Long General Poems
Long General Poems. Below are the most popular long General by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long General poems by poem length and keyword.
Upon thy servants child declare a blessing immortal
And destroy all hell's missions against his frail life,
Such as dearth of coins and general wherewithal,
And these never-ending battles and strife.
In your universal errands Father see that you don't forget
His lofty burdens of transgressions and spiritual debt
That he has to pay the heavens for their endowment,
And the world for its bite and torment.
Ordain indestructible greatness upon thy servant's child
That no moth can devor nor the sun away can wither,
Calm in him all the spirits wild
And shield him against all the rigors of unfavorable weather.
5 a.m. Souls ascend
from earth’s vale
of fears. Others wait
don’t give up yet.
Nothing I can do about that.
Not is my name known
but am I a good man.
That goes for John, too
a man of faith
who wants what God wants.
What about hate
in the streets. What do white
people want?
I see no need
to pull down statues of General Lee
instead put him side by side
and head to head
with Martin Luther King,
Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Gandhi.
Also kids who cops shot dead.
Meanwhile on the macro
economic and political scale
leviathans (peoples, nations)
drift toward perpetual
armageddon or peaceful solutions.
We don’t know which
and John will be gone
before it matters
except to his children
and, of course, ours.
What I have done
to change man’s trajectory,
for better or worse, remains
anonymous. Every action
meets an equal and impassable mountain.
Passion
is its own predicament.
Cast a cold eye and guess.
The clouds go, nevertheless,
in their direction.
(To be sang to the tune of...
"Modern Major General" by Gilbert and Sullivan)
I am the very model of a modern medi miracle.
I've defied all odds against prognosis. It's hysterical!
I've so many issues now,
Still living and I don't know how.
I am the very model of a modern medi miracle.
I shouldn't have made fifty - I'm now an octogenarian!
The Guinness Book of Records have now started on their queryin'.
I've simply lived a healthy life
Without unnecessary strife.
I am the very model of a modern medi miracle.
I've found humour through the darkest and most trying of all times.
Sometimes there are no words and no, nor are there any clever lines.
But funny strikes through thick and thin,
Convinces us that we can win
And somehow lightens heavy loads when things start to look frightenin'.
It made me feel quite proud when I was dubbed by docs "the alpha male"
This means I'm extra strong and so to prove them right I will not fail.
This power that resides in me
Gives me the capability
To be a living proof that there are modern medi miracles.
I've found joy in things I see. The sky. The plant life and the bird.
My soul is often lifted by the natural music I have heard.
Yes. Not all meds are clinical.
There's love. There's faith. To add to all,
It helps to be a model of a modern medi miracle.
There are special people who have always stood right by my side.
Those closest to my heart have listened to the tears I have cried.
So looking back it's obvious,
Lest you be oblivious
Why I am the model of a modern medi miracle!
HANDMADE FROM (the genes of) BOYCE AND HARRIET HARRIS
(poetry my atypical mode at introducing myself).
How apropos and divine to stumble (merely by happenstance) across a chance to claim my (virtual) fifteen minute fragments of fame just in the click and nick of time.
Although gainfully unemployed (do to a series of unfortunate events that now finds me receiving social security disability), I can still vividly visualize utter despair and vouchsafe to acquire the requisite trappings emblematic of psychic misfortune.
Indelible, permanent and unfading abysmal damaging domestic dynamics got etched deep upon the memory of this erstwhile individual! The general gist in the form of quick brush strokes (namely written) of psychologically traumatizing recollection now follows.
I can attest to malevolent mean-spirited objections by my father (and late mother) in regard to my grossly unacceptable attire, deportment and work ethic.
Form:
It’s quite obvious but I think people are refusing to look.
Perhaps they don’t listen to their minds or pretend their
blind and don’t see.
In general, they may claim: ‘well, it don’t affect me’
These risks are by them seen calculated and measured.
The economy must run even though that may cause the
innocent to be endangered.
Covid’s still out there and it’s still running free.
It does not care about you, our loved ones or me.
To think that the new normal is here, we survived, we’re
home free!
Indeed that may be the gravest mistake we’ll ever make
and it maybe too late, just too late for us to see.
The lady’s eyes are an ember of green. Would she take
any comfort remembering vanished dews? Would she care
for a draught of this liquor distilled from cobweb and moon?
Will she bite off love’s brief words with her tiny fox teeth?
Is she parched for the skeletal clatter of lunar rain?
I wonder if she feels I should decipher
the angular pitch of the chamber where she dreams
of a house with many faces like a crystal. Shall we review
the erotics of a mournful bassoon? the network
of eternity that howls in the nerves? the black dazzle
of a pool rippled by a slain magnolia at midnight?
Perhaps she will recall the ghosts
that crackled in her hair when she shattered the bowl of dawn,
the sinews of wild colts that sang on the mountain in the dawn,
the lone hyacinth that crumbled under her hand
in the mist of dawn.
I wonder if the milk of her breasts is the milk of adders,
or if the flint of her ecstasy chips
the cherried enamel from the basin of her smoldering trance.
Or perhaps she'd prefer to yield
the meteor of her exhaustion to the black sky of night.
---------------------------------------------------
Please note that I never have used and never will use AI to compose or revise any of my writings.
A random comment on poetry in general: A poet should resist the irresistible temptation to preach.
'Shorty', they called him from the very first grade in school.
He was seldom chosen for any game as a general rule.
He'd reached his maximum height of five feet six as a teen.
Though small in stature, athletic prowess lay dormant, yet unseen!
He tried out for baseball, football, even the basketball team.
Just to be a member of a team was his fervent dream.
Apprehensive coaches agreed to give the eager lad a chance.
Perhaps he could warm the bench - his ego it might enhance!
He was the third-string running back on the football team.
During the championship game the others ran out of steam
The score was tied - ten seconds remained upon the the clock.
He scored the winning touchdown! That day 'Shorty' became a jock!
The state final basketball game is still talked about today.
All the star players fouled out, much to the coach's dismay!
The score was tied - 'Shorty' was sent in with seconds to go.
He was fouled but with steady nerve, his was the winning throw!
He gave his all when called upon and was accustomed to the jeers,
But accolades were showered upon him by his coaches, fans and peers!
His coaches learned that 'tis best never to judge a feller by his size!
He might just be the winner who brings home the coveted prize!
What is it about bubbles…not only do they make us feel good…
but they have a way of instantly transporting us…back to our childhood.
I wonder…as we watch bubbles…soaring high up to the sky
if it’s possible to be angry when a bubble passes by.
One of the things I love about the mountains…about life in general, as we ascend…is all the wonders…all the surprises waiting around every bend.
We had been at the cabin for a while when as a new day before us dawned…Deborah came running out of the bedroom…she’d found a bubble wand.
The wand was filled with bubble solution…it hadn’t yet run dry
when Deborah pulled it out and said…let’s give these bubble a try.
As we watched perfect bubbles forming and floating all about
immediately our hearts opened up…and let our children out.
We lost all track of time…the two of us…standing there…
Watching bubble after bubble dancing in the air.
Watching some soar up to the sky…trying to catch the ones that dropped…
laughing…just like children when certain bubbles popped.
Playing with the bubbles as they surrounded us was a wonderful endeavor
while at the same serving as a reminder how nothing lasts forever.
Another way of reminding us…as countless bubbles passed
to enjoy each moment knowing…the moment will not last.
Reminding us as we grow older..to take the time play and scream and shout…
and even when there are no bubbles…to let our children out.
You will soon be facing March 2026..' Which as far as I am aware? Will be in
Many places.' Not offering local elections)
We often hear that 'all the power is held way beyond, the grasp of the general
Populace.' So maybe an apathy is grown
I wonder who that might benefit?
However why not ? As a whole nation
Refuse to vote altogther.' It looks as if
That may be a strong action..Against
All the machinations of a rouge system.?
That would negate any planned funneling
Of voters, any misinforming of people, in
Fact it would let the system filter through why it exists at all.? And whether elected
Mp's on the whole, work for the country or
Among themselves.? Or for G M O'S outside of the country.'
So, I’m the last survivor of a breed that ruled the world!
Brrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
I suppose we can’t complain though. Our innings was quitre long.
Brrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
When I was just a nipper not long hatched from the egg,
Brrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold,
My dinosaurus granddad told us stories of an age,
When everything was beautiful and fair.
We had a democratic system,
We had judges stern but just.
No one knew what hunger was,
We just ate ferns and moss.
O happy salad days!
Brrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
I suppose we got too dozy in our leafy paradise
And didn’t see the rot was setting in.,
When a bad-egg dinosaurus by the name of Tyrannosaurus
Decided violent revolution was a more preferable solution
To the problems of the state than was steady evolution.
Brrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
He taught that eating lettuce was a very foolish practice,
That eating meat was what we ought to do.
“In the case of scarcity, don’t think it a perversity
To eat a weaker brother. Let the weak go to the wall!
Brrrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
The ensuing decimation with each succeeding generation
Of our species led in time to a general deterioration,
Then a cataclysmic annihilation until the time has come
That I’m the only one left to tell the tale.
Brrrrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold.
Those frisky little suckers that constantly make fun of us
Doubtless think they’ll have it all their way – and so they may!
The sun denies to none of heydays at least one.
But after that? Brrrrrrrrrr! It’s getting mighty cold!