Long Hundredfold Poems
Long Hundredfold Poems. Below are the most popular long Hundredfold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hundredfold poems by poem length and keyword.
Like charcoal stain as thick as soot,
the leaves were crumbling underfoot,
and murkiness was manifold.
I stood, enveloped by a fog,
a lonesome figure in the bog,
and shuddered in the gloaming's cold.
As through the woods I'd had to grope,
I'd had no beam of shining hope.
I'd stopped, for I'd become less bold. . .
And now I had grown feverish
with longing, so I made a wish
for light to touch me hundredfold. . .
I must have fallen to the ground,
for I awoke to sun and sound.
Such beauty I was to behold,
for near my face, in ruddy tint,
like something in an artist’s print
was one amazing, perfect marigold!
For Deb Wilson's Maybe I'm Amazed!Poetry Contest
I say unto you, when the olive branch is brought to the tax collector, let not those who are without mercy be sent forth from the well to offer comfort to the thirst of the brethren who linger by the hearthstone of the humble shepherd. Do not fill old wineskins with a new vintage without first giving thought to the psalms and parables from which they derive. In order to heal the sick and bring sight to the blind, the first harvest must be dedicated to the Great Whatever.
Therefore, do not leaven your bread earnestly while you bury your talents beneath a bushel. When the faithful servant of the rich master attends the wedding feast of the ten virgins, should he not first forgive his debtors and replace the barren fig tree of the elders with fruit of the prodigal womb? Pharisees and Samaritans have a greater chance of threading the eye of the needle than does he who labors in the vineyard of an unjust steward.
Know ye that all manner of men may seek to sow their seed in fertile soil, but the seed that grows secretly will remain unknown though it multiplies a hundredfold. Therefore, take the beam from your own eye for the sake of the grieving widow. The alpha and omega shall follow you days without number. Loaves and fishes shall multiply in the net of the fisherman and he who proves deserving will be granted admission to the first ward of the Temple.
On this occasion then, let us remember that not even the least of God's creatures shall be excluded from the eternal bliss of perpetual salvation in the unending glory of the guiding light as the world turns from the edge of night in the search for tomorrow and the Lord exclaims, “All my children shall be forever free from the dark shadows of the secret storm." We have but one life to live. The days of our lives are numbered. The young and the restless must not allow their love of life to lead them to another world where false prophets are not abominations in the eyes of the most righteous. Praise be to the Lord of Hosts, the great MC in the neon sky. Amen.
Oh, Merciful God, with benevolent care
Who guards my little life from above,
To you I pray- hold my hand and lead me on,
For You are the mighty reservoir of love.
Sing ye all praise unto the Lord
For well we know He is our Guide (chorus)
We see Your love in the charm of blooms
We feel it in the chime of winds
We hear it in the song of birds
We taste it in the warmth of friends
Sing ye all praise unto the Lord
For well we know He is our Guide (chorus)
God’s abiding love comes my way
Without asking, it is showered on me.
Yesterday, Today and all the days to come
That’s how God willed it to be.
Sing ye all praise unto the Lord
For well we know He is our Guide (chorus)
He, my fortress when enemies surround
He, my harbor when storms rage
He, my comfort when strength wanes
He, my ally in the wars I wage
Sing ye all praise unto the Lord
For well we know He is our Guide (chorus)
He lifts me up as I stumble and fall
He carries me when I lag behind
This limping lamb of His hundredfold
Can His love be repaid, flowing in torrent?
Sing ye all praise unto the Lord
For well we know He is our Guide (chorus)
In my sinful heart, Oh Lord, you come n’ bide
And with your loving presence, lift my load
Then my soul, in blissful state will reside
And nothing more in life, I shall need!
Sing ye all praise unto the Lord
For well we know He is our Guide (chorus)
The Gift
Some people say Christmas in this present day
Wanders lost
In ads and tinsel carelessly strung
Upon an artificial bough;
Some people say the Christmas spirit
Lives no more -
The simple Christ Child’s birth
Coldly mocked by glittering ads
For diamond rings and robot toys;
Some say our plastic money cards
Bring shame to one, who, born so poor,
Wore no fancy clothes
Or even slept in a cradle of his own
While a Christian world forgets
The simple song of angel praise
In hustle crowds who only hum
Atonal harmony of green cash tunes;
Some people say that Christ remains absent
From our Christmas celebrations
So lost we get in buying –
So drunk we get with wine;
Yet, I see his star rise up again
In children’s faith, eyes aglow in wonder
Reflecting back into the darkest night
The miracle of the Christmas story;
I watch a callous world
Retell the story
Then remember little acts of kindness
From a neighbor, or a friend,
In homemade thank you cards
Of cookies, cakes or ornaments;
The holiday air overflows with scents of sugarplums -
Pungent cloves, nutmeg sweet
And aromatic cinnamon -
A gift of time given to baking memories
In sweet spice for children
As music fills the world again,
Carols dancing in our hearts,
“Joy to the world!” we hear them say,
“Joy to the world! The Lord has come!”
Each year I watch the world turn out
To stretch a loving hand of help
To strangers shivering in the cold
And to those living alone -
To ones with rags for clothes
And families who face each day
Empty cupboard shelves –
Whose children would be strangers
To the joy of Christmas morn
If not for hearts and hands
Of women and of men
Who bring the Magi’s gifts to poverty again;
I see this cynical world
So closely guard the spirit of this time
A world of Santa Claus’ asks no gratitude
For countless days of aching feet
And traffic jams –
Their love returns a hundredfold
In smiles and gasps of childlike glee
To nestle beneath boughs of green
When morning light opens up the givers joy
Spreading across a silent world
A message sprung from hope,
Born with a baby boy.
12/9/19
Words have started terrible strife that has torn the world apart.
Words have healed and comforted many a despondent heart.
Pleasing words are better spoken and received by old and young,
Rather than abrasive words of venom, spewed by acidic tongue!
Words of hope are always welcomed by friends who are down,
Easing their burdens and erasing that worrisome frown.
A daily hug and words of love to those of family dear,
Will return a hundredfold the words you'd love to hear!
When loss of friends is keenly felt and words are hard to find,
With dear ones maybe 'tis best just to sit with hands entwined.
For a job well done, 'tis good to hear meaningful words of praise,
Encouraging words, not just a trite and empty phrase.
'Twould be well for young ones to hear the words the Master taught,
To arm them for their earthly trek with many temptations fraught.
Mere poets will ne'er attain the homage afforded David's Psalms.
His words flow like honey, as soothing as an air of Brahms!
Plans will surely go awry should words be misconstrued.
Consternation and confusion will reign, 'tis easy to conclude.
'Tis well to remember that words spoken cannot be retrieved.
Maybe 'twould be best to curb the tongue, lest others be aggrieved!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
The termite culture's rich and vast,
more so, sometimes, than humankind,
with martyrs and mujahideen,
and projects ponderous yet precise,
and back-up plans, a hundredfold.
How do they do it?
Society is based on caste,
with tasks and territory assigned
by social rank. Some watch, some wean,
some whittle, weave, ward off, entice,
while food for all is fairly doled.
How do they do it?
Their architecture's unsurpassed,
with geodesic shapes, designed
with opulence almost obscene,
and altruists. Self-sacrifice
is common. And they mine for gold!
How do they do it?
Hardly least and never last,
over her subjects (all of them blind)
there reigns a massive, fertile queen,
releasing pheromones (how nice!)
She lives to forty-five years old!
How do they do it?
Affliction with comprehension,
now plain as day
predisposition to experience
(particularly abstract) cognitive
acquisition assailed at bay
posits me to suspect mental
deficiency within gray
matter of yours truly, whose
academic track record lay
in abyssal ruins, and
as three score orbitz round
the sun, yours truly doth pay
a hefty emotional price oy vey,
the voluminous, onerous,
horrendous, and analogous
moribund Atlas I cannot pray
tell shrug off from me
mental jackknifed fountainhead,
especially asper today
mainly cuz this figurative
albatross doth weigh
heavily (increasing unbearable
suffocating burden) greater quay
king pronounced effort particularly
with every passing birthday
concomitant impossibility atoll
reef used breakaway
ramping up emotional agony
willpower to live doth decay
dichotomy crashes against livingsocial
Manichean struggle pronouncedly
evincing increased dark shadowed dismay
overarching edge of night evokes doomsday
seeping into every neurological estuary
paralyzing ability to function hamstrung
hidebound hundredfold salvation faraway
sinking me deeper within troubles
steeply suffocating restricting headway,
wherein convoluted corral like gray
matter signals distress call, sans mayday
with futility, whereby
this buoy anchored away
long since being marooned,
mired, and moored since screenplay
starring yours truly launch debut,
asper this lamentable genetic craft
bereft, forlorn, and luckless fey
e'er bulwark permanently
stationed at sickbay!
Hewn with story untold
Towering mass cut then rolled
Bared, stripped leaving majestic mold
Surrounded with ringed truths manifold
Cored, its residual value poled
Branchless foil whose tender hath been sold
Slighted twig, limb but unvarnished dome not doled
On its base remaining premium scrolled
Trite, sentimental heirloom pared bold
Statuesque sentinal in sylvan fold
Subletted perch, ant stronghold
Milled by termites hundredfold
For weary travelers a foothold
Scortched by fire; its hearth roiled
Yet, remaining viable hostel in tenuous wold
Vulcanized, its pure essence remains for all to behold
He wed his fate on mountain cold,
Where now she kneels on blood-stained snow.
He journeyed far, his love to hold.
He wed his fate on mountain cold,
their moments - gems - seemed hundredfold. . .
before the cawing of the crow.
He wed his fate on mountain cold,
Where now she kneels on blood-stained snow.
Sept. 24, 2016 for Nicola Byrne's Movie Mania - Romance Poetry Contest
Inspired by a moving scene in one of my favorite romantic movies Cold Mountain
See "About Poem" to view part of the sad scene this is based on.
Also see the beautiful love scene where they kiss!
submitted to Seth Pina's Horror Contest in '26
It started with one utterance
that grew into a shout.
That cry grew louder in his ear.
He could not get it out.
The bellowing prolonged itself,
and then one cry was two.
His frightened eyes searched faces on
the teeming avenue.
On the edge of reason then,
he gaped at strangers’ lips,
but mouths stayed shut and mocked the truth
of his apocalypse.
The cries that he was hearing came
a hundredfold or more,
a deafening cacophony,
an oceanic roar.
And nightmare revelations that
had brought this din in dreams
were now his actuality -
enwrapping him in screams.
The throng pressed on around a man
who crouched, with eyes half-dead.
And now inside a room he rocks
to screams inside his head.