Long Soar Poems
Long Soar Poems. Below are the most popular long Soar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soar poems by poem length and keyword.
the light colors my faith in prayer and praise, laughter that lingers on the longings of grace, forever aware that there is a place, a ever after, where the moments flow and know, God is still in control – quote by poet
~~~
breathing light into the darkness
feeling the joy soar across the skies
laughing, smiling, sharing the elation
from a heart who twinkles in the eyes
whispering pleasure into the moment
as I inhale promises of faith and hope
inspirational vines of whimsical emotion
who brighten my thoughts so I can cope
murmuring healing across my soul’s wonder
as I clutch the bliss that frees my mind
listening to the sweet silence echoing songs
felt by the beacons of gentleness so kind
kissing away all pain and sorrow with a gasp
in shadows hued by memories I still hold
feelings which glide through recurring dreams
awakening love that is so alive and so bold
embracing my spirit with a melody of emotion
imaginings so awash with insights I will clasp
arousing my aspirations of exhilarating ideas
with affection derived from beliefs I can grasp
~~~
Writing Prompt - Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
June 28, 2021
The calling gull leaves her nest
her wild magic cleaves the nimbus.
An avian aerialist suspended aloft
she sails on tapered feathers of cirrus silk,
ruffled sea breeze ironed ‘neath her lustrous wings.
A wind witch, she defies and defines the w-i-n-d…
a weaver of worlds, knotting strings of stories as one wampum belt
in union with the sea’s connection to land and air.
She steals the sough from the surf and the sigh from my sinew;
my guide to a mindful haven. This nurture-maven
glides among bouquets of pink-peony-cumulus.
She; my blue-sky-muse in celebration!
She; my compass rose, mediates my meditation.
I unfurl fresh wings, a night-to-day tern, and claim my turn with the wind
no longer a granite stone asleep on sand. I soar
from the glacial-age strand and lift through fog.. brief my tryst
with mist. Eyes blessed by the crest of a humpback’s breach.
I distill myself, my will; a droplet, tear, a sphere free of guise.
An ascendant of moon-magnet tides yet a descendant
from stratus to stratum, I settle upon the cliffs along the coast
in union with my soul’s connection to body and breath.
In the cup of my hands I hold the sun and drink its yolk,
white-cap breakers below chant a soluble sonnet.
From my inner dark, a flint-spark flares as I find what I lost.
My heart, a wild cranberry, reborn from the womb of dawn.
I inhale the moment. Red clay cliffs, lifeblood, fire-skies merge.
Windswept pitch pines croon as I grow roots for my tabernacle,
cosmic beams stream through stained-glass-eyes.
The calling gull rests. A distant, silent witness to my quest.
My pulse a psalm as I emerge; a cathedral lit by sunrise.
I see the beauty in your brokenness
The brilliance in your sad eyes
The exuberant smile tugging at your lips
The passion that escapes in your touch
The softness of your harsh words
The tenderness of your anger
I’m not afraid by your brokenness
For I am broken too
In different ways
In different places
Perhaps less obvious
But broken nevertheless
I welcome your brokenness
For I know, it makes you need me
It makes you want me to bind you together
In a strong and shielding embrace…
A restraining embrace that holds the brokenness together
Not letting even one piece fall
Not letting one piece crash
You ask me how?
How can I love a broken vessel?
I can’t believe you don’t know the answer!
Look at your reflection in my eyes
Do you see any brokenness there?
Look…you are beautiful, my love, my life
In my eyes…there, there is the truth
For I don’t see as others see
My eyes see what lies inside this broken vessel…
A heart that’s pure and devoted
A spirit that was born to soar
A soul that sanctifies
And mind that invigorates
I see…I see it all
It doesn’t matter what the world sees
I only see beauty
Because you are mine
You are MINE!
Your brokenness allures me
Come, my love
Let us fuse our broken parts together
And make each other whole!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Out of the Richness of the Soul
The Father of Creation compassionate made man;
He is the Creator of us All
He created every living, breathing, moving thing-
From the fowls of the air that build their nests and melodiously sing;
To the beast of the field, who roam the meadows, wild-
To the fish in the sea, who swim so gracious the waters
flowing mild-
To plants and fruits and vegetation; to grass and budding
trees-
The whole of the Universe was made by Him-
Including you and me!!
By the Word of His mouth,
He spoke and it came to pass
He looked and declared it all good, eternally to last.
Even Humanity-His special creation-
He like a potter fashions clay
Molded us with His loving hands
From the richness of the soil
With beauty, stature and grace!
He made us all and-
Placed within the heart of us
The Light of Love Divine to last throughout time-
Eternal from Earth’s Holy grains of sand.
In His image, we are wonderfully, marvelously and fearfully made-
So we can rejoice in the One God of Creation and
though we come in all shades, shapes and sizes,
None greater or superior to another-
We are all sisters and brothers;
We are in God’s sight One through Him:
One Blood!! One Breath! One Body!
All to proclaim His name—
Male and and female(the Human Race)-
With the capacity:
To live! To love! To learn!
To laugh! To cry! To work!
To play! To choose! To comprehend!!
To be anything we desire to be through His
Divine Spirit and Power.
Same Blood! Same Spirit: Breath, without
which none of us would exist!
We are free to soar, to excel,
To rise above unfavorable, physical circumstances-
to heights and depths unknown-
As long as we remember we are all One:
No inferiors!! No superiors!
All members of the Human Race
Made in the image and likeness of All Mighty God, Our Father and our Creator
Martha Malloy
In the darkness of my soul
The demons howl and scream
My visions they came and stole
Nevermore to rest in dream
When the demons came
They entered one by one
I'm never to be the same
Blackened is my sun
The torment and tears
Bloody cuts and scars
Furrowed deep in years
One too many, as the stars
The demons chant and whisper
My soul learns their words
Their call ever crisper
Hailed from other worlds
Dragging me deeper into blackness
Their hush a mighty roar
Overcoming my every weakness
Their thunder makes me soar
Evermore to my own demise
I crawl at the speed of night
Their bloodied words and bloodied lies
A blackened, blinding light
Scoring far into my very soul
From broken flesh, my blood runs free
Gazing out from the abysmal hole
I see the screaming demon here is me
T he birds have been around for centuries.
H ow sweetly singing, winging on their way,
E vanescent as a summer breeze. . .
B ringing bliss supreme; then gone one day.
I n your bloom of youth, one bird appears.
R adiant, you’ll soar to splendor’s height,
D runk with joy till passion disappears.
S tung by love undone, you’ll face your plight.
A las, your bird has turned into a bee.
N aïve no longer, you have felt love’s sting.
D evoted love you’ll seek as remedy!
T hough you’ll wish to hear a new bird sing,
H eartache may await. You must recall
E ventually sweet passion’s birds become. . .
B ees! How can you know real love at all?
E yes open, you must seek a faithful one;
E phemeral are the birds and yes, the bees.
S till they will persist for centuries!
FOR PD's Acrostic II Contest
Can You Guess Who I Am
I could hide a giraffe in my enormous nest.
Twenty feet deep, from crest to crest.
I soar over the countryside and spy a small beagle.
Can you guess who I am? Of course.
I am a bald eagle!
By Caren Krutsinger/ April 1, 2023
My poem inspired by her light verse rhyme:
Can You Guess Who I Am
Food for a year I’ve hidden away,
and it’s well protected from those of my kind.
In a place like a cave I let my food stay
where no other mammals can seek and find.
Though I’m not enormous like a bear,
you’d be surprised the amount I can eat.
Deep down in my habitat is the place where
I’ve stored up my grub; some even is sweet.
No, I am not a huge bumble bee,
but I’m busy like one, so I eat stuff all day.
Can you guess who I am? The answer is me!
And I’ll out-eat a lumberjack at a buffet!
April 21, 2023 for Margarita Lillico's "Find Your PS Muse" Poetry Contest
Is the ego a friend or foe?
The answer lies not in taking sides,
but in tracing the curve of its mystery.
It is the whisper that calls us to rise,
to create, to love,
to guard the tender spaces of the heart.
Yet it also shadows us—
with fear,
with comparison,
with the lonely ache of being separate.
Our task is not to silence it,
nor to let it claim the crown,
but to meet it as we would a restless friend:
listening, discerning,
guiding fire toward gentle light.
When it lifts, we soar with it;
when it binds, we breathe until it softens.
We learn humility as counterpoint,
empathy as compass,
and the dance becomes less of struggle
and more of grace.
In time, we see—
ego is neither friend nor foe,
but a companion on the road of becoming,
imperfect, transforming,
always traveling beside us.
My people the Ojibwa are fierce and strong. A people of stories, myths and
knowledge. On birch bark scrolls and stones their history is told. And I,
a mere Ojibwa girl writes stories. The early Canadian explorers wrote of
our fierce warriors. "Strong arms held bows, arrows and clubs, their bodies
tattooed in various fashion and design, faces painted and noses pierced."
Eventually they stole our land, so I fight for the rights of my people.
I tell my stories
keeping the warriors alive -
their strength and spirit
And there upon a sheer and rocky cliff a black stallion stands majestic under a
blazing sun. My Ojibwa warrior looks at me with great love. In the air and wind
that roars, his feathers earned in acts of bravery flutter. I am nestled within his
strong arms. My turquoise and glass beaded dress sparkles in the sun. Far below
the Ottawa River thunders. The vast lands of Canada stretch to the horizon. Up
above in the azure, many eagles soar, as a symbol of Ojibwa unity. The Spirit
Fathers approve of this love. And in this dreamy dream the imagination of this
Ojibwa girl moves his majestic feathers. The beauty will never fade in stories.
wild water echoes
of land as far as the eye -
and tribes brave and fierce
___________________________
May 1, 2015
Poetry/Haibun/An Ojibwe Girl - My Spirit
Copyright Protected, ID 05-668-447-01
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Stndar contest, Show Me Your Spirit,
sponsor, FJ Thomas, HM, Judged 2015
I walk the desert alone
High dense sun
I am the only among
Struggling, but determined
Maneuvering is a hard able
Scrawling on the desert sand
A rush of a desert wind storm
Blowing and swirling
Thirst rushes to my mind
My eyes visualize an oasis
But no quench only imagery found
Sweat pours over my body like a running fountain
Birds circle overhead waiting until I die to feed on my flesh and bones
Drastically trying to survive, but darkness is slowly closing in
Hours seem like days
My moments full of haze
Tears don’t even come down
I don’t know where I will find myself
Man to Sun, let my soul ever be humble, and solitude prevail
I can make it no more
Within the sand I soar.