Long Set in motion Poems
Long Set in motion Poems. Below are the most popular long Set in motion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Set in motion poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh please for the sake (and sock e)
of brethren deemed friendly, i be
see-ch ye with genuine humility
to desist launching nuclear missiles.
This American bloke put his lock,
stock and barrel of gunmetal faith
in mister Dennis Rodman to serve
as a figurative lightning rod against
any aggressive actions that would
set in motion the end of civilization.
Not only would the majority of homo
sapiens (yes, some clusters of earth-
linked yahoos might still remain a
live) suffer a nasty, short and brutish
death, but also other flora and fauna
could be equally annihilated. Under
stand able, those grievances against
sanctions against the populace of north
Koreans (who most likely experience
unfair hardship) fuels resentment against
the hegemony of western powers. Many
of these societies authoritatively bran
dish their devout pledge for concurrence
with democratic principles. Any endemic
protestations declaiming objection to
the American way affect an immediate
alarm. Imposition of so called "puppet"
regimes get forcibly installed those
countries leaders who run counter to
capitalistic productivity. This one anon
a muss citizen of those fifty states also
takes umbrage how might of american
to predominate and demand that other
nations follow suit solely based on what
agrees with those like minded in power
sans the brotherhood/sisterhood of vast
swaths of the global population. No
great expectations (by dickens) to affect
passionate sentiments per those pea
poles somewhat hermetically sealed
off and separated (viz - by the demilitarized
zone) from the billions of other human
beings. Thy sole missive from one older
mwm dreads locked linkedin catastrophic
chain reaction of events once atomic war
fare triggered by the disgruntlement over
some differences in outlook could possibly
resolved via "active listening" and access
to exchange a word of reconciliation. As
one flawed chap prone to his own bouts
of anger, he attests that more positive plea
sing results can prevails with the treat of
world war three diffused in a manner that
plays less havoc once unleashing of weapons
of mass destruction occurs!
Form:
I know that at times it feels that all our lives
are about high crimes and misdemeanors.
But all of life is about space and time; and all
of earth's creatures occupy and move in space.
Our earthly abode, set in motion by God, journeys
along the beats of time and seems so brief, so limited.
Although in the course of our lives,
many batons are handed off from
other people to us, life is not about
a team winning or losing in a relay race.
Rather, this journey of life is about each of us
individually excelling in the purpose of glorifying God
and crossing the finish line in God's Gracious timeline.
Riddled with many adversities, complexities, and uncertainties,
Our journey begins at birth from which we head for our destiny.
Many are the highlights shedding light on the highways of our lives.
Along the way, we experience both the thrills of victory and the agonies of defeat.
Astronauts are sent into space in spacecrafts developed and designed to bring them back. Whether the goal is to perform experiments and run tests in space or to land on a planet, returning home is the ultimate destiny; and everything in between is a part of the journey.
Sometimes the most crucial part of the space journey is breaking through the heated atmosphere on the return to earth. Unless success is achieved in life's challenging areas, the journey to our destiny remains uncertain, and the mission itself could be a failure. However difficult, the journey must continue. If Journey were a personality, it would be married to destiny for a lifetime. Journey on.
091121PSCtest, "J" Contest, New or Old, Constance La France. 2P
Mama I want to be a star
I want to grace stages that host the world's revered faces
Fantasies shameless my pipe dreams contagious
I want to be famous
Not one for fictional frivolity
I speak of what's in front of me
A new city called Poetry,
I watched as the has-beens soaked their dreams in sewage streams
Unphased by rodent plagues
These ones embrace their own rat race
I still try to navigate the avenues
Negotiate the ones and twos and find a way to tell the truth
Young and unstable I stumble in the giant footprints of those who stood before me
Tip toe on verbal terrain as desperately I pray the weight of immaturity won't bury me,
Admittedly this spoken world is new to me
-But-
Is it possible in any way the gift of verse will carry me?
I see me breaking grounds, earth shattering and in my dreams these words resound
I'll turn cacophony into somewhat of a sacred sound
I want to craft phrases that serenade, deliver sweet-somethings that emancipate
I want, in some way to bring meaning to confusion
Dear world of poetry
Sometimes when they're floored I'm in awe of how my flow's flawless, I hear applause no pauses, waving arms and stinging palms bear tribute to those timeless charms, classic tales still bent with intent to succumb to new pens
Pave way for insecurity
For fear of gift escaping me
See I fail to write when I'm trying to
I get it right with no intention to
Am I...within my right to claim potential true?
Tear ink off her hinges, her blue ball point cringes
Left hand in debt
My blank page bereft
But in the back of my mind
I see standing ovations and soul drenched invasions..
I want to pierce every being I encounter,
I want to penetrate faith, tear doubt asunder,
Let me to speak to the valleys
negotiate peaks and make friends with epitome
I want to part oceans and in the grips of my - pause - tempt emotions,
mold momentum to set in motion the wheels of adoption so that poetry.....may adapt herself for me
I want to write poetry, I want to speak
I want to reach within,
pen something...
A remote reflection of her
This...this brand new city
I present this piece as fantasy
when in all reality
I do hope she's prepared for me
Form:
Unfaithful marital transgressions
self admitted indictment,
crime and punishment,
no longer think high lee
entailing no mister re: demeanors,
I searingly weathered
(George by bushed, albeit thankfully,
no unwanted child left behind),
nonetheless one unforgettable
indelible, execrable, and abominable
professedly owned his
civil warring battle of life
transgressions undeservedly heaped
(Uriah hit about that)
(carnal feral hormonally seething
gone astray nightwalks)
woven by basket of deplorable
emotionally painful selfish object lesson
forever etched upon mine psyche
(left by one bobbing sponge -
cheeses crust station of his life
within sea of human life now
affixes moniker re: mister crabs)
inflicted courtesy yours truly
said marital indiscretion (philandering)
one among many issues discussed,
during treatment plan earlier today
February eighteenth 2020
concerning complex edifice
regarding mein kampf
existential bleak house
(figuratively crowded cheek to jowl)
with and hard times
fraught with many
unattained great expectations
unwittingly accepts psychological fallout
(among kissing kith and kin,
a shellfish chicken and hen thing for sure),
despite years elapsed ex post facto
deploying, incorporating, narrating, signifying...
narcissistic, opportunistic, and phlegmatic
self incriminating doom
visualize deus ex machina
betrayal rendered adopted smugness
invariably set in motion domino effect,
whereby emotional alienation
devastation, humiliation, maturation, suppuration
(yoking impossible mission
to shuck off penitence, the price to pay),
thus rightfully, truthfully, and veritably...
ably, readily, and willingly
allowing, enabling, and providing
incomplete resolution, (hence iresolution)
thwarting rancor thy deux daughters
(livingsocial many time zones distant)
embark quest to guide their own
metaphorical maiden voyaging ships of state
countless transpired hours
at counseling facility, where poetic papa
aired and mulled over bothersome
anguish to complete requisite treatment plan
to receive psychiatric appointment
next (and last) Tuesday of February 2020.
Retrospective
By Laura Dee Battle
January 14, 2015
Looking back at the Crimson shades of hell
The days where I couldn't bear to face my own reality
Showroom shines of smiles concealing secrets I would never tell
Not that I could tell them about the catastrophes I couldn't see
I had dreams where I was the man and she was the wife
A nice white picket fence with a green yard in my life
But the harder I tried the more my soul burned inside
My heart swelled with blood that never reached my eyes
I was young and I made my family so proud
But lurking inside was a storm in the white, fluffy clouds
I wanted to die and shut off the agony of being alive
I was a type-cast actor, but my delivery was contrived
Nobody was fooled by my life-long stream of refracted truths
They just didn't know where I began and the lies discontinued
If you were lucky, you saw me as the girl I really was
You saw the care-free way I said things, just because
They tried to ask questions they knew the answers to
They tried to tell me the truth I never even knew
I was so lost in that prison of a hundred thousand lies
Life was just to hard for me to defy the endless sea of judging eyes
It's hard to think that I never stood a chance
It's like I learned all the steps but never how to dance
How could I wage a war with no enemies to fight?
How could I find my way out of the darkness without light?
I'm still not very sure how this will end for me
Some days I just feel like digging a hole six feet deep
I just don't know what to say to you today
Soon I'll find the words to explain my exile where I stay
All apologies, but what else can I say?
The life that I was meant to live just happened yesterday
It's great that you're still here where things are crystal clear
Too many things to fear for me to hold my tears
Reflected is the past in eyes like broken glass
Im looking to the past for memories to hold
I guess my fate was set in motion 30 years ago
I'm told that I am still alive...somehow I didn't die
So maybe I'll just go with the flow
At least this time, I'll do it for me
I only hope it shows...
Deep down in America's southern land when I was a little lad, there were too Few Breezes on those long summer nights. There seemed no end to the sun shining fiery hot and bright. It wasn't just the weather but also people who didn't do it right. It sometimes felt so hopeless, like prosperity was far beyond sight. Mean weather and mean men created misery and desires to take flight.
Deep down in America's southern land when I was a little lad, it was hard to survive, much less thrive, where breezes were few from both humans and nature. Nature's breezes are set in motion and no human can control such powers in the universe. Our differences will usually bring us gains, but hate and bigotry will only drive us all insane. Our parents and friends were always there to calm our spirits and blow upon our pain.
Deep down in America's southern land when I was a little lad, there was much more to our unhappy life than the torching weather. For my generation, to continue living there was a "Never, no not never". I would not dare blame it all on the Gulf-driven humidity. There were also those dark human clouds that bore overwhelming words of hate and despair. There was cheap labor but no sharing of the wealth and too little sharing of the love.
Deep down in America's southern land when I was a little lad while chopping cotton or bailing hay, we always longed for a much better day. There was also a heaviness and a deep sense of stress that struck our hearts with loneliness.
08032018cj
IN THE SILENCE
There is a longing in my being,
Someone nudging, also speaking, in the silence.
For ears truly listening, eyes that are watching,
beyond the acceptance of an unnatural botching,
Away from the laughing, pointing and gawking,
voices debating, the troublesome talking.
It is a power, a force that's present,
a love that's beyond a starry night's crescent.
The dictated emotions that keep us from hearing,
many hearts are failing for the worrisome fearing.
But be very still and you can capture,
and walk towards the calling, your name in the rapture,
There is a most wonderful, Omnipotent Being,
a Love everlasting, belief without seeing.
In the silence.
Within ocean waves crashing,
a continual washing, forever set in motion, in a perpetual fashion.
They see and they tremble with vague understanding,
at simply God's doing at His every commanding.
They turn up the volume of the blasphemous drama,
to the youth of our nation with demoralizing trauma.
But In the silence there is One crying,
to save a lost world from an eternity's dying.
Salvation free for all, for a blood that's still spilling,
for the passion of our Christ, a price paid at His willing.
There's a truth of discerning, solid, and stable,
of a grace that is present, willing and able.
In the bloom of a flower, a body of water that's glistening,
the cry of God's heart heard by those who are listening.
On top of the mountains, in the sprint of gazelles,
In the roars of the lion, the ring of church bells.
Across the great skyways, there's an artful distinction,
clouds filled with His tears, for the mankind extinction.
Listen, in the stillness, the longing connection,
the loving story of an eternal detection,
In the first beat of the heart, the first kick of an infant,
the last breath of a loved one, a life gone in an instant.
From the miraculous, the spectacular, amazing with thunder,
to the smallest unnoticeable miracle wonder,
Listen, I beseech you, and you will hear,
a love heard in heart, and not with the ear,
In the silence.
An infinitesimal slight speck tickled
nostril follicle – activated via an itty
bitty, nitty gritty dirt band noah bigger
than a mole luck yule set in motion a
chain reaction, whence mine sensitive
proboscis honker (wheeze - hilly little
bridged fine tuned pug nose aroma
sensor), got unexpectedly in gauged
(in holy matt trim mo’ knee) to achew,
and eschew pledging troth (in favor of
hanky-panky) found this chap feeling
phlegmatic because an endless string
of faux allergic emanations, which
upon subsiding left me throat rather
raspy and voice some octaves deeper
akin to a coterie of celebrated jumping
frogs from Calaveras County, California
took residence and refused leaving
stranglehold upon math rote upon
awakening from a hard day’s journey
into night across the outer limits
of thine twilight zone resurrected
during slumber, yet upon awakening
felt much refreshed and hungry enough
to eat a horse – nee – make that forced
whore – gulped down within a hoof
n hour and now recount how back in
the day when zooming thru the Lilies
of the Valley (whooshing mass elf tubby
an aeroplane) frequent bouts with uber
twittering snapchatting sinus attacks
besieged crinkled, doppelganger expeller
for germs hunting with his clean X
instantaneously for nasal passages
to enter surreptitiously the fecund
effluvia dripping, oozing, and seeping
clear liquid as wintry cold air looses
droplets from out a near frozen nose,
which bloke knows not why frigid blast
stimulates gallimaufry of sniffling
to spurt into a volume of one after
another gesundheit donning, snorting
trumpeting unwittingly confusing
Canadian geese, who misconstrue
the honking from midway centered
facial organ, which angry birds
in tandem with flock of Seagulls
quite perturbed to espy one curmudgeon
chap clapping hands over (what feels
like Smashing Pumpkins on face)
in an effort to stifle subsequent gummy
emissions, which residue expectorated
with heave hoe shove
schnoz el tov blowing into snot-rag.
I write in the cuneiform stylings of the Sumerian
But, somehow, this system won't allow my brand of hieroglyphics
To print out
So, sadly, I must communicate through this jumbled network of characters
And, therefore, I will speak as clearly as this form allows...
The civilizations that have lived eons before this current abomination
Were swallowed up entirely by the gods for far less than
What is occurring in this wasteland of layered greed often disguised as
Altruism during times of crisis
The vastness within the discrepancies between how some live easily versus
How the masses struggle to exist
Has become too great
The loss of awareness replaced with apathy and entitlement
Makes the modern condition fertile grounds for a strong
Wake-up call for the elite, the spoiled, the ignorant, and the violent
Especially as the aforementioned have typically veiled themselves with distinct notes
Of misplaced, bastardized religious philosophy
In order to continue with their agenda
Unfortunately, it is in my estimation that only the poor continue to be crushed with
The horrors of other, richer men seeking their vainglorious pursuits
Without the slightest regard for their fellow man/woman/child
And this is compounded with the torments of the earth's rumblings
That twist the souls who have nothing into a state of deeper loss
As their hands reach towards skies that bare no offering of fruition or salvation
From their fellow man
How does it happen that people forget about one another with such a cavalier attitude?
Technological gadgets and hollywood make-believe are excellent distraction devices
Used to shield the priviledged from reality...
"As long as I am happy
No person outside of my inner circle of liars and cheats
Shall interfere with my self-created world"
This is not a novel situation
This is a cyclical, kinetic, spiritual energy that is bestowed
Only upon the aware few
Larger movement is required to set in motion the mechanisms of the smaller
The Lord is never threatened by the devil's ability to deceive and destroy, nor is He in the lease overwhelmed by man's wayward decent and defiance.
The Lord Himself put the timelines in the layers of earth, rocks, and trees. These same lines have given reasons by many to disbelieve in the creation
story. It's not just the timelines, but the heavens also declare God's glory and the open sky His handiwork. The entire universe in His vast domain has
been set in motion to rise and fall by His decrees. It was the Lord who gave GPS to the birds and the bees and stop signs to the waves of the seas.
When He used His loving hands to form man from the dust, or when God
wrote the 10 Commandments with His own fiery hands, or when He inspired
Moses to record the 5 books of the Pentateuch, He was not attempting to prove to anyone that he existed or explain the age and meaning of the
universe. He was building relationships with the objects of His affection and was deeply hurt and saddened by man's mad rush to defection and defiance.
I tell you, God encourages the pursuit of man's rule of the earth and the exploration of this great universe. So, if we should choose to expand our
minds until our gnostic thirst is satisfied, or even until we replace our brains with millions of computers and A I devices, let none assume that their 'findings'
will detect a world devoid of God. God has always been. God always is. God will always be. God will continue pursuing and loving us until the bitter end.
Earthly satisfaction of the human thirst is limited to none. My prayer is that we agree with St. Augustine's conclusion of finding no rest except in God.
101519PoSoupCtest, Strand Select 9. No placement, Judged
011220, Written 101519. 2nd Ctest, Take The Dagger Out, Dear Heart