Long Grook Poems
Long Grook Poems. Below are the most popular long Grook by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grook poems by poem length and keyword.
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." 1Corinthians 15:55-57 King James Bible
Accepting death-appointment or avoiding its attack?
Bravely bowing to its beseeching or boldly beating its blow?
Circumspectly cautioned by its coming or cowardly curtailing its case?
Denying its dangerous duty or demanding for its determined destination?
Expecting for its entry or entreating for its exempting exit with excuses?
Faith in God helps me face death with fortitude
Graciously, I succumb to it when the appointed time comes
Helped to be ready since my soul is redeemed by the Saviour
Instilled with imputed righteousness with divine love
Just as I am… I cling to the Author of life for my last breath.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except when there is a storm warning,
Then only water proof ones you should be wearing.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except when your hair needs cutting,
Then, your hat will be in no need of cleaning.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except when the wind is blowing,
Then, a hood you should be appearing.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except when in court you are appearing,
Then, you will to the judge, look more appealing.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except in church where you will be praying,
Then you will be given a blessing.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except when you are showering,
Then, you will with a towel be drying,
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except when you are thirsting,
Then, with no cup, your hat you will be using.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except when your head is not fitting,
Then, your hat will need replacing.
Hats are for wearing,
Never for storing,
Except for the times I have been mentioning,
Then you may revert to swearing,
Unless you can find an excuse for not listening.
And wear your hat out while gardening.
Then, it will never need storing.
Can it be done by anyone,
I know we can travel forward in time,
We are living, proof that will not change over time,
Alive in a past time,
Alive in this points in time.
There is also no room to doubt in this time,
That we can physically touch, see, and occasionally smell
items in this time,
That existed in a past time.
While I never like to say never,
Not knowing the meaning of the word forever,
I predict time travel back to the past,
Would not be a blast,
Yet would create a paradox,
Obvious even to anyone with a brain equal
to that of an ox.
We do however have the ability in this time,
To view records of a past time,
And unearth secrets from further back in time,
But we cannot in this time effect change on even
a single blade of grass,
Not even its mass,
But we can use it to change the future,
And decide whether to nurture,
Or torture,
Something to think about in this time,
Before we run out of time.
Thanks a lot cat,
For waking me up in the middle of the night,
For cat food to find by torchlight,
So, someone in the house can sleep through the night,
And awake in a mood that is as bright as the suns light.
I know our biological clocks are seen in a different light,
But at that time of night,
It is hard to see it that way, under torchlight,
Especially when I did not get to bed til midnight,
But when the first rays of sunlight,
Begin to push back the night,
You are safe to come back inside to nap, knowing my mood is now light,
And my language now fit, for a cat that likes to purr anytime, day and night.
You should think yourself a lucky cat,
As the cats, who came before you, did not fear so well in the night,
When they woke babies in the house, requiring more than just torchlight,
And not one in the house able to sleep through the night,
Making it hard for anyone to face the day with a mood that was light,
Enough, to enjoy the sight of cat taking a nap anytime of the day or night.
I don't do perfect,
And refuse to accept it as an edict,
As perfect is impossible to perfect,
With billions of definitions of what makes anything or anybody perfect,
Even scientists have been unable to perfect,
A way to define what is perfect.
I only do my best,
And aim to improve on my previous best,
Which gives me time to rest,
When others are still searching for something that does not exist,
Which puts me out of step with those who never rest,
With more each day unable to resist,
The many selling the idea of families that are perfect,
Products that produce results that are perfect,
Bodies that are perfect,
Even the right time for things to be perfect.
The older I get, the more I think being out of step is best,
And I would be a fool to change, when it has taken me so long to perfect,
A way to resist the need for perfection, and that to me is perfect.
I can't find the words,
And even if I could, would there be enough words,
To describe,
To my scribe.
What I feel when I look at the news on my computer,
Before I become a commuter,
And find picture after picture
Pasted by reporters who need a lecture,
On how the reader can make sense,
When there seems to be no sense,
In pasting a picture that is totally unrelated
To the words in the story that is featured.
In my lecture I would be saying to these modern reporters,
And the editors,
To whom they are reporting,
Too many pictures you are importing,
At the expense of good reporting.
My heart goes out to those tasked with deciding,
Who gets an award for best reporting.
The only advice I can give them is to put their blinkers on,
As, with the pictures all gone,
They may find the list of reporters who can report, quite short,
And those whom to pictures, often resort,
Will find it less rewarding,
And we may see more words appearing,
With the odd picture we can see, as belonging.
If the reasoning is not sound,
Then the sound of the outcome,
Will give few a reason to sound,
Happy with the outcome.
If you only want one,
Only need one,
And buy two for the price of one,
You should not be surprised at the outcome,
If you plan to share with no one.
When everything is on special,
To make you feel special,
And nothing can be manufactured for that price,
Who will pay the price?
If you look for quantity over quality,
Can you really expect a life of quality?
When deep down you know,
That quality is what helps you grow,
To understand the reasoning behind,
What will leave you the one left behind.
When jay Townsend Johnson Henry
climbed in my windiw searching
for my American poetry sending
chills down my spine author star
Parker was parked awaited this
impersonator my poetry wasn't as
grand as Robert frost or even
Edgar Allen poe I was broken
disabled mother retired nursery
school teacher from Germany I
enjoy folklore poetry with my children
I adored writing I certainly wasn't
highly educated I attended a school
for journalism as a child in Chicago
writing was my passion my grammer
was way off miss spelling words but my
poetry was mine and she was obsessed
with my poetry my life hence my dearh
nevertheless my imposter grew
enraged fearing my safety after I
contacted the fbi the attorney general
office she crawled away like a spineless
crab leaving dirty sand mites in her wake
as she gathered killers and dealers
to murder me end my life for my
American poetry I still cringe at the
behest of the full knowledge of this
sheer hardship i survived her threats
assassination attempts while she would
finally dummy up to dumb down
fascinating to say the least my prayers
remain for the soul of this person of
such envy hatred and cruelty for me
cruelty for a disabled American poet
I thank god for saving me from my killers
For the first time
since the end of Summer,
Mr. Nobody wears his socks to bed,
a sad admission that
things were going to get worse.
Can't count on the
warmth of mother nature's breast
to keep his mammalian nature intact.
When he wears his socks
and he pulls the thin duvet and the
extra purple woven Dacron blanket
up over himself he feels
warm enough to sleep.
The cat, Missy, who sleeps on his bed
wants to go out. This is Mr. Nobody's worse fear,
like a fear of urination
a fear that keeps him from resting.
Mr. Nobody throws off the blankets, rises,
swings his legs over the side of the bed
and rests his feet on the cold wood laminate floor.
He shuffles to the door
Missy follows.
Opening the back door, he feels
the dread of the betrayal.
Missy scoots out.
Now, before he can sleep, Mr. Nobody has to remember
to find her and let her in again, realizing now that
William, the male cat had been let out earlier.
He will have to recover them both.
Mr. Nobody doesn’t know why he cares so much
about the discomforts of the cats.
He doesn't know if they suffer the terrors
of the failing pact with nature as much as he,
probably they do not.
Mr. Nobody returns to bed, pulls the cover-sandwich package
over his legs then over his chest. He rests,
planning to rise in an hour to go out and find the cats.
Mr. Nobody is certain that when he calls the cats
after an obligatory time
they will agree to follow him,
almost as if they know what's
good for them.
If you want clarity of thought,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you want to increase your chances of becoming rich,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you want a tidy house,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you want to move up the ladder at work,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you have a problem that needs solving,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you are having a relationship that is in crisis,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you have money problems,
Then sorting is a skill you should give some thought.
If you are a farmer,
Chances are you will not need me to tell you,
How important it is to sort the wheat from the chaff.