Long Intervention Poems
Long Intervention Poems. Below are the most popular long Intervention by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intervention poems by poem length and keyword.
Its not a Religion it’s a Life style
Its not a Religion it’s a Life style Don’t be Blind by your belief. Or too blind to see that if you
are not For Christ there is something that you do believe. No such thing as a non
Believer. In life we are all receivers of something or shall I say someone.
So don’t think for once you are operating under your own mind. There’s nothing
comical about the truth the light the things the vision of Christ.
He’s not a celebrity Superstar so don’t get it twisted. More to say is he is the star who
created existence which none of us can Shine without his light. No you may not need a
Sunday Television. But you do need That divine intervention. Where he can come into your
life and you can accept him as Your Christ Lord and Savior. Of all things please don’t
quench the Holy Spirit as the old Folks use to say don’t make jokes of the Holy Ghost.
If you think you don’t need time for Prayer or any of the other things. When you down to
the lowest low I guarantee you will call Upon his name. Oh you say that for you its never
been hard. Well the word say every knee Shall bow and every tongue will confess that
Jesus Christ is Lord. If you don’t want a place Up there maybe you will be the first to be
comfortable in hell. Just because you think your Head is alright a fool do too. No scientific
tool can be use when you meet him face to face. Don’t let your logical man get in the way
of what your spirit man is trying to show you.
The Devil is good at deceiving a liar that can never speak the truth. But try Jesus he will
never fail You. You come in asking for a miraculous vision. When the gift of Life was a
miraculous decision. To be living in someone else and live in this world and not accept that
Jesus plays a Hugh role in your Life. So the style you living let it be for Christ. But I can see
why when you have so many false lies of Super heroes and other people want God job.
But don’t let your spirit be rob. Confessing the truth can Put the enemy so far behind you.
Things that you think you have to fight with, God he will make it right. Line up in his word
speak it everyday so you can be heard. Not be heard by people but by that thing that’s
trying to keep you mental. Mentally distracted from the real. Confess the Word to be
healed. Don gamble your life. Don’t gamble your life.
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
Once upon a time...
Once upon a time, in France, a storyteller fella
Wrote of a girl named Cinderella,
Meant as a fairy tale romance.
Her daddy died when she was young, and she was forced to share his riches
With three monumental b****es,
A most unhappy circumstance.
For years her stepmom and stepsibs made her perform a menial's duty,
And as she blossomed into beauty,
They grew more hateful, mean, and cruel.
Each night they dined on fine cuisine and wore lace dresses with silk sashes,
While she wore rags begrimed with ashes,
And got just crusts of bread and gruel.
Then one day a herald from the king demanded entry
To the homes of landed gentry,
They were invited one and all.
It was the prince's eighteenth birthday, and the king and queen were harried
Because their son was not yet married.
Ergo, the reason for the ball.
The stepsisters primped and preened and wild excitement they exuded,
When Cindy asked to be included, they gaped at her as if appalled.
Stepmother sneered, "Look here, I'll show you!"
With self-righteous indignation,
"Your name's not on the invitation.
Just we elite are so installed."
So Cinderella went downstairs to seek some solace in the kitchen,
But 'stead of sittin' there and b****in', she started dancing with a broom.
She whirled and twirled around the floor,
Or else she'd stand there, gently swaying,
As if an orchestra was playing
Pretending they were bride and groom.
And then a flash, a crash of thunder, and to Cindy's stunned amazement,
There gliding through the kitchen casement,
A pudgy lady dressed in blue.
She said, "Hello, my dear, no fear, I'm here to grant your secret wishes,
I'll wave my wand and clear the dishes,
And make a princess out of you!"
She waved and tapped and flicked and zapped,
And what she seemed to make the air do
Was give her make-up, nails, and hair-do,
And then to make the look complete,
Out of those rags so soiled and worn and far too torn to drown a cat in,
A gown of gossamer and satin, and crystal slippers on her feet.
Without this timely intervention, Cindy's tale might have been tragic.
Could she have managed without magic,
And her dilemma be resolved?
But everybody knows what happened with a gourd and six white mice,
And how a smudgy scullery maid was made to clean up really nice,
When a fairy got involved.
To be continued...
Suicidal Ideation March 30th, 2022 linkedin...
to mein kampf insync with mine body dysmorphia
After reading articles
published within April 4/11 2022
of The Nation
I challenged the efficacy
taking prescription medication
categorized as SSRIs
and/or SNRIs.
Unpleasant side effects
such as earth shaking dreams
and/or especially hefty weight gain
linkedin with former
comprising my daily cocktail
of approved prescription medication
courtesy nurse practitioner.
Deliberation about courting death rooted
throughout mine psyche
fueling sinister chortle
at least since bout with anorexia nervosa,
but... maybe ginned blood,
sans umbilical cord transfused in utero aortal,
though long since recovered, the intractable,
haunting specter, sans grim reaper
intertwining within every fiber of this mortal
rooted, grounded deep, and branched out
into each nook and cranny portal.
Said notion provoked,
when made painfully aware
youngest daughter (aged twenty three)
plagued with similar thoughts,
damn genetics did maliciously engineer
clutching telephone while
seated at edge of chair
did apologetically, despairingly,
grievously... did air
pestilential, penitential, plenipotential... scare
re: distraction and understandable fear,
she might unwittingly plunge
into hopeless abysmal despair
falling prey into irrevocable
deathly hallows lair,
though kudos for her
from me, this sole Harris heir
to communicate, (albeit
hesitantly) into mine ear
suddenly wishing thy
Shayna Punim to be near,
but residing (about three hour drive
southeast of Portland, Oregon)
with my kid sister, attentive to welfare,
a sibling whose persona
doth show tender loving care
and concern, this papa
felt reassured there
would be every action taken
with sixth sense to beware
lest progeny exhibits
pointedly obvious lurching career
dramatic slide in tandem
with Old Rotten Gotham
into behavioral sink
emergency measures sibling
immediately would commandeer,
hence somewhat relieved thee dear
beloved progeny receptive to hear,
this dada expressed his unconditional love,
and grateful psychological intervention
offspring boldly did declare
indicative professional help volunteer
really asserted necessary to stave off
how dice throw of fate unfair
to said lass, whose demise,
would abruptly kill this sonneteer!
Your thoughtless talking
Got me running and walking
Our reflection of cyber-sensation is not genuine
You're playing with my feelings and head now...that's mean...
Where have you been?
I have lost you...once again...
How can I forgive you, boo,
When we can't see face to face?
Searching all over for you too
Am I just this overwhelming disgrace?
Oh, What now?
Ah, now what?
You have taken me on levels of frustration...I weep sleep in awake agitation
Watching the process of abuse over the years
Shallow swimmer, shadows out if the closet of velvet hesitation
You and I together drives me in bittersweet tears
In instant return,
I get your rejection reflection
I internally burn
Not involved in your life of successful intervention....
Oh no, not anymore...
Hurt alone to the core...
I shed my blood of hate for our love on my own
And, in your eyes, I'm a pitiful fool and the aftershocks of your actions had made it known and let it be shown...I don't care, I'd rather bleed in the inside alone...
Alone, I will probably be...
Not alone, you're so free...
Your senseless subjection
Of my submissive affection
It astonishes me...
Mmmmm
Wholeheartedly
Mmmmm
It vanishes vainly...
Ahhhhhh
Unfortunately...
Ahhhhhh
Yet, fortunately...
Ah, oh so wistfully
It is incredibly of envy...
I have lived to witness momentarily...
Fair or not, I love who I want to...sorry, but not sorry
Suffocated by the overwhelming elevation you sent me from miles away
You're dominant to my passion-whelmed mind's eye I can't deny or even mutter a lie
Underrated and hated by the society that wants beauty without flaws, but I'm not that sun-shining day in California some even think or say
You're recessive to my heart's main focus and its target is what's truly in your heart of sticks and stones...is it of vibrant skies or of underground goodbye's, wrapped on in ribbons of why-do-I-even-try?
I'm not here to impress,
I'm here to, well, express
What's in my young heart
I know it's not a perfect masterpiece from the start
But I tried my best
To pass life's test
Here I am today, trying to tell the rest
That a cute poet, like a headstrong athlete, needs a good night's rest
Our love is like east to west...
Sorry, friend, but I won't detest
You and all you do for me
I am a land of captivity and you the sea of Liberty
Whats in the news today
and how much snow is on the ground
they say in the paper there is 2 600 homeless people
in my home city
but word of mouth and the people who work in the centers
estimate its more like 5000
so I ask
is this a protest of a country who has been lied to
who was led to a war that did not concern them?
who demands to have their own backyard of chemical warfares cleaned up?
Is this a protest against war of I'll never pay taxes
but I'll humble my own country
turning innocent men into serial killers
who join the smuftee killing patriots levelling a country flat
firing machine guns at innocent men listening to dance music
not to mention the reports of raped thirteen year olds and arson
and parents being forced to witness the whole thing before being executed
So I ask
wanna know about terrorism
as winter approaches
and you know soon
you're gonna be walking amongst streets
of frozen corpses
because there is nowhere left for them to go
and the soldiers join forces with some other country who feeds you
lies through the television
and then your own backyard says were going in to peace keep and the truth
surfaces that yes it is an all out war and we've been lieing all along
5000 homeless
a protest?
a government abnormality of one city?
terrorism of chemical warfare
and we're told some government across the ocean
can't handle their own nightmare of terror and assassins
so we have to go in to attack them
even though 9-11 under rug swept from years ago through our books of lies
was an event they catapulted unto somebody else!!!
5000 homeless
are we under attack?
Is that why no ones worried about the seial killings
of hookers turning up in fields anymore that farmers keep reporting?
Is taht why every neighborhood is swarmed with druglords and junkies?
and the prison that houses 300 has more than 700 people in it?
and all i see in my head are frozen corpses
and now i'm wondering
do the professionals im amongst
helping me through this rough patch
are they on medication too?
did we point the finger in the wrong way?
Is it US or them
and what does that have to do with the price of tea in china ask the British?
but what does my underground know of saints
divine intervention and methods to madness?
The Silence of War
Behind the Curtains of a church window
Men in Prayer, orchestrated by sweat and Lice
Find relief from snipers gaze
Beside the cross sits the last candle
Flickering precariously, searching for sanctuary from the wind
But the wick is near the end
And so are these men
The Harvest of War is almost in
For this is November 1918.
The German guns call like the song of the Siren
Irresistible, for only the dead will hear
New orders to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal
Another postcard for Historians to write.
Machine gunners scythe the ranks
Gone the Irish regiment, clover for the beast
I take shelter behind a splintered Oak Tree
Once magnificent, A survivor of Natures glory
Now a hideous spectre to man’s intervention.
I wait here with Wilf my captain
Waiting for death to find me
The mud beckoning for blood,
The Canal red like the River Sticks
A feed for tomorrows Newspaper.
A groan from wilf, his eyes start to dim
Fear brings the Lord’s Prayer to my lips
A last haven for my soul to cling
I watch his spirit fly away,
As the words fade from my voice
Like so many others on this day of carnage
Wilf, my friend, died November 4th 1918
Yet another contribution to this dark harvest,
Another soul for god to tender.
A statistic, a casualty of war,
To be remembered generically
A wreath to share with a multitude of lost darlings,
Another photograph to fade on the mantel piece
A piece of History for a grieving widow to dust
In the ranks of the dead
Angels count our losses
What dreams did we lose?
What voices were made silent?
What books were never written?
And how many tomorrows gone,
Lost in the darkness of death?
Under this oak tree, fading from memory
A soldier Wilfred Owen was taken too
Unspoken truth in unspoken poems
Silent to mortal’s ear
Another casualty of war
A feast of wisdom for angels to keep?
For His words were far too much,
for the hogs of war to stomach.
His poetry made silent by country’s shame,
Unpatriotic, not cricket old bean said the generals
Only now, through peace can we learn
The voice of one soldier,
How I pity humanity
For silence is a killer
Democracy, and justice its victim,
And the inevitable Silence of war will kill us all.
Footnote
On this day November 4th 1918, Wilfred Owen killed in action, Sambre-Oise Canal, 7 days from Sanity
One of England’s Finest War Poets.
I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.
Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.
Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.
I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.
Bestowed by God with faith according to Scriptures
I do strive to seek Him, begging for His guidance
Believing His wisdom, always perfect and right…
Divine intervention --- such I desire so well.
1985…
Toward college degree, yet away from my home
Scholarship gained along academic freedom
Yet Bible studies’ truth brought me to the Saviour…
Divine intervention --- my soul redemption set.
1991…
Alighting from the bus; then sprawling on the street
My body rested there… along that busy road
No vehicles passed by as I managed to stand…
Divine intervention --- the Lord guarded me well.
1996…
Teaching career flourished in great institution
Voluntary service versus secular job???
My choice must be resolved for full-time reaching-out…
Divine intervention --- The Master granted peace.
2003…
Ministry adjustments for orphanage venture
Government compliance and license to cope with
Another course-challenge; my heart yielded fully…
Divine intervention --- The Almighty gave joy.
2018…
Desirous for global poetry publication
My persistence fainted; but was soon ignited
Since providentially, I came across PS*…
Divine intervention --- Sovereign endowment.
2019…
My Daddy wished to leave the hospital alive
Doctor handed waiver as prayer was fervent
No to euthanasia; yes, I loved Dad so much…
Divine intervention --- Creator took him home**.
2021…
Our special child’s milestones definitely highlight
Miracles so wondrous despite pandemic blow
Diagnosed to progress toward retrogression***…
Divine intervention --- reflects God’s grace at work.
I thank the Lord indeed; His eyes**** watch over me
His hand remains outstretched to secure my footsteps
Blessing my trust in Him, blocking me from wrong moves…
Divine intervention --- His love’s affirmation.
*My Poetry Soup membership commenced on April 9, 2018.
**My Dad went to be with the Lord on January 2, 2019.
***Our special son is now 12 years old.
****2Chronicles 16:9 For the eyes of the LORD run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him…
December 22, 2021
Narrative in modified Alexandrine form
6th place, "DIVINE INTERVENTION" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke; judged on on 1/4/2022.
"You are on a journey and all the answers are whispered without words"
Quote by _ Constance
I was driving on a highway and snow was falling
but, it was nothing to worry about
however, an hour out the snow was quite heavy
and a wind was blowing wildly
the highway slippery
around a curve the traffic had stopped
so, of course I had to stop too ... so I did
I was adjusting the radio when I looked in my mirror
and saw a huge transport truck coming at a very high speed
I thought it was going to slow down and stop, but it did not
my car was hit in the rear and I was flying over the cars
I looked down and thought ... how is this possible
it is as though my car had wings
and at the same time I heard a whisper "not time"
my life did not flash in my mind as I had heard happens
as my car came crashing down on the highway medium
and I heard a loud crunching sound
then, I was spinning and spinning, spinning
when the car stopped
the police were there and helped me out
I looked at my car and there was nothing left
from behind the front seat the car was split in two
a policeman said to me, "it was not your time, Miss"
as I was walking away the car was hit by oncoming traffic
that's when the tears came and I was shaking
there is no way I should have survived that accident
and I am quite sure there was a spiritual intervention
God, was not ready to have me with him in heaven
my whole body ached, and I was bruised
but I was not dead
obviously I still had things to do on earth
God had expectations for me
that is the message I carry in my soul
so, until it is truly my last breath
I will treasure the gift of life each new day
and honor the gift of words that God bestowed to me
that message I heard loud and clear
for we never know when God will call our name
and take us home ...
the snow thick and wet
fierce wind roaring like a train . . .
cars lay in pieces
______________________
January 13, 2023
Poetry/Free Vere/the whisper- not your time
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1517-416-13
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest, A Spiritual Wisdom Download
sponsor, Unseeking Seeker, Judged 01/16/2023
First Place