Long Prepping Poems
Long Prepping Poems. Below are the most popular long Prepping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prepping poems by poem length and keyword.
Ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Fanning breath stirs the heavily laden;
transforms and redraws like playful charades,
prepping, and grooming, all the misshapen.
A pastor's mural paints pure from trespass,
ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Prismatic design grounds tell-tale stained glass
and forest steeples are Redwood's crusades.
Kids taking the plunge, multihued cascades,
succumb to trampling and crushing horseplay.
Ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades,
the bejeweled waits: Sunday's white bouquet.
Awe striking vista blessing amble eyes,
bounteous nostalgia praising persuades.
Peace thine harmonious artwork baptize,
ever-changing Autumn, its shapes and shades.
Irma Pulled a Fast One
By Franklin Price
9/11/2017 – 6:07AM
Irma pulled a fast one
Just before I closed my eyes
Took a right turn to the East
To sooner see the sun arise
Was supposed to go to Tampa
Get a cigar there to chew
Now she's wrecking Jacksonville
Her new direction's nothing new
Was not supposed to go there
Was to head for Alabam
Once again surprised predictors
Jacksonville now gets the slam
Passed Daytona Beach's race track
A responders' prepping pad
On the way out of the state
Had to see just what they had
Her blurry eye was very close
Winds blew and rains came down
She made their jobs more daunting
As she headed out of town
In Jacksonville a record surge.
In the Saint John's river way
Irma was not done with us
That's her record for today
Has affected all of Florida
Six million without power
Trees knocking down transmission lines
A new record every hour
She's still exceeding records
Wind speed. over time was set
It was a new world record
One of many she would get
She is still not through with us
On this day the towers fell
She, as nature's terrorist
Still makes our lives a living hell
“Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: So shalt thou find favour and good understanding in the sight of God and man.”
Proverbs 3:3-4 of the King James Bible
Let's optimize deeds of lovable memories
Wondrously marked by heavenly favoured victories
Experiences reminiscing awesome stories
Captured by entries in diaries.
Let’s enjoy God-granted lovable moments
Along with thanksgiving engagements
Breath of life for celebration fulfillments
Against gloomy sentiments and stress-causing predicaments.
Let’s plunge into lovable exhilaration blissfully
Since air from the Creator we inhale freely
While gasping may be done leisurely
Aware that oxygen in the hospital is costly.
Let’s take a walk during lovable mornings, feeling blest
Praising the Lord for well-being zest
Midst great exercise to the fullest
Serving as work-out pleasure, oh best.
Let’s welcome lovable breeze, refreshing every time
Meeting the Saviour in meditation sublime
Toward reinvigorating faith-climb
Filled with divine rejuvenation-chime.
Let’s bask in the lovable day of hope’s certainty
Fellowshipping with our soul Lover, the Almighty
There on the altar of devotional serenity
Within sweet communion-security.
Let’s have lovable relaxation against being anxious
Providing rest from pressures so torturous
As short breaks the Master gives, evidently gracious
Prepping toward another trek that's victorious.
Let’s indulge in lovable poem writing ecstasy
Enhancing creative prowess-potency
Verily a worthy pursuit of challenging fervency
To expose the Sovereign of His compassion and mercy.
Let’s continue to cherish lovable endearing friendship
Delighting family, home and relative-kinship
Around harmonious vibrant relationship
Tied to Christ Whom we exalt in our worship.
March 16, 2023
2nd place, "Writing Challenge - 'L' Words" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 3/17/2023.
I remember in her eyes the color of Christmas day
and the taste of melted butter in the early morning sun
The cadence of her voice the undertone sounds
of her silences, it was long ago
She was a matriarchal mountain of energy back in days
when her hair was red and her cheeks were pummeled pink
Decadent cakes for Christ's birthday, accompanied by her own
we ate cheerfully with eyes aglow
Then in the eve of midnight we unwrapped
secrets of her hand me downs, a knitted family tree
prepping up our dreams we slept without the know
that Christmases of future, would hold no mistletoe
I remember her eyes , two melting Chocolates
and her laughter, rippled layers of agate.
I received a re-invitation email this morning. A ‘come on, why don’t you want to?’ note that struck me as odd. See, I’ve been ‘tapped’ for a couple of final clubs at Yale. It can happen if you earn top grades and interact easily with male friends by day (the crew club scene is ol’ school patriarchal).
Three of my roommates have been tapped - for one thing or another. The upper-crust, traditional networks and secret societies are a huge part of why young men and women choose Ivy League schools.
I’m not talking about frats - I enjoy flippant misogyny as much as the next breasted-American and really, does “Yo bruh,” sloppy binge drinking, and sexual assault ever really get old? Yeah, it kind-of does.
And I’m not talking about the more open and popular ‘eating clubs’ - no - I’m on-about the elite social orders that enjoy a subversive and exclusive appeal.
Some students desperately want to be ‘IN’ and believe those memberships prove they’ve somehow ‘made it’. Let’s face it, someday - if you can’t actually earn it - that skull & bones handshake might open some doors.
I’ve attended a few meetings, meals, and parties in “tombs” (in upstairs libraries and houses) around New Haven, but I guess I’m just not a ‘joiner.’ Groucho Marx once said that he wouldn’t want to be a member of any club that would have someone like him as a member, maybe that’s it for me too.
Anyway, this harangue is sponsored by the glower that that silly email put on my face.
“What’s the matter?” Leeza asked, seeing my expression.
It reminded me of watching people suck-up and ‘social mountain climb’ to get into my grandmère’s (boring) circle. If your club is so exclusive (email sender), why on God’s confused earth would you want me?
Hey, I like parties, dances and hanging out with eskimos - but I'm a pre-med student and the time/value equation just doesn't stack up for me - I’ve got the M-CAT tests next summer and prepping for those has taken up my life.
It’s ironic though, how by day students at Yale go-on about ‘elitism’ - in stylized outrage - and then by night they strain to join these crew clubs.
.
.
slang...
final clubs = elite clubs and secret societies
eskimos - really cool people
crew = elite
Autumn is not likely to come with bells and whistles.
That's because she tones things down, not up.
Heat starts its demise, having played its songs.
Cold is restless, but Autumn stares back and keeps her calm.
Autumn informs the trees, preparing them for color changes.
Autumn is not likely to come with bells and whistles.
Cameras are prepping, and the leaves on the trees are salivating,
because they know that they will be proudly staging before long.
Monarch butterflies are enjoying their summer, but it won't be long
now before they start setting their compass south toward Mexico.
Autumn is not likely to come with bells and whistles.
But the Birds are anticipating their long flight south.
Summer sometimes gets unruly and hangs around too long.
When that happens, Autumn has to appeal to their father.
The Lord then reminds Summer that her season is over.
Autumn is not likely to come with bells and whistles.
081722PSCtest, Hint of Autumn, Regina McIntosh
In Classical Antiquity, “Cornucopia” means plenty,
A symbol of abundance, nourishment overflowing;
That was my Mother, a Cornucopia for many,
In her lifetime of service to others, without crowing.
Evelyn was many things, but "Master Chef" by definition,
The magical commissioner of a welcoming kitchen;
Where small talk ensued, as heat was applied,
Every recipe and dish, using taste as her guide.
Location mattered not, twas her home or yours,
Or a campsite somewhere, Mother loved the outdoors;
And the tools of her trade, simply counted far less
Than the magic she used, to sooth and to bless.
Like Christ on that hillside multiplying fishes and loaves,
She defied earthly science, mouths fed by the droves;
In volumes that satisfied even neighbors, and friends,
Our pets also royalty, their palates too cleansed.
Between meals our long table, was always reset,
Place settings in waiting, cleansed and well prepped;
‘Cornucopia’ describes best, our dear precious Mother,
Prepping meals now in Glory, for our loving Heavenly Father.
On the rooftop I hear a peck peck peck
from a black bird tapping at a hard steel roof
on the lawn a little rabbit is grazing the grass
all this, before the sun even has a chance to blare
The keys on my board go click click click
from a distance I view the waking trees
and type away, by a newborn light
all this, while I drink my morning coffee
The flush of a toilet he is up and about
from my room I can hear him shaving and prepping
we are leaving for the beach soon
all this and then more, when I get to the shore,
there will be shells to pick and water to adore
we have our sun hats on and we are off
together we are ready to explore
the naturous beauty that God has so lovingly bestowed.
In prepping for a funeral
The family gathered in the hall
They sat there all mourning
Even though it was nightfall
He had eaten lots of vegetables
Yet, he passed on in his suite
Must have still had too much sugar
And not enough heart beets
A farmer by trade, he grew
Not just beets but onions too
When he passed, they cut his crops
And cried all the way through
They made his favorite cheese as well
A batch to honor him that day
His athlete niece, age nineteen, fell
Now there’s pro teen in the whey
Onions served at the will reading
One son got more than his share
“Yes, I see”, said the executor
I can smell it in the heir
“Woof” exclaimed his trusty dog
“This situation is certainly tough.
Although I’m sad about my human
These jokes were pretty ruff…..”
What if I could create another holiday,
One where it’s full of fun and play?
A magical day, so simple and rewarding,
No grandiose ideas, just enjoying.
Embracing a cup of tea or cocoa,
Prepping the ingredients for adobo.
A day to indulge in quiet ways,
Where we take it slow and simply gaze.
A walk through the park, without a plan,
Feeling the sun or the rain on our hands.
Just Be Day, where time moves at its own pace,
Filling the moments with serenity and grace.
An afternoon nap or sitting outside,
Watching the clouds as they drift and glide.
A leisurely stroll on a sunlit street,
Finding joy in the rhythm of our heartbeat.
Play the piano or strum the fife,
Sharing stories and laughter, savouring life.
Embracing those we hold dear,
And enjoying the beauty of being here.
A chance to savour the quiet of home,
Where your reveries let your mind roam.
Your imagination takes gentle flight,
As you sway on a swing in soft daylight.
Just Be Day, where everything flows as planned,
You are the master of this peaceful band.
Where you cherish the no-clock rule,
No minutes or hours to be a fool.
A day unlike any other in every way,
Where joy comes from the simple, divine play.
Enjoying the caress of the gentle breeze,
For a moment, letting life’s picture freeze.
A day where beginnings and endings blur,
Just Be Day, created for you and yours.
Your heart sings as you walk to the door,
Welcome! Greetings, and so much more.