Long Steadier Poems
Long Steadier Poems. Below are the most popular long Steadier by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steadier poems by poem length and keyword.
is not the same
as mine
My Sinnerwoman
smiles when she’s caught
in the rain,
she’s enjoying
every sensual thought
her feet slap the Earth
back to its beginning,
and the air whips
through her sweaty hands
running
up the wall of a hill
the mockingbirds
cheer for Sinnerwoman
halfway to the top
an albino deer
spots the saint in her
when they meet
eye-to-eye
on the curve
of the disheveled trail
A plastic bag
dances, pirouettes,
in the middle of the street
more graceful than the trees
in their steadier sway
Sinnerwoman growls
“damn lazy littering
bastards!”
balls it up in her fist
to bring back home
“Oh Sinnerman,
where you going to run to?”
Home
I’m always running home
"Fall seven times and stand up eight," the old proverb sings,
A lantern lit for weary hearts with weather-broken wings.
Each stumble shapes a steadier stride, each tear a clearer view;
The strongest trees are those that learn to dance with storms anew.
I cannot choose the winds that blow nor every hill I climb,
But hope can turn the roughest road into a path through time.
When doubt declares the night too deep, I answer with one spark,
For faith remembers dawn before it brightens all the dark.
So I will rise with grateful hands, though yesterday was long;
The scars become a quiet proof that brokenness grows strong.
"When hope takes the first brave step,
tomorrow finds the courage to follow."
The dawn breaks soft upon the world,
A hush before the dawn, begins to stir—
Change comes not outward, but from deep within,
A flame rekindled, small and sure.
We cannot sculpt the souls of those we meet,
Nor force their dreams to blossom or to fade,
But we can shine, and in that gentle light,
Show them the beauty courage made.
Praising the labor of another’s hands,
We find our own grow steadier, more kind;
To lift another soul ascend,
And leave no lesser self behind.
Dream vast, and help another dream come true,
For empathy transcends the mortal fragile frame—
It passes through the air like morning dew,
And leaves no heart entirely the same.
No flag, no party, can divide the stars;
The soul is brighter when it loves to see.
Love yourself, and watch the world respond—
A mirror not turned inwardly, reflecting unity.
So lead by being gentle, firm, and free,
For in your change, the world can see,
At fifty seven your doing fine.
No mirror shows reflection
were it not for light and
dark, that which surrounds
and enfolds us, warms and
chills our inner – the deeper
degrees of being. Numbers,
weights and scales are our own
inventions, for God keeps no such account,
seeing only, who walks in with
us, and how we arrived –
Our internal image charged
by those oscillating fuels of love
and hate; spoken and driven~the
engines moving us forward
and back as a humanity...can stall at
the foot of a mountain, or on a one-way
bridge – gleams that never find
a return channel to steadier stars,
unable to escape the firmament-gravity
of super-glued ego –
Lust for Power, jealousies, need to control
others and all else in our environments,
are some of the Balls And Chains we
sing about, rhyme and push our poetry,
while leaving our souls trailing behind –
True Soul-life, not only sentient feelings, but
the spirit body of God appealing to us, from out
the mist of our wanderings, longing for conscious
reunion –
I walk the old paths now,
the ones worn smooth by those
who learned to listen before they spoke,
who learned to bend before they broke.
These paths know me.
They knew me even before
the long nights in hospital rooms,
before the quiet terror
of watching my mother fade
and flare
and fade again.
They knew of the weight I carried
in my own bones~
the ache that taught me
how fragile a body can be,
how fierce a spirit must become.
On these ancient trails,
I pray asking,
Ancient One, give me enough strength
to stand upright in my story.
He replies:
Walk slowly, daughter~
wisdom waits for those
who do not rush their becoming.
I learned this truth
in the desert wind of El Paso,
where the land itself negotiates
with heat and horizon,
where even tumbleweeds
carry the art of surrender.
There, I found my breath again~
thin at first, then steadier,
as if the Chihuahuan light
was teaching me
how to rise without haste.
Life has never offered me
a clean contract.
It brings its terms in fragments:
a doctor’s whisper,
a mother’s fragile hand,
a body that falters,
a heart that refuses to quit.
So I meet each moment
like an elder at the fire,
palms open,
voice low,
praying not for ease
but for clarity.
And the path~
older than grief,
older than hope,
leans close and says:
Walk on, daughter.
You have learned this ancient art:
To live wisely is to keep choosing ‘forward,’
even when the way bends into mystery.
Erik Erikson
described U.S. culture
as stuck in adolescence,
and a more feminist Erika Fromm,
or Erik Erikson,
might have added
Nationalistically stuck in patriarchal adolescence.
Yet in the normal course of biological events,
and spiritual evolutions,
each life,
individual and cultural,
unfolds a rudder.
Each rudder has a Tipping Point,
acting like a pre-deductive
adolescent-curious
rudder,
manipulated by a health-intending navigator,
like the pre-ramp lip
on a wheelchair ramp,
inviting a more cooperative initial push
or final descent
in helpful on and off directions,
left and right,
up and down,
in and out,
back and forth,
Yang ecological economic maturity
with Yintegrative adolescent revolutionary politics,
nondual faces of one co-directing intention
toward recognizing limitations
and liabilities
of competitive adolescent behaviors
too patriarchal LeftBrain dominant for fully mature unfolding,
while also appreciating more cooperatively slow
and steadier
eco-flowing assertions
to politically co-enfranchise matriarchal RightBrain
integrity of improved developments
of and for Tipping Point maturation.
Within minutes, a gentle wave comes to nudge your consciousness
Stars appear bluer than you remember
Globus, the lump in your throat is gone
Memories emerge that remained unthought for years;
A strangely lit corridor;
A den in the woods
Back in the present, all is still
Nothing just happened
And it is a gift; a comfort.
The world is tinted back to the colour you understand
You feel your heart beating in your fingertips
Your hands are steadier than you have ever known
Your skin is attached just right
Up to this moment, life has provided you with just the right amount of destruction
To let you Understand.
Past injuries can be observed with detached interest
Sunlight behind closed eyelids glows in reds and oranges
Lay back and experience
A swirlycap high
When I am searching for a healthy leader,
a wise teacher,
a mature mentor,
I look for someone who knows from experience
when a family member dies
a cherished part of her or himself
also is lifetime lost.
I look more for someone
who at least might feel,
even for a short moment,
that s/he would prefer
it had been her or himself.
Why does this matter?
Because without this maturity of extended family identity,
security,
love,
adolescent and even childish issues evoke ego-mania
rather than wiser and slower and steadier eco-passion
with other human natures
as with other EarthTribe cellular health natures.
Cells whose purpose becomes reduced to self-thrival
grow leaders of cancerous pathology.
Cells whose purpose remains to reproduce
their full contribution to organic families,
their extended forests of life,
their ecological eco-root systems,
are those mentors
my healthy wealth most needs
and craves
and would gladly step-aside from my personal agenda
to listen to
and learn
what remains of our synergetic purpose,
regenerative meaning.
I would be more drawn to a parent
who would say
My son broke the law
because I asked him to,
and he trusted me to not ask him to do
or not do
anything that would become a problem for him.
I would steer away from someone
who would say
My son did it on his own qualitative initiative
and never said a word to me about it,
but I respect him anyway.
And,
by the way,
those corporations that fell apart
while I was CEO,
well they did that all on their own
right after I drew my final paycheck
and quarterly return on my short-term investment.
I would not nominate such a person
for public office,
or even any private office,
for s/he does not know the wisdom of a healthy cell,
s/he has not felt the crippling loss of a wise mentor,
and is thereby her/himself exposed to monoculturing cannibalistic tendencies
of self and other exploitation,
eating our young;
not strong CEO maturity
because not a strong mentor of future compassionate CEOs.
Solitary walk beneath a moonlit night sky.
Sparkling river reflects moonlight as I walk by.
Geese are flying in the clouds so high.
I also see the northern lights in the sky.
Not so solitary anymore, people at the baseball field.
Houses and a church with their lights, I put on an eye shield.
Suddenly a tree appears to look like a person, so I yield.
The street light flickering brighter as the truth was revealed.
Dogs are suddenly barking from houses afar,
As I walk the street viewing glowing islands so far.
Clouds unveiling the night stars, then I see a bright star.
As I continue to smoke and fill my lungs with tar.
Solitary walk beside a moonlit river sparkling forever.
I am listening to music that fills me with fervor.
My heart pacing steadier as I take in the flavor
Of a delicacy of a drink on which I sip and savor.
My heart, though silent, beats steadier, then
Love is written in this gentle voice
Cool winds, playing softly, a moment, when
Gentle thoughts offer no other choice
Singing a chorus of love that believes
My spirit soars to new heights, I can see
Beyond the music of the tree who grieves
Sweetest song, so rich and brave, wind can free
Secured by faith, the joy of love shines bright
Sweetest tones of hope drift over my life
While notes of peace rise from the sunny light
I feel the sway of music that heals worst strife
Thrown about by the dreadful winds of change
Like a leaf in the woods, whose fate feels strange