Long Graced Poems
Long Graced Poems. Below are the most popular long Graced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Graced poems by poem length and keyword.
God painted this portrait of emerald and crimson
Soothing my soul with the brilliant and vivid
Colors of miracles caressing my heart and spirit
Breathing out whispers of sentiments that touch me
With a sense of faith in all that gives hope in this world
God graced the misty mountain morning with a touch
Of joy and inspiration that comes from discovering
Peace that knows no worry or anxiety, but fulfills dreams
With the tender embrace of rainfall that brings with it
Dancing lights of star and moon, insights into satisfaction
God welcomed these jubilant flowers that touch thoughts
With charming desires for tomorrow’s creativity and vision
Moments of encouragement colored in hues of acceptance
Prayers that come alive with amazing intuitions combining
To produce heavenly aromas of kindness felt in this place
God breathed the sparkles into the stars and light into sunshine
Flavored the gardens with delicate hands to harvest all the gifts
From this rich and raw soil which knows nothing of depression
But feels alive with all of nature’s senses and direction, the course
Toward sweet talents sent down from heaven to bless us
God’s garden was Eden, free from evil and even the least sin
Even now, on this earth, there is the feeling of purity and hope
Discovered in the tiny seeds that are planted and nourished
Bringing sprouts of loving plants which fill hearts with serenity
Tranquility that leads hearts to believe in God’s forever, eternity!
God blessed me with a garden and I feel sure He has, ever so gently,
Touched my heart with a piece of true fertility only found within
The one who believes in the Son who found Himself in the garden
Of Gethsemane, awaiting the moment when we would be spared
From the death that only He would need to experience to free us all
God gave us more than a garden when He spared us our own Gethsemane
He gave each one of us a gift of pure, phenomenal love without conditions
A love that would be the answer to every prayer, every mystery,
Love that arises when we discover the answers can only be found
In the spiritual intimacy attained with a relationship bought and paid for by Him,
Our personal Savior… The giver of all the flowers, gardens and vivid portraits
Of nature!
Petal, buds, blossoms, bees, birds, butterflies! Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
July 30, 2020
not in the heart again
for chrissakes it's like Swiss cheese
decoffinated please I'm a yet ambulatory zombie
off his medication as usual
alternatives to logic 101 with Prof. Spike
far too much work for a dead end
saw his only ally the embalmers needle
left his innards spilled in the sand
history in its entirety mocked his comprehension
had the nation in tears and then nausea
several dueling scars graced his genitals
if our perceptions already lie
why shouldn't we
I had to laugh
it was all I could do to keep from smiling
even after a thousand years of AI research
the electronic government was helpless
my Microsoft forehead radiator
absolutely charmingly couldn't get any focus
but the Royal Society of Blind Philosophers
helped me with my little problem
a miracle of recipe repair
because our endorphin soup is a bit thin
the quicksilver cooks ate first and fell asleep
having thrown away their brains long before
in the field kitchen of the gods
after the air raid sirens of postmodernity
can there be too much truth
for an army of blood diamond merchants
now a bit more about para electrics
if only I were at liberty to discuss it
yes imprecision can carry signal
but the place is crawling with dilettantes
wearing their secret butt plugs
it's a guessing game as you can see
petitioning for a visually diagrammatic idiom
although it's a devilish seesaw but let us restart
The Oblivion Ride was the big theme park attraction
my extended family was in the sideshow
justifiably taken for a pack of fools
then the sun went down and never came up again
and we stepped into the stone circle
chanting evidence is preferable
to the moonlit tombstone
good luck with that in your airwaves
broadcast on radio Sarajevo
signal drifting drifting drifting
with minds great and small
and smaller and smaller
the Internet is the yearned for Messiah
there it's done and out and not to be unseen
you wrestle with it while I proceed
dashing among startled commuters
mesmerizing the fact finding committee
their dictatorship of x-ray leeches
tossed him out of several monasteries
apparently the production quotas were relaxed
in a kaleidoscope of normalcy
the style crazed mannerist martinets
howdy do nail in my shoe
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
She didn't remember who I was
But it didn't really matter
Her eyes lit up like sunshine
Each time I entered the room
as if we were long lost friends
She'd say, "Oh! Please, sit a spell",... and I would grab a chair...
I would hand her the bag, and she would peek inside.
She wore her smile like a happy child.
Cookies !...."Oh my! My favorite kind!"
One would think it were a pot of gold.
As we chatted, she told me her about her birthday.
"December 19th!", she would remind me..
Forgetting that just the day before
we had celebrated, and even more.
She said...."Oh,..let's have a party!"
Everyone knew that this lady loved a party.
And I replied, "Of course!"
"I must be going!", she suddenly said
Said again, with a worried brow...just as she fretted the day before..
"The girls will be home from school!"
She looked around for her purse.
"I have three girls, you know,.....they will be coming home from school."
She repeated once more...."I have three daughters, you know."
I told her the girls will be fine...and that I'd like to visit a little longer.
That seemed to calm her. "Have you seen my ring?"..
She held her blue veined, withered hand high in the air for me to see.
A flash of glitter graced her finger, sparkling just like the stars in the sky.
"My husband gave it to me. It was a Valentine surprise!" she said.
"He was a rascal, you know!"
"Oh,...it's beautiful, Irene"...I responded.
"Did you know", she smiled again...."this was a Valentine surprise!"...?
"My husband gave it to me"
Finally, it was time for me to leave. I got up to say goodbye.
"Would you mind giving me a ride?" she said.
...."The girls will be coming home from school!"
I told her I would check on her girls...not to worry.
And then I told her I would be back again tomorrow..
"I have a birthday coming", she said....December l9th!! Did you know?"
Once more...I said..."Yes...we will have a party"....
"Did you see my ring?"..."My husband gave it to me on Valentines, it was a surprise!"
And I said..."It's lovely Irene....as lovely as the stars in the sky"
As lovely as Irene....
Goodnight Irene goodnight....the stars will shine brighter tonight,...
Stars always shine brighter in December........
Goodnight Irene, goodnight....
_________________________________________________________________________
Rosebuds draft in scarlet, crimson, or maroon,
dreams to capture the viewer's point of view,
as its blossom's sheath their basis to its prune,
magnificent achievers rise in rows queue,
as the loss of age cast their field of thorn strewn,
shadows the facades to pipe a distinct tune,
shear away those sharp pokey points of danger,
and frail petals to amend its life-changer.
Amendments trail the housed maxed of tabletops,
of revived rosebuds claim a home as their own,
a treasured wealth trades with the town's floral shops,
then set at one's front wicket by an unknown,
or adorn tombstones as floral wreaths that props,
and crowned on a princess who sits on her throne,
a taxing burden to detain the death masque,
not tiny but thornless as Bonsai craft's task.
The Pyramid steps like the Baguio steppes,
where Filipinos view as their time-out spot,
the other is ancient for tourists who peps,
while an isle serves the rosebuds to sprout and squat,
nature confides stemmed thornless maroon by reps,
students check articles of the course they plot,
as a new breed of rosebuds shelved a terrace,
elegance embrace the solitaire heiress.
Loosely sketched parcels that the rosebud dwells in,
fresh sod fertile and well-sopped sealed neath the sun,
from its current strain, since its birth in Eden,
inspire blossoming with faint buzzes outdone,
coy rumors, green greener, red redder, seeds in,
East rises, and West sets, how the rosebud won,
Bonsai is an ancient craft not deemed as new,
man named rosebuds since their virgin birth, it grew.
Spring sprung sprouts as their healthy roots hug the ground,
a wealth of newborns reach for the warmth of skies,
its outstretched stem hardens merely being gowned,
a promised promenade paramount to rise,
by patrons, the sun, moon, and earth make their round,
a glowing shape as a rosebud is its prize,
the fields are graced with rosebuds color-filled rows,
as they grow in opened splendor till it snows.
Botanical Society best: Sowers.
ranked by their breeds and regions where they were raised,
down to idyllic truths, forthcoming growers,
who take pleasure in their leisure being phased,
where growth is best tended as their height lowers,
promised its dowery by virtuous praised,
reach prosperous glory in you or outpours,
rain or shine achievers within or outdoors.
Back straight, shoulders down. Straighten the computer. Stop staring at the purple walls.
Light the candle once, twice, three times -- why won’t it light? --
before the flame finally catches,
filling the room with the scent of pine.
Breathe in, breathe out. Start typing.
Sunlight slants across my fingertips, and I turn to face the source
impossibly far from the window.
The clouds are tinged the golden white of times flown by,
of the yarn of the Fates that winds tighter and tighter and tighter and tighter in your chest until you’re suffocating, asphyxiating, gasping for breath, panic turning your body to crumbling stone.
The mushrooms know this process well. It’s been inscribed in their DNA since well before humans were graced with the knowledge of how to care for their dead.
Over the eons, they’ve befriended Time and Death alike.
What would I give to have such an intimate connection with the two?
To sit back amongst shadows that drape me like a blanket rather than grip me like a vise?
Too much time has passed. Too many seconds lost. Time, time, time, slipping away from my scrambling fingers.
Can’t grip the yarn; too silky, too precious. The Fates wove quality too fine for mortals to grasp.
Clear thoughts like an etch-a-sketch, sending fireglow hair flying. Breathe in, breathe out.
Start typing.
The words that appear are damn near incomprehensible, shrouded and hidden by
ghosts of memories that weave themselves through my thoughts.
A dark lake house lit by candles and the fire in my eye as I take my grandma “exploring”
over forest-colored carpet and around oak tables,
a land she’s already familiar with.
How do I rectify that vision with what’s facing now?
112 feather-light pounds of gray hair and fading eyes,
reality’s cruel reward for a life of purpose and love.
I’m scrambling to keep up with all the changes, but my grasp is slipping.
Suddenly she’s falling faster than we thought.
The heater’s white noise is the only constant,
the handfuls of M&Ms the only distraction.
I’m all too aware of the bills I’m racking up,
too cognizant that synthetic dopamine only shoves away what’s real,
but I’m crumbling too fast to care.
Shaky breath in. Straighten the computer. Stop staring blankly at the purple walls.
There’s too much to do; the future’s jumping down your throat and running away.
Start typing.
SafeHome is not so much a real place
as a destiny longed for
on our lifetime journey toward dynamic well-being,
too healthily robust to fear growing homeless and friendless.
SafeHome is not an unchanging Paradise,
statically without resonantly changing,
slow-turning nutritious seasons,
ups and downs,
ins and outs.
Such conservative stability, uniformity
could never be my red-blooded idea
of brilliantly resilient Heaven.
So, when Earth's climate pressures,
internally and externally competing
to my point of ego-aggression,
notice chronic stress climbing up my back
and shoulders,
brain stem and frontal cortex
concerned about politically left and personally unself-righteous depression,
When cynicism about never ever loving enough WinWin RealTimes
RealTalk
Real cooperative integrity walks
into co-passioning solidarity,
Then my SafeHome destined child and parent voices
prefer WinWin economic ecological sanctuary
removed from WinLose habitual habitats,
dissonant stuckness
never ever feeling like healthy SafeHome resilience.
Homes resonantly sustained
First, by dynamic cooperative resonance
with all EarthTribes
occupying compassionate health vocational preoccupations
And, Second,
actively seeking sanctuaries cooperatively facilitating,
feeding,
watering,
fueling resilient multicultural nutritional development.
HealthyWealth SafeHomes
plant and harvest socially compassionate
interdependent health-resonant relationships,
polyculturally resilient,
spiritually and naturally polypathic, nonsectarian,
democratically positive energetic, dynamic systems
forming SafeWombed
flow-functions,
universal inside survivor memories
of cooperative sanctuary, originally outside warm wombs
From SafeWombs
emerge WinWin infants, then young and free children
who become WinWin parents and teachers and gratitude preachers,
eco-listeners and ego-speakers
longing for compassionately cooperative SafeHome returns,
pilgrimages toward universal solidarity,
unitarian SafeHome interdependence.
A long strong ZeroZone SafeHome
for robust reunification
within EarthTribe graced communions, healthy
green cooperatives,
permaculturally wealthy
deep learning lifetimes
for green STEAM educational placements,
safe ZeroBalancing carbon-based residencies
in WinNature-WinSpirit learning civilizations.
In this lifeskills class in political economics,
we look at politics as healthy power
and economics as wealthy flow
of cooperatively held assets
and win/win co-passionate resources,
investments in polycultural symbiosis
and disinvestments from monoculturing politics
bad relationships and nontransactions of hoarding
and competing discommunications
suffering monolithically
Anthro-centric LeftBrain dominance.
This lifeskills class
may also reconsider
where paying-it-forward economics
and democratically cooperating politics
lead to healthier and wealthier outcomes
for society
and all Earth Tribe cultures
than patriarchal capitalist
systemic RightWing trauma.
If economic flow
and co-investment balancing function
are sacred,
then politically interdependent relationships
might be divine,
designed with therapeutic intention
co-arising positive wealth-care practice.
We might conclude this lifeskills class
for medicinal doctorates in health optimization,
with some split-brain research
concluding that RightBrained politics
can only Be present
with graced ego/eco-proportional presence,
a non-languaged
embodied
root systemic
HappySpace of co-empathic confluence
with Positive Political Psychology.
Meanwhile, LeftBrained evolving economic function
flows from past to deduct-reduct-redact,
then re-language
a lexicon of future's felt win/win v. win/lose
v lose/lose mind/body
wealth/health frequencies,
stored in dialectical strings of DNA
back through transgenerations of space/time
co-revolution.
This politics of Right's timeless-present
political grace
informs Left's economic discernment
of sacred cooperative space
as primal relationship of Self+Other,
as Yang-AnthroMind with Yin-EarthBody.
We could conclude this lifeskills class
intending to elect political leaders
to deep listen to economic
nutritional wealth mentors
speaking compassionately
about how to grow healthy
co-empathically powerful
win-economic-mind/win-political-body
co-relationships
Which may require letting go
of Earth's monotheistic-capitalist
systemically traumatized clergy
Supporting God's BeLoved People
with competitive win/lose
missionary economics,
silently sustaining
AnthroPrivileged
trans-phobic
unhealthy ordained gurus
and mono-theistic
unwise
unwealthy politicized thugs.
INSPIRED BY “SCENTED LEAVES” CONTEST SPONSPORED BY KIM RODRIGUES
Aromatic avenues with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you grace with your presence
Those delicate feet treading the petalled pathways of his heart
Enticing a new spring in the Autumn of his life
Autumn
A cold bleak reminder of the rains that are still yet to fall
And yet, he sees the smile that your soul wears just for him
And the seeds are sown in the depths of his heart
A heart that he thought no longer beat
A heart that he no longer wanted to beat
Because a beating heart can bleed
Faster
Harder
Making him weak
He is a man
He cannot afford to be weak
He must be strong
He must prepare for torrential downpours
He must retain his shelter
His armour
He must not wear a smile for you
“He will not!” he tells himself.
Yet somehow those scented leaves make him forget himself
And it’s Spring again
And he dons a secret smile
You intoxicate his senses and he wants to indulge in you more
He needs you. Craves you.
He loves it
He hates it
He no longer knows what to feel
Trapped
His tortured pragmatic mind
Wrestling with a drunken heart
Wanting to be loved
Afraid of what will become of him
If love walks away
So, he aspires to become love
That way he gets to be the one to walk away
He will love you a little
And discard of you a lot
He will maintain control
Control of himself
Control of his fears
At least
That is what he thinks
YOU
With the look of adventure in your crystal blue eyes
And your aromatic fragrance of freedom
Wafting, as you inhabit all who inhale your inner beauty
It’s a scent that lingers
You are that scent
The smell of what could have been
He will forever wear it
Carry it in his heart
Or his mind –
Whichever wins at the end of each dreary day
Now Autumn is not just a reminder of death
Of life
It is a reminder of death
Of love
Still those aromatic avenues are filled with the scent of your perfume
Lingering on each leaf you once graced with your presence
Those indelicate feet trampling the putrid pathways of his hardened heart
Enticing a new harsher winter in the awful Autumn of his lonely life
Midnight Aurora
November 12th 2019
It begins at home
even closer: it begins "I"nside
I have forgiven failures, failing in faith, inside me
Have you? Until you do, it is almost too hard
To forgive your imperfect parent, and therefore Father-in-Heaven
Lest it seems, I speak ordinary, old, old-fashioned sermon or speech
"Remember Mandela, South Africa, TRC? I was there!"
While billions only speak it, I have to live it
I did not want to; Mandela (OUR BELOVED MADIBA) made it policy
In the bad old South Africa, poisoned by a white Minority, 300 years
Still wanting NOT to share anything today; but we must for ourselves
And for Jesus (or for Mandela, or for Gandhi: both graced South Africa)
Yes, I have grown to love Forgiveness and Reconciliation in my heart
There it must begin, or it cannot come out into this bloody world
From the blood pump inside you, pure Jesus lineage can overflow
Once the mind and heart come into agreement, concord, one accord
(That's what happened at the Pentecost that birthed Christ's Church -
When the disciples, dreading death after Jesus's Crucifixion, locked doors
In the Upper Room, in Jerusalem, tarrying still: Fire in Holy Spirit fell!)
The Holy Spirit tells me to love like Jesus and Mother Theresa (now Saint)
Love till it hurts (and once hurt like that, NOTHING will ever hurt you & me)
I forgive because I see the forgiveness of Jesus (What does it mean? Sins?)
LOVE may begin in sin; but it flies with eagle wings, near the SON, forgiven
We reconcile with the Parent Above; who is really everywhere, doctrines do
not tell us all, only a start: God loved and offered reconciliation, but Truth
Demands we confess: I was a dirty, dastardly sinner, until He washed me
In the pure, precious blood of a Perfect Man, High-Priest after Melchizadek
So, dear brother and sister, I do not list sins to make you mad
That is only to assure YOU the Jesus way: Confess, Receive Grace, Live Free
TRC in RSA: TRUTH and Reconciliation (& Commission Under Archbishop Tutu)
Said anyone, white or black, who confessed their murders and sins
Would not be taken to court; only one was (Wouter Basson)
A whole nation forgave the white Minority under Mandela's mighty mandate
To Love and forgive like Jesus, for BIGGER things: like saving a country
From the kind of civil wars that rage on and on, fed by hate, all about US
Sometimes our attention will turn toward some of God's special creations that may cause our hearts to skip a beat or take one's breath away. Such was the case with me when one of God's choicest roses left me speechless and staring.
While chatting with a friend, I looked to our right and saw a mobilized rose bush* moving in our direction. It appears that I was more startled and enchanted by the beauty of the roses than by the animated movement. The roses were much lovelier than any that I had ever seen and were most beautiful, full of color, and downright stunning.
I did not speak to the rose but wanted to, nor it to me, but I heard it well in unutterable tones, and as I stared at it with wonderment, it watched me sheepishly. I was to some extent spellbound and for a while, I could not look away. There were also other flowers standing and some coming and going in a most orderly fashion, but none was as noticeable as the roses that came in our direction.
Indeed, for a few seconds, I forgot that my friend was standing there, and lest I be embarrassed, I discontinued staring at the one particular rose that had spell bounded me. I then turned toward the less eye-catching flowers, but that special rose continued moving toward my friend and stood next to him as I walked away. By then it was clear to me that they knew each other, but it was also clear to me that the rose was not available to me for acquisition, nor was I in a position to acquire that priceless rose.
It's been many a year since first seeing that mesmerizing rose of impeccable purity and refinement, so arresting and captivating of me as no rose, violet, lily, or lilac ever had before. Never had I encountered a flower so adorable and embracing.
I tell you, roses are my favorite flower, and many of them have graced my home for more than 22 years. I must confess that there have been times I have denied them proper care and adequate water supply due to drought conditions, but I love my long-standing roses dearly. Moreover, for a long season and more, I cannot forget that overwhelming rose that fixated and left me speechless more than 10 years ago.
120219PoSoup, (entry 072820)July NA HM Poetry, Constance La France. Your Best New Poem, Emile Pinet. NA . *fiction. 2nd contest(7/9/20), Strand Completely New 7, Brian Strand. NA