Long Equally Poems
Long Equally Poems. Below are the most popular long Equally by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Equally poems by poem length and keyword.
Our very life's true gifts
They become deeply touched
Honored by those around us the blessing
Measured inside good deeds radiate gem purity
Flowers in the meadows solely beloved
Served at a round table equally grace shares
Called upon the royal seals approval bows
Unconditional always holds truth bonded
United under a white flag halo of unity
Carried with one dove fig of Eden grows strong
Hope changes to a golden path paved with jewels
Forged upon the walls adorning seed grows
Painted with ink light shades over darkness
Crimson signs our heavenly deal sacred
An open book loves even those filled with hate
In the end we all join hands together loved
Huddled in Burton's doorway, head down,
the windblown rain at almost forty five degrees
soaking me from the knees downwards.
Reflecting on the paving, the red, amber and green
from the traffic lights heralded a wave of white from passing headlights,
like theatre curtains opening.
And centre stage stood I.
The clock at Samuel's jeweller said nine seventeen.
I thought I blended in well- the tailor's dummies in the windows
either side of me, equally well dressed, stared vacantly
into a dark alien world. I envied them.
They were dry.
And not waiting on a first date.
A quick glance up.
The clock said nine seventeen.
They say that time slows down when you're idle, or impatient,
and I was starting to bow to this unproven scientific truth.
Two pretty girls strode past beneath a mangled umbrella,
one briefly threw a smile my way, almost lost in a giggle.
I counted my twentieth chorus of red, amber and green.
It was nine seventeen.
She said she'd be here for nine. I looked at my watch.
Ten O'clock.
The bells of the Guildhall and the Cathedral smugly agreed,
H. Samuel had been lying all along.
The rain had stopped. I stepped out into the throng of couples,
dressed in my singleness, as the girls with the broken umbrella,
now discarded, approached.
No giggles- she gave the same smile, but her eyes knew my plight,
then she shrugged.
I found a bar and sat in damp trousers with a beer, and watched the big screen
to take my mind off a wasted evening.
The rugby was just finishing.
God does have a sense of humour,
England beating France-
Seventeen points to nine.
25th June 2018
For contest 'nine seventeen', sponsor John Lawless
earth bound, desires twirl us around
looking to heavens, feet on ground
cyclic joy and pain, cause of fear
afraid to lose, what we hold dear
joy in permanence, never found
illumined sages speak of soul
scriptures affirm we may be whole
feeling complete, with bliss replete
each fellow being, with love greet
we decide to make God our goal
we look within, at head and heart
throbs divergent, they stand apart
our ego spawned thoughts spiralling
obvious cause of suffering
thus our life anew, we restart
we follow not any doctrine
simply, our head and heart align
ceasing to size, we vaporise
delighting in each life surprise
choosing the path of love divine
heart is where each impulse begins
cry when we lose, laugh when we win
yet heart invites Gods miracles
bliss renewal ineffable
provided we be free of sin
no sooner we shift, clear light dawns
erst fears and desires, are both gone
within our heart, Gods love awaits
to throb of bliss, our soul gyrates
Gods loving touch, sees us reborn
moment to moment, we thus flow
magnetised with an inner glow
pulsating within, day and night
our open secret, in plain sight
loving equally, friend and foe
narrow mind cannot understand
our heart uplifted by Gods hand
we would, if we could, our joy share
each soul must themselves with love pair
soul transcending to pastures grand
15-July-2021
Touch My Heart Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
The guide with his cheesy hat, and colorful umbrella
encourages us to: gather 'round.
His anecdotal spiel is by rote. His shtick is fact-slim
and slick, but it’s also my current gestalt as I am dragged
unwillingly along by his CliffsNotes speech.
What catches my wandering eye is that this one ruined effigy
is a fair facsimile of myself. He (a god/king
of some minor something), looks mildly disgusted, as if
a bothersome fly had landed on his crumbling nose.
My world-weary face reflects perfectly that sour mien.
At last I am processed meekly back onto the tour bus,
where predictably, my fellow passengers are already
peering forward into a new fancifully imagined past
from an equally fanciful present.
Born into the lap of loneliness
Adam paced restless up and down
God knew he badly needed a mate
And willed the solitary man, a companion
Nonpareil in beauty and grace,
God wanted her to be the marvel of marvels
With wonderful craftsmanship,
God began working on His new creation
Seeing God laboring overtime
The angels in Heaven came in hordes.
Overwhelmed by awe and wonder
Rallying round Him, they asked in chorus
“Lord, you seem to take extra care
In the making of your latest work,
Have you any special intent?
God smiled a gentle smile
And said in solemn air
“She should be of a special stuff
Strong enough to withstand all the shocks
But delicate enough to bend and bow
Sweet enough to draw everyone to her charm
But tough enough to bear extra burden
She should have a heart very deep
To hold gallons of liquid love
And a mind patient enough
To forbear all rebukes
She should have a temperament
Willing to forgive and forget
She should be warm enough
To kiss away all tears
With the magic to heal the bleeding hearts
She should bear the seeds of progeny
And shall be the great MOTHER to all
Sister, friend, mate and mother- all rolled into one
The Angels were moved to surprise,
Over the attributes ascribed to woman
They wanted to have a closer look
And just touch and feel that hour glass figure
Unlike Adam’s steely frame
They found her to be of a soft texture
With projections and depressions
Curves and slants here and there
“Oh, she is so fragile and soft”
The angels exclaimed in unison
Not hiding their disbelief
They openly gave vent to their doubt
“With such delicate torso
How can she perform all her tasks?”
God replied in assured tone;
“She is soft, I agree, from hilt to heel,
But equally tough………
None can guess what she can accomplish!
She can fight to the end for what she thinks is right
She has such great power of endurance
And the gift of intuition, but…. but,
As nothing of this world is perfect
This woman too has one serious flaw
She tends to forget her own worth”
Thus God’s supreme handiwork was born
A marvel of creation, a miracle worthy of adulation!
March.29.2022
(I had written this for Beta Augustin's Poetry Contest. Sadly I understand now that poems in Ode form alone are accepted)
a forgotten hope chest –
linen s!t!i!t!c!h!e!d with love by candlelight
c r u m b l e now to the mere touch—
past companionship … forgotten s n a t c h e s of conversation
fill the a i r
mingling with my t
e
a
r
s…
regret never far away—
a childhood dream
in the c*a*r*v*e*d initials in the door jamb –
the door permanently removed
to let the departed soul escape –
now weathered by exposure to the salt s e a a i r beyond
ThaT I can TasTe in my T
e
a
r
s
the equally weathered picture [FRAME]
against the f a i g paint
l k n
above the hope chest
had encompassed our hopes o u
on our wedding day l d
now as ephemeral as the s c u d d i n g c s
above the r e s t l e s s ocean
as I look down
at my wedding dress
now yellowed
to the colour of the moss
b.e.t.w.e.e.n the flagstones of the hallway
your M*Dness now resonates with method –
an escape from the inevitable suffering
of your illness
weathered moments
lost out to sea with your departure—
I set your memory
f r e e …
Written: January 25, 2024
__________________________________
Amidst this idiocy of guess and hear,
a dulcet note I caught is quite clear.
An epiphany is set to occur tonight,
With melodies playing. What a sight!
Unseen, I'm both weak and strong,
I shall be buoyed by your sight for long.
I have been without a place to unwind,
I crave an emollient haven by your side.
In stark opus to a medieval trackway,
Do you perceive the rhythm of my sway?
The soul nemesis might steal your love,
I am an amorist conveyed from above.
Amongst damsels, squatters, and crooks,
In this life, I kept steadfast, granting clooks.
I'm soul-shifting here to earn your love,
I'm a soul artist descended from above.
Beneath the shelter, mounted above,
I am a soul stray, and I'm here to stay.
Perhaps our paths have crossed once,
Since I stipulated, you took and seconce.
I told you, "I'm in a groovy spot!"
To win your love, I need no plot.
May I speak? Can I be so bold?
No escape from the sound, I'm told.
I glide by the crowd, exuding grace and charm,
A spirit driven by purpose, causing no harm.
I move to a utopian tune, swaying to a mellow beat,
In this secret haven, where spirits entreat.
I mingle with the lost and found,
In this elixir, where love knows no bounds.
I am the ace of motion, a mighty force,
I navigate life's journey without remorse.
I encourage the strong and fuel the weak,
Love is a potent heat that drives us to tweak.
In this hidden haven, where souls intertwine,
I yearn to own your love, so pure and divine.
I recognize comfort and peace,
An idyllic oasis where hindrances cease.
Am I audible to you in this cavernous groove?
Can you grasp the vast burden of my love?
I've been equally giving and receiving,
Souls seek to shine in this ballet of living.
Come on, discover the rhythm,
let the spirit's soft hand lead our isarithm.
I am a soul flex; guide me to your narthex,
I'm coming down, quill feather remex.
Please show me your face,
To assist me regain my passion pace.
I am the storm that you chase
The blond tornado with stilettos red
You like my figure and pretty face
I could care less if you were dead
What is it about denim denial
That gives you such a ruby rush
Not equally yolked we fight wild
This is no ordinary lavender love
Lightening in my eyes doesn’t surprise
Reacting to teal thunder in your voice
We fuss and fight until one of us cries
Ending this seems the logical choice
But like a moth to golden flame
As a magnet I’m attracted by power
I have when I say your name
And the gifts for me you shower
I’m the one that got away in heart
Yet still stews in your mahogany mind
When we kiss there’s a silver spark
That no where else I can fuchsia find
When are our best years? So many in this society seem to think it is their youth, or their twenties. In my twenties, I lived alone for seven years-as completely alone as you can without disappearing into the mountains of Tibet. I lived friendless; if I didn't have to go to work to pay the bills, I would have never left my tiny studio. I didn't wash my clothes, my hair, or myself, sometimes for weeks. I had no family nearby-truthfully, I did not want them to see me, ashamed of how empty I was.
I am thankful I have no taste for alcohol, given the heavy hand of alcoholism that holds my father so firmly, that eroded my parents' marriage and my own relationship with him. Once, craving interaction, I made an effort to get dressed up and went to a local single's bar - and stopped outside the door. I was afraid no one would speak to me, and afraid someone would. I was equally terrified of both outcomes. So I went home, hung my pretty dress up in the closet, and never wore it again.
I did try to date, through personal ads. It was usually ten minutes over coffee, until they suddenly remembered a "pressing appointment" and had to leave - if they showed up at all. I always blamed myself, of course - was I too talkative? Too quiet? Too short? Too plump? (actually, the irony is I never wore a smaller size than when I was depressed and not eating.) Was it the scars of my turbulent adolescence I still wore on my cheeks? Or my premature gray hair I refused to dye? To be honest, I see now I often rejected them myself - I was caught in the conundrum of wanting companionship yet unwilling to sacrifice my privacy, my personal space to allow someone in. I guess I was more in love with loneliness.
Then I met someone - a gentle giant with a sweet smile, warm brown eyes, a generous heart, a welcoming soul. He too had been ignored, been dismissed, been devalued. And, maybe, I needed those seven years of solitude to sharpen my sight, to see the buried treasure in this man that others had overlooked. He has given me a home, a family - he makes me feel secure, feel protected, that, no matter what, everything will be alright. He is why I smile, why I laugh, why I like myself again. He is my happy ending.
Now, in my forties, I am living my best years - and I am lucky enough to know it.
Another reminiscence of West Texas. There have been many times in my life when I have felt very much like...
Tumbleweeds,
Lonely searching souls
Adrift on ever-shifting sandy seas,
Roll blindly by.
Spindly, prickly fingers
Rasping, grasping,
Scraping, scratching,
Trailing skeletal ribbons
Behind them in their wake,
Ephemeral reminders
Of their sad, brief passing
And their desperate,
Vain attempt
To reconnect with earth,
And life,
And each other.
In a brutal landscape of arid desolation,
Under a relentless and unforgiving sun,
Tumbleweeds,
Unwilling vagabonds composed, perhaps,
Of memories of where they've been,
Tumble onward,
Forever impelled by an also searching,
And equally lonely,
But coldly impartial desert breeze.