Long Impels Poems
Long Impels Poems. Below are the most popular long Impels by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Impels poems by poem length and keyword.
"Never been this eager to earn
Even a single layer of ahead expectations
Murmurs between excellence and failures
Impels me to be bordered with lots of agitation,
Mind clouded of disparate thoughts
Never wanted to casted me off
People might see me as persistence as carabao, maybe the other way around.
Dressed up with silence
So no one would know
I'm in abyss of predicaments
Might see me smiling as if everything
Is as fine as the weather
But the the truth
The real me is gradually getting wither
Up till now bearing their enormous displeasing judgement.
Kept telling them, "I'm like a battery
Expect me to be drained that easily."
Happy to explore more things
Without hesitation developed me
To be as good as I should to be
My parents never put me in any pressure
It's just me that wants everything to be Rest-assured in any situation
Luckily, I experienced having good leisure.
Left with no choice
but let myself be immersed
In a little hope of favorable assumption
Hoping they wouldn't desert me
When they saw me repeatedly stumbled
In an outlandish area of discarded matters.
Failures made me pour thousands of tears
Heart multiple be set in tear
Swollen eyes never dare to appear
Here, and there, piled up of tasks to bear
Snap out of reverie
Must get up and be ready
This is life and a part of my journey.
Countless times, lend a hand
But it makes me a little weary
Little by little declining became my hobby. Engrossed by thought it would only set for Temporary. All of a sudden,
Consumed me consistently.
Time flies as swift as cockroaches
Submission of pieces
Bit by bit approaches
There, you are trembling with nervousness.
This isn't time for some playfulness.
Left with no choices.
Submit it or lose the chance of getting high grades. As they begin to close
The gates of chances.
Thyself culminates to fall into
Hopelessness.
Subject that became a big defilement, Disappointment follow in an alignment Sometimes its really hard to pursue some happiness. Knowing,
It might only produced gloominess.
Competition became excessive
As the real qualities
Stirred to be aggressive.
One another, getting drowned
Into depts of the ground.
Where the high precious number
Could be found."
In Life’s old garden nations lived who all its fruits enjoyed,
While others longed in vain, while some the winter blasts destroyed;
Its trees are legion; some decay, While others flush with bloom,
And thousands still their birth await, Hid in the garden’s womb;
A symbol of luxuriance, The Tree of Islam reigns,
Its fruits achieved with centuries of garden-tending pains.
Your robe is free from dust of home, Not yours such narrow ties,
That Yousuf you, who Canaan sweet, In every Egypt lies;
The qafila can never disperse You holdest the starting bells9
Nothing else is needed, if your will Your onward march impels.
You candle-tree! your wick-like root, Its top with flame illumes,
Your thought is fire, its very breath all future care consumes.
And you will suffer no surcease should Iran’s star decline,
It is not the vessel which decides the potency of wine;
It is proved to all the world, from tales of Tartar conquerors,
The Kaaba brave defenders found in temple-worshippers.
In you relies the bark of God, Adrift beyond the bar,
The new-born age is dark as night, And you its dim pole-star.
The Bulgars march! the fiend of war in fearful fury breathes;
The message comes: “Sleepers, awake! The Balkan cauldron seethes.”
You deem this a cause of grief,Your heart is mortified;
But no, your pride, your sacrifice, Thus, once again, are tried.
Beneath your foes if chargers neigh? Why tremble you in fright?
For never, never, shall their breath extinguish Heaven’s light.
Not yet have other nations seen what you are truly worth,
The realm of Being has need of you for perfecting this earth.
If anything yet keeps world alive, ‘It is yours impetuous zeal,
And you will rise its ruling star, And you will shape its weal.
This is no time for idle rest, Much yet remains undone;
The lamp of tawhid needs your touch to make it shame the sun!
You are like fragrance in the bud, Diffuse yourself: be free.
Perfume the garden breeze, and fill the earth with scent of you.
From dusty speck, do you increase to trackless desert-main.
From a faint breeze, a tempest grow, Become a hurricane!
Raise you, through Love, all humble to greatness and to fame;
Enlighten you the groping world with dear Muhammad’s Name.
Your face is red like the red umbrella in my arms with all easiness;
it is the comfort that I am provided in your arms removing dreariness.
May I say so that it is my Godlike desire to be like that forever;
removing the unrelational falsity between us without fail ever.
We are under umbrella coloured with redness and it works as a catalyst; making our bond strong and flexible and without pain and full of trust.
I desire time not to stop when you look at me ino my eyes with pouring rain;
for I know without your love and feeling I am in great pain.
Time clicks by and our love becomes immortal;
I say with soundness of temper sans your love my conscience will be throttled.
I do not find time to sit on the bench I look being wet with disdain;
I wiil plead to God to make this atmosphere eternal for all gain.
I am dreaming of a world together for a bright life fully committed;
and with emotions that makes both of us happier with life and love respected.
it may take a long time thus I desire you to be in my arms;
and without any despair to keep God made love to be lively and disarmed.
This moment goes on and I discover that pleasant times are near;
as in my memory engraved with love will take us to a new destination dear.
I pledge with you in all love that Iwill fulfill to you all of love with great care; our love without any hesitation is the thing we share.
Your love makes me committed makes me resposible and dutiful ;
and I see future in my eyes of a God made love, truth and duty all beautiful.
My love for you is a continuous effort that that encourages perfect emotion;
Thus I find your love impels me to complete the things withits powerful notion.
I understand that our love in all while being in your arm is absolutely clear;
and situation that may deter us will vanish and we will live all near.
Without your love it may cause great mishaps unbearable and painfully related,
it becomes a delightful effort with your love and I find bad times unrelated.
Godlike presence of love in our life is a great quality,
our love removes all the odds of life with purposive utility.
DATED 31-10-2018
My head feels like it's being squeezed in a vise. Eardrums must have blown out from the explosion since I hear absolutely nothing, not even my own breath. Slowly rising to my feet I survey the damage. Left arm gone from the elbow down. Flesh hangs from my right forearm exposing bone and sinew. I don't even want to know what my face looks like but my cheeks are burning white hot.
Suddenly, I am keenly aware of the immediate surroundings. The twenty story office building I call my second home is utterly destroyed. Smoke and haze are everywhere. An acrid odor fills my nostrils with each breath. Scanning the vicinity I see body parts strewn about. The urge to vomit overwhelms me. Afterward, I begin to shake and sob uncontrollably. My God, why?
Home is five blocks away. My wife, my daughter are they alive? No idea how many bombs were dropped. Must get home. Each step brings excruciating pain, but the adrenalin pulsing through my veins impels me forward. Finally reaching my neighborhood, it quickly becomes evident that it too was targeted. Rubble and debris surrounds me. In the distance, what was my house, leveled to the ground. The cries, the screams of others sifting through the debris make me question my sanity did my hearing return or are the screams in my head?
Reality sets in coldly as I discover the bodies of my family, partially buried under the rubble. I have no more tears in this moment. Instead, my mind drifts back to former days happy times. Myself, Najwa and baby, lying in our back yard on a comfy blanket, staring up at the stars, watching the fireflies softly flicker in a dreamy, summer night sky. We had peace then. Now there is nothing but bitterness and hatred in my heart. I gaze at the sky, now black as sin. All the stars are there. But the fireflies they're gone. I can't help but wonder, what will become of me?
Flicker flicker fly
Stars above to light the sky
Angels weep goodbye
The early morning fog bathes the green slime and trees in a gray hue as birds flutter to and fro and squirrels scurry from their beds, playing a tag game of “You're it.” and an early morning feast among shaking limbs and prying eyes. The Bayou comes awake to meet a new day. Sights and sounds of the early hours impels the spirit of the swamp in a ghostly stillness and merriment. Nature comes alive in small measures of time each in its own place, each well aware but unwavering in its brutality for this is life of pure survival hidden among the Spanish Moss and rotting logs
It’s a rehearsal as old as nature itself for the actors are always on stage and the curtain never falls. Its beauty with a haunting presents and writes its own stories penned day and night in the sights and sounds under the sun or moon. A limb breaks under the stress of the tiny weight that finally snaps the rot in its last attempt to win but is lost to the dark water, leaving only tiny bubbles to trace it decent to the bottom. An echo of a far off acorn as it drops in another attempt to win the fight but also loses to the bayou. Drip, drip, drip, the water insist on winning but never the master for nature always comes with more,
The Gator with nose and eyes peeking above the black water to find the next unsuspecting meal as does the cotton-mouth and gar. All is at peace until all is lost. An epitaph written in sudden violence then back to silence, waiting for the Hawk and Owl to make an appearance on nature’s stage and battling for the leading role.
It accepts the wind and rain as a backdrop to enhance the scene, lending a chance for leaves to ride the breeze and a new story is written. The theater only tolerates man as an outsider to look upon its quiet beauty, accepting but without welcome, giving only a minor role and without applause.
At times I, like a butterfly,
May flit from bloom to bloom,
Or with my whimsy set sky-high
To outer space may zoom.
And yet, when all’s been said and done,
I follow what my fate has spun—
For some may strive and ne’er succeed,
While others simply do the deed.
A Muse impels me on a spree
Of whirling swirling craft
Where poems must not mean but be…
Until I’m going daft.
But words, albeit finely wrought,
Can only catch a passing thought—
For some may strive and ne’er succeed,
While others simply do the deed.
When my reality looks pale
I frolic in a theme
From vivid myth, folklore or tale,
Where dreams are what they seem.
And there where’er I romp and roam
I always feel a welcome home—
For some may strive and ne’er succeed,
While others simply do the deed.
I’ve often fallen to the ground
And picked myself back up.
I’ve hungered for a loving touch
And sipped from passion’s cup.
My longings, cravings ruled my will;
Still never could I drink my fill—
For some may strive and ne’er succeed,
While others simply do the deed.
A life led wrong, though full of song,
Will cause us to regret,
When pondering the winters long,
Our faults we can’t forget.
And then we’re washed in bitter tears
For senseless youth and wasted years—
As some may strive and ne’er succeed,
While others simply do the deed.
I said I want to live before
I die, in villanelle,
To learn where lies true wisdom’s door
And shun the gates to hell.
Yes, wayward ways can still begin
To seek and find the Way within—
For some may strive and not succeed,
While others simply do the deed.
– Harley White (July 4, 2014)
My Lord is a very personal God, kind, loving, and true. He's trustworthy, steady, and faithful as the morning dew. Though our times and conditions are
modern, there exists no modern man. I have read history. The present is no mystery. The spirit of man remains decadent. For ages past and for as far as
records were cast, civilized man has been most cruel, mean, and rash. He's found it easy to be brutal, utilizing his punishing rods. And although throughout
ages past, man has always had his gods, their impersonal gods never seemed to have curved man's bitter hate. Perhaps mankind and his gods always knew
that evil was the master of their fate. Perhaps it's because such men formed and fashioned their own 'gods'. And perhaps these man-made gods are
designed to serve their maker's needs. Though I too am human just as they, others and I chose another path, a different life than they. Though I too am
imperfect as are they, I chose not to have faith in a god that way. I don't have many gods, but 'One God' who made me in His image to serve Him gladly.
Both you and I have felt the sting of mankind's depravity and witnessed our atrocities. By God's Grace, I have not found a cause nor a reason great enough
to compel me to hate. With love and joy, with a 'free will' to worship Him, I am not forced to serve Him or His interests. With God's Grace I am infused with
a different spirit which impels me to be caring and loving to all people. Christ is the hope in me, and He teaches me to be respectful and gracious to all.
081920PS
Madras
Hotel lobbies, hotel bars
Hotel rooms, air conditioned cars
City sights and sounds and smells
A smile, a frown, a shout impels
The thoughts within to exude
And express themselves without interlude
Here no blossoms, no sweet fresh air
Save the scented jasmine in the women's hair
And the two don't mix, as we all know
Like the fires of hell and virgin snow
Flowing bright and silken dress
Saris adorn the putrid mess
Hems lifted gently to protect them
From certain ruin in the amalgam
Of open sewers - each gutter one
Of refuse tips - the pavements on
Rotten, decaying, organic matter
Dried up dung and vomit spatter
From the mouths of the unlucky
Poor and destitute - never plucky
"They are content with their lot"
(Steeped in drink, their guts they rot)
Laying near the dirty door
Their filthy rags bright no more
In the street or on a stair
Ignored by all without a care
And yet...and yet, life goes on
Each to their own - their God isn't one
Some are born to thrive and prosper
Others to poverty and despair
And here we are, visitors just
Though we discreetly watch - as we must!
And absorb each heart rending sight
Forsaking those in their plight
But if we give - sometimes we do
There are no thanks, nor feelings due
Because are we helping them buy food
Or alcohol which kills? Then we brood
And the rich they come in chauffeured car
Or the latest model bought by Pa
In designer clothes, their scarves unfurled
The stench, the poor? Another world!
Written: August 28, 2023
______________________________________________________________
If you don't covet where you live, my friend,
Imagine a fitter home, a place to mend,
A sanctuary where dreams come alive,
A space where bliss and hope will thrive.
Picture walls that tell stories, so grand,
Of triumphs and adventures, hand in hand,
Each brick whispered tales of joy and pride,
Where memories of smiles will forever reside.
In life's vast garden, we all wander free.
Seeking souls whose presence brings us glee
If those you are with don't share your happiness,
Find raw companions—a tribe of blissfulness.
In the field of labor, where dreams collide,
Lies and truths are often hidden deep inside.
If your task doesn't bestow joy to your heart,
It's time to embark on an untarnished start.
Our time is short to be spent in despair.
Toiling away with no joy to share.
If your days are filled with boredom and dread,
It's time to tailgate your heart instead.
Even the shoes you wore last year
Need to be replaced, my dear.
As the seasons retreat and forego,
So too must your footwear flow.
Don't be embarrassed to experiment.
Wear modern shoes and embrace merriment.
Let your feet move to a different rhyme.
Discover a style that impels you to feel sublime.
Gone are the worn-out soles of the past.
Step into unknown and persuade your stride last.
With each step, you'll feel the ground anew.
Leaving behind what no longer serves you
I have been away some weeks, I’ll. Hope poetry will surface again with improved health. Have missed all of you
Fully This Gift. —————-
This overwhelming love that nods
To the rise of each hour’s passing
Throu day and on into night,
Bears God’s full story
Of All, so blessed
With his redeeming grace…
This force striking the heart
With profound feelings
And often mysterious aching that
Impels the inner voice to lament or
to sing...
This driving pulse and, too, this
Stirring
Motion of every hungry breath ,
Existing
By creation in the great cosmic design,
Firing
On within all thought and seeking to persist...
This enfolding magnificence
— from amoebas to mountains —
Which we perceive,
Then compose into prayers
desiring answers, perhaps to come hidden,
in each each individual,
like flakes of snow...
This glorious gift
— not easily grasped —
This immeasurable jewel,,.
This is Life
For each soul:
Cresting on these blue waves,
these scrolling oceans,
glimmer
The points of our passions...
With this open sky displaying
The criss-crossing contrails of our
Pursuits...
This possibly limitless hope to be
Found…
This
Now awaits...
———————————————————————————(c) sally young Eslinger 3/31/21
Thanks be to God