Long Means Poems
Long Means Poems. Below are the most popular long Means by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Means poems by poem length and keyword.
Lonely silence makes you wonder and guess
It can be words left unspoken
Some say no news is good news, but that's not always true
Cause words left unspoken can sometimes dampen you
Don't shut the door, don't be so silent, for not knowing makes it hurt
Your actions replace the silence, for a hug means more than it's worth
Distance is silence unless we talk, communication is a must
Our minds can wonder as we walk, yet expressions can help us with trust
Without words and without expressions how will one ever know?
So say it with mere words so lonely silence inside won't grow
Silence can be peaceful, so say just what you feel
Silence can also be lonely and can be a silent kill
A person can sink into depression and find it hard to cope
Some turn to using alcohol and some turn to using dope
Silence is no call, silence is no answer
Silence is bad, silence is good, silence is quiet, silence is hurt
Silence is peaceful, silence is wisdom
Silence is within (your soul) , silence is without (someone)
So talk and talk and talk and talk
Through phone, visit or mail my friend
Express yourself with words more often
Don't keep yo feelings locked in
Someone cares about what it is and all you have to say
So talk it out with someone now and send lonely silence away
Worry only increases your blood pressure
There is a treasure inside of you that only
Pressure can bring out so use the pressure!
Your purpose requires the assault of pressure
Through this process, you will reveal your treasure
Don’t hide away from pressure; it helps you!
Confusion has a wonderful purpose
It simply means that everything is present
But it is just in the wrong position
Therefore, your purpose requires the assault of pressure
So that we can see the treasure of your life
There is a treasure that must be seen!
Pressure is the only tool that can get it out
Many don’t know that it exists in you so the world
Must see it, especially when you are placed under pressure!
Pressure has only one purpose
It helps you these days
It reveals the treasure that must be seen
Many don’t know that it exists in you so the world must
See it, especially when you are placed under pressure!
Mark Frank
Copyright 2023
Four thirty in the morning
When i ponder everything,
The clock is ticking loudly and
Memories I cling.
Yes the words they flow
In the darkness of the night
Thinking what went wrong and
Contemplating what is right.
Hope to get some sleep soon and
try to keep some faith
The seventh was yesterday and
Now it is the eighth.
The past is not the present and
the now is not tomorrow
Times not right for any plight so
need not any sorrow.
Soon I'll be in dream land,
To snatch about two hours and
that cheap chrono clock-
The night time it devours...
Not true- it's just perception
Preparing now to rest,
I imagine I'll be going on...
A fantasy quest.
I imagine that he's here and
watching everything
I imagine that he's happy
Good dreams that he will bring.
I imagine his supremacy
Imagination perks
Imagining his miracles and
All the greatest works.
Though if i can't think and
Nor could not assume
I'd know that our creator
Always has some room....
For me...
To wonder...
and
I wonder all the time..
My Great Wonder
All- he is and
I ponder purity and
Think of all of his.
I imagine he'd collect me
If i was to ever fall
Until then I have faith in him
To tear down any wall.
Sacrifice myself-
To the one whom is divine
For I know that he has me and
I know that he is mine.
I imagine he'd agree
To everything that's right,
I think about his presence
and I know that he is light.
To Love and Only Love
To Everything, All means
I know that you'll be there-
In my very dreams.
So I have a rest now and
Nothing seems at stake
As he has the whole world in his hands and
Memories we'll make.
'Tu me manques' is a French phrase which means I miss you, However, it has a deeper translation " a part of you is missing from me".. You are a part of me...
Locked in illusion of wounded feelings and poignant memories
a paintbrush spills the canvas an alla prima of translated thoughts.
In embellished wet colors dreams entwine tarnished draperies
as shredded pieces connect jigsaw puzzles and scattered dots.
Tu me manques.... how do I align images distorted on blind spots?
Alla Prima is a painting method where the artist completes his work in one session while the paint is still wet.
Date Written-- 28th August 2019
Writing Challenge 3, August 2019 - Five Lines -
Sponsor - Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
An indulgence is the remission in whole or in part of the temporal punishment due to sin
An indulgence is not a pardon of sin, nor a license to commit sin, and one who is in state of mortal sin cannot gain an indulgence
There are 2 kinds of Indulgenses- Plenary and Partial
A Plenary indulgence is the remission of the temporal punishment due to sin
Partial indulgence is the remission of a part of temporal punishment due to sin
The Church by means of indulgences remits the temporal punishment due to sin by applying to us the merits of Jesus Christ, and thesuperabundant satisfactions of the Blessed Virgin Mother Mary and the saints; which merits and satisfactions are its spiritual treasury
To gain indulgence we must be in the state of grace and perform the works enjoined
I know the sensitivity of my soul,
I stand back and watch, until the prompt unfolds,
I used to jump ahead, where to as now I wait,
Sometimes preparation is a means to escape,
The clutches of a thought that randomly appears,
Or feelings that are unsure, mostly caused by fear,
Some say feelings are the worst indicators of truth,
Yet in some circumstances they're our living proof,
A hunch, a gut of a vision forseen,
God can use anyone or anything,
Our spirits are more sensitive than our eyes give credit,
Many times it's not what you see, but where your spirit is headed,
Your feelings are indicators of where your heart's at,
Pay attention to your feelings, don't dismiss the trains track.
Be the night that prompts
A nightingale to sing,
Be the dawn of endearment
Enamored in song of robin,
Be a dove, soothing morning,
Crooning melodies of peace.
Be the land of tranquility,
Be garden of white poppies
Blooming flowers of peace.
Be not act of tyranny
Heralding voice of vengeance,
Flaunt not sword of enemies
Spewing revenge that kills,
Be olive branch of friendship,
Be the compassion of peace.
Protect weak and weary,
Feed the plight of hungry,
Accord hope to misery,
Bestow on life a meaning,
Fulfill the void of nothing,
Promote means of being,
Be the ambassador of goodwill,
Be the benevolence of peace.
Be the grace of mercy,
Solemn words of hymn
Singing prayer of harmony,
Raise the torch of dignity,
Be harbinger of sanctity
Tolling bells of divinity,
Be the message of peace.
April 6, 2022
Placed 1st: Your Peace Message To The World Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Folks in rural Pennsylvania think that Punxsutawney Phil
is, by all means, that happy and friendly groundhog
that predicts the beginning of spring on a forest log;
he's very smart and looks friendly when he wags his tail.
If his prognistication is right everybody applauds,
and awaits the arrival of the harmonious season;
what if he refuses to comply...will there be lauds,
or at least, plenty of food on his plate not too lean?
It's the annual rite of wishful anticipation, almost an augural
pretense that the happy season will be at their doors to spread harmony,
but if Punxsutaweny Phil won't predict anything and wants to crawl
back into his warm den, there'll be a longer wait 'till he breaks his lethargy.
Copyright ( c ) 20015 by Andrew Crisci
A broken shell, a living hell, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Better days ahead were a pipedream after our relationship crumbled. Countless arguments. Disagreements. Every day! For my life, I can't believe we stayed together as long as we did. God knows I didn't want her to leave me. How much longer must I wrestle with these painful memories?
I just feel regret, unspoken, I just feel the pain; since she left, my life has been a broken shell, a living hell — I can't believe I let her go; it was foolish pride before the fall the day she left when I lost all — I should have held her closer, I should have made her see the feelings I have for her, what she means to me; I didn't say I love her or beg her to stay, instead, I stood in silence and watched her walk away, and all I'm left with now is my regret.
Justification is an exercise in futility. Knowing what I could have and should have done leaves an inextricable switchblade in my soul. Love's lessons learned too late — love's loss too great.
Misting eyes beseech as memories replay in my head, but they're too painful, and I feel dead. No joy to be found. Oh well, my self-imposed hell. Painful memories open like an oubliette under my feet, plunging me lost and languishing in isolation's labyrinth. Questions left unanswered, decaying in the debris fields of "what if.”
Reflection can be a catharsis for the soul, but it can also rip a hole in it, and soon reality roars from guilt's bottomless pit to devour all hope. Sometimes despair is mitigated by occasional reminders of us. Thoughts lingering on happier times, blessed moments mine to treasure. Until the damnable loop of regret dominates to decimate any respite of joy. Vanishing expectations. Weeping willow's silent wail. Xerox memories fade with time.
Years have passed, and my thoughts continue to haunt me over what we could have had. Zero-sum game — all I'm left with now is my regret.
Move with the times as change abounds;
Explore each choice to fill and trace;
Remember chimes that swirl around;
Loiter sure poise beyond mere space;
Indulge your quest with profound thought;
Open your eyes and clearly see;
Nudge awkward jest that troubles plot.
Chance upon highs that come to be;
Invest in things that reap fine gains;
Tell your story with Singlish* slang;
Yield to wild flings that speak of strain.
Now let it be such a big bang;
One way to tap the happy tale:
Wise up to grab the annual sale!
Leon Enriquez
03 July 2014
Singapore
(Note: Singlish* -- means a colloquial blend of
Singapore dialects mixed with English and known
to local natives as a pidgin called Singlish.)