Long Guise Poems
Long Guise Poems. Below are the most popular long Guise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Guise poems by poem length and keyword.
Mother said, “Avoid the bilge,”
Keep your dreams clear, don’t let them delve.
No depth in anger, nor strife,
“Steer clear of paths where woes are felt.”
Do not let your heart be like a delft,
Cold and rigid, set by a protective shelf.
Live close to the warmth, shun the frosty guise,
Let no icy barriers govern your heart’s ties.
Happiness isn’t found in mere eighths,
It blooms in each breath, in small and grand states.
Life’s not a problem to be conquered or braced,
But warmth in moments cherished, unspoiled, and embraced.
When the world feels coated in a sticky glaze,
Remember, love’s the beacon to guide you through the haze.
Mother said, “In all your face, stay near warmth's embrace,
Value love and moments, not the race.”
In the warmth of a hearth, not the delft,
Dreams unfold, and joy is felt.
Mother said, “In all things you see,
Stay true to warmth, and let it be.”
Utopian dreams of HALCYON days are blind to devilry.
Where OPULENT wealth with SONOROUS, grandiloquence,are feared by JEALOUSY.
PENUMBRA casts it's shadow dark, so prying eyes don't see the Light,
And DESULTRY whose changing ways, distracts observant eyes.
EXUBERANT spirits are deluding, masking minds from clarity.
CREPUSCULAR, earths twilight night, and eerie shades of dawn,
Where evil hides in virtues guise, as Faith then Hope and Charity.
Those VISCERAL feelings deep inside, are lampooned by pasquinades.
These sarcastic, CYNICAL tirades, arranged by evil to avert, the devil in disguise,
Who tempts with promises he will not keep, beware, be very wise.
1/ 30/ 2016.
Matthew O' Harris Ease A "FAKE" Irishman
Saint Patrick's Day, or
Feast of Saint Patrick
Lá Fhéile Pádraig
invoke even non Irish to proclaim
Éirinn go Brách
translated as "Ireland Forever."
Though semitic thru and thru
yours truly (me) dons guise of being Irish
trumpeting hoople linked with
the folklore and culture of Emerald Isle
juiced tin he nuff tame afore
thee 2024 Saint Patrick's Day,
(hens this faux written accent
donned to sail hub berate won big todo
fur those peep pull
o' Eire rush deuce cent)
aye pretend, and thence make oop
duff fallow wing vary minor event
harkening back e'er sins this generic gent,
hooped tubby imp poet hint wannabe,
(who hapt tubby absent
without leave from Brogue kin home
since a lil whippersnapper, and accident
boot tappin), when me note holler than
garden variety leprechaun, advertisement
tuff hind miss elf, no major ailment -
good red ants tomb ma late mum,
which fair re: creatures, no argument
booth us, iz moar rare than
finding far leaf clover,
and eek will coz fur astonishment
eef hoodlum (caw zing
bedlam) sought atonement
Yukon bull heave or no,
how life on the lamb
as a Dublin street urchin met belligerent
scruffy geezers old looking and bent
till kind ole soul named C. Clement
took yaws truly as apprenticed
Baron without complaint,
though kept ma lidded concealment
secret til search abandoned confident
gnome hissing pipsqueak,
would be sorely missed
giving fresh start with help to coinvent
patois, and be comb real estate magnet
ne'er no wing want oof
basic needs - yea content
in due time making pile
moan hee tall as Taj Mahal
kicking back during Lent
gerrymandering convalescent
old age spinning yarns
for modest copayment
total tubular tales with
nary a Harris Boss Tweed
stitch of truth.
Dead works...
sown to profit with grandiose worth
midst carnal motives of utilitarian gain
lurking in the guise of selfless sacrifice
yet awaiting futility's harvest...
Woe unto me, and my vain effort!
Dead faith...
persists to please the Almighty
while vanquishing lingering angst
guilty conscience inflicts
in overcoming challenges
for mankind's advancement
yet gaining no spiritual merit...
Pity me, and my well-being!
Dead to sin...
as adversary keeps on mocking
for hell's condemnation due to iniquities
gripped with pride along covetous cravings
yet seeking redemption through divine grace and mercy...
Oh God, quicken me, and my soul!
Dead to self...
now conquered by the Saviour's love
strives to reach-out with kindness, sharing peace, compassion, hope
challenging deadness' venom with reverberating
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
But thanks be to God, which giveth us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."*
*1Corinthians 15:55-57
August 28, 2019
Edited on September 27, 2023
1st place, "Mocking the dead" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 9/29/2023
' Hesitant Heart to wobble despite of desirous soulmate to welcome.'
_ Poet
Tale of An Ambivalent Guise
Day Dawn's ! Early Morn.
Crimson Sun in radiance.
Mr. Ambivalent Guise
roaming on non mowed lawn
even ignores to glance slant
on Her awaiting with scintillating look
at bated breath.
Idle noon : Pale placid white Moon
Anxious Girl with eager ears to listen
Mr. Introvert Persona's voice
seeming audible as His eyes to glisten.
No ! Stubborn silence not to splinter.
Afternoon merging dreary evening.
Mr. Dubious Phantom
seems to come close.
She rose to hold His hand :
He has neither stopped nor touched.
Mystic Mesmerizing night :
Mr. Morose Enigma
unleashing hard hesitance
undulating and vaporising
in escaping silhouettes.
Through chasm of wobbled peak of
rigid static mountain
oozing amorous flow
surging, cascading in opulence.
Emotive urge enraptured,
captured in Her heart.
One moment stood still
encumbering passage of eternal time.
Simple Single sentence
of six syllables
' I like you, Dear Sweetheart '
embellished Her dreamy desires.
01\14\23
Metrical Poem
Contest by Hilo Poet
Here I am ready to obey You, God,
The Supreme Commander Who gave His marching order…
This mandate He imperatively expressed in Matthew 28:18-20
Of the Holy Scriptures:
“All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth.
Go ye therefore, and teach all nations,
Baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son,
And of the Holy Ghost:
Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever
I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway,
Even unto the end of the world. Amen.”
Here am I committed to live for You, my Lord by Your grace
To give my utmost part and best in fulfilling the Great Commission
May I do so with earnestness…
Forbid me to make a mere show of sincerity
In the guise of holiness, yet deceiving…
Forgive my guilty conscience, afflicted with shame’s pangs
As I seek Your kingdom first
Investing in Your business of righteousness.
Here is my heart, devoted to involve in Your work, my Master
Help me with Your Holy Ghost’s influence…
Please restrain me in exhibiting arrogant progress
In the power of my flesh…
Enable me to hide in Your might and surrender to Your leading
Conquering pride’s insolence
I need you so I can perform with faith
Sharing Your Gospel of salvation-security.
Here is my all, grateful to You, my Creator for Your granted privilege
To labour for Your Great Commission’s endeavor…
I accept Your assignment willingly, assured by Your compassion’s fire
To win souls, teach biblically, minister to others thru Your mercy
While walking with You, praying in the Spirit
Toward Your granted triumph with joy and peace…
Keep me in Your care, since without You, I am nothing
And that I can do all things thru You, my Strength*!
*Philippians 4:13 I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
December 14, 2018
MY MIND IS MINDFULNESS---
My mind is mindfulness, not less;
At present time I think of now not past tense;
They say a mind is a terrible thing to waste;
I must therefore delegate;
The passions that I’ve rage, My mind is a blazed---
My mind is mindfulness, not less;
At present time I think of now not past tense;
For I forgot, what I came to forget;
I now forget more things a lot;
And I’m victim of an assured plot;
Aptitude of the brain maybe, maybe not….
I got… Awareness of my brains stem path
I know where my minds at
As this place, at this present time
My mind accepts my feelings, thoughts
My mind is mindfulness, not less;
At present time I think of now not past tense;
Sensationalize in the guise of present tense
I know where I am WHAT!!
I know where my mind at clouded and crowded thoughts
As I am all attentive as I know where I am
My mind is present tense and I am acknowledgement
At present time I think of now not past tense;
My mind is mindfulness, quality more not less;
2/12/19
Mindfulness Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke |
Should old acquaintances
be forgot
Fear not dear fellowship
of extended family and
still but close estranged friends
Since alas last we met as we
do on Old New Year's Eve again
Sigh not as surely rotten circumstances will surely draw
us back together
Under the guise of one this
fragile life's most
cruelest of intentions
When we are forced to gather
each and every one of us
adorned dressed in sullen
black
To so called feign celebrate
the untimely death and passing
of a certain someone
We cared enough so much
about throughout our life
We felt duty bound to appear
amongst the many mourners
here today
Because you yourself quite
well know that if death was
on the other foot
And it was you not their
remains being lowered
into a shallow grave
They would be doing exactly
the same are you are now
Stood teary eyed with hands
firmly pressed behind said
back head tilted downward
to six below ground zero abyss
Gladly wishing and willing
to take your place instead
The topic toast and boast
of old acquaintance
Gone but not to be forgotten
Come strike the countdown
clock
Of next years
Old new years eve
Valor
Valiant Danish women –
Village of Helsingor –
Virtue's vital vanguard
Veiled in the Sewing Club
Violence victims freed
Via Oresund’s strait -
Victory of valor
In 1943 after the Nazi occupation of Denmark, the women of Helsingor Denmark formed a resistance group called the Elsinore Sewing Club. Under this guise they were able to save hundreds of Jewish Danes from concentration camps by ferrying them across the Oresund Strait, two miles to neutral Sweden. It is estimated 90% of Denmark’s Jewish population was saved. It is a remarkable story of valor and compassion.
5-4-21
Contest: Pleiades V
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
Serene, the crisp of apple cider days
Each morning lightly misted. Its mystique
Perhaps a guise to hide from eyes the ways
The pink hydrangeas rusted; chic to meek.
Enticed, the chill does bring a woolen feel,
Matured, the sun grows old by afternoon.
Below persimmon skies of bonfire zeal
Embraced in sweaters neath the moon, we swoon.
Relinquish Virgo and the marigold
For Libra sparkles in the sapphire night.
As western winds turn cool and blue-jay-bold,
Let’s reminisce love sonnets we did write.
Like grapes on vines, we’ve ripened into wine,
September lips, your champagne kiss on mine.