Long Fold Poems
Long Fold Poems. Below are the most popular long Fold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fold poems by poem length and keyword.
In the Bible, "to give 30, 60, or 100 fold" refers to a parable about a farmer sowing seeds, where some seeds fall on good ground and produce a harvest that is significantly greater than what was planted, with different levels of yield represented by the numbers 30, 60, and 100 fold; essentially signifying different levels of spiritual fruitfulness, where someone who "bears 100 fold" is considered to have a much greater impact or produce more positive change than someone who only bears 30 fold, illustrating the idea that different people can receive and respond to God's message in varying degrees of effectiveness.(Matthew 13:23)
It is up to the individual what they hear and how they hear it.
Mark 4:24 (NIV) says; “Consider carefully what you hear,” he continued. “With the measure you use, it will be measured to you—and even more.”
2 Corinthians 10:5 (NIV) says; “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”
It is the responsibility of each individual who hear the word of God to move from 30 to 100 fold. 100 fold is what we all striving to obtain in our lives.
God has no respecter of person, but He does have respecter of Faith.
Mark 11:23-25 Christ Jesus says; “Have faith in God. Truly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And whenever you stand praying, FORGIVE, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.”
Minister Elder of Communication Encouragement Counseling
www.facebook.com/julius.lawrence1
Testa
Undone work
On a corner
Passing daylight
Timing in my afterlight
Caught between no canvas Pietro
Illustrations disappearance
Two see no other rain in sight
We passed true as our ghost lept
Fide et Amore
By faith in love
Fidelity as anul
Being Borrowed
For Film
By Another Woman
When We Come Aboard
A Military waited
In grasses tan, too low
Asnt in the future
Her return, ran from more
And in our time
All stood wide
Armed in rejection
Of a betters letters, above alls door
Oh stormy night
Dani Woodward,
Can we write tonight?
The nights editor
In The Times
Curtains of light kid,
Fall on my fold
Before you turn it in
Under the evacuation
She appears
It's easy cloth I fold for you lady
He's edited headlines besides it once
She's missed page before
Also why your wise.
Copyright © kevin mathenia | Year Posted 2025
Good Scene Sasha
War is the art of making a withdrawal at the bank
With checks written in the blood of patriots
Spending lives
Without a care or whim
Sacrificing body and soul
Life and limb
To justify a means to an end
The most vicious of my troops I send
To pillage a loot
Your cries of peace are moot
Its truly a tragic scene
For the continued slaughter
Of the fleshy targets
Of everyone’s daughter
I surrender myself
As a modern-day martyr
This is what I do
I destroy them
For you
Point, aim, click
And they explode on cue
Delivered death
Retriever of your continued breath
Until there is nothing left
The charred carcass I heft
To be tossed to the pile
Stacked deep by the mile
Offering a wicked smile
To intimidate
My target of late
The reaper of souls
Would like a date
Not picky
Of your attire
Or where to eat
Just where to hang you by your feet
So you swing to the beat
Of the ratty tat tat
And the boom boom gloom
It’s a buffet of mayhem and doom
Your dance partners
Wear a pin and a spoon
Pull aim and throw
Watch the flesh
Separate and blow
Meat and greet
A disgusting show
Yes its quite fun
Fooling the simple
Almost satisfying
Like popping a pimple
But more fascinating
To watch the meek
Struggle like sheep
Taking orders for death
How would you like it prepared?
Well done, medium or rare?
How about vile and unfair
Without a care
Doing everything I dare
Laying the insanity of humanity
Bare
For all to share
In 1080p
For all to see
Or possibly 4K
To taste the flavor of the day
Bright and vivid
So you can get good and livid
And cry out WHY?
Do so many have to die?
A fair question to be sure
And I do concur
But humanity has it’s lure
It’s a hook
Its a crave
To control others
By filling the grave
Of the willing
To do the killing
Because they were told
By the rich and old
If they win
We fold
Were sold
They will break our mold
And end up cold
It’s truly a rotten game
This thing called war
It should be called
The nothing of evermore
Nothing
Ever
Becomes
More
Eric (and sometimes not)
Dim lit, damp and distant corner
torn from dream of vapor’s fold.
Slow descent to worlds divided,
nothing hot and nothing cold.
Long ago this soul forgotten,
cast off in the ides of youth.
Un-forgiven deeds left hiding
beneath the stone of burden’s proof
Wait to see if fate redeems her.
Wait to hear if time repeals.
Sentence passed down just to mar her.
Word and deed like flint and steel.
‘Jezebel!’ they mock to call her,
waging war against the skin.
Pressed on by the mob’s directive,
let the judgment now begin.
Scrutinize each blood stained footprint
left across the ice drawn field.
Hide the ones who hold her province.
Never bend. No, never yield.
For from that damp and distant corner
ever flows the world of hate
through the veins of those who think they…
hold the key to Heaven’s gate.
DID THE PEOPLE SING
Did the people sing marching to the front
Perhaps just in innocence and camaraderie
Yet unsuspecting the same of their enemy
It was not just singers who took the brunt
Did the people sing when they lost the war
No celebration song, nor any sad refrain
All the voices could only express the pain
Ready to dismiss what the battles were for
Did the people sing once memory had died
Maybe only the modern to displace the old
For only the few that did return to the fold
And even those lyrics were short on pride
Did the people sing to the babies in arms
Well, yes, but only songs of fantasy things
The kind that a loving mother always sings
That does not excite passions, only calms
The moon sliver glittered close to Venus in this magic night,
prison’s the senses by many echoes to outcome right.
The stars that turn to faith in hopeless fold,
all endurance of bliss so bold.
Those glowing particles in this garden alley,
dreams for another promising day towards that valley.
In this steep galactic stream,
so many stairs slope in a tenacious upward beam.
Faint shoots of light by purest fire,
intimacy with the ultimate divine desire.
Touching worlds in their mighty spheres,
promised home for endless years.
To this ocean I spread my wings and fly,
where those island of preserved dreams lie.
Those broad fields of twinkled wishes bounties bring,
and eternal visions dwell.
Souls in more mingled hue,
drenches in thousand sunlight dew.
By the concern of the waxing moon,
sowing seeds of thoughts for imagination bloom.
In deep trust from that living journey of me,
visions towards the spectacle of firmament,
that love’s virtue alone is free.
....where dandelions begin to die within the heat of summer's wrath,
i blow wishes in the warm caress of winds towards the empyrean above;
in barren fields, a lone flower grows
beneath the hue of dawn's early light
yellow petals slowly fade to white
in a zephyr breeze my wish now blows
to see you stand on shadowless hills
pirouette between the clouds of skies
wipe dry tears that fall from shallow eyes
and rid my heart of these deathly chills
free me from these lifeless gasps of breaths
the mask of death is now parading
all my thoughts its slowly invading
eupnea falls silent in mind's bequeths
i long to fold back these hands of time
erase the pain that lingers in tears
escape the seconds of lonely years
and hear your voice rise within wind's mime
....oh to bring back those that have left life through the shackles of death
and see them rise again in the folds of life, fresh like a flower as it blooms
within the rise of new dawns, blushed with color again!
August 22, 2019
Writing Challenge 2, August 2019- Enclosed Rhyme
Sponsor Dear Heart
My transient small dreams magnified manifold,
over mindscape wide wings of desire they grew,
my constrained essence could no longer hold,
turning to beguiled birds in ardent sky they flew.
They soared to reach the horizon shaped anew,
through the clefts of dark clouds floating cold,
where cosmic silence drizzled with twilight hue,
my transient small dreams magnified manifold.
They flew en echelon in the still sky’s azure fold,
the charming design afloat I delineated for you.
Though the meaning of pattern remained untold,
over mindscape wide wings of desire they grew.
The dreams allured me with kaleidoscopic view,
before I could freeze them away they all rolled.
They drifted away on the tides of time, I knew
my constrained essence could no longer hold.
At the end of trance I gave up trying unconsoled,
tired of wearing strive the aim I couldn’t pursue.
They ascended beyond me, I was left to behold,
turning to beguiled birds in ardent sky they flew.
So, within the forlorn abyss of gloom I withdrew,
trudging time with turbulent mind uncontrolled.
For the disappeared birds I’d build nests a few,
they’d discover someday returning from the cold,
my transient small dreams.
_____________
June 16, 2022
Contest : A Rondeau Redouble
Sponsored by : L Milton Hankins
Be it no more than just a glass of water,
A live walking stick played by a kind daughter
To a blind man whose walk is a vague totter.
Or quality time spent with someone old,
A blanket’s warm fold in times forlorn, cold,
In times of need a ready shoulder-hold.
A pair of slippers to feet walking bare,
Not in loud charity to show you care,
Heart-born feelings so felt drowning false air.
Anything— given short of counting ways,
Given to brighten up sinking heart’s greys,
To lighten load that too heavily weighs.
Give it in cash if it can’t be in kind,
Let it a gift of heart be, well inclined,
A gift of very soul, body and mind.
Give— the only joy greater than getting
Be the joy of giving and forgetting,
Helping in autumn times to invoke spring.
_____________________________________
Musings | 07.08.09 |
Poet's note: This poem is not a triolet, nor can it be called a Terza Rima. It can be a tercet, each stanza being of three lines, but this is not the option available.... Thanks PoetrySoup.com, Tercet is now available as an option, and I'm glad to call the poem Tercet, not Triolet (Jan 2025).
‘Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust’
frozen in stitch by a “toy soldiers rust.”*
Time remembers the scent of his hair,
the fold of the clothes as she left them there.
He was sampling youth when the bugle blew
a boy knowing nothing he thought he knew
answered the call of a nation’s need
denying the truths that soldiers bleed.
‘The war years seemed like only yesterday’
as he wandered, tattered, in disarray,
lost in the grip of a chevron’s cold stain
each breath sadly humming death’s cold refrain.
Threads of his life unraveled by peace
scent of fresh cloth, destroyed, out of reach
his life ebbed away, a flickering spark,
’The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark’
©4/14/2018
*reference to poem “LITTLE BOY BLUE” by Eugene Field
submitted to – One nine and sixteen – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Viv Wigley