Long Sense Poems
Long Sense Poems. Below are the most popular long Sense by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sense poems by poem length and keyword.
When the rain rages fiercely
upon the window panes,
through a cold howling wind
sending ice through my veins,
rarely do ever
I feel so alone,
as when missing you here
in the place we called home.
Sometimes it seems
I can still feel you here.
To this old faithful heart
you are still ever near.
But now it's not warm
in our bed on your side.
No sheltering arms
from the storms can I hide.
For so many years
you've been holding my hands,
with a promise of faith
in our gold wedding bands.
Now, I can't feel the warmth
of your soft soothing touch,
reassuring my heart
how you loved me so much.
To the last minutes end
I was right there with you,
praying to God
he'd again pull you through.
I, above all, knew
just how hard you'd try.
Still, deep in my heart,
knew you're ready to die.
Letting you go
was the hardest to do.
Nothing makes sense
in my life without you.
So many expressions
of emptiness sighed,
I find myself wishing
to be by your side.
Understanding your readiness
when it's my time,
I pray yours and Gods hands
are reaching for mine.
When I get to there
with you, never alone.
To eternally live
in the place we'll call home.
-Jeannie Minor
ELIOT PHRASIS 11
In the sight of sunset,general
languor,a sense of depression
with intermittent rain,dark purple
under a clouded sky.In season and
out,a lingering hesitant process
of imagination paints the
commonplace.Pleasure seems so
slight,sorrow,duty and endurance
so sombre,colouring habits of
simple ease seduced into a complex
symbolic style.Then, a far sweeter
expression of a temporal kind,
a living presence,the sublimest
picture of easy grace,this
attitude of the unconscious
runs wild with freedom.
From George Eliot Journal& Letters 1885
Listen to me read this phrasis quartet on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro
I never wanted Prince Charming.
Did not know about being saved.
Felt confident I would save myself.
Some day.
Be somebody, sometime.
But Prince came along.
I was six, and not ready for love.
He was smitten, and I was irritated.
He said he would marry me.
I was incensed!
We became best friends.
Inseparable. We had the same sense of humor.
I built him up and he built me up.
We built a home together.
Raised three daughters who never needed saving.
Never needed a prince charming.
Because they had one.
His name was Daddy.
Now it is Dad.
He is our hero.
Always building us up.
Wisdom innate & within Us All
(mass consciousness is coming)
Those who now stand opposed but know to rest at bay,
They will yet live to Fight another day,
If we choose to walk the given walk,
Use Words, Music, Frequencies, vibrations that resonate,
For those that don't or won't, cannot then talk,
For words are this and much more, but also a message to liberate..,
Propaganda is everywhere except in ourselves,
We the former subjugated masses must now really unite,
Stolen youth and of course mass stolen wealth,
God given consciousness is in us all,
Freedom from all the pervasive lies and stealth,
Concede, acquiesce to a downtrodden Humanity,
Or break free completely and rise up tall?
Waking up isn't so hard to do,
As it is the basic sense, the moral instinct inside of you,
Reconnect to Humanity's mass consciousness now,
Failing to do so, is an incentive to fall,
Find a way, anyway, someway and somehow,
Wisdom innate & within Us All
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
2nd October 2022
During covid 19 Global lockdown and Constant new Wars
The PoetTree
Awaken Poetry. Awareness Poetry. Geopolitical. Philosophical. Music. Shared
have you ever heard of the happy hour where people mingle, eat and dine
the happy hour when people congregate to relax and from their work unwind
a time to replenish, to refresh and restore one's troubled mind
yet it's only a temporary stop gap in the overall scheme of time
but the happy hour in heaven is eternal and ultimate
a time to reconnect with the Holy Spirit
it's more than a quick fix, it's the time for salvation
heaven's happy hour the place for spiritual libation
Jesus spoke some parables about how to save sinners
finding those whom the Lord God wants to serve His dinner
the daily bread, the good news which is full of godly power
what one needs to celebrate heaven's happy hour
when one sheep strays and you go off to find it and return it to the flock
that's when Father God and the angels in heaven will be rocking around the clock
when a women loses a precious coin and diligently cleans her house until it's retrieved
that's the type of dedication and devotion that God wants us to achieve
do you realize that most sinners are not in church but are out in the world?
and it doesn't make sense to offer salvation to those who already know the word
yet the Scribes and Pharisees accused Jesus Christ of hanging out with sinful men
for they could never understand His true purpose was to give instruction to them
for it's not about the sermons, the rituals not the circumcision
it's knowing that your reason for being is to practice the Great Commission
and when people have lost their way and have a desire to be found
don't be hypocrites like the Pharisees and on them look down
just listen to Jesus' parables and discern the wisdom within
open your ears and eyes to His teachings and preaching
He came to tell us what it is of us the God desires
He came to show us what it is of us the God requires
He came to offer salvation even if it would only be to one lost sheep
He came to give us the good news, a treasure for us to keep
heaven's happy hour a time to celebrate salvation
heaven's happy hour to drink of spiritual libation
remember God gave each of us His express permission
to evangelize the gospel as part of the Great Commission
so don't be condescending if you're already a member of the family
for your purpose as a child of Christ is to increase exponentially
To The Sable Side Of An Iago-American Mirror
Strange, yet, a reality nonetheless:
The oppressed, destroying themselves
For the sake of the oppressor:-
The battle of creatures of the sea
Has now become that of humanity;
A bizarre, misguided catharsis
Born out of guided mind bending
Of victims killing themselves for the sake
Of molded daily bread of their oppressors:-
The dehumanizing of common human bondage,
Etched into souls by Middle Passage bondage,
And stitched into the long land psyche, has yet
To be extricated from psychological slave mentality:-
Its debasing scraping—like the depths of the sea—continues
To run as deep and wide as did the long ago, Middle Passage:-
The sea that spat upon the shores of strange conquered lands,
Swallowed the anchors of Satanic ships laden with remnants
Of the booty of their stolen, sooty, ebonic, human cargoed souls:
Sooty cargo, whose songs made no sense in the strange lands:-
While shackles may be broken, clanging from their physical grasping,
Unchained minds may still remain, invisibly chained—unaware:-
And in nature, the causes of demise often remain unseen—veiled;
And liberation becomes a misconceived, well-seasoned deception,
Of the salt of the sea, as opposed to being blazing with freedom’s fire!
America today, a deception in disguise, has revealed herself in reality;
But like Iago’s ego, the true self, remains among the unknown reality:-
Yes, it rings the bell of justice until it cracks—stilling its silent tongue;
And in veiled silence, hangs scales to seek their own living balance:-
Though in many ways, we may be of the same seed of Othello,
We must not let this sacred land “...roast in sulphur…” and be
Washed “...in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire:-”
No, let us be as the souls of the Phoenix: rising black doves
Roosting, and plucking feathers of injustice from bleeding
Breast of a discombobulated nation in need of forgiveness:-
A nation, pleading to be great again, in its own eyes,
As opposed to being in the greatness of God’s eyes:-
#Counting!
Caught between numbers, days and emotions, strangled in this corner of the unknown, don't know what to count or how to count, should I be counting with my fingers or my imagination, for images in my mind are blurry and fades before they could form clear indication, I wanna hope but anything can happen, I wanna smile but fear of the unknown reserves me, maybe I'm stuck, maybe I'm floating, maybe I'm just out of timing, maybe I should breath, relax and let nature take its course.
Get a little closer, listen as my heart beat, beat with uncertainty, the end of the tunnel look way far, maybe I'm impatient, maybe I have waited way too long, maybe I'm out of shape, for it be long since I was part of this waiting and expecting
Wanna breath, wanna sigh maybe create more space in my lungs, clear thoughts, clear spirit , maybe full body and soul cleansing is what I need right now, to stand on guard for the unprecedented,
Maybe I should start counting the stars, hope I don't finish them and start recounting, before the unknown reach my shores, maybe I should kneel pray, maybe by luck my expectations would be before me before I can say my Amen, maybe I should take a walk and maybe by luck, would meet my expectations before I got tired from walking, if not counting
Maybe I should just continue counting, count until numbers make no sense at all, count until there be nothing in this earth to quantify, maybe I'm just a counter caught in wrong streams of life, I wanna stop counting but my heart says the opposite, I wanna give up but in my hunch says not yet, I wanna count, count and count more now than ever, please don't stop me from my counting, I am counting , counting the unknown for the unknown, I'm counting
#Poetic_Ink
Disappointed Devil - Hood Das Fume And Fret
'Curse darned demon
of that thar
underworld nudged me abet
as a permanent solution
to a temporary problem
i.e. principally no money
and rising debt
not for a long time didst
I feel so distressed didst,
where no amount of
optimism could get
back joie de vivre ebullient elan,
that oft times fines me jet
ting hither and yon, to and fro,
until spent energy met
fatigue, whence sand
man gave his pet
tickle yore sleep inducing
sprinkling granular set
tat heave, albeit
non off fence sieve tet
deep slumber didst
hone like a whet
stone, less drastic alternative versus
welcoming grim reaper, yet
eventually, aye reckon
this human machine
moost give up the ghost
boot not now,
cuz this moment hike ken boast...,
an immediate diminution
of anguish, viz unlike as told
yesterday, the monthly doled
social security automatic direct
electronic deposit extolled
joyus relief, viz checking account
death rattle didst sense a gold
din shimmer and em bold
qua slight monetary profusion
lowering destitution,
asper dearth of monies
allowing ease to un fold,
which severe dire straits rolled
forward respite
with money for nothing
oppressive full (rick kitty)
full Nelson neck
i.e. near choke hold
rejuvenated brittle psyche mold
during self feeling auld
also attendant temp
purred critical pull
away woe decreased yielding
(all "talk" and no action),
following thru with desperate,
sans destructive (irreversible)
actions unable to hold,
metaphorical tiger of despair
by the figurative tail,
where soul of mine
almost got "sold"
for a pittance (NOT penitence)
to the Prada devil
(or similar facsimile thereof)
rational self didst scold
spewing idle "FAKE"
hollw we ning suicidal threats,
not necessarily bold
cuz, this scribe did not write
his last (nor first,
second, third...) will
and testament before death,
would hove found
me stiff and cold.
The pain.
The pain we all carry around,
like we're walking through a swamp,
filled with tendrils that cling,
that try to mire you, to suck you down -
while all you do is fight to move forward.
We all carry it, to some degree or another,
after having lived any sort of a life.
And we all know that we carry it.
So why, oh why, does the other type of pain exist?
The kind that we constantly inflict on each other.
Of course, I understand hate.
Hate,
of an oppressor;
of an injustice;
of an ideal;
of someone who's hurt you, or one you care about;
or an organization that's done the same.
No, I understand hate, and I understand rage.
More than I wish I did, but more's the pity.
What I've never understood is our true propensity for pain.
Our propensity to inflict on one another
that which we try to hide from ourselves,
that which we try to run from within ourselves.
Even if there's a sad sort of sense to the thought
that giving that pain to someone else
is a way to run from it, to release it,
can that really be the answer?
Does the mind say that's a way, a reason?
Yes.
Does it know it to work, to oft be true?
Yes.
Does my heart want to believe it?
No.
Sadly, I am to the point where I do believe it,
where I even understand it;
that much innocence has gone from me.
Yet there's enough left
to make me question it,
to make me loathe it,
to make me wish it were not so.
There is so much that we can do for each other.
We may not know, in particular,
what every other person carries -
with their shoulders,
in their hearts,
or on their minds.
But we know that we do,
and we know that they do.
So what do we do,
what can we do,
about that propensity for pain?
Is it, like so many things, a stalling action?
Can we only curb the hate, reduce the fullness of it?
Or is there purity yet to be found?
Is there a way to rid ourselves of that terrible tendency,
and instead help each other -
to carry what we may?
vERMEN THE vERMITT
sOMETHING GOING ON
pLEASE DON'T GET ME WRONG
SEEMS IT'S JUST A LITTLE BIT
FOOLISH TO ME
BEHIND THE SHRUB
AND BEHIND THE TREES
THERE WATCHING YOU AND ME
IT'S THE ANTIOUM sONGTRA
MONTRA
OUT BY THE FENCE
WERE THINGS MAKE MORE SENSE
I WROTE A GROOVY SONG
WE WERE OUT THERE
GETTIN IT ON
rEMEMBER WHEN MY HAIR WAS LONG
FIT ENOUGH TO
WEAR A THONG
OUT THERE GETTING IT ON
SINGIN MY BRAND NEW SONG
SHE SPILLED THE WINE
ON HIS EXSPENSIVE SILK SHIRT
WHILE HE AND
bAD- bASS WERE TRYNA
FIND THE RIGHT WORDS
TO WRITE!
(aCCIDENT IS A SCHWA WORD)
THE SOFTER PRONOUNCATION
OF THE SCHWA CAUSED THEM TO
BE INSPIRED TO WRITE THESE
LYRICS
suMMA OF ya pAPPIES cOLLEGE mASCOT
THE HIGH PASS FILTER
JILOOW PASS FILTER
vODCAST
cOPITA-cOPITA
cLAN pOACHERS
(fICTION)
kANTANKA