Long Motivated Poems
Long Motivated Poems. Below are the most popular long Motivated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Motivated poems by poem length and keyword.
A queen was born on this special day Hardworking with ambitious
Independent strong and very highly motivated
She is someone that is for sure prestigious
In her own words she can't be predicted
Happy-go-lucky with a sprinkle of craziness
Gentle to the touch gracious and all around graceful
For her presence in my bubble is the coziest
She's like cheerful daisy the symbolism of April
My addiction one that's more dangerous than any drug
I labeled her as my most priceless treasure
A miracle that's been searching for but never found
My guardian angel whom which I'll take measures to be with forever
If you were to be a chapter in any story you'll be the prologue and epilogue
For everything begins and end with you
4LF??
"Christmas is not just a season, but a state of mind. To cherish
peace and goodwill, to be plenteous in mercy is to have the real
spirit of Christmas."
- Calvin Coolidge
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Christmas season is the time for singing holiday songs
and choirs praising Jesus, our Savior, in reverent hymns.
They honor the child who was born to right man's wrongs.
The glow of candlelight flickers as each flame slowly dims.
It's a world in which white quilts cover bare tree limbs.
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With joy I welcome the sweet silence of new-falling snow.
In virginal purity, it tumbles, appearing so velvety soft.
Crystalline flakes frost the panes as I look out my window
and see somber gray clouds, hovering in the skies aloft
while children build a snowman across the village croft.
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Mantles are carefully draped with boughs of holly and pine
as lights are strung and ornaments hung on Christmas trees.
A golden star on the tallest branch shines gloriously divine.
Gathering near the fireside, families are making memories.
The scene resembles a snow globe full of winter fantasies.
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Christmas delivers a message of hope and peaceful repose,
first gifted to the entire world on the night of Jesus' birth.
In the spirit of the season, poets are motivated to compose,
verses that express the magical mood of joviality and mirth
where goodwill and brotherhood spreads across the earth.
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Writing Challenge - Write A Christmas Poem
11/30/22 ~ Contest sponsored by Constance La France
What if they had lived?
What if?
Why couldn’t they live?
We will never forgive,
We will never forget,
What if they had lived?
And yet we will never get to see that happen.
Trayvon Martin,
Killed for skittles,
If he had lived -
He would have been a pilot,
If he had lived -
He would not have remained a kid
Tamir Rice,
Murdered for being a kid,
Playing with a toy gun -
All he did was have fun,
If he had lived -
He would be alive,
And for his family, his life was the most precious gift
If he had lived -
He would have been forever cherished
If all the Black kids,
Would not have been killed,
They would have lived -
They would still be breathing,
If they had lived the world would be a better place for it
My life has been fairly stable. Rarely does an event “change my life” in any significant way. Marriage, children, one’s job. Of course, these alter one’s life course, but when I think of a life-changing moment uniquely mine ,only one comes readily to my mind, and it has greatly affected these past 13 years of my life.
Since my early school days, I’d enjoyed the magic of words, devouring books and feeling pride in some stories written for my creative writing class. After marriage, I occasionally wrote Christmas song parodies, but it was not until the new millennium that my life took a dramatic turn. I came out of the writing “closet” and showed my few poems online!
If I had to name the one most pivotal moment in this new era for me, it would be the day I commented to a fellow poetess how I wished I were as prolific as she. I’d see her every day posting poems while I had barely a handful to show for myself. To paraphrase, this is what she told me: My friend, you must make yourself write. If you run out of ideas, just find a contest or some kind of inspiration in a phrase, topic, or picture. Sit yourself down and start writing! You can do it!
Well, I did just that! I joined clubs and workshops, subscribed to magazines and acquainted myself with people who motivated me to create. Thirteen years later, here I am, writing at least two to three times a week. My life has been enriched by friendships formed through poetry and by a feeling of satisfaction that I am growing as a writer so that today I can confidently proclaim: Like those poets once my mentors, I too can be prolific!
299 words/ For Heather Ober's Moment of Truth (PROSE or NARRATIVE)Contest
Even when the sun shines bright
a grey cumulus cloud suddenly looms
over my radiant horizon
stealing light, luster and luminosity,
blurring everything, blocking out clear sight.
Negative thoughts come marauding into me,
like burglars hiding in ambush coming to plunder
all that have been laboriously gathered in a life time.
I know I am unhappy over nothing,
but I am motivated with nothing.
This internal paralysis seeps into my being.
It fastens its tight grip on me day by day
Sometimes I feel so scared and desperate,
as if the sap and serum in me is going dry
and the feathers on my wings wilt and whither
like dead leaves, preventing my upward flight
My lips once so eloquent and expressive,
have now fallen silent and still.
All the words I have carefully gleaned and gathered,
have slipped and slid into a bottomless abyss.
I feel I am a tramp at life’s dead end.
At times despair overwhelms me
and I struggle to keep my tears at bay.
I am a planet running out of its elliptical orbit,
with a fatal crash to burn out soon
somewhere on its path like a falling meteor.
I feel the weight of life pressing me down.
Paralyzed by the intensity of my thoughts,
I am unable to move and I seek rest on my bed.
Time moves on in speeding pace
and I am still slouched on my bed, unable to get up
not bound by any visible chains,
but by the bondage of my own make.
I must break loose the noose stifling my breath.
The moment this thought blew into me like a wild wind,
I sense my heart beating with a stronger pulse.
Again the winter's freezing chill can no more still me.
I must resurrect from the pit I am in.
Why wait, I see the horizon stretching far.
In a bright studio overlooking the noisy street,
I hide from the living to write with a frantic beat;
loud voices and sounds will subdue before dark...
very sweet is the the melody of the lonely lark.
Even when it snows, the view is quite awesome:
watching snowflakes slowly come down and dress
trees in glistening white...one can feel lonesome
when every audible sound is hushed by stillness.
How lovely it is when happy faces peak from windows!
They may seem immensely surprised or stupefied;
and some even open their doors and come outside
to observe the fluffy snow descend on the pines' boughs.
I pause for another minute, then resume my writing...
it's profound observation that inspires the heart and mind,
giving this motivated poet many ideas of positive feeling;
I sense and absorb them, not noticing kids getting wild.
In a bright studio overlooking the noisy street,
I fear shadows towards evening when feet
make deep footprints that lead to my stairs...
and afraid of ghosts, I begin chanting prayers.
I had my blood drawn to find out.
If there were issues with some doubt.
My doctor said it's time to move.
Get off your ass, get in the groove.
Cut down on sweets, glucose is high.
I know it's hard, but you gotta try.
Type 2 diabetes is not much fun.
Don't make me get out my new (shot) gun.
So since the message has finally hit home.
I'm here to tell it in this poem.
I shared the news with my sweet sister.
And now on my foot is a blister.
You see she bought me a fitbit.
So now I no longer just sit.
It keeps me very motivated.
To get my steps and hips girated.
It's funny cuz it's very true.
Do as I say, not as I do.
She said don't eat after 7:00 at night.
But she confessed she had lost the fight.
She hunted for her daughters stash.
Then soon she found that candy cache.
Like a young school girl she indulged.
Until her aching stomach bulged.
But, I digress, we're only human.
You can only eat so much with cumin.
And the next day she made her goal.
God bless her heart, God bless her soul.
So now when we get on the scale.
Sometimes we lose, sometimes we fail.
Butt, ;) we both get tired of the botching.
Of all this weighting and this watching.
Note: This poem is brought to you by Andrea Dietrich's prodding me to write some more poems. :) <3 :)
I am potential, essential to humanity
I am flawed with sound validity
I am in need of understanding and knowledge
I am only one fervent novice in college
I am easily amused, and......
I am just as confused with you.
I am the epitome of young and restless
I am opportunity, ready to be fearless
I am a soldier in a war to persevere
I am also a poster child for "genderqueer"
I am obliged to share my freedom, and......
I am just as intrigued in the wisdom in you.
I am afraid of choosing transgression
I am more afraid of idle stagnation
I am within myself dynamic
I am within society intrinsic
I am a taxpayer and a freak, and......
I am just as strong as I am weak; as you.
I am motivated and eager to succeed
I am undoubtedly a lot like you, indeed!
It helps build hate,
instead of sharing in the guilt;
it helps build hate,
instead of doing what's right!
It helps build hate
when we're too far apart
from each other and deny emotions;
our uncertain looks
don't show a smile of friendship...
to remind us
of these sad and distant hearts...
are not motivated by love and trust!
It helps build hate
when we don't want
to see each other...
like we never cared for one another,
never thought of loving words...
spoken with endless sweetness!
We find it hard
to make changes,
and go back to being where we were;
it's even more offensive
and completely wrong to stand before
God and lie...
to break the bonds
and not even cry!
There’s a beguiling danger in beauty…
seduced as I was by the fickle fingers of fate musingly stroking my hair,
I envisaged
this lusciously lavish landscape
of sun-raptured heavenly hills and valid valleys
to be a lush, plush place for me to land ~
alas, such deception my naive perception did offer.
Buried beneath the facade of a fertile dream-come-true
and a mesmerizing mirage of natural light and zephyrus breaths -
where your thoughts hugged the horizons of my mind
like clouds on the edges of prairie dog skies
and where your stampeding passions trampled my inhibitions -
were delicate bandeaux of ice;
finespun and feathery like polar gossamer
that formed on the stems of your ruptured dreams
that then became my nightmare
when you had your hard freeze
while warm sap still flowed through your veins,
pumped and pushing through your broken being
and freezing on contact with the chilled clime
cocooning me, in a sudden silken surge of your glazing gauze
holding me, in the vivid wild magic of your frosted crystallized clutches -
fossilizing me, in icy opalescent ribbons of ornate whorls.
Unable to escape the grasping glacial petals of your exquisite pain,
your frost flowers plunged me into the frigid heart
of your bitter bluestem’s prairie winter...
There’s a beguiling beauty in danger
hypnotized and hijacked
as I was by the rhythmic sways of your tall grass ways -
your flickering tongue tasting my air
as my emotions were extorted
till I was bled white -
obviously oblivious
that I was being preyed upon
by a stealthy force of nature motivated by indigenous instincts.
Susan Ashley
March 13, 2018
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Poetry for the Sake of Poetry
Sponsor: John Lawless
*bluestem: tall grass native to the Great Plains with bluish leaf sheaths*
*frost flower: thin layers of ice extruded from long-stemmed plants in autumn or early winter. These thin ice layers form dainty ‘ribbons’ or ‘petals’*