Long Insist Poems
Long Insist Poems. Below are the most popular long Insist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Insist poems by poem length and keyword.
Truth be told
I no longer want deaths and wars
Come part the horizon, Jesus
Christ come now to receive us
If there were a Santa I want only just to know his true origin
What I want for Christmas, love and freedom
Twas just a mist, history insist
The Legend of St. Nicholas
Give me thoughts of prayers
To pray for my fellow humans
If there were a Santa I want only just to know his true origin
What I want for Christmas, is for Jesus to come down
Lo O’ fourth-century bishop
Monk named St. Nicholas
Born sometime around 280 A.D.
In Patara, near Myra in modern-day Turkey
If there were a Santa I want only just to know his true origin
What I want for Christmas is for Saint Nicholas to pray with me
Admired for his piety and kindness,
Of many legends called also Father Christmas
You can meet Santa Claus cross the magical Arctic Circle
In Rovaniemi in Lapland, Finland official
You see if there be a Santa, all I want from him
Is to pray for me, for Christ to grant me longevity of life…
Now what do you want for Christmas in this life
12/7/19
What You Want For Christmas Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Gregory Paul
Two Silly Fools (at the coffee shop)
The shop was full
Only one seat to spare
Excuse me sirs, can I have a chair?
Why yes they said, smiles filled the air
They happened to be poets the same as me
Politely I asked, may I read a verse of thee?
They both rather meekly said
"If you really insist"
One said to me in such a small whisper
My poetry is not at all very good
As much as I wish it could and should
The other chimed in, is the same with me
I stared in surprise
Have I just met two of the dumbest fools?
I exclaimed in a manner rather short and abrupt
"You are the greatest fools I ever did see"
Rather shocked, they pushed back their chairs
I shouted sit; I am not done with my airs
You two fools better be quiet and listen
Cause I will say this but once, so I have written
Your poetry is of the highest caliber you see
You have the flow and the creative imagery
Darren and Rick need I say more?
Your hearts bleed poetry, is deep in your pores
Your poetry wakens the spirit in us all
If you want more you sure have some gall
Now writing as this, I wish it was me
For I look up to poets of such high degree
Now if I must tell you a truth to be told
Is me the fool, for being so bold
So now let’s sit and make if coffee for three
Of the happiest fools and great poets that be!
Notes: This was inspired by a chat I had with both Darren and White Wolf who for some bizarre and strange reason both doubted their talents and abilities as Poets. Needless to say, I gave them a word or two on getting those silly thoughts out of their heads! I find both of their poems to be diversified, well written, inspiring, contemplative and at times just plain fun to read. After all, it’s the read who is the final judge. I sincerely hope I have made them both smile!
Ghosts aren't real; they're imaginary,
but one thing is for sure: they are scary.
And yet, they are just a trick of the light,
or so I keep telling myself at night.
On my moving into this haunted house,
I have heard things: better blamed on a mouse.
And yet, I now regret buying this place;
for in my mirror, I'd oft glimpse a face.
My drapes would flutter without any breeze:
and one time, I swear I heard someone sneeze.
Because of the whisperings and strange sounds:
the locals won't even step on the grounds.
I don't want to live with a poltergeist:
it's no wonder, the place was cheaply priced.
And when I saw things floating in the air,
I sold that house, and I moved out of there.
Some say there is no such thing as a ghost:
but I insist, they're more than idle boast.
And in view of what that house put me through:
I didn't believe in ghosts, but now I do.
GOD GIVER OF ALL THIS UNIVERSE AND MORE
Molecules spec off dust
All this in God we trust
The angels both evil good
The creator ever stood
You created ocean breeze
The stars galaxies belong to thee
GOD GIVER OF ALL THIS UNIVERSE AND MORE
But man has been given choice
You spoke existence you made all this
Everything all thine
I must insist you've even kissed
Question is all creator
What of all everything, what about the evil
GOD GIVER OF ALL THIS UNIVERSE AND MORE
You allow, and you can end it
I just stay here offended
No one can judge you, STAND
Given even free choice to us simple man
Evil rains upon the lands
Grows in minds of adolescent
GOD GIVER OF ALL THIS UNIVERSE AND MORE
God of high on heaven gate
Why? did you even create
man this includes me
My free will instill I'm free
Why did I grow inside
No room in the womb
GOD GIVER OF ALL THIS UNIVERSE AND MORE
There's no room Omni present always true
Question again is why you create me
the soul spirit, encase in a body
given me still free will, yes I can even kill
Evil still only by choice is man no good
Why? would creator allow me this choice
GOD GIVER OF ALL THIS UNIVERSE AND MORE
Nitrogen, oxygen, freedom born choices known
I shall rely on your voice outside still my question is ...
Why? oh why? did you create me
Your power is you could have hid my disobedient, sigh!!
For all this and much more
I thank you Father God my Lord
Maker, Creator, GOD GIVER OF ALL THIS UNIVERSE AND MORE
1/31/18
by James Edward Lee Sr.
Dear Santa,
As you may well know,
it's tights and not stockings that are all the go.
So, with no stockings to hang on the bedstead,
would a pair of my bloomers be OK instead?
I'll sew up the legs so that there is more space,
can't have my gifts falling all over the place.
I hope you don't mind, as my wine you consume,
please try to be silent when entering my room.
I'm a light sleeper and at my age, which is quite a pain,
if I lose too much sleep, then it addles my brain.
You may kiss me sweetly if I'm in deep slumber
mistletoe on my pillow, plus telephone number.
I promise to leave you a home-made mince pie,
though the pastry's gone soggy
'cause the onions made me cry.
Myopia means recipes I really struggle to see
though onion in mince pies' is a new one on me.
But the pies are quite tasty as I'm sure you'll agree
and if you're still hungry, then have two or three!
There's a drop of fine whisky which you may try too,
bought by my late husband circa 1952
'twas in an old bottle I found in the shed
my hubby drank most of it afore dropping dead.
I think you're so special, dear old Santa Claus,
now here's what I would like you to leave in my drawers:.
1. A pretty box - so I may store my false teeth so neat,
so I can find 'em when I gets me something to eat.
2. A walking frame 'cause I am liable to fall,
and falling, alas, does you no good at all.
3. Some California Poppy, as supplies now seem so short,
if this scent can't be found I will smell like a horse.
4. A pair of big knockers, for front and back door.
A warm cosy nighty, don't need see-throughs no more.
5. Get me a back scratcher, please, if you can,
I can't scratch that itch since I lost me old man.
6. Also an emergency underwear kit,
as nowadays there's times when I don't quite make it.
7. If you have a big dog, leave it in the back yard,
I'll treat quite kindly, if me it will guard.
Thats all the gifts on my Christmas wish list,
but I'll settle for more Santa, if you insist.
I haven't been naughty for many a year,
when awaking, I expect all my gifts to be here!
Merry Christmas!
Looby Loo
~Love~
(Redondilla)
Love gives it all and love forgive
Love is tender and love is kind
Lifes better when true love you find
Love can make us feel more alive
Love is great and love is sweet
Love for sure always comes to mind
Love can't be defined, loves always kind
Love is free, loves delicious treat
Of nothing Lord wants us afraid
Love, faith, hope, and peace thru God spread
With his love heal if wrong was fed
God's love is greater than all said.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2013
August.16.2016
-So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
-Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8 (NIV)
~Author's Notes:
The "Redondilla" is an Spanish poetry form or style, with an eight-syllable quatrain rhyming either abba or abab, but in the latter rhyme scheme it is usually called, the Serventesio.
The Redondilla Origin:
Early 18th century. From Spanish redondilla from redondo round + -illa, after French rondeau or one of its cognates.
Whoa whoa whoa whoa
I know you're beautiful, oh
I think you're beautiful, whooh
And that you came from the Lord oh oh
I know you're beautiful, oh oh
I think you're beautiful, oh
So wonderful you're beautiful girl
Woman you're so warm and marvelous invest
I must insist, that I can't resist your, beautiful
I often wonder how and where
I envisioned us together for always
I thank God my wonderful. (And wonderful you are, you are)
Good in the woman of my dreams and everything belongs to you you're my boo
Forevermore and for always true
The assets that you wear you're so presentable your mind radiate as the sunshine glare oh whoa
I know you're beautiful oh
I think you're beautiful oh
And that you came from the Lord ( thank you God for my beautiful)
You're a wonderful man and I insist I can't wait for your caress and maybe even a glimpse of Heaven blessed
As we are walking holding hands to hands worshipping Him
You're the man of my dreams and it seems you radiate as a God blessing you walk in the Lord and I want to hold your hand and go live with you eternally in heaven
The man of my dreams my dreams
A woman I want you to know as we both Worship the Lord You Are Forever More Beautiful oh oh oh oh oh oh oh whoa
09/05/17
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr
Arranged music by The Corinthian
From anthology "Just Us Together Praising God" 2018©
Oh, my, unexpected foe when you read my poems
you wrongly judged me and in a demeaning tone
said, "Do you ever write poems that are not sad?"
Dear disguised friend, you had me defending what
I wrote bringing me back to past sadness I had long
overcome causing me to second guess my triumphs.
When I told you about the many hopeless
survivors that I have helped with my
writings you scoffed at me!
When I put down in words the pain and abuse
I suffered, you attacked my stability pointing
your finger at me for me hiding it.
With God by my side, I’m better now, but you
sought to remind me of forgotten pain instead
of praising me for showing strength and courage.
Still, you insist on pretending to be judge, jury and
executioner with harsh remarks and judgments
seeking to dismantle, disparage and destroy.
How misguided, misinformed and mistaken you
are! It’s undoubtedly your own insecurities
that have caused these flawed and bias opinions.
In a hurtful negligence, you did not read my poetry
with empathy or even the slightest kindness, instead
you sought to tear me down for what I wrote.
My poems are a testament to my resolve and
courage in the way I pulled myself out of the
depths of despair.
Unequivocally, I am Stronger Than You Think
and I have survived more in one moment than
most have in an entire lifetime!
Why was my whole special school life,
An interpretation of nature and school?
A philosophical contemplation and analysis,
A freeway inquiry into the education tool.
Because the god concept was lain out,
On the household table, delicately spread,
I was sharp at social phenomenon,
Even as a primary child was not off my head.
When I journeyed down the corridors,
Slowly, because of my disability,
I was more often than not on my own,
‘Cos the others would show off their mobility.
So I thought about the politics,
Of the special school and our integration right,
Our need of ramps and disabled toilets,
The importance of everybody’s mindset height.
I classed the whole organisational structure as wrong,
For using the carers as playtime supervisors,
‘Cos in my old nursery school the teachers contravened,
In any tit-for-tat playground misdemeanours.
The teachers knew us in the classroom,
So adjudicated fairly and with respect,
Were able to administer justice,
Wherever there was a point of regret.
The carers were just not on my level,
And you had to do what they said,
Which overshadowed my whole experience,
Which made me much see red.
It was believed that the carers had a light on,
Because they scribed for us in maths,
But your profession level sets your reception,
Of high-flyers’ stares and laughs.
I mean, I didn’t ever laugh at them,
For their low rank and position,
But that just meant they never put me with,
My parents speech and religion.
But I considered myself determined philosophically,
Not in the free-will line of thought camp,
And just needed a man, board or committee,
To rejuvenate myself and amp.
So I often spoke with the school doctor,
The boss of the cliques and staff,
But the other pupils resented it,
Laughing at my physical prospects, chaff.
When your life does not go right,
Insist, if you can, on calling the shots,
Make appointments with the gods,
And beam with importance watts.
We have too little time not to use it wisely
I was enjoying lunch
a sandwich with some potato chip crunch
when it hit me like a rush
- I’m in a cult!
The girls at my table
Emma, Léah and Chloé,
my solid, study group three
all dress alike, more or less
we're all doing the same things
we study, laugh too loudly at nothing,
we romanticize burnout as a sort of chic
we compare our grades like horoscopes,
and we're all somewhere on the caffeine curve
To join our little group
you must know what an osmole is
and you must be slightly behind
but never admit how far
Like all cults there are rules,
we must pretend it’s all manageable,
and insist, to everyone, that “I’m fine.”
Emma says she dreams of Anki now.
Léah hasn’t texted her mother back in three weeks.
Chloé swears she’ll quit after this year,
which we all accept as part of the liturgy
because she's not even trying to leave.
As we eat, we scroll, and diagnose each other casually,
triaging the stages and conditions of early 20s life
“Did that guy ever call?”
It's hard to find a guy who understands
why you'd cancel plans to memorize something
We say, “it’s probably nothing”
with the authority of girls who know it's probably everything.
Anyway, my sandwich is gone, the chips too
someone mentions exams
(We’ve 13 days until first year final exams)
and we all stand up at once,
like we’ve heard a bell.
.
.
Songs for this:
BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish
WHERE IS MY HUSBAND! by RAYE
Fortnight (feat. Post Malone) by Taylor Swift
.
Anki - a flashcard app for spaced-repetition memorization