Long Foraged Poems
Long Foraged Poems. Below are the most popular long Foraged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Foraged poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh how the King has loved you
your beauty is rare
and your fealty unsurpassed
let us traverse the garden meadows
in the mountains along the foraged trails
alongside the thickets into the redwood groves
I will call you to my side
there always to be present with me
the bride price was costly , a kings ransom
but I have redeemed you for myself
no others shall have you , I have made you mine
I have loved you with an everlasting love
with the promise I have given you
that your confidence may rest in my word
none in a thousand , one in tens of thousands
but you are beyond price, inestimable your value
have been foreordained to be for me
hand chosen by my own father
Where justice has met compassion
power has betrothed meekness
wisdom has married foresight
and love gives birth to truth
will that these qualities multiply
for these are the virtues
that will be the healing of the nations
All that is mine , my gifts for you
born of a love incomparable
even as my father has given me
I will make your joy full
and grant the desires of your heart
though you have been terrified
you shall rest in my security forever
remain on the watch
for I will show you
the things that yet must come to pass
for I watch over you
will shield you and guide
you into all the truth
amen , come Lord Jesus
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C. Michael Miller via Duboff Law Group LLC
Form:
Mother does her very best to prevent
Cheating in this siblings' game of Chess
Teaching honesty is her soul intent
As she hovers in white robe and covered tress
Gifted mother who foraged the female
Artists' way to new dimensions in that day
Opened doors for future artists to prevail
'Twas a woman of strength that lead the way
An artist who painted her families' life
After studying under Michelangelo
Who encouraged her to be more than housewife
To rise above dresses of calico
A mother with a gift not hidden
A call to women to dreams forbidden
Finis'
Sponsor: Cyndi MacMillian
Contest: Sofonisba Anguissola:A Contemporary Sonnet
"Life is about moments: Grasp
them when they drift your way."
Quote by _ Constance
I was attending a party on a sleek yacht one evening. The music was playing,
the booze flowing, laughter filled the night, some folks were dancing, others
just lounging on deck chairs. I was leaning against the rail talking to a man.
He was handsome and interesting .... when suddenly, the yacht jerked and I
was falling through the air. I landed with a splash into the ocean. The cold overwhelming me and for a moment I was still, next, I was with someone as
the man I had been talking to jumped in to save me and had brought with him
life jackets. We held each other as great waves crashed the yacht slipping
into the ocean. We began to swim fast to avoid going under, we swam and
swam, only pausing to rest and look up at the sky.
the bright star glittered
in the dark velvety sky ...
and the ocean roared
With the waves and wind pushing us we gained distance from the yacht, in fact we could not see it anymore. We alternated swimming and resting and I guess that I fell asleep because when I woke we were on a wild tropical island.
I have never seen anything so lush and beautiful, and the sounds of animals
were haunting. I was not afraid yet, it did not occur to me that we were lost.
But, suddenly I recall deep blue eyes looking down at me with worry in them.
Swirling around I found him standing scanning the ocean.
the waves were crashing
rolling onto the sand beach ...
roaring endlessly
Days turned into weeks, and months. We had become quite skilled at this
survival thing, we had shelter, fire, and blue eyes was great at fishing while
I foraged for wild plants we could eat, each day passed I loved him more and more, a part of me wanted to stay on this tropical island forever with him. But,
one day we were rescued, I stood looking as our island retreated with a deep
sadness, I had been happy with him. Then, he had me in his arms, kissing
my tears away and whispered, will you marry me, yes was my quick answer.
the breeze was gentle
and birds were singing in trees ...
as two love birds wed
Several small visitors came today.
Arriving one by one
they gathered on the back of the worn cushions
of the aging tattered lawn chair
shaking off the cold drops of rain upon their feathers
they sang unstoppable songs to the heavens.
They scavenged and foraged for some fallen crumbs
from seed remains or bread or fallen cookies
most content that something could be found.
Wet feathered, they prinned and cleaned their quills dry
all the while scanning for predatory competition.
Eventually, each one took brief protection
safe and secure beneath the over hanging eaves.
Then as quick and quiet as they came
they slipped away into the brush
or high up into the bowing trees.
The rain fell fast and bold globules
riding on the brisk tempest of wind
and in the cold afternoon chill
these welcome rested visitors
flit away in the silent hours of spring.
Mr. President, Mr. Vice President, Americans, and the world:
In the crucible of revolution, our forefathers etched their pledge—
a bold testament inscribed not solely in ink,
but in the quiet, relentless pulse of divine dependence.
It is as if the ink itself carried whispers
of a celestial covenant,
affirming divine Providence
into the very marrow of liberty.
Yet, as time past,
present battles won,
and future problems solved,
liberty's nation absolved themselves
from any responsibility
to the Providence from whose
sovereign ties
freed them from foreign foes.
And man's purpose became his own.
Hear this
If our purpose is in just us,
we will find we have lost ourselves,
encased in the cells of just-ice.
For if our forefathers found it requisite
to declare our nation's independence by
recognizing their dependence on the
"Laws of Nature and Nature's God"
beyond the limits of
mankind's powerful facade,
facading the source of
our country's origin,
our homeland's dominion,
foraging a jurisdiction of humanity alone,
thereby ascending mortality's throne
above the divine --
making mankind superior to the
"Supreme judge of the world,"
a position our forefather's forbade
"appealing... [In] rectitude...of [their] intentions"
to a God they believed in,
a declaration sovereignty -
bowed in solemnity,
proclaiming “with a firm reliance on the
protection of divine Providence,"
a dependence on a God they
entrusted their dependence to.
Who are we to say any different?
What difference does it make
if we believe in God or ourselves?
As the good word says,
"Shall the axe boast itself against him
that heweth therewith? or shall the saw
magnify itself against him that shaketh it?
As if the rod should shake itself against
them that lift it up, or as if the staff
should lift up itself, as if it were no wood."
For Godhood is to create,
and man was created by God.
And should man boast himself beyond
Him who spawned ages beyond ages,
he shall find himself his brother's pawn,
despondent, disheartened and disappointed,
foraging for the framework
of freedom our forefathers foraged,
overwhelmed by the damage
of a fallen nation who failed
to hear the caution within
the clarion calls of its creator.
This is a warning
from neighbor to neighbor.
Anxiously anticipating annual activity
Blissfully bound by bravado
Consuming cold contagious concoction
Dizzily developed devilish desire
Eagerly expecting ego's enlightenment
Feverishly foraged familiar fraternity
Garnished gowns graciously gathered
Hopeful heralded hithered happenstance
Instantly intimated identical ideologies
Jointly jousted jovial juxtaposition
Kaleidoscopic keepsake kept kinetic
Longing languid lustful longitude
Miraculous marvelous momentous movement
Nursing nocturnal natal namesake
Observing others obstinate opinions
Preparing precious paternal post
Quickly quietly questing quarters
Radiant reared remained rambunctious
Stifled stern stayed sturdy
Transmitting tantalizing topical teachings
Understanding umbrage utilizing unity
Vital vibrant visceral visions
Watchful wonderful whimsical wishes
Yonder yearning youthful years
Zanily zigzagged zesty zenith
Not to be taken lightly, I burnt all my clothes
Cut the tattoos off my back, tore pins from my nose
Foraged for food particles, where wild beasts reposed
Lapped water vapour off thorns, when the thirst arose
My identity gone, I herded mountain goats
Built a makeshift altar, one by one, slit their throats
Looking to the heavens, chanting primeval quotes
Tell me what to do, this sacrifice I devote
But silence returned, I knew nothing else mattered
The goats now all dead, my hands blooded and spattered
A local tribe watched on, their souls not so shattered
Idolised me, then to the four winds they scattered
After two score and ten, they returned unforetold
Carrying symbols, textbooks, diamonds, and gold
Smiling in joy, I asked what stories they behold
All wrote versions of my life in books, but mistold
Some had butchered nations, said it was in my name
Others brainwashed little children, feeling no shame
The rest knocked on doors, telling lies they heal the lame
Scamming billions of sesterces, their one true aim
I condemned the lies, but was a very bad call
They burst into laughter, and pointed to their haul
Just then everything made sense, as I do recall
Killing goats made me, the biggest scapegoat of all
The whit of peeve groans
slopes & rise,
slopes & rise as looping voices under disguise,
heave of raving voiced begrudge,
slopes & rise these inward knolls
burden streaming brooks
and un-foraged load,
so far, the mile, path to uneasy soul,
therein mirage fairing inward ethos’
grave starved quieting the mocking groans;
in the real, not so.
O suffering,
those unconscious woes’
deprave, hast wander’d thorough.
Still I sleep. Still I dream.
Whilst dormant conjures probe
tiniest relate with ancient lunatics,
inward hidden.
My sister says
my father was a good man --
but, how should I,
who never "knew" him
(except as a far-from-good man)
buy her stories?
Am I, the last child
of that union,
too, too judgmental?
Too far removed in time from
what she knew
and now recalls?
My memory is of a different man,
who died when I was twenty-two:
one rarely present, never talking,
often jailed,
unsupportive --
someone I really never knew.
He was no bearer of familial tales,
no imparter of the history
now I only wish I'd heard...
Obviously, I differ from my sister
about what constitutes a good man.
He never seemed to feel that he
needed to provide basics --
food, shelter, clothing, health care --
to his offspring -- and he almost never did......
I do remember how he staggered
on the street,
fell off of curbs,
sought shelter
and often could be found
asleep -- or at least
stretched out unconscious --
in some vacant lot;
how he foraged
frenziedly
about for beer,
or only Gallo muscatel
(thirty-five cents for the flask).
Should I not ask
what makes my sister think
I could remember him as does she?
In such a different light?
As victim,
and maligned
by inlaws or by circumstance?
All I know is what I do remember,
what I survived
when she and others,
grown, were gone.
I do not think
that I can accept
or change
(nor in absentia, forgive) --
and, no, I do not yet
believe
what my sister says.
Suddenly, the days are colder
wind rushing briskly on my shoulder;
summer shadows fade and disappear
in the cloudy grays of the northern sphere.
Here it comes, the autumn fall
mix of windy colors in each squall
crimson reds, glints of golden perfections
glowing florescent, irridiscent pink reflections.
Brilliant purples in India ink
with summer teetering on the brink
in saturated mocha yellowed hues
brittle brown in between greens of yews.
Color me a picture palette changing
blended in each shade arranging,
foraged leaves and pumpkin bliss
released by autumn's subtle kiss.