Long Great deal Poems
Long Great deal Poems. Below are the most popular long Great deal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Great deal poems by poem length and keyword.
Could it be the state of tranquility
Despite the times they are being loquacious
Or this event of serendipity
For meeting this person quite so gracious
Is it his presence is a sweet lagniappe
Or their bond that caused an epiphany
The fact his absence feels like a cold snap
That her feelings are a polyphony
It’s personality in plethora
Which is refreshing just like petrichor
That sets off in her mind an aurora
Depicting sensations of her ardour
It’s that he treats her with delicacy
That sets off these great feelings blossoming
She puts words to them with hesitancy
For her fear of the others gossiping
She hides in a place abyssopelagic
To veil that he is her panacea
As if emotions will leave like magic
Is that not just the dumbest idea
Who’s she kidding they are diaphanous
A statement that she says with some languor
Practicing a great deal of ascesis
When really they should be allowed to soar
But he gives a place of felicity
A place some might say is just limerence
A thing that is quite the duplicity
She knows that she can see the difference
Her affection can appear galactic
But to her it is just a silhouette
Perhaps giving her an ataractic
Will dim her down and she’ll cause less upset
To him she is just incendiary
An explosive she is the quintessence
A fact becoming evidentiary
In it exhibiting its fluorescence
She wished for a soothing elixir
They sent her a voice so mellifluous
However it’s not his job to fix her
Whilst she is in this state of pensiveness
And now she senses a quadrivium
There is an insight into her psyche
She is praying for her elysium
For her own life to end in syzygy
A variety of fragrant lilacs in the ground
Purple and white asters, doilies in baby joy pink.
Prettier flowers in a garden are rarely found
My bird baths are used by cardinals and one blue jay I think
Verdant grasses are moist when I walk my land as I must
Sun glows her happiness on my back as I adventure.
Clover is enticing the bunnies and deer with her crust.
To the beautiful Queen Anne’s lace I must bow and demure.
Faeries disguised as butterflies, dragonflies, and bees
Lamb’s ear’s velvet softness rises from the bowels of the earth.
Dive bomb me any way and direction they so please.
The laughter of the brownies cause a great deal of mirth.
Enthusiastic garden shows off my miraculous way
Of loving plants so much most of them clearly want to stay.
Written 6-2-2019 Contest: Nature scene orphan sonnet poetry contest
Sponsored by: Dale Gregory Cozart
*My beloved Oval, I fear that my words fall short of what I am feeling in my heart. May you accept these few lines of love as my best effort of expressing my concern for you. I have heard much about you, but I have yet to visit and meet you in person. The pictures of you are rather striking and stunning.
It was during the 90's that I first became gravely concerned about what seemed to me, 'a tarnishing' of your office. Circumstances surrounding your occupants caused a great deal of weeping in my soul. It appeared as if the dark clouds of contamination were setting over you, and determined to drive out the awe and aromatic presence of your enduring reverence. Nevertheless, like the giant I always believed you to be, you came roaring back to a place of renown in the early 2000's. And Oval, it was so good to have you back. A new leader so deserving of your atmosphere took great lengths to restore the sacredness that was so rightfully due. I tell you Oval, the reality of your presence and power is so pervasive that it extends far beyond your palatial walls. For centuries you have adorned the shoulders of presidents in attire befitting their sacred trust.
Again, I stand aghast that I am observing a cloud of low regard for your office. Oval, this concern is not about presidents. More than 40 presidents have sat in your room, but you are still here. Presently, you are the one I am concerned about. It's my duty to speak up for you at this "high tide" of divisiveness.
Oval, in closing, there are many forces parading through our country; and it appears that these opposing forces are conspiring for a 'perfect storm'. Be advised and encouraged that much prayer is also invading the air waves. I see indications that not only shall we prevail and survive, but we shall also thrive because of God's Good Graces and His magnanimous mercies.
09292017 PS Contest, Early October Standard, Brain Strand Personification Form *Oval: The Oval Office in The White House
I prepare myself for a deep relaxing bath
but that dratted spider was out to have a laugh
As I pour scented bubble bath into the water
Spidey climbs the wall - he’d also bought his daughter*!
He raises a spindly leg as if to wave hello
that pesky crawling spider really needs to go
It's a living a nightmare, it isn’t a dream
So I emit a very loud ear piercing scream
My heroic hubby dashes to my aid
as my distress was clearly displayed
Whilst I stand their screaming like a stupid bimbo
hubby tosses the weeny spider out the bathroom window
Alas the daddy spider he has other plans
and wriggles his way out of hubby’s hands
Hubby drops the creepy critter onto the floor
spidey plans his escape, he's heading for the door
Hubby pounces on him at breakneck speed
and squashes him flat ... he’s dead indeed*
*A great deal of poetic licence – thankfully there was only one spider and he was tossed out of the Window* I think the warm weather is bringing these pesky spider’s out from hiding:-(
Follow up poem to www.poetrysoup.com/poem/i_confessed_to_a_cold_blooded_murder_1029155
6/9/18
My poems propagate themselves
stirring ingredients like adjectives and adverbs
as I slumber, gloriously out of my mindset
I give my muse permission to pay attention
for I am not in body. Astral travel is my go-to-dream place
Taking no credit, I ease awake often listening to Trixie, my muse
whispering the last line of a poem she has apparently been working on
several hours before I wake
Am I being humble? No. I am giving credit
to a part of my brain that does not travel with my soul at night
the part that regulates breathing insuring my fleshly continuance
This is why I readily give my muse Trixie
credit for a great deal of my poetry.
Sometimes I read it and I think “Who wrote that?”
Then one phrase or one word will click
and I know that I know nothing about my creativity or my dream state
But I do know that it is much easier to give Trixie credit
for I am not one who knows what she is about
flying by the seat of my soul most of the time.
I took a trip through hell.
Not to visit but to settle a debt.
Actually, I just visited a different part of hell,
One I wasn’t familiar with,
Having spent a great deal of my life
In a hell opened on my behalf by others.
The trip across town didn’t phase me,
Or change my situation.
Hell is not where the devil’s live,
Nor where Satan hangs his horns.
Hell is an uncharted wasteland
Into which the unsuspecting victim is cast.
There is no rhyme nor reason
To the presence of those present
Save unfortunate circumstance.
The debt I chose to settle centered
Around the years I languished in this hell.
The debt, I knew, could never be repaid.
I also knew that those who claimed
They owed no debt must be confronted
By the mockery of their fear.
They had to see the face of those
They stole from, defrauded and banished
To a hellishly angry and lonely exile.
So I took this trip to hell
Just to piss them off
To put them on notice
That they were not the one’s in charge
Of my hell.
I bent their trident forks
Pissed on their fire
Chewed on their brimstone
And asked them for some hot sauce.
For hell had made a man of me!
Not a good man, not the best man,
But a man “tried of the fire”
Still pissed off and ready to kick
Some Satanic ass.
To those who doubt there is a hell
I offer this warning
You may be there already
Yet unaware of your circumstance.
I have been to hell, and had a Hell of a time.
Now that time is over
As is the fear of the demons
And the bastards who allow them reign.
John G. Lawless
©3/6/2023
Phantom feelings...
stinging prickly reminders
that missing attachments
were parts of real healing.
Painful loss replays
trauma bond tricks and treats.
Days of death danced a two-step
with hot held hope
Two faced masking for supply.
Divine love's inculcation
Came from a different angle,
crossing over from an unusual side.
Damage control diagnosis
is clear cut hope
in clean-cut separation
from what had already died.
Mind-Heart becomes supple
when you don't need to split
your Self into two states-
your odds at each other's throat.
Drop the knives.
You stabbed yourself in the foot
so many times.
Face that fork in the road-
You brought your broken heart here.
Face prosthetic help
Like all those veterans of false soul mate war.
Facing choice that is no choice
forces you to stand up.
Walk forward on your own two feet...
The future is a fearless clean slate.
Aqua M Pen Umbra Poems
02/02/2024.
Phantom Sensation/Pain after Amputation: When the missing part of a limb is still "felt." May feel as if the mission part of your limb is asleep. Stronger sensations that feel like burning, twisting, cramping, aching, are called "Phantom Pain." (Do research.)
Phantom Emotions are described as emotional reactions from childhood that persist and get triggered, causing us a great deal of unnecessary pain and suffering. Our brain and nervous system can hardwire memories of painful experiences from childhood that are no longer there.
According to Helen Kramer, renowned author, therapist, it's possible to identify these phantom emotions, and replace them, and live as the empowered, confident adults we always desired to be.
There is Hope.
When I was created many years ago
I felt I was in pieces, so went with the flow
A piece of me here, a piece of me there
In fact I had pieces almost everywhere
I never gave it a great deal of thought
Until to my attention one day it was brought
Someone said gather all your pieces in
I tried to collect them but hopes were thin
My piece’s I found from everywhere
Just leaving one little space spare
Like the jigsaw incomplete
The statue with the clay for feet
One day someone said to me
I am this piece if you will let me be
The piece did fit and held me tight
Eons in coming but the timing just right..
My missing piece did me complete
Never now no more with clay for feet
A whole person I can now be
That is what this piece has done for me.
©23/03/2013 ~GG~
Hey my brave poetry sis from across the pond,
We don’t comment too often but we have a,
Common bond,
Our Greek blood is what makes us fighters,
We will forever be avid poetry writers,
You are in my thoughts every single day,
And I do stay still sometimes so that I
Can pray,
I hope you listen to the medical staff and
Every Doctor,
I’m sure you keep them amused, remind them
You are only a lodger,
That you are looking forward to going
Back home,
Where you can do as you like in your very
Own zone,
First eat well and carefully do your exercises,
This will definitely be good and energize
You,
I know that you had and have a great deal
Of pain,
You might in the first couple of weeks have to
Use a cane,
Paint it a bright red, azure blue or a candy
Floss pink,
And remember us all for you must know, that we
Think
Of you and wish you the best, a speedy recovery
My dear friend,
I would hope that you will leave pretty soon,
And that you are on the mend,
Love you dear sis,
With hugs and a kiss.
WITH MY FEET ON THE GROUND
With my feet on the ground,
I looked to the stars.
Darkness can steal away your soul.
Like a blood thirsty beast,
It sinks its teeth deep within your throat.
With my feet on the ground,
I looked to the stars.
There was an attempt, once again.
An attempt to steal my treasure chest of happiness
A happiness that I acquired and caressed.
With my feet on the ground
I looked to the stars.
There was a loud start of music.
As loud as thunderbolts, I could not hear.
Could not hear the unkind words of my kindred.
Darkness can steal away your soul.
But you see, my feet are on the ground.
A ground that keeps me from altering.
Unkindness from people, cannot alter my own.
I was taught compassion, I was taught forgiveness.
Thieves can rob you of your happiness.
But you see, with my feet on the ground.
A ground that keeps me from altering.
Thieves never succeed, an attempt cannot alter my happiness.
I was taught happiness from within, I was taught content.
Music can play, roar loud like thunderbolts.
But you see, with my feet soiled to the ground.
A ground that keeps me from altering.
Unkind words cannot trump a kind soul.
I was taught understanding, I was taught endurance.
My mum taught me to forgive, I have experienced a great deal of hurt in my life, by the people I care about the most. They seldom ask for forgiveness. I forgive anyway, it gets weary sometimes but I just forgive which always brings me more happiness. Happiness that I know I never want to compromise for anything in my life, nothing at all.
© Herzel Poshiwa :)