Long Needs Poems
Long Needs Poems. Below are the most popular long Needs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Needs poems by poem length and keyword.
There's A Reason To Be Angry
We Make Each Other Mad
Someone Feeling Guilty,
Someone Feeling Sad
Inflicting Pain Upon Each Other
For One Another Bad.
Distrustful Accusations, Either of us lying
After Every Fight Are Fallen Tears
From One Another's Crying
Even After Promising
To Always keep On Trying
Our Differences, Our Disagreements
Only Seem To Multiply
Empty Promises And Apologies,
To Each Other Multiplying
I Know I Still Love You
I Don't Know If That Enough
Each Of Us Knowing, Leaving Will Be Tough
Soon The Day Will Come When We Both Give In
The day we both give up
For Each Other Our Needs Are Forgotten
Feelings We Put Last
Wishing For Our Days Together Happy In The Past
I'm Breaking You
You're Breaking Me
We Break Each Other's Heart
The suffering alien
He just lives in the world. Integrated life, but alien
He feels, experiences, and interprets existence
He discovers human life. In a human body
The alien
To live in this age is a fantastic privilege. Says alien
Rapid development, complex social environment
Look around. Continuous change, genesis
Said the alien
There are so many connections, causes, and effects
Nuanced meanings and invisible connections
There is no end to the existence of life here
Recognised the alien
Alien, alien,
Stranger, stranger
A suffering soul
Comes from far away in the sky
He is enjoying human life
But some parts he doesn’t like
He is a social creature now
But he feels alone. Restless solitude
He needs a better existence
He wants to stay alone
For contemplation
Holy Solitude
Solitude
Alien
He is
A stranger
An alien
Solitude
Legions of Angels, stand by my side,
under His wing, He gives a place to hide.
The Angels are prepared, for war you see,
they camp, on everyside of me.
Dressed for battle, they are prepared,
as the enemy of darkness in fear, is scared.
Shaking and trembling, they smell defeat,
off they hide, to their own retreat.
If you are a child of God, be careful what you do,
we can tie, all the Angles hands, before we can tie one shoe.
Listen to me careful, Warring Angels, all around,
in your life, better hope, your Angels are not bound.
What we do and what we say, carry heavy weight,
those things we think we hide, who could anticipate.
If therefore, the Angels of God be bound,
where in this picture, can God be found.
Hands tied, by our words and deeds,
as we get angry with Him, for not supplying our needs.
If God and His Angels are bound by us you see,
where does that now, put you and me.
We got twisted, it should be the other way around,
it’s the devil and his demons, that’s supposed to be bound.
Don’t wanna open up the gates of hell, letting more demons in,
now we have to turn around, face them all again.
With the wisdom of time, the knowledge of the past,
The presence of the future,
the battles never last.
To untie what was tied, to tie what was untied, you see,
in the spiritual world, where Warring Angels, encamps around you and me.
I so enjoy spending time with----Everyone
I love the way my friends anticipate my----Needs
They have a way of making me feel like a-----Someone
In this or the next world, what could be better than ---That
It just makes me feel so good that someone --------------Cares
There are those that like to bring others down, what's that---About
I have absolutely no desire to spend any time with----------Them
I've seen how they make you question who you------------Are
That is the last thing in the world I want for-------------You
You do not deserve to be treated like----------------That
Because, to me you are a special------------Someone
For Hgarvey's End Word contest.
Form:
Love's like a flower; it needs time
to grow within the heart and soul.
And immature buds, though sublime,
don't all bloom and achieve their goal.
When passion's flame is dimmed by tears,
Hope overrides, being cautious.
Yet, as time slowly fuels fears,
anxiety leaves you nauseous.
Feeling the hurt that never stops,
you find yourself wanting to cry.
For misery turns to teardrops,
in a world conditioned to lie.
When a moth and flame start Death's waltz,
desire burns hotter than the fire.
Enamored, the moth sees no faults,
yet courting Death; it will expire.
A flame can only be a flame;
it can't change its natural ways.
And it feels neither love nor shame;
when its heart morphs into a blaze.
The Servant’s Progress
In the hallowed halls of the Lord’s sanctuary,
The believer stands, a beacon in the race,
A transparent vessel, a gentle candle lit,
Serving others through the of selfless acts
Of strength and grace
This journey is not marked,
Not laden with grand accolades,
But by quiet acts, in humble parades,
Grace and gratitude-
Like doves taking flight
Within the hearts of those touched
By their gentle light
Their days become a tapestry,
Unseen, unsung, yet woven with care,
Offering solace where sorrow and illness cling,
To broke hearts, their wings provide
A refuge where troubled souls
And restless spirit confide
Each act, though small, a lion’s roar,
In the kingdom of the Good Shepherd, filled in,
True service springs from selfless springs,
Where the needs of others, the songbird
sings
Each acts, though small, becomes a lion’s roar
Within the kingdom of the Good Shepherd;
For true service springs from selfless springs,
Where the needs of others
Become the song that the songbird sings
The servant’s progress is chronicled not
In the pages of earthly ledgers,
But in quiet prose,
Where love grows within the hearts of many-
A symphony of grace,
Where unpretentious sincerity
Is found
All round the ring of Kerry’s highways, people point and cry
It’s 4 o’clock on the very dot and Mick’s rig is passing by,
It has glistening sheens of yellow, with cinnabar spots in red
Rich lozenges of orange complete the livery, as this butterfly forges ahead!
She’s kissing those dew damp breezes, on a morn like an Irish dream
As the sun’s rays like golden spokes
Steal silently; through oaks of emerald green.
lighting up a meadow’s buttercups, that border a hillside stream.
She hauls her load of butter, fresh from the herds of ‘Kerry’s spreads’
To sweeten the taste of a million slices, of European bread!
She’s making good time this morning in passing the various towns,
By 9 am she makes Letterkenny, to lay her cargo down.
Mick checks his trusty wristwatch
He needs to be back in Clonakilty; to make a special call
For by, begosh and begorrah ‘tis Father’s Day ‘n all. and
His sweet Molly will be waiting there, by an ancient rock built wall!
So he spins the painted lady round, to take the south west route,
Tooting to folks he recognises; as along that road he shoots.
At 1 o’clock he’s made it back, and parks the painted lady up
He wanders up the dusty track; just a Dad in working gear
Straightening an aching back, now his destination’s near
He searches the milling kids all around, many colours their faces show
And then he picks out his Molly. as those raven curls she throws!
She runs to greet him at his call, raising her face to be kissed
And she had chosen a painted lady, sure.. He felt how he had been missed!
He swings Molly up on high and they head back to the farm
She showers him with sweet butterfly kisses
As rabbles of the creatures unravel, in clouds and colours of charm!
NB the Painted Lady is an Irish species of Butterfly
~ Self-reflection ~
This is how I feel about me…
I will always be Mom to my two sons
and Nana to my grands.
How do people last without God to rely on?
I start my day with praise for His grace and mercy;
He knows my needs before I ask.
God and my family are what I was made for.
~ Self-improvement ~
I’m eighty-one; that’s not too old
to try new things, to use the skills I’ve learned.
I knit baby blankets / crochet dish cloths
to celebrate expected additions to family,
to welcome returning visitors to our church.
I walk with my phone tuned in to Bible study,
the making of desserts for discerning folks,
These help me realize - God is not through with me, yet.
I pity those who can’t eat bread
But opt for gluten-free instead
For sourdough with hardened crust
And slathered butter is a must.
A bagel topped with lots of seeds
Is all a body really needs
Or onion rolls that softly squish
To complement most any dish.
A loaf of rye with caraway
Or garlic knots can make my day
And pumpernickel, deeply brown,
Has never ever let me down.
A fresh-baked challah, ripped apart,
Then dipped in sauce – be still, my heart!
Focaccia’s another treat
That must be sad to never eat.
I could go on and on, you know,
Expounding on the joys of dough.
For me, the truth is absolute –
There really is no substitute!
The battles on the field are harsh and tough
The looting in their wake engorged with greed
Abundant spoils of war are not enough.
Atrocious in their acts that make no sense
The women and the girls are taken slaves
Abusing them with lust and violence.
Unable to resist the touch of shame
The captive females cry in pain and fear
Their lives will never be again the same.
And when the dust of war has blown away
The children of the foe get born to those
Who months before fell prey and ravaged lay.
Unwanted children still need loving care
Mothers find it hard to nurture such babes
Shame is endured by children in despair.
Their lives are defined by horrid attacks
Evil men who satisfied selfish needs
Indignities make them fall through the cracks.
Who loves a child rejected by its kin?
Society offers them no solace
The “enemy’s child”, created by sin;
But all these children still have hearts and souls
Rejection renews the cycle of pain
When there is no one who cares or consoles.
-----------------------------------------------------
Co-write: Paul Callus & Carolyn Devonshire
@ March 2015