Long Intended Poems
Long Intended Poems. Below are the most popular long Intended by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intended poems by poem length and keyword.
Anxiety about what I might think preceded me
As I sat on the stool in the middle of my living room
Ready to think about who knows what,
I relaxed for a moment and then closed my eyes.
Gratitude and peacefulness were my first feelings.
I smiled inside thinking about how literal Ingrid had taken me.
He remembered that I intended to write at 3:00 a.m.
As the clock ticked, Ingrid kept time for me…
Fear crossed my mind next, afraid of my own thoughts,
What they might be. Nightmares. Horrors.
Repressed experiences dreaded.
But thankfully, the ringing in my head saved me.
At least for that moment…
A few things slipped in. The Jeffery McDonald murders
That took place when I was stationed at Ft. Bragg, N.C.
The horror had anguished me on an off over the years.
Then, I heard the crickets again. Thankfully.
Next, a hit and run accident that was reported in the news years ago
Flashed through my mind…anxiety from Army days.
It had happened on a road we sometimes traveled.
Fear, reality check, and cricket sounds followed.
Yes, it is that cricket sound that I enjoy so much.
It took me to the natural world in all its beauty.
Little seeds germinating in my sunroom...
Crickets outside making their noise; I smiled again.
And the crickets in my head chirped.
I was thinking that this isn’t so bad after all.
I have learned to find happiness inside myself
Then, Ingrid said, “Time’s up.”
I felt relieved.
© March 1, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
My DARE: Dane, you picked Dare* I dare you to sit in the middle of your living room...
(on a chair if you have toooo!) Close your eyes, and feel for 5 minutes... (you will need a
stop watch that alert you when the 5 minutes are up. During them 5 minutes, you have
to feel everything, allow your strong emotions to feel. Even if you have little one's are
running or your cat is purring at your feet. Don't allow it to bother you. You have to
concentrate and find that one spot in the back of your mind. The part that digs real
deep into every feeling we forget is there. After the 5 minutes are up... Sit in the spot
where you write, and write for 10 minutes, Write about every thought that passed
through your mind in a poetic way, sad~happy~ mad, crazy.. and so on... Take us deep
into your mind... Thank you..pd
Confession…I wrote more than 10 minutes…time slipped up on me.
Over the 2000 year period since the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, thousands of people have toured the 'Holy Sights' in Jerusalem and The Holy Land. One of those sights is a garden known as Gethsemane at the foot of or near the Mt. of Olives. However, the exact location of Gethsemane is not clearly known.*
The title question and theme is really not intended to be a search for the literal garden called Gethsemane, but rather the identity and whereabouts of our spiritual Gethsemene. We are not looking to locate the physical Gethsemane but rather to experience an encounter with God. The trip by Jesus and his apostles was taken rather often, but Let's imagine ourselves in the background looking in on the night that Jesus went into the Garden of Gethsemane accompanied by 11 of his 12 apostles. On that night, we would have clearly seen Gethsemane as:
A place of SANCTUARY where we seek stillness, peace, and quiet
A place of PRAYER where we meet with God and converse with Him
A place of WAITING where we obey His orders and move at His commands
A place of SLEEPING. Sleeping is not the purpose here and should be avoided
A place of TEMPTATION. "Pray, that you do not enter into temptation"
A place of SWEATING. Prayer is 'not a day in the park' but 'an engagement of warriors'. A place of AGONY and WARFARE where we engage, fight, endure, and never quit. A place of SERENITY. God gives us a 'free will' and asks us to 'surrender it freely'.
04052019PoSoupContest, Favorite Poem From Last Week (March 31-April 6, 2019) Poetry Contest, Lu Loo; Original Title, Where Is Gethsemane
*Wycliffe Bible Encyclopedia, "Gethsemane",p.675, 1975, ISBN 0-8024-9697-0 There are four[6] locations claimed to be the place where Jesus prayed on the night he was betrayed.
1. The Church of All Nations overlooking a garden with the "Rock of the Agony". 2. The location near the Tomb of the Virgin Mary to the north. 3. The Greek Orthodox location to the east. 4. The Russian Orthodox orchard, next to the Church of Maria Magdalene.
Modern scholarship acknowledges that the exact location of Gethsemane is unknown
KING ALFRED THE GREAT MODERN ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS
King Alfred the Great (c. 849-899), arguably the first great king of England, may have done more to lay the groundwork for English literacy and literature than any other English monarch. And he was quite the scholar himself, although there is no consensus that the following translations were primarily Alfred’s work. He could have done the translations himself; he could have overseen the work; or he may have commissioned the translations. No one really knows.
Alfred the Great undertook to translate “the most needful works for all men to know.” He wanted to succeed “both in war and in wisdom.” Alfred has also been credited with helping to develop a new English prose style.
The Meters of Boethius: Prelude or Verse Preface
attributed to King Alfred the Great, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Thus begin the tales King Alfred taught us.
The great West Saxon ruler, in his cunning,
Understood the art of all songmen,
Revealed his great skill as a poet.
Keenly he longed for Saxons to craft such songs,
To make men merry with manifold amusements,
To ward away world-weariness with pleasing poems.
Alfred loved poetry for its art and power,
Longed for it to free men from both boredom and pride.
But the arrogant man, in his self-importance,
Pays little heed to wise words. Still I must speak,
Begin my singing, weave tales well-known
For attentive mortals. Hear me, if you will.
Boethius Lay I: The Goths
from King Alfred the Great's Meters of Boethius, circa 880 AD
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Long ago the Goths left Scythia,
swarms of shieldmen streaming from the east,
two savage tribes tramping southward,
both growing in greatness year by year.
Under the rule of two remarkable kings,
Raedgod and Aleric, their people prospered.
Many Goths made it across the Alps,
intent on conquest, raging with war-lust.
Braying brazen battle-boasts, eager to attack
the awaiting Romans, their armor flashing,
stout shieldmen descended, waving war-banners
and slashing swords.
They intended to overrun Italy...
Keywords/Tags: Alfred the Great, Old English, Anglo-Saxon English, Boethius Translations, West Saxon, poet, poetry, art, power, pride, wise, wisdom, king, kings, leadership, war, battle, England, literature, words
Dear people,
In relation, Historically,
Historians heroically will fake it.
kids can serve themselves said correlation.
Take what is.
Record reels of Real confessions chalk full of truthful lessons on how to feel.
How to push for real progression.
Identify risk.
A population’s silent suggestion.
To get Upset, in that, to get up In accordance to time, all of mankind barely register. a blip on the tip of conception.
A burst of awareness, to realize each set is set up separate in each relative reality of self perception. To see in itself is a credit. To Receive it, It in itself ...
One second, on the surface of decades, in a sea of centuries before existence, well kept, below, a hush to a hum unheard and left off of all of the records.
Unaccredited, Easy targets to get over-credited.
When Run red their credits,
read: “It lives. Because I said it did.”
Who gives a line of credit to those who so desperately to get it, who need it like a medic,
But I’d wage to bet it’s to spend it in the opposite way that it’s intended.
Commend all of those that contended.
And anyone at all whom attended.
Correct view. Corrective is collective let’s give ‘cause it’s best to - to the rest I guess it’s -
Just set it and forget it. Much as distant relatives;
-Figure it’s Best to just let us live…
As long as it’s ...Immediately gratative...
Our best method, many mini moves toward moving for a more major movement forward,
Observe and compare pre-approved plans for improvements, no one can afford.
Redact, reform, literary rebirth bursts into the truth that in which we will record,
and now it’s more, collect, from pre accepted hits, Recreate in-an-organized-list. Of the top samples,
A fool and A toolbar together with helpful tips.
Slip bits in hidden messages, to send to ratchet kids to send them off,
Off on A trip, on a Botanically based-spaceship. Hope they know that it’s All made up,
While we Make believe that they arrive at home and safely they do make it.
IS...crazy. (Imagination)
The craziest. The human case, it is. Inside the human case within…Is a sharper image, of every last face that formulate one’s nation.
A Hereditarial misclarification taken down the forsaken line and educated In within the others next of kin.
-hope you’re still out there, people,
if you’re lost, you can still win.
thank you. thank you for finally leaving. it's been 7 years now that i have had to put up with your abusive and toxic habits. that i've had to deal with you adding to my emotional trauma every single day. that i've had to repress my feelings to accommodate yours. that i've had to act like something isn't bothering me when you're talking about your issues that are "far worse than mine". that i've had to leave my comfort zone and be a person i don't like so that you wouldn't leave. that i've had to be okay with being interrupted so you could talk about yourself. so you could brag about how much greater or worse your life is than mine, whichever fit the situation. that i've had to believe your lies and defend you when i know you're wrong. that i've had to look like a bad person for supporting you.
because i was.
you made me a bad person. you made me into a person that i've grown to hate. i am finally released and trying to love the person i left behind. before our friendship, i was a sweet, innocent, caring 8 year old girl. you ruined me. you took my innocence. i remember lying in my floor from "bedtime" to 6 AM doing things that no 8 year olds should. Watching scary movies that still haunt me and discovering “omegle”. i remember in 8th grade when i opened up to you about the girl you left behind when you moved, the girl that you broke. i opened up to you about my sexuality and my depression, and you brushed it off because you had it worse. "oh, you were depressed? that’s okay because my dad hit me". not that abuse isn't awful, but i have feelings too. and since that day i learned to never find myself important because to you, i wasn’t. you showed me that no matter how hurt i was, you had it worse. that no matter how good i had it, you had it better. you always had to one up me like trauma is a competition.
i am damaged. you broke me. i can’t even begin to describe the issues i will hold for the rest of my life. this trauma will never be fixed. i can’t undo your damage, no one can. do you even realize? do you even care? i am a real human being that you f*cked up. how does that sit right with you? how do you have the nerve to act like I’m the bad guy? i will never understand how you don’t even care about a real human life that you ruined.
but i guess that’s the difference between you and i.
( lowercase intended )
-m. macleish
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
gently
before me
on a desk, or a table
rests the means to enable
me to craft a new fable
to run and leap like the sable
a squirrel scampering upon a gable
to perch on high
level with the treetops
even with the dew drops
before they appear on leaves and grass
and as the moments pass
above the uncouth, the crass, with aplomb and class
to perch on high
not a computer, monitor, or screen
but a single piece of white paper, pristine, clean
and a pencil, or a pen
this is one of my favorite things, always available again
for me to clutter up with poetry, it's a religeous experience, maybe a sin
to perch on high, and then, to fly
above this work of still life, a pregnant moment, this glory
how do i get across to a mere animal like many of we
the potential, the opportunity, the act of creation
the pantheon of art, intellect, and creativity, the nearly divine relation
of a pencil, or pen, and one single piece of paper, the correlation
of inspiration, asperation, imagination, an elations flirtation
with all of creation, and even with the Creater, all the world and history
all possible, sometimes, probable, once in a while, we'll get to Be,
creatively
this mere human being, this mammal, this fallable and maelable man
may one day be as close to God, as, say, a squirrel, a sable, a dog or a cat
created as perfect as God intended, then staying that way
us? this world is sick and evil, faded, jaded, and peopled with egos based
entirely on waste, differences of taste
being better than, largely by plan, and lies, by intention and ignorance, like flies
i was perched on high, minutes ago, almost
(computers, phah!)
there is a certain amount of gratification in crumbling up a piece of paper
when faced with the fact, that what i've created is trash
getting another one
setting it down
setting a pencil or pen on it
and starting over. perfectly. gently. what is that moment?
to fly
perfection, and me, trying to be, to become, to create,
really, it seems everything i write or draw is a waste of time
it was perfect before i picked up the pen, now look what i've done!
delete?
phah! can you think of a title, a word that defines the moment described?
p.s. i am ussually surrounded by malevolent cretins, nobody on this site is a mere animal,
my apologies if you are!
Form:
As we stand on the threshold of a new era and the passing of the torch from a cloaked
government and into the hands of a fresh new one that does speak a promises that change
has come to the Whitehouse, let not your eyes or ears nor mind depart from the harsh
realities that the most honest of intentions have strayed into the weakness of humanness
and the very greed of ones heart…Humanness which can and does make us all sometimes
falter into the very innocents of ignorance which can make anyone slip from the very path
on which they may have intended to have gone.
It is at times like this when a single mans strength is tested and that a fort in the midst of a
battle does realize that not one solider will be left standing, if just one solider turns and runs…
As they battle to defend the gates or it’s walls. Surely…One man can cry to, “Defend until the
last man does falls!” but it is the combination of the strength of all those who stand together
to defend her gates and walls that will determine if a fort shall still be standing or weather it
shall fall.
My friends this is the deciding factor of who has won or lost. We as people have been called
upon to defend our very own walls and gates, but it is not one’s mans cry to battle…that shall
lead us, but it is the strength of a people united as one! God shall be our shield and Jesus
who was sacrifice is our flaming arrow that will find our enemies weakness in his fortified
armored suit! Our fort shall be protected and its gates and walls unharmed. No not even a
one single scratch to her gates or walls… For no one lioness will hunt alone.
All claim to have come seeking peace, but instead found war. For mankind the bell has rung!
Now put on your gloves, the fight is on! No, the war that I spoke of is not real...only the exit
of a failed government and the birth of a new one is true. But there is a battle that rages
unseen...it is a for lost souls. A war between both good and evil that began, when Eve and
Adam ate from the tree of knowledge. God’s children, do you not hear me? A bell has rung…
You are in the biggest war that has ever been declared, it’s a fight for the immortality of each
and every one of our souls and the bell has been rung. Come out fighting...because the bell
for this fight has started ringing for everyone!
I`ll never understand why people throw love around like its nothin'
I've watched the poorest person turn it into somethin' .
What once was ugly and bitter was now full of soul,
She filled the void till it was completely full.
Nothing prevented her from standing her ground,
In all her love is where she was profound.
Anything that tore her down only built her back up,
She knew the true meaning of true love.
Anyone who doubted her was always ignored,
She knew thats what the past was for.
The only time she looked down was when she prayed,
Prayed for this true love never to fade.
The only time she cried was when they were tears of joy,
Knowing the happiness has villed her void.
This love made her proud, it made her strong,
It did everything for her to move along.
People were intimidated by such strong emotion,
They did everything they could to stop her from motion.
She never looked back, only to say goodbye,
They not only waved but they surely asked why.
Her simple reply was because its only her love that matters,
Theres beauty in her even though shes shattered.
The people were amazed so they opened their hearts,
Welcomed their loved ones with wide open arms.
They spread the joy like uncontrollable wildfire,
Now it is only love in which everyone will desire.
If only life could actually be like this today,
There'd be no greed, there would be no hate.
Nobody would have to suffer anymore,
Everyone gets a house with a beautiful door.
No more starving children dying,
No more will our mothers be crying.
Money wouldnt matter because everyone lives equally,
No more media telling us whats beautiful and whats ugly.
The world would be one big family like the creator intended,
Our sins could be forgiven because our enemies we befriended.
But if we learned to care just a little bit each day,
We could make a difference in even the things we say.
A simple smile could stretch as far as the stars,
Its the good deeds that help us make it far.
Learn to forgive, learn to forget,
Live your life with no regrets.
Tell your mother that you love her,
Spend some time with your sister or your brother.
Help your elders, no matter the race,
Always put a smile on a childs face.
But most importantly, learn to love yourself,
Nobody can do that better, gauranteed, nobody else!
By: Dorothy Dawn Robinson
("" In order for the light to shine so brightly,
the darkness must be present"" -Francis Bacon)
Crossing That Siberian Desert Of Lost Souls
No joy, no peace, on that darken horrendous stroll
crossing that Siberian desert of lost souls
blazing sun hit by invisible arrows shot
wherein the weak die, left as carrion to rot
so many blinded by illusions that world sends
eyes shut, never seeing what world's ill wind portends!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
Once as a youth such an innocent soul was I
racing forward deluded thinking I could fly
until in too deep, heart cried out from burning heat
and the ill wind's angry flames licking my bare feet
Please a refuge, I pray Lord a refuge please send
Oasis, that this wilting body I may mend!
Mankind swims in a world that its hopes slowly burns.
Rolling the dice as Fate and Death take wicked turns.
As sky then chased away that fiery red-hot sun
ahead an oasis, quickly onward I run
away from lost and blinded journey through this hell
away from lingering doubts I could never quell
away from this world and its insidious pains
away from deep darkness and its decaying stains!
This soul left that black-world wherein hope slowly burns.
No dice, Fate and Death taking no more wicked turns.
Robert J. Lindley, 12 -21- 21
Rhyme, ( Truth That Darkness May Not Prevail )
Notes:
(1.) Inspiration and thanks given, for this poem was received from a comment made to my poem , titled, "I Looked To Heaven That Christmas Night"
Commented on 12/20/2021 5:43:00 PM by Jeannie Amos
("Not everyone makes it out of the Siberian desert of lost souls. Make the best of your blessing."
Thusly - I got this to stir my composing. - ** "" Siberian desert of lost souls. ""**
*******
(2.) Inspiring quotes from famous,
artists/thinkers/ philosophers/poets
(A.)
“Hope is being able to see there is light despite all of the darkness.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(B.)
“Differences are not intended to separate, to alienate. We are different precisely in order to realize our need of one another.”
-- Desmond Tutu
(C.)
"Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."
-- Carl Jung.