Long Strong suit Poems
Long Strong suit Poems. Below are the most popular long Strong suit by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Strong suit poems by poem length and keyword.
Her family named her Julie
She was brought by Heavens grace
Never thought that they could have a child
So Heaven’s her nickname
She was perfection at its finest
Said a young boy to this girl
He knew that he'd found Heaven
Told her she was his whole world
She blushed and smiled, without worry
Knowing trust was his strong suit
Said there's something you should know
That I'll only share with you
She said Heaven is my nickname
It's known only to a few
He never doubted for a minute
Said she was the living proof
I just want to talk about Heaven
Her pretty eyes and auburn hair
Its not the name her daddy gave her
But it's the one she loves to hear
While perfection eludes many
Her smile and soul keeps shining through
I love you more than life itself
He said there's Heaven…and then there's you
Finding Heaven isn't easy
Most are lost and can't be found
Yet this girl was all the proof he'd need
He thought she walked on hallowed ground
I just want to talk about Heaven
Her pretty eyes and auburn hair
Its not the name her daddy gave her
But it's the one she loves to hear
He didn't need to find forgiveness
From the love that he had found
For it went on ever endless
Till they laid him in the ground
He just wanted to talk about Heaven
Said he'd wait for her up there
Your the namesake of the place, where there are no mistakes
And eternity we'll share
He just talked about Heaven........
t started about a fortnight ago, I think, I began to hear bells ringing. They sound as if they are coming from far away. I listen carefully, and yes, it is exactly the same sound I heard when I was a child. One winter day I was riding in a sleigh pulled by a pony in the botanical garden, and I remember the jingle of bells on the sleigh's shafts. I felt blissful pleasure, unclouded by a single thought. I was five or six years old, I don't remember exactly. I’m not the type of person who is immersed in the past, like Marcel Proust, and I’m not particularly fond of childhood memories. But memories do not ask when they should appear; they simply intrude into one's current life, and always without any apparent reason. I go into the kitchen to wash the dishes and put the kettle on, and I hear the enchanting sound of bells ringing from somewhere far away in the corridor. Of course, there is nothing like bells in the corridor, or anywhere else in the flat. But why do I hear this sound? Can’t understand it. The only thing I understand is that it is unlikely to be a coincidence. Perhaps the ringing of bells means something that I have missed or failed to notice? Most likely, something is happening to me that I am unaware of – but I could've guessed if I had been more attentive. Unfortunately, attentiveness is not my strong suit; I've never been observant, especially when it comes to myself. I have yet to discover why I hear the bells. I expect that the explanation will come naturally, and it will satisfy me in any case. I don't intend to delve into this issue, study it, investigate the cause, and so on. A hint will suffice.
How was it that I knew so little?
Your constant admonishments seemed so brittle.
But, as time progressed from day to day
I began to realize, that was just your way.
You taught me things I knew not
and in all the years, it was a lot.
Naivete' was my strong suit,
with a little stupidity thrown in to boot.
We came often at times to loggerheads
You often chimed, "Something above your neck must be dead".
Yet, you helped me to carve out a life for me and mine
and took me to places where you knew I would shine.
You were patient with me in your own way
as I struggled to learn from day to day.
You acted as father, brother, friend and boss,
It was only today, that I learned of my loss.
No longer will I hear your soliloquy,
The depth of your loss, I have yet to see.
For you were my Mentor in times of fun and strife,
I will carry your memory...the rest of my life.
in fond memory of: Dick Clemmensen
written...10/31/15
A person is dogmatic when they are expressing opinions very strongly or positively as if they were facts. This "rebellion” is very dramatic, and theatrics are not my strong suit. There are White men holding signs that read “Black Lives Matter” during so-called “protests” to boot. If there is merchandise being produced where is the revenue being sent? Has all the money been spent? Where are the headquarters and who is the corporate executive officer? Who is the treasurer? It is my life that I treasure. To burn down a police station is an idiotic measure to ask for peace between your ghetto and the police. Should one be spared even if they attempt to murder a police officer? Kill or be killed is a law on the streets, but that to some is obsolete when the situation involves the police. What is the phone number? They were thrown a bone. I do not lose sleep. I slumber. Can you give me an exact statistical number of black lives that were lost due to the police policing the streets of American Society with lethal force? My sense of propriety will not allow me to be on the fence regarding this issue. Between 1980 and 2023 , approximately 30,000 Black men were shot and murdered by the police. I have heard such gibberish such as “defund” the police. Taking their money will not make them work harder to defend themselves against threatening suspects I suspect. The families of some of the deceased have been given settlements, so I heard through the media. They were cut a check. The police were told that the government should cut their checks. Dogmatic Individuals have many problems in understanding new ideas. They cannot accept reasonable ideas instead of their own incorrect ideas. If there is a corporate executive officer found I doubt that this person will have anything to say that is profound. There will be no statue erected in his image. There will be no one to say “I stand corrected”. There will be no direct and reasonable ideas exchanged between vandals, looters, protesters, and those who commit intentional arson, and the officers of the law. I saw a police station on fire in another state; this was being aired on the news. I never heard if anyone was apprehended. Maybe no one left any clues.
He captured her charm, serenity, and intelligence in his work. He frequently glanced from the canvas to her face. Asking her not to smile was like asking her not to breathe; patience wasn’t her strong suit.
What’s in a smile? Beauty, and everything! It was a shame that it didn’t showcase a young woman in her prime, the one everyone came to know and love. Her strong features and openness transcended the warmth of a morning rose blooming in spring.
Instead, he painted an autumn theme rather than the warmth of spring. The shape of her face and the curve of her lips were striking, yet they seemed inadequate for someone destined to be a future queen.
That was how I captured him while he slept. That was two years ago. He never contributed anything meaningful to our relationship. Was it love, or was it compassion? I remember those two years well. I told him I would forever love him. What did he do? He sold the link to our happiness. He sold the bike, GH 6615.
Those two years were a peaceful interlude for us, a reminder that what’s in a smile is not always what we think it is.
If I were a carpenter and you were a lady,
Form:
When I die I will become a princess she told us.
My satin dress will be full of vivid flower prints.
They will be so lifelike, butterflies will surround me.
I will look fabulous, and my hair will be curly.
Will you be young again? Asked a child.
I am not certain of this, she replied.
Youth was never my strong suit, so probably not.
When she died she got exactly what she expected.
She wore a gorgeous satin dress, butterflies engulfed her.
She was thrilled to discover that life did not stop at the veil.
It continued on, exactly as she had planned in her mind’s eye.
Now she wished she had dreamed of something better for herself.
(***warning ungapatchka language ahead***)
Flush with rage the spouse will become allied
if reference made how she buzzfeeds disorder
altercation especially likely if divorce blurted
making me wish to experience (immediately)
bartered bride, when mine pointed finger doth
nonverbally chide markedly appalling untidy
predilection she blithely exhibits woeful scant
interest to maintain can-do spirit affecting plea
zing aesthetic humble abode ofttimes slacking
off cleaning trail of abomination, which talent
includes unwittingly cultivating qua primordial
soup possibly duplicating conditions when life
originated (bajillion years ago) on planet Earth
witnessed courtesy think gummy, groovy, gooey,
gloppy, (nippy, nap, noopy) protoplasmic slimy
oozing blob (starring Steve McQueen) amoeba
like swallowing small towns with names such as
Chester Springs, Downingtown, Phoenixville,
& Royersford hungering, hinting, and hankering
to hasten home hearing Harris harridan hooligan
hoopla conniption purportedly linked into order
issued courtesy board of health for hen pecking
wife to hustle & make house beautiful for Biden
(accompanied with hit parade) announcing (yea)
at long last Republican administration overhaul
which fête yours truly slated to host determined
(weeks ago), thus necessitating legally wedded
counterpart to apply elbow grease in tandem to
render spic & span where unsightly food scraps,
soiled clothes, scattered papers, et cetera strewn
helter skelter, the disarray the culmination of 4+
years occupying these digs in Schwenksville, Pa.
Upon being told "get the place in ship shape order"
she went ballistic like bupkis fired out me gluteus
maximus, (whereat I couldn't help but think ICBM)
yea, an incongruous thought as she rattled vitriolic,
colorful expletives coarse language enough would
make sailor blush shutting his yapper uttering before
he even uttered "shiver me timbers," hence clatter
and din created cacophonous noise as my fair lady
affected one woman siege warfare as pots and pans
flew pell mell thru air while I took refuge in fallout
shelter unused since total mortal kombat destroyed
major swath of webbed wide world, global debacle
our dear leader triggered (when in pensive mood) he
lobbed weapons of mass destruction after being axed
to "go back home" meaning his mother planet Uranus.