Long Events Poems
Long Events Poems. Below are the most popular long Events by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Events poems by poem length and keyword.
She was enrapt by the glow and mesmerized
by what appeared to be some sort of orb,
bright faceted amber that was crystallized.
She struggled to comprehend and to absorb
the meaning of such a gilded gift of gold...
It was a seed of wisdom, sent as foretold.
Her mind was captured by fantasies reaped
and saw the future through prisms of glass.
Her gift of visions was baffling, but steeped
with wonderful events to come; en masse.
The glow encircled her head like a wreath
surrounding her as she stood upon the heath.
Fields of wildflowers then flourished ten fold.
She walked with highlanders for many years,
curing the sick, aiding the poor, young and old,
dispelling myths, defusing people of their fears.
She became a legend; the angel sent from above
blessed with a kind heart, overflowing with love.
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Seeing the events unfold the shadows as given me insight into what is truly desired by your heart!
You were not around when I was feeling pain as you would constantly mention your boyfriend without any proof, even in a part
Having a friend that pays attention to you does not make them your mate, you crazy fart!
Where are the documents of the time you spent together?
Your lies have lost me as I no longer want you in my life
You cannot force a person to love you when you do not spend time with them.
Your kiss was of deceit
You have lost me forever, I have no need for a trombone player.
Each of us is born the main persona
in the narrative of his or her own life.
Through ever-changing atmosphere,
supporting characters and diversity of settings,
we help to mold the rising action of our own tale.
A great variety of characters abound in our stories.
Some of them, bright pennies tossed into existence,
spin wildly on exploits which make for
the most gripping of preliminary chapters.
However, their denouement is hard to guess.
Others, silver dollar, sparkle too,
but in a much less compromising way.
I suppose most of us could fit into that category.
Giddily we dance through early life’s events.
Then on and on we go, unraveling our plot,
striving always for happily-ever-afters.
A smaller group, Olympian, glide like skaters
on ice. Not only blessed, they are also driven.
Their chronicles inspire us; they are gold!
Others, although colorful, when held up to the light,
they are shown as counterfeit, the perpetrators of pure fiction.
A few, by fate and nature not so blessed, may court insanity,
or at the very least, create confusion
with their crises that seem to come unceasingly
yet often fail to find resolution.
Possibly, if given a good polishing,
they could be diamonds in the rough!
There are others who are the spawn of a society gone wrong.
They stalk our paths, as unfeeling as assassins.
The pages from their lives can horrify.
However, those who wield great power
are also often morally corrupt, and
if their stories live on, it’s in infamy only.
These types of souls are nothing but
cold, hard cash, and paper burns or crumbles
in the end.
A final group is joyless.
Given something . . . giving nothing back,
they hoard the talents God gifted them.
They wonder woefully why no one wants
to open their books to even read
the parts that once had held some promise.
For them it would be better to have been
a rusting copper penny in dread of its own conclusion
than even an evil-doer whose story titillates
and at least gets read.
Keep silent before Me, O islands and let the people renew their strength
Let them come near; then let them speak; let us come near together
To judgement. Isaiah ch 41 verse 1
March the 13th 1996, I was driving along, thinking of how some people were affected by traumatic events in childhood and how some overcame setbacks to become role models/leaders even, the thought made me 'feel hope' this was after years of denial, that there was a satanic influence in everyday life yet now I was facing.and considering the idea that such events could be of satanic motivation in order to stunt or even deny 'the world' of helpful statesmen/women & role models.'
Very shortly maybe seconds after,this very thought; the radio station I was tuned to announced they were interrupting the schedule to breaking news of a terrible shooting at the
town of Dunblane, in the primary school, as more details emerged I pulled over and although stunned
and dismayed, I was hearing the way this was being viewed in a sanitized way, a matter of fact thing, just a madman.' I punched the dash tears were in my eyes, I felt an evilness I could almost taste, pulling my thoughts together I realised if I believed that which I was thinking on moments before the news flash, I must pray against this act, and as well as praying for all there, I wanted the Lord to bring all the children being
brutalised here, through this, and those who were destined for greatness to reach their potential.' I knew this was why? a relatively 'obscure school' rather than a prestigious one was attacked.. My thought was 'who' was in there that was the specific target.'
I prayed intensively & above all; for that child,
The way back is the way forward
Birth to death to resurrection—
A man that will impact everyone
Rest in the Chinese pages!
This fountain of discovery
Reveals the essence of this Man and
The Plan of the God who is Greater than All!
In the book of the Han dynasty
I look at the record on the 9th March 5 BC
I see the bright star as reflected in the Gospels
It signifies the beginning of a new era
The terror of sin would be washed away
Because of this Man living out God’s Plan
In the book Volume one, the Chronicles of Emperor Guang Wu
In the 7th year AD 31, I see the inscription,
“The sins of all the people are now on one man.
Pardon is proclaimed to all under heaven.”
As he hung on the Cross there was an,
“Eclipse on the day of Gui HAi from Heaven died”
The terror of sin would be washed away
Because of this Man who died on the Cross
Three days later He rose from the Grave
This is also recorded in the History of the Latter Han Annals No 18
This information has been stored in the Chinese writings for decades
The earth is the Lord’s and everyone in it and
God the Father allowed them to record the events of Jesus
Long before the disciples wrote the four Gospels
The way back is the way forward
Birth to death to resurrection—
A man that will impact everyone
Rest in the Chinese pages
This fountain of discovery
Reveals the essence of this Man and
The Plan of the God who is Greater than All!
Matthew 2:2, Luke 23: 44
I can hardly wait reading welter of books...
courtesy Karen Windle a gift horse
ponied up late afternoon May18th, 2020
over roan nay bore lee volition.
Unbeknownst how she raised (cane),
and loudly wrapped outside the door
every ounce of her eighty plus pounds
slip of elderly lady petite bow legged
spry late 60's though older looking gal
argh – I expect unpleasant fallout after
piercing eyes unexpectedly discover
references made regarding aged waif,
who inexplicably signalled presence
in toto i.e. presents to comprehend, a
bounty, nah, not worth causing mutiny
nevertheless heave on lee delight hup
pea zing helter skelter discombobulated
alienation courtesy coronavirus lockdown
concomitantly venues to borrow books
puts serious and perilous bind aggravated
assault upon cerebral cortex regarding a
forced hiatus deprivation to binge read
reduced to peruse the daily toilet paper
no stimulation for imagination to indulge
magical mystery tour thwarted helter skelter
ye silently ask rather infer "what me bored?"
Despite severely circumscribed choices
whiling away hours, who knows lockdown
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
warrants near indefinite closure accessing
literary material buzzfeeding noggin,
an egg gone eye zing torture rankles
healthy predilection to binge osmotically
passion for written word all the while
authors unbeknownst evoke quintessential
pleasant provocation dredging up
10,000 leagues below the jewel bedecked
cease son bewitched (Alder time) tremendous
metaphorical pristine hinterlands
Matthew Scott's vernacular semantic
hodgepodge orientation withered away
figurative gripes wrath and rail against
series of unfortunate events ala defiant
Lemony Snicket, when despair plummeted
to all time low, who should unwittingly
telepathically hear plaintive SOS sent
none other than intrepid Karen Windle,
who's mysteriously rapping announced
dog send appearance bore deliverance
(cue Banjos), where ecstasy didst delve
where still waters run deep, nevertheless
welcome respite when printed material
weekly magazines offered scant respite.
You think I’m happy
You see the laughter on my face
But you forgot to look into my heart
And see the sorrow
See the betrayal
I’ve been through, the sadness I have to live
The sun I do not have
The love I lack
The porch I need
I am a one face position
I can’t pretend
I can’t pretend happiness
But I try to conceal misery with a mask
Called me
Can you imagine walking, giving, loving
But having hatred in return
Can you imagine swearing never to speak to daughter of your mother?
Saying its worth it and that her disrespect caused me to do it?
When I find no respect nor love nor understanding
Do you expect me to stay walking on the same trail?
The trail that got me no good
When you put your trust in someone….
And that person lets you down
Gives you an odor of loneliness
Gives you a punch of hell
When you never met the one you love?
Never have a chance to have a chat with your feelings
When miles, countries, people separate between you and me
Can I ever have a chance to tell u come back!
The doors are closing
The air is decreasing
The dark light is only there
The only guide
To guide you to the doors of hell
The path of never coming back
The stairs of a scary place…,
Where monsters are your only mates
And blood is your only drink
Where people get tortured and punished
For they’re unpardonable sins
I walk with eyes of red burning with disknowledge
With heart bleeding with questions?
Do I deserve this?
A flashback of events gazed at me
Showing me kinds of friends who gave me hope
Hope to be what I desire
Regardless of all others
Telling me what family means
Hitting my head with facts
Facts of happiness
Facts of standing
Standing to face torment
Giving it a medicine of it’s self
As my red razor-sharp blade came from no where
As I fought disgrace, pain and agony!!
I started to feel delight, started to feel alive
Suddenly woke up from the worst but not least real dream
A dream who gave me something, missing for too long
Never give yourself to death while u still can!
I absconded with reader rabbit (Peter), to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day
Ah Sheik Hog - Ho!
One "FAKE" Wingman
think Monty Python's
Flying Circus skittering
on thin ice - Skidamarink
a dink, a dink...
hither and yon, to and fro
Via O'hare To Dublin y'know
Cuz, The Leprechaun within
me, no spring chicken bro,
nevertheless oz offer friendship in toto
good day to thee with cheerful adieu.
Though nowhere to be found despite search team
loudly trumpeting thru depleting fresh air
supply terrestrially polluted atmosphere,
asper the unknown whereabouts, regarding
said royally titled quasi legally inherited bare
naked lady loving bastard oven heated affair
son last seen donning Herringbone Wool headwear
supplemented by Irish merrino wool sweater
and custom made Hemp (smoking hot) pants
informing observer with seedy, faux debonair,
and pseudo (reed "FAKE") suave cultured couture
clothing automatically camouflaging to disappear
without a trace, thee alluded to rival to the throne
(Irish to keep ye in the dark) like chocolate eclair
secret recipe (one takes to the grave), unless held
at gunpoint by bonafide Machiavellian consigliere
ruthless if necessary forcing captive to declare
high fidelity, indemnity, loyalty, et cetera to a
life of lawlessness adopting anonymous incognito
guise accepting bewig noggin with long knotty hair
tattoo skin with "FAKE" scars to accentuate fear
factor accepting (cryptic blood bonded) brotherhood till
death do you part loot, pillage, vandalize, et cetera
in a blitzkrieg effort (albeit violently) to repair
evenly distribute disparity between 1% and 99%
grassroots uprising (peopled with migrants) spear
writ ting their exploitation at the (Taj Mahal) bear
sized paws swiping at susceptibility, vulnerability,
inequality, et cetera series of unfortunate events
decreed, instilled, ordained clamped like ironware
shackling one generation after another, an outright
outdated, on par as anachronism, feudalism, stoicism
where stark difference between rich and poor unfair,
especially, cus the latter labor sweat of their brow,
which backbreaking toil essentially endows wealthy
at expense of grunt work signalling ominous nightmare.
A ghost began whispering inside the soul's echo
there one Trojan horse enters defeated
spiritually the battle ground stands firmly fixed
against those whom denounce the King
misery will follow with disastrous events
Where human rights are exploited through chaos
quarrelsome beggars deny the basic truth to explain
Backfiring liars have a burning desire to bring conflict
Unequally self ordained gods of little value without hope
they try to influence the battle results
ignoring this backward omen leading to terrible infighting
warfare has the mentality that's deeply incorporated this motivating force
where sorrow beats down by force the anger deeply within us
.
Now I shall go, to overtake that killer of a dear life
into one's conscious self
our mortal undying glory rises or falls
quick to the mark snaps the rawhide strap
We don't need no stinking poetry contests
with criteria and requests
sending us on a quest to try to test who's best,
it's a con test,
conning contestants like peasants
or towards a trap like a pest,
infecting us with influenza if we're honest.
Biased decisions influenced by "isms"
put strangers and friends into final positions.
When they were host you were first passed the post,
so now when you host all but them are a ghost.
The bureaucratic system that rates us,
like like for like likes on a Facebook status.
And there are no strangers
to these exchanges
as the system never changes,
it's the same through the ages.
A favour for a favour
and different favours have ranges.
It's appalling and full of boredom,
yet they reward them,
and make a record on a list, a recorder,
this whole contest is out of order!
The first entry and the last entry
are inevitably weeks apart,
so when they eventually take part,
events have seen them invent
from a spark off your art.
What a farce!
Why not compare farts
or pushing shopping carts?
I aint drinking to no stinking contest,
it better be wearing a bullet proof vest,
'cus my gun will cause a sinking and a final place to rest.
We don't need no stinking poetry contest!!