Long Richness Poems
Long Richness Poems. Below are the most popular long Richness by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Richness poems by poem length and keyword.
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She told him she really loved him
and she knew he'd be an excellent partner
she worried about the bonds she shared between friends
one's she'd lose by them not wanting to be in the way
the one's who felt comfortable with and relied on
She from her own feelings was also scared that people would simply say
that those uncertainties in relationships
would cause gossip and were meant to unravel she and her partner.
Things spoken like she should have known better
like people have hindsight
or they wanted to marry like there are other
options. Married minded people marry: those how can get by without
commitment are fortunate.
People often wish these two types of people never meet,
due to the carelessness of creating an understanding were it's
perfectly find as long as were together. Without a commitment this is a foolish and unreal understanding.
An understanding that many people day to day have.
Ya'll know I aint leaving my wife for this.
He cool but I love my husband.
It is what it is and my Lover knows me.
It take two to Tango: but the band leader is something specials, this jives with the perfection of committed minded people.
We gonna go til we're through, I aint got no words to break-up a good thing.
From: The Bruised Ego
By: Writer Contempo
What a Lover Should Say
By: Writer Contempo
Stepping out on a July afternoon,
hand up on forehead, squinting in the glare,
flick out the Ray-Bans, eyes become attuned,
descend the steps and stride across the square.
The amber lenses paint a different scene,
Palazzo Bernabei glows warmer hues,
the vines that cling to walls a richer green
bouquets of gift stall sun hats, whites and blues.
These glasses worn to help protect my eyes,
though welcome, sunshine brings with it white noise,
give added richness, deeper summer skies
to scenes on darker days no-one enjoys.
If my life wore some filters such as these
maybe I'd find more colour, joy, more peace.
For contest 'Sunshine Sonnet', sponsor John Hamilton
March 18th 2018
August 13 Scripture Meditations Based on Ezekiel 40-48
Key Verse – Ezekiel 44:28 And it shall be unto them for an inheritance: I am their inheritance … I am their possession.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR BEING MY INHERITANCE
Thank You for being my inheritance-possession…
Forever settled am I in Your sure salvation
Making me glad whatever is the situation
Really knowing that I can enjoy Your love, the best provision.
Thank You for being my inheritance-source…
Forever secured am I in Your eternal course
Making me assured against any evil force
Really believing that I can get inside Your blessing-doors.
Thank You for being my inheritance-certainty…
Forever shut am I inside Your supreme sovereignty
Making me protected from poverty’s calamity
Really claiming that I can own and share Your grace-bounty.
Thank You for being my inheritance-richness…
Forever showered am I by Your kindness
Making me wealthy with spiritual blissfulness
Really understanding that I can experience divine wellness.
Thank You for being my inheritance-delight…
Forever supplied am I with care against doubts’ blight
Making me illumined through Your wisdom’s light
Really proving that I can do Your will, always right.
Thank You for being my inheritance-sufficiency…
Forever satisfied am I with Your compassionate mercy
Making me joyful midst material deficiency
Really considering that I can abide in Your goodness’ clemency.
Thank You for being my inheritance-contentment…
Forever sanctified am I in within Your holiness-fulfillment
Making me purified even though tempted by worldliness’ defilement
Really hoping that I can glorify Your name through my faith’s advancement.
August 13, 2022
That circular object that brought revolution,
That, like greased bearings, made human labor easy;
Like machines many, this made its contribution,
The times to change and the cultures to be breezy...!
Carts moved fast; war chariots advanced gorgeously,
This brought out, in agriculture, green whirl, and twirl;
Windmills functioned smoothly; crafts grew enormously,
Spaces grew near as in cars and bikes it did swirl...!
Automobiles, trains, streetcars, wagons, farm machines,
Wheels, like Oxygen, are at work in everything;
In Industries, like nutrients, wheels are sure means,
In quality and quantity richness they bring...!
With the movement of time, the wheel too moves gladly,
Cultures, vivid, join hands with the wheel comradely...!!!
Pyre
Balancing on the razors edge; In-
all that gutters-in that cold ballet -
Of "before I bled."
My elixir of mangled string-theory,
Of hybrid sins and veiled shadowquery.
No. I need to stop this.
I need stealth and a golden beacon.
Something to be on my side
and lift a confident smile, out of
dormancy, or Necromancy.
To put my former things on a pyred shelf and revisit normalcy.
Is the killswitch-is the key.
Walk away as the explosion is slow
motion, purge of Purgatory npotions
pour in it's conscience of consciousness
like molasses down a crevace glistening
in the thick richness of purity. "Titans sinking in
the self's prideful enfirm,
conform confirmity of corrosions
apathetic obscurity,
into an epic sinking scene of Phoenix return,
from the Krakened deep."
I will surge from the waters
and take my first clumsy breaths,
a new born out of the darkness, no longer
in that undead paralysis,
but a crowning Stephanos of a Victor
surviving the drowning of the lost in a sea, of the great false sleep.
Age is not all decay; it is the ripening, the swelling, of the fresh life within, that withers and bursts the husk. George MacDonald
_____________________________________________________________
In a world where decay is dominant,
Arctic tundra is melting, and envy is prominent.
Friendship withered away with the lapse of time,
Moon gapes at all facts and truths, concomitant.
We jive in death-cool air and chime,
Where dreams and hopes start to climb.
As though molehills faded into the grass,
Rapture rain has turned into melting rime.
In a place where the sky spills tears of brass,
And the howling winds bestow a deafening bass.
We lingered in the natural ephemeral support,
Behind the murky cloud of the ebbing mass
Our bond, however, was not flexible to contort,
Cyclic in the way that orchestral drums distort.
We carried out a solemn pledge on the floor,
In divine draughts, brambles flood the report.
The Meadow Brook gave us richness galore,
Black valleys where floods shred and roar?
We could not deny such a reservoir of devotion,
As with the wilting branches and dwindling door.
Our bonds faded, plagued by wide demotion,
Secrets below the land, a flurry of blades of notion.
In a world where deterioration prevails supreme,
Time and distance cast a curtain on our emotions.
But even amid such decay, there is a dream,
Darkening and drooping, we creep and esteem.
With the truth that humanity may split and slope,
Crows chirp as they drop twigs and scream.
While passing across acrid rings of mope,
Our ties are fraying. Teach me how to hope.
It shines brightly behind the gloomy overlay,
A dazzling beacon in the depths to grope.
In this universe of inexorable decay,
We acquire courage with each raw day.
With percussive pulses of love and delight,
Our ties will last for a span we cannot deny.
In a world where decay holds its might,
We defy its grasp, shining with an inner light.
Through the drills and tribulations we face,
Whatever embers burn our ego and sight.
She’s the music that reminds me
Whatever comes in this life
There is hope for what will one day be
The everlasting love, heaven’s eternity
She’s the light in the darkness, who says
What was once pain, will be gain
There is love that lives because I’m His
The glow of a soul who knows love is forever
She’s the tenderness of a moment in prayer
Whatever remains of love so amazing
Her kindness writes in words of gentle care
Seeking to stir awake the love inside
She’s the warmth of a note written by His hand
When I don’t know the words, she is there
Her heart is the pen that writes love in the sand
Revealing the wonder of His grace, His comfort
She’s the one who knows me so well
Only a mother, can truly understand
When I don’t know – when dark has fell
I feel love surround me, her gentle kindness
Kindness in a word, kindness in a touch
She’s made of grace and love
The richness of her heart reveals so much
She is the miracle who silences my tough
Her kindness works its magic, its grace
Through each moment, so gentle, each tender breath
Breathed across my soul, felt by her embrace
The wonder of a mother’s love is beyond description
Kindness, her words, her story told so sweetly
Is a story of amazing grace, a story of contentment
Kindness this amazing fills my heart completely
With hope for everlasting love, love that never leaves me
It is my mother who wrote kindness in my soul
It is my mother, whose love kindled my hope
It is my mother, whose kindness helped me feel whole
It is my mother, who I thank for guiding my path…
Into everlasting faith, everlasting belief
In the joy that comes from knowing
The love that quiets darkness, brings such relief
The love that is God’s unending gift – this Jesus
Jesus’ kindness brings me a song
A melody of serenity, a music in tones
Of love that will never let me go wrong
Love that comes from knowing – God is in control!
To have, or not to have
Many people are from the outside, beautifully formed
with a mind that can absorb empathy and warm sympathy
but life itself makes us harder around the edges, as it is
It's not possible to live fully, shall we say, without knocking oneself free of cultural norms
Can friendship exist between the classes?
Yes, but it can be a strain
The wealthy can be sentimental watching a movie on TV
about poverty, but they will be hardheaded when making political changes that make classes more equal
Of our three classes, I have been through them all in my time
born into poverty, rising above its self-loathing tendencies
despite its richness of local wisdom, funny memes, and
often jubilant humor
Finding myself among the middle class who are stuck between two cultures, don't manage well, show contempt for workers, and loathsome dripping respect for the better off.
With this, I mean the royal household. I can't think of a more
An abject group of people, who, when paraded in public.
I have a very wealthy friend who suffers from being unsure if
people like him or not, I tell him to give me his money, it will
set him free, I shall bear the burden, whether people like it or not, alas, I have not been able to convince him
A graveyard in Autumn is good with coffee and cream,
black coffee is for sunny mornings and hangovers,
but autumnal graveyards need the richness
of a female ungulate caregiver.
A coffin viewing
with a Danish can also be recommended
for late responders.
Every sweet poem needs a slice of lemon in it.
Sorrow needs strawberries, let that fruity blood
fill the back of your mouth, then wipe your tongue clean
with a cup of Oolong tea or orange pecan.
Autumn is the bluest month
for blue is scarce, winter white is coming
and it’s going to taste of grief for someone.
Use plenty of duck fat and bake your own pies,
anything that will slide off your plate
will get you through to a better place.
Be sure to keep a store of nuts and berries.
Compose bright poems laced with arsenic.
Hold on tight,
until the daylight wins some space
for a dreaming head to see through.
Chocolates and red wine restore and heal
eyes that are sick of looking.
Keep writing.
The past is gone,the future yet to come.
Our heartbeat has this moment only to engage with
In the blind rhythm of life.
Why fret about about what lies ahead
Or regret what we have done?
In vain ,we bury ourselves
In the living tomb of unseeing nostalgia
Or in the airy castles of prized projects,
Illusions in which we suffocate.
Seize the moment,
Breathe in the richness
Of today's aroma,
Touch the hearts of those around,
Listen to the sound of life.
Whether the hues be vibrant or sombre,
Look deeply into their texture
To touch your soul.
Taste the bitter sweetness of existence.
Without this moment,you are but an empty shell.
It will not return.