Long Needy Poems
Long Needy Poems. Below are the most popular long Needy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Needy poems by poem length and keyword.
step into the soul
of the needy and the vain,
and walk within the fire
watch the weak stand tall again
from the pit of redemption
crawling over glass,
mistakes will revisit
but with faith it all shall pass
with a prayer and a smile
before a future deeds,
that karma can turn round
and soul will be released
far into mother earth
I’ve secreted my pain,
now I’m blowing on the wind
hear me whispering your name
brushing past a memory
that shatter crystal hearts,
cradled in a culture
that’s growing like its art
nourishing the earth
as the circle turns around,
even as I lay here
at peace in sacred ground
as I morph back to mother
regather me once again,
make our lines connect
in the ink it will begin
Esperanza is my name
I flow within the green,
open up your minds
bring life to every dream
Sadurday
Priority .....I am not
Don't get mad at me when I say that I feel like an afterthought
This time management is not manageable for me
I'm not as safe as I need to be
I'm actively working on not being as needy
I'm exercising patience, understanding and restraint, knowing all along that this loneliness will continue to be my fate
We're sharing a plate but, at times it feels as if there's not enough for me
Then I feel greedy
Then Feel Like the crumbs that I'm getting are all that I have to live on
I'm starving, there's no way that I can go on
Not giving up, quitting, resigning from my position,you are.mine now, that
I'm hungry baby, my stomach is growling and it's so damn loud that everyone can hear it and I don't even have to mention it
I'm gonna act like an adult and lead the conversation like a therapy session
You are my love, my light lately and of course my obsession
The communication and time management are going to be fixed soon
But if I don't keep it really and tell you how I feel then I'll just keep going crazy and acting like a loon
When all I really want is deep conversation while we spoon
Heart eyes floating all.around us, and the room disappears as we swoon
I truly love you baby, to the moon
And I just want to feel lik e a priority
My Life's Flow
He is God when times are good
He is God when times are bad
He is not always understood
Even when happy or especially sad
Love God more than man
Expect to be uncomfortable and
Know that the your prayers are heard
But first seek comfort in God’s word
Are you a soldier of God
Only when times are easy
Know this dear heart
God delivers to the needy
If you find your heavenly home
Here on this evil earth
You must somehow atone
To gain heaven and glorious worth
A land built on crookedness
Has a frail foundation
One can now look at this
As a warning to other nations
God will have His way
And you must not lose faith
You grew up knowing you would work,
for your dream job you made a search,
then went to school and took the tests,
burned the oil to be the best.
You interned for experience,
and developed good business sense,
got a good job with a big firm,
then through toil you quickly learned
how to bring service to the mass,
and how to solve their problems fast,
the hard work brought you lots of praise,
with corresponding bumps in pay.
You took a chance, went on your own,
started your own shop from your home,
set your hours, were your own boss,
built it all up through free-time lost.
But all the effort brought the join,
the upper middle-class you joined,
through tenacity, grit and nerve…
seven figures going forward.
Wait--someone is now in office,
makes promises with words practiced,
offers his voter much free stuff,
declares that you have ‘had enough.’
Your own success, it’s just not fair
when others live on in despair,
sure, they may have made bad choices,
but he wins votes with their voices.
Besides, don’t your care of the poor?
Don’t you know what they have endured?
We can’t rely on charity,
you might help the wrong folks, you see.
Who care if you mortgaged your house?
We have to have ‘compassion’ now.
Who cares if things are yours by right?
And if new taxes make things tight.
Who cares if you must close your doors
because they just keep taking more?
Don’t you know what professors say?
You ‘exploit’ workers anyway!
You know that you don’t ‘give them jobs,’
you ‘steal’ from them, you take and rob,
they’d rather those jobs not exist
then thank a ‘damn capitalist.’
Don’t you know that you’re ‘all that’s wrong,’
it’s ‘fascist’ to work hard and long,
it’s ‘immoral,’ and should be spurned,
the thought that you should keep what’s earned.
You think your work gives you a claim,
so bourgeoisie…that’s quite insane,
you could do your work just as well
earning no more than someone else.
“It’s not worth it,”you do announce,
then you’re a monster, and they pounce,
take all the wealth you did create,
say it’s for ‘the good of the state.’
To want it back would be greedy,
they need the cash for ‘the needy.’
Then you see them drive fancy cars…
they’re only thieves with good P.R.
True highbrows can't hear commoner's pleas
Stuck sitting on their swanky settees
Status fades as affluence recedes
I'd prefer pink orchids if you please
Elitists applaud wealthy reprise
Fake posers deceive masses with ease
Think that they deserve all that they seize
So send purple orchids if you please
Fools imagine themselves on marquees
Those who would toss it all to the breeze
Who can't see the forest for the trees
Bring me more red red orchids if you please
Cultures erode when no one agrees
Innocence shrinks slowly by degrees
Fairness appears a tawdry tease
I sigh for white orchids if you please
Feel for the needy brought to their knees
My selfish world of ten thousand mes
Flowers fail as empty pleasantries
Making these moments mere niceties
There is a train coming for President Jimmy Carter
On his way home to the Kingdom of Heaven
While living, President Carter’s life was always on the move
His heart and generosity to the American people President carter proved
A true Humanitarian
His spoken words being encouragement
Being nourishment for the needy
Faith being his key factor his entire life
I looked to President Carter being like a father
I felt like a son listening to his wisdom he shared
Even though we never met, I did witness him always on the TV
Negativity was never part of him
Four years after, President Carter was running for President again,
and I had taken a Broadcast Journalism course at CUNY Hunter College
My class had the opportunity to be engaged on BILL BOGGS TALK SHOW
In 1980 when President Carter and President Reagan were running for the Presidency on FOX 5
It was a political year that year
Unfortunately, President Reagan won the White House in 1980
President Carter didn’t see it as defeat, but saw it as an opportunity to be
Involved with the people and be involved various social functions
Humble man and upright
He gave all for mankind
Pure genuine
President Carter had a determination spirit
For that he gets 100 percent merit
President Carter was devoted to his wife in love
Romantic and long lasting
Heaven’s open hands welcome
America saddened
Everlasting assurance
President Carter is looking down on all of us saying, “Head Up and Look Up”
He had a purpose and so do we
My hero
Until we meet again.
Why I married him God knows,
For all that glitters is not gold,
Was it pride or just ambition,
Was I just a mirage sold.
I’m a woman not a Queen
For a King that wants it all,
Beauty, trinkets, the good life,
His demands take quite some gall.
They forget that I’m a model
Of the run-ways not the halls,
Give me light and adulation,
Not the hustings nor the polls.
Let me live the life he promised
Of the pampered trophy wife,
Little caring of the details
With no thought for other’s strife.
I may sound unduly callous,
It’s my heritage of birth,
A people molded by adversity,
Of solid muscle, not wide girth.
Hear these words now loud and clear
In case my motives appear trite,
He promised wealth for my rare beauty,
The only trade for me that’s right.
So what the media calls me needy,
I do my duty and then some,
To Mar el lago am I headed,
This draughty White House makes me numb.
A fleeting moment in time,
Is all I need for this rhyme,
Perhaps 10 minutes, no more
Sit in your armchair, close your eyes,
And to your utmost surprise,
Your life flashes past like an express train,
Happy moments with unimaginable joy,
Horribly sad ones, like the day
I lost my baby boy.
Where does each year go, life is greedy,
And definitely always needy,
Progress demands youth takes over the reins,
What will become of us,
Next week you or I are forty,
And in a decade we will be fifty,
Birthday cards sent to us,
Inappropriately witty,
You’re on the downhill now sis or bro,
You have to settle for second best,
Along with all of the rest.
You work you slog, but at sixty five
You are retired, what to do with each day,
Such a drag, but we all love poetry,
So we will never be solitary.
Soon we will be 3 score year and ten,
Our lifetime over, says The Book of Psalms
Psalm 90 verse 10, this is an older translation.
Today’s verse 10, has been adapted
Into many a version.
We wonder, how did we become so vulnerable,
We reach eighty,
And then ninety,
We could have dementia, our minds quite muddled
The way forward, every day a sad venture,
Or we could be arthritic or have Parkinson’s,
Chronic pneumonia, had an accident and
Broke our back,
At this age the cards stack,
Against us.
One day we can’t breath, rushed to hospital,
The family, children and grandchildren abound
No regrets, life has been profound,
We heave an accepting sigh,
As a tear rolls down from our eye,
Have we any regrets, is this that
Moment in time, you, means all of us,
And we and us, means as it does,
So you, us and we,
Means also my and me.
My husband, also sick, whispers, let go
My love, I’ll see you soon.
He lies next to me,
I feel cold, the clock strikes three,
It is mid afternoon,
Finally, my spirit leaves my spent body,
Hovering above my bed,
I wish I could tell them hey, stop crying,
Life is a journey,
And so is dying.
Sad and needy attention seekers
act with sleaze, attacking me,
while I'm failed by the power that be,
aware of suffering everyone can see,
a system implemented subjectively,
has understood the sad and needy,
won't be punished nor will it free me,
overlooking their rule breaking,
expecting me to stand taking,
suffering suffered that shouldn't be,
to behaviour unfair, who's helping me,
until I'm cornered and worn mentally
a treatment allowed illegally,
when I react, I'm the problem,
attention seekers victims then,
they seek and seek the sympathy,
repeat repeat and suffer weak,
hit so deep they attention seek,
for long enough get helped to feet,
attention, time and get their need,
NOT THE WAY BEHAVED BY ME,
I DIDN'T CRY AND ACT SO WEAK,
THEY GOT ME THEN ATTENTION SEEK,
now I am the problem, and in defeat
so I lose out as all point at me.
Suffered behaviour I wouldn't behave,
the system didn't stop it, I wasn't saved,
the suffering continued more each day,
they were never punished as I slowly caved,
forcing my hand, it was the only way,
they are the victim, the price I must pay.
Attention seekers behave ways I would not,
and they are saved when they seek,
all my suffering forgot, I lose to the weak,
life is this game, I see it on repeat.
The weak get sympathy, and I get defeat.
Most folks I loved
died when I was in my thirties.
Not just people,
but our San Francisco bohemian mecca lifestyle,
our 365 days and nights celebration
turned into an epidemic of waiting
and watching
and mourning our losses,
wondering about possibilities of survival.
What could remain for us,
for me,
for this place?
What could become my purpose
our passion
for any lonely future of diaspora survivors?
Then, in my early forties,
my closest remaining friend,
a happily married matriarch
with two adolescent children,
died of breast cancer.
Perhaps this was my final straw.
I have not constructed any deep
and reciprocal
friendships since.
This reminds me of my maternal grandfather,
who lived into his eighties
but as his quantity of years continued
his quality of celebrated convivial life shrank
through loss of two wives
and all their friends,
his generation of neighbors,
and then his hearing.
He told me
not long before he passed
he was not sure
if his loss of hearing was a curse
or a blessing,
prohibiting him from cultivating renewing friendships
only to be lost yet again.
My own hearing is not perfect
yet I seem unwilling to listen
for any more friends,
loved ones I could no better afford to lose
than those already gone.
Yet still I wonder
about therapeutic reasons for my survival.
As fertile celebrations fade to dusty memory,
my capacity to comprehend why I still breathe,
yet my generation of intentional families has long passed,
shrunk to incomprehensible mystery
as did my revered grandfather's hearing.
The best I can hear,
through this epidemic distance,
I rescued by adoption
then by love
four hurt children
no one else wanted,
and each continues teaching me how to love hims and her,
when I listen well,
in their distinctive needy ways and broken means.
Yet even here
with these final four
I night sweat in guilty worry
about how they could best thrive
when I can, at last,
no longer hear them,
nor they me.
Most folks I loved
died when I was young,
leaving me to worry
severed prospects for survival.