Long Sake Poems
Long Sake Poems. Below are the most popular long Sake by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sake poems by poem length and keyword.
June 04, 2024 For Anoucheka Gangabissoon Contest
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Thrilling explorations enlivened with adventure,
As my soul longs for a most special blue venture.
The indulgent warmth of the sun revitalized me,
Once having landed in this paradisiacal arcady.
Palm twigs drift in a gentle breeze,
Infinite stretches of exquisite white sand seas.
Crystal-clear waters define a sapphire-sand idyll,
Archipelago of high-quality atoll and island tidal.
The locals saluted me with such a wide smile,
Their warmth and compassion are a lifestyle.
Finding heaven filled me with immense pride,
Embraced by the breathtaking scenery to abide.
Weeks turned into months, and days went away,
As I danced beneath the sky, I felt freed to sway.
However, an enormous urge sprang from inside,
For the sake of my native nation and kin pride.
I finally reached a choice as time passed,
I started to obsess over my house, never stashed.
The island, however, will stay in my mind,
I retain them as a spiritual treasure left behind.
I nudge my butler’s nose to say goodbye for now,
And venture out into the world of green grass.
I look at my friend,
who gazes back at me with envious eyes.
But my friend has suddenly lost all strength.
Drooling unexpectedly,
carrying a foul odor upon its worn-out body,
floundering in sheer agony—
I kicked my hind legs in surprise,
and forced myself to face reality.
How hungry you must have been.
How terribly hard it must have been.
I am so sorry. ??
Protected by a butler, I know this much:
The life of humans is gentle and warm.
Because when they are sick, they go to the hospital,
shielded by a system called 'private insurance.'
Yet, another friend of mine,
for the sake of her dying kittens,
bravely walks into the insurance office.
Driven only by a mother's desperate love.
The cat asks the insurance agent:
"Excuse me, is it possible
to sign my kittens up for insurance?"
"Well, Mr. Cat?
Do you have a steady job?
Can you provide proof of income?"
"Yes, I have one.
The 'mice' you humans detest so much—
I have chased them all away."
"We cannot accept that as proof."
"Next customer, please."
Turned away and rejected, the stray cat
looks at her kittens in the distance
and lets out a piercing, desolate cry.
Luke 23:34 of the Scriptures, expressed this truth clearly:
“Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”
Grateful am I for that divine plea of my Saviour and Lord Jesus Christ
for erring sinners like me.
What a compassionate supplication of a supreme God!
Such exemplifies how it is to reach-out to someone
who offended, angered and hurt me in the God-entrusted ministries
I'm a part of as a volunteer care-giver and life-builder.
Here am I humbled, humiliated, helped, and hoisted
in the exercise of genuine forgiveness required by the holy Pardoner.
Yes, I’m humbled as I admit my inability
to forgive absolutely, readily and completely
…the street child who called me a “fool”
while I was teaching him with my utmost best;
…the orphaned boy who would steal and lie about it,
despite being provided with his needs;
…the abandoned teen who reported me as a tyrant tormentor,
when in fact he was given a gentle discipline
packed with cheer-filled clemency;
…the arrogant pupil who disrespectfully accused me
as a lousy instructor, embarrassing me.
Indeed, I’m humiliated as the Lord reveals to me
my hypocrisy, half-heartedness, and haughtiness
in granting forgiveness along faith's fervor.
Thus, with the Holy Spirit’s conviction and power,
I confess my iniquities while persevering to overcome and forsake them.
Now, I’m helped in my desire to forgive with graciousness
based on the God’s imparted love to me,
bearing in mind Ephesians 4:32,
“…forgiving one another, even as God
for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”
Praising the Lord, I’m hoisted by God’s mercy
in seeking for His forgiveness for my very own sins
while worshipfully acknowledging His admonition
asserted by His Word in I John 1:9:
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins,
and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
November 6, 2018
1st place, "Someone Forgiven You: When Is The Last Time You've Forgiven Dramatic Verse Contest"
Sponsored by James Edward Lee Sr.; judged on 12/9/2018.
I've dipped into this well so many times
Expecting any day now it's going to run dry
Trying my luck, tossing my dime
Hoping against hope it'll work one more time
Being high on ambition, low on ideas
If you care to listen then listen to this
Whether it be a hit or it be a miss
Each poem that I write I send off with a kiss
But alas a kiss is not all they need
To make it or break it, help it to succeed
Can I let you in on a secret between you and me
Poetry can be freeing but not always free
So here I am at the well again hoping to find
The inspiration needed with the other poets in line
Some say they don't need this but that line I'm not buying
We're all individuals here but still one of a kind
We all live on the edge afraid of that day
The words up and leave us with nothing left to say
And through all this I wonder if that will make
Me happy or sad for sanity's own sake
So could someone kindly lend me a dime
Seeing as through all this I've misplaced mine
Up one end and down the other steeper side
Till I've finally reached the end of this rhyme
Om Bhoor Bhuwah swaha, Tat Savitur Varenyam, Bhargo Devasya Dheemahi, Dhiyo Yo Naha Prachodayat."
May the Almighty God illuminate our intellect to lead us along the righteous path
In the stillness of the night a sparrow sleeps wings closed
whispering to the moon secrets heldfast at sorrows door
chasms of fear in the bottom of my bottomless pit, I pray
that morning will come to break the stars for sake of sun
In calmness of this stillborn eve I wait for freeze and wind
trampling of wild animals in my forest glen will not rescind
until the break of day arrives to feather alleys of the dark
I will soar with creatures in the ticket of a charcoal night
Moon secrets held fast at Mystic's door of Grace I embrace
the blackboard dove of light that knows to crow a magic spell
my gown of stygian silk is tangled in the stars that shine out
and I am willing it to sweep the dark for sake of blessed light.
December 28, 2020
Leaves-piles are seen plenty in our place,
During summer or winter or spring or autumn's race;
Our games of any sort in fall are incomplete,
Without hiding within or beside heap of leaves-suit;
Jumping within leaves-piles is true fun,
As though slipping through bed-sheets velvet-spun;
Sometimes their dry-hard petioles poke,
Who minds it, when exhilaration constantly does provoke?
Occasionally from under a stray leaf a disturbed spider creeps,
Or a snail, in surprise, from within its shell peeps;
We continue, as though we're not worried at all,
Who, for this sake, can afford to miss true fun of the fall?
Competitions are parts of such pile-jumping,
Who does faster and finer and without any bumping?
Who lesser shatters the labyrinth around the heap?
Who could longer within the warm pile sleep?
Thus goes our jumping and leaping game till moms call,
Each one, as though deprived of great treasure, does crawl;
We impatiently wait for a new day to dawn soon,
That we might resume our games within leaves-dune…!
08 September 2022
Fall Flavors Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
She’s an everyday woman
And she’s every woman
Check your watch to see if she’s fashionably late
Consider, mull it over, contemplate
What’s the alternative to waiting on your babe
When you were led to her by astrolabe
Sometimes the pending storm will cover the stars
As the past is covered by scars
When the torrential rains, when the flashing storms
She’s hanging on, Damn right! Your heart conforms
So, I want you to take note
“Find a woman and you’ll find love” a Skynyrd quote
You’ve found the one, and there’s no comparison
And while she’s not a very good dancer
She does everything Fred Astaire does
except backwards and in high heels
A secondhand heart and romancer
And the way she looks gets you in "the feels"
She beat Cancer
And the birthing pangs for Heaven’s sake
Need I go any further
The moon, the shaved headed nun,
exhausted from cruel torture though
hung her slender neck onto a limb of a tree
stares at the bruise, the branded grudges in her heart,
for she couldn’t close her sorrow-filled eyes
and now, for the sake of the nun, the wind,
the dying consumptive going with reciting the broken spells;
he picks the spells up that fell onto the ground and puts them
into a bag he carries
the night grows deeper and deeper,
the night flows more and more…
The awaken tombstones, which have lost their owners,
were inhale the ridicules once they threw at the pale face
hung on that tree, munch the annual rings that slowly decaying;
the stones dance madly intoxicated from the indigested annual rings
with the legs as stiff as mummy’s
From horror of this long night
the branches of the tree are shuddering,
and the forehead blood vessel, which is full of turbid blood,
is swelling up awfully with heavily ticking time, licking horrible
motionless hour, and burst,
for the night grew deeper,
for the night flowed longer…
The uproar that scattered over the marsh
and a glimmer of light that was thrown into the bottom of the abyss,
embrace each other within the gulf of silence and darkness
The poem that I write,
Is the one that I fantasize of writing
The one that my muse, celestial being
Made of mysterious essence,
Regards as the celebration of my fall,
Here, in a world devoid of meaning!
This poem recounts of how
The shadows of my life
Get dissipated
As love resolves its senseless issues,
And kisses its broods
With the lips of my passionate tugs!
This poem recounts of how
The climb back to the heavens
Will be smooth,
Laden with light hearts,
Laughing souls,
And fragranced with flowers,
All having true and pure love,
Engraved on their petals!
This poem recounts of how
The life that I lived here
Turned out to be magical
Having, as guide, the angels,
Who kept whispering to my ears
That I am to keep on believing in faith,
That I am to bear in mind,
That the cause of life
Remains the ascent into the spiritual realm!
This poem recounts of how
The bits and the pieces of my toils here
Had their own purposes,
And how,
They helped me build myself up
Into what I ended up being,
A Goddess, fallen, for the sake of love,
But saved, by the comforting arms
Of that same love!
Pray, this poem is a celebration love
Though it be written today,
Someday,
I shall read it to Love,
And tell him,
I kept my hope high,
I kept treading in marshy lands,
I kept swimming with sharks
And I kept having dinner with vipers,
Knowing that somehow,
Someday,
Your grey veil of negativity
Would be lifted
And you would pull me
Into the garden of eternity
As it was deemed
By the Gods themselves!
3 September 2019
My mind a thick fog, a thick fog so deep,
it threatens to submerge my thoughts.
I know not why, or how, or even who,
for the fog makes me it's puppet.
It stutters and now I.
It forgets and so do I.
Who are you beside me, i really mean no harm.
It's so very lonely, in my arbid mind.
My hands no longer dainty,
but thick clumsy stubs,
that struggle with the buttons on my shirt,
oh and my cardigan,
and the laces of my shoes.
You shouldn't help, but I know you will.
I feel so confined,
in this body of mine.
My back is hunched, I'm five foot three,
but shuffle along at four foot nine.
A zimmer trawling along in front,
my eyes glaring at my two left feet,
that once could rumba or Charleston,
a swinger of the early days.
It's not so kind to be so bent,
when one wishes to look upto the sky.
My memories wither, as embers of a dying fire.
I wish the fuel of medicine could have,
burnt brightly for a few more years.
I'm told I will soon be a great grandmother,
but if you ask, I don't know who to.
Maybe Samantha or Sharon or Sylvia or Ann?
For peets sake my memories scatter,
Like a baby, I pitter patter.
I wish for the sunlight on my nose,
the fresh ocean water on my toes.
I long to see the shooting stars,
relax in the Icelandic spas.
But most of all I want to smuggle,
with my loved ones, on a winter's eve.
Tell them sweet stories, sing and dance,
hear their laughter and not their cries.
For though living, it is my bitter sweet goodbye.