Long Stir up Poems
Long Stir up Poems. Below are the most popular long Stir up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stir up poems by poem length and keyword.
Just in the way one says things ends up setting the tone
With the baggage that brings, more than could be known
Though it's from deep in the heart being too free to reign
Allowing that other instinctive part and thus causing pain
What you wanted to say may have even been appropriate
But in so making your way you soon got caught up in a fit
And other things came to mind and it just went from there
Now you're in a real bind, oh how life always seems unfair
Maybe next time take some advice to train that other part
In who has paid your price and the pure love in His Heart
Momentarily reflect on this and start talking to Him instead
For all the anger will be remiss as His thoughts fill your head
This will only take a minute and saving you so many more
I'm glad you lent me your ear if even to just open that door
For as to what you will find and as to how you will soon feel
For one you'll have peace of mind as the heart begins to heal
Proverbs 15:1
A soft answer turneth away wrath:
but grievous words stir up anger
Mornings speak louder
with the early birds' songs.
The joy of the sun
that disguises our sadness,
leaving it behind for some time.
June discovers souls
that live in the gloom,
feeling alive as we open our eyes
with the light trapped
during the winter.
Blessed is the light
that removes dark feelings,
blessed are the eternal songs
of the birds that wake us up
every morning.
Blessed is June, because
the revelry of children
playing happily,
evokes dreams that stir up
our past, bringing a smile back
to our bumpy present.
Blessed is June, for its joy,
light and warmth.
A shiny special month
reveals the child on us
opening the same window
for years, as it was the first time.
What makes a home a home?
Is it because you are there?
Or someone there?
No
A home is a home when you can hang your hat down
and not afraid you will mess it up
A home is a home when you can walk around in your underwear
and not be afraid you'll be losing it
Losing what?
Lol
Who knows?
Your self control, inhibition, whatever...
A home is a home where you can express your feelings
and not be afraid that you will be judged
as too sentimental, detrimental, temperamental
judgemental
Lol
You are never that, are you?
A home is where you hang yourself to sleep
on the couch
and do whatever
where you are perfectly fine in your own world
come whatever what may
You don't stir up for nothing
Yeah
I hope you can be like that
Anywhere you go
Because a home is not a home
if it's not in you
Welcome home, baby
I know I am
:)
Have you ever tried to make an acrostic cake?
If you make a big one, it takes longer time to bake.
Think first of a title that is interesting to you.
Any kind of word or even a phrase will do.
Stir up in your imagination titles with a flavor
that your reader/taster will really want to savor.
The main ingredients of acrostic cake are these:
first letter of each line is the sugar. Stir it in with ease..
There is a shortcake acrostic. It’s the easiest of all.
With a short-word title, the number of ingredients is small.
Take, for example, a little title word like “GO” -
first line needs that sugary G; last line sweeten with O.
“Get into your car any time of day
Off you drive or if you care to, simple walk away”
The title “GO” has been spelled downward. That’s acrostic, see?
Rhyme is cream you may whip up and add, easy as can be.
But to be a master baker of acrostic cake, use smooth glazes -
Your butter will be the descriptively tasty words or phrases.
Since your main letter ingredients will downward titles spell,
add sprinkles (bold print of first letters) and you should do well.
My Mother was born on October 3, 1916, and died on August 6, 1997.
She would have been over a hundred years of age. I (we) miss her very much as all who love her dearly.
My nice wrote at her funeral a poem called: “Wings of a Quiet Spirit”
“Quiet Spirit, you give me strength. Your supportive presence guided me. Through joy, sorrow it helped taking steps into an uncertain tomorrow. Quiet Spirit, you rejoiced in having the Lord…even knowing that you would soon depart, you kept prayer close to heart. Just as the earthly journey begins…it must one day come to an end. It’s ok to spread your wings…it’s ok soar. Fly Quiet Spirit…into the wind”.
The word “Quiet” in meek and quiet doesn’t refer to volume, as in loud versus soft. Rather, it is a heart attitude of quietness. It is a picture of resting in the Lord, not being anxious. Even though the word doesn’t have to do with the volume of our voices, in a home, loudness associated with anger isn’t healthy. So I would encourage you that, yes, it would be good to make yourself respond to the children in a very quiet voice.
(Proverbs 15:1) “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.” This doesn’t imply to me a loud voice. I have learned, and am still in training, to have a meek and quiet spirit, with the volume of the Holy Spirit of God. Often a meek and quiet spirit, for me, would translate into a quiet mouth. It is good for us to trust God to give us answers to any problem that may come around because if we don’t we will make the situation worst without His guiding.
My mom Angeline Oliver was a meek person on this earth. She wasn’t perfect, but the perfection of the Holy Spirit through Christ Jesus lived within her.
If your mom is still alive, cheer her, love her, with 'Wings of a Quiet Spirit'.
"Happy Easter To You!", is the greeting I hear them shout!
Alas, I just lamely roost here, brood, ponder and pout!
I've worked for weeks making eggs and I'm all tuckered out!
All this hoopla about rabbits, I can really do without!
Me, my mom, aunts, nieces and innumerable distant cousins,
Have been producing eggs by the gross and by the dozens.
Every Easter 'tis those wily bunnies earning the gratitude,
Leaving me and my kin with a very fractious attitude!
Moms send their kids to rob the eggs from 'neath our breast,
Telling them the rabbits made them - this I vehemently protest!
I'm thinking of a sitdown strike come Lent next year,
To frustrate those crafty varmints with a message loud and clear!
The kids make appalling designs on the beauties we produce,
And even tint our chicks in lurid hues, adding to the abuse!
The rabbits get all the glory and stir up all this commotion!
They don't lay eggs! I'll disabuse folks of that silly notion!
If I sound somewhat frustrated, well I reckon I am,
As those cunning scoundrels perpetuate their mythical scam!
Us chickens will just have to press on with our usual grace.
The truth will out, then we'll "cluckle" at the egg on their face!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Placed No. 3 in A Chicken Poem In Memory of Armano Aurocano Rock Star
What makes an ordinary lady stand out
of the moving crowd walking too fast:
is her elegance, how she dresses;
how her unique attire effects others!
What you are after is not deception,
breaking somebody's heart is evil;
your intentions are simply noble
beyond any realistic perception:
you had yours broken and won't tell!
Femininity is the noblest virtue
that only a few women pursue,
what God assigned to a female
to do makes many turn pale!
A lustful woman who goes
on a wild chase knows
the desires of men that
have little or no restraint!
Yes, they know how to take
advantage of her, giving her
what she eagerly looks for;
not realizing her mistake!
I admire the femininity of a sweet woman
who's charmed by the smile of her man,
and in his strong arms she finds Heaven;
isn't her main role to stir up his passion?
Friday night's here at last ...lets have a blast.
Teenagers dash to discos ...ready to dance
to throbbing beats and combo drums
rythm and blues....kicked off shoes
as rock and roll pours out the heat..
Swaying along... couples dance and sing
swinging to the beat ...that's everything.
reggae to hip hop....... rap and soul
stir up emotions but take its toll.
Kissing and necking .....lips close around bottle necks
draining the draft.....drowning the thought of dreary days gone by
no thought of days to come...or care about outcome.
Older women start weekend cleaning.
Scouring cupboards, doing laundry,
dusting tops... flying mops
vacuming carpets...putting out garbage
no end in sight for the chores to be done
till the night is come and work is done
they slog and clean... till everything gleams.
Old men hurry to the corner bars
for a drink, a chat and a meeting with pals
to watch the wrestling match.....on the TV screen.
Till mignight they stay.. drinking their way through
bottles of beer, whiskey and rum
till their eyes water...and tongues grow numb.
Home to their wives they weave a crooked path
can't even see their way in the dark
Cursing themselves for drinking too much
now sitting ducks for thugs on the watch.
They wake up next morning asleep on the couch
shoes in their pockets ......stale breath in their mouths.
Money's gone...so too are wife and sons.
yet never has there been a house so clean.
Have they learnt a lesson...we shall never know
for the habits continue every Friday night
No one seems to get it right
Enjoy your weekends....but maintain self - repect
for when that is lost...what comes next.?
In the atmospherev of love, a paradox reigns
Where women chase the tumult, the heart's pains
A nice guy's gentle touch, a soothing breeze
Bores them, and they yearn for the stormy seas
Peace, a virtue men pursue, is a curse
To women, who crave the whirlwind's traverse
A man will flee the drama, the emotional strife
But women cling to the rollercoaster of life
The sweet-bitter thrill, a potent aphrodisiac
Lures them, and they succumb to its toxic charm
Even in calm waters, they'll stir up the deep
And conjure dramas, their souls to keep
A nice guy's kindness, they'll exploit and use
But a bad boy's edge, they'll crave and refuse
To let him change, for in his rough terrain
Lies the excitement, the thrill of the unknown game
If he yields, she'll scorn him, her attraction lost
For the bad boy's mystique, she cannot be crossed
But if he resists, she'll stay, her passions aflame
Tethered to the chase, the emotional game
So, men, beware, the earlier you know
The better for you, to traverse this woe
Nice guys don't win, their hearts laid bare
For women's hearts beat for instability's snare
Treat them as they wish, with a measured hand
Don't overdo, don't try to understand
For in the tumult, they'll find their delight
And in the peace, a dull, unending night.
Hungry for munchies, on his way to the lunchroom,
a rambunctious, persnickety,“fuss-budget”, elderly
jittery, fidgety, geezer, named Cassidy…
whose questionable dexterity, aghast by a massive sneeze,
teeter-tottered precariously.
at the edge of the thingamajig, ...jigging one way, jagging the other!
Minding his own beeswax, without any rigmarole,
topsy-turvy on his feet, he reached for the balustrade,
became quite flabbergasted, and very discombobulated
when the doohickey provided for his ambidextrous aid
jiggled free from its screws, and found him footloose!
It seemed the doo-dad, put there by some nitpicking pipsqueak,
some flat-footed, hooligan, who knew diddly-squat, who obviously,
recklessly, constructed a railing, only worthy for failing!
Such foolhardy shenanigans! Was it some practical joke
to lambaste aged codgers, eliminate lodgers, and boondoggle the old folks?
Cass, was an old rabble-rouser, considered a blabbermouth,
was thrown off his epicenter, while his cane went a'sailing, appendages flailing
Onlookers, were outraged, ....in stage of amazement
but laughs grew contagious, and cock-eyed hilarious!
Those carpetbagger carbuncles of society….can’t stop this old fogy
Cass, brushed off his hinny, would not be blind-sighted..
Barbaric bedevilment, won’t halt his felicity!
Some even predicted, with his acid tongue lashings, and his eccentric behavior,
he would stir up entanglement, kibosh the haranguers
and strangle the caboodles, who hooted and hollered!
His face turned beet red, but no meltdown,......instead
He held his chin high
to the dining room, ahead....he ordered French bread
Ordered some bouillabaisse, toasted with balderdash and a shot of rye
He dined with the multitudes, ordered some strudel, and one snicker-doodle
Then he told folks a riddle, "There was a man with a cane, who slipped on a noodle, a handrail came loose, he injured his caboose….and cooked his goose!"
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