Long Raising Poems
Long Raising Poems. Below are the most popular long Raising by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Raising poems by poem length and keyword.
What is life without joy and happiness?
what is life without self honour and pride?
Upon this mountain hell i lay every day
Battered and frustrated
A man of sorrow, forsaken
My spirit groans for mercy which failed to come
All is taken away from me including the smallest pin
of what is life without a mother?
painted black and red
I mourn every seconds for that pretty damsel
swifter that the eagle, my heart pounded
Joy whispers sadness in my ears
and tears becomes my friend
In despair i feast and dance sorrowfully
they mock and throw me around like a forbidden coin
men are evil, my spirit moans
Raising my eyes to see my ears
i could tell of their wickedness
my goats, cows and jewelries gone
Hear me evil souls, the nature has its judgment
Once in life, it cometh and it hard to escape
It hard to escape the judgment
look at father native compound
it been taken away by strangers
those who once dance with us
In good fortune and share our breads and barns together
NOw, they are against us in fury
Dare point us in the face and laugh
Hear me old friends, nature has its judgment
The nature has its judgment, beware
In my old age. bitterly i weeps all day
in affliction and harsh labour
my foes had become my masters
the roads to my hut mourns
my compound groans and grieved
None to comfort me, all my friends had betrayed me
All the splendor has departed in the air
this is why i weep and,
my body shivers
My eyes overflow with water
All who pass my way clapped and laughed at me
Enemies open their mouth wide against me
my grieves are many and my heart fainted
i am in torment within, disturbed and distracted
I remembered my wandering and pains
In the dark forest alone
Covered my self with anger
perhaps my father had sinned
And i didn't know and,
we now bore the pains
Getting brad is at my life risk
Because of the sword beneath
look and see our disgrace
Those who pursue us are at our heels
my siblings scattered abroad sorrowfully
No one to caution us and drag us back
Till end i know the earth has it judgments
i shall sing beautifully with joy in other phase of life
when the gate shall open.
ALL RIGHT RESERVED (C) JOHN CHIZOBA VINCENT 2013
Who is responsible
domestic violence?
in the home...
responsible for rape?
while bullying in schools
escalates?
fact anti-social behavior
begins in the home!
millions of excuses used
drugs-sex-mental illness-debt
alcohol-infidelity-uncompromising
ass-hole
why not blame stress!
to name but a few...
thats' new, slap on a label
anti-social cripple
self centered compelled
subservient with a death wish
co-dependant on a mission
many incapable of raising
families successfully
matching crime to criminal
sooner rather than later
people who want children
most should be screened
the ones that have violent
tendency maybe steralise
these...
protect the unborn spirit
this cycle of perdition
simply 'cause some can
protection remains
the question...
until we fill up our prisons
or doctors fill out prescriptions
or do drugs - prostitution
or some souls
simply disappear
abuse of the sexes disaster
children
lives destined for remand
some cultures self destructive
buck the system for a laugh
self discipline escapes them
some victims choose suicide
alternative families to the rescue!
marriages deplete
truth uncovered
primary social group
breaking down
mere survival havoc wreaks!
social injustice
social acceptance
to live in a relationship
without independence?
when we break the cycle?
we immerge stronger-
children safer
home wreckers
so yesterday
some sexual couples
complete disasters
I deserve a happy life
a happy life I've got
living without violence
is where we all need to start
repeat not the acts of
your fore mothers forefathers
the violence does not work
mental physical verbal abuse
is a hostile mind at work
he's weak disqualified from life
primal evil reactivated strife
programmes of violence repeated
not strong enough in mind deleted
disrespected, feared, without
honor in most cases cannot repair
don't be a victim, of archaic hatred
suffer little children NOT!
this world though numb
Is nevertheless disgusted
authorities ears to the ground
we have heard your cries aloud
take it from one who knows
let all that s@%t go!
don't repeat their mistakes
look inside make new choices
you decide fill your life with
love...
...or misery will connect the dots
after years of working &
raising the kids, whom both adopted,
ended up with problems that came from
undisclosed heredity,
the two had put aside a
nest egg, as so many did
in their generation,
growing up with parents who
remembered the depression &
what it was like to have nothing---
hearing everyday that
“a penny saved is a penny earned,”
putting together a life for themselves
while taking care of their own parents
as they passed on
as people do, as we all will,
they thought that when illness started to show its face
in the latter years
that retirement & more time spent
nurturing each other back to health,
would be the most appropriate way of doing things &
so it went---
mother was the first to walk into the hospital
to get cut up &
upon returning home,
father had to take care of her, full time,
so he retired early---
at this time,
the economy was said to be doing “well,”
and nothing was being said of the atrocities to come,
so father, always trying to be fiscally sound,
invested a good portion of their savings,
thinking that over time, it would multiply,
like the broker assured him &
the two would be able to stay retired,
living off what they had saved,
as had been planned---
but father was next into the light blue gown &
being told there was cancer growing inside him,
the worry shifted just as mother was getting better,
to the new horror---
& while the two worked on keeping each other
emotionally sane, while their own bodies started to
give up on them,
the meltdown came,
like a tropical storm of immeasurable proportion
sweeping in from some angle that couldn’t be detected
by any formerly successful means &
the unplanned agony began.
the money lost by others with whom a working couple
had put all their trust,
could never be regained &
their bodies now exhausted by a life of work,
recovering & enduring illness,
would have the most difficult time trying to make it again
in the 21st century work force---
so as the stress came on full
the strain joined in &
as the strain & stress pummeled them both,
all that was left was the re-mortgaging of their house,
the last thing they wanted to give up,
that very vital shelter over both of their heads,
now being hocked in the system’s pawn shop,
allowing them nothing to pass on to their children,
allowing them to never stop agonizing over each passing day
wondering just when the ball will completely drop.
Salutations!
Are we all just a figment of GOD's imagination?
Or just a simple angle of schematical equation.
Perhaps, we’re just a footnote in God’s mental thots?
He’s gotta BIG BANG Universe to run, does He not?
Are we all flashing back on one of God's holy hallucinations?
Walking on water, EGGSHELLS! Raise Cain! Raising you know what and who!
Are we all just a spark in God’s expecting spectacular speculations?
Or a One-time ticking timebomb from nuclear annihilation.
Are we all just a coat God puts on His “quotations”?
Keeping us in order with anti-inflammation.
Rambling hypocrisies, babbling Biblical prophecies.
Or are we all just simply subjects of our own bad inventions?
Subjected to the whims of fanatical sabbatical radical intentions.
Getting lost in a crowd, getting lost at Sea, Dead to the world.
What’s to become of me? I’m only one but I’m not alone.
I’m only one... one amongst millions and millions of Billions!
Who all call Earth HOME! Don't we all call Her home?
Billions who just aren’t me! Yet sorta look like me. But do they think like me?
Do they love life? Do they seek out the truth, new life and Lady Liberty?
Peoples who wanna share, peoples who wanna care, peoples who wanna dare
To have a positively positive outlook on life!
Wanna little betta Light to Sunshine on, you, see?
Wanna betta lifeboat just to stay afloat, indubitably?
Are they capable. Of being civilly chivalrous, acting responsibly?
There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be freee!
Free from the scrutinizing eyes of oppression and tyranny
Free from the sympathetic lies of social suicidal tendencies.
Are we all just a sing-along of one of Gods’ songs unsung?
Justa tryin to figure out whatta hell is going on.
Or are we all just a song in a Godsong sing-along?
Just tryin to figure out what da hell is going on.
What if ...
We’re NOT all just figments of God’s imagination
But possibly, there's no other possible rationally obtained explanation
For all the misconceptions and misinformation ordained!
Are we all really looking forward for this final absolution?
Over population, crime, world domination, slimed, improper pollution
Best to jest to keep on singing songs
And just keep on blindly playing along
With God fearing reindeer games.
Oh my, time flies ...
The Dreamer never dies!
From the beginning momma been duin it on her own, raising a fast kid like me in a single parent home. 15 years old with her whole life ahead of her, but sperm traveled fast and made a single egg last. Now its me, here by mistake, so I only look at myself as one. Taking her through hell for 15 years , while she gave up all she had in front of her. No prom, no graduation, no happiness, her teenage life thrown away and sacrificed just for me. But all this didn’t have to be. She had a choice: murder me, or give me away and live happily. She kept me out the goodness of her heart, lord knows If she had the chance, she’d give it up for a brand new start. But this is the life of how a small lil teen in a huge giant world grows with guilt inside.
Daddy wasn’t an addict, and daddy wasn’t a jail berg. Daddy isn’t dead, he’s just somewhere being mislead. He’s not with me, so how can he tell me where I need to be.
I grew up like any other kid, without a father. All I had and have to depend on is my mother. She’s not the best, but she’s defiantly far from the rest.
She’s modeling for me, modeling how to be. The best is what she want me to see.
Tough love is rough is love, momma know love. Momma give love, momma take love, but I’m surprised momma still giving love. Its just a matter of time before momma throw in the gloves!
From the headaches, to the heartaches; I couldn’t possibly imagine what hurts worst! She’s smiling on the outside, sorta like me, & crying behind closed doors, praying on her knees: hoping her daughter don’t fall a victim to the streets, and become pregnant just from one lil piece of meat! The whoopings, the spankings, the beatings, the busted heads, and the loud yells are just a sign of tough of love, tryna teach a lesson, while I’m blaming myself when I should really be countin my blessings!
Momma just wanna see me succeed, fulfill the things she wasn’t able to in life, and spend time with her on the things that her momma couldn’t. She wanna see the best in me, & honestly, I’m striving to be all I can.
Bringing home good grades, making goals, achieving goals, and playing my role. They say we can’t please every body and I guess I try too hard, but momma is one person who I wanna impress lord!
Take care of her like she take care of me, that’s after I become all I can be! Cause I want my momma to see . . . . . . . . . I’m GONE make it!!!
A Determined Devil -
As I lay another cedar beam plumb for our home
smoke plumes, serpentine and sulphuric, interrupts the sunshine,
I look below the ridge, Eve standing silent
with weapon in hand,
a woman so grand,
panic has no rest in her person, fear has no finger on her pulse,
I move like lightning, to war by my Lady's side,
Valley vandels have come, scortching field fruit,
searing insidious signs into our peach and apples trees,
incarnate, the Devil disheveled with a defunct posse of three
approaches me, hailing not from a city of Angels but from a ghetto of ghouls,
mean and ugly like ignorance injured by the ivory tusks of innocence,
a madman desperate for the destruction of Divinity,
unskillful and wishful for lies to come alive,
he's a scribbler scribe, a dribbler riddler
a stereotype simpleton, frontin' and gruntin'
fallin short of the great gangsta idol,
just a stereotypical imbecile, a pencil with no lead,
burpin chicken feathers claimin them to be the silk quill of Angels,
I turn to Eve now
with eyes saying now is the time for demise,
briefly, before I strike steel across the throat of Hell itself
our first promise to each other repeats in my memory,
"I forever fight for you"
as her brown eyes convince me of loyalty, love royal,
she rips her blade through his groin
as I open a river across the throat of this terrible thug...
Raising A Tribe -
Eve, this land is already populated by persons whom seem like us,
although different too, like seasons in soul,
divergent in their dreams for dynasty,
they have dialects from a depth of Dawn
that awoke long before we arrived to thrive here,
customs peculiar as shapes to stones,
Father never spoke of these klans
who strive to survive outside the mercy of His guarded Garden,
competitive as clouds in a shrunken sky,
I met a merchant, a servant to trade,
he told of banners and blood, laws and legacies
cultures savage and cities of crime,
gleamed from telling stories of wealth and wonder,
said they worship their Gods more ways than gold folds,
consider what we have encountered Luv,
will our children slay or be slain, war or work
love or get lost in conquest,
you, as a Woman of God's glorious gambit
have a harvest of futurity's face in the balance,
will you deliver the destiny of our union into this drama...
Justin A. Bordner...J.A.B. 2021
THE CONCERT
The members of the orchestra had each gone to his chair;
The audience was waiting now for the conductor there.
And when he stepped on to the stand, applause was heard, and then
He lifted up his white baton and music soon began.
It started out quite beautiful, each person played his part,
But soon some went on their own way; they thought they were
more smart.
Some put their music on the floor and stopped playing at all,
While others stared around the room at all the lights and walls.
Some started playing other tunes, some played too sharp or flat,
Some even talked among themselves, some even got in spats!
The leader was beside himself, not knowing what went wrong,
For he had planned this concert night for oh, so very long.
And now he was embarrassed by the actions of the band;
He tried to calm confusion there by raising up his hand.
The members of the orchestra just went their separate ways
Each thinking they were doing right with music they did play.
The audience was quite disturbed, for what they came to see
Was surely not a show like this confusing, sad melee!
This story is a parable of Christendom today:
We started out as one in Christ, but each went his own way.
Denominations, sects, and cults, all claiming to be right,
But all they do is disagree on everything and fight.
We can’t agree which Bible is God’s word for us today;
We can’t agree on how to sing and sometimes how to pray.
We can’t agree on baptism, security, or gifts;
It’s sad to see how very far from early truths we drift!
And some have even now denied the basic gospel truth
That many died for in those days of the church’s early youth.
They say that Jesus was not God, the blood was not required,
Or say that there are other books that God has now inspired.
They say that hell is just the grave, that Mary is the way,
That purgatory is a place where we could go someday.
Yes, many doctrines have crept in; just like that concert hall,
It’s hard for many to believe there’s any truth at all!
Yet our Conductor wants us back! We have a job to do!
If we would follow as He leads, what impact we could view!
It’s time we got back to the Lord, Conductor of our life,
And put away these selfish ways and arguments and strife!
It’s time to come back to God’s word, not ideas of man,
And follow our Conductor, Christ, and trust His guiding hand!
She frowned at him, still dressed in his skins,
then cast her gaze upon sweet Nell.
“Why do you bring a savage with you?
Long, lost, little brother, do tell?”
Prent knew this would be a hard sell.
“She’s your niece,”he informed,”My little girl.
I came home so she could learn the ways of the world.”
Annabeth laughed, then she glowered at him.
“If only our father could see you now.
Consorting with whores, laying with squaws,
that’s how he figured you would turn out.”
But Prent would let no one talk down.
“I came here to settle, and do right by Nell.
If you don’t want to help me, I’ll do it myself!”
Annabeth sighed, and motioned them inside,
but the scowl never did leave her face.
“Mother, I’m afraid, was laid up by a stroke,
I’ve taken over running this place.
I guess you and your…child can stay.
But I’m telling you now, just so you know,
I’m not associating with folks in such ratty clothes!”
The days that came transformed them both
Into good facsimiles of civilized folk.
Prent wore waist-coats, Nell put on a dress
With a high collar that nearly choked,
So tight it was that poor Nell spoke:
“Daddy, daddy! It huwrts my neck!”
Said Annabeth,”Child, you’ll get used to that.”
Days went by and a tutor was hired,
to try and teach the irrepressible girl.
Annabeth grimly took it on herself
to impart on her manners of the world,
still scowling at her like a churl.
While Prent went to his brother Ike,
to see if the banker had a job he’d like.
But luck was not with him at the bank,
owned sixty years by his family.
He still had no skill for business talk,
or keeping the customers happy.
He found his spirits soon flagging.
Plus, when it came to finding a love,
it seemed he was cursed by Heaven above.
Some would walk with him if he called,
but most ran when they learned of Nell.
One was so shocked he’d married a squaw
that she loudly condemned him to Hell.
In truth, it was all just as well.
A mother, he thought, Nell needed to grow,
but none of these women would make that so.
A month passed, and things grew strained,
Annabeth seemed more and more disturbed.
“She won’t learn her manners, and only talks
about trapping, horses, and pet squirrels!
That’s no kind of talk for a young girl!”
She threw up her hands, and said,”I’m done!
There is no helping that little one.”
CONTINUES IN PART III...
(1.)
Dare I Compose, This Heartfelt Poem For Thee
Dare I reveal, dare to my soul expose
No longer hide behind life's hidden pose
Return to Southern roots, a simple man
Forget this dark world's constant wicked plans
Remember her, life's most beautiful rose
She the sweet goddess, that this poor man chose.
Dare I compose, this heartfelt poem for thee
Pray to Heaven to one day again see
Together walk those streets paved in gold
Hold each other always, never grow old
Wake each dawn, with Heaven 's love all around
With you darling, forever by my side
In divine paradise wading love's tide.
Dare I ink the words, darling I love you
Just to hear you say, yes, I love you too
Return to Southern roots, a simple man
Forget this dark world's constant wicked plans.
Robert J. Lindley,
Romanticism,
Dedicated To Blessing Of And Precious Memory Of-
( My Most Beloved Wife Clarisa, She That Saved Me )
*****
(2.)
As Length'ning Shadows, Filter Thru These Aching Hours
As length'ning shadows, filter thru these aching hours
Seeing flowers bloom, I lower both sword and shield
Yet in the black-distance still loom angry towers
For this world its angry powers refuse to yield
Dare I, beg this cursed world for a peaceful sign
As if this moment, Karma and golden moon align
Nay! To do such, what a great knave fool would be I
For Karma rang no bell and day holds no moon sky!
Standing alone, this soul seeks happiness again
As a wasted form, worn down by epic grief
Here walking through life, with overloads of pain
Crying out and at moment devoid of belief
Dare I, in such a state, again raise this sharp sword
Wade into battlefield, a brave soldier to be
Cutting and slashing the dark-cast and evil hordes
Tho' knowing, more will arise from a hellish sea?
Here wherein twilight shades are forever falling
And darkness its turmoil dances into my head
I cannot help but hear heartache and loss calling
Do I, do I thus choose to run away instead
Dare I, fail my raising, deny my Southern roots
Speed ever onward past grief, fears and bitter years
Absorb the poison arrows the enemy shoots
As they whizz on through this volley of falling tears?
Here wherein twilight shades are forever falling.
I cannot help but hear heartache and loss calling.
Robert J. Lindley,
Rhyme, ( Looking inward, Hoping to Life again Find )
Once there was a famous king,
More famous than Ozymandias.
His name was King Wolf.
Sultan was his nickname.
He called himself a benevolent despot;
And his style of government
A ‘democratic dictatorship.’
He spoke good English—
A foreign language, though;
Only a minor problem with 'l' and 'r':
Once, for instance, a reporter asked him,
"What about elections, Your Majesty?"
His response:
"Why, I have them everyday!"
The poor reporter was thoroughly confused.
His kingdom was a land of superlatives:
The oldest civilization,
The largest standing army,
The largest population,
The largest exporter—of people,
The largest emitter of carbon dioxide,
Now the second largest exporter of goods, too,
And will soon be the largest.
Since his was the most populous kingdom,
Demography was his obsession,
Which he called his specialization.
Of course, Sultan had tried his best
To check population growth—
By means of family planning.
It didn't work.
So he curbed people’s Right to have children.
But still there was a huge difference
Between the optimum number
And ground reality!
Therefore, Sultan hatched a wonderful plan:
Started a war with a friendly neighbour.
Every section of twenty soldiers in his army
Had just one primitive rifle between them:
If a soldier went on,
He would be shot.
If he went back,
Again, he would be shot.
A Catch-22!
Many of his men were slaughtered.
But still Sultan won—by sheer numbers!
Oh, God!
But the King did not believe in God.
Like king, like people!
But the dead soldiers were only a small number.
So, now another plan:
Government is the boss.
Let people overwork.
Sultan cracked the whip.
And a number of people died—
Of overwork, year after year.
Further reduction in population.
Production increased:
Cheap goods flooded the world market:
From PCs to push-up bras.
No warranty.
The economy boomed.
Ah, his kingdom became a Big Power!
But once some workers gathered
In the Capital and protested—
Against exploitation.
The name of Karl Marx was in the air.
“Listen,” Sultan roared, “Marx died—
Long ago.
So should you—now,
For raising his name in vain.”
So, still further reduction in population!
Now, when this narrative ended,
Sultan was busy, planning for another war.
Poor soul!
How else could he solve the problem—
Of overpopulation?!
***