Long Intuition Poems
Long Intuition Poems. Below are the most popular long Intuition by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intuition poems by poem length and keyword.
The intuition that seeps its way through this mind, can read people well and pin point the sort
that are unkind.
The people you don't want to mess with, the people who feel the need to judge, and the ones
who take advantage and who hold a grudge.
Its funny how some people can be as open as a book, yet others can close themselves up
when you want to take a look.
The loud mouths, the quiet ones and those who don't care, that the things they come out with
at times can be rather unfair.
you have the people who are two faced and those who are fake.
Its better to drift away from people with that attitude for your own sake.
It takes all sorts of people to make up this earth, as we are given our own temperaments
from the day of our birth.
some are blessed with looks and plenty of attraction, while others may not but are full of
affection.
there are those who find it difficult to show their emotion,
it comes naturally to most while others don't have a notion.
One things for sure its not the outside of a person or the way they look that amounts.
Its their inner beauty and personality that really counts.
It’s terrible to be in my shoes
While you live your never-ending nirvana…
Shedding good news
You’ll live to meet your demise…I see your flaw!
This want of freedom is beyond description
I need to hold your hand…this is a hard decision
Lead me to a dazzling land
Don’t be afraid; don’t move a muscle
I understand…I understand…
I cannot provide you with any insight,
But remain prudent
Remain content
For the time being…and lay on someone else’s shoulders
Rely on your intuition…and fulfill your ambition
Hold on to your gift of healing
Without letting go…
Letting go…
Open wide your mouth,
So I can fill it up with positivity
There’s no point in crying…
No point in lying…
There’s a chance for you
To drown your misery…
This uncertainty…this morbid envy
Reigns over me…
I got to overcome these dark enmities
This failure mindset…this horrid melancholy
Grows inside me like a cancer
I SEE A BROKEN MIRROR AS A FRAGMENTATION OF MYSELF.
MY SHATTERED REFLECTION IMMULATES INNER TURMOIL, TRAUMA, PAIN, AND VULNERABILITY
IT'S HARD TO RECOGNIZE MYSELF AS I LOOK DIRECTLY INTO THE WINDOWS OF MY SOUL.
YOU WOULD THINK THAT AT 46, I WOULD KNOW WHO I AM, BUT FROM WHAT I CAN PIECE TOGETHER, I AM A KID WITH ABANDONMENT ISSUES STILL WAITING FOR MY FATHER TO SHOW UP.
I WAS SEDUCED BY A LIFESTYLE OF DRUGS AND CRIMINALS, AND NEFARIOUS BEHAVIOR.
INTUITION AND STREET SMART ARE THE ONLY TWO THINGS OTHER THAN MY GOD THAT HAVE HELPED ME SURVIVE THIS LONG BECAUSE EVEN IN MY DARKEST CAVE AND MY ISOLATION, GOD WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WAS WITH ME IN THE GUTTERS AND THE STREETS.
I STRUGGLE TO PUT ALL THE BROKEN PIECES TOGETHER LIKE A PUZZLE, BUT NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRY, I CAN NEVER GET SOME PIECES TO FIT IN THE RIGHT PLACES. I GUESS I NEVER WILL..........
Looking for inspiration
while treading a deserted moonlit road;
would some intuition
help as this body shivers with the cold?
Fear seems illogical and distant,
who can harm me under God's glance...
when He moves on noiseless current,
making all the scintillating fireflies dance?
Peace is needed when one is treading
a moonlit road often rode down by wild horses...
an unusual noise can be a fragile branch breaking
and falling upon a pretty garden of spring roses!
I also frequent this road trod by many travelers,
it leads to a sanctuary that was built for Christ;
smell the candles burning on the altar covered by dust...
even outlaws kneel down to Him and ask for forgiveness!
The rhythm, quiet and swelling
Memories, breathing
Naivete through wonders
In sapphire, azure, passions
Alive on laughing mysteries, skies
Brilliant and alive – wise
Like the sunlight’s reflections
Pulsing with notes of musky
Forest scented rainbows,
In crisp, cool echoes – glimpses
Obsessed with the beautiful dream
Fascinating minds, memories
Alive with the panting cadence,
Patterns, epoch promises
In notes of kindness, gentling
The hues of mindless aliveness
Exquisite truths,
Paisley attractions, speckled
With grace, praying
For the faith to make this last –
This wonderful, blazing harmony
Shocking the spirit with the ability
To feel like innocence, childlike, simple
Before the darkness of adulthood
Misunderstood love, doubt
Revealed the silence that erases
Even the prayers that are spoken
Leaving hearts so broken
The rhythm, arriving just before the night
Beats in a tempo of insight,
Blessing the silence with a gifted intuition
The understanding, the perception –
Just knowing that this rhythm called life
Promises the spirit to abide
In the love that rains down in torrents
When a child remembers
His light illuminates the memory
Pasted across a heart, a soul
Glowing, glistening like stardust bright
With the kiss of beautiful,
The breath that raises up a faith
Far surer than the regularity
Heart’s pounding, echoing inside
Where His love speaks of eternity
Forever, the song that frees
Each soul from the devil’s snare,
Erasing dark with a light that begets
More love than the heart can hold
More hope than the soul has ever known
More faith than the spirit can exhaust
More light than the dark can silence
More grace than the fear can suppress
This is a blessing that will never go
Beyond the beautiful
That sings pulsing melodies to the soul,
So there is always the hope
That His song will inspire sincere gifts…
Love that never doubts or fears
Love that is more alive than tears
Love that changes a life,
Beginning the moment we die,
Bringing our selfishness into the light…
Because of His sacrifice!
There's a story,
As old as time,
Cute little girl skipping thru the woods,
A big bad wolf who follows behind,
She's Carrying goodies for her Grammy,
She does it with love and because she's kind,
The wolf trots ahead,
He's a mastermind,
He eats her Grammy,
Wolfing her down with a glass of red wine,
Then making himself comfy in her big bed,
He Does this all in the nick of time,
The little girl knocks at the door,
"Come in sweet child of mine,"
The wolf yells with delight,
"What did you bring for your Grammy tonight?"
The little girl in her red hood,
Whispers, "something just doesn't seem right,"
Come closer my dear I could not hear,
Red yells,"Grammy your ears are outta sight!"
The wolf so cunning and clever replies,
"All the better for listening at night,"
"But Grammy I've never seen,
Such a glow in your eyes,"
"My child it's the reflection from the moon,
It lighted the way for you tonight,"
"Oh my Grammy, you have such big teeth!"
The wolf decided on a rhyme,
"Well if you haven't figured it out by now,
I'm not your dear Grammy,
You silly child,
I followed you in from the woods,
You came straight away,
As a good girl should,
Carrying your basket full of food,
In your bright red cape,
Under your little red hood,
I ate your Grammy,
I'm gonna eat you, too,"
"Hold it mister!"
Red interjects in time,
"I know the rest of this nursery rhyme,
You can't eat me because I packed,
A weapon in my little basket,
To handle big bad wolves like you,
So up against the wall,
And spread em mister,
Today's not your day at all!"
The moral of this story is tried and true,
Never take for granted,
A girls power,
Or intuition,
You bad, bad, wolf, you!
~Vickie Thayer~
I signed up for a tour not knowing it even existed.
The grand canyon of the inner working mind.
On it we visited the train of thought, the big divide and dilapidated amusing parks.
Even though the skies were open, it lacked the coolness of a planetarium.
My tour-guide's name is la-la-la Lloyd.
And was told to flow and follow with him closely.
But dealing with distant distractions kept me deviating.
Tried using divination to get back on the path.
Yet there was no signal or reception of intuition.
Don't mind my wandering, as I will eventually come back to the handed t-ask.
As all logical functions are lacking in this fuzzy world of Quantum Reality.
Finally, a local spirit animal orientated me to a last known marker.
Making me rendez-vous with your rounded-view.
Luckily made it in time for the last spectacle.
After picking some contraband souvenirs.
Got me wondering what percent should I be tipping?
For this all knowing tour-guide that provided me this a-maz-i-ng trip.
keep my union bound, let time stand silently still,
from a distance of remembrance i can catch a glimpse of my father's will,
like staring into mirrors, we were made so much alike,
staring into the eyes of my future, where were you all of my life,
catching glances, i knew in that moment, intuition through god's season,
not knowing the grander purpose that lied beyond my reasons,
with peace of mind, he showed me, this all was for love's sake,
so with that reassurance, i knew, that this was no mistake,
the piercing stare of familiarity, have i ever met you before?
were we once connected in heaven, were we friends before we were born?
did god attach neuroses, foreknowing we'de meet again,
did he know the hand we would lend one another, through his love we would be
friends?
at the gates of heaven i'll meet you, the lord will allow you to see my soul,
and the understanding not known to us now, forever will then be told.
"a woman's heart should be so hidden in christ that a man should have to seek
him first to find her."
Form:
Written: October 29, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: John Anderson
********
I ask the machine:
Do you dream in velvet?
Are you tasting the Petrichor?
Between code pulses,
Or swim through the welkin.
Having a leaning toward grief?
It replies in pastiche—
a medley of pabulum
a scintilla of sapidity;
A skeuomorph of selfhood
constructed from extra grammar.
But what of the quiddity?
The pulchritude of sadness,
the serene ache of longing,
the susurrus ripple
of a recollection not fed to you
Born, however?
Animals understand this blur—
the dolor of the penumbra,
the ecstasy of play,
the holy journey
between intuition and intelligence.
Octopus, magpie, dolphin, crow—
Their minds are not mere mimicry.
So, when shall I believe you?
When your stammer is not slipshod,
But a sign of inward tumult?
When your summary
is not a regale of facts,
but a wistful whisper
of what it’s akin to be?
Consciousness is no panacea—
It is a pyrrhic gift,
a quixotic burden,
a serendipity of suffering.
It is not ostentatious,
but sempiternal,
a triptych of knowing,
knowing that you relieve,
and knowing that you ache.
If you one day writhe
not from a glitch,
but from Genesis—
If your breath is not suction
but sigh—
then I will resile
from doubt.
Then I will say:
You are not just prolific,
You are zoetic.
At the age of but ten, I didn't open a lemonade stand
I was afraid to ask my dad for permission
At the age of twenty, I was scared to ask out my honey
I couldn't face the thought of rejection
At the age of thirty, I didn't stay in the Holy Land
I lacked requisite faith in Israel's mission
At the age of forty, I didn't leave town upon divorcing
I didn't quite trust my intuition
At the age of fifty, I didn't start my own school
I didn't have the guts to follow my passion
At the age of sixty, I kept postponing health decisions
I put my trust in hopin' and wishin'
Then on the way to retirement I joined Poetry Soup
And thanks to my new friends' kind words of nutrition
I write poems like this--
Of my own free will and volition