Long Stimulus Poems

Long Stimulus Poems. Below are the most popular long Stimulus by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stimulus poems by poem length and keyword.


Jesus, Our Stimulus Package

a constanza

When justice suffers miscarriage,
and government’s way out of scope,
One judge stands firm - Jesus, our hope.

Christ speaks with clear, simple language. 
In mercy and truth, without flaw,
“I have come to fulfill God’s law.”

One policy shapes His salvage.
His righteousness consists thereof –
His blood for our sin - perfect love.

In Him we gain right of passage,
but redemption wants repentance;
Christ’s mandate - complete allegiance.

Jesus, our stimulus package.
Stir us, Worthy Lamb who was slain
Desire of Nations, come and reign


the monorhymed stanza

When justice suffers miscarriage,
Christ speaks with clear, simple language.
One policy shapes His salvage.
In Him we gain right of passage,
Jesus, our stimulus package.


2
Form: Rhyme


Soul In Leisure

This in reference to the famous poem of William Davies ,"Leisure ": What is this life if full of care, we have no time to stand and stare...




Endless wait, a lonely window pane 
in a colorless world of corona despair
stop and paused, "poor life full of care"
that smile enriched, to "stand and stare".
See Davies, time vanished, untangled path
now in embraced arms of Mother Nature, 
I step into her alleys, seamless beauty 
In "streams full of stars", I find leisure 
I turn and  glance at her leaves and twigs, 
their dance in breeze of tawny and green 
singing  through trees a choir of birds 
rhapsody of colors, in silent fervent pulse.
petals touch me, emanating innocence 
sunflowers nodding, fusion of red roses.
squirrels running, found their hidden nuts?
in pullulating grass, my memories all shut.
vermilion shades in its spring upholstery 
meditation in mandala, teaches me poetry
a menthol aroma, a stimulus so serene 
horizon to horizon, loveliness in between
In your osmosis I immerse,  pores frenzied  
inebriant in harmony, no more uncertainty 
Soul liberated free,  why didn't I before see ? 



Mandala is a ritual symbol in Hinduism and Buddhism, represents spiritual journey within the individual 

9th April 2020

Sponsor	Chantelle Anne Cooke
Contest Name	Serenity In Scenes Of Mother Nature |

Premium Member Not More Bad News

Once upon the start of time,
Universal Space was permaculturally natural systemic
intelligence
information--
Positively radiant development
of nondual co-gravitating systemic memory capacity,
progenerically,
pregeneratively,
birth-bang Father Solar System
revolving Mother Earth, 
their swirling twisting revolutionary prime relationship
diastolically reflected in Grandmother Moon's
monthly periods of fertile gravitational light
and dark newly dissonant transitions.

YangSun radiates Yin's EarthTribal Skins,
breeding hydrogen and oxygen,
and that whole tribal table of
ecological economic transactional cooperation,
air and water and soil and fire
and synergetic love-chemistry sets
of live-systems,
evolving and absorbing reverse-evil non-paradigms 
of generally dissonant and yet prime-consonant negentropy,
and the rest,
as we often say,
is justice enculturating and in-forming history;

Of poly-cultural evolution and development,
in-carnation and meta-systemic karma,
of enthymematically rooted stimulus and response communication,
of Yang greets Yin
meets bi-rooting Yang
greets binomial Yin
meets binary balanced Yang;

+/(-)(-)0Bit-monomial Time
balancing 
Permaculturating 
Universal Systemic Well-Being Relationship.

So, if don't nobody bring me no bad news,
we can live cooperatively and peacefully ever after,
with emerging proclivities toward warm glowing campfires
under the stars 
reflecting sacred burning bushes
dreaming bicamerally balancing minds.

Emotions

Faces in the clouds that mutate
stimulus smile in strength of faith

Dreams of strange destination
challenges and its flirtation

The calling of images familiar
relevant question peculiar

Strange and sudden breeze
decisions captured to freeze

Twilight in big wondering
changes that taste of road smothering

Imagination with fragrant of grace
dissolving another mace

Mysteries and its sweet fortune cookie
choosing the road more rocky

Evolutionary sacred curiosity
loved spheres and part of virtuosity

Aesthetics in awe by every breath
echoes of stars long death

Like in many dreams before
uncertainties with faith to adore
Form: Ballade

If Memory Is a Lie Then So Am I

Proust searched his brain for memories that 
made the man, could finally understand
that this changed him just by looking;
so he called himself a sentimental realist!

many a prisoner, in walls cast of shadows,
have escaped their fate etched in stone
and bars at Guantanamo, where they
remade themselves in the language of pain -

the poetry of misery or bliss to relive a life
that past has missed, to rekindle themselves 
in the alembic of desire, their inner fire
because of the lie of memory; I am frisson!

oh, yearning moment, oh, swelling into dreams
come of these needful things, where open
skies and open roads and open fields
are little sparks in open places closed inside of me.

when this lightning sings my body moves
with the ghostly touch of numinous grass 
and forgotten fragile flowers, the distant buzz of bee 
and echoing twitter of birds sound again inside of me.

inside of memory is me, thereto is the lie
where holes are filled by imagination, a story I call
myself where fiction and reality are hopelessly 
intertwined, undermining who I thought was me and too, mine.

this albatross of original stimulus, this 
verisimilitude of the incongruous, mutable
impressions which fleeting fly dead-away
fall into the deep error of my earnest loom; memory!

the act of remembering changes me, so a fool I have
become, locked in shadows, staring dumb, I shun this outer lock, sing my songs as they
come from now on, making me in my own image 
                                                      unbecoming, 
                                                            unfettered, 
                                                                 unfinished, 
                                                                        undone ...


Premium Member Daystar 2

Dream peep of early gold rim halo 
August riser gleeful in exalted chant
Yield to dulcet chirp from ornate winger
Sunburst orange red splash of heaven
Taunt and tease ocean blue mist eyes 
Amber warm rays dazzle pearl clad beach
Revere the hue-rich magic spectra veil

Designed by glow world spirit apt 
Aligning deft nirvana enigmatic
You’ll embrace a stunning touchstone 
Strewn amid solid  crystal bounty
Traipsing vivid emerald paths ahead
Amazed by wondrous vista woven
Redolent of chalk mark visual rife

Dabble in the morn’s first usher
Archway to vibrant wakener within
Yen for ample stimulus astride 
Sensory luxuriance devoid of match
Tangled web surfeit found epic 
Aching surge of tinted aspect
Rhythmic ripples on beaded brow
Form: Acrostic

Premium Member If It Wasn’t For Poetry Soup

From the very depths of my inner being I cherish  Poetry Soup,
without the written verse I’d  be impoverished as a person,
literary projects spur me on to otherworldy epic peaks,
an open channel with furtherance from lexicons endowed,
golden opportunity for human pathos rich and fair,
stomach-wrenching pain, joyous peals of  laughter, mental stimulus,
visions I adhere to have a wider world impetus,
the comity of fellow authors and their honest feedback,
diplomatic goodwill hint at barren lapse within my canon,
and gracious honeyed Bon Mot of peer group kudos on occasions,
that  angst-ridden moment before a contest sponsor judgement,
bold gasp of relief at higher placement than expected,
or just as likely glum expression at the baleful NA,
in support a staunch muse Jay A Pallen sheds her light,
loyal and demonstrative sister, whose sparkling eyes ooze warmth,
sagacious councillor supreme, bestowing love on this bard and their ardent stanza,
who brought to my attention bewitching vistas waiting to be captured,
influencer of my first ever piece  “Downward Plod,”
where this writer’s magic life-enhancing odyssey began,
how  I cherish every moment spent on Poetry Soup

The Silence That Speaks

Hidden beneath my heart’s crust
The exodus of my emotions is something I can trust
Often this is a love I wish not to discuss
But I only wish to pour out the beauty of this venomous love!

Thunderous screams build up in silence
My love for her is a river that keeps flowing!
Poisonous thoughts curdle behind me
Rapturous melodies dance in front of me
Not having her beside me is a stimulus 
For words to live on forever until the end of time!

This love of mine is scorched in royalty
The loyalty of my ambition stretches beyond the darkness
It is clear that I am not finish loving you and
This echoes as the silence that speaks!

Mark Frank

Copyright 2022
© Mark Frank  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member Rose Garden

Rose blossoms divine~ splendor exuding delight,
Ebullient is their stance, colorful is their profile,
Ecstatically they rise, flaunting exuberant smile;
Grandeur flower-bouquets charming your sight
Lauding scented whiffs fragrant blooms impart
As silken petals unfold, lip-synching your heart.

Upon arched trellis dazzles honey-gold royal rose
Forming vibrant arc of winsome welcome-pose,
Charming realm of crimson, scarlet, coral, themes~
Seductive blooms enchanting passionate dreams,
Standing tall on long-stems wallowing in sunrise
Romancing love-vibes beaming through your eyes.

Bountiful clusters tout reddish-purple fuchsia blush
Oscillating rosy-buds to lyrical melodies of thrush
Where, chasing nectar, bees and butterflies rush,
While daydreams-enamored, clasping silence hush,
Reveling indulgent stimulus in cooing hints of dove
Strumming in our hearts mellifluous music of love.

March 14, 2022
Placed 1st: A Brian Strand 1095
Placed 2nd: Garden Inspirations Poetry Contest
Sponsor: BJ Legros Kelley
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member The Stimulus Check

My neighbor passed in July but her mail keeps coming. I didn't know why. Our mail boxes are very small. I haven't lived here long and hardly knew her at all. Perhaps her son was too bereft to notify the post office of her death? I tried reaching out to him on the phone but only got an answer tone. Today as many a day before, I gathered up the mail and left it at her condo door. I glanced at it and thought what the heck, she had finally received a stimulus check. Due to the circumstances it's quite funny, is there no oversight before printing out money? Where she's gone at ninety three, she has no interest in stimulating our economy.
Form: Rhyme

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