Long Refined Poems
Long Refined Poems. Below are the most popular long Refined by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Refined poems by poem length and keyword.
Precious is my life, authored by God based on His sovereign plan…
He chose me before the world began
To belong to His royal clan
And bear His name in the best way I can.
So precious is my life wrought by God according to His grand design…
He formed me in my mother’s womb – so well and fine
To carry my parents’ genes and bloodline
And to do His great will, never to resign.
Very precious is my life cared by God as His divine project…
He loved me, saving me from sin’s gruesome defect
To be transformed as my way He does direct
And leads me toward heavenly pursuits by His grace I can’t reject.
Truly, precious is my life valued by God beyond the ephemeral…
He sacrificed Himself for me, quickening my soul, making me spiritual
To own assured salvation with life eternal
And abide by His standards that are biblical.
Blessed is my precious life since God crafts it thru His magnificent tools daily…
He imputed to me His righteousness so I can be holy
To enable me to comply to His Word obediently
And to follow His Spirit humbly.
My precious life is God’s masterpiece molded toward His perfection…
He took me out from the miry clay of corruption
To fashion me to fulfill His assigned function
And shine as vessel of honor for His exaltation.
Indeed, precious is my life*, constantly refined by God along His faithfulness…
He bestowed on me abilities to use with skillfulness
To harness in the crucible of His fruitfulness
And be a blessing to others with service-joyfulness.
*Psalm 64:1 Hear my voice, O God, in my prayer: preserve my life from fear of the enemy.
October 12, 2018
2nd place, "HOW PRECIOUS LIFE IS"
Sponsored by Line Gauthier; judged on 10/15/2018.
IN HONOR OF THE MAN WHO STARTED IT ALL
My Friend John
The Day (of the Quote Wars)
The Day was gray with wisps of smoke, like fog upon the ground
The carnage lied in heaps piled high, void of any sound
A single figure stood that day, solemn in the field,
The enemy fought bravely, but found they had to yield
They fired fast a volley, then, tried to hold their line
And each one to the very last, Defeat was all they'll find
They came with much munitions, taken from their shelves
Armed with acquisitions, building libraries for themselves
With words upon their lips and volumes in their hands
They started posting Quotes, that's when the War began
It was on a summer’s day, that the voices came to battle
We heard the slamming of huge volumes and the pages start to rattle
There was Emerson and Keats, Will Rogers and Mark twain
Neither knew defeat, nor could have felt the pain
Quotes were launched at him, design to cut him down
But Sebastian fired back with something more profound
They quoted every author, from eloquent to sublime
But The Quotes that Sebastian used, were so much more refined
They thought to quote from Philosophy, Theology and Science
They quoted away, most the day, while Sebastian stood defiant.
When the fiery missiles stopped, one man stood firm and smiled
Sebastian Fate had Won,”The Day” by quoting Oscar Wilde
There is an open door
An invitation to more
More of what? you ask
Drop what you are doing and drop your mask
Come and see
The Father says to come buy from Me it’s really free
Come without a price or fee,
Step into the mystery.
The waters roll, the wind is high,
Underneath a crown-shaped sky.
Leave the straight lines of the shore,
Trade the task for something more.
Every sign along the track
Whispers that there’s no turning back.
He’s calling out to you and me:
“Come to the river, buy and see.”
The delta breathes a quiet grace,
A stillness in this hidden place.
The cinders fade, the iron cools,
Far from the reach of rigid rules.
For gold is refined in the heat of the fire,
Lifting the soul to a holy desire.
No currency needed, no ledger to keep,
Just deep calling out to the heart of the deep.
So let the old anchors drop into the mud,
Where mercy is flowing, a beautiful flood.
The ink has been written, the spirit set free—
The river is waiting. Come, buy and see.
We call it freedom,
but what is freedom without form?
A flame without a lantern,
a voice without a conscience,
a march that tramples the morning peace
just to echo its own rage.
We say we speak freely,
but truth is not noise.
Truth is not venom dressed as valor,
not rumor parading as revolution.
Speech is sacred,
when it builds, not breaks.
When it heals, not harms.
When it dares to be honest
even when honesty is inconvenient.
We say we protest,
but protest is not chaos.
It is choreography of conscience,
a civil dance of dissent.
It is the heartbeat of democracy,
not its hemorrhage.
It is a hand raised, not a fist clenched.
A sit-in, not a smash-out.
A song sung in the streets,
not a scream that silences others.
A civilized society is not just paved roads and tall buildings.
It is paved hearts and tall ethics.
It is liberty with love,
rights with responsibility,
freedom with form.
So speak,
but speak with truth.
Protest,
but protest with purpose.
Live free,
but live with grace.
Because civility is not weakness.
It is strength,
restrained.
It is fire,
refined.
It is freedom,
fulfilled.
JCC/OMP
Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.
"Pack the chairs,no souls will be entertained here",
Politics is stealing the future of scholars,
The faith is rather picking blemishes from religious pillars,
Can't make it plain to them of my changed mind,
Grew up along the coast,
Education wasn't a key boast,
Chasing money and abiding to words from our illiterate parents,
"Hey,...if you refuse to go fishing,no food for you today",fear really got itself filled us with adherents,
The punishment comes always with fatality,
What is known to be risky,we see it to be easy,
Trained with marshal laws,...and it's the powerful canes form masters in the halls,
Privileged men went ahead to acquire knowledge,because they had all it carried,
Knew what is meant by a treasure buried,
Fought tediously to overthrow the whiteman ruling over their integrity,
When nothing was induced much into us,eyes were opened to plenty,
Disappeared from home to where no man ever had an idea about,
Saved by a richman but lonely hunter mouse ,
Impacted into me in-depth understanding,
Showed me the realities of life;formal education without a payment,
"God bless his hidden soul",
Returned after so many years,
"Life is now precious and exerting greatness of me,
Society wasn't able to exercise recognition of who I am,
But yet still,I found my childhood friends fighting for success with grey hair",he noted well,
Expression on their faces proves their lost in the middle of nowhere,
Hailing his superiority among them,he was appointed as the chief advisors brain,
So many opportunities he gained,
His life was a breakthrough to the land he was born to cater,
He is a refined gold within a polluted water,
Inculcated intelligence into his fellow people scoop,
Few took it wholeheartedly;they had eyes for pride so they've made it in a bloom,
Politics practically went about chewing the learned knowledge as strict,
Coping with internal and external institutions,he raised a fine district,
But,his heart never desired for a truth;
What were deceptions to uproot?
Helmet of glory,
Passion for God plays the background of his officialdom,
Only blink of eyes taking a yawn,religion stole his referendum.
Here's a refined version of your poem, with a focus on improving grammar, punctuation, and structure while preserving your unique imagery and tone:
I wander through the maze of time,
Gazing upon every century,
Each turn leading me astray along
Fascinating arrays of cobbled roads,
Beer-soaked corners, and freshly watered bouquets.
This unique charm, unified by
The usual hustle of most western cities,
Stands firm amidst multitudes
Of admirers.
An opera of reality,
Singing loud in silent nostalgia.
Conventional yet complex,
A weighty rock sinking under human creativity,
Yet sitting in invincible unity.
Among swarms of dust,
Battered by ceaseless activity,
An oiled engine forever purring,
Forever working, with inexhaustible duty.
A machine that never stops, never
Sleeps.
Awaiting the next influx of eyes,
Every minute descending from the skies.
An elixir of life,
Continuously evolving under the weight of existence,
Greeting the morning sun,
Starting another day on the routine of innocence
Among the charcoal lungs
Form:
Dreaming of frogs playing guitars, lounging on a campfire pyre,
Her manifestation of these little hopping miniatures tickled her
Naturally nude with an upside down hat, she was uninhibited, fully exhibited.
Two prissy potential suiters ran out screaming, recognizing her strength.
Attitudes of grandeur did not play in her head.
She meant no harm to these males; yet they had been clearly terrified.
Women who are fantastical and barbastical confuse ones who are weak.
She did not wave, frankly, had not noticed they left. She was playing a harp with her bear.
Is she bizarre, modern, an alien or just weirdly avant-garde?
Status quo relatives who were watching were also consternated.
Their brains often pitter-patted by the norms society revers.
Creativity was outside their jurisdiction, thank God!
Pink woman’s frog dreams led to a parade of unicorns and eunuchs,
Horrifying the refined who sneaked peeks at her surrealistic attitude.
Why can she not conform? What is wrong with her?
Hell. How did they get into my dream state Pink wondered.
The watchers did not realize her spontaneity was a result of natural play-ity.
Which is why she moved away from them, for how could brilliance stay?
She took the frogs, unicorns and eunuchs with her of course.
The bear elected to remain. He loved frightening the relatives.
Beauty is within,
Not if your waist line is trim,
Exquisiteness is worn,
When hearts are pure
not draped with thorns,
Beauty has a lot of class,
It’s pure gold, not tarnished Brass,
Beauty develops in true ladies,
It’s not loose, confused or shady
Beauty has a unique presence,
Its grace, refined, restored with elegance,
Captivating all who are fortunate to meet
It's truth and love,
which is stronger than a heart beat,
Beauty overlooks other people's wrongs,
Comforts those who aren’t as strong,
Delighting in others achievements and success,
It’s not superficial, self-seeking and obsessed,
Beauty is a person’s unadulterated soul,
Completely dressed, renewed and whole,
It’s not what you see in television ads,
Or a magazine model's newest fad,
It’s the essence of a person’s being,
Beauty is not defined by what you’re seeing,
Break away from faulty, conditioning views,
Realize beauty is something we all can choose,
Take a moment to look deep inside,
Strip away any vanity, conceit or pride,
Watch as you begin to sparkle and gleam,
Then your true beauty is what will be seen.
By; Sabina Nicole
written:2-29-12
We have seen every ghastly act and recorded it.
Yet more grisly deeds yellow in archives
waiting to be resuscitated and refined.
Tyrannosaurus Rex awakes in a drop of amber,
takes a gander, decides to go extinct.
A Dark Net spreads like arsenic and syrup.
Cell phones retweet daily holocausts over donuts.
Evil has friends on Facebook.
The commonplace entertains the unspeakable
as if it were merely an eccentric uncle.
The unborn and the born are culled,
Plague businesses thrive.
There are killings on the market, viral wars
burst spiky eruptions of emojis.
Slave traders operate from strip-malls
owned by chauffeured demons,
while journalists huddle in their alabaster cities
undimmed by human tears.
Pandemonium is the addiction of choice
and the eyes of those in power
glitter in the clear blue sky-dreams
of both the heartless and the homeless.
Drugged you are America,
soon to be sold on an auction block
of your own drugged choosing.
We once sang for you America,
O Beautiful America.