Long Gladly Poems
Long Gladly Poems. Below are the most popular long Gladly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gladly poems by poem length and keyword.
His taste in music feels oh so oceanic.
His touch makes me feel so cosmic.
His voice, like his favourite songs, so angelic.
His mode of seduction makes me so manic.
His place makes me feel so at home.
His city a place where we will gladly roam.
His openness makes me want to write a tome.
His caring nature makes me want to write a poem.
His spirit comes across as so welcoming.
His communication makes me feel a longing.
His smile as warm and bright as the sun shining.
His heart so tender, so sweet, and so loving.
His gentle enthusiasm makes me happy.
His calming aura makes me refuse to be snappy.
His lovemaking always makes me moan softly.
His love for me seems to come so naturally.
Too Many Poppies
I don’t want a poppy
I don’t want a shield
I don’t want to visit
Rows in Flanders Fields
Another young person
Yes a young soldier fell
They laid down their life
What story does it tell
Off to another war
In a far off land
Beaches in Normandy
Blood spilled on the sand
I don’t want a poppy
I don’t want a shield
I don’t want to visit
Rows in Flanders Fields
My heart can’t take it
Fathers, sisters and sons
Why do we choose to sacrifice
Precious innocent ones
Are guns the answer
Where does it all lead
Poppies upon rows
As young soldiers bleed
I don’t want a Poppy
I don’t want a shield
Fighting old men’s battles
Just leads to Flanders Fields
Soldier’s Response
I’ll do my best to defend
this land that I love.
I’ll risk meeting the angels
in heaven above.
Raising our flag of glory
I will gladly do
Even if they take me down
I'll hold it brave and true.
Canada my country
I'll stand by her and fight.
I'll take on its enemies
with all my strength and might.
No matter where I’m sent
I'll proudly make my stand.
To protect my home
Its people and land.
Your picture I hold
Close to my heart
Gives me my strength
When we are apart
Loved ones left at home
Won’t hear our battle cry
Their prayers are the hope
On which our spirits fly
If we don’t make it
Back to our home
Our sacrifice is our gift
In a field marked by a stone
Response to Soldiers
To all of our Soldiers
Who cannot be heard
Your actions and sacrifice
Are the final word
We wear our poppies
Hold our collective breaths
Some questions only answered
By actions and death.
A co-written piece by: Richard Lamoureux and Mark Wayne Shifflet. It was a pleasure to write with Mark.
We wished to point out the absurdity of men resorting to war while still honouring the men and women who so gallantly put their lives on the line to preserve our freedom.
"Do with this what You will, Lord" is my plea
Yielding to Him all of me by His grace
Believing that such brings spiritual glee
As I run life’s race along service-pace.
"Do with this what You will, Lord" drives my day
Propelled to fulfill ministerial aim
Empowered in doing best through faith’s way
Toward exaltation of Saviour’s name.
"Do with this what You will, Lord," props my heart
Against selfishness-fall from pride’s great blow
Letting me practice loving kindness part
Prayerfully true in sharing hope’s glow.
"Do with this what You will, Lord" keeps my mind
Focused to eternal endeavours’ crest
Cognizant of what virtues have enshrined
Marked by genuine care to be shown midst zest.
"Do with this what You will, Lord," says my soul
While thanking Him gladly for life bestowed
By divine guidance to pursue blest goal
Toward triumphant heavenly abode.
Oh dear bowl of elastic fluid,
Complaining about spoon,
Wanting hands be stretch;
To eating henceforth
Cum natural bids,
Pleasure seeks...
I have no hand in tears of saint,
Who knew not of your fearless complaint...
Let alone could guess the need,
For worries cum anxiety, choices mislead
To settle out of fears that bleed...
Help me, I am disturbed
Though not lonely perturbed,
For I have you always Lord.
Let me not be too forward...
As I wander in confusing accord¡
With pleasure seeker not curbed.
Before prompter makes me look stupid,
While wandering around HOW SOON...
Of when this confused sketch
Will give direction far north,
To what south outbids...
Of reckless weeks.
I have no plan for news to hear,
How sweet people rejoice for such tier,
By maturity nor age, be promoted
Except of value and readiness, be devoted...
With or without boost, be denoted.
Help me, my wandering soul
Carefully confused of expectancy,
What ought be glad for, if whole
But a mere prank to daring potency
To drag assurance off doubtful bowl
Not glad of spoon's stake but hands decency.
Here we are,
Over there, You watch
Us to dare...
Silent this or botch,
To redeem scar
Of a wounded scotch.
How so broken a start!
Could damage plans ahead...
Or drift living yet be known apart,
Turning a white mind into heart-like-red
Just to stay put what Your will impart
Rather than choose to be smart instead.
How joyfully sad is this
Mouth can't speak of, a news
Or gladly take care of, to abuse,
What mama can't ease.
O SU MI O!
He'd glimpse her, the peripheral life of her;
she lived in the corner of his eye.
She passed-by, her face and form - tidal,
a tug on his shore.
Perhaps she was salt for his blood, spice
for nomadic mitochondria
that carried her silks and perfumes,
salts to his earth
when flesh grew dry and dark?
He took a mind journey
within the coiling tendrils
of his pith and fiber.
Capillaries traced her imprints,
neuronal fingers tried to define her.
He'd gladly walk into her marrow,
metabolites clinging to her shifting shapes.
A camel-train of visions travels
his corded spine
bearing incidentals, trappings.
He plants glances among ganglia,
feeds on a returning musk,
until she walks among his thoughts.
She is no longer a fantasy, no longer
a salt lick of moth-threads and rain,
but what she is - he could not say.
I am at the stage of my life where I can do what I want.
If I say no, don’t, beg, give me guilt or try to cajole.
I will not take any guff or persuading, so you had better hunt
For an accommodating person who will care more for your goal.
I have my own interests, things that can make my day fun.
I gladly entertain myself and do things in my own time and place.
I do not care that you need day care and you are under the gun.
I have already put in my time, been contributing member to the human race.
Now my time is my own, and I do it up proud.
I paint, and cartoon, and I draw pictures of stuff.
I live in the moment, away from all kind of a crowd.
I do whatever I want, and I will not take any guff.
SOLDIER OF BATTLES.. Steve Hudson
It started, in silence, in infancy; the eyes look beyond the darkness
To understand the sounds of rage, echoes of misunderstanding,
The beginnings of normalcy wrought with disturbance,
Bereavement for the loss of innocence and the first lesson learned.
The lines in ground becoming clearer.
The only thing that ever came easy for me is warring,
Not because I chose the ground, but because it chose me.
Here is your sword; here is your battle,
The field is endless and there is no turning back,
So find your heart and find your place among the ranks
You sojourn with.
You tell one another it will be okay, and that we will pull through,
But no one really knows.
Its only after our first encounter and mortal blow that we find some
Courage to face another foe.
The welcomed peace endured for a season, then skies darken
On eminent splayed horizons and shadowy realms of spirit
You try to make sense of the next wave of terror,
Taunted and vexed at every turn.
Your enemies take form in shapes of, what is true?
Wrestling, pondering among bloody concepts and the why.
Wounds received through fearful encounters take shape of scars,
Scars take shape of trusted moments carried through
Onslaughts of deception.
Fallen men on smoldering ground, tormented by hounds of confusion.
This is how it started, but not how it ended for you see,
There was One we found in heated skirmish
Battle hardened and sure footed, the spear and shield wielded
With skillful hands, He inspired confidence in us all.
On days we found respite, He sat with us and taught strategies in warfare,
The secrets to winning the hearts and minds of defeated bretheren.
The certainty and comfort in His eyes, told stories of ancient victories held.
A kingly stature though plain to view, never considered Himself better
Then the lowliest man I knew.
We asked about some of the scars He brandished,
“They are scars received from the greatest of man’s struggles,” He said,
He got them while defending the poorest of souls.
It was then we understood, it was of us He spoke.
So now we gladly fight for this One who became the captain of our heart,
We’ve learned from the truths that have pierced our very souls,
our greatest cause and reason to be.
A soldier of battles was He…
I'M NOT PERFECT BUT I AM FORGIVEN
Oh, Lord there's many, many, many things that I've driven;
Angry, hopelessness, self-righteousness, given;
Sin ran through my blood as I breath the air of hell;
As I listened to the third father, the father of lies, Satan;
The use to be an Arch angel Lucifer;
Until Michael by God's orders kicked him out the door;
Come falling, he's falling
In sin and shame I'm dawning, I'm calling, I too am falling;
But that, that remains is;
All the sins I've committed;
I've been forgiven;
For I have repented;
And...
I'm not perfect but I am forgiven
Oh, Lord I don't need a shoulder to cry on;
Father God you leant me a body to die on;
Jesus hung on the cross for me;
Long, long, long ago on that tree;
And I so sorry for that, that I've done;
Father God, I thank you always for your saving Son;
And I know His works are never done;
In sin and shame I'm dawning, I'm calling, I too am falling;
But that, that remains is;
All the sins I've committed;
I've been forgiven;
For I have repented;
And...
I'm not perfect but I am forgiven
Care not if the world believes or even forgives me;
For you see no MAN has a heaven or hell to place me;
God please forgive me for those sins that run..
Through the cord, the marrow, spirit, soul body;
I am so, so, so, very gladly, glad....
They can only put me in the grave;
I've repented sincerely and turned around;
Walk these streets with my head up high, world...
I'm not perfect but I am forgiven
I'm not perfect but I'm forgiven;
Matters not if you believe it, brother, sister...
I'M NOT PERFECT BUT I AM FORGIVEN
AMEN
12/22/17
written by James Edward Lee Sr.
from anthology "Strong Faith"
If I had a chance to be
Any book celebrity
It would be easy to choose
There is no way I could lose
Twilight would have to be the one
I would have a lot of fun
Being a big and sweet "puppy"
Would make me feel so lucky
Just don't mess with those I love
Or I will be very tough
Turning into a wolf form
Fluffy and so cozy warm
A girl Jacob I'd become
With a love so purely wholesome
Protecting friends and family
From any harm that might be
Heading right into their path
I'll get there lightening fast
My loved ones wont be in danger
Being a watchful wolf ranger
That turns from a normal person
Into a creature who'll be watchin'
Everyone and everything
When I get a feeling
Somethings wrong I will be bound
Turn it completely around
Keeping harmony and peace
If not my temp will soon increase
Sharp teeth, claws, and big bad paws
Will appear and I will start
To tear this danger apart
Not allowing any kind
Of pain or torture to find
It's way into where I live
My life I would gladly give
As a friend or even wolf
I'll be sure nothing engulfs
Or invades my happy home
Cause my mouth will start to foam
From the anger deep inside
That this wolf can never hide
When I'm calm and so carefree
You'll see a happy side of me
My craziness will not stop
Silly and over the top
Like a newborn pup would feel
I am now going to heel
And end this tale of who
I would be and what I'd do
Bleak existence portrayed,
nonetheless this (baby
boomer) hybrid dreamer
oft times evocative
edenic reveries bekiss
mine psyche with pastoral trappings
evoking utopian bliss
on par with drawing
winning lottery ticket,
which fantasy I quickly dismiss,
where dolorous voices within me hiss
mocking pipe dream compensating
for unlived life hide miss
whiling away hours
of young adulthood...
this threescore aged man did blithely piss
away enraptured with Swiss
Family Robinson fantasy,
gladly exchanging tsoris
entailing breathtaking adventure
versus sequestered bookishness burr
rowed nose engrossed
with page turner capture
ring imagination of this erstwhile drifter
addressing, fixating, and keeping coiffure
as disheveled appearance, where daily
father and mother showed me the door
particularly on account, cuz for one more
nanosecond, they could not endure
this healthy sole son vaping expenditure
as both parents toiled away,
they tired trying to swallow failure
while primarily main feature
of this poem lackadaisically
exhausted as an Evansburg Park fixture
(calling squirrels on first name basis),
no sooner this bookworm gave vague gesture
after setting foot inside abode - 'pon dusk
asper whereabouts, off
into bedroom I did immure
and disappear into story
maybe one about main
character pledging indenture
role as heavy footsteps shook
324 Level Road domicile infrastructure
awaiting the wrath
of Khan spouting ultimatums
our father/son rapport long did inure
a "NON FAKE" wall not immune
to malicious, noxious, vicious... lecture
to offspring who long outwore his
Harris Tweed Scottish welcome mat,
yet... feared testing nonsecure
mooring which familiarity bred contempt!