Long Mclain Poems
Long Mclain Poems. Below are the most popular long Mclain by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mclain poems by poem length and keyword.
I write to you
from a quiet place within,
where words
gather like wind through the leaves,
a murmur of truths
that neither time nor fear can erase.
You speak to me
like the tide to the moon,
a silent and inexorable pull.
I see your questions, your fears,
your tender hope
masked beneath a cloak once of self-doubt.
And so,
I answer with the language of the heart,
for that is the only language I truly know.
I speak of being an old man,
afraid
of both success and failure,
watching
the world spin without you.
But oh,
the world does not spin
the world does not without you—it spins because of you.
Every breath you take,
every thought you have drempt,
every kindness you give
is a thread
in the tapestry of this living,
moving universe.
Success, as others know it,
is but a fleeting mirage.
True success
is the courage to feel deeply,
to love, to wonder, to embrace to endure
so pick one last fight a wrong not made right so that
another may endure too write.
The velvet sky
I now mention that they hold the stars
as witnesses to your life,
and they do not make judgement against you.
They see the roots of your being,
the tall trees of your yearning,
the bushes that stay green
even when unseen by the others.
You are not trapped,
though it may feel that it's so.
The heart, like the wind,
is boundless.
If you can give love—yes,
even love to yourself—you will find
that it flows back to you unseen in all ways.
Grateful, you say,
for the family that you never see.
That gratitude,
quiet though it may be, is a bridge.
It is never too late to cross,
even in thought, even in a prayer
whispered up into the great void into the night.
Empathy, the great gift of understanding,
shines through your words.
That is the way to love—by seeing,
truly seeing it all, the world
and all of its pain, its beauty,
relentless in life.
If knowledge is, as you say,
that he himself knows,
then you are already just and wise.
I ask this of you
can I be loved before the end of my life?.
To you my friend, you are loved,
even now.
The valleys know it,
the trees feel it, and I see it in your spirit.
Keep that spark alive,
for it will guide you along the long road
you call home.
I am humbly yours, in deep understanding,
Merry Christmas to you, always in love,
I am your's
J.E.
James McLain
My dearest friend,
What an ache it is to write to you, knowing my pain, knowing how my mortal body falters beneath the weight of its trials.
My words, though steeped in suffering, ring like a low bell in the evening—melancholy but beautiful, laced with the music of a soul nearing the sea's eternal shore.
Where should I go to die?
Will I be allowed to go where the waves call me, where the salt air sings through my weary veins, and the rhythm of the tides can cradle my restless heart.
The sea is a healer, a keeper of secrets, and when the time comes, it will know how to receive me—gentle as a lover, vast as eternity itself.
Hope spring's eternal as would all the good people I have met in this life.
My light, my friend, has been a clear and unwavering flame, and it is right to be unwilling to let it be muddled by the darkness of others.
Hospital's, jail's or prison's, such is this thought it terrifys me even more.
I have run your race with a spirit that outpaced even my shadow.
Those who carry burdens of their own may not always see how brightly I may have shone, but let the stars bear witness.
They have watched me, steadfast in the great cosmic night.
I think often of love, as you must even now.
Love is not a balm that cures the body, but it is the one truth that fills the soul when all else fails.
Do not mourn my passing from the physical world, for love never dies—it is the echo in every gravitational wave, the whisper in every breeze, the pulse of the earth itself.
As for me, I dream often of seas that amaze.
The restless ocean mirrors our own transience, but it also holds a promise of rest.
If I must leave, I know that I do not leave alone.
My physical and psychological pain will dissolve into the deep, and my light will—no longer be encumbered by flesh— I will join the unbroken radiance that is the sea, the sky, the infinite.
And to a curious spirit, what lies beyond.
Soon, I say, none can join me.
If it is true, my dear, then let it be under the vast and sheltering skies, with the waves as witness and the wind as your requiem, my pro quo.
Your courage is the greater part of me, and it will carry you to peace.
Yours, as the stars are to the heavens,
I am,
James McLain
When i was a young boy - ink stained test once with the girl
and the ink was sweet he 'said';
it made us unclean this test, from the man for he was the tester;
And that picture my bat of her 'poet' who he said, is nude
from scandal's shrewdly fled this country in white does it black
with all the butterflies he knew colored pink and blue.
Open i flew it as useless and the color of the rich man
actually can't; it's hiding in places love we deceived him.
The boy saw these people with their political advancement
of stages, i 'said' which is normal,
and doctor with the boy with her nose that last time
and the fact that love always fights and bites and claws it's way,
too the top, never forever restrained.
When prepubescent the boy;
and why being many you were once like this tried to think
and the boy and now the man was unwound
yo-yo's and string.
and the ink went round the stain, falling back up came too life.
The most normal response given to us when it's her time
and time is to him at it's most dangerous when currant.
and in compliance with the easy artist starves
and to use fear to make it open so eagerly and does too be fed.
Doctor that seeks with her one thing only and boys too,
which loves as his own and too the boy as well.
They don't mind joined together,
and will join in and his thing spreads our undergarment,
The nurse will reveal and the ink of the scrutineer will listen,
that (thing)their his will that place negated.
Dr. Rippy while the doctor undermines our credibility
and deducts from her finger when his is pointing
and before showing her/his thing,
rubbing ours together,
bored we think for his amusement, i think he
respects not our past collectives.
and took off points for our quick thoughts.
Ink blot tests, bats fly and poo, eyes cry and you?
While the rest of us whom would not be deceived,
received royal attention of electroshock therapy.
I have always wondered why, they would want you to forget
all of that which never really happens, but in dreams?
Dr.Rippy practiced psychiatry on children
in Tampa Florida when I was a child.
James McLain Sunday, February 21, 2010
Dear Citizens,
Our justice system is founded on the principle that every individual, regardless of wealth or status, deserves fair representation in a court of law.
This principle is enshrined in the Sixth Amendment of our Constitution, which guarantees the right to legal counsel. However, for many who cannot afford private attorneys, this right would be meaningless without the dedicated service of public defenders.
Public defenders are the backbone of our criminal justice system, ensuring that justice is not reserved solely for those with financial means.
Every day, they stand in courtrooms across our nation, defending individuals who might otherwise be voiceless against the immense power of the state.
Their work is not only essential but often heroic, as they take on heavy caseloads, navigate complex legal issues, and advocate for fairness in a system that can be overwhelming for the unrepresented.
The preparation required for effective defense is immense.
Public defenders must thoroughly investigate cases, analyze evidence, and develop legal strategies that ensure their clients receive a fair trial.
They interview witnesses, scrutinize police reports, and challenge prosecutorial claims to safeguard against wrongful convictions. Additionally, they provide critical counsel to their clients, helping them understand their rights and options while navigating an unfamiliar legal system.
Despite the long hours and limited resources, public defenders remain steadfast in their mission.
Their commitment to justice helps to balance a system that could otherwise disproportionately punish the poor and marginalized.
To uphold the integrity of our democracy, we must ensure that these defenders of justice receive the support and respect they deserve.
The strength of our legal system is not measured by its ability to convict but by its dedication to fairness.
Public defenders are indispensable in that pursuit, and their work is a testament to our nation's enduring commitment to justice for all.
Sincerely,
James McLain
Dear, Attorney Ambrose
What Caroline has been forced to indure has at the very least been detrimental to her brain development?
Her frontal lobes being at best seventy five percent if that developed.
Having been since I've been gone,
has caused her to be emotionally abused that has produced either heightened or prolonged activation of the stress system that will result in her later-life behavior.
And the bogus attempt to mollify me, based on my own abused experiences, leaves me with that sour taste,
the taste of disgust that one knows when being told to achieve an out come, that you already know.
Psychological expert's are now more sure than ever as to how these early-life experiences change the brain,
any reasonably intelligent person now knows
that the brain responds by changing its structure, gene expression, and function.
And to dismiss this reasonable argument should prohibit anyone who thinks else wise, from having
or playing a role in my daughters still developing mind.
Would you not agree?
How do we help a traumatized child recover?
There is no magical insight about an individual untrained in child abuse and their future behavior as was just recently tried in court by untrained D.C.F. worker's opining as to why Caroline was Baker acted.
Or that Caroline could understand the ramifications of her actions,
other than to find a way to extradite her self from that her group home surrounding's.
Where self reporting as you suggested, would in the future find her.
Right?
Instead, heightened caregiving and therapy involving social behavior is now the key.
Unfortunately all have for year's have known that Karen has never possessed the where with all
to change her self destructive behavior.
Attorney Ambrose, we are all social creatures, and our social interactions in early life design the brain to greatly influence the person that we will one day become.
Please Respond!
Sincerely,
James McLain
The autumn winds rise soft around me, rustling the pages of my soul as I sit beneath a sky as tender as the heart you seem to carry.
--
I look upon the beauty of this life, the fleeting sweetness of days unfurling like petals on a rose, and my heart swells with gratitude—for it all, Amber for the quiet joys and even the sorrows that shape us.
--
This life is a song, and I, merely a note, vibrating in harmony with the unseen chords of existence.
--
I have often written of sadness, of longing, but it is in the quiet moments that I have found something deeper—gratitude that rises from the earth itself.
For it climbs within me, filling every hollow, every empty space that once echoed with yearning, my soul.
--
I am grateful, Amber,for the mornings gilded with light, for the whispers of nature that have sung to me since childhood, and for the connection between souls that transcend time and space—such as ours.
--
How fortunate we are, not just to live, but to feel, to witness beauty in the delicate weave of the world.
--
I sense in you the same wonder, the same deep-rooted thankfulness for what is and what might yet be.
--
Do not let your heart grow heavy with the weight of the world's troubles, for they, too, are threads in the grand tapestry.
--
Each moment, each breath, is a gift.
How could we be anything but grateful?
--
From the bottom up—from the soles of my feet, grounded in the earth, to the crown of my spirit, reaching toward the stars—I am grateful.
--
I think you understand this truth, for it pulses in your words, in the way you move through this life with quiet grace and reverence.
--
If this thought could I think to you dear, Amber
I am great full.
May your heart continue to rise like the morning sun, shining its light upon all that it touches.
With the upmost respect
I endeavor to remain your obedient servant,
I am, James McLain
Dear One,
How often I sit by the window, listening to the wind as it weaves through the trees, its voice like a whisper carried across time. In every gust, I hear echoes of those we loved—our family, once so near, now scattered like autumn leaves on the breath of the world.
Their laughter, their warmth, their love—these things remain, lingering like the scent of flowers long after the petals have fallen.
They have left us, one by one, like birds taking flight into the unknown. But do not grieve, for love never truly leaves. It is woven into the very fabric of our lives, as the wind is woven through the branches, as leaves are tangled in your hair, softly touching, softly reminding you of all that was. And love, dear heart, is always present.
Children grow and love changes its form, but it does not fade. It is passed on, a flame lit and relit, until it becomes a fire that warms generations. In the tender gaze of a child, in the touch of a lover’s hand, we glimpse eternity.
We catch sight of Christ's love, eternal and unwavering, binding us not just to each other, but to all the things that matter—the beauty of the earth, the simplicity of a breeze, the love of life itself.
Life is a fleeting thing, but it is filled with joy if we open our hearts to it. I have heard it through time—the soft rustling of leaves, the murmur of the sea, the sacred silence that follows a prayer.
All of it speaks to a truth as old as the stars: we are never alone, even when those we love have gone. They are carried on the wind, their voices a part of the eternal chorus of life, their love a thread that binds us all, forever.
So, walk through this world with your head held high and your heart wide open. Feel the wind in your hair and know that every gust carries a message from those who came before. Love them, as they loved you, as Christ loves us all.
Yours ever,
James McLain
My only friend,
The night is full of stars, scattered like lost prayers upon the velvet dark.
I stand beneath them, adrift in my own unknowing, whispering words of kindness, into the legal wind, hoping they may find you.
I respect the you without the why, the way a river respects the ocean, never asking why it must journey forward, only knowing that it must.
For me, the woods are dark but for the light—flickering, fragile, threading its silver fingers through the trees.
I walk amongst the shadows, seeking something I cannot name, though in my heart I know whats true.
I close my eyes, and the ocean is so far away, yet close, closer than breath, as if its waves might break upon my shore and leave behind the echo of your voice that's full of wisdom.
Mountain tops are covered in snow that I will never see.
There are places I dream of but will never touch, heights I long for but in this life I can never reach.
Yet, even in the valley, even in the quiet of loss, I hold the thought of you like a flame cupped between my hands, sheltering it against the wind.
Those of us in need, need you the most.
There are voices that tremble, hands that reach but do not find.
In the stillness, I wonder—are you listening?
Can you hear the hush of longing in the spaces between my words, in the sigh of the rising tide, in the hush of falling snow?
Knowledge is a room of books that most will never read.
There are pages unopened, wisdom lost between covers never turned.
And yet, there is something I know without reading, something that sings without sound, something that binds me beyond reason, beyond knowing.
You saved my life, I would never knowingly offend you.
When I loose myself, now I can only dream.
The silver cord I've broken,
Tell me—how do I come back?
With the upmost respect,
I endeavor to remain your obedient servant
James McLain
Ozzie Smith, Yazstremski,
Dave Stieb and Robin Yount
these men were of a special group
It's one I'm proud to count
There's players who achieve a goal
While others just achieve
They set a standard for the rest
In their heart they just believe
The game is full of heroes
Men depended on each game
They all have certain attributes
And we all know them by name
Kaline, Ripken, and Wade Boggs
The Carters, Joe and Gary
They're men who inspire us
They have a reputation tough to carry
To be a man of character
You must be better than the rest
You have to be a leader
If you screw up, you must confess
Baseball doesn't make you one
For character's within
You just learn how to channel it
Bring it out from where it's been
Now, Cobb, Ruth and McLain
Were characters as well
But, not the kind of characters
That we are here to tell
They had a reputation
One that is not lost upon the game
But, to say that they had character
Then you would not speak their names
Tom Seaver and Clemente
Thurmon Munson, Sparky too
Were men who set examples
Of exactly what to do
To build a reputation
One that shows character and heart
Is something time consuming
It's built of many parts
To do the right thing once
Is not the thing I want to see
But to do it right consistently
That defines character to me
There are so many examples
Of players in this group
But there are ten times as many
Who miss the homer with a bloop
Baseball brings it out in you
It doesn't put it there
You show what you are made of
By definition....to be fair
Williams, Maris, Dimaggio
Robinsons, Jackie and Frank
They played with an integrity
You could take it to the bank
If you want to be a winner
Please do this if you can
Be a man of character
Not a character of a man.
Dear Attorney Mollow,
The autumn winds rise soft around me, rustling the pages of my soul as I sit beneath a sky as tender as the heart you seem to carry.
I look upon the beauty of this life, the fleeting sweetness of days unfurling like petals on a rose, and my heart swells with gratitude—for it all, Atty Mollow, for the quiet joys and even the sorrows that shape us.
This life is a song, and I, merely a note, vibrating in harmony with the unseen chords of existence.
I have often written of sadness, of longing, but it is in the quiet moments that I have found something deeper—gratitude that rises from the earth itself.
For it climbs within me, filling every hollow, every empty space that once echoed with yearning, my soul.
I am grateful, Atty Mollow, for the mornings gilded with light, for the whispers of nature that have sung to me since childhood, and for the connection between souls that transcend time and space—such as ours.
How fortunate we are, not just to live, but to feel, to witness beauty in the delicate weave of the world.
I sense in you the same wonder, the same deep-rooted thankfulness for what is and what might yet be.
Do not let your heart grow heavy with the weight of the world's troubles, for they, too, are threads in the grand tapestry.
Each moment, each breath, is a gift. How could we be anything but grateful?
From the bottom up—from the soles of my feet, grounded in the earth, to the crown of my spirit, reaching toward the stars—I am grateful.
I think you understand this truth, for it pulses in your words, in the way you move through this life with quiet grace and reverence.
If this thought could I think to a Judge,
I am great full.
May your heart continue to rise like the morning sun, shining its light upon all that it touches.
With gratitude,
James McLain