Long Gifting Poems
Long Gifting Poems. Below are the most popular long Gifting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gifting poems by poem length and keyword.
We are
We are
Like a shining sea of stars
How deep is the dark? How solid’s the ground?
Without saving grace, how can we be found?
The countenance of faithless man does fall.
Search God’s glory — do you hear his call?
We are
We are
Singing in the deep dark sea
Tethered to antimatter— what matters?
Without God our dusty ashen cloud scatters.
Furthermore the earth sinks below our feet.
Forevermore I’ll rather cling to his beat.
O sun
O moon
Gifting light from God above
Stunning how beautiful is saving grace.
Blood, sweat and tears, our fears upon Christ’s face.
All man…all God…his body, bruised and raw.
This royal perfection—without a flaw.
We are
We are
Like a shining sea of stars
How deep is the dark? How solid’s the ground?
Without saving grace, how can we be found?
The countenance of faithless man does fall.
Search God’s glory — do you hear his call?
10/6/2021
S - Sunsets and sunrises are all the best that this world can offer
P - Parading of the many opportunities that breathe for us, so like
R - Reasons to shed off our gloomy masks and share the happiness with
E - Everybody else, as what would be the point of existing if not to enjoy of our stay
A - And accrue in spirituality, devoting ourselves to paint smiles on others and to
D - Dance amidst floods, with a jolly laugh in our hearts, ready to
I - Invite in our beings, God Himself, so happy and cheery at the way we deal with
N - Nothing as it makes itself appear as being our everything, our whole, our cause,
G - Going even to the extent of having us forget the essence of the divine!
H - Happiness is a word which is so misunderstood, so underrated, that we have been
A - Attracted to its opposite, forsaking the fact that our hearts and minds are fragile and
P - Prone to breakdowns if we load them too much with negative
P - Points, all being simply the arrows that the evil lurking in shadows hurls at us,
I - In spite of the fact that as elevated individuals, we have in us, knowledge of the subtle,
N - Noble and ecstatic, capable of gifting us with the boons of
E - Eternity, rolling us in feelings of well being and in the tunes of happy
S - Songs, lifting up our moods and having us smile from the depths of our
S - Souls, yes, come, and be like me!
Discrediting plausibility
by shredding their humility
to a place of vulnerability
devoured by inabilities
cowardice incompetence
showered into consciousness
empowered causing confidence
validation found in compliments
a false sense of accomplishment
resort to intense punishment
to knock down their competitors
who speak of truth not metaphors
that could reverse their actual course
see them falling through floorboards
far from craved credited applause
a status low as though blackballed
on salaries always needing more
survival gifting no rewards
a personality to be ignored
social skills which leave them bored
testing humans to their core
needing a win but cannot score
electrical without a cord
no plug socket or power source
as management you were assured
entitlement had power stored
defensive walls they reinforced
the canon fire rains then pours
constant drainage of resource
when liars reign without remorse
demonstrate through acts of war
axing allies no friends of yours
switching sides ending support
backtracking and invasions fall
forward thinking backward thoughts
two faced fronts fights are fought
defend positions within the fort
saving supply routes to the port
lowered standards poor results
lose respect face the onslaught
enclosing can’t escape assaults
laced with disgrace of dense insults
unsatisfactory falling short
the cost of power steeply soars
run out of bullets fight with swords
sticks and stones not canon balls
back to basics of infant schools
learning how the mighty fall
turns out you might be a fool
from the authority you adore
to unemployed and lost it all
from big and powerful to small
once important not anymore
once arrogant above the law
apparently now unloveable
a tyrant silenced by rivals
the outlaw downfall locked indoors
freedom within the prison walls
abusing boundaries horribly
so far beyond authority
explicitly and vicously
fully of inefficiency
faults and inability
soulless animosity
dethroned without the sovereignty
lost lonely in unpopularity.
??????GASTON GLOCK THE GUNSMITH GOES HOME??????
Gaston Glock, the genius gunsmith,
The gun guy behind mysterious myth
And the groundbreaking Glock handgun,
Produced the glock gun but now gone.4
What a grand grandeur idea granulated.
Gaston Glock's genius granted
Global gunmen gleaming & grinning.
Gaston Glock's gone yet gun's glocking.8
Glock's groundbreaking forever glocks,
Gifting us a great gift worth a million bucks.
He deftly designed the dependable gun,
As the dawn of gunning & ghostlighting begun.
But Glock's groundbreaking handgun
Became an instrument in the wrong hands.
Killers, dealers, smugglers & gun gangs
Gaining guts to gun down with the glocks.¹6
Gaston Glock's Guns, granting guardians
Great gallantry, and turning them into villians.
Gang guardians guard against grim gangs.
Conversely, Glock's guns generate grief,
Granting gunmen gruesome glory relief.²¹
But Glock's genius glocks gave mankind defence
Against godforsaken gunmen & misdemeanours.
Gaston Glock's great gift gave guts
To pull the trigger when danger flickers,²5
Glock's gun became reliable defence, fair enough.
Gaston Glock gave a great gun gift that's tough.
At age 94, he passed away blazing glocks,
Leaving a legacy that'll last farther than all the nooks.²?
In memory of Gaston Glock, the founder and producer of the glock handgun.
Rest In Peace ?????????
??????Vick Manuel Poetry??????
{VMP}
FORM: Alliteration/Rhymes
Copyright ©? 28th December 2023.
Songs and chords they sing to us
Almost every day,
Some are very musical
Some just sing their way.
Though today when I was tuning in
I heard it word for word
The message from the greatest ave
Our clever lyrebird…
“I’ve talked with all the animals
Of present circumstance
The mourning of our people
From gifting such a chance
To share in all the beauty
You preserved and kept
Thrown back at you with scornful spew
And total disrespect.
We’ve witnessed all the suffering
That humans have endured,
How every time you rose above
Goodness you secured.
Harmony had come to be
Right from the dreamtime
Lines are strong and never wrong
Where Peace is yours and mine.
So, You will overcome this
That conflict and that strife,
Soon there’ll be tranquility
And a happy life
Once there was for yet to be
The cycle carries on
Here upon our sacred land
Under our great Sun”
Then he looped around me
And vanished in the grass
Leaving me awakened
With glimpses of the past...
Autumn will forever be the season of death to me,
but like time, I do not remain cemented in the past.
Memories of ghosts will always lead me to the stars,
as everything we love fades away eventually,
like shells lost in a forgotten coral reef -
but in every pain there is a lesson.
As I watch the last icicle of winter drip away,
I eagerly anticipate the return of the butterflies.
To float softly in orange, indigo and ivory,
gifting kisses to elliptical tulips and narcissistic daffodils.
I remember whilst killing time,
wayward winds of winter swept away the name time forgot.
I wandered bewildered where the paths have no name,
drifting into a world of depleted ideologies.
Boredom led me to an entity of virtual hypocrisy.
Where many self confessed queens sat upon phony thrones,
claiming self declared, self obsessed sovereignty.
Demented demons and Devil's disciples,
destroying the wonderment of words,
I felt fatigued from false pretences and virtual vultures.
Until an unhappy confused and cloaked chocolate geisha,
gifted me the sincerity of her intimate inkless quill.
Replacing bleeding tears, she bled alliterations,
expressing her once hidden heartbeats from paradise.
Her vocabulary of vivid visions left me with breathless sighs.
An unpredictable poetic phenomenon,
with a volcanic mind, harmonious heart.
Was I even a poet before her presence gave me life?
There are no superheroes in poetry,
but I ponder if Romeo did not die,
would he have created a poetic garden for Juliet?
My muse is a flower garden, loyal to the core,
enchanting in evergreen picturesque petals,
spreading lilies and lilacs in barren meadows,
because in the darkest night you are the light.
Silent One
21 March 2022
This tribute’s to dear Teppo Gren
He supported both women and men
His account’s now deleted
As his friends were mistreated
He will not post on PS again’
To newbies, kind words he was gifting
His comments sincere and uplifting
Now Teppo has left
I feel quite bereft
To pasture’s new he is now shifting
His sonnets were a joy to read
He’s removed them as his blog decreed
I will miss Teppo’s style
And there is no denial
It’s a great loss to PS indeed
Teppo is a man of great integrity and true to his word he removed his poems and deleted his account today. I know he will be greatly missed by many friends he has made on soup over the last 5 years
04/01/20
As Artists Touching an Audience - Thoughts on Creating
Beyond the full experiencing and aims of the creative process in all genres, there are the results, the “made” productions, the works, ready to be sent
out there
from the self
to touch other people in some (any) way of giving,
the created work
presented
to affect the anyone in those moments
of being-in-audience
to an artwork (In the perceiving and receiving of it)
to any degree.
As writers, musicians, actors, artists, we are gifted through
the creative process: through
our Felt involvement
from onset to culmination of the created works
And also when we, too, pause outside artworks,
as with all perceptions,
to examine and receive, to be touched in some way:
sensually, intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, creatively…
Nearly always, then, we make a judgement
about whether we Like what we perceive
(in all of life as well) in an artist’s composition —
Here
Is the work we have met with for a time
and let reach us…
No matter how briefly, the created work
has thus gone from being some “thing”
To being an Experience.
This accounts, I think, for why artists of all genres
feel more than an ownership of “products” about the works done.
Like a god-parent might, we
artists invest our whole being into
shaping works
to the full completion of their inspiration.
And, then, (as a person does for a fostered one or offspring)
we have a bond…with a desire to follow the path and reception
of our works In the world beyond us.
Our created works poise apart from us…
very like living things…
Lost works are grieved …Others
Also often pass long periods asleep, away
from any receiving audience, even from us, the creators…
Perhaps going forgotten;
Some envisioned works crafted into reality
may return to a collection of once unfulfilled dreams,
which do startle if they eventually wander
out from dark corners and curled pages.
They may have stayed in sleep…to
serendipitously rise for notice in a rebirth
Like garden perennials signaled to stand
in Spring surprise…in a new season of a gifting presentation.
—————————————————————————
Experimental prose-poetry
also an “Address of Poetry” blog, PoetrySoup
(I give 2nd Apologies to Aristotle for this :-)
(c) sally young eslinger 3/10/22
Thanks be to God
Once upon a time, in a land far away,
There was a prince with a Kitty Cat
(Or so the stories portray)
Who would often say, "Meow,"
Which is how kitty cats say,
"There's a forest growing in the living room!"
Now princes in magical kingdoms know
How to speak many languages
Frazil, German, Arabic, and Cat, so
It should be no surprise that our hero knew
That to a cat, a tree in the house is a forest, although...
It'd been forever since seeing a tree such as this!
"Meow!"-- "I know!" our hero exclaims,
"It's a Christmas tree! And soon presents will be
Arranged around it's base with our names!"
"Meow?" The plaintive query our kitty asks,
"How will you eat those awful fruits? It's a shame..
They're shiny and pretty, but they break easily!"
Kitty Cat went on, batting as he spoke,
"With so many trees to grow inside, this one has been infected
With lights that shine many-coloured without smoke,"
Though others in the room only heard "Meow meow," as expected.
"The candy canes-- they're peppermint!-- but the rest do not poke,"
Said the prince, "They are memories of Christmases past."
"MEOW!" said Kitty Cat, but the prince heard... this:
"Look what I can do! I can climb and hide!"
And clawing his way up the tree, Kitty Cat found bliss!
"Here it's warm, inside smells nice! I think I like
This forest inside!" Meowing on, no thought remiss,
Kitty Cat found his way to purr, knocking down baubles all along.
"Get down here," the prince did demand
"You're breaking the ornaments!" --"Meow?"
"Yes now! We worked very hard to decorate, make it stand
Straight. To light its branches with hope and love!"
And Kitty Cat obeyed the prince's command,
He came down, in wonderment, he looked as prince's boyish face.
In apology, Kitty Cat did purr,
Rubbing on his boy's leg and showing love
The way only cats know how, by gifting him fur.
And the prince smiled, for love and hope
Are all Kitty Cat knew. He lived here, near the conifer,
But only in the now, and never aware of what was or would be.
Batting softly, exploring this tree inside
Kitty Cat was lost in wonder, with the prince's presence.
"Look," said the prince, "Outside there's SNOW to ride!"
"Come on, Kitty Cat!" And grabbing his sled, outside he fled,
And Kitty Cat's meow behind the prince cried,
"But that's the sky-sand that turns to WET!"
Ruins of the thirst for destiny, we consume ourselves in our own desire to be,
Our weakness, the key to the historical future, has reduced us to nothingness,
Yet it also saved us, gifting us the taste of collapse, sweet and dizzying,
We yearn for an event that surpasses all events,
A fear that transcends all fears, embracing us with cold arms.
Catastrophe, the only solution, post-history, the only remaining opportunity,
We wonder if humanity might be better off dissolving itself now,
Rather than fading slowly, sinking into hopeless waiting,
Exposing itself to an era of agony, risking the loss of all ambition,
Even the ambition to disappear, to melt into the void of eternal oblivion.
We are trapped between two abysses, that of existence and non-existence,
Dancing on the edge of the precipice, drunk on our own mortality,
We dream of a grand finale, an apotheosis of the human species in decline,
But perhaps our end will be as banal as life itself,
A whisper in the cosmic wind, a speck of dust in the vastness of the universe.
Oh, fragile humanity, clinging to the thin thread of vain hope,
Are you ready to abandon your millennial struggle, to surrender to cruel destiny?
Or will you find within yourself the strength to transcend the limits imposed by fate,
To rise from your own ashes, like the Phoenix of mythology?
The answer lies hidden in the depths of our collective soul, silent and mysterious.