Long Give rise Poems
Long Give rise Poems. Below are the most popular long Give rise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Give rise poems by poem length and keyword.
...It was from an old colleague of mine,
in southern Russian working a new dig,
of Proto Indo-European tribes,
he believed it would be something big.
Wanted me to come out and take a look
at the artifacts they had found there,
claimed they had found religious writings,
the pictures he sent of it made me swear.
Writing should not exist that far back in time,
but the etched stones that they found proved it did!
A text speaking of a long-lost religion…
was so excited I bounced like a kid.
A week later I was flying out there,
my assistant Tommy Bains at my side,
we flew to Moscow then rented a car
for a very long and exhausting drive.
The site was out in empty countryside,
there were more cattle and sheep them men,
we expected to see bustling workers,
but we approached and saw no sign of them.
It looked as if they’d just abandoned it,
all of their gear and machines left behind,
there was no note, and we could see no cause,
I felt nervous, unsure what I would find.
After looking around for thirty minutes,
I came across a large plastic case,
it had the word ‘Artifact’ printed on it,
like so many others left in this place.
I did not know why, but I felt I had to
open the box to see what it held,
what I saw in there haunts me to this day,
you’re the first people that I’ve dared to tell.
It was a stone tablet covered in a script
that I’d never seen, all alien and strange,
and then, before my astonished eyes,
the letters all seemed to just rearrange?!
It now was many rows of English text,
what I saw broke all natural laws,
the first line I read, sit imply said:
‘All who read this, these are words from your god…’
My mind did reel, as anyone’s would,
but I felt no disbelief, and no doubt,
as if some power confirmed it was true,
and there was no time for messing about.
My eyes just could not be pulled away,
I could hear a deep voice within, and it said:
‘I left these words so you’d know why you’re here,
and what awaits us all going ahead.
‘You see evolution is the only tool
that can do this in the time left to me,
I’m dying and have but a billion years
to give rise to the next deity.
‘This may seem utterly strange to your mind,
the mere thought that an almighty can die,
but I’m not the first god that there has been,
I was much like you, way back in time...
CONTINUES IN PART III.
36.
The Rose
The garden rose by Nature's brush
Seems the perfect flower.
It sleeps before the autumn moon...
Is reborn of April showers.
I feel an empathy and compassion
For other flowers as they grow...
With their aesthetics somewhat muted
Compared to the glory of the rose.
The End
37.
The Daffodil
The daffodil in spring will rise
And in the garden grow.
It will slyly peak its head above
The last sprinkling of the snow.
Its appearance is a comfort
As a tired wintry corpse expires...
Giving way to a vernal transformation
Only Nature could inspire.
The End
38.
April's Blessing
April's sly peculiarities are a blessing
As the dregs of March are born away.
Cleansing a tired Nature's tribulations
Before the warmth of gentle May.
It gives source to seed and germ with
Unfathomable colors to flaunt the eye.
It plays mischievously upon my senses
To humble an enthusiast such as I.
Nothing contrasts to Nature's bounty
As she releases now her gentle showers...
Where orchids give rise to expectation
While still meadows bare their flowers.
Children... no strangers to April's booty
Find joyousness in all her grand oblations.
Splashing and sloshing in hooded dress
In puddles that stoke their imagination.
But April fills me with blissful consternation
As she makes bold her diverse complexion.
Because I... being me, have done nothing
To deserve such encompassing affection.
The End
39.
Half a Ton
Hate must weigh a thousand pounds
While love will weigh but one.
There are those who find it amenable
Ferrying the weight that's half a ton.
They seem devoid of sense and reason
As to why they persevere... soon
Learning the manifestation in the mirror
Is all they truly fear.
The End
40.
Bucket Full of Stupid
There is a bucket full of stupid
Giving voice to maddening crowds
With no obvious rhyme or reason
Why they wear a Reaper's shroud.
Such times seem justly merited
With common sense in short supply
Considering the state of education
And the inane hebetude it provides.
The End
Naked trees whose dilapidated bodies have outgrown the test of time
shoot unseemly into the unaccommodating sky flustering as they walk by
Nude trees laden with deceptive shadows waiting for the morrow
Echoing a somber tune with superficial topsoil eroding from the mad earth
I sat on the top of the exalted mount watching brittle trees swaying doubtfully in the motionless wind and one force would have done them in
Fragile branches stick delicately form their wounded side reaching out
and cracking slowly with a forceful smile while angels lament by their sides
I recall the good old days when there was laughter everywhere
smoke rushing out the chimneys and grandpa with his wooden axe
piling up woods on the side of the stream and dragging them into the fireplace
Drunken men sitting on the side of the street infuriated with exuberant laughter knocking dominoes and shouting at terrified girls parading the streets in short mini skirts.
strong women in tall long skirts knocking their tambourines as the minstrel marched around in circles and unruly men with loud music sticking out their feet in fancy jeeps shouting
Dry grass lay flat on the reproachable ground howling as if winter is still around
As far as the naked eyes could behold green trees are floating in the horizon way beyond me
but close beside me green leaves are barely sprouting on the topless trees
The earth is still casting doubts as it sinks deeper into its devouring throat
drenched by its painful self-inflicted wound spreading misery throughout
I kept sobbing at nature's frequent disruptions and mankind useless inventions
cars sliding and young men gallivanting and swearing under the dark bridge
Shameful faces hang in despair holding onto to a cloud that is not there
And Noah whom they say was a religious freak took one hundred and twenty years to build a ship that spared daylight out of darkness and give rise to a new moon
And what of the black plague that torment millions of bones in their sorrowful graves
And the Spanish flu had its impact too who knows what really brought it about
Nature has sucked the life out of the earth waiting for a miraculous rebirth
while death pounds heavily on fragile doors.
Nasty ME hypocrite
From the looks of things
For I have looked deep down my soul
And it only give rise to pain
You see
I am the shadow that consumes your light,
A toxic lover, poisoning your sight.
My touch, a flame that burns with deceit,
Melting trust, and freezing hearts that beat.
My life only paves a way for pain
Sorrow evolves around my circle
Its nurture and breed vindictiveness
It drinks oceans of bitterness promises
eating the bread of hostility
I'm that jealous lover that stocks you and brings nothing but pain
To your living life
My words, a venomous whisper in your ear,
Sweet nothings that bring only fear.
I'll pull you close, then push you away,
Leaving scars that never fade.
I am the embodiment of mass destruction
On reality of unpleasant catastrophe
I sow seeds of discouragement
watered it with rivers of agony of
Nothing but sadness
I'll make you doubt your worth, your mind,
A maze of self-doubt, forever left behind.
My love, a suffocating, crushing weight,
A prison where freedom's just an illusion's date
I am the terror behind your nightmares
The Imageries you refused to envision
That wages war of warfares
And rain down causalities and division
I'll feed on your insecurities,
Nourishing my power, your weaknesses.
My love's a game, where you're the prey,
A hunt where I'm the predator, night and day.
I am the scorching sun
That pierced and smeared your soul with evil
I find pleasure in your misery
And joy in suffering
I am a righteous sinner who
wear the coat of righteousness
Beneath, lies devil's concoction
Seasoned with ingredients of vices
I'm the creativity of negativity ?? not positivity
In my comfort, I orchestrate iniquity
I befriended light to see darkness;
to concoct wickedness so easy to judge
Always preaching perfection but living with an infection
But still, you'll stay, trapped in my snare,
A moth to flame, unable to bear.
The pain, the hurt, the endless fight,
A toxic dance, where love's just out of sight.
@kc
H2O
Owen thepoet 2019
My legs shake like leaves in the wind,
my cold lips are forever shut -
not a single word to utter.
who am I, a beast? not perhaps.
a god? no, for I feel too powerless
in the midst of all these ruins.
so, who am I then, a man?
yes, but no! I can't possibly be
because if I am
why this dying silence?
why this grave-like trance?
just too tired to speak, I suppose,
a poet running out of rhymes.
yes, all I need are rhymes
to speak again and deliver with eloquence
my ringing message to the world.
rhymes! but who needs rhymes anyway?
will these dark days give rise
to a new tomorrow if my rhymes I use?
will the pain of my brothers vanish
with the bloom of my Frostian rhymes?
how my worthless life shakes
with the winds of time,
always at the mercy of the devil himself!
for who would dare rise up and question
when confronted by the guns
of an army supposed to protect me?
and yet, who is this devil anyway?
yes he's bathed by his stolen wealth,
sheltered by his ill-gotten gold
and watched by his demons with their guns;
but does this make of him
a master of mine, whose feet I must kiss?
it does not! because just like me
he trembles at the thoughts
of horrors yet undone,
of terrors yet untold.
sure, he's great and I'm weak
but his feces smells just like mine
and even more!
because he is soul-less,
because his greed knows no bound.
why his everlasting arrogance then,
why that smile so mocking of my state,
why those evil eyes so suspicious of my every move?
devil! devil! you creature so vile,
you merciless creature of hate!
won't you give peace to this beggar in the street?
god thou art, a hypocritical god of doom,
of hate, of lust! you corruptor of men,
you who our riches harvest!
you shameless animal of darkness,
get out of my way!
yet the devil stays,
his laughter roaring still,
his hands gripping my neck ever so tightly.
devil-god, thou art so mighty and strong,
I am no match to your power.
you win…as I lay weak and dying.
women are the backbone
of a multitude of success
because women are known
to always give their very best
women have given birth
to those who have grow up to be
righteous men and women with godly personalities
those who promote the agenda of God
those who have grace instilled in their hearts.
women can give birth to destinies
in the midst of adversity
women also give birth to those
who in the spirit tend to soar free
women have been known to reach down
in the womb of time by fulfilling prophecies
because when women stand by
there's no telling what will come to be
women give birth to ideas, to causes
and to plans
women stand back and stand by
as they hold to God's unchanging hands
many say women are weak
but little do they know
that giving birth is no small feat
it's a miraculous godly show
when women stand by
genocide is thwarted
the plans of the devil's disciples
then become distorted
as God will use your present enemy
to restore your future promise
for God is in the midst to reveal
those who are dishonest
midwives have always had a special place
when it comes to God's design
those women who stand by to help
give birth
when life is on the line
yet Pharaoh tried to coerce them
to kill little baby boys
but two midwives refused to take part
in that mission to destroy
when the women stand by
life becomes precious and preserved
When the women stand by
we always get what we deserve
positioned to now be a catalyst of change
an opportunity to now represent
placed to now seek your purpose
and give rise to your testament
so recognize your place in this world
and discover your godly mission
and no matter what path
you choose to take,
make sure God is part of that decision
when the women stand by,
life will always be sustained
because Shiprah, Puah, Miriam & Harriet
stood firmly on God's name
when the women stand by
Slipping into Autumn
Next to spring,
autumn brings so much color, it is almost indescribable
the beauty lies in the sun light
glimmering in sultry reflections,
the tattered leaves dying give rise to the abundance
of a hidden harvest ready for taking then sleep.
Breathing desperate
holding onto the last promises of seasons warmth and growth
the magnificence of light creeping in thru tree shadows
lingering and skipping on the branches,
the leaf hues ebb and flow, blending and bleeding
between the red orange hackle berry and the green paling oak.
Heartbeat of the earth
pounding with oncoming change of seasons seen before
yet never to be seen the same again
shedding leaves in wind and rain patches piling on the ground
the sounds and visions of change
one bowing to another, welcoming and parting quietly.
Soul of the earth
resurrected by the light to rise and again be seen
the solace of hope
clinging to creation from the mind and heart of God,
the eye of time
slips in and out waiting and watching.
The human body bears
the lessons learned harboring deeper messages
the signs of things to come
that signal new life and the dreams that rest in wait,
as the shadows fade into the dusk
and darkness falls soft in multicolored pastel skies.
The spirit remains
seeking out all that waits fulfillment of the cycle
that turns the world
revolving in the images of autumn and its resilience
the moment marked in time
by picture and memory of what was and yet can be.
To see it all again
in a slightly different light
the embrace of the how and why
we live, grow, change and age
seeing the world anew
for the first time slipping into autumn.
One season slips away
another ready and eager to take its place
the flow of life
ever changing, ever repeating
the point of existence
reborn.
So we matured, mama, but, it feels that we are still ever-lasting and it seems,
That time smoothes, levels out our movements but it sharpens our faces and our whims
We’re no longer gun powder and honey, but stone paving as in Europe we’ve seen
Beautiful children, mama so you know, already have new beautiful children.
We like taking pictures of them in favorable light under shady linden
Life’s smarter than the living, that’s clear after one third of the way to the pilgrim.
All that scared me in childhood is now like a fat guy with ukulele absurd,
Even indicators of future decay are clear and law-governed, not blurred
It’s scary not to die young, mama, but, you see, it tourns out I’m not that rare bird.
I am now everything in one – Jackie Chan and Santa Claus,
My occupation is nothing, mama, but structuring chaos.
All I’m developing, mama, is the skill of holding a pause.
I am no zero mark anymore, no young ovary, no cheeky nestling
It’s “young ovaries” now that stare at me with jealousy as if I am king.
In simple people I give rise to hatred, to complicated jealousy clings.
What about happiness, mama? It is all result of seductives or toxins.
For me it is this feeling I get at night in a taxi quite often, it seems,
When crossing forty second and tenth street, direction from Kabatas to Taksim.
It’s rare that mortality and replaceability is felt to this extreme.
Sometimes I feel as a commander in exile, as weed among grass family found.
In a world where face is all that matters, all that interestes me is the inside out.
Drummers of existence are playing with sticks, waiting for a sign – for someone to shout.
Nope, love could not have saved me from this state – in fact it didn’t, it stalled.
I won tons of beauty here hence it’s natural that I’m fused, come on!
But I’ll sit on your lap, empty to glorify it century long.
Immaterial Soul
A sprout abundant of immortal hope,
a search of a pulse of love in his heart,
an empty threat vivid in a man of a dying soul,
as the echoes in his heart race to slay him whole.
Hope arrives within stone’s throw.
A shining star at the groove of absolute all-ness,
a crowning jewel for the kin Vincente’s,
the only appetite tis’ sole aspirer, to be one with all my family,
so shall it be my destiny found.
My greatest fear is death, the unknown timelessness of eternal life,
where confinement and salvation touch shoulders.
Immortality is a remote axiom, an alchemists’ fame of soul remembrance
A mortal’s search of Tipler’s omega point,
the last hope of salvation adjacent to this point,
tis not found but earned long as: the moral laws written on thy heart ensue.
Gilgamesh first state awed his last, the divines’ gift to he, astray,
the fountain of eternal life alludes his last state tis’ only hope is consciousness of thy neural network
Annus Miribalis hath hope for Gilgamesh’s immortal life.
So set him free. Let angles guide thy through the herculean task,
strength and honor hear of Gilgamesh’s survival, his sink in armor of humility indulgence, a chain of association whose lineage is of no close origins.
For gins today “weakness” in armor flourish as strength in fame of tomorrow.
A peerless thought patrols Gilgamesh’s talent, change the world with a breadth of “élan’ vital”
Annus Miribalis hath hope for Gilgamesh’s immortal life.
Through the looking glass of all mortals dogma,
Faith model give rise to sovereign heavenly body in one piece.
Tis thy divine decree. Sole talent forge the apples’ fruit skin,
Gilgamesh’s purpose put to bed past regret.
To unite, to end suffering and shatter all man-kinds intrinsic prisons.
Gilgamesh's journey tips the edge…
ALOHA to my friends in INDIA, I hope this message is received with the understanding that recent interactions have vastly expounded because many have participated with my sponsored contest and as such, there is a cause that the synergies, on the most part, is protonic. Those I've been communicating, for various reasons, all pertaining to poetrysoup.com, have represented the people of INDIA, in the greatest measure to overflowing. The women are pretty due to the extension of their beautiful souls, the men ingratiate their resolve with such a passionate outcome that they give rise of what makes "INDIA is great...", and due to witnessed efforts, they have added the words, "INDIA is great...and is greater!" And for your charming children, delight your shoulders, enchantingly. I wish only to meet as many Indians as possible, but alas, I have but one life. I had the privilege to shake one Indian hand, and that was with Madame Indira Gandhi, for she had brought an elephant from India to grace our zoo here in the islands, some many years ago--of course. Yes, Hawaii is beautiful I suppose, but in a way, the islanders do not exist, for it has mountain ranges for hearts to climb, flowery valleys for romance to blossom, sparkling rivers to mirror your charms, beaches with surging waters that tantalize souls it embraces, yet, you will never see me or my fellow islanders, for we have faded and became part of its scene, with the sole purpose to sustain our gracious place in a way that it was designed, just to attract beautiful people to feel our spirit's that are now part of its landscape, welcoming them with Aloha, to our souls within our shores.
Aloha INDIA
2019 September 15