Long Striven Poems
Long Striven Poems. Below are the most popular long Striven by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Striven poems by poem length and keyword.
Linda
Linda Blair, is a woman with too much care
in her heart for so many, who seem to care not.
This forces me to wonder ?, what it is they have got
that entices her, lures her into their lair ?
What is it ?, Subconsciously, that is being sought,
by this woman named Linda Blair?
To me, it seems troubling and ought not
to be, for the price seems to high, the fare
to steep for the ride she is on- that should be forgot.
I look intently, I see deeply, then I stare
into the mournfully sad eyes of Linda Blair.
This mill stone, weighted soul, so fraught
with pain, aching heart, tears caught
by winds hanging high in the air
above this woman who cannot help but care.
This thoughtful woman named Linda Blair,
whose days have come and gone, will come and go
leaving me to wonder why ?, what for ?, what do I know ?
Do I know anything ?, in the end what will show ?,
me anything about why Linda Blair,
suffers the head aches, the heart aches, why she doth care.
Life is to precious !, time is too short !, to share
it with such negative forces, forces the cause despair
to my friend, troubled friend, Linda Blair,
who, no matter what the cost, has a needs to care.
Psychos have come and Psychos will surely will go.
This my friend, you have, surely come to know ?,
that this is part of what makes your world go round.
Linda, know !, to survive upon this psychological ground,
you must awake, you must take a firm stand
and realize that it is time to let go of the hands
of those negative forces that take you down.
Find your place, fill your space, ( positive ) make it sound !
Time has brought me to this understanding, and to an end,
and so, my troubled soul, know my dear Friend,
that in my efforts, I have truly striven
to leave you with more than I have ever given.
For you, a bitter pill ?
As always – Love Bill .
B. J. “A ” 2
March 27th 2002
Who can view me behind the fence ferrous!
Those infiltrating eyes bear me desirous!
Unveiling what was previously hidden.
Keeping this same watcher has striven.
I figure you should say, "What's in plain view!"
Penny for your ideas as they decay in a dark row.
Truth is a precursor to the hotly slated freedom.
The spilling from torn gum is giving a storm!
Am I a true enchanter worthy of notice?
I feel you crying, so please, let me focus.
I never set up in front of an audience.
I starve to escape the irritating sequence.
But does it work to retain me from leaving?
This clutter adds to the overall styling.
Do they have any considerable difference?
Do I cave in, or do I dazzle with my openness?
What has me scared! How am I striving to hide?
None, however, can bear reality inside.
After the Inquest, I cast the net vast and bleak.
Induce them all to cave up the skill to peek!
Written: October 3, 2021
The greatest holiday gift I ever received
Goes back so many, many years
Before my life became turmoiled
And before my tears for fears
I was a child like many out there
Torn, strewn and split of kin
Mother and father in differences
Confused at seven, wearing their same skin
For I was one of the lucky ones
To a Highland Estate I would go
It's on the west coast of Scotland
Where my holidays desired me so
Secretly I internally smiled
For a whisper of where I was heading
To live with a movie star hero
No longer my life was in dreading
We were picked up by a man so fine
His manners were an absolute joy
Regimental he was in his approach
To me, just a seven year old boy
We travelled through the village of Plockton
Crystal clear waters edged to it's shore
I knew from this very moment
Being here ebbed previous family sores
On entering his house I was in awe
Movie pictures came to my view
They were images of James Bond
At seven I was totally through
A voice called to me
Hey James! sit down and I'll tell you me
Still in circles in walking awe
This is what he told thee
My name is Patrick Dalzel Job
In the Second World War I served
But this recognition I bestow
Humbles me to it's deserve
This honour that's been given
Was blessed by a colleague in war
What desired Ian Fleming to be so striven
Possibly, what we were fighting for
We served on the same destroyer
Fighting to make the future free
His tribute, in his novels I became
James Bond, it's incredibly me
Not many seven year olds have stayed with James Bond.
This seven year old Scot's boy has, maybe I learnt?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Dalzel-Job
My name’s Juno, I do my duty,
us black cats are quite well suited,
for adding scares this time of year,
our sharp claws, people often fear.
We have a reputation, human-given,
and to please, we’ve constantly striven;
offering good scares on Trick’n’treat night,
to serve the folks with a desired fright.
Human’s seem to love a good scare,
careful going ‘round corners, I’ll be there;
I’ll flash my eyes and hiss and spit,
to pump your adrenaline, just a bit.
Really, it’s not the most glamorous job,
I’d rather be eating some fish-kebabs.
10-12-2020
Halloween Meow Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke
They sang in the streets
Neon lights, buzzing night
Glasses raised to celebrate
Times are good; precious late!
They danced on the sand
Pale moon nestling in clouds
They walked hand in hand
His cigar smoke forming clouds
They settled in the bed
Made love like newly weds
They couldn’t believe their luck Something better than what they thought would be good!
All that I had worked!
All that I had given!
All that I had saved!
All that I had striven!
Their breakfast and cup of tea
Their elegance and their ease!
But what if they could see?
The dead man sat here wants a cup of tea!
The murdered man sat here
The murdered man who will never disappear!
For they killed me - made it look like it was me?
My wife, my house, my dreams!
Sometimes I think he senses me, ill at ease he sometimes be!
In the night a cold breeze comes while the summer night is still and warm!
A shake of curtain but no breeze
Footsteps up the stairs in the dead of night keeps his eyes peeled
A whistle of his favourite tune!
Sleep don’t come easy in MY bedroom!
He knows I’m here - he is no fool!
WE SEE THE PICTURE OF "THE CORONAVIRUS" IT REALLY IS A SIGHT TO SEE! THE SIGHT OF THE CORONA-VIRUS IS TERRIBLE AN IT IS A LIFE FORM,AND WE KNOW AND REALIZE WHO IS THE CREATOR OF ALL LIFE!!! IN "THE HOLY BIBLE": THE LORD WHO'S NAME IS GOD TELLS US ALL IN EVERY LAND WHAT HE CAN AND WILL DO! IN "THE HOLY BIBLE": IN ISAIAH CHAPTER 45;AND VERSE 7 . GOD WHOSE NAME IS "LORD" SAYS; I FORM THE LIGHT,AND "CREATE DARKNESS. I MAKE PEACE ,AND "CREATE EVIL"; I 'THE LORD' DO ALL THESE THINGS!!!! IN ISAIAH IN "THE HOLY BIBLE" CHAPTER 42 VERSE 8 GOD TELLS US ALL IN THE ENTIRE WORLD HIS NAME. GOD SAYS : I AM "THE LORD": THAT IS MY NAME. GOD SAYS IN "THE HOLY BIBLE" ISAIAH CHAPTER 43 VERSE 11. GOD SAYS ; I EVEN I AM "THE LORD,AND BESIDE ME THERE IS NO SAVIOR. IN ISAIAH CHAPTER 45 VERSE 5 IN "THE HOLY BIBLE" GOD SAYS : I AM "THE LORD AND THERE IS NONE ELSE. THERE IS NO GOD BESIDE ME: IN THE HOLY BIBLE GOD LETS US "ALL KNOW" IN ALL LANDS OF THIS WORLD REALIZE HIS "HOLY NAME". IN ISAIAH CHAPTER 45. VERSE 1 .GOD SAYS OR 9 GOD SAYS "WOOH UNTO THE ONE WHO STRIVETH WITH HIS OR HER MAKER!!!!! WE HAVE A LOT OF PEOPLE STRIVEN WITH THEIR MAKER AND A LOT OF PEOPLE DYING FOR STRIVEN WITH THEIR MAKER EVERYDAY!!!! IT IS HAPPENING MOSTLY IN THE MIDDLE-EAST AND ALL OVER THE WORLD AND IN THE U.S.A!!! IN "THE HOLY BIBLE" IN PSALMS 100 TELL PEOPLES OF "ALL LANDS IN THIS WORLD WHAT TO DO,AND THIS IS TRUE!!!! MAKE A JOYFUL NOISE UNTO "THE LORD ALL YE LANDS!!! KNOW YE THAT "THE LORD": HE IS GOD! IT IS HE THAT HAS MADE US ,AND NOT WE OURSELVES!!!! THE "LORD IS GOD"! JESUS CHRIST IS "IN" GOD,"IN HEAVEN WITH "THE FATHER,AND WITH THE HOLY SPIRIT,AND WITH THE CONFORTER,AND THAT IS "THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY WHICH IS "ONE SPIRIT!!! ONE GOD!!! ONE LORD,ONE FAITH, ONE BAPTISM!!! LUKE CHAPTER 3 VERSE 21 AND 22 LETS US REALIZE THAT GOD MADE JESUS CHRIST HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON WHO CAME OUT OF GOD,AND WENT BACK TO GOD THE FATHER! THE LORD IS GOD!!! THREE PERSONS IN "ONE"!! ONE SPIRIT!! LORD GOD ALMIGHTY!!!
Feelings
With age past it’s prime, with experiences felt,
can we get past that time, with the hand that dealt ?
Do we ?, in the end, have any notions
that we truly lived with- in all of loves potions.
Or are we just passing by – going through without emotions ?, -
all that we’ve lived, all that we’ve given,
all that we have taken, all that we have striven
for, without nothing more than ambiguous memories
- that tell the tails, the stories of our checkered histories -
to carry us through this veiled shroud of life
with all it’s ins and outs, ups and downs and all the strife
one must endure throughout their years within this life.
Have I really lived within the realm of real feelings ?
Have I ever reached up, tried to touch life’s ceilings ?
Have I given to/ taken from all of life’s best ?
Have I not known ?, buried, laid to rest ?
Have I let it all slip by ?, made of this life a mess ?
Have I ?, I do not know, cannot say, I can only guess.
B . J. “A ” 2
September 24th 2002
Character.
That's where the biggest measurements,
truest tests of worth
should lie.
And yet, 'tis not so.
Sometimes, mostly, I believe
that it's indeed enough.
That being a good man
is enough to keep me afloat.
Sometimes, rarely, . . .
I don't.
How many good men die?
How many great people, nice guys,
saintly women, shining paragons of humanity -
are shunned?
People don't always look at you
with virtue in mind,
don't gaze through honor's eyes;
too often they look through you, into you,
to what you can do for them.
Too often they choose,
not to see the real source of light in front of them,
but instead just the glow of fool's gold;
warping your worth to mean usefulness
instead of selflessness,
utility instead of altruism.
Or they misread you entirely;
focusing solely on your looks,
or your wealth, or your mannerisms,
your attitudes;
one is chosen, only one is seen -
the one made to blemish and demean.
Very few gaze on the whole picture,
take in the whole work;
these are those you treasure.
The ones, also, of value,
the ones who are what they claim
and claim little more than living
in a respectable way.
But still, in this life,
character matters oft too little;
gathers all but nothing corporeal.
In the end, one must make a choice;
tangible wealth, or wealth of pride?
What matters to one more -
the character of the substance,
or the substance of the character?
I strive to continue
to believe that great people are there;
that who you are
makes a damn bit of difference.
But throughout that strife,
ever am I haunted, shadowed,
by one ceaseless question.
How many good men die?
That's it. That's what I want to know.
That's what follows and taunts me.
How many of them fall, without ever knowing
just what they've meant to those they've helped -
those they've served, protected, assisted, befriended?
Whether it was a much-needed pat on the back,
picking up a dropped cane, searching for something lost;
or something bigger -
a life given, an oath fulfilled,
a love or a friendship began and striven for -
how many never believe they've made a difference, however slight,
never realize what they truly were?
How many good men die,
having once or more asked a question of their own -
am I a good man,
was I a good man-
without their answer?
It has stood for decades along the county gravel road.
Skittering mice and barn owls now call it their abode.
What was once a stately building is now a shambles,
Surrounded by barren fields and prickly brambles.
Where once its weather-boarding was a bright cherry-red,
Due to the ravages of time, they're now a silvered-gray instead.
Yet can be seen a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco sign on its weathered side,
And a rusty weather-vane twisting in the wind, though a bit cockeyed!
Seasons of howling gales have striven to raze its sturdy oaken beams,
But they've held the old barn together though straining at its seams.
Its cavernous lofts once abounded with fragrant alfalfa hay,
That provided children a playground on many a rainy day.
It sheltered horses, sheep and cattle on frigid winter nights,
And for lack of electricity, it was lit by flickering lantern lights.
It was built when neighbors helped neighbors who were skilled,
At wielding hammer and saw and cherished great pride in their guild.
(The old barn of which I speak still stands on Indiana's Farmers' Pike,
Where I spent many happy times as an unassuming Hoosier tyke!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Was Selected as Poem Of The Day by Soup 26 July 2016
Some think that the initial spark was certainly God given
If you accept the concept of free will I'll give you that
Some blink and think that all man's gain is surely striven
I think and therefore I am among the ones who know no one can know
For sure and so I choose to go in thought somewhere I know
I must rely on what I see for what I state in fact and don't react
To what I can't relate to anything outside my mind as mine alone
When inner dialog is represented as a matter then, of course
Discourse recourse will be dismissed as lacking any standing
The audience is left with less demanding understanding
Handing tending of the fire to the arsonists for hire
With ready fire as their aim midst claims to have a plan