Long Intention Poems
Long Intention Poems. Below are the most popular long Intention by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intention poems by poem length and keyword.
Our beauty is hidden in our words!
Rumi (M. Mafi, trans.)
Our content in contentment
hides within commitment toward integrity.
Our beauty is hidden in our words
said only toward ourselves.
Barometers of mental health
for how we are and are not feeling
beautiful,
good,
fair,
balanced,
just,
harmonious,
confluent,
content,
graceful,
like good mentors without external hypocrisy,
and sometimes not such good mentors.
Mentors with words redolent of harmonic peace,
or maybe sometimes too much non-violent peace,
passive aggressive surfing, searching back and forth,
or even violently imagining unworded diverse futures
of yourself,
those around you,
generalized economic and sociopathological
and therapeutic
States and Species of thrive or demise,
and planet Earth,
and our Universe,
sometimes a metaphysically closing system,
sometimes more beautifully opening
although with considerable stress
tipping points,
trimming tabs and scissors,
adjusting balance, halves of ecologic,
within our internal voices of environ-mental health
as hope for cultural beauty.
Humaned nature adds economic
and cultural
and psychological freedom to evolve
kindness of mutual subsidiary intention,
an active love of peaceful mind.
Nature is only limited by absence
of regenerative orthopraxis,
caring and nurturing,
economically and politically powerful values
exercised within the classroom of each day.
Ecotherapeutic voices in our nights
and days of reconnecting consciousness
create our daily practice
of natural systemic design,
this song of synergy,
creative universal intelligence.
Cooperative kindness and competitive unkindness
are capacities coincident to all of nature,
a polar range from regeneration through decomposition,
from synergy through negentropy,
Kindness and love self-optimize as "Truths of Beauty"
when we freely choose sufficiency of contentment,
with full will and ecojustice intent.
My words surf my beauty and hope and synergy,
in and out,
back and forth,
listening for my listening gracefilling bicameral heart
and comprehensive consciousness,
discovering contentment within my content,
form within my information,
ecobalancing function within form,
fractal frequencies within bioregenerative
self-optimizing function.
Surfing echo frequencies,
Earth's words of microwaving grace.
This is not a poem, this is a message for those who only come at my page to see flaws in my poem and in me, so they can make foul verbal comments. I'm not referring to my fellow poets here. I'm referring to my ill- minded compatriots.
Some even comment that its not me who makes my poems. But you can't really know or comprehend what it takes to be a poet and to make a poem if you're not a poet yourself. As Bob Dylan said, "don't criticize what you can't understand." It makes me smile to hear nonsense comments, like those saying that I copied works from other people when the poem is all about me or my situation, even containing personal details about me, especially those who comment that I plagiarize everything, including a short prose or a simple poem. You cannot apply your level of thinking or situation to that of the poet.
As you can see, every poem we make here are copyrighted the moment we make it, and many if not most of them are made for a specific competition under specific criteria set by the judges, so there's no way we just take poems from somewhere and place them here, especially if our intention is to place in the competition.
One thing that you should understand is that every poem is unique, because the condition under which it was written cannot be exactly duplicated in another time and another place. This means that except for competitions with open themes that may accept poems that were already written, poets write based on their feelings, emotion, state of body and mind, prevailing inspiration and other surrounding circumstances the time they write, which make them the only person who can explain the exact meaning of their poems. When one plagiarizes a work, he only copies the lyrics but not the essence of the work as when it was made by the writer, and definitely, the skill behind the making of the work cannot be plagiarized. That sets the difference between the person pretending and the real maker of the work. So there's no point in copying works from other people because there is no essence of self fulfilment in it.
Every poem here is open for everyone to see. If we'd be putting plagiarized works here everyday, we'd be slapped with countless charges. Besides, the admins of this site do not allow plagiarized works to be placed here. This is a site for lovers of poetry and not for haters.
December 23, 2023, PST, SPC
Never will another season bring so much joy
A feeling of love, togetherness and happiness
Ring out them festal bells and let’s be jolly
A savior was born, condescended, we are happy
We go to church, offer praise most joyful
Screams of delight, Children playing happily
Lovers holding hands gazing happily
At the beautiful sites, mountain's peaks, rivers of joy
Birds singing sweetly in the air, their songs so melodious and joyful
Every home, through their windows flowing sounds of rapture and happiness
The drunk on the street had one wish to make him happy
Give me some rum, he said, that will make me good and jolly
I played this song last night and it is so fitting, for the topic says Joyful, Joyful
It’s the season of good cheer, a time to give, to dance, to eat and be jolly
Only you can determine your level of happiness
To give of your means it is easy, but to give of yourself many cannot do this happily
Give without grudge, with no intention to receive, that's how giving becomes a joy
To exercise these gems will cleanse the soul; give warm feelings, make us happy
Laughter in the trees, laughter in the breeze, season of laughter, everyone is happy
Gift for baby, gift for mommy, gift for daddy, even the cats and dogs had to be joyful
What the world craves, so elusive for some, thank God in His love, we find great joy
Come one come all let’s jump on the bandwaggon, riding the coach called Super Jolly
The invitation is out, don’t settle in doubt, cast off your cares, ride with us, happily
Great people great love, warmth, sharing caring, all things good gives you happiness
Take friends, co-workers and fellow poets, toss in this great soup pot of happiness
Recycle love, make this world wonderful, song writer says, ‘don’t worry, be happy’
The world needs people who are positive, will see the best in others happily
A smile, a word of cheer, a few words of encouragement, make another’s day joyful
‘Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way’, what good is that if we are not jolly
The Lord has come, so unto this world be peace, love, and most important of all, joy
There is truth and beauty in the person with happiness, looking radiant and joyful
I would give my money just to be happy, to see my loved ones and friends real jolly
Luxury of life I would trade off hapilly, to have the thing the world craves for, joy
Life is good wen ur missing that certain fragrance, warmth heated imaginary endless love, soft kisses filled with Every intention to kover a wonded heart, heaven threw hell i was floating right pass the moon on dayz that should b irrelevant. Home is the highest energy u kould feel, i dislike knowing that ur the valve to my heart n mind that certain key that Broke into my lock, im no locksmith ,just give me 5 or 2 min with u and i have u feeling different, so either run away from me on a different planet and i know u Still love me with sadness that i kouldnt change to a different route of a cycle of a man that kan be there for you lookn gudd to a point , satisfied like either broke or poor well b ok whats higher than high? family, i wanna bring you all ur needs its not ur needs that u want from me just me and im missing you beyond missing like are coming threw? i miss u ,i have passion in us and you should know being the luckiest gurl in Life wouldnt be no gudd with a lil madness
like the world is tragic loving you forever n ever And more its programmed to our conscience automatic so my love exist wen i lay my last breath ,I say im selfish, kids in my life why Kouldnt i stop when, when u gave me chance after chance With that there I dnt deserve bliss u deserved kids ,sayin that? is that a lil kid Mind , Im a blindless guy in the world ,now im A hypocrite Who isnt.. Just know i love u Not even close Like the ojays.... Not ever like the future lame squeeze, i hate being the guy you'll be reminiscing of ,wat u were missing, wen you should be right next to me, like did u forget what u left behind threw arguing ,How do u say no more bcuz if ur heart hurts instantly shouldnt I TURN MY BACK ON YOU, Well i should turn it around , A roaming stream of feelings against Urself and knowing our luv is luv.. Real love or mistaken love, Like its not enough, i feel like the world is mine when were all layed up I keep messin up. A lil bit more and more konstantly i would nvr expect the world to just up n leave Hurt and just done to even bare to stick around me, sick n tired of being hurt once again so fall and i will katch you like a baseball mit , i feel you like Im missing you, i See you like Im missing you And i kant even touch when im missing you which I know the message Wats falling over and breathin Wen its the barely the 2nd inning
Life does not necessarily mature into timeless love,
just as yeast is not the entire evolutionary journey for bread,
and the Way may be part of, but not the entirety of,
the Beloved Community.
It is so interesting, for a nondualist at least,
that a profoundly radical Jewish teacher
would say He is the yeast
while We are the embodied bread;
He is the Way,
yet We are the Kingdoms and QueenEarth Shabbats at hand.
Then the men turn it around,
get it all dualistically, cause-effect backwards,
while the women probably knew this Messianic mentor
as bootstrapping our evolutionary fulfilling birthing process
of incoming and oncoming and ongoing cooperative co-messianism.
The patriarchs,
with theo-means not-ecological words in hand,
were too invested in their post-revolutionary need to distance themselves
from the then-powerful elitist threat of Judaic cultural power,
at least by comparison with their post-revolutionary
dualist-fundamentalist Either/Or departure
into before-Christ/after-Christ messianism-already-fulfilled
by the One
who taught himself as the intentional mentoring leaven,
and not the entire cooperative organic co-salvific loaf;
as the only Way He could speak of and for,
but not our entire EarthTribe Garden
of cooperative ecotherapeutic
co-redemptive messianism at hand.
Too bad the wives and mothers,
the nondualist gatherers and not so much the dualist hunters,
didn't have the education,
or perhaps even the verbal communication skills,
to write down their creolizing nondualist fulfillment narratives
of cooperative nurture,
to recall and cast a nondualist Messiah
who did not come to kill YHWH's Chosen People,
or His own culture,
the regenerative history flowing through his humane-divining
mindbody,
but to leaven with these Elders,
those who had no ecopolitical Win/Lose self-centered elitist hypocrisies
like the Pharisees and Sadduccees,
those who were not over-invested in the competitive change of Caesar's coin
from useful for cooperative consuming health
into iconic value-only for producing disembodied hoards of wealth,
and to leaven within us
as one continuously multiculturing
multigenerational
nondualistic-BothJewish/AndChristian
organic creolizing mindbody
of regenerative intention
and vast ecopolitically radical compassion;
like yeast evolving divinely humane bread.
''A good deed is rewarded with an evil one'',
Said the snake ready to bite the poor fox
That had just set the snake free
moving the boulder from his hole.
''This is not true'' she replied
With a fear in her eyes
''I am ready to show you why''.
So the poor, yet sly fox took the snake for a ride
To show him that good can dominate over evil.
They passed together mountains of snow
Along with seas of gold.
In the middle of their course
They met a white, beautiful horse
With eyes dry, sitting lonely on a field.
''What are you doing all alone''? The fox asked.
The horse turned lazily his white head and said:
''After ten years of devotion to my master,
After ten years of love, he left me here
Alone and hungry to die forgotten from all''.
''See? The snake smiled,'' evil is stronger than any good, I have to bite you''.
''No'', said the fox, ''I know the world and that is not true, come with me,
I'll show you''.
They passed green fields of storm, deserts of thirst
Until they came across a fat cow.
''Hello'' waved the fox. ''I want to ask you something.
Do you think that a good deed is rewarded with an evil one''?
''Of course'', said the cow. ''I always offer my milk to families, to children.
But now, that I am old, I can't give them anymore.
So, they are ready to kill me and eat my meat''.
''I hope that by now you know that good is nothing in front of evil''.
Said the snake and his tongue of poison slipped away from his mouth.
''Give me one last chance to prove you that you are wrong'',
The fox sadly replied.
They passed cities of red lights, roads of distance.
Suddenly, they see a hungry man with cloths torn
Running to steal a woman's purse. The man was thin and weak
As he could not keep balance he falls in front of the woman's legs.
The woman sees him and with compassion says:
''How many days are you foodless my poor man? Come, take some money
To eat and buy new clothes''.
He takes the money with his trembling hand, the woman sheds a tear and leaves.
''You see?'' said the fox, ''a good deed can change any evil intention''.
She didn't finish her words and the man stands up on his feet,
Runs towards the woman and grasps her purse with a violent move,
Dropping the terrified woman on the road.
The fox watches frustrated and disappointed. Turns to the snake and says:
''What a world! Just bite me''.
Marybeth, my little sister, the baby of the family.
A wild blonde, just like her mom,
She had to have her candy!
From weed to perks, triple two-ees and ludes
Marybeth and Judy were always stewed.
That was in high school, and a few years before
They both settled down like the girl next door.
A husband and children just like Karen and Kate
But mom never met them
She had them too late.
Spent time with her dad, she loved him to death,
He hated her husband, She was his Marybeth!
She shared all her secrets and turned him against
The man that she married - it didn't make sense.
Mare landed a job with the Kromberger clan
They loved her like family; maybe more than...
Her life was too short, her children too young
To lose their dear mother, God, what have You done?
She paid all her dues with the pain she endured
For the past seven years with no hope for a cure.
Being blind was another effect of the coma
And a few years went by before carcinoma
Eating food from a cup was humbling for sure,
But Mare always kept some humor in store
Her wish when she left us, was for us not to cry
Remember the good times, and stop asking why.
Her time was her time and we'll all have our day
For leaving this life, for slipping away
Our guardian angels are right by our sides
They take our hand gently along with our Guides
And cross us to where we no longer need
The pain and the suffering to which we agreed.
There's always a reason, for the things of today
We can't see the big picture, Faith asks us to pray.
One fact is for sure, we all have a Life Purpose
It's always much deeper than what's seen on the surface
Marybeth's purpose included us all
I'm grateful for that, but what the heck was it for?
Someday I'll look back, probably next New Years Eve.
A year will have passed, I'll still not have grieved.
The hard part for me is the 'wanting' to leave.
Tired of living? I just can't conceive.
Watch what you 'give,' you will surely receive
Exactly the same as your intention conceived.
It may have been wrapped in beautiful gold
Expecting more thanks than the newspaper-rolled.
Giving without expectations in mind
Is the secret of leaving this world behind.
Then we get to stay and see what makes us tick
We don't judge, we don't talk, just observe
Don't get sick.
It's not personal. Whew....
Love you Mare, See you there.
In the narrow corridors of lost time,
where light seeks its shadows in dusty corners,
words sit like butterflies with heavy wings,
suffering under the weight of unspoken silences.
In the silent cells of a forgotten world,
my books traverse walls, like birds searching
for the sky in a windowless world,
trying to free thoughts trapped in chains of paper.
I wrote for those who bear invisible burdens,
for those who find solace in lines,
but literature, a mystery to the ordinary mind,
weaves into the soul like a forgotten melody,
a song even the rarest of us
cannot understand without feeling its pain.
Poetry, a labyrinth of emotions,
sheds complicated meanings,
leaving behind clear, human words,
like an honest gaze in a world of masks.
Williams called for clarity,
and I followed, seeking to open paths
for those who have forgotten how to see.
But writing is one thing, life another,
we improve the words, but our lives
remain stuck in the same patterns,
like birds repeatedly striking
the glass of painful transparency.
Perhaps, by writing better, living more beautifully,
we will make life ashamed of itself.
Maybe artists were never strong enough,
maybe those who rule the world were too strong,
and we, pale and precious,
let words flow like a river
never finding its sea.
But art, in its intimacy,
bears the same burden:
women, governments, God,
love, hate, poverty, slavery,
insomnias and roads without destination,
times and spouses, and all the rest…
A man in a cell dislikes how commas dance,
how words stray from their path
to capture the exact essence,
without knowing the intention is to relax, to humanize,
to make words like butter or avocado,
something you can grasp and taste,
like a simple and nourishing meal for the soul.
Art may wander, but it keeps the essential form,
like Dostoevsky or Bach,
who taught us to layer melodies
one over the other, creating a symphony
of hidden meanings.
I do not defend my work, but the right to create it
in a way that makes me feel alive.
A writer's boredom is the reader's boredom,
and perfection is just a myth,
an illusion keeping us away from the truth.
You, in the neighboring cell,
receive this letter as a gift,
as a whisper of hope and freedom,
for art needs only the freedom
to be itself, imperfect and real,
in a world that forgets to listen.
I could tell from the look on his face that things were not going his way, the numbers have been overwhelming but the people have been deceiving him; some people with bad intention tells him what he wants to hear but the reality is finally drawing near and redemption is shouting at the window but I could not tell from whence came that unpredictable sorrows.
The luster has gone out of his face and there was no music in the place and the universe was beckoning him to come. But he was reluctant to move. For one brief moment my eyes met his and the pupil and the retina began to sing without a specific rhythm. Something was not right and all of a sudden a shadow stood by his side and covers him.
The evening drags on and he stumbles along. He stands on the stage with a strange look in his eyes as if someone for him had just died, his droopy eyelid sagged and the hair on his head lay flat and the suit that he was wearing laid haphazardly on him as if he was drinking.
The strength and power have gone out of his voice and the purpose has already die and the people were screaming and shouting but he could not hear them. He stood and stared blindly at them as if he wanted to cry but the tears could not flow.
The night kept rumbling on and I could hear a distance song but I could not tell where it was coming from. I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t have enough strength to complete the race. He was just going through the motions with solidarity in his heart but from the look of things he was running out of steam. The jokes were gone and his words were falling on the ground and the message was nowhere to be found.
I could tell from the look in his eyes that the rivers have gone dry not one single tear could be found in his eyes; the people's laughter have faded, the shouts and screams have died down and gossip starts circling around. Election was definitely not on his agenda something bigger than that had captivated his mind.
I have never seen him like that before with that sad droopy look on his face, you had better take him to golf court to recuperate before he drops out of the race.
I could tell from the look on his face that he detests being in that place and he was just going through the phase. Reality is just setting in and he has committed a woeful sin. It is time to start the orchestra.
Okay, here’s a shot at those lyrics, aiming for that Prince-meets-Brandy-ballad-with-a-Usher-hook vibe. I've opted for an AABB rhyme scheme with some internal rhymes to add to the flow.
Title: Cinnamon Skies (For Him)
(Intro - Soft synth pads, a low bass line, and a light drum machine beat – very 90s R&B)
(Verse 1 - Prince-esque vocals, slightly breathy and melodic)
Streetlights blur, a hazy gold, on my way to the pump
Thinking 'bout you, future unfolding, a gentle, subtle thump
He showed his fam, so soon, a shock, but felt like home, you see
Talkin' life, where we goin’, destiny, and you meant for me
(Pre-Chorus - Beat becomes a little more prominent, slight vocal harmonies come in)
He asked about my faith, my dreams, showed such soft respect
Never pressure, just intention, true love we connect
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Verse 2 - Vocals become slightly more spoken word, still melodic)
Cinnamon dad, a sweet embrace, a fleeting, stolen kiss
Fueling up, for that precious place and that love I can't dismiss
Values deep, he spoke with fire, a vision we both shared
Future plans, burning desire, a feeling, well, it's rare
(Pre-Chorus - Beat picks up again, harmonies a bit stronger)
He honored every line I drew, cherished every side of me
This ain't just a fling, it's true, the man I was meant to see
(Chorus - Usher-esque catchy hook, layered vocals, more emphasis on the beat)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you
(Bridge - Ballad feel, vocal harmonies layered, beat drops to just a basic pulse)
Goddess Abundance, blessed this path, intertwined our fates
No doubt, no turning back, sealed by love, no debates
Early on, showing his clan, that I was meant to stay
A plan so grand, a holy span, now that future’s on display.
(Chorus - Usher-esque with a slight vocal run at the end, powerful and full)
Gotta get him, gotta get him, while the love’s so real and true
He's a keeper, trust the feelin', what he feelin’ for you, oh yeaaaaah!
(Outro - Synth pads and a soft bass fade out, with a final echo of “for you…”)