Long Steer Poems
Long Steer Poems. Below are the most popular long Steer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steer poems by poem length and keyword.
I AM an engineer,
It's become very clear,
Into the void I steer,
Clearing away my fear,
Hearing what's truly real,
The emotions I feel,
Drive the wheels,
Darkness reveals,
So your body heals,
Feel your molecules,
Reveal the clues,
Don't miss the cues,
Traveling avenues within,
It's a communication,
Tune into the station,
You are Creation,
Full of information,
An interpretation,
Through Visualization,
Unification,
Through the Atoms vibration,
Your elevation,
You and your world are one,
Let love be the emotion,
To engineer a potent potion,
Creating the perfect moment in motion.
My heart is wrenched, it's awake...
I can't bare down any longer,
I can't hide it-or fight it-or act away from it,
This is the steel blow to my face,
This is a quiet morning sunken in mist, felt in cloth,
sleeping in willows,
Lighting a fuse that pithers off into perfection,
An untied blissful knot, a sea of converging ships,
Storming, storming through with fire breath
That meets,
and melts,
And away, away, away we all fall, as we should,
As we have to, and as it is to be done.
Please God, let us remain in the wave.
Steer and steer.
A flaccid, earthen movement into my corner,
And life turns kinetic, grabbed and drenched.
A hill to climb, but
It weaves, there is no shape or direction,
Just motion-and-rhythm-with-arms-and-eyes---attached.
It's grounded by the mind,
But its nature is to float---endlessly, endlessly float.
The shock
Disorientates the leatherness of the world,
Crushing the sick, green gears and switches and rusted
Hackneyed knobs
We've made for ourselves,
Entrapping us in our very footsteps
And then--
the terrifying milk
Cleanses--with the grace and completion only skin can provide
And the tenderness of time slips into your our vaulted darkness
Lighting the fields.
Insecure…
Need a cure…
Need to endure
I want to be pure
I’m just so unsure
Inside, I must endure
My words, at times, injure
My sins are so impure
Mercy makes us feel sure
Lured in by the insecurities and pride in the mirror
Humility needs to be my inner-tour
All my past in a blur…
Cowardly bravery is my haunting nightmare…
Scared out of wits up in here
I shouldn’t have any fear
Or shed a single tear
Let happiness and hope appear
Let the car of time and effort steer
Us away from being ran over by negativity ear by ear
It’s as if I can’t hear…I need some cheer to get me through many fears I hold on to so dear
I see wandering thoughts like a fast-paced deer
Throughout the woods of warmth and coldness..much like the river of Aphradere
Is there a cure to my present moment?
Is my questions ever relevant?
Am I Your chosen one so significant?
Why would I be nothing when You’re here with me this instant?
Where would I be without You to the highest extent?
Maybe I doubt too much and I need your hopefulness and repent for all I’ve done in the past — but, all is remnant
Because God forgives me, so I must let go of guilt and make it evanescent
I have been ignorant — I apologize, oh Lord of Accord — humble me and let me do good to others always to a certain extent…
Or, like You, all the time spent…
Because God loves all and that’s what matters most and that’s how it always went…
Simply, I’m content…
Life is bleak
I am weak
I can’t speak
Release my beak…
I am a bird of liberty that I seek
Release my beak…
I can speak…
I am not weak
Death is bleak
Words won’t overwhelm me anymore —
Words that let me down to the core
We are all a flock of birds, fluttering in hopefulness restored and what’s in store
Because I look forward to a Kingdom and what for?
You may ask me…hm, because I am spiritually in want for more
O youth of my land, gather up stones,
Not for the mob, nor for bloodied thrones.
But to build a revolt, one fierce and true,
For the chains of complacency tighten on you.
You scroll through life with the fastest finger,
A protest born in banter, yet never lingers.
Vitriolic words spill, sharp as knives,
But no steering strive to alter our lives.
Responsibility fades, drowned in jest,
A hypocrite's hymn sung at oppression's behest.
Quick wealth tempts with its hollow gleam,
Shattering the right to a collective dream.
Responsive hearts now grow cold and numb,
While the cries of the fallen beat like a drum.
What reaction stirs, if not to suppress,
The spirit of change in our shared distress?
O youth, awaken! The time is dire,
Fan the embers, ignite the fire.
Not mobs of chaos, but minds that fight,
With wisdom’s torch, reclaim the right.
Revolt is not rage, but courage refined,
A call to rebuild, not to undermine.
So gather up stones, not to destroy,
But to shape a future devoid of ploy.
No more banter, no more jest,
The weight of change lies on your chest.
Steer the strive, let action take wing,
And to your own anthem, let freedom sing.
I am Sunday and always vibrant
Welcoming the week with hope, blissfully triumphant
Reminding mankind to worship God* for life jubilant
While igniting fresh start, serenely radiant.
This is Monday with strengthening engagement
Driving adrenaline with work’s accomplishment
Toward fulfillment along favorable achievement
Vanquishing slothfulness of vain involvement.
Tuesday I am of faith's well-being glow
Bringing goodness midst blessings flow
To let each one savor heaven’s supply to grow
Learning, advancing, developing… being on the go.
At your service is Wednesday delight
Indeed available to propel with joyous might
Against attacking gloom while staying bright
Toward soaring for good and the right.
Oh, my Thursday brings goodness gain
To share with love and kindness I contain
Smiting selfishness, haughtiness strain
Praying fervently, “Lord, bless us again.”
Blest Friday keeps gearing each one with cheer
Bravely overcoming boredom drawing near
So as everyone awaits for vacation dear
Gratitude prevails midst momentum-steer.
Never to neglect is my Saturday’s grace
Reigning victorious along activity race
Standing firm while week end you face
Ready for another fruitful set of days.
* Psalms 29:2 Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name; worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.
January 1, 2023
7th place, "Metrical Tale" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Hilo Poet; judged on 1/4/2024
When Spring’s first touch is gently set
with Winter now scarcely a threat,
implore the ocean breezes spray
all cares and troubles far away.
With sweet caress of warmer days
and softness in the sunny haze,
carry me to pastoral thoughts
of my favorite nature spots.
Where flowers kiss the breeze that blows
and young ones run, too spry to pose,
transport me to refreshing moods,
where nature's calm, no one intrudes.
Such peace brushes my soul out here!
I lie still as Tender Hands steer
my notions to emotions pleased
and comfort me, turmoils are eased.
Form: Rhyme (8 syllables)
30th March 2023
I like to think of family by visualizing a boat
with one family all together as on the sea they float.
Every family’s boat is different in size and shape and form
It’s a place where we learn of love and happiness
and find safety from the storms.
As babies….under motor or with its sails unfurled
this boat is all we know…this boat is our whole world.
As we grow a little older we can see while we’re afloat
there are many other ships upon the water…
that we are not the only boat.
We make friends with other boaters…
friendships our parents happily promote.
knowing everyone at the end of the day
returns to the safety of their own boat.
But as we grow still older…as we move from year to year
we take on more boating responsibilities…
and sometimes we even get to steer.
Until the day we’re given our own boat
and with a mix of sadness, hope and glee
We thank our parents as we set sail
alone…upon the sea.
Then sometime while we’re sailing
we never know where or when
we have our own family on our ship
and the cycle begins again…
And we are happy sailing this way
because we know where our parents boat is moored…
and we know they are always willing
to welcome us aboard.
When all there is might seem a mess,
Adrift, far out to sea
When all there is seems somehow less
Than what it ought to be
We cannot know, but we can guess
We are the fantasy.
As planets move within their spheres,
We see their harmony;
Watch birds in flight migrating steer,
In synchronicity;
We choose the truth when it appears
We are the fantasy
The faithful claim what god has made
Cannot be a mistake
And others say the whole charade
Is nothing but a fake
But somehow on the top we’re laid;
Like icing on the cake
We measure microscopic things
We cannot even see
Watch dust clouds pushed by cosmic winds
Out of the galaxy
We fly with ideas spread like wings
We are the fantasy
All that there is, our science consigns
To mass and energy
We order stars to our designs
To snare our destiny
We join the dots; we draw the lines
We are the fantasy.
Shake a snow globe and it's flakes
dance and swirl all over the place
glitter white blizzard within the glass
but just as soon it comes to pass
Calm and serene is the tiny village scene
within the glass water still and clean
Life can shake you and tumble you about
leave you scared and full of doubt
nothing seems fair or is it was
nothing seems good or is it should
But even the swirl of storms recede
and people who love you know your need
without you asking, ignoring your foolish pride
a helping hand blesses you and is by your side
God gave us siblings He knew we would fuss and fight
but if one's life has turn wrong, the other helps steer it right
Inch by inch, step by step
the more you love
the more love you get
The Camp Cooky’s singin again outa tune,
about turnin 60 today around noon
"What good is there in it?" I hear him say,
and it got me to thinkin . . . seein it was his birthday
It seems bein 60’s got two spins to that tale,
one frittered and wrinkled, the other covered in shale
The one who’s 60 if truth be told,
is still younger than all those 61—to real old
In the campfire’s crackle of light I can see,
how everyone younger, is likely dumber than me
So if my hands struggle with the knots and riggin fer sure,
the knowin and the tellin to those younger’s worth more
Havin outlived many a cow horse, while lovin them all,
the awnry and skitterish, the short and the tall
The summers ridin drag, and the worst winters mendin fence,
with a slicker full a holes, and that ol dog with no sense
And while the cuttin and the brandin seems boring to some,
it’s the importance of their nature and gettin things done
When the hats and the spurs and even the saddles are all gone,
and the sun sinks over that last mountain, like in Dusty’s ol song
I’ll remember the good times, lettin go of the bad,
and think back on the pards and the ladies I’ve had
Because just like for Cooky, it happened last year to me,
and turnin 60 seemed ranker than any bronc could ever be
But like that new Visalia saddle the boss man said was now mine,
I've found somethin that’s different, somethin gentler and kind
The speed and the strength ain’t been traded for free,
and somethin woke up that I guess was sleepin in me
And as I yell to the wrangler “Cut me one gentle and nice”
without loosin too much pride I ask, “Can you help Ol Jim
cinch his riggin real tight”
Then once more in the dark I ride off in search of the herd,
singin that one favorite cow song every real hand has heard
And as I inch up on the lead steer whisperin mellow and low,
“Yippee ki yay, Ol Fella; you ready to go”
For maybe one last time we push North thru the dark,
the sun still two hours off to the right of our mark
While in the distance a wolf howls, as that lead steer catches my eye,
and in that instant I know I’m still needed—a long ways from g’bye
(Dewey Montana: Circa 1990) Read In Elko Nevada, 1993