Long Point the finger Poems
Long Point the finger Poems. Below are the most popular long Point the finger by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Point the finger poems by poem length and keyword.
There is a nail scarred footprint on the back of Satan's neck
Although for a time and here for now he will make your life a wreck
But take great heart for the Christian as Paul eagerly foretold
His grace is sufficient for us and in weakness we are bold
After our conversion we’re challenged to forsake and to wean
To turn our back on the world and pursue daily cleaning
To take captive every thought but not as a pompous scholar
But to humble ourselves and to uplift his mighty honor
If we only read and try to apply it as a mindful thinker
We cease to change the world and are prone to point the finger
Graves are filled with dead corpses that never met perfection
Maturity was lost and growth stunted for His great affection
What pleasures got in our way? What pride of one's life?
Hindered the fullness of the fruit with no thought of afterlife
He who started a transforming work in us won't stop or delay
Can a verse in a poem be comfort if we are bent to keep astray?
The battle is always present deep where the spirit dwells
Fatigued we fight all-the-day to claim victory over self
Labours and mercies feverishly offered poured out and spent
To what end will we decay before we accept why he was sent?
Known is the walk that is stony and climbed all uphill
Leaning forward in the fight is His divine placed will
No discipline at the time seems pleasant or enjoyed
But maybe he established a lesson and it to be employed
Warriors hate to admit defeat and to admit we are weak
Affliction molds our hearts that is his loving technique
God is quite clear that he will abolish our ego and our pride
Whenever we are haughty He turns his face aside
He came to show the way and to flip us upside down
There is a lot of discerning from under that thorny crown
Denying all of ourselves and to follow the honored king
Dying to our own way we must perform spiritual hygiene
By: Brian Micheal
“What Causes Us to React?”
by Michelle L. LeBlanc
Copyright: April 14, 2022
When someone triggers a Reaction
What do we choose to do?
Focus on what they said?
Or find out what triggers you?
Easy to always point the finger out
Yes, it's easy to often do
They hurt me, said something rude
They are to blame for what they do
Sometimes those we love hurt us
Often strangers and acquaintances too
But perhaps they're having a really bad day
And wrongfully dumping it on you
Yes, we can react and get angry
Point the finger out and withdraw within
Or we can try to find the source
That triggers us so much therein
Whether it's deep roots of rejection
Or feelings of failure that tend to reside
Or an attitude of impatience or entitlement
Or maybe it's simply our own pride
We might never be able to change others
But we can certainly work on ourselves
It's probably the hardest to do
And will often feel like hell
But always pointing the finger out
Doesn't help us to learn to push through
For even when others refuse to change
There's always work on ourselves to do
That part is never easy for any of us
But at least there's work being done
Because making positive change in the world
Must always start with one
Maybe we need to find out how to heal
So that we are less to react
They can be mean or insensitive
But what if we get our own reactions intact?
Again this is not easily accomplished
Especially not all in one day
It will be little steps at a time
And we’ll often mess up along the way
But we push forward towards change
Whether the other people do or not
Whose fault it is, is not the point
It's who wants their reactions to rot
Let's learn to face our issues
What causes us to react
And where we need to heal inside
So we no longer feel entrapped!
He tries to teach me all he knows
No matter how exceedingly far he goes
Growing up in constant overdrive
Of all things great and small, dead or alive
Three ultimatums I get the pleasure to choose
Of guy sickness and ugly blues
Alone and scared for almost four years
Every time I check, it’s old me in shattered mirrors
Never anything new it’s always the same
People quick to point the finger at me for the blame
It’s her fault this, and it’s her fault that
Like I am in prison and I earned the label as a “rat”
When dreams come along with a brand new verse
He’s right there beside me, helping me to rehearse
I’m so open-minded yet always so closed
I wish I could line my emotions up from row to row
All of my emotions have to do with him alone
Just for knowing him, ten feet I’ve just grown
His hazel eyes never fail to turn my head
But still alone and cold I sleep in my bed
Four feet forward and six feet back
Like he’s always been there, but then fades to black
So, so, close yet so, so, far
Please come out wherever you are
I’m so blind to his state of mind
But just a month is really all of our waiting time
Different surroundings here I come
Be by my side, babe, please don’t let me run
Mommy and Dad aren’t going to be there forever, he’s right
Completely zoned out deep within my peaceful night
The choice I made I will intend to do
So, self, be 100% prepared for your brand new
Connoisseur Of Ethnic Cuisine
Theme seems apropos during Holiday FancyFeasts despite the plethora of – in my opinion witching hunting - reputable male personalities suddenly accused of sexual harassment after substantial time. Yes granted so the unexpected name dropping felt like a bomb shell towards chaps, this baby boomer mwm would never suspect, point the finger, or accuse, especially one former Norwegian bachelor farmer from Lake Woebegone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Though anonymous and hardly
a substantially sized mwm baby boomer
(which dual disadvantages partly explains
lack of ubiquity among claque of cooks, yet hoop full
to get attention from some well fed dame
many popular rotund gourmands l'chaim tame
their hungry beast – wa hood put me to shame
vis a vis consuming in their one meal,
what yours truly eats in a lifetime,
none of those celery buddies,
whom this non television watcher can name
seen on any selective cable channel,
I still revel in writing while
on the hunt
(during Red October) for a meme
poetry and prose, and decided
to introduce myself quite lame
with NON GMO marginal uptick
in any sudden fortune or fame,
yet t'would be pleasantly syrup prized
if interest
from potential mistress didst exclaim
desire to enjoy a repast, though
said hypothetical gal need
not be a high society dame,
and if perchance such just desserts
came via the kitchen maiden kitty,
versus kit chin middens
no boastful claim
would be uttered by me,
her intellectual company satisfactory aim.
People believe what they see
People believe what they want to believe,
If you do not let them truly see.
People need to believe what they truly believe,
Because the real truth would seem like trickery.
If you allow them to judge you, then judge you they will.
They will point the finger at you and you will be left still.
Silent in your real responses.
Afraid of ever taking chances.
They are unable to recite your recital.
It’s not that important, it’s just vital.
Their interpretation of your real-life events,
Will always be different to your self-evidence.
People cannot handle the truth,
Unless they have time to attune and retune,
To your mathematician mind, leading the blind,
Showing them a universe, they alone could never find.
People like stories about love,
For true stories are never boring.
A tale of romance will always be good,
Until you reach the ending.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
It Appears That I've Changed Through Time;
Into Someone I Never Intended To Be.
I'm Not Sure How, When, Or Why This Happened;
But I'm No Longer Myself.
Although I Know It's All My Fault;
I Wish I Could Point The Finger At Someone Else.
I Could Get Back Up If I Were Knocked Down;
At Least, That Is What I Believed.
I Devoted My Love & Confidence To Persons I Believed To Be Familiar With;
I Made a Mistake, & Everything In My Universe Collapsed;
Leaving Only Ashes & Dust Behind.
There Were Moments When I Re-Started With a Renewed Commitment To Attempt;
However, I Feel So Defeated This Time That I'm Not Even Sure Where To Start.
Diane was like any other Long Island mother,
but on July twenty six she made an horrible mistake by smoking pot,
resulting in the death of five beautiful kids, as young as five,
and three passengers in a SUV driving northbound;
she drove intoxicated,erratically going the wrong way, plowed into this Chevy Trailblaser,
but her son Brian miraculously survived the crash...
frantically shaking her bleeding mom and desperately crying by her side!
Did she hear him? She was dying, and couldn't caress his adorable face!
Why did Diane get behind the wheel so high and under the influence?
Did she need a quick-fix to get away from her problems or illness?
I will not judge her, but the facts point the finger at her!
Mothers, drive sober on dangerous highways, be alert and avoid a crash!
You will regret it, if this results in the death of someone you love;
don't let the guilt forever linger on your conscience: do you see yourself
deeply moarning by a grave that shouldn't have been there;
and what will flowers do...console those who cannot hear, feel or love?
Out there, more mothers like Diane...hallucinated by visions,
drive recklessly because of ingested, harmful alcohol;
others mix liquor with marijuana or other illegal drugs,
and think that they have conquered the world with their high,
and they may not see another day when they lay there and die!
Listen you all, put down your rolled-up papers, and drinks,
save yourselves and your own children who deserve to live full lives;
don't cut them short...would you rather stare at their pictures on the wall?
Diane might have been nice and loving before taking the wrong path,
don't we all when our expectations don't exceed our wishes?
Whatever they may be, it would be wise to be satisfied with what you have accumulated;
don't ask for miracles with your undeserving prayers...they will not be admonished!
Start with humbleness and dedicate yourself to the noblest cause:
helping others, inspiring anyone who admires you...tackling their desire to live!
And what will be your reward? Only eldless joy...without the terrible spectacle of death!
The Taconic Parkway tragedy could have been avoided, if she had had more love to give!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Don't play the victim, don't wear the frown
You're the one causing harm, spinning others down
Bullying, harassing, spreading fear and pain
You're the problem, not the one to claim
Don't shift the blame, don't point the finger high
You're the one acting out, passing by
Think before you speak, think before you act
Your words and actions leave a lasting fact
You're bringing tears to eyes, and pain to the heart
Affecting minds and souls, tearing them apart
Your actions have consequences, that's what you must see
Is hurting others worth it? Is it worth your destiny?
Learn a lesson now, before it's too late
Think before you act, don't perpetuate the hate
Be kind, be compassionate, be understanding too
For the hurt you're causing, is it really worth it to you?
Frosty-glassed windows and fiery eyes
Finally with you after some tries
Rainy day sunshine brighten my smile
Warm us, tropical storm, and stay awhile
Surf the waves through the ocean springs
Jack of the trade and King of all Kings
Wildlife roams in our Earth's abyss
Snow and cold-frosted to the kiss
Rocky mountain high as the emerald trees
Sweeping and piling up Autumn-orange leaves
Windy and dry with our sun so high
Surfing in my imagination on my first try
Silently slipping the seasons to bear
Dry as this is, fires begin to flare
Crystal-gazed snow paths begin to melt
As our Earth rejuvenates it's beautiful health
Rainy muddy puddle's rhythm is a plus one
Please don't stare at our volcanic sun
Blistering heart and silent repeat of what you know
Do me a favor and don't hurt our earth, though
Millions of words to finally be said
Thousands of paragraphs to finally be read
So much knowledge to finally seek
But I need better weather because it's so bleak
So much power to hold in the palm of your hand
But America is running out of free land
Nothing is free because things cost so much
Too many new experiences to let your body adjust
Silent thoughts where no one else can see
No one can ever truly be free
Your body is borrowed and your soul is not yours
Too many locked windows --- too many locked doors
Shape shifting life with your own imagination
To create for you a memorable sensation
So much teaching to still be taught
But too many distractions to finally be fought
Locked away inside your exoskeleton shell
Too far into despair to sit back and dwell
Remembering that time is to beat a clock
To finally escape reality and release this lock
Thousands of chains break the name
But too many to point the finger or blame
Silhouettes of snakes in mirrors of fear
Flame-throwing weapons to finally sear
Destruction shame is quite the haze
Circling in this everlasting maze
Sinister secrets torn from my chest
Reminding myself that life's just a test
You scorn the work my chisel made,
Yet you have never held the blade.
You see the flaws, call them mistakes,
But you have no idea what it takes.
It’s easy to point the finger with empty hand,
To stand high ashore and sound so grand.
But the sea never hears from those aground,
Only from those swimming safe and sound.
I won’t explain the things I’ve done.
For you have no idea why it's so fine-spun.
Instead, I'll hand the control over to you,
Hiding the hurt and pain that I'm going through.
Let’s see if you can match your claim.
When no one else will share your blame.
Because flipping the game your way,
Is the only way you'll beg me to stay.
I won’t confront and fight your claims.
Because I know you enjoy those games,
Where you deride my skills and learning,
With phony debates that are so undiscerning.
Don’t judge my journey; you've not trod that way.
Step aside, let me continue; get out of the way.
If you think it’s so simple; I'll let you try and fail.
Don’t mock the captain, 'til you've faced the gale.