Long Polish Poems
Long Polish Poems. Below are the most popular long Polish by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Polish poems by poem length and keyword.
In the Orient it's called Karma,an inescapable butcher of beasts continuously chopping,slicing & trimming the meat of our mentalities,precisely weighed,
Occidentally the official judge of justice is commonly greeted as God,punisher of aggravated appetites,gatekeeper to the blissful & blightful kingdoms,
perhaps there are astral accountants tabulating spiritual treasures of ours,scribing with blood & bones,celestial lawyers indicting us on ancient legalities,
no action eludes the energy of Nature's ear & eye,to sing with no voice or weep with no tears is to try & erase facts from flesh,removing silt from river,
sometimes good fortune arrives in our awry lives,unanticipated & unsolicited like dreams of victory teaching us its possible to outdo the odds,dance on defeats,
however,recompense is irrevocably required by the Divine source as agony is requisite for birth,a timeless tax that gives everything a welcome worth,a value,
a mother who delivers a deformed child,small business owner increasing sales,a professor thats worshiped,pastor of an indigent church,self content poor man,
the purse of Providence is heavy & organic like a full belly always digesting,making space for more & more charity & confiscation,smote with a kiss,
a balance of thefts & rewards,lies that give loss,love that provides learning,poverty that lends perspective,sorrow sowing strength,profits producing paranoia,
justice is a blacksmith that will heat you & cool you,strike you & smooth you,shape you into something appropriate for your properties,polish your planes -
J.A.B. 2010
Forkaroon : I hear we are in for a big treat tonight forksie
Forksie: Oh Ya ! I was hoping for something exciting and juicy
Forkaroon: I'm going to give you a little hint darlin, it once was alive
Forksie: hmm, that rules out cheese and dandelion greens then
Forkaroon : Your such a silly one Forksie, salivate mama cuz its comin'
Forksie: you mean it has legs ! Ah, I better go polish my glow then
Forkaroon: its a big fat juicy steak forksie, beef was on sale this week
Forksie: you mean to tell me that porker bought the biggest steak?
Forkaroon: it was so big he had to strap it to the roof of his car
Forksie: Oh my, we are going to die two happy forks tonight
Forkaroon: Before we get all bent out of shape, you wanna spoon?
Forksie: I thought you'd never ask.
December 12, 2022
Dearly loved;
Beloved-
you are dear to the heart of God you are loved;
Ever are we I am you are;
Beautiful-
Wonderfully made;
You are I am we are polish vessel ;
Hybrid cascade;
Filled with purest Waters of Heaven;
I am chosen I am;
Beloved-
I am dear;
Loved revered;
I am valued I am prized sincere;
I am loved;
Just a man, a happen stance;
Qualified;
Opened eye my heart sees,
God's plan I sit at the Father's feet;
His fragrant frankincense myrrth, so sweet;
Dearest one, dearest heart sweet admired;
Precious darling fellow worshiper of God's desire;
You are adorned forever more;
Revered cherished I honor;
Beloved -
That, that you are my heart's darling;
Sweet than the purest rains, Heaven drops;
You are God's heart darling;
Beloved -??
7/15/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Coral life forms in copious swarms
feast in the Cambrian chyme,
dividing their cells and forming their shells
to end on the seafloor as lime.
Tectonic churning and magma upturning
renders marble whiter than bone.
The marble is mined, but the cutters are blind
to the angel confined in the stone.
A young sculptor arose, with a bend in his nose
and a transcendent creative spark,
charged with ambition to fulfill a commission,
an angel for St. Dominic's Ark.
An artist sublime who will live for all time,
his genius is to see things not shown.
For an angel to achieve he first has to perceive
its splendor enclosed in the stone.
At dawning's first glow he surveys the tableau
of the blocks the stone cutters supplied.
In some he sees dreams of potential themes,
but only one holds an angel inside.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
The block that he chose was rejected by those
who then lied and claimed to foresee it.
With talent and skill he falls to with a will,
surrounded by rubble and relic.
His method you see, for the angel to free
is to remove all the bits not angelic.
Michelangelo’s art for all time stands apart
but there's something further to heed.
For there's a bit more to the fine metaphor
in the tale of the angel he freed.
“A beautiful thing never gives so much pain
as does failing to hear it and see it.”
For in all our insides a bright angel abides
and is just waiting for something to free it:
to remove all the parts which harden our hearts,
to chip out the darkness and pride,
to smooth the rough patches, to polish the scratches
and unshackle the angel inside.
© January 26, 2013
I am a mirror
as I see you
seeing me
I'm looking at you
looking at me
how can it be
so endearing
yet I don't understand
the preset of the married
remember signing object
Gathering light and Spears of Darkness
rotating in it spinning it around
making it a reflective vision unlike sound
and image of myself shining brightly
colored Illuminating showing the inside me
outside of me how can I be
a mirror when I can see myselff
as I breathe my last breath
because I make it to the crest
and I am a reflection of all else
that I am myself
I am a mirror of thinking of me
Now You See Me Now
a shiny abstract Vision wow
crushed sand molded and heated
I'm Crush pressurize depleted polish
it is shaping at a glance
I am a mirror by chance
5/17/22
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.2022©
the city hums like a drunk insect,
half asleep, half insane—
and somewhere in a courthouse
a man in a clean shirt
is dreaming up another reason
to lock someone away.
they call it justice,
I call it inventory control.
bodies in orange are the new wheat fields—
they grow them, harvest them,
feed the system its daily bread.
you can’t sell peace,
you can’t profit off mercy,
so they build fear instead—
polish it, legislate it,
print it on letterhead
and call it safety.
meanwhile the cops prowl
like bored dogs looking for bones,
and the judges stack souls
like cordwood behind their eyes.
he has to invent new laws—
petty ones, quiet ones,
ones that sound like rules
for living clean—
but they’re just nets
to catch the poor,
the drunk,
the tired,
the ones who ran out of hope
before morning came.
and me?
I drink to that man,
the great inventor of misery,
because without him
the bars would rust,
the cells would echo with silence,
and the truth—
the raw, unprofitable truth—
might just walk free.
Time for prompt rhymes
To sync crisp chimes;
Glimpse of brisk mime
~~~~~~~~~
Love lives well
Greet each spell;
Joy now dwells
~~~~~~~~~
Pulse in sheer grace
Here and Now trace;
Caress time and space
~~~~~~~~~
Feel in deep heart
How true love arts;
Sync with fond start
~~~~~~~~~
Mind over matter
Watch light scatter;
Faith knows better
~~~~~~~~~
Here paints soul
In glimpses whole;
Transcend dual poles
~~~~~~~~~
Live without fear
Watch purpose steer;
Love funds cheer
~~~~~~~~~
From a mere seed
Fashion new deed;
Love what you feed
~~~~~~~~~
Hope shows the way
Faith frames play;
Love moves stay
~~~~~~~~~
Just for a while
A poignant smile;
Touch prompts style
~~~~~~~~~
Waltz of brisk time
Steps mime;
Space mellows chime
~~~~~~~~~
Come to know truth
Seize mellow proof;
Writes honour groove
~~~~~~~~~
Journey path
Beyond words rough;
Polish bears rough
~~~~~~~~~
Here face to face
Meet healing grace;
Love in fond trace
~~~~~~~~~
Christmas tryst
Love floods grand dish;
A sparkling wish
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
26 December 2019
Singapore
Who tends a vase
while flowers wilt and rot within?
Who turns to polish glass or pot
when contents should remove to bin?
When stench ascends,
and nostrils turn aside and clench
because of staining sin,
it tarnishes the gold within
meant only for His glory.
Why obsess this cracked and fragile pot,
the look, the pout, the in the out.
Why preen the outer fashion seen
and not the inner beauty
of a spirit washed and clean.
The beauty of the body,
made to display the soul,
becomes an idol temple
when treated with this goal.
To worship God's creation
mistakes creation's role.
This body goes from dust to dust
and without it we will stand
to give our final soul's account
without its helping hand.
He walks in to check me out —
next-door saloon’s whisper: a pretty European girl,
ripe for display, perfect arm-trophy
like the cattle he skins for millions.
Another charity case to flash along his Hermes belt —
Clemence: supple, matte, bull-calf leather.
Starched jeans, custom hat —
wealth folded into casualness,
the quiet arrogance of ranchers who think money makes them invisible.
I examine him before he breathes —
he hasn’t dressed himself; he’s orchestrated.
Groomed, clean cut, pressed jeans, pearl-snap cuffs,
Patek Philippe ticking like a heartbeat of power.
Understated money, soft yet sharp,
as if I am the dumb immigrant,
too small to notice the stakes.
Then he speaks.
Checkbook-white teeth.
Voice bubbling like sewage
spilled into silk.
Brags of twenty-dollar-a-day labor,
guest-worker visas abused,
passports stolen like children’s toys
to keep them tethered, trapped, silent.
He offers a smile —
asks me out, as if I were another acquisition,
another trophy to polish in his golden cage.
I imagine tearing him from existence,
ripping him into a private hell
where bile is his only language,
his teeth rot, his Patek stops —
a perfect, lyrical justice.
But I am human.
Immigrant.
Poor.
I still carry a soul.
And a little white lie: I have someone.
He climbs into his premium trim truck
and drives himself forever out of my world.
I sigh, as miles peel him from my reality—
the ghost he cannot buy, cannot tame, cannot erase.
Water’s destination is everywhere
ever flowing, rolling, tripping skipping
water never stops its touring.
A source of life forever enduring
challenges of leaps across endless
terrain, rocks and stones it hones
to a silk finish, a natural polish
that leaves no blemish.
Flora blossoms, fauna drink,
water’s always in its "pink";
forever giving of itself
this unselfish aqua element.
A collector of unique treasures
water takes and replants its
natural wealth, here and there
among trees and shores
for others to enjoy.
Mother Earth’s tears may fall
but thanks to her we all
survive because of rivers,
streams, oceans, creeks all
travel this earth and enjoy their take;
water we cannot forsake.
As light gives it color, silver,
blue and brown, the golden shining
solar crown of earth’s sunlight
and her body, imbues water with green,
red and sometimes red.
Colors of earth and light blend,
crafting chromatic hues ‘round
every river bend.
As flora sips her morning dew,
earth provides nutrients too,
for sustenance and on river flows;
to ocean, earth’s womb waters.
They cleans earth’s face and moisturize,
‘neath seasonal cloudy or sunny skies;
water’s work is never done.