Long Shore up Poems
Long Shore up Poems. Below are the most popular long Shore up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shore up poems by poem length and keyword.
Crying Mercy
Hurled down the depth of a desolate ditch
By folks envious of my blazer to cloak,
To the lowest tide of despair, I`ve reached
And pace of my breath points to a heart stroke.
With sad clouds of stress stretching to the neck
Hardly I can eye sunshine in the sky
And the boat of my life seems to be wrecked
With the weight of rolling waves of deep sighs.
No more can I stroll for long on a beach,
Tread along the flank of a sloping hill,
Swim in the azure sea like a grey fish
Or taste the sweet joy of tilling the field.
O Good Lord, I pray for your compassion
To melt any guilt of mine from past lives,
And beseech your lenience for infraction
To any of your rules during my strife.
O Mighty Lord, I yearn for your mercy
To gaze at the shine of your divine light,
For your lenience I am ever thirsty,
I pray that you shore up my astral flight.
O Supreme Lord, I cry for your mercy
To bestow on me strength to quit this ditch,
Of your fatherly grace, make me worthy
That I may attain the shrine of your feet.
O Graceful Lord, I scream for your mercy
From the very depth of my pining heart,
All that I cherish is a humble lee
In your realm that I may serve you apart.
O Lord, I pray I`m released from this drain,
InflictIng upon me bodily pain,
That the celestial sky I may attain
Your humble servant ever to remain.
(scoured from dregs of me muss held head)
I shore up a vignette to free
my ("FAKE") grandfather Hymie,
whose scrunched countenanced
evinced beetle that of browed monkey
he spent his entire life at sea
his thick calloused hands
and ruddy complexion re
enforced non verbal body language
voluminous tomes smoothed
nick holed money
to countless years (spilling into decades)
exposed to salty spittle nee
where watery terrain spumed
raw elements piscine
art finest artisanal blended, crafted, nein
mean feet resources dredged reluctantly
relinguished by mother nature mean
craftily pared within each trough and crest
found thee old man with privateer mein
whose skin fiercely weatherbeaten
leathery and lean,
epidermis tanned tough
as rawhide, reptilian, prithee
chafed skin to me
not surprising, since
this mariner born, bred and near lee
schooled within briny deep ever since knee
high (or so he claimed truth
to swirling rumor), jovialy
pleased that his purportedly
learnin' myth writ tik ne'r included
NEVER settn' foot in formal classroom,
his knowledge icy
anecdotes aced, surpassed,
and trounced that of what he
referred to as grenadier landlubbers
green behind the ears – glee
fully jabbing with his
unsheathed scabbard play flea
actually downplaying any exploits,
that didst educate him, 'ee
got taut learn'n survival skills asper
pre ponder hunt via eddy fied tests frequently dee
siding a life or death outcome,
yet our Dickensian
mutually bonding friendship
via shared exploits while
he dressed not in tatters,
but self made clothes from cree
chores comfortable furs, and though
a striking appearance cut, ne'r
did this ole codger (fit as a fiddle
with tall slender build),
said middle aged man
appeared quite becoming.
An aura, charisma, dogma
amazingly graced stalwart, gestalt,
deportment aie
found added an air of charming debonair,
esteeming flair, genteel heir
which tasked guessing years old,
aye presumed him to exit the uterine lair
at least a few score tours round oblate sphere
as aspect of youthfulness played across his eyes
one colored green like a spring day in the country,
the other jetblue sans burnin'
four pearl jam oyster cult year.
Studying for hours on a subject that I love and despise
Grappling with words and definitions
Trying to make sense out of all the confusion and complexities
Of ethical hacking, security, and intrusion detection
Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing
Studying technology rather than art or the humanities
For within them my passion lies
But somehow I am always drawn to the almighty dollar
Knowing I can make a living, even if it kills my soul
Anxiety-ridden, insecurity-driven
And I march on, like a good soldier
Pursuing that which allows me to survive
Who was it that says there are two sides to every person?
I’ve often thought that, although for me it isn’t good or bad
But rather heart and mind, soul and survival
Starving artist or thriving consultant
For three years I sailed around the world
Hoping I’d found my new calling in life
But in the end, reason took over, and I returned
Like a pig to the trough, consuming ideas and information
To shore up my vessel, preparing it for another journey
Into the vast oceans of the world, all my futures
Depend on my success here
My soul cries out, hoping I have made the right choice
Allowing me to pursue my passions, through monetary gains
A boat cannot buy itself
The money must come from somewhere
In a perfect world, money would not be required
We would be free to pursue our passions
Without worry of the cost, or the inability to feed ourselves
But alas, this is not the world I live in, despite my desires
So I must carry on, study on, memorizing definitions and algorithms
Passing the tests is all that matters now
To earn my degree, gain the new skills
Keeping my eye on the prize
And someday, sailing off into the sunset, with my pockets full
of the gold pieces required, to blow the man down
--All my writings are at mraymus.medium.com
When The Screws Of Justice Closes In
Najib’s defence team in tatters after lawyers quit
Read more at https://www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2018/06/05/najibs-defence-team-in-tatters-after-lawyers-quit/#vdaHtxwXmwUbP1iY.99
Hohoho....
There exists a local saying, about a ladder landing upon him who has fallen....
Meaning calamity strikes yet again for our fallen ex PM....
His legal defence woes are just beginning...
Despite paying top dollars for US lawyers for the trial he is bound to face.....
He has to have a local team to shore up his defences...
Now, this is the second team of lawyers to bail out on him...
Makes you feel almost sorry for the slippery eel he was once seen...
When his carefully selected cronies were in their appointed places...
He was declared being spotlessly clean in his financial shenanigans ...
But with Dr M diligently now holding the reins of the government...
All those specially hand picked appointees are now booted out....
Gone now are all his carefully conceived and well placed protective screens...
There is no longer a crony AG to fend off 1MDB investigations...
No hand picked top brass in MACC to terrorize those who are vocal in condemning him...
Twitter crazy ex IGP of police himself is under a cloud of suspicion...
He no longer wields the power of selective persecution of individuals...
Poor Najib, he must be feeling the noose of justice is closing in...
Even his beloved Rosie has been summoned by MACC for a 3 hours grilling session...
Now when the screws of justice is increasingly biting in...
Beleaguered Najib is being abandoned by his legal teams...
Poor Najib and poor Rosie, for all their looted billions...
Will they ever again get to further spend their ill gotten billions and go shopping...????
Hohoho....
When love disappoints does it mean you’re not loved,
Could it be that the blame’s perhaps shared,
Assumptions in place that you’ve never discussed,
Or a grievance that you’ve never aired?
Is mind reading really a love merit badge,
Or good timing a thing to count on,
No secrets the secret to love’s sweet repast,
Beauty’s detail much more than a con?
Does love really rest on just fond memories,
Or on battles where lessons were learned,
On beautiful days that we know never last,
Or on miracles yet to be earned?
So what are the pillars that real love rests on,
Are there techniques to handle love’s pain,
And how do we manage to shore up the walls
When just emptiness seems to remain?
Forgiveness of self is what lovers need most,
It’s the pillar that most never see,
Forgiveness of others just bargainer’s price
That we pay for our own clemency.
The later is phony baloney of course,
And one reason why marriages fail,
Both parties are living in teen fantasy
And their love affair’s really just tail!
Though loneliness really is nobody’s goal,
It turns out that it’s quite standard fare,
For how is it possible love is at fault
When your own heart is not even there?
It’s you that controls if you’re open to love,
And its price is you leave other’s free,
Attachment to love signals imminent death,
No control is the way it must be!
But third pillar’s quite the most difficult one,
For its onus falls squarely on you,
Integrity that signals viable heart
When all other distractions are through
For love’s born and finds its full bloom in a choice,
When you choose, yet are free as a bird,
And that which ensures you are melting her heart
Is that she can believe every word!
Brian Johnston
February 18, 2016
I walk in the shadow
I shore up my doubt, behind a loosely bound hope
Which in turn is propped up without foundation
Cynical of a life, at the mercy of luck
Collateral damage feeds my reservation
I shore up tomorrow with what I see today
Without conspiracy or investigation
I place trust in all that’s completely unfettered
For fear, I’m left to this present resignation
I shore up my life with whatever came before
Not hindsight or academic education
The oblivion traversed until I was born
Strings along primal echoes of information
I shore up my conscious with bliss and ignorance
Interspersed with indifference on occasion
It’s not I don’t care about suffering and death
Rather, I’m desensitised by their pervasion
I shore up my denial with an open mind
Which is nothing except raw interpretation
This planet spins correctly, even though tilted
Not by wishful thinking, but strange gravitation
I shore up my boredom, trying to fall asleep
When really tired, will attempt hibernation
Anything to forget this human condition
After remembering, I’m long past salvation
I shore up my heaven, by creating a hell
Balance looks more appealing, in an equation
Gaze upon purgatory, and share what I see
Not because I’m kind, it’s more my destination
I shore up my poem by claiming it’s my own
But in truth, it’s an open collaboration
I conspire with the musings of all that’s unclear
They dwell inside me, in flawless aberration
- - - - - - -
Horrid little raindrops
Hopping upon the ground
Hosing down my windows
Hoarding inside the clouds
Hanging around my head
Holding my spirit down
Haul your ass off elsewhere
I shore up my doubt, behind a loosely bound hope
Which in turn is propped up without foundation
Cynical of a life, at the mercy of luck
Collateral damage feeds my reservation
I shore my up tomorrow with what I see today
Without conspiracy or investigation
I place trust in all that’s completely unfettered
For fear, I’m left to this present resignation
I shore up my life with whatever came before
Not hindsight or academic education
The oblivion traversed until I was born
Strings along primal echoes of information
I shore up my conscious with bliss and ignorance
Interspersed with indifference on occasion
It’s not I don’t care about suffering and death
Rather, I’m desensitised by their pervasion
I shore up my denial with an open mind
Which is nothing except raw interpretation
This planet spins correctly, even though tilted
Not by wishful thinking, but strange gravitation
I shore up my boredom, trying to fall asleep
When really tired, will attempt hibernation
Anything to forget this human condition
After remembering, I’m long past salvation
I shore up my heaven, by creating a hell
Balance looks more appealing, in an equation
Gaze upon purgatory, and share what I see
Not because I’m kind, it’s more my destination
I shore up my poem by claiming it’s my own
But in truth, it’s an open collaboration
I conspire with the musings of all that’s unclear
They dwell inside me, in flawless aberration
- - - - - - -
better to face hell alone ~ than bring the whole world along for the ride
said the moon eclipsing the sun ~ who replied son I’m right behind you
By
David Kavanagh
A blend of ……
Listen my dear maintaining a harmony
is a key to successful relationship, said the grandpa;
Don’t accept all her mistakes; just try to improve upon;
Currently, it looks good; she is pleased, but why you should
not act now, to avoid facing hard reality in future;
When one day you’ll want to choose, how you expect
her to act for betterment, confusion will grow, shun such
situation right now, don’t wait for auspicious moment.
Don’t make your love for her conditional, must be
practical towards life; This type of soft love won’t work.
Instead of making your love conditional,
try to know each other’s weakness and
together decide next course of actions to rectify;
Will it not be better if both are more open minded
towards each to develop a flawless relationship?
Both to express emotions with direct communication
to eliminate the gap between two of you;
If need be, saying ‘no’ is good, rather than fulfilling
every wish; This is tough love what makes both
to open to each other, accept wholeheartedly.
Don’t forget good relationship depends on
a blend of soft love and tough love, a fine balance
to maintain a harmony for successful relationship.
In need, grandpa is always there for both of you
to shore up for your contentment. Be happy.
~X~X~X~
Note: this presentation is based on available information in Net.
The phrase tough love is believed to have originated with Bill Milliken's book of the same title in 1968.
It is an expression used when someone treats another person harshly or sternly with the intent to help them in the long run.
(Source:: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tough_love)
Acorns and golden leaves dotted the path before us,
your hand cradling mine like a mug around warm tea.
The steam was our breath, hot and kissing. A hidden
walkway just for us in those woods behind your house.
“…I was so stoned…”
But the school hallway trod a different path, stained in
peer footprints and slurs from the acquaintances you
shunned when alone with me but high-fived when passing
on the football field. I carved your name into my desk.
“…I don’t remember a thing…”
You built a wall in those woods where we walked - erected
it with bricks made from shame and cement that turned my
giddy mouth into a well of stones, grey. The stream that runs
at the bottom of your garden still holds those stones we skimmed.
“…I was so drunk…”
It became a eulogy, a refrain you told me after we stared too
longingly or our faces caressed; a mantra you lived by publicly
when privately your walls were invisible to me. My thornless
vines wanted only to shore up the cracks you felt inside yourself.
“…I don’t remember even seeing you at the party…”
Years later at the reunion the auditorium still smells the same.
A scent of sweat and plastic chairs hovers in the air, mingling with
the memories of your lips upon mine. You turned my sun upside down.
My moon was no longer white but painted the kaleidoscope of a clown.
“…I can’t feel this way about you, not right now…”
The porchlight flickers outside your house still, a firefly’s
electricity dimming. I wonder what would have happened if we
had just been together, been free to be together. Yesterday,
I walked back amongst those dropped acorns and autumn leaves.
Your wall was gone.
PROGENY OF FAITH
mom lead us in prayers
Our Fathers and Hail Marys
and Sundays to church
faith of my grandma
also the start that spurred me
to shore up my own
A red leather bible, family size, illustrated with religious art. I’m sure I knew how to read; faces, integrity, angels and naked truth. The gray pleated jumper in youth’s closet - simplicity accompanied by lacy socks and saddle shoes.
smaller than grown hands
with wisdom and faith
a graven missive
Along with distribution of gospels, psalms and proverbs in a tiny book, for unspectacled eyes, the sighting of saints all around - not serpents but doves;
hands of Jesus Christ.
no longer pinching
prayers off of beads - pretty pearls
fall straight out of book
Leaping not with butterflies nor rainbow eyes, but with flaming tongues. Not trancelike but with a sound mind, no fear, power steering.
Not unlike crossing the equator, an imaginary line - the one drawn in the sand. Think also of Indiana Jones, a fictional character - he had to have faith and leap, and then there was the path, solid that led him to the promised land. Empirical proof is divine.
Did you know the word martyr means witness? You become a witness of powerful things; they are as natural as birds chirping, the dawning of a new day.
not a character
like this Indiana Jones.
led by God alone
a witness with faith
coincidence i think not —
power-filled stories
True Christian faith is an adventure. I’m glad I chose to believe in our Savior.
7/10/2020
My Faith Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Riddle