be loved for whom he/she IS…and NOT simply for what he/she can GIVE. I’d like to share this lovely poem that illustrates this so well…..HUGS
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
there is a gravity to you
whenever crossing the room
it is an existence that bends light
into an aura capturing my every breath
a plasma that penetrates every atom within
with memories of long ago
when you first walked into my life
from across the room
as you drew near me
my heart counted every step forward
lost in erratic rhythms as they lifted
and returned to Earth
in that face a beauty
causing a full moon to glance
and pause in envy
lips possessing a kittenish smile
driven like a bee to pollen
a promise of being crushed by roses
born from Athenia's brood
and in your eyes a dominion
from which i would be forever held
in John Donne's Ecstasy
these passing years
i still tug on the pigtails
to remind the playground
how much i adore you
just an average man
who stumbled into the arms
of the above average
and careened into eternity
now there will be those of you
quickly to point out
surely there are far too many flowers
packed lovingly in this bouquet
i said average, not stoopid
you take the bolt of cloth down
measure three to four-times
twice and cut is for mechanical thinkers
love has never been a well-oiled machine
a bit more for unexpected contingencies
roll the bolt of cloth more than a tad
in life, one never knows
the lady may have just discovered
she now adores puffed sleeves
i said average, not stoopid
and the lesson i learned from Mr. Darcy
when you open your mouth
let the brain stay idle in speech
and let your heart sing
to the soul, she has in her eyes
therein the permission you seek nests
only the heart can free those wings
and there are never too many flowers
in a bouquet, or a tad more of cloth
be prepared the scouts' teaching
fashion with women are like the seasons
guaranteed to change
did not John Donne ask his love
not to stare into the sun
lest she blinds it
above average, also, not stoopid
OKC 2/14/22
“Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love .” William Shakespeare, Hamlet
"But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity."
Sonnet 14 If Thou Must Love Me
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
There's John and beside him,
Mary with her hair ribbon undone,
Peter, Gordon and Barbara,
the girl I had a crush on in Grade 3.
Then of course, S y l v i a,
the saintly genius who had it all.
That's Patricia with the scowling face,
Robert with the immaculate shirt
and tie and Eddy, poor little Eddy
the go to clown of the grade.
He used to pee his pants in class.
No one wanted to sit next to him.
There's Helen with those blue eyes
that looked right through you,
although gray here in black and white.
Julie in the back row standing
a full head height above everyone else,
the tallest kid in the class.
Who's that…Stephen I think,
head down, crippled with shyness.
Kevin, Karen and Elizabeth,
and there's Jack, we used to call
him “wacko”...always wanted a fight.
I heard he was killed in Vietnam in 67.
Michael with a toothless grin.
There's Lena and Jan, the Polish
kids. A year or two after this,
I think half the class were immigrants.
Some I can't recall their names.
And that's me…. looking lost,
miles away. And next to me… what was
her name. She was so sweet, died
later that year. Never told how or from what.
I wonder how many more now
have joined her from the fading faces
in this school photograph.
Note: Special thanks to Elizabeth Wesley for planting the seed (another one) for this poem. And despite the dismal nature of this writing, Sanibel Island is still a beautiful place to see and visit.
Sanibel, Sanibel, Sanibel dream;
Once we were lovers before I knew what love means.
I held your hands, your soft white sands
Caressing my fingers tender;
Sanibel, Sanibel where have you have gone
Our love no longer lingers.
Gone are your spiraling sea shells,
Remains of your deep ocean friends;
Gone are your crystalline shorelines
I left my footprints in.
From progress called sky scrapers
And concrete travel parks;
Sanibel, dear Sanibel,
You’ve lost your sweet lovers spark.
Others may find you still lovely
With your great blue egret plumes;
But I’m not fooled for a New York minute
Because I watched shooting stars with you.
While the waves washed in from the distance
And the tides came and went with the moon;
I gave you my all while following the call
And you left me far too soon.
Sanibel, Sanibel, Sanibel dream;
Once we were lovers before I knew what love means.
THE MARTHA BRAE WITCH ARRIVED IN TAMPA WITH HER GUNMAN FROM JAMAICA TO END MY LIFE HE DIED AT MY FEET DESPERATE MY PLEAS WERE DESPERATE SHE WAS AFTER MY AMERICAN POETRY MY ABUSIVE EX HUSBAND MY LIFE MY DEATH MY SOUL MY IDENTITY IMPERSONATING ME PERPUTRATING FRAUD IDENTITY AGAINST ME 23 YEARS LATER THE WITCH RETURNED BREAKING IN MY HOME OBSESSED WITH MY MILITARY VETERAN SPOUSE TAKING OUR CLOTHES GARMENTS PRIVATE PERSONAL DOCUMENTS BIRTH MARRIAGE DEATH CERTIFICATES OBITUARIES OF FAMILY MEMBERS SEARCHING MILITARY RECORDS TO PERPUTRTATE FRAUD UPON US LEAVING ORNAMENTS MADE OF DIRT FROM THE MARTHA BRAE RIVER IN ST ELIZABETH JAMAICA SHE PLOTTED A CURSE A HAITIAN ROOT TO END MY LIFE OR CAUSE HEALTH PROBLEMS OR EVEN DEATH PURE SUFFERING FOR MY FAMILY I PRAYED THE ROSARY OVER THIRTY TIMES CONSTANT HAIL MARY'S MY CHEROKEE ANCESTORS DANCED MY GREEK ANCESTORS THE THEOS GATHERED FROM MASON VERONA VINCENTINO CONTINUOUS PROTECTION MY WONDERFUL HUSBAND AND I ADMINISTERED HOLY WATER TOSSING THE JAMAICAN CURSE IN THE LAKE PRAYING FOR THIS DEMONIC WITCH TO FLEA BACK TO THE MARTHA BRAE RIVER WHERE SHE BELONGED FOREVER WALKING BACKWARDS AS NIGHT CRAWLED UNDER DAY GOD CRIED GIVING THE SOUND TO ONLY JESUS REPLIED FATHER WHY IS THE LAND THERE SHOULD BE GOODNESS IN TRUTH THE WATERS BEGAN TO BREW FLOWING BACKWARDS BACK TO THE CARIBBEAN SEA BACK TO THE TAINO WITCH THE MARTHA BRAE WITCH WAS BITTER ANGRY SHE COULD NO LONGER PERPUTRATE FRAUD UPON ME AND MY FAMILY DESTRUCTION AND SUFFERING RAGED THE WRATH GOD PROMISED ME HE WOULD PART THE RED SEA MOVE MOUNTAINS AS I PASS OPEN THE GROUND SEPERATING ME FROM MY ENEMIES DRY UP THE RIVERS AS I WALK OVER HOT STONES AND NOT GET BURNED A 23 YEAR OLD CURSE REMOVED FROM MY FAMILY NO MORE JAMAICAN TALIBAN IDENTITY FRAUD WITCHES I AM A HOLY WOMAN OF GOD GET BEHIND ME SATAN EVERY KNEE SHALL BOW ALL SOULS WILL KNOW ON EARTH IN HEAVEN AND UNDER THE EARTH EVERY TONGUE SHALL CONFESS THAT JESUS CHRIST IS LORD WITH THE GLORY OF GOD THE FATHER
AMEN
How do I thee .let me give you praise
How do I love thee,for your winsome ways;
In these eyes still my bride ,and still
Your wedding ring,I wear with pride;
These many years of marriage cheer
Two hearts as one,with love held dear;
Each others secrets to confide,
Needs and desires to never hide;
Tribulations together bear
Witness,these love-lines we share;
How do you love me,this poem will chart
The unease we notice,if apart;
How do you love me,no words can convey
Your touch,your kiss,your gaze,thrill me each day.
A faithful love,will stay unique,leaning,
Mutually we ,in submission seek.
Inspired by Elizabeth Barrett Browing's poem with this same title.
Retrospective Inclinations
Inclinations toward the philosophical nature of mankind
Imitations of awe and wonder and the subtly refined
Insinuations of an action that is considered ill-defined
Illuminations of the atmosphere that circulates in her mind
Catastrophic consequences for those who refuse to consider cost
Misanthropic measures as they contemplate what they have lost
Philharmonic overtures that adorn the cultured and the loft
Telescopic telomeres that combine technology as she seems soft
Incorporations of conversations that imply a sense of dread
Consolidations of invitations that leave the bride unwed
Palpitations of consecrations that conjure inside her head
Affirmations of visitations that come and go from her bed
Luminous possibility among the distorted convolution
Furious credibility that promotes a transfigured delusion
Spurious eligibility as she writhed about in confusion
Injurious sensibilities that draw unnecessary conclusions
Awakening contemplations that preside in elevated thought
Mistaking conversations for something that can be bought
Berating intonations for a concept that needs to be fought
Negating imitations of a notion that is over wrought
Visionary eloquence forming from the twighlight sky
I am weary of the inference as the tears well in my eyes
Timothy Leary fades into irrelevance as the earth begins to die
Commissary for the petulance I feel from the nature of mankind
Radiance and insight fight for grace and kindness to emerge undefeated
The gradients of light that fractal outwards when repeated
Innocence and delight combine to have the malevolent deleted
Convalesce inside the retrospective thought that you have completed
The End Copyright Elizabeth Moroz 2025
At the SIS fortress,
where the Thames mirrors silence,
they placed a photograph before me.
“We know his history,” they said,
“but tell us what lies beneath his skin.”
I studied his face—
rebellion carved in the jaw,
yet the stars betrayed him:
a Cancer Moon, a Cancer rising.
“Family is his chain,” I replied,
“pull that thread,
and the man will unravel.”
The chamber walls glared with portraits—
statesmen, kings,
criminals polished as diplomats.
Here, souls were stripped bare,
their desires charted like maps of war.
Every smile a mask,
every silence,
an unspoken crime.
And yet, each time I walked these halls,
a question haunted me:
When Elizabeth opened this house of secrets in 1994,
what prophecy stirred her mind?
Did she see guardians of the realm,
or merchants of deception?
Protectors,
or puppeteers?
The Thames whispers no answers.
It carries only reflections—
of men who gamble with empires,
who write destinies in shadows,
where truth is a currency,
and ghosts
are never at rest.
Awakening Contemplations
Perception of reality changing in a second
The Invention of congeniality as I wait for you to beckon
The Australian informality of “yeah whatever you reckon!”
The North Korean missile strikes looking to constantly threaten
World stability and Universal peace
The unpaid rent, a broken lease
A reason to vent, an estranged niece
A persistent strain of thought that simply will not cease
Chemical warfare and secluded drone strikes
A Ukrainian counteroffensive in the middle of the night
The oppressed peoples will to stand up and fight
Searching for a future that has the potential to be bright
Ghengis Khan, Nostradamus and Shakespeare
No intention to harm , only to disqualify your fears
An isolated old woman breaking down in tears
A forlorn ex-revolutionary marvelling at the passing of the years
The recollection of youth passing by far too quickly
A monsterous uncouth agent described only as prickly
The bubonic plague recreated and the people are sickly
The presidential race and how it’s run politically
Beauty and science and history and mathematics
All by the bass note as it sounds that fantastic
We revere what William Wordsworth wrote and produce more ecstatics
As the oceans and rivers fill up with plastic
Daring souls on the edge of inventions and ideas
The whole on the ledge, financial systems in arrears
Climate change deniers red faced as the carbon emission clears
Interpol debased as the criminal network sneers
Apathetic resignation as life passes you by
Magnetic mutations as people begin to ask why ?
Frenetic contemplations as salt water flows from my eyes
Epic considerations as the elderly prepare to die
An evening with Shostakovitz and classical relief
An interim meeting with a dogmatic thief
A tight fit unit bringing Humanitarian Relief
A man that doesn’t know his own philosophical and spiritual beliefs
There’s a a path that is right and a path that is taken
As you arrive at your future self quite visibly shaken
There’s nothing left but what remains to be mistaken
And the epiphanies experienced as your soul begins to awaken
Copywrite 2023 Elizabeth Moroz