Long Ordeals Poems
Long Ordeals Poems. Below are the most popular long Ordeals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ordeals poems by poem length and keyword.
Luckily for the bereft
grieving through darkness alone
dawn is abundantly deft
at its medicinal tone.
When a new morning appears,
duty abruptly commands
focusing thoughts on careers
and some routinized demands.
During distressing ordeals,
structural chores are, of course
spokes on restorative wheels,
turning with rhythmical force . . .
Multiple labors assigned
(whether unique or mundane)
comfort the crestfallen mind
like an elixir for pain.
Physical efforts promote
pleasing endorphins to rise.
Mental endeavors demote
misery’s spirit and size.
Affable people abound,
sharing benevolent goals.
Meaningful purpose is found,
forged in incredible roles.
Muscular hearts can attest
circular time is renowned
for its centrifugal zest,
helping the lovelorn rebound!
E. V. Wyler
We always have some startling experiences
The world is undergoing a lot of revolutions
But leading to where
Better or worse
Is still unknown
Improvements and developments are welcome
Like scientific inventions to better life
But not destructions and mishaps
Like wars and man caused accidents
Natural disasters though unavoidable
Are not desired
Like sudden changes in weather
Man made mistakes are cursed
Like bribery,racism and hegemony
Now we're suffering from stress and endurance
Maybe all are ordeals of life
To pay for our wrong doings
To pay for our cruelty
To pay for our ignorance
To proof our innocence
To learn some lessons
To gain some experiences
To gain some confidence
To search for the truths of the universe
Who knows
Man always yearns for a better life
A change
But when one is granted the "better" of A
One is also given the "worse" of B
Because God knows
Man's greed has no ends
You were no Cinderella at the ball,
But, then, I was no Prince Charming, I recall.
We were two ordinary people
Who fate and chance had brought together,
But by the time the dance was through,
We'd found romance and we both knew
That for two ordinary people
It was like a fairy tale was coming true.
Ensuing years have proved that life is not a dream,
And all that glitters is not gold, as it once seemed.
But when two ordinary people
Vow to join their lives together,
Then all the ordeals they'll withstand
If they face them hand in hand.
That's how two ordinary people
Make the magic work without a magic wand.
I'm not a prince and you are not my princess bride,
And I couldn't slay a dragon if I tried.
We're just two ordinary people
Who kept a vow and stayed together.
But when it's blessed by true love's kiss
Ordinary can be bliss,
And when I think of me and you
I know some fairy tales come true,
And even ordinary people
Can have a happily ever after ending, too.
Author's note: Dear reader, this is another of my personal favorites from yesteryear that was also selected to be included in the first PS anthology.
I will hold your glimpses so right,
When laughter greets hours to convey
Flames of devotion which alight
Through young stars releasing their sway :
How ardor drifts with season’s flair
That when ordeals rend , we prevail
Affirming love, not time’s despair
As waltzes float upon our trail .
For better or worse etched on sky
This sacred promise I cherish;
Even in old age, we’ll rely
On fond years... never to perish.
Dearly beloved let’s embrace,
Our only treasure from God’s grace.
----------
Submitted 7/08/2019
John Hamilton's Best Sonnet 2019
Originally Written 3/09/2019
Where have you been
Darkened with uncertainty
No place to be found
Chanted spiritual songs within one’s encouraging thought
I need to be free
I pray to thee
Thunder raw
Lightening outburst
Slavery was hard and tormented
Beaten and torn
Sunrises being a forbidden rise
Working on those cotton fields
Plantation ordeals for real
Wounds showing the many rebels
Trapped in a prohibited society
No pity
Freedom only a thought
Praying and constant praying
Singing upon singing
The slaves hope surrounded up in Heaven
Numerous cries heard
In 1862, the Emancipation Proclamation was documented, and Freedom became the word’s that Afro-Americans needed to hear
No more worry some of fear
It took place in Galveston, Texas
Years upon years of denial
Not knowing where nor if
Heaven the many outcries
Crisis finally came to an end
Freedom, Freedom, Freedom
From Slavery life into the light of the earthly kingdom
Sacrifice proven
Land’s wisdom
Dwell doers
The raw of thankful emotion
Smooth breezes and calm oceans
Life was and will be worth living
The call for Freedom
Emancipation at its best
There has to be a reason
For your cool, existant, real caution-
Realer than your eyes
Your smile
Your kindness
That are now dull recollections in my mind
Eyes that had fluttered, shimmered
With grandier light,
Such lively might
Only now you make an appearance
Like a ghost
Nonchalant in my life
There, but elsewhere
Mind distracted
Heart unresponsive
Resolve watered
"You're supposed to free them...
You're supposed to move on...
Let them walk into the light...
Let them go..."
Trust me, I know
I know....
And then- in some mock afterlife-
I see you, oh friend
Another deep tomb added
To the screaming cementary of my
Longing
You are something ever distant
On my grounds
Descending further-
There,
Then resolutely, inpenetrably
Gone again
I thought I could lean on you,
As friends do,
But you too die away,
Alive elsewhere in other spaces,
Barricaded in your own spheres
Of dreams, ordeals and passions
I cannot see you now-
Though at least I try to make you out
I can understand the stranger's caution-
That is what he is-
Neither friend nor foe,
Resilient in his quest unknown to me
I understand I am scarcely anything to him,
And I declare this with the disheveled peace
Of every death found here
But you, oh friend,
Tell me, how can I truly believe
That you love me so,
When your light glows so dimly?
When with me your words
Your efforts,
Your plans,
Your cares...
Are all so minimal?
Like a beautiful clumped mineral,
Once seeable, solid substance
Dissolved...
"You're supposed to free them...
You're supposed to move on...
Let them walk into the light...
Let them go..."
God, I know
I know...
And I will
silent wars. debilitating crises. emotional toils. outweighing bills. fading hopes. unending woes. what hope am i left with. when fortune continues to seem dreary. betrayals that never stopped from friends. failures that lurk beneath attempts. destiny continues to provoke my tears. mockery continues to induce my fears. heavily drenched in pool of depression. of a health challenge that had stifled my aspirations. to whom do i bare these ordeals. unto whose chest do i fall asleep. whose shoulders do i lean on. that would renew my hopes with reassuring words. for these dreams are crippling at failure's behest. while i only continue to brood in silence.
©: LegalBard
12/11/2023
--Isn’t She a Daughter of Oedipus?--
Isn’t she Antigone? In search of a fallen prince,
who roams in the battlefield where the corpses of
defeated warriors lie gruesomely in streams of blood.
Isn’t she Antigone? In search of a sibling who was
rejected by a sightless ruined old homeless man at Colonus,
who walks through the middle of a pack of hungry wild dogs
and a flock of huge winged covetous vultures
coming together for laying carrion.
Isn’t she Antigone? For sake of a brother Polyneices’ soul,
who kneels to the ground and moves the earth with her slender fingers,
dragging an armored corpse and covers it with dirt she removed with tears.
Isn’t she Antigone? who risked her own life because of sisterly fidelity,
and, now, thrown into a hole that is deeper than Oedipus’ eye-pits
to end her anguish, a miserable life; to close her abhorrent memories, the horrible ordeals; while hearing a tender, caring voice of a wandering soul from above
“mourn no more, my troubled child
weep no more, my beloved daughter”
the uplands of the Scottish countryside
have held a riddle, many hundred years
a meager man-type creature called a HOB
creating rumors of their mischief, grand
the tales are often curious and quaint
replete with random sightings and ordeals
depending on the mind of who you ask
as some are quite confusing, others clear
most stories say they move about at night
disguised in skins of sheep amidst the flock
repairing fences, roofs and wagon wheels
returning lambs when one has gotten free
some tales are told of weary hikers, saved
of those who'd wandered off, deep in a storm
folks injured in the woods, who fell asleep
yet woke up in their houses safe and sound
some others tell of sickness and disease
that somehow found a healing overnight
odd, empty bottles found upon the floor
that smelled of herbs nobody recognized
the strangest, of some kin who'd gotten lost
they found them later, frozen, by the road
the bodies had been covered up with care
except their child, an infant boy ... was gone!
the folks around assumed that he had died
and nothing else was said for many years
until one spring, a lad walked from the hills
who spoke a language, ancient and unused
quite recently, a group of science folk
were digging thru some ruins, near a bog
they came to find a score of little bones
preserved and buried, deep within the peat
they sent the small remains back to a lab
and had them all examined close with care
determined they had "nearly human" genes
but NOTHING they had ever seen ... before
so, if someday you're in the Scottish hills
and chance to see a sheep deep in the wood
could be, you haven't spotted sheep at all …
but rather, that a HOB ...
has spotted you!
~ 6th Place ~ in the "A Form Of Mischief" Poetry Contest
Nina Parmenter, Judge & Sponsor.
* I chose to write in a version of Couplet form WITHOUT rhyme, called "Couplet Me Entertain You". *
Rappelez-Vous
(English translation below original French)
Rappelez-vous les petits fils
Qui ecoutaient leurs grand-peres
Raconter des histoires d’ infanteries
Et de battailles de la premiere guerre.
Rappelez-vous des braves garcons
Qui s’imaginaient etre des soldats,
Qui plus tard servaient le drapeau American
En tant que veritables soldats.
Rappelez-vous des pauvres parents
Qui ont recu des telegrammes et des lettres,
Et qui apres ont place indefiniment
Des etoiles d’ors aux fenetres.
Rappelez-vous de chaque petite amie
Qui esperait un jour se marier
Avec son beau voisin-ami
Qui ne va jamais plus rentrer.
Rappelez-vous des nouvelles jeunes veuves,
Avec ses petits orphelins des peres,
Qui devaient subir les enormes epreuves
D’elever leurs enfants sans l’aide des peres.
N’oubliez pas les anciens jeunes garcons—
Les chanceux qui ont survecu
Et regardent souvent les horizons lointains
Cherchant leures ami-fantomes qui ne sont jamais revenues.
Remember
Remember the grandsons
Who listened to their grandfathers
Tell stories of infantries
And battles of the first war.
Remember brave boys
Who pretended to be soldiers
Who later served the American flag
As real soldiers
Remember the poor parents
Who received telegrams and letters
And who afterward indefinitely placed
Gold stars in their windows.
Remember each girlfriend
Who hoped to marry someday
Her handsome neighbor/friend
Who will never come back again.
Remember the new young widows,
With their little fatherless children
Who had to undergo the enormous ordeals
Of raising children without a father’s help.
Don’t forget the former young boys-
The lucky ones who survived,
And often look at the far horizons
For their phantom-friends that never returned.