Long Reins Poems
Long Reins Poems. Below are the most popular long Reins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reins poems by poem length and keyword.
It is that of the rain to which falls.
That of a winter wind to which blows.
It is of the rain drop to which started this day.
Not that of a sun shine but that of a doom day.
It is of something wet as it is a mist from that to have formed.
That of water from the ground to which that cloud had form.
There I lay, with a thought of you this day.
As the rain beat lightly on the roof top it runs this day.
You would think that far up, the rain drops would hit harder.
But it’s there with gentleness to which God watches its fall.
As the leaves turn color and it is of a winter fall.
It’s there; I’m curled in the sheets.
Wishing you was at my needs.
As it is with my heart to which reins for you.
That it’s there to which my heart sweats for you.
Touches of gentle kindness as you bring that of warmth about.
It’s there the drops fall as it moistens the ground.
A rein out from a howl inside, that with a growl for love.
It’s there I want to experience drops with you.
Not of cold rain but that of a heat of passion with an explode.
That we rain in which is a sweat of wetness.
As we would take the day off and enjoy that of the rain he gave.
And make it that not of a rainy day but that of love droplets of spray.
Oh! please, please, hear me, listen
See me, shackled to the dirt
Won't you loose these chains, that bind me
To a life, of pain and hurt
Sing me sweetly, to my slumber
In the darkness of the night
As my nightmares tear asunder
The resolve, left in my fight
Help me, hold it all-together
As the reins, slip from my hands
Tears of sorrow, wet the leather
Only You, Lord, understand
If You show me, what's before me
Will I fear the broken truth
Will a wave of hope, restore me
To the glory of my youth
Am I worthy, of a mention
As in awe, of You, I stand
Will you part my sea of sorrow
Smite my giants, with Your hand
All the rapture of the living
Lies, entombed, among the dead
The promise of the Gold to be
Lies sleeping, in the lead
As a candle, burning brightly
Is mis-shapen, over time
Will You hold me all- together
In Your tenderness divine
Though, I Thirst and I am Hungry
In a Soul, that's growing, cold
I'd not sell You, for their Silver
Nor, betray You, for their Gold
The little girl as a heart condition and her mum and dad as asked for people to send her a xmas card, She loves opening nice mail, and her mum reads them to her this is made for you poetry soup softys, done mine and sent it below is my poem I put inside , Im sure she would be chuffed to get mail from around the world. must get a bigger smile. ( details where to send the xmas card and links below my effort below, sent it today ) And If a premium member would blog this for me that would be great more people will see it
Princess Isabell it will soon be Xmas time
Rudolph's got a sledgeful of presents
and they are all in your name.
Santa checks his list, As Isabella been good or bad.
Humm, he's not too sure so rings her mum and dad.
Now come on Santa don't be daft.
This is Isabell she is never bad.
So Santa shakes Rudolph's reins
And says , see you on Xmas day .
The Address to send cards to is:
Isabell Salat
2 Howes Croft
Castle Vale
Birmingham
B35 7EL
England
https://www.facebook.com/Princessisabellheartwarrior/?ref=br_rs&hc_ref=SEARCH
METAMORPHOSE
In every party there is a parting
Plants an exception in every reception
To dilute every unwanted salute
At the same time device any vice
Then fill up my cup till it spill
No dismay if I don't have it this way
Nor any dejection of rejection.
Unprepared for the dramatic changes
That accompany my passage into masculinity,
The promised land where men are made,
Couldn't she perceive the invisible hand
Taking firm control of the reins of my heart?
Is she ready for the passion it brings
And the changes that cost you things?
All she sees is the boy and friend,
The one demoted to the benign 'hills of mediocrity'
And still see the man with a boy's toy,
The image of impotent potential
Who passed the hours away in the backroom of their lives
And who fulfills her fantasies and satisfaction.
But I murdered self which brought me here -
Manhood is change and it exceeds age
My first adversary arose in her eyes
Now I am recreated to spare no one
In this battle to ascend my masculine throne
Because my seeds: my boys are waiting to taste
The fruit of my manly obedience,
My girls are waiting to kiss their idol
And for such as an husband example
Fragmented by the iridescent flames of my transformation years.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2016.
The One who seeks the end of man
has cunningly devised a plan
to rob him of his Maker’s gifts
through inner and outer conflicts.
Through evil men, He works His scheme
to deprive man of self-esteem
by urging freedom without restraints
and living life without constraints.
The chaos that His scheme creates
Leads nations into dire straits.
Then men arise, who crave power,
as saviors from the dark hour.
Dictators rise when chaos reigns
because it titillates their brains.
And when they get to hold the reins
society is held in chains.
Beware of those who chaos sow
inciting hate and preaching woe.
Such only care for their own gain
And cause real pain, when’eer they reign.
An Enemy lurks in the dark
its aims are clear, its methods stark.
Democracy its doctrine hates,
freedom of conscience it berates.
Behind the scenes its agents sow,
The seeds that to chaos grow.
He who once ruled will rule again
and it will be a tyrant’s reign.
America, return to God
or you will settle for a fraud
If you wish to become great,
Embrace God’s law, heed His dictates.
To dream the dream that dreamers dream
Of life, love, and everything in between
To dream of how love should be
And how we would like it to be.
To dream of fairy tale dreams
Always with a happy endings, and finding faults
And trying to mend it.
To see a world where only love reins free
And no more heart aches and pains, and misery.
To see a world of illnesses erased, and wars are
Just a word that we face.
A world where there is no human bondage or
Enslavement of any kind.
A world where children can play in the sand
And walk home hand in hand.
A world where there is no bitterness or hate
It’s all left outside the gate.
To dream the dream that poets do
Where all these dreams can come true.
What a beautiful life it would be
If we could live in harmony.
Ahh ! but to enter the mind of a poet
And see all that they see , and dream the dream
That dreamers dream , and see life through
The eyes of a child – WOULDN’T THAT BE WILD!
It is so much easier to love than to hate
If we just have some faith.
God's eyes span wider than a roaming drone,
scanning the earth, searching deep the unknown,
examining hearts, even marrow of bone.
His ears hear swifter than a telephone.
Even from the heights of His mighty throne,
He partakes of each praise and grieves each groan.
God sent the living Word to make himself known.
Every seed of creation, the throng of life sown,
the indwelling Holy Spirit--- His megaphone.
Orchestrating each path the wind has blown,
watching each dropping leaf and prickly pine cone,
God strengthens tree roots, under hardships grown.
His grace beams upon us; We're never alone
as He tries hearts and reins, perfecting His own,
teaching us to know Him as we are known.
3-3-2020
A fleeting moment in time,
Is all I need for this rhyme,
Perhaps 10 minutes, no more
Sit in your armchair, close your eyes,
And to your utmost surprise,
Your life flashes past like an express train,
Happy moments with unimaginable joy,
Horribly sad ones, like the day
I lost my baby boy.
Where does each year go, life is greedy,
And definitely always needy,
Progress demands youth takes over the reins,
What will become of us,
Next week you or I are forty,
And in a decade we will be fifty,
Birthday cards sent to us,
Inappropriately witty,
You’re on the downhill now sis or bro,
You have to settle for second best,
Along with all of the rest.
You work you slog, but at sixty five
You are retired, what to do with each day,
Such a drag, but we all love poetry,
So we will never be solitary.
Soon we will be 3 score year and ten,
Our lifetime over, says The Book of Psalms
Psalm 90 verse 10, this is an older translation.
Today’s verse 10, has been adapted
Into many a version.
We wonder, how did we become so vulnerable,
We reach eighty,
And then ninety,
We could have dementia, our minds quite muddled
The way forward, every day a sad venture,
Or we could be arthritic or have Parkinson’s,
Chronic pneumonia, had an accident and
Broke our back,
At this age the cards stack,
Against us.
One day we can’t breath, rushed to hospital,
The family, children and grandchildren abound
No regrets, life has been profound,
We heave an accepting sigh,
As a tear rolls down from our eye,
Have we any regrets, is this that
Moment in time, you, means all of us,
And we and us, means as it does,
So you, us and we,
Means also my and me.
My husband, also sick, whispers, let go
My love, I’ll see you soon.
He lies next to me,
I feel cold, the clock strikes three,
It is mid afternoon,
Finally, my spirit leaves my spent body,
Hovering above my bed,
I wish I could tell them hey, stop crying,
Life is a journey,
And so is dying.
The Long Trail © by Trisha Sugarek
The Circle Heart brand on the wet rump rippled
as the horse shivered with exhaustion
the sun lost its battle with night and
dropped behind the far peak
Chaparejos, worn thin and soft fit his legs
like they had grown there
Dusty spurs jangled as he trotted into the sleepy town
A saddle that had seen a thousand miles creaked
and complained as he stepped down
the crown of his hat was stained with sweat
from the hard ride
Reins dangled in the dirt
The horse hung his head, relieved to not
be moving anymore
A drink or two to wash the Santa Fe Trail dust
from the cowboy’s throat he stepped up onto the boardwalk,
turned and gazed at the town
and the mountains beyond
the color of old blood as the sun lost its glory
He pulled a cigarillo out, and with one smooth
movement wiped a match on his pants, the tiny
flame igniting
He puffed and blew smoke into the night air
watched the town close up for the night
Across the street a cur scurried around a corner
a merchant keyed his shop closed and
lit the gas lantern beside his door
The work had been good at the Circle Heart ranch, the grub even better
But the trail was his siren, always calling him, luring him over the next hill, down the next wash,
up the next canyon
sleeping next to a small camp fire,
staring at a billion stars
wondering if someone, something out there
was staring back
He wanted to settle but he hadn’t found
the right place
the right woman
the right time
Flicking the smoke into the street, he turned
and entered the saloon,
honky-tonk piano music played
The doors behind him whispered back and forth
The patrons saw another dusty, tired cowpoke, looking
for a few hours of pleasure
some music, some whiskey, and if he could afford it
the soft arms of a woman
The cowboy saw weak town folk,
forever saddled to their days
the bit in their mouths dictating their lives
wary of any stranger, their gaze sidling away
Set ‘em up and keep ‘em comin’, the cowboy barked
Show me your coin, the barkeep growled
His days were numbered
the boys from the Circle Heart ranch would find
him and the horse
They would take their horse and probably string
him up to the nearest tree
I
“Charge!” they said and charge they led
from out of a dry desert wadi.
Every man of the Light Horse Brigade
across the desert thundered -
their pulsing veins, their loosened reins,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
II
In gallop stride they fought and died
on mighty Walers champing.
Every man in the Light Horse Regiment
faced a foe greater numbered -
with rifles cocked, their bayonets locked,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
III
Again and again the Lighthorsemen
the Turkish lines outflanked.
Every man of the Expeditionary Force
of horse and rider wondered -
their squadron raid, in great crusade,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
IV
And across the sands into their hands
the Ottoman guns fell silent.
Every man in the Desert Mounted Corps
the battle trenches plundered -
with martial force, on valiant horse,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
V
With God they rode and victory owed
with emu plumes in their hats.
Every man of the Light Mounted Infantry
sat his saddle or lay sundered -
like Gideon of old, their trusty fold,
forward the wells of Beersheba
rode the brave eight hundred!
VI
On horizon’s red light an heroic sight
in clouds of smoke and dust.
“Charge!” they said and charge they led
when enemy lines blundered.
The legend tells of Beersheba’s wells,
how the march on Jerusalem
to glory led all eight hundred!
Written: November 2010