Long Reaping Poems
Long Reaping Poems. Below are the most popular long Reaping by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reaping poems by poem length and keyword.
A promise worth making
Is a promise worth keeping,
The vows made by liars
Simply aren’t worth your weeping.
The risk that you’re taking
Is a blessing fate’s reaping,
For a promise worth making
Is a promise worth keeping.
A friend that’s worth trusting
Was a stranger worth meeting,
A good first impression
Starts with one cordial greeting.
When old bonds start rusting
Bring to mind time is fleeting,
For a friend that’s worth trusting
Was a stranger worth meeting.
A battle worth fighting
Is a war worth man’s waging,
Amid bloodstained wastelands
Freedom’s cries are still raging.
Soon, peace is in writing
And the world is engaging,
‘Til a battle worth fighting
Breeds another war waging.
A love worth pursuing
Comes with trials worth facing,
Most quarrels and squabbles
Could be eased by embracing.
Let growth be renewing
So that nothing’s replacing
Every love worth pursuing
And each trial worth facing.
A life not worth living
Is a life worth forgetting,
The grand tales of yore, dear
Weren’t of poor souls regretting.
A life spent with giving,
Blissful life without fretting,
Is a life worth the living,
Here’s to no more forgetting!
Owning a barn was one of your wish lists
Reaping a fruit tree is not a work of an altruist.
They said blueberry jams are your favorite
Wonder if you’ll eat them at once: Savor it!
Did you collect eggs from a tired hen?
Did you rip off the sheep’s clothing in a pen?
I wonder what the old cow said when you milked him out.
Life must be exhausting: He wished to pass out.
How could a mule please your self-conceit?
I’ve heard your grown cattle gave you money and a receipt.
What did the turkey do to provide you with a thanksgiving feast?
The neighboring animals grin; they must be on their feet.
Does being a Welsh pig make you feel like a “Babe in the City”?
How could you allow your fierce cats to act like a kitty?
Raising fowls, geese and pheasants is a nice venture.
Should you stop “milking cow” for once: It’s such torture!
(Should parents use their children as an investment?)
I knew Milton through his writing on Poetry Soup and his book, "Ashes on the Snow", (2010). A warm and intimate montage of his life experiences.
He was a principled man, whose deep family roots from the Appalachian highlands of West Virginia carried him through-out his life; where he inspired others, through his ministry and through his classical writing of poetry and short stories.
I am grateful to have known him. A tough critic that always added encouraging remarks; tools to hone my poetic writing skills.
I recall his positive comment on one of my Haiku's. He thought I was very good at this form; something he personally found challenging.
Milton leaves a legacy with a poignant and indelible voice, for our poetry community and far beyond.
God Bless you Milton ~ this is for you:
Haiku:
roots of deep passion
sowing dreams, reaping honor
rising with the stars
Date: January 3, 2023
For: In Honor of L. Milton Hankins An Un-Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
syllables verified on howmanysyllables.com
COCOONING IN AN AUDACIOUS POLITICAL
POWERING MONARCHY: 2025-2026
Circadian ticks,
Time-chart caterpillars of
Septic monarchy:
God’s butterflying wisdom
Canvassing divine guidance:-
It’s time for us to
Uproot inequality:
Sowing equity,
Let’s get to cultivating
Democracy’s divine abundance:-
Fertilization
Of renewed seeds of justice,
Must be daily done:
Ensuring germination’s
Deep-rooted, anchoring growth:-
With cocooning hope,
And metamorphosing faith,
Let us plow onward:
Butterflying equity,
And soaring democracy:-
Sown bigotry,
Must be made to rot away;
Plowed with damnation:
Extermination rendered—
Monarchical evil doomed:-
In God’s laboring,
Let us garden liberty;
Reaping fruiting peace:
Fencing true democracy
With shared equanimity:-
Yesterday the temperature was 111 degrees in my neck of the woods, and today is much like yesterday except for a degree or two on the down. Don't we just love those weak cooling trends? The forecast promises a week's supply of 100 plus days in secession. This is the first major heat wave of Mr. Summer, and Mr. AC reluctantly went on this morning in the 9 O'clock hour. Mr. AC looked at me questionably and said, "Are you sure about this?" I said to him, "Of course I am indeed sure about that and I'm counting on you to faithfully execute your God-given duty of keeping us cool".
Mr. Summer never ceases to live up to his name, often bringing massive wild fires and lots of pain. Man-made cooling and few if any power shortages are what I'm praying for and expecting until Mr. Autumn arrives.
Mr. Autumn and Miss Spring are two of my favorite friends, and every year I look forward to them. Being very aware of Mr. Summer's actions, Mr. Autumn is pleading for some relief, but is patiently waiting his own season. Mr. Autumn promises faithful delta breezes cruising through the central valley like a luxury ocean liner docking port to port. He will bring color filled leaves bathed in beauty, falling from the trees like snow flakes in Mr. Winter 's world.
Mr. Autumn speaks to us with the spirit of gratitude in the language of harvest, of reaping, and the scales of balance. He bridges the gap of hot and cold, rendering solace to our souls. Mr. Autumn knows no greed. He speaks the language of a feeder. He's a giver and not a taker. He's indeed a God send.
081620PSCtest, Serenity Awakened, Regina McIntosh
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
Thy Glare’s as gentle, as is Sun on Snow!
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
Admittedly, there’s no grimmer disaster,
Than sudden fury rupturing House and Row!
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
Amid the clods and falling dust and plaster,
Will we know we are reaping what we Sow?
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
Aimed at my Heart: she ran faster, and faster!
(The storm outstripped, no matter where she’d go.)
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
Dim hope! I pulled her under an alabaster
Fountain, round which the dusky funnel did flow,
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
When all had passed, still was the oleaster…
But she lay still, felled by a mighty blow!
O! Afterthought, Thou art a stern Taskmaster!
O! Heart! Would She have stayed, if I had asked her?
Streams of blue fluid
Flows downward
As fragile carcasses decay
Without a peep of a sound
We’re in the brink of disaster…
Who invited such fear and anguish?
Who could lead us to quiet waters?
We bleed…
Polluting the waters below us…
Trickling down the mountain
To our filthy feet…
Cleansing the sin off of our skin
But, it’s tangled from deep within…
The eeriness breaks
The hearts of a thousand strangers
They all fall away powerlessly…
Into the chambers of death
Danger is lurking in every corner…
Pursuing its evil plans
To cut down our hopes…
Growing like crops…
Rising rapidly –
It never stops
Dreams of misfortune still
Rapes our minds,
Plaguing our happiness…
Consuming the darkness…
We’re sprawling on the ground…
We’re crawling like infants…
Veering briskly like serpents…
Who will set our souls free
From suppression?
Who will preserve our hearts?
Don’t prey upon our
Guiltless lives…
We’re in complete agony…
Does He consider
Our prayers
Of support and nourishment?
We scream…
Breaking the repulsive solitude…
Encourage us to keep on
Trekking toward Your light
Where’s Your path?
You rinse off all of the sorrow
Giving us a ecstatic tomorrow
The weeping ceases…
While the corpses
Tear into
Blood-spattered
Pieces…
The faith of a couple of people
Strengthens us…keeps us motivated…
Not captivated…
In misery…
We’re reaping our
Ecstasy…
Leading us to peace and fortune
Keeping us accustomed
To Your purifying spirit…
Keeping us away from
Calamity…
We’re hungry…
Our demise is close at hand…
Closing in on us abruptly
Like an obscure cave…
Rescue us from affliction –
Embracing downhearted clouds…
Those wretched clouds…
Brought us rain when we asked for bread…
Those merciless clouds…
Spewed out scorching fire when we asked for relief…
Remember our supplications…
Appalling lightning’s daring to strike us
Out of cruel vengeance
Out of sheer amusement
Don’t even attempt to weaken us
We’re blossoming in joy…
We’re under cover…
You can’t manipulate us
Like a subtle toy
We’re praying for
Quiet waters
Offer the deceased
A second chance
Don’t disown
Our broken lives
We’re not alone…
We’re just waiting until
The quiet, glistening waters
Gratefully arrives…
Finish the Work
John 4:34-35 KJV
Adapted: by Tom Wright
12/18/2014
The granary isn’t near overflowing,
Room exists for all who’d yield.
The need for Jesus is forever growing,
To reach the chaff yet in His field;
With fields white and near the reaping,
Let’s gather fruit unto eternal life.
The time is not for ease and sleeping,
When God’s fields are laying rife;
So let us reap what another planted,
Laboring for Jesus while it’s still day.
Getting the unredeemed transplanted,
Unto Jesus, for there is no other way;
I have sown the seed of faith,
And have reaped the harvest that came to be.
Thank You Jesus!
Tom
(Snaps fingers, adjusts imaginary beret) Alright, listen up/ hitching a ride on the infinite subway/ strapped in tight/ destinations unknown/ no layover/LSD boosting, pushing past the earthly zone/
unlocking doors to realms yet to be shown/ dreams dripping in technicolor/ a cosmic goo/reality bends/ fractures/ a kaleidoscope in view/
The first jazz cat to blow on Martian Red/ is gonna need no oxygen/ it's the truth/
Gerry Mulligan's hologram, smooth baritone sax, beamed down to Hellas Planitia, the biggest impact crater on the red planet/ can jazz can reach beyond, the cosmic cul-de-sac/will they be holograms, these soulful, swinging ghosts?/
sent spinning outwards/ reaping interstellar hosts/manned waystations humming with forgotten souls/while Martian sand absorbs their melodic toasts/ hey jazzbo cats/ dig this/ the real cosmic burn, the psychological weight/ the lessons we learn/long-term missions/ a constant grinding churn/impact on the soul/ a silent, inward yearn/
Yo, NASA/ drop the mic brother and listen close/forget the rockets/ forget the earthly prose/send a holographic Bird, let freedom decompose/the loneliness of space, where nobody knows/where the echoes of Charlie Parker, Coltrane's mighty scream/are already travelling, beyond our wildest dream/
Wafting on radio waves, a shimmering, sonic beam/Sun Ra cosmic jazz music forever, flowing in an endless stream/ (Snaps fingers again, nods sagely) That's the truth. Let it resonate.
We are alive, this fact we know,
reaping the fruits of seeds we sow
and as into life we nosedive,
this fact we know, we are alive.
We feel hemmed in, in body-mind,
trapped by fears and desires that bind.
Deafened by incessant thought din,
in body-mind, we feel hemmed in.
To know ourself, we choose silence,
exiting thought flow violence.
With no agenda on our shelf,
we choose silence, to know ourself.
In timeless time, we feel God’s breath
manifest as love’s healing meth
and as we heavenward so climb,
we feel God’s breath, in timeless time.
Divine entwined, we feel complete,
as nodes within pulsate upbeat
and playing our role as assigned,
we feel complete, divine entwined.