Long Skills Poems
Long Skills Poems. Below are the most popular long Skills by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skills poems by poem length and keyword.
When life takes you down, do not give up and stay down.
You are not the only one; many of us could be in the same
situation or even worst so get up and move on for life is not
easy, as it is a series of ups and downs ….
It does not matter how many times you are down or how long
it takes you to go back up for not everyone is the same. Some
are slow and some are fast, so get up on your own phase.
If you fall again while trying to get up, try again and again.
Stop complaining and open your mind by focusing on the present.
You are here alive, when some could be suffering health wise.
Alive and possibly well, except for your attitude and outlook.
Start changing your mindset by being aware of who you are.
Reflect on all the negatives and positive experiences you had.
Maybe your negative experiences were no fault of your own
causing self-pity, shame or rage or your own fault that guilt
is eating you up inside. Either way, do not let it keep you down.
Let go of the past, stop thinking or talking about the negatives.
Bringing them up would not stop the hurt, it would reinforce
the pain. Open your heart, forgive the ones who hurt you and
take accountability for what you had done and forgive yourself.
Letting go of the negative is hard, so while in the process, think
of all the positive experiences you had and the people who
believed in you, your good traits, talents, capabilities, skills,
values, beliefs, actions as well as your imperfections …
Being self-aware is knowing your true self, being comfortable
in your own skin. It would help you to change your mindset
to positivity, help you love and take care of yourself and
work on your flaws and maybe, laugh when you goof …
Accepting the negative experiences you could not change,
changing your mindset from negative to positive, embracing
you, expressing gratitude give you resilience, so get up, lift
yourself up for whatever knocks you down is usually temporary.
Charlotte Wentworth married far too young,
to a man quite rich with old money.
It had seemed such a dream on the big day,
a year later it did not seem so funny.
He was a bore, and he cared very little
for his family, his friends, and such,
he cared for his cash, and his alcohol,
of both he could not get enough.
Left all alone in their Hamptons home,
Charlotte developed a wandering eye,
before too long she’d had her first fling
and moved through a procession of guys.
Until one of her lovers, a soldier named Rob,
started a stirring that went beyond lust,
unlike the others, she invited him back,
of his love she could not get enough.
They were so in tune, and not just in bed,
that she soon knew she was falling hard.
It didn’t help that he felt the same,
she was his muse, his beauty, his star.
They kept stealing moments, more and more,
craving each other’s soft touch,
no matter how often they snuck away
each knew it was never enough.
One day her husband, before he left for work,
said,”I know what you have been doing.
I saw the pictures taken by my private eye,
in the courts I’ll make sure that you’re ruined!”
But later that night, when drunk as always,
he smashed his Benz into a truck.
She played the sad widow, as was expected,
her ‘bereavement’ fooled more than enough.
At the will reading another blow came,
in the prenup he’d hidden a line
that said she got nothing if she remarried
before the passing of five-year’s time.
She said to Rob,”I’ve no degree, no skills,
and your soldier’s pay isn’t that much…
I know it hurts to ask you to wait,
already we have put up with enough.”
He smiled and said,”I can wait patiently,
a marriage license is not what makes you mine.
For a woman to stay married to that cruel drunk...
you deserve every last penny and dime.”
She moved into his house that very night,
in his arms she breathed in his deep musk,
for five happy years they went on this way,
thinking they finally possessed enough...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
P S its POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 15
Many thanks to you selected poets;
Of sharing your whispers from God,
tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still;
Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s
… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it;
Each letters and each word;
Reads so very dear and well;
Joys of your souls cheers;
Covenants of choice, reading your voice;
Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills;
Rhyming verses blessings
of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
Moses Sichach 325
Muhadzis Ghafur 333
Naledi Segosebe 366
Nancy Lee Kaufman 318
Nandita Das 54
Natasha Turner 131
Nathan Hannen 333
Neil Delport 269
Nelvy Gracia Majaw 375
Neva E. Romaine 111, 61
Newton Ranaweera 257, 303
Newton Rathnasiri Ranaweera Kalu Arachchige 300
Ngoc Minh Nguyen 345
Nia Feren Puthanveettil 438
Nicholas Windle 119, 232, 79
Nicola Davidson 173
Nikolay Lopatin 363
Nina Parmenter 261, 9, 91
Nora Gibson 197, 286
Nyonglema Christian Pisoh 266
Ogino Makoto 342
Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser 100, 145, 86
Panagiota Romios 124, 53, 71
Pashang Salehi 151, 326, 96
Patricia Cammish 367, 368
01/06/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
Any type of poem I write
Breaks my mind of the
Concrete that it sits in
Delivering myself a headache that
Erodes my brain which often
Finds me with nothing to
Gestate into a creation of write that is
Hidden among the muddled words and letters
Into a form no particular order,
Juggling in an attempt to gain sense of the muddle I
Keep within my head, I soon
Learn that
My poetry skills are limited.
Noticeably it shows as amaturish, if
Only I had the abilities to
Piece together words into something that might
Qualify me as a form of poet.
Reading back
Something
That I have created
Undermining myself with little
Value
Wondering if an
X-ray of what is inside my mind would reveal
Yodels of verse that
Zig zags erractically inside
14th August 2020
With her bright red eyes; yellowish tiny tail-tip,
Pale green wings; greenish yellow-glowing mantle strip;
This golden Oriole has great tales to tell,
Her enchanting feature has great magical spell...
Yellow-orange chest; gray head; silvery slate back,
Bold white pinion poles; pretty eye-strips brownish black;
Large tarsal blotch; scarce and endangered species yet,
If I afford to up-bring, she should be my pet...
Fruits and seeds she eats; sweet nectar and pollen too,
Whether eats flesh or simple herbs - her charm shines through;
Sign of wealth and acceptance; courage and life-skills,
Her advent on courtyards chases away all ills...
Weightless and light, her bewitchment, yet, is grandeur,
The cup-shaped nest she makes is magical wonder;
Her harmoniously mystic songs pull my heart,
Her feature, in itself, is finest of fine art...
11 March 2022
Magical Spell Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
You all know me as Percival Jack
But my real name is Charles Byard
So you know, it's pronounced by-yard
Living with this name has been hard
You guys are probably wondering
Where did that name originate
Certainly never heard it ever before
At least that's what most people state
Well here's my tale, every bit is true
Uncle Byard in World War One
Died a big hero and was given a medal
But he never ever carried a gun
Before the war he was incarcerated
For his nefarious safe cracking exploits
The army thought they could use his talents
At burglary he was very adroit
So Byard was released and joined the army
To make use of his safe cracking skills
Sadly, one day while defusing a bomb
My uncle, the hero was killed
Was nicknamed Jack, but won't get into that
It's what I've been called me ever since
I'm thinking of changing it to 'Inspired Byard'
But my wife will be hard to convince
'And now you know the rest of the story'
As radio man Paul Harvey used to say
I've hated that name since I was a pup
But 'Inspired Byard' is okay!
© Jack Ellison 2012
SEASON OF MYTHS
Inspired, but unlike all the rest
Driven, with a burning fervour
So determined to begin a quest
Not as a dispassionate observer
Assumed the mantle of a sleuth
With research and detective skills
Discover kernels of hidden truth
Once the source of worldly ills
Buried deep in a lost prehistory
A heady mixture of fact and fable
Decoding and revealing mystery
From artefacts laid on the table
Led further into darker reaches
Where surprises live in gloom
What every wise man teaches
Stay focused and in the room
The false trails and obfuscation
Exposing challenges to ability
Even to maintaining motivation
Carrying a heavy responsibility
My key discoveries made at last
As more evidence is analysed
Slowly teased out from the past
Academics will be so surprised
Mommy deemed the three-year-old me as an honour
Said that I should become a doctor
Stethoscope and thermometer are in her gift bag
To spark the zeal in me, she set to wave a green flag.
Daddy came all running to put a hard-hat on my head
Said that I should become a builder like his dad
I'll be a great architect, he believed, he already knew
He said it's inherited to me and is nothing new.
Aunt wanted me to follow her baking love
Her skills, no doubt, deserve a bow.
Cakes, cookies and all that she bakes
will now be taught to me, with no breaks.
Uncle Tom said I should inspire the world with my words
He weens that they're powerful than the swords.
An Orator or a writer, a counsellor or a life coach
Be it whatever, he says, I should be there for those who approach.
Everyone has their plans for my future
Looks like I don't need school or a teacher.
I'll be home-schooled and trained every day
But should it start right from the 3rd birthday?
I'm afraid they'ld stop talking to each other
As their dreams for me greatly differ.
Keeping their dreams aside for a minute
I thought of what I wanted, for a moment.
I want to smell the soil when it rains
I want to swill down all the snow flakes
I want to ride a horse and tame rabbits
I want to make friends and take new hobbies.
I want to build castles with clay
And play Peekaboo with Jill and Jay
I want to string the stars and crack the clouds to rain
Eat lots of cake and fake a belly pain.
I love dirty feet and dusty hair
Clay and Crayons is what I care
Play, play, play the whole day
I plead you all not to block my way.
The thing about Mary that was extraordinary
Was her parents on her pulled a fast one.
They gave her a first name, multiplied it by two,
But neglected a middle and last one.
And so Mary Mary was deemed quite contrary,
But, oh, what a green thumb had she.
Though she didn't grow okra,
Tomatoes, or peas,
Or cucumbers, parsnips,
Or beets, if you please,
Her strange garden plot
Was as full as could be.
She diligently toiled
With spade, rake, and hoe
Planting silver bells, cockleshells,
And pretty maids in a row.
All the townsfolk agreed
Mary's skills were incredible,
But it was a community garden,
And they would have preferred she
Grow something more edible.
Gray matter subjected to accumulate
incessant overall slack heavily larded
earlier in marriage, viz Zison clan
evicted Harris family,
whose hardship unemployment did exacerbate,
neither me nor birth mother worked
both this sir, and mum mate
afflicted with psychological disability
where physiological torture did subjugate
our respective physical beings with inadequate
skills to cope with child rearing,
hence blissful dialect tickle
accent doth boldly punctuate
angst strum fretful das
chord dent mental state -
mein kampf pronouncedly scarred,
asper lifetime subjected to debilitate
ting panic attacks impossible to abdicate -
relentless whipsawing, hammering,
and fracking drilling would never abate,
ache ken to ten thousand maniacal banshees
nsync with mailer daemons create
ting bedlam courtesy (Olive)
garden variety silently kick starting freight
train recklessly coursing heedlessly
despite engineer hood handedly
madly, and ominously didst gesticulate
in vain, the loco motif
barreled thru one billeted gate
after another crashing, this soundless fate
driving me into marshy madness accelerate
ting an existence toward self destruction
in tandem with Sue S Side, I accentuate
time and again, yet self obliterate
ting this papa would eviscerate,
(albeit emotionally) lovely Punim