Long Respects Poems
Long Respects Poems. Below are the most popular long Respects by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Respects poems by poem length and keyword.
Brutish Trump, Meek Musk?
Trump comes across as a brute and scares people off the middle usually nice middle-class people who do not what it is like working on a building site or spending years at sea with men appear ruffian but mostly, is a braggadocio and as such nothing to be alarmed over in Trump’s case he is not likely to start a war with China, Russia or Iran Trump likes powerful autocrats, he respects as much as he hates effeminate Macron also Starmer
With his perfect modulations, yet sits cross-legged when speaking to Trump who is not in the habit of showing the heels of his shoes, but as we know English leaders have hidden distaste for those they think are inferior to them
Trump, like many rich people, pretends he comes from a modest background, his father was a wealthy man in real estate which made his journey easier; the millionaires we see today are from wealthy families and that is Ok, but their idea of poverty is miles away from the mark
The hatred we see of Elon Musk is grossly unfair He is at heart a good man with a dream of saving humanity from itself, but I fear when the chips are down politicians will put the onus on him
The finest of wisdom and prophetic gifts are limited.
All human knowledge and understanding are finite.
I can think of at least two things that are inevitable.
In one form or other, taxes is certain the world over. All life forms, without exception, are destined to die.
Concerning taxes? Decisions and choices can be made relative to quantity and regularity. However, if we live, buy, or sell, we shall pay certain forms or kinds of taxes. In some respects, even the dead also pay taxes.
Speaking of the dead, death is the certain “inescapable”.
Choices do come into play, relative to lifestyle choices. Accidents, crimes, war, sickness, and diseases are major contributors in assisting us in reaching our final destiny.
Although death is certain, there are certain choices on our part as well as that of others that may alter or delay death. Furthermore, there are many factors that determine what become of our lives or what we do therewith. So much of what I do between the dashes makes a world of difference with regards to my destiny.
There are the ‘facts of life’, but there are also the ‘forks of life'. It is unrealistic for me to say that when I come to a fork in the road, I will take it. At the fork, a choice is forced upon me to go left, right, or turn around. Of course I may also choose to do neither, and till death, spend my wheels at the fork.
A tree, a flower, or a roe of vegetable plants have different reasons for existence before they reach their final destinies. Moreover, they must be properly and carefully nourished if they are to realize their ultimate purpose. Certain interactions have to take place. Whether it be the sun, the rain, the bees, the human touch, or all the above, there simply is no worthwhile life without cooperation between the solar system, earth elements, and all the species.
Our creator has graciously provided all those ‘facts of life’;
But it is up to us to choose and decide at the ‘forks of life’.
04182016 cj PS Contest, Destiny Or Choices, by Nayda Ivette Negron
Thirty years ago
I was a boy of fifteen
Shoulder length hair growth
Biker boots and skinny jeans
My Father's best birthday gift
A stunning Levi denim jacket
Everyday since I've worn it
It's gained a few patches
Recently divorced I met a lady
Sweet as a honey pot
Who loves and respects me
But we've hit a bad spot
Jealousy of my denim relations
Is causing a massive strain
Her demands were outrageous
She wants to burn my denim
This denim is my best mate
With lots of fond memories
Even wore it on our first date
Her reply made me worry
It was your charm that I liked
And your good looks obviously
Your clothes are a terrible sight
To be so insulting is a liberty
So now I'm in limbo
Lose my precious denim
Or the girl has to go
What a terrible dilemma I'm in
Aprilcity was the theme a ridiculous jesture
A smile to say it was witty
A jesture to say it was clever
A lighthouse ajurned to a castle
In the middle of the desert
Might the mermaids sing to me
Might the prayers of sea merchants
Sound above the rocks
Might the winds howl in such agreement
The staffs of respected people
To treat visitors as there equal
From all ends of every nation
To marvel in such creation
Menu to menu
Event to event
Might the travelers who seek
A respective Venue
Speak us as such a retreat
To level the muzzling
the blurred eye to the blind
the most physical among us
To the sweet and unkind
Travelers in lodging
To which respects
A doctrine up holds
Might we stand staffed
To be host to visitor
Our needed like there's unopposed
Hospitality
Hospitality
Hospitality
The needs of many people
When battle knocks upon a child
and he hides beneath the trembling wall,
fear plants its flag inside his name
and silence becomes his shadow.
For life is not a river crossed
with folded hands and lowered eyes;
the sky respects the stubborn bird
that flies against the storm.
A boy becomes a man one day
not merely by the count of years,
but by the wounds he dares to face
and the tears he refuses to waste.
The brave are not strangers to fear;
their hearts still shake like fragile leaves,
yet they rise when destiny calls
and answer thunder with footsteps.
O child of the red earth,
when hardship stands before your door,
do not surrender your spirit
to the cold comfort of retreat.
Stand.
Even if your voice quivers.
Fight.
Even if your knees grow weak.
For the one who confronts his battle
may fall and rise again with honour,
but the one who runs forever
becomes a prisoner of his own fear.
A new year has rounded the corner,
with grave news hard on its heels.
A father's friend at kinship's dawn,
a clan's family, by life's sudden dusk.
In so many respects my father's twin,
he could look in a mirror and see Chuck.
To say 'brother' seems not strong enough,
not nearly a sufficing title for the man.
Growing up, he was simply an uncle,
another sarcastic voice in the choir.
Shipmate, soundboard, confidant, kin;
fellow gamer, writer, musical connoisseur.
Buddy, mentor, verbal sparring partner;
hilarious, caring, intelligent, smart-ass.
Always a phone call or a flight away,
each of these things, to each of us or to all.
Thirty years his junior -
yet he asked my advice on,
and I got to be present for,
his first, and sadly only, tattoo.
He got to meet my wife last year,
for which I am beyond thankful.
He sought her counsel for his next tattoo,
which will now be another of hers.
An easy man to like,
with an easy smile and easier laugh,
now a hard man to miss -
but with good stories, of a greater man.
And for those who knew him;
be grateful for having known the dead,
and hold to hope that 'bye' -
is only for now.
I see granite headstones,
wooden crosses, and wreathes,
Reminders of what once lived atop,
now interred way beneath,
As I walk through the cemetery
trampling upon fallen leaves,
Towards my parents grave,
to pay respects, not in grief.
A feeling of ambivalence,
as I approach their small plot,
Happy to be here, yet guilty
of the times I’d forgot,
Kneeling over their grave,
I lay down some flowers,
Tidy around say a prayer,
but my mind is overpowered,
Moment of clarity hits me,
never will I see them again,
It’s over our life together,
but I just can’t comprehend,
Finality, the finality dawns,
they’re gone, erased from time,
What’s happening, can’t think
straight, my brain declines.
Gaining composure slowly,
but bewildered in disbelief,
That shock of reality so strong,
I’m still weak on my feet,
Was this a message, from
beyond my parents grave,
Or a longing to love, see,
and hold them, one which I craved.
I turn to walk away, taking
a panoramic look around,
Other people are standing,
beside loved ones ground,
Same look in their eye,
that shook me to the bone,
Where intelligence meets reality,
so much is left unknown.
Some who read this might think,
O ye of little faith,
Whilst others maybe scathing,
life simply turns to waste,
But I’m in no mans land,
holding on to vacant light,
What I once took for granted,
I’m reduced now to write.
By
David Kavanagh
Winter,this six letter word has got a lot in it,
It comes crossing all boundaries and has no limit.
It is the most awaited seasons from every respects,
Its a season for chilling outs,
and getting relief from all your wories and doubts.
When you wake up in the morning,
collecting ashes of your previous day,
and your eyes could not clear the foggy views in front,
A hot cup of tea adds to the marvellous view.
Only winter provides this view,
and its among all those very few.
You plan for hang-outs and trips in your holidays,
It could'nt be much better and unique in its ways.
Keeping aside all your worries,
you enjoy,you sing with all your dear ones,
only winter provides this,
and its among all those few ones.
Sitting besides a tall oak tree,
Pronouncing your life by the nature's fragrance,
you hear the chattering of the birds,
along with the silence of the sea.
Silence always speaks the truth,
only winter provides this view,
and its among all those few.
Form:
A boy King was born in Bethlehem piquing the interest of three very wise guys.
They came from the East guided by a mysterious Star streaming from the skies!
They got a fix on the Star with their GPS and with AAA aid, planned their route,
To make the trek to that unlikely place to see what the hoopla was all about!
They mounted their royal camels named Chrysler, Lincoln and Cadillax.
(Lesser breeds named Chevy, Honda, Kia and VW toted MREs and packs!)
Reservations were made to stay at Oases Embassy Suites along the way,
Ensuring they provided swimming pools and golf courses on which to play!
They took along a generous supply of gold, frankincense and myrrh,
And platoons of Green Berets as guards should any funny stuff occur!
Their route took them o'er mount and vale and through dunes of shifting sand.
Sans their GPS and I-pods they would've become lost in that desolate land!
As they neared Bethlehem, they enquired, "Where is this King of the Jews?"
They were told, "Take a left on Palm Mews, then a right to Holy Mews!
There you'll find Him wrapped in swaddling cloths in a modest shed.
There was no room for Him at Holiday Inn so He was born there instead!"
They paid their respects and presented their gifts as they knelt in adoration.
Learning in a dream of Herod's plan, they high-tailed it East in a new direction!
Herod tried to find where the sweet Babe lay and his innocent life destroy,
But he lived to become King of Kings regardless of Herod's nefarious ploy!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Before we walked in, before we arrived,
The place had been tidy and neat,
Everything was washed and polished and fresh,
In this beautifully odorous suite,
We felt at home, relaxed, out of sight,
To use everything that was there,
The showers and towels, benches and sinks,
And a place to hang up what we wear,
Then the game was spectacular, furious and fast,
We gave all that we could have been,
And by the end, we felt prouder than proud,
Proud though we failed to win,
So we returned to our room, refreshing ourselves,
Then cleaned for our dignified host,
We polished it spotless, with a beautiful scent,
And left them a “Thanks Russia” note.