Long Shoring Poems
Long Shoring Poems. Below are the most popular long Shoring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shoring poems by poem length and keyword.
To claim more imperialist Russian land.
An invasion of a neighbor was planned.
Unbacked slander was said about them.
Creating for the world a major problem.
Putin claimed they were a pro-Nazi harbor.
But the truth really couldn’t be any farther.
Ukrainians have always been their target.
The Holodomor is a genocide not to forget.
Between wars one and two, Joseph Stalin
orchestrated the starvation for many fallen.
To feed communism, millions were deprived.
The empty breadbasket for Europe arrived.
So generations later the bully is back.
But now other countries cut no slack.
While they attack innocent civilians.
It’s obvious they are truly the villains.
Destroying homes and those trapped inside.
Soldiers with unjust orders forced to abide.
Attacking neighborhoods of peaceful kids.
Willing exterminators as the Kremlin bids.
But their target shoots back and hits hard.
The fighter won the crowd on the undercard.
Like a hard uppercut from Mayor Kltichko.
The Ukrainian’s counterpunch is on show.
The other Vladimir is a modern David.
Daily turning the Russian Goliath livid.
Shoring up defenses as the underdog.
Battling through heavy gunpowder fog.
Swaying global leaders to invest in defense.
Convincing nations Soviets make no sense.
In this invasion, the bully is being repelled.
As global Ukrainian patriotism has swelled.
Depleting the Russian tanks by the hundred.
Forcing civilian involuntary enlistment dread.
Fleeing their nation to avoid an early death.
As troops are rushed into their final breath.
Unprepared to invade into mortal combat.
Putin’s propaganda machine caused that.
Forcing battles soldiers don’t want to fight.
Knowing the motives for war are not right.
Nations give Ukraine billions in military aid.
Causing global inflation to devalue our paid.
So we cut jobs with layoffs for bottom lines.
To fund fatal battles in forests full of pines.
A man had two horses, each a fine stallion, both buddies and good friends. It so happened, one of them lost eyesight in an accident. For the safety of the blind horse, the owner fixed some copper bells on the neck of the other horse. The blind horse would then follow the one with good eyesight, who would keep a kindly eye on the blind one. The blind one would keep its ears hooked on to the other. A rare friendship of the two horses, that of the eyes and ears. By evening they would return home safe after daylong grazing. One followed the sound, the other sight, both looking after the other.
Does not Existence look after us in the same way? Its immense compassion helps sustain humanity…. with no mean help from some sense of brotherhood among us, of course.
___________________________________
The thinking head shoring up kindly heart,
The rich on their part parting wealth in part,
On mutual help moves on Existence cart.
Behind the frightened and never so few,
Weapons of brave shine with buttressing hue,
And Existence blesses from unknown blue.
Behind heavenly hearts gears up the grave,
Two sides of coin as if each to each crave,
Existence’s onward journey to pave!
For lifelong one looks after the other,
Life’s scorching sun together to weather,
Mother to offspring, brother to brother!
To the way-lost in this life’s long journey,
Holding hands in care, to accompany,
Share whatso meagre food with the hungry.
Life’s a journey together in a boat,
In deep river, or dour sea set afloat,
And Existence renders a warm fur coat.
It lets an anchor, a needle to north,
Lets mankind to reach to its highest worth,
And so-how Existence moves on and forth.
Or else, what good is one’s kissing the crest?
Man moves forward, mighty heave to highest,
Humanity whilst falls more than modest.
______________________________________
Introspection |04.01.2022|
IF YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE…
“A quiet and modest life,” says he in German, the most successful of them/us all, “brings more joy than a pursuit of success bound with constant unrest.”
Albert Einstein’s hand-written tip to a courier at the Imperial Hotel
Tokyo, November 1922
If you think you’re the only one to record the way the world’s run
Know that every top’s naked spun when the wrapped string’s outrun
Everyone’s in such a hurry to step out of this collapsing quandary
Even if the one and only query is left without comforting certainty
Everybody wants a piece of posterity to be part of everlasting history
Even at the cost of mimicry if only to keep shoring up sheer vanity
Fire burns out in an empty shell the way the poem slim content quell
Who reads for meaning to feel well means to read more feeling swell
Roads lead to where one wants to go, lines come to an end in vertigo
To each ego own voice sounds best, who renounces the will but hobo
Tell this to a Cervantes five years in quarries after the Battle of Lepanto
Confront Dostoeyeski with firing squad again after four years in Siberia
Tear Theo from Van Gogh’s bosom after Gauguin’s bullish loud hysteria
Tease Mozart in his deathbed with the sleepless scores of his concerto
There’s no quiet in a modest life for billions will step eager on your face
Our world honours the sham strong the phoney the fake the half-baked
The weak work all day not to crave success but to fend off all disgrace
No true mother harassed by rape abandons the baby for rapists’ sake
Success is always drenched in sweat except for those fils de Putes
Who inherited the earth long before the oldest profession followed suit
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Warrior Wombs
(for Sandy and the loss of our first grandson)
By Joyce Teed
2/8/17
Warrior Wombs
Every woman
Has an untold story
A secret
Untold
Or unseen
Her story
Includes
Silent sorrows
Wounds with no words
Winding through the untold
History of all women
Empty wombs
Miscarriages
Mistimed pregnancies
Unwanted babies
Wanted babies
wished for babies
babies without a heartbeat
Nature’s
way
Of weeding out
The mistakes
A blessing perhaps
Women wear
these truths of nature
Doubting themselves
Shoring themselves up
Alone
Reminding us
Of the tenuousness of life
And the
Tender disappointments
Awaiting us around each curve of life
Bodily hazards
And then there is our hearts
Breaking
For our loss
Yet shoring up to bring in another life
Or not
We all don’t get the same luck
Or burden
But together we stand
Sisters in sorrow
Crying for the unborn
Unspoken lives
That we have all
welcomed and mourned.
Tough love
Was never harder
And now
Some righteous men demand
A funeral for a fetus
As if that would heal the wound
As if it would not punish more harshly
And more publically
Our hurts
Our disappointments
Our wounds
We know how to heal ourselves.
We embrace our loses
We never forget
We empathize with other sisters’
Conditions
We do not judge
We stand together
And wail.
Crispy leaves curl from aged to fetal
As time pronounces every petal done.
A moment in the lasting breath of summer,
When beauty flicks from every flower flung.
A burst of color paints our eye
Across the newly frosted sky,
Beneath a showering rain of leaves.
Then summers gone, and nature grieves.
Within our aging gardens a whispered crunching
Meets our ear, as leaves become
Nature’s cornflake breakfast
Quickly eaten, disappear.
Footfalls briskly whisk the hours away
Every breath carried by a northern wind away.
Within their reach small creatures teach us
Lessons Mother Nature seeks to tell.
The squirrels are first to read her poem so well,
Dancing to the wind and songs that tell of
Long cold days, with nothing left to eat
And so they hurry-scurry, shoring bastions to the beat.
Sparrows shiver on wires now,
Still-life vignettes hung, with frosted edges blurred.
Listening to the winter’s whistling howl
They know by way of instinct what’s inferred.
Hearts are sleepy-silent in the shortened hours,
Resisting natures shift to stiffen flowers.
We watch the season drowsy change
as daylight sinks in slow demise.
Fall, so like the lowered lids
Of closing eyes.
Limericks dé-crochetés: Is not shame self-humiliation
Is not shame self-humiliation
To be thought of with condescension
All men know some disgrace
Except those without grace
Dignity’s the art of pretension
The man who fears not leaving this world
E’en without heir his name can fame mould
Knows no shame brought by birth
All’s forgiven in mirth
Though what lies ahead mayn’t rightly be told
Memory’s a wild accusing thing
It best serves those who here nothing bring
Nothing take on way out
Nothing leave to shout ‘bout
What one forgets might well be no-thing
Think of all the pain one puts up with
Just for the sake of the ego myth
To be thought of well - swell
Hail fellow well met - hell !
Who e’er lived to de-mystify death
Shame’s the pain we face in hour of need
Stand alone you’ll likely go to seed
Join the crowd to feel proud
The name well-clothed in shroud
All the shame humiliation must feed
End of day finds us shoring up shame
Orchestrated scenes of death-bed fame
Funerals in black staid
Write-ups by friends well-paid
All to keep shame hidden in the name
(c) T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
~ Though reeling ~
~ amid the hour ~
~ of my dolor, I ~
~ still could not ~
~ concur with ~
~ those who ~
~ say "Passion ~
~~ is all together ~~
~ fruitless", because ~
~ mindful of this I know ~
~~~ the acrimonious of ~~~
~~ heartalways become the ~~
~ marionette of their abhorrence, ~
and incertitude, as do the passionate
in their yielding to this certain way of
blamelessness and overt position of
~~~~~~~~ promise. ~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I say if it were not for Grace
time would furthermore offend,
but for sheer delight the days
each one run on to the next
while illustrious visions of
the divine they fill each
moment, when I begin
to look for the lowly
reflection of loves
tender purveyance.
Furthering my resolve ...
and shoring up moreover this
truth, advancing he conscious
desire of Gods encouragement
for me, existent in the way of
this ever wholesome movement
and time of my transcendence
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~ As its validity moves me in my ~
weary soul deeper and deeper ...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~ within. ~~~~~~~~~
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n8CzFVm1Yio
~ and though reeling ~
~ amid the hour ~
~ of my dolor, I ~
~ still could not ~
~ concur with ~
~ those who ~
~ say "Passion ~
~~ is all together ~~
~ fruitless", because ~
~ mindful of this I know ~
~~~~ the acrimonious of ~~~~
~~~ heart always become the ~~~
~~ marionette of their abhorrence, ~~
and incertitude, as do the passionate
in their yielding to this certain way of
blamelessness and overt position of
~~~~~~~~~~ promise. ~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I say if it were not for Grace
time would furthermore offend,
but for sheer delight the days
each one run on to the next
while illustrious visions of
the divine they fill each
moment, when I begin
to look for the lowly
reflection of loves
tender purveyance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Furthering my resolve ...
and shoring up moreover this
truth, advancing the conscious
desire of Gods encouragement
for me, existent in the way of
this ever wholesome movement
and time of my transcendence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As its validity moves me in my
weary soul deeper and deeper ...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~ within. ~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let dead rocks of reason lie on the way,
Let all logic, all do's and don'ts lie still,
The rules of grammar gathered yesterday,
Of metre and foot, let them let-down feel
If lines river-like flow to move ahead,
Let melody get born with utter poise,
Let lilting lines listen to inner voice,
O to flow ahead—heart-over-head led.
In purest form and the plainest by far,
Like a perennial stream flows a poem,
Each line a starlet shoring up the star,
And sparkling like rarest of studded gem!
And crafted, caressing the created—
A call of heart passing baton to head!
_____________________________________________ _________
A poem flows like a river. The head with its do's and don'ts plays the role of rocks blocking river's flow. But the river finds its way still and music is born. A poem is always a product of heart to start with. The heart has reasons unknown to head. A stage still comes when head slowly takes over as there is no escape from it. Yet, creativity comes from the chaos created by heart— the source of all poems!
08.03.2020
Heart Truth
Contest Judged: 8/9/2020
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Winner: FIRST PLACE
Laying down without
you, never. Understand
what you did to not
make me love you. Baby
why did you leave me
like this. You took away
something special you
took a piece of my heart
and turned it in to ash.
Nobody though that it
would happen, nobody
thought that you
weren't on my side. But
when I close my eyes I
see you surrounded. By
stars.
You broke my heart
once your not going to
break it again. You said
its going to last forever.
But that was the end. I
guess you've gone away
forever never going to
come back.
Nobody thought that it
would happen. Nobody
thought you weren't on
my side but when I
close my eyes I see you
surrounded By stars
I thought you where a
shoring star. A dream
when I'm no sleeping. A
wish upon genies lamp
that just came true.
But even I can tell
genies arnt for real
shooting stars are just
for seeking and dreams
are lent for sleeping.
Nobody thought that it
would happen. Nobody
thought you weren't on
my side but when I
close my eyes I see you
surrounded. By stars