Long Permitting Poems
Long Permitting Poems. Below are the most popular long Permitting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Permitting poems by poem length and keyword.
Life is all about family and love.
July 20, 1969, this day in history
Astronaut Neil Armstrong walked on moon, 240,000 miles
From Earth, a billion people
Listening at home:
“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
This same day near midnight
A small town in Taiwan island, a baby
Was born. I was born!
This clinic nurse in the lobby
Told my grandmother: “It’s a girl.”
Disappointing granny then
Turned around and went on home: without hesitation.
Everyone wished I
Was a boy!
Life is all about family and love.
Introspective, peacemaker, stammering, am I so.
My order sister
Too, born as a special child. She
Blames my mother granting me a prettier face. She
Demands everyone rewarding her undivided attention. I
Pretended permitting her full control over me – until, I
Ceased pretending!
A blessing or a curse, am I not.
Lack of nurturing,
false, no one – mom and dad did their very best.
Celebrate. I am the pretty one.
Life is all about family and love.
Grounded, stubborn, fearless, am I so.
Sunrise; sundown; circle of seasons,
presenting the most powerful version of me – fiercely, am I not.
Schooling, work, duty, responsibility, I am so.
Tearful five years of family revolution – a summon
From entropy, chaos! Three people
again one – the disgraceful one as I
was named!
Shocking, awakening, baffling, agonizing,
Life is all about family and love.
Eccentric, curious creature, solitude endeavor, am I so.
A grateful heart roaring
Abundant resources, reaching
Extraordinary heights, a lifetime student, am I not.
Millions of mistakes. Countless mis-turns.
Knowledge applied become wisdom.
Walking this lonely road missing
A mentor. Not a road less traveled, but
A road worth travels.
Life is all about family and love.
Ecstatic, untethered, blissed soul, am I so.
My father – a giver, a protector,
a provider – kindest man on earth.
Along the way, without permission, his little girl makes him proud.
Truly my father’s daughter. I am so!
Redeem mother’s homemade
Cooking once more. That’s one
Small step for the self-chained mother, one giant leap
For a tranquil daughter.
Life is all about family and love -- forgivingly.
"The Value of Reading"
messages impressed
upon the secret keepers.
when is late too late?
to divulge the truth?
"I know this is a shock"
arrives far too late
when it is anticipated
by the writer pundit
keeping tabs
on runnaway horses
trained at the gate
tokens laid for bets.
what then sister?
if all should go awry?
the next caller phones
and relays, it is you,
so-and-so, who has
passed away today,
chemo didn’t save
the day.
"I know this is a shock,"
the other says,
"Love you, call me
when you want,"
breezily relayed
"here if you need,
call me
when you want";
but you, so-and-so
are already gone.
cruel deception
closed doors
on all that was
once close,
always true, forever
standing ground,
turned away.
betrayal keeps close
its cruel deceits
for untrue stories
buried deep.
cruel keeper of secrets
what cloistered
confessional opens
its sorry doors?
to understand
you, the you
who utterly
shamed and ignored.
LOVE
delivers
the
the truth
without delay.
Christmases,
Easters,
graduations,
birthdays,
two lives,
adequately
destroyed
r.i.p.
today.
cloudy
messages
adroitly
employed:
LOVE
came,
it considered all,
not once did it turn
away.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel-writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding—joining with their greatest enemies in bestowing the harshest epithets on such works, and scarcely ever permitting them to be read by their own heroine, who, if she accidentally take up a novel, is sure to turn over its insipid pages with disgust. Alas! If the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard? I cannot approve of it."
betrayal, lies, deceit, trust, books, death, loss, mirror, silence, sister, love
we need to make room for God
to be in our lives
by removing our clutter
which causes strife
we need to make room for the Holy Spirit
to superimpose
to make space for the mercy of God to expose
It's power, It's love, It's omnipotent grace
to make room for a transformation to now
take place
We need to make room for God to take control
and allow His righteousness in us to unfold
we need to make room for the Holy Spirit
to superimpose
to make space for the mercy of God to expose
Its power, it's love, It's omnipotent grace
to make room for a transformation to now
take place
our purpose for being
once we discover our mission
is to be disciples of Jesus,
fulfilling the Great Commission
to achieve spiritual empowerment
as we receive a spiritual endowment
to make room for a reformation
a godly change
permitting our priorities
to be rearranged
we need to make room for the Holy Spirit
to superimpose
to make space for the mercy of God to expose
Its power, Its love, It's omnipotent grace
to make room for a transformation to now
take place
to make room for the Beatitudes of Jesus
in us to manifest
to make room for the word of God
in us to now rest
now let go of the mental junk
we tend to hold on to
and allow the goodness of God
to come pouring through
we need to make room for the Holy Spirit
to superimpose
to make space for the mercy of God to expose
Its power, its love, It's omnipotent grace
to make room for a transformation in us
to now take place
to make room for God to take control
allowing His righteousness in us to unfold
to achieve spiritual empowerment
and receive a spiritual endowment
we need to make room for the Holy Spirit
to superimpose
to make space for the mercy of God to expose
It's power, It's love, It's omnipotent grace
to make room for a transformation in us
to now take place
we need to make room for the Holy Spirit
to superimpose
to make space for the mercy of God to expose
Its power, Its love, It's omnipotent grace
to make room for a transformation in us
to now take place
Welcome
to the age of the bully boys
pulling little girls curls and stealing others toys
unraveling the flag as it unfurls of a nation divided
shouting louder and defiant babblery so misguided
posturing without intelligible commentary
while the rights and needs of the people are ancillary
cut and bleeding like on open heart's coronary;
a time of liars and deniers, deflectors and excusers
speculation on heroes, the winners and the losers
a pause of common sense and courtesy adversary
a forgotten loss of once-great American constabulary;
an excuse for mistakes made by behooves
by the shakers and the non-political movers
the baby boomers of the sixties dream once a plenty
now, without memory of the changes of the century;
tell me what you'll say
when comes your children's day
and the question they will ask
where did you stand in the past?
Did you stand for freedom or walk the party lines
tell what purposeful intrigue did you find?
was it only the loudest voice, the elephant in the room
taking honesty and silence permitting America to doom?
Step aside bully boys, American dreams are still here
and the people's voice grows louder, every day more clear
justice, freedom and equality for all
make a choice, it's your last call.
Window Teacher
by Odin Roark
As teacher
She was petite
Unassuming
Framed in layered paint
No make-up on her
Save occasional steam facials
Winter cold
Apartment hot
Patiently she granted access
Permitting learning through her
Worn but faithful eyes
Rectangular lenses
Forever dilated for 24/7 study
Across the street
Other windows
Same opportunity
Different lessons
Pulled blinds
Hiding fear
Glass with cracks
Glass turned cardboard
Innocent children
Faces of confusion
Above the street
Pigeon-lined roofs
Poised like sentinels
Destiny marking time
Standing guard
Here yesterday
Today
Tomorrow
Below the street
Tunnel-sounds of motion
Fathers
Mothers
Singles
Junkies
Suits
All riding to anywhere
But here
Down on the street
Few pedestrians
Some exploring a dumpster’s overflow
Dollar Store breakage
Bodega fast-food wrappings
Liquor store sadness
Nighttime festivities of the block
Broken bottles as glitter
Wet and dry
Dead or alive
Kicked
Smashed
Stacked
Bagged
Forgotten garbage
A growing city’s collateral damage
Beneath my building
Express train speeding
Rattling eyes of my teacher
Time for school
Real school
The kind only un-papered immigrants know
Learning what textbooks cannot teach
For you have to be blessed
With a window like mine
The glassed portal to what harsh reality
Bestows on many
Here where there is no graduation
No cap and gown celebration
Or Mom and dad accolades
No sweetheart promises forever
Only survival
And for the window-school drop outs…
A future of smaller classrooms
The kind with no willing and generous
Window teachers
The kind with bars to the outside
Where all the garbage walks the yard
Where subway vibrations become
Steel Sliding
Locking doors
Torturous echoes
Before lights out
Memories become dreams
In these dark classrooms
Where fear laden eyes
Once behind windows to the outside
Now reside in solitary regret
To return to condensation on glass
As the only obstacle to learning
To be free of eyes forever moist and blurry
Clouding remembrances
Of the petite unassuming window
Framed in glorious layers of paint
Oh…if only to return
Within the chamber, within the time allotted
The guest had overstayed his welcome
Far beyond the clock which saw no cause permitting it
Now occupied is Mr. Smith upon the bed
Being dead is no excuse for self indulgences
Excesses best left unsaid, and yes, unpaid
The room held itself together with some boards
Certainly some nails came into play
Creaking noises added to the joy of Hotel Jones
But there are limits to an occupancy delinquency
Four walls hold more than secrets for the halls
Which echo through the key hole’s empty hollow
Ceilings and floors don’t morn or pay the bills
Could say no more before the morning call
Could say nothing for Mr. Smith right now or then
When he died the night before and to that end
Two windows look into the future not quite there
Reveal the other side of life outside felt by the living
Where stairs that lead out there are tread no more
Would laws allow some grace for the departed
Check out time is 1:00 o’clock according to the clock
Where is the payment for the extra hours spent
From no one within the chamber that’s for sure
And nowhere to be found behind the door
As Mr. Smith for sure was very poor
In the arms of an angel
No words could be more fitting
I raise my voice in loving tribute
To Ken with your permitting
A celebration of this loving soul
Such a kind and gentle man
Always upbeat, ready with a smile
As each new day began
In the arms of an angel
Looking from above with a smile
Always ready with a kindly word
In spite of all life's trials
Dear, dear, sweet Marguerite
The love of Ken's existence
Will journey forward hand in hand
Together still, though distant
So everyone's here to celebrate
This special bond he possessed
With each and every one of us
As a friend, he was the best
May he forever rest in peace.
© Jack Ellison 2013
For my good friend Ken, which I wrote for his
"Celebration of Life" ceremony .
As if in a decades long
somnambulant trance
for majority of years
I finally awoke,
three score minus
one orbitz tracked 'round el sol
by this human drone,
a custom made incognito
stitched while in utero
yeah... my birthday suit mask
disguised this bloke
yet plainly visible, aye donned
a permanent cloak
always fitted me skin
tight easily permitting
ingress and egress okey doak
majority of mein kempf
ambivalent about (no...no...no...
despised) self as
apathetic behavior did evoke,
yet slip out from
under the Harris tweed,
Scottish door Matt,
parental tender caring folk
now, such indifference,
whether dead or alive,
tummy this thinking haint write
especially nearing quotidian,
the terminus twilight
of existential parabola
fifty nine submucous cleft palate
nasal note more'n slight
chalked up to biochemically, right
hermetically, and neurologically quite,
though not profoundly disabled,
a riddled quirky
psycho-social plight,
(cultivating an unhealthy
absent self esteem inferior complex)
I exhibited half
hearted feeble feints
to muster willpower morning till night
oft times nobody home,
and nary boot faint light
doth shine on me
(feeling comfortably numb),
a puny white knight er
rather pawn on chess
board of life with 20/20 insight
while standing at a paltry
just shy of seventy
two inches in height
shortchanging latitudinal longitudinal
maximum parameters to attain
but more critically, detrimentally,
emotionally constitutes current bane
analogous to Atlas
hold the world
did more than force him to crane
his neck, but imposed
a global estuarial drain
as all the seven seas underwent
gravitational pull that's
the best aye can explain
oh...but such fiction a mythological sling
shot across the bow civilization
the metaphorical resonance
pertains to me, and doth ring
real asper millstone over bearing
worth repeating here,
no matter mentioned in previous poems
bitterness of mine despairingly cathartically airing.
November 10 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on 1Corinthians 13-14
Key Verse – 1Corinthians 14:33 For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace, as in all churches of the saints.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY PEACE AUTHOR
Lord God, You are my peace Author,
fully sustaining my faith’s steadfastness
Thank You for bestowing to me Your goodness
Surely making my heart to rejoice in Your graciousness
While pouring to me Your provisions along Your charity’s bountifulness.
Lord God, You are my peace Author,
fully comforting my being with Your love that’s unceasing
Thank You for perfecting me with Your plans so pleasing
Surely healing my infirmity with Your divine nursing
While granting me hope midst Your restfulness’ enforcing.
Lord God, You are my peace Author,
fully upholding my spirit’s serenity
Thank You for speaking to me about Your mysteries’ sublime authenticity
Surely enlightening my understanding by Your truths’ certainty
While teaching me Your doctrines of distinct authority.
Lord God, You are my peace Author,
fully gearing-up my courage
Thank You for enclosing me with Your zeal against fear’s damage
Surely answering my prayer toward victorious advantage
While blessing me in sharing Your Gospel message.
Lord God, You are my peace Author,
fully assuring my soul with Your trustworthy words
Thank You for enabling me to listen to and abide by Your truth-records
Surely driving my commitment to serve along ministry-fords
While instilling in me Your principles from Scriptural records.
Lord God, You are my peace Author,
fully accepting my worshipful devotion
Thank You for directing me by Your wise instruction
Surely guiding my choices in line with Biblical decision
While leading me in my humble subjection.
Lord God, You are my peace Author,
permitting my obedience to gain victory
Thank You for allowing me to delight in Your glory
Surely transforming my life to stay in Your perfect will’s territory
While shielding me from destructive worry and misery.
November 10, 2023
We rather wish that someone would
lead him to a tree.
They can be so useful
for life and death.
He might look more elegant
from a distance.
But this one decides to join us
in this bar,
sits at our table, displaying
his filthy fingernails,
his rather snotty tissues, sniffing,
so audibly, so blatantly.
Each half-hour or so he has a smoke,
so leaves the room,
permitting us to take
a deeper breath,
drawing somewhat cleaner air
into our lungs.
Ah, who has the courage to say
please go away -
though it would be better to use
some choice language?
But all we do is sit -
just hope, ho hum!
(Sep 2022)