Long Ennoble Poems
Long Ennoble Poems. Below are the most popular long Ennoble by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ennoble poems by poem length and keyword.
You always say the nicest things
and make one feel at ease.
Your words are intended to please.
The sound of your voice sings.
Thousands of reasons to like you.
All who know you agree.
You are life’s magic mystery.
On first meeting we knew.
To know you is to love the sun
and hug the cool moon, too.
Your smile is brilliant like fresh dew.
No one receives your shun.
Stars smile on your ennoble face.
Your eyes light up the room
like a harbor from solemn gloom.
Your being full of grace.
Buds heed your call to burst in bloom,
rivers to seek the sea.
Your presence has a grand esprit
that warms an airish room.
Heads turn ‘round whenever you knock,
happy to see a friend.
My words I happily append,
in current terms - you rock!
Peace without a piercing police
Pictures partial pressure from Pilate
But when problem post players on duty
Then true disciples' hearts show beauty
I become a burning offering in the hand of fiery furnace
In close proximity to my unaccountable sternness
Behind the need of my annoyance is His deviance from humans' eyes' acquaintance
To a nailed abundance in availability cum anytime, my Blessed Assurance
Scary tale of my untold challenge among Noble
If I tell to all ears probably would have get me ennoble
But firstly I charge my lips against the snitch
Cool and calm with foaming wounds so hard to stitch
Yet, I am surrounded by vicious darling beasts
Standing despite known of the power in the name of the Holy Priest of priests
Sure spirit alert in Him and all wonders done yet Judas fear not such act
As unknown to him let it be to mine he is making brio protract
Pointless view as background of checkmate
To the ego that boost enemies' pride of hate
Is the energy calling unto love to rise
And act accordingly without staging any deceitful eye
But all in all, I know the perished adorable one
Will still not count it a grace rather make out only fun
Let s/he be known for the agony of h/her plot
That the chart fits perfectly a good turnaround lot
Violence keep up pace with peace in silent trouble
Yet, with smile everyone dines as brothers for cheers to double
Lest relationship becomes a rubbling affair
Running in a circle of lifeless concern less occupied to repair
The mighty giant's warfare up against benevolence
With piercing heart, pure eyes viewing violence
Without hesitation I call, on the Name of the Lord.
I know He saves; for my prayer, won’t be ignored.
Praise be to the Name of Jesus
For through it, world becomes no bonus
To deceitfulness in particular of Satan
That all one by one would become an aten
What more to attribute great CHEAT to the heavenly Judas ever live
In his allusive acts, pleasing canal; ever active
Save us from all form of deceitfulness with heart
That fallacy stopped by to be not seen an art
Amen!
One of the resourceful books unbeatable;
Children’s love, care and comfort biddable
Is none better than Reader’s Digest – capable.
Articles, reports, jokes and anecdotes audible;
All are present in it; all are undoubtable.
Changing the mindset of students capable
Is a new, systematic thing coachable.
Changing the world and its cannibal
Into the virtues and values bindable.
Explaining itself if anytime culpable;
And so is famous for being countable.
Teachers, parents, students ennoble
Reader’s Digest for not being enfeeble.
Leaders or followers who are like a crucible
Change their minds and be bendable.
Behaviour and conduct – key undoubtable
Will keep you atop, elevated, lofty and able.
Have you seen beast's best friend?
That you wonder of how things blend.
Minds set where simplicity prevails...
Even though it is at the left blood line veils.
Beloves blindly set even when ache wails...
Tempting moment not enough to divulge details!
Bragging right in such hood is noble.
Tie quietly the right blood line to such immobile!
By which humans are humans ennoble,
Rather than the ones that are ignoble.
You have seen the best of all
From the very start before the first fall.
The heart is flexible and mind, small.
Yet mercy on all, You instinctively befall.
You have seen the angel's best enemy,
So chummy in dealing cum alchemy!
For Joseph May Contest: Submitted 05/10/2025
************
From the rugged screeching of the heart,
Slackened in behavior and chronic pain
Is it time to ennoble that worldwide part?
This is the ideology from which they start
Men ought to rekindle patriotism again
From the rugged screeching of the heart.
Admiring the breezy and the smart,
And now, with clearer touch and brain
Is it time to ennoble that worldwide part?
The weakened loyalty values depart
Neither dogma nor the strain yet remain
From the rugged screeching of the heart.
Not conducted by the heinous chart
That pricked the mass for nefarious gain
Is it time to ennoble that worldwide part?
Reforming scarce constitution and art
Whose emblems are the countless slain
From the rugged screeching of the heart,
Is it time to ennoble that worldwide part?
1St Place Contest Winner
Written: October 31, 2022
Writing Challenge - X'd Poems Second Chance Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
I love having—
hating the feeling of wanting.
Wanting cuts my guts as consequentially as diarrhea.
I steal casually,
like second breaths after waking,
or proper newborns latched onto Mama’s nipple.
It is inspired vice.
There’s a teaspoonful of buccaneering Barbarossa
sprinkled in my lines.
I commit careless crimes—
not much outside the magpie’s range.
I am the cupbearer at Mass now.
All men are wanting persistently.
Other men’s carelessness is providential,
inviting nosy rats to the quiet catwalk.
I collect on neglect,
underprized nuggets
that poke at my wonder,
scratching curiosities.
I stole wives off petty husbands,
decaying cars banked by roadways,
the overhanging fruit of fat landlords,
words from Webster’s to ennoble intellect,
thoughts from tinkers;
Christ’s reflection—but the mirror stole it back.
Psych docs lower me on leather beds,
wanting to safe-crack my mystery.
I tell them Barbarossa blood ties tarnish, birth bandits.
Shrinkers countdown—
ten, nine, eight...
I am paroled to a fantasy field of rare, clean earth, of no lack.
There is my First mother.
She is a beauty queen.
Me, unseen.
She is careless,
drawn by luster.
I yell, spoiled apples!
Me, unheard.
She tastes.
She calls my First father to probe the coveted yield.
I am bidden too.
I eat.
Theirs is mine.
A primordial gift is constant craving.
While Beauty Sleeps
While Beauty sleeps, there are souls upon this earth that have never known her. Many seasons have passed and her eyes are still shut. She is hiding behind pavements of tar and cement. She is drugged from the smell of burning rubber and plastic scents.
Styrofoam has compromised her health. There are souls upon this earth that have never laid eyes upon her. I am here to testify, to tell all who listens, that I am a poet-I came to tell you things that only poets can tell.
There are souls that I ennoble while looking through my eyes, they can see the deep woods, the flowing fountains, New earthlings can now envision the fragrances of a million blossoms bobbing, bobbing to the cricket's nightly song.
I am the architect rebuilding the walls of time... Desperately trying am I, to sing my song before more mortals die; To sing my loving words before more mortals die. There are souls upon this earth. it’s' sad but very true – Humans who know nothing of love and beauty.
We all must live to die or die without ever living. We stumble and sometimes fall; However, we have that something, that lost souls never saw.
We know grace and mercy, we know compassion, love, and respect; We knew mountains and valleys. We also knew blue skies without chemtrails. We knew praying mantis, we knew beetles and snails.
We knew breadfruit; and why dandelions and mushrooms grew. We know where beauty sleeps, so we live to tell the poets tale. We speak of days gone by and gently arouse her beauty as we speak.
I am not an artist of spoken word, neither am I a profit, I am but a poet shaking beauty gently, awakening her from a long, long nap...Reminiscent of when innocents reigned as king.
I do not recite for money nor do I sing for fame. I only report what my heart records, and look forward to another spring. I have danced with the humble, and shared wisdom with noble queens;
My excitement overflowing brings joy to eager ears. Loves fury has entitled me, to shield you from your fears. Myself, yes me, I whisper softly, as not to disturb hate.
God bless you on your journey; I can no longer interfere, nor save you from your fears.
You have what you need to carry on, and I know that you are able.
When love gave birth to folklores and fables...I gave birth to poetry babies.
To judge another is no proof of intelligence:
those who delight in condemning should first strive
to correct their own failings,
for one is often struck by what is more unworthy than oneself.
The arrogance of judgment reveals less the clarity of mind
than the poverty of discernment.
He who sets himself up as censor
betrays the weakness of his own inner realm.
Criticism, when born of pride,
teaches nothing but the blindness
of the one who utters it.
It is nobler to amend oneself
than to denounce the faults of others.
The truly wise spirit
practices self-reform
before claiming to reform others.
The sternest judges of men
are often the most guilty before themselves.
The condemnation of another
often serves as a screen
for one’s own shortcomings.
One rises higher by cultivating integrity
than by proclaiming another’s fall.
He who seeks the stain in another
ignores the corruption that consumes him.
Only inner justice
remains a legitimate authority
to evaluate the deeds of men.
Moral injunctions sound hollow
when the life of the one who utters them
offers no testimony.
To judge is often to forget
that one is oneself exposed to error.
The dignity of the spirit
resides less in sentencing
than in understanding.
Easy blame is the weapon
of feeble consciences
that refuse to know themselves.
He who sees faults everywhere
shows that he does not yet know his own.
The judge’s intolerance
is but the mirror
of his inability to reform himself.
The more a man persists in denouncing,
the more he unveils the shadow of his own deficiencies.
It is easy to condemn,
it is rare to examine oneself.
True intelligence
is fulfilled in self-mastery,
not in the scrutiny of others.
One does not ennoble oneself
by debasing another,
but by elevating one’s own being
A genius is a special kind, indeed:
he or she is a creature of the mind
who creates where breaths of inspiration lead,
like mythic Muses on a Grecian wind;
some have the gift of poesy like Keats,
and some the gift of music like Mozart;
some pen pastorals of farms, fields, and sheep
while others write refrains that move the heart.
The divine gift of genius is a tool
conferred by one's high Muse to create art,
music, and science to ennoble the fool
in every tribe of which we are a part.
But if your genius be not in this rhyme,
then share the greater "genius" that's your time.
Oh, what is this thing called love?
It's a concept I don't understand.
Delight that occurs at first sight?
Or can it be carefully planned?
Is it something that lasts for all time,
or will it run into the sand?
Would Priapus profit from praise,
or should he be promptly trepanned?
Is love as elusive as luck,
or can it be had on demand?
A candle that burns all alone,
or a flame to be furiously fanned?
Is love like a light in the soul,
that will last and endure and withstand?
Is it not just a chemical shot,
just a spurt or a squirt from a gland?
Does this love thing ennoble us all,
or should it be totally banned?
A danger to all it ensnares,
or something incurably bland?
A bonus and boon for mankind,
that ought to be loose in the land,
or a danger deserving restraint,
to be chained and detained on remand?
Oh, what's this enigma named love?
Allurement? Procurement? Command?
Will it harm me, or charm me, I ask:
should I fake it, or take it in hand?