Long Germinate Poems
Long Germinate Poems. Below are the most popular long Germinate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Germinate poems by poem length and keyword.
Me
A lump!
Why?
How did it get there?
Please make it go away
I'm scared, I have to finish my shower so I can tell mom
Three days later I wake up groggy, vomiting, in pain, and much disoriented with one breast bigger than the other
Mom!
Mom
They caught it in time.
The doctor found three lumps one on top of the other ready to root out
Why do you exist?
I address you with concern because I'm irate
All you do is create distress
I understand that you do not discriminate
You attack and destroy my body tissue
I stepped into the ring with you
And blocked all your punches
Now I need to get my rest to feel my best
To germinate, developed, and bloom like a beautiful rose that I am
I've lost a breast because you exist
I'm going to fight and beat you to the very end
I will never lose hope
I will celebrate each day
9/13/2015
I was 17, naive, and very frightened when I discovered a lump in my left breast.
I was very fortunate that they did not remove the breast if the cancer hadn't spread.
Vows get recanted as passions flounder
on the shoals of betrayal and remorse.
And drifting dreams navigate in darkness
whenever love starts to wander off course.
Beware of lust, a cunning emotion,
touting trickery and deceit as truth.
The seeds of trust oft germinate slowly,
and patience is a virtue new to youth.
Naive hearts are vulnerable to lies,
for the truth often appears conflictive.
Yet when love creates tears of happiness,
their salty-sweet taste can be addictive.
The feeling of being unique and prized
is awesome, combining two into one.
And purges the hurt from a broken heart,
instilling happiness, laughter, and fun.
Intimate moments make life worth living,
a time when your heart's devoid of despair.
Even though it is intangible, love's
physical impact is beyond compare.
To be loved is to feel wanted and whole,
instantly giving life a brand-new start.
For it's a miracle unto itself,
asking only that you believe your heart.
(Quatrain)
9/30/2017
A vine in winter…
stripped of its leafy clothes
shivers in forlorn silence
as it sways and scrapes at the colorless sky.
She walks alone…
in a barren, winter field
hoping to find a way past her tears
stinging tears, of loss and sadness
burdening and weighing her down.
A sudden choking chill of frost…
descends upon the vine
frozen fingers cling mercilessly
threatening to break it
from its brittle, hardened spine.
She looks up at the hazy sky…
the obscure, distant sun still shines
and a quiet hope begins to germinate
as her desperation dissipates.
A shoot sprouts anew on the vine…
…her revival has begun.
It took the planted seed forever to germinate
Its beautiful blossom withered, welcoming a friendly rain
I have seen the sun fall before the dawn rises
Yet watered every sweat to the rooted root like a basket fully holding it
The Can is yours to take home; let go of the watering and allow nature to grow
It was a miraculous mirage, hoping it would turn a new green leaf
I sat with my imprisoned inner eye beneath another long armed tree
Ready to be plucked without ado or stress
Where I had no handful sown yet reaped from ripened fruitful fruits
Awakening your oblivion to the begotten truthful tale
Wherever on fertile land, a seed drop shall rise again
Adam wasn't fearlessly fearful of Eve but of the favourite forbidden fruits
(C) Yusuf, A.O
Own emotional wounds
Waiting for a seed to germinate
Evergreen, my little bean
The child who was never born
A handful of soft down
Glass bowl with pink walls
with an opening to the universe
Death, no sign of life
A quiet heart
in this star-crossed trip
Blocked by rivers of tears
The painful experience
Unprocessed trauma
When things are difficult
frustration, sadness,
anger and longing
You become completely paralyzed
A piece of my heart
will always be in heaven
The inner dialogue ...
if you only knew
~~~
25.10.2020
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
If only you knew Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
2nd place in the contest
The Book of Souls is well composed by Nature.
through serial changes : Adaptation
continued on trial , best to capture
a blind process , showing evolution.
From non living stuff, life to germinate
Souls are to sprout from Energy conserved
Life runs to incarnate, re-incarnate
Souls to shelter as beings may deserve.
Souls flowing through living and non -living
Sometimes prominent, sometimes dormant
at nook of Nature or in a being.
Stable -stagnant or dynamic vibrant.
In non -living and living exist souls
as birth, life, death, after-life as a whole.
FAITH BRINGS THE HARVEST
Although they go forth weeping
carrying the seed to be sown,
They shall come back rejoicing
Psalm 124
The furrows of our beginnings lie barren: cystic Seeds fallen between the rows; statues of clods
Represent still stages shadowing scenes
Deferred.
Ancient ones, rooted by the river, grow
Like their mother willows: weeping tears
To barren seeds rains have forgotten to fall on.
(Who or what will germinate their souls?)
The plow masters have gone to wilderness:
Wandering trails of bygone labors; the
Plow sheds have gone empty; bellows
Have lost their harvest winds.
Fields, in shadows of mountains, await
The coming of the rain goddess; we
In memories of acacia dreams,
Sprinkle phoenix ashes;
Whispering sacred words
To dormant seeds we have sown:
Indeed, faith will bring the harvest.
Deep inside the deepest realms where I reside
Were fragments of the day's holocaust
Finds windows to darkest dreams
So dark they can gestate resinate contemplate
Sinister things and ancient beings were
There be nightmares, my inner sight dares
As days cast forms into thoughts
Cresting deep into empty cluttered halls
These crowed rooms of my disorderly mine
They like briars from a windy shore where waves
Roar along a desolate beach blares white fleeting
Feeling something dark dire oily reeks
I find it stuck…
Deep in my mind like seedlings both
of horror and divine germinate resonate
with wild fantasies like tornadoes decimating my soul,
my dreamscapes where mental hurricanes conspire.
As deities flock like ravens at black masses
the burning landscapes…
Passes.
They breakdown the daily images,
the ethereal words, the feelings at play
recycle it back to my decay…
These things can be inspiring
or insane but found in the deepest of my dreams…
One can find new worlds
to explore alternative realities…
Were I may decide to roam,
or to know different universes
or to burn the worlds, my inner soul
In the deepest of dreams or nightmares, bold!
or
annihilate this rarest of earth.
My heart and I speak every day
We walk and talk alone
I ask it for new poetry
New rhymes that are homegrown
It gives me little snippets
That then become fullblown
Thoughts, reflections, hopes and dreams
Of you in me are sewn
I do admit I worry
What if the well runs dry?
But once I get into the zone
The verses start to fly
So effortless to write of
There's a breadth and depth to you
To cause the troubadour in me
To come up with something new
Daily, sometimes two or three
I've had some days like that
Where they just seem to write themselves
Cohesive in format
Bouquets that bloom in morning
From a nursery of new seed
They germinate so quickly
All fertilized by my need
To tell you what you mean to me
I want for you to know
How much I think the world of you
And how you make me glow
Amidst all the hate, there is hope;
and yet, it's difficult to cope.
Evangelists claim to fear God;
while families are torn apart
by politicians with no heart.
Cultist republicans applaud
a President, with no morals;
heaping gratitude and laurels
on a charlatan and a fraud.
Your vote can easily be bought;
constitutional rights mean squat,
courts ruled the Constitution flawed.
Amidst all the hate, there is hope;
yet we're on a slippery slope.
There are still patriots out there
who oppose tyranny and greed.
Brave souls, willing to take the lead;
and prove most Americans care.
Sowing seeds of hope amongst hate,
love helps planted seeds germinate.
A racist system is unfair,
but bigoted bullies won’t quit.
And white supremacists love it,
yet hate's a path that leads nowhere.
A one-color kaleidoscope
keeps one from ever being awed;
walking society's tightrope.