Long Respect Poems
Long Respect Poems. Below are the most popular long Respect by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Respect poems by poem length and keyword.
"Respect Begets Respect."
Proverb
I look at all people with value and significance and respect,
it does not matter if they are a friend or a beggar on the street:
or a food charity person, no matter what, they are fellow humans,
I never consider them irrelevant, or not important, or a threat;
and would never talk down to them, demean, or belittle,
or be condescending, this is what God wants me to do!
I will never judge others for what has happened in their life,
for my own journey has not been easy so I understand:
there are pitfalls and detours, there is grief, sadness, illness,
fear and worry to overcome, I found the strength and courage;
to move forward and heal my life, I care not about a person's,
appearance, gender, race, age, this is what Gods wants of me!
I embrace the spirit of God and the human spirit each day,
and follow God's path of love in daily life, and of kindness:
to each person I interact with on my journey, its simple to do,
just treat each person with respect, it will make you happy;
your own life will be improved, as the old proverb says,
"Respect Begets Respect," this is what God wants me to do!
My unique way is with tranquility, serenity and calm,
I have taught myself to let go of judgement and anger:
my tools are prayers, meditation, intentions, commitments,
being thankful, mindful, and embracing that things change;
nothing stays the same, there is always hope for better days,
and if my words can change a life, then God has taught me well!
_____________________
January 09, 2023
Poetry/Verse/Respect and Kindness is the Way
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1515-440-09
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La Franc
Written for the Premiere contest, The Way We Look
sponsor, Unseeker Seeker, Judged 01/10/2023
First Place
*People just being people.
These are the kind I want to be around.
How I deplore those putting on airs.
I like the folks whose both feet touch the ground!
Uppity people won’t hang out with lower class folks.
Some society types brag about their good breeding.
For those born with golden spoons in their mouths,
education in REAL life is what they are needing!
Fashionistas and upper class snobs on the hill
seem to think that blue collar’s a sin.
Too many people have hate for their brothers.
*We are all alike beneath the skin!
What matters the most is being yourself.
As they say, “To thy own self be true.”
So this world might at last enjoy full peace,
we must respect those who don’t think like we do!
Sept. 30, 2019 for Richard Lamoureux's Pick A Line Any Line Poetry Contest
*The title and first line are from Richard's poem: Broken People
The other line *is from my poem: A Love Letter to my Friends of India
(see Link in box above for my Love Letter poem)
She associated awe with unvoiced age.
Her son often enthused
about awesome tech-paced change,
empowering opportunity,
but, for her,
youth is an age for voicing wonder
as elders remember awesome quiet connection
back with memoried Time.
She found elder awe memories,
structures,
originating imprints,
in trees from humble
yet awesome nuts and seeds,
formed back in timeless forests
Where nutritional root systems
meet yang-strong trunks,
boldly growing toward sunlight,
flirting quietly with moonlight's fertility
starring light shining our way
from how many awesome staring years ago?
Now enlightening her empowered wonder
about this sensory sexiness
of trunks on root systems
so old she can't quite recall
How could time carve hoary beds
with rivers of resilient water
flowing down Time's journey
from wondrously young
toward awesome complex landscapes
of connection
re-connection
volition
revolution
solution
resolution
passion
co-passionate secular communication,
sacred communion.
Maybe if she goes on wondrous line
and writes about these awesome Times
they will become both more musically beautiful
and reconstructed true,
More passionately ageing together
with respect for Earth's revolving
gorgeous flowing wisdom
and joy for multi-sectored
strong true handsome.
I do not rule with iron hand,
but with the rhythm of sacred sand—
each grain a word, each line a sign,
where order breathes and hearts align.
Before the lesson dares to start,
I plant the law with quiet art:
Not carved in stone, but shaped in grace—
a whispered guide, a steady place.
I walk not tall with voice raised high,
but low and warm, where truth can lie.
A glance, a pause, a name well said—
can calm the storm that storms ahead.
Praise is light, and I let it shine
on every soul that seeks to climb.
The smallest try, the softest voice,
is honored here—it is their choice.
I set the chairs in sacred round,
where trust and laughter can be found.
And in that space, they learn to see
that peace is born in unity.
When troubles come—and they still do—
I do not shame, I don’t undo.
But meet them there with calm and care,
and ask what truth still waits to share.
Each rule is not a chain, but wing—
to teach respect, to help joy sing.
And every child I’ve come to know
has taught me how the Spirit grows.
Their voices rise in morning light,
unsure at first, then bold and bright.
They test, they reach, they fall, they mend—
and find their center in the end.
I walk the circle every day,
not just to guide but to obey—
the higher call that whispers low:
"Let love be what your actions show."
I watch them build with blocks and words,
their questions flightless, then like birds.
Some come with wounds too raw to name,
yet even there, I light no flame.
Instead, I offer space to breathe,
to let their guarded selves unsheathe.
The broken bits they fear to show
become the ground from which they grow.
And I—a keeper, not a guard—
hold wisdom not as rule, but shard:
A mirror turned to help them see
the brave, becoming way to be.
I do not wear a heavy crown,
nor weigh each rise, nor mark each frown.
But in my silence, I still shape
the kindness that their lives will drape.
So may this room, this ring, this flame,
forget no face, neglect no name.
Let every child who leaves this sphere
still hear its pulse in times unclear.
Let them recall the calm, the care,
the hands that held them unaware—
and know that even when alone,
they carry peace they've always known.
Educating Rachel
Now, let us try this again to write a document
With one letter marching nicely in front of the other
Like adding instead of using numbers to give the written
words prettiness, even if the theme is about unnatural sex.
The fact is that there is a diesel smell at the bus terminal
At six in the morning, when the cleaning lady starts her
low-paid work has nothing to do with anything, had they
They're going to university, they could sit in fine offices
and go to the hairdresser at nine, a woman who can just
read and write, luckily for the ladies, she skipped school.
The driver of the bus enters farts loudly, and that is ok
But I could have shown some respect. It is odd to think
If all women had higher education and looked up to the blue
sky, who should make my dinner?
Trustworthy, loyal and honest
for friendship do anymore conditions apply
You smile when they call or visit
to see a friendly face, hear a familiar voice
An ear that hears you out
A word that keeps you in
A hand that helps, a hand of friendship
Memories through life you share
just lying around on the hood of your car
Watching the stars and filling the night with small talk
small talk that reassures that everything is okay
But in todays bitter political climate
A Red must only befriend other Reds
A Blue must only befriend other Blues
Whites are just confused
Old friendships ending
Family ties broken
Not even time can bridge
This emotional rage boiling over into hate
I thought I used to have friends of many persuasions
Kidding around about our differences and beliefs
Friendship overcame passions with respect
To disagree was not fatal
Today is different, Yesterday was blissful
Tomorrow heal our weary souls
With Coronavirus shutting down the world
Social distancing keeping us apart
Self quarantining sheltering us in place
Can we somehow become closer
Soon the world will reopen
Life will be full of togetherness
Do we realize a point of view is no reason to hate
Friendship is a foundation of love built up with respect
Can we forgive and forget and have
Have friendships that overlap political views once again
Or do we all get a dog to be our best friend
Each and every night this
i pray before i wake
I find in me the word's to write
The poem i wish and dreamed
i always would
That when and once it was
read by every single reader
They then believe that it was
somehow written especially
just for them
That they can turn to when they
are at their lowest ebb , friend's
are few and darkness closes in
Word's that dose like opioid
medication to alleviate all of
their innermost distress , suffering
and pain
Until the demons cascading
freelance through their thoughts
are able to be caught just in time
So that they can summon up
the strength to exercise dormant
facial muscles so as to extrapolate
a smile
That the many other people's
lives that they unknowingly
have come to touch
Have also come to rely on in
order to get them and help them
throughout their day as well
As to some their infectious
smile pleasant manner and
elevating demeanour
Is in part the substance and
the content of aforementioned
poem
I only hope and pray one fine
day before i die i find myself
awakening
Truly to be blessed with the
divine inspiration in order
for me to be enabled to
Express these heartfelt
thoughtful word's in some
poetic form
That will do and treat the
subject matter with
the respect and justice it so
deserves
And hopefully in doing so
somehow heal 2 hearts
with a 1 single verse
For anyone and everyone who
cares enough to take the time
to read it
When you and I were children, many wonderful stories were read and told to us, and there were times when wanting to hear them again, we'd say something like this: "Mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, could you please tell me that story again? You know, the one about the stray shaggy dog."
Well, I have a friend who's now a missionary in Mexico. He once told me a story about his father that enriched my life. My friend's father, after the death of his wife, (my friend's mother), revealed to him his distaste for a certain food. Out of love and respect, his father had never expressed the matter to his mother or the family.
To me, it's a story of love, respect, and sacrifice. I tell you, it's a manly story. I would love to hear my friend tell that story to me again.
04172019cjPoSoup
My Wife did her homework.
She called my sister, who lived near my Mom on the coast.
"What kind of flowers does your Mom like?"
"Oh, she likes roses. Red ones. Whenever there are flowers in the house,
they're red roses."
My poor Wife bought my Mom a special bouquet of roses -- $62.34, including delivery...
"Do you like 'em, Mom?
"Like what?"
"Your present, Mom."
"What present?" What are you talking about?" I don't need your
presents." Click.
My wife looked at me, her eyes saying, "What did I do wrong?"
My look answered hers, "My poor Mom. No one understands her."
Can you imagine?
My Mother never even answered the door.
The flowers withered on the porch.
********
My poor Mom. No one understands her.
Her kids just won't leave well enough alone.
They bug her because she's never met the grandkids.
"Don't you get it? How many times do I have to tell you? I'm in no condition to receive visitors. I look terrible. I'm overweight. My hair's turned gray. I'm all bent over now. I'm having trouble moving in the morning and I'm not much better by midday either. I'm frankly cranky much of the time. And I have my daily routine. I've got to get my swim in, and my stock market research..."
"Mom, we're gonna send you something special this Mother's Day. We
hope you'll like it."
"But I don't need anything special. I don't want anything special. I don't
want ANYTHING!"
"Yeah, Mom, but---'
"But nothing! I told you that I don't want any Mother's Day presents. You're
my son. You need to respect my wishes."
"Sure, Mom. Sure. So, about those stocks, Mom..."
"...And then they went ahead anyway and got me those flowers. Wasted all
that money. And my son had said, "Sure, Mom." So, he lied to me. "I'm
telling you those kids just don't get it..."
My poor Mom. No one understands her...
"And THEY'RE going around with THEIR feelings hurt?!"
Can you imagine?
I agree it’s a flaw, to lack respect
For the usual silly proud words that match
Some symbolic achievement where I didn’t act
Didn’t bother to start “my way” from scratch
Wasn’t able to worry about learning curve
Didn’t listen to those dour faces drag
Took them maybe easier than they deserve
Never waved any bright or a bleached rag
I don’t have the required reserves of hypocrisy
Wouldn’t initiate any commences
Neither I stand for empire nor democracy
With folly defense at my own expenses
Call me a psycho gripped by indifference
Call me whatever you like but don’t kill
Deceased, I won’t add any sensual coherence
To the mess you alter thinking it’s your will.