Long Suffice Poems
Long Suffice Poems. Below are the most popular long Suffice by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Suffice poems by poem length and keyword.
You want a poem my dear damsel
abruptly I start this off beat for you still
after all these illustrious years
turn my heart into a robotic puppy
I curl up next to your feet wanting to be petted
to be warmed, to be loved
you neither kick nor scream or show affection
there you sit upon your throne
an elegant, graceful queen
busy up to your knees in royal technicalities
when you'd rather be out on a boat
in open water, going 80 mph
the sun setting with the wind in your hair
a majestic view for a cool calm day
to forget the stress, the decay of the mess
attacking the doorsteps of your inner fortress
You want a poem my tangled heroine
upon a knee I'd give you a ring
for a fairytale dream to make believe
twirl your hair once upon a finger
as your small pink lips present a smile
the sun would be jealous of
for you bright up the night, the day
you bright up my world, what else could I possibly say
you're amazing
there's not a star in the sky I haven't wished upon
to let you here me say
I'm here for you always
You want a poem, is that what you said precious Scarlett
do you want an array of calculated words to describe your beauty
or is that a cliche I should put away for a rainy day
Would you like a careful depicted letter of how I missed you
your whimsical laugh, your spontaneous demeanor
or to put it simply the blessing of your presence
Answer me this, I beg of you, I ask of you
would you permit this night
a carefully construed romantic pledge I'd cascade into your everglades
a visual portrait to appease the goddess in your eyes
or would you just be comfortable with a silent movie
filled with mystic lullabies, no goodbyes, long sighs
a hug for old times
My dear love kiss me swiftly, sweetly, strongly, would you please
I've missed the way your eyes used to stare at me, glare at me
miles and miles, right?
I could channel my inner Beatles, grow a strawberry field
tell the whole world that we've met
ever since I've met you I've been fallen
and I just let it be
the only words of wisdom I could muster
let it be
You wanted a poem my pretty damsel, my dear Scarlett
you wanted a poem dear love
I want a victory, tell me do you miss me?
You wanted a poem fair lass
can we make at least this night last
You wanted a poem beautiful one
you are my only tangled heroine
You wanted a poem graceful queen
does this suffice?
(1.)
Alas! So Shoot Me, I Grieve What Was Lost
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
One may ask, how dare I so complain?
Does Nature cry about hard falling rain?
Yet does not this world its ills promote well?
Oft with sorrows borne from depths of Hell?
Dare I choose to such dark verses to write?
Have I not truly joined in the fight?
Alas! So shoot me, I grieve what was lost
Not just youth, but those things Time took away
Within aching heart comes an icy frost
Covering epic pains of such decay!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet, repeat stanza ( with triple couplets )
******
(2.)
Those Lush And Tender, Soft Welcoming Lips
Those flowing curls, glowing luscious mane
Sexy smile, flowering as desert rain
Bountiful beauty, sent to ease heart's pain
Lovely blessing sent for this soul to gain.
Ravishing essence with sweet touch to match
My hesitation, thinking what is the catch
That such a beauty would now my way pass
A goddess, sweet speaking to this poor lass.
Those lush and tender, soft welcoming lips
With true beauty, grace, and curvaceous hips
Yes beauty, as could launch a thousand ships
And greatest king's treasure surely eclipse.
Those tender kisses that were sent both ways.
May we forever - remember that day!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And Life, Its Journey Ever Sped Onward )
******
(3.)
Does Basking Moon Ask Strolling Stars For More
Of beauty, earth, wind and soft glowing sky
Dares this artist to weep tears asking why
Heart and soul must pay such a heavy price
And shed blood for it to ever suffice?
Does basking moon ask strolling stars for more
Space and time to heavenly night explore
And cast upon earth a much deeper hue
To inspire such in poets such as you?
Does dawn its resplendent new rays withhold
That gift, that gleaming beauty to be sold
Or Mother Nature fail to gift new birth
Or poets fail to cast beauty's true worth?
Do such quizzing queries set well in verse
Or fail as being dated and quite terse?
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet,
( And what of life, love and this thing we call earth ? )
A Rift in Time
By Elton Camp
Henry Higgins, B.A., M.A. Ph.D., graduate in physics from the Massachusetts Institution of Technology, is missing. Born August 8, 1950, he was thought of as a genius by some, but as a crackpot by others. Revolutionary theories on the possibility of time travel that he presented at scientific gatherings received a mixture of applause and ridicule. None of his articles have seen publication in peer-reviewed journals.
How his machine works is of a technical nature, thus certain to be of insignificant interest to the readers of this account. Suffice it to say that it works very well. Henry had seen his device disappear and reappear multiple times after being programmed to slide both forward and backward in time.
Finally came the day to test it in person. Surprisingly athletic for a man of his years, Henry strapped himself into place before the control panel, adjusted his eyeglasses and pulled a protective helmet over his thick, gray hair. He set the chronometer to early August of 2040 to determine if he was still living at that advanced age and what honors had been accorded him by the scientific community.
With a barely-discernable jerk, the time machine began its slide into the future, the red cancel button prominently alongside the digital display of the date. The world outside the device became a blur and Henry heard only a low hum from the engine. All seemed to be well as the years rolled by on the chronometer. At first, that is.
Henry noted with surprise the muscle atrophy and skin changes associated with extreme age. A slight looseness of his helmet caused him to discover that he was now as bald as his father had been in his late eighties. Henry’s eyeglasses no longer allowed him to read the control panel clearly. The truth hit him--he was aging along with the passing years. The inanimate time machine had shown no such effect, but it was different with a biological organism. He desperately punched the cancel button, realizing that, if his future self was not still living, his death was impending.
To his relief, the chronometer slowed and stopped. Without input from Henry, the time device began to move backward in time, slowly at first, and then at a brisk clip. By the time the read-out showed Henry’s present, his physical deterioration had been reversed and all was as before.
This sinner here --Michelle--
learned at St. Peter Chanel
there's no point to rebel
Life without God is Hell
Not just a state of mind
also an afterlife confined
to weep, & teeth-grind
all happiness -- behind
It would NOT be fun--
not "a day in the sun!"
no chance to go for a run
the joys of life -- done
Never chillin' with friends
too late to make amends
from Love, the soul rends
and remorse never ends
I don't know about you--
thoughts of Hell make me blue
but it really exists -- it's true
souls could avoid it if they knew
A big pothole in the crosswalk
won't disappear just cuz we balk
we have to watch where we walk
to be safe, lock, barrel and stock
To step up safely, it'd be smart
to climb the ladder to God's Heart
via her--who from Him--isn't apart
the Immaculata's sweet help is a start
Say, Mary be a mother to be now
she's closer to her Son than me --or thou--
from His Cross, He did endow
her to be a mother to us all --and how!
Mary's every word in the Holy Bible
can clear up any anti-Jesus libel
her love for all nations, intertribal
more devotion-worthy than Cybele
I hope Jacinta, Francisco, and Lucia
keep up their intercessory Ave Maria
praying till the world's end: good idea
for peace in Russia, Ukraine (& Korea)
These kids turned their lives around
with the fervent prayer life they found
their sacrifices for sinners did abound
due to their vision of Hell so profound
St. Faustina also envisioned Hell & told
to lovingly warn us, not abrasively scold
read her beautiful story and be consoled
Divine Mercy's testament is New, & Old
We have a way out, with the Lamb
(in other words, the Great I Am)
it's not too good to be true, no sham
Divine Mercy doesn't wish to damn
Ceaseless tortures? No thanks!
I'd rather join the ranks
of all the repentant cranks
giving up our sinful pranks
So then here's my advice
gotta be better than "nice"
but God's grace will suffice
to grow virtue from vice
He's the Way, Truth, and Life
He understands our strife
Urging us with Love, not a knife
Loving us though our sins be rife
There's a twist to this story
I look forward to Purgatory
as more purifying than gory
for God's greater glory
Ultimately I say: Aim Higher
God created us with the desire
after this short life, to retire
to sing in Heaven's choir
Back in my day shell suits were the latest fashion
And I made sure I wore my diamond socks with a passion
The only sky I knew was the one up above my head
No dvd player, just a betamax had to do instead
The only laptop I knew was the tray my dinner was served in
No sat nat to direct us, just maps and a lot of guessing
My social network involved playing outdoors with my friends
If I had an important message there was no text for me to send
Instead I would simply go and knock on the door
And enjoy a good game of hopscotch, drawn neatly on the floor
If I wanted to listen to music I held my boom box to my ear
And I felt like a millionaire in my latest pair of L.A Gear
No ipod to shuffle or touch just my sony walkman
No google to look for answers, just the library to depend on
No Ipad, no playbook, just a good old storybook
It may even be in hardback if I had any luck
No freeview, no Virgin, I was lucky to even have colour tv
And a rubiks cube would suffice, never mind an XBOX 360
It was all about hammer time and wearing those pants
And the theme tune to Fraggle Rock I would happily chant
No cyber bullying, only cyber I knew was the tamagocchi pet
No loading plates into the dishwasher as it hadn't been invented yet
No cd player, my cassettes were the in thing
And to have a sovereign ring on every finger meant you had some bling
The A Team, crossroads, tiswas and happy days was the programmes I watched
No series links or reminders to watch programmes like Lost
No rewinding the tv or pausing whilst I nip to the loo
Instead I had to ask someone and hope that they have a clue
No Adidas for me, just my trusted bum bag
My girls world doll and scrunche's were things I just had to have
In my day the only kid I wanted was a cabbage patch kid
Not a real one so that in a hostel I can live
No PS3, no Wii, no Vita or Nintendo DS 3d
Just my good old NES on my four channel tv
Care bears, the moomins, playschool and dangermouse
No crimewatch to make me afraid to be in my house
In my days if I was rude I would get a good smack
And I couldn't dare say the clothes you just bought me were whack
No microwave dinners, No chinese takeaway for me
Saturday soup was the best, one big bowl balancing on your knee
The 80's and the 90's I enjoyed it while it did last
But every now and again I take a glimpse of the past
I heard someone say never make the same mistake twice
They were referring to love
So I started to relate, my mind started to penetrate
The reasons why the heart had grown cold
Like a movie, the plot started to unfold
And I saw myself.
I mean, really viewed myself and became third person
Why not first?
Because it was too painful to tell my own story
So I became she
A woman who forced her own misery by believing she could control her own
destiny
Heart pacing with every sound, she declared to understand her emotions
Chose a man who did not reciprocate devotion
Lacked respect so didn’t think she needed none
Who needed love, he thought, when life was all about fun
She tried to reconstruct her appearance for him
So I nicknamed her Vanity
But nothing would ever suffice, causing her to somehow lose her sanity
A perfect love.
Dreams of starry nights and kisses on the forehead
Curled up under the nook of his arm on top of his bed
Sharing secrets and penetrating hidden walls
Making love until the roosters made their morning calls
Vanity wanted to live in a movie,
She wanted the fame and the beauty
She visioned scenes of her admirer answering her every beck and call
But pieces of the movie started to crumble and fall
So she settled.
Vanity didn’t even have faith in Prince Charming anymore
Those kind of men didn’t exist…the type that open doors
She led a dead end journey to a man who’s heart she would never own
With every kiss from him, she still knew she wasn’t alone
He became her best friend, and a passionate lover
But every night he still committed to another
At times things felt just right, but never good enough
She knew her mother raised a young lady better than this
And her decisions were tough
Vanity cried the day he told her he loved her
She cried because that was the day the affair ended
They were both in love but he wouldn’t leave HER
She could barely stomach to see herself in the mirror, everything was a blur
Vanity wanted to hate him, “What an awful man”
She would try to instill in her mind
But her heart didn’t believe it, he just wasn’t the right kind
The kind you would hate.
So instead, she hated herself for giving up on love
For trying to borrow someone else’s love
Vanity had lost the biggest fight of her life and the truth was
Vanity…didn’t even know what love was anymore.
A man sits down right on a bridge
In water he throws random rocks.
His main goal is plain and simple,
He wants to hit some swimming ducks.
The neatly stacked in brain thoughts,
Were put in there last night in bed,
Because the man needed some bucks
And found granules of dust instead.
The rage of poverty took place.
He just had no one in the world
To give his body an embrace,
So he could feel a little loved.
The present morning he woke up,
With all connected to revenge.
For all these years he had enough;
Existence pushed him on the edge.
He blinked a few times at the sun,
Which dingy windows hardly showed,
And briefly made his mind to run
At the nearest bridge he’d known.
There, with all his might he shouted:
“I’ve played your game too long this time,
Spiral ends, my souls have voted
The main learned lesson is all mine,
In the crude evolving stages,
I have survived with all my wits;
The brain passed the test of ages,
The body rotted from the roots.
Oh, the years of desolation,
You have condemned my being through…
My patience runs thin as paper.
I’ve had enough of all of you!
I want the game of life to stop,
And rewards for all I’ve suffered.
The seeded things I shall not crop,
The given land does not suffice.
Abrupt the torment has to end,
Your point has been more than proven,
There’s nothing else to understand,
I want to come back to the end.
In recognition for the way
Creation made me feel and think,
I only want the light of day
To turn into the night of death.”
If another could see the play,
And realize just what he hears,
The mirror of the lake would pray:
“Please shout your grief another way!
You’re scaring all the ducks away
And they’re just here for the water.
Your upset mood about your state
Should be told to another matter,
Which can be found solely in you,
Not in the lake, not on the earth,
So go and look a bit though
The pages of your memory!”
The other stood flabbergasted:
“Why should the lake talk to a bum?”
But his mind would soon inquire:
“Did you have a few drinks of rum
Or this is only consciousness
Going a bit towards insane?"
From simply creeping from wetness
Sadly it’s all what we became.
It may be painful to admit,
Despite the one given status,
Humanity is just a hint
Of what transcends the Universe.
Friend, before life moves us to the parting ways
Let wisdom tell from rend of heart its lessons old
That you may take your journey springing praise
And mend with gladness dream and mirrored fold
One road invites the universe of man to dawn
The place we left in awe of sword and flash of fire
Stumbling from purpose and lapping dew for ire
Making the circle of return to the cradle of the fawn
It's two things the oracle challenges us to know
Where the road diverges into many different paths
What vision shapes the skill that need will show
To meet the tests that sever self from it thoughts
And lift the eagle to the pinnacle of brimming star
And say to soul you are worth more than you seem
In any dissection of the flesh or weighing of dream
The mantle is mask that pretends not who we are.
What if one branching path a wide lake must cross
What if another a snow-capped cliff must clamber o'er
And still the next has serpents slithering in the grass
And one stretch endless like miles of a sandy shore
Shall the swimmer charm the serpents, swim
The sands, and climb the mirror face of ice
Against a different purpose will his dream suffice
Or all mismatched paths not a meet a fate still grim?
O too many on the wrong path are embarked, too few
Their purpose know before the journey begins
The shipwreck on deserts straddle the sense as clue
Ignored ... self-blinded race, drowning in our sins
He who foreknew us predestined purpose too
Each tree is seeded after its kind, each man can
Achieve only what is set in the primordial plan
The broad way is littered with much too much to rue.
What use is choice unless some context tell the aim
For once and only once we choose the path to good
And joy, the river does not return, the sea is the same
Only at the rapids end. Not what I would, but what I should
Is all I need to know. It's not the prize but the race
We run is what we are destined for. Go now, friend
And wing the light and for mist of truth contend
The swift may run, but the wise the victory taste.
My first poem on the soup:
Honouring the Wartime Dead
They fought with grit to save the nation,
From poverty, squalor and infidelity,
And when they marched it was the Nazi’s or them,
Who would suffice to keep their dignity.
The Second was really over the same as the First:
The freedom and equality that democracies offer;
Hitler was not to rule the freethinking lands,
Which representative governments quietly did proffer.
Their Ladies’ which, it was said, almost flew themselves,
Were engineered by women as superior planes;
Through dogfight and bullet, over occupied territories -
The pilots exploded German ammunition trains.
In Response to My First Poem
As a child of four and five,
And right through my early primary years,
My dad talked at dinner about the war,
And of his wartime distresses and fears.
But a few times when I was really young,
He took an arm chair and gave voice,
To how he felt and dealt with his posting,
And that it was his and only his choice.
It was just him and me who had discourse,
So I dug as hard as I could but gave him his space,
For just exactly how he’d enlivened,
The plane of his of which he was an ace.
He called it to me his lady,
And from then on I understood how to handle,
Planes and all kinds and tech and devices:
That you should respect them and tangle.
He told me what the two world wars meant,
And suggested sexual sterilisation was at stake,
And that it was grit which retained the dignity,
Of the western world which did quake.
I am a political, scientific and atheistic poet,
And wished to allude to that with my first poem,
That I love poeticising culture and technology:
Computers and all that, ‘cos I know ‘em.
As a child of four or five,
I promised myself to give back to him somehow,
Most definitely in the form of a literary poem,
That knowledge he’d imbued in me, his dow.
The poem Honouring the Wartime Dead,
Also quietly murmurs atheism’s practical arms,
As my dad had quietly admonished mindset and action,
Without any reservations or qualms.
I hope that on the soup,
You find from me a good read,
Enjoyable but educational and with a view,
That lets you tell the bloom from the weed.
29/9/2015
For the A Response to my First Poem contest by Silent One.
[Continued from Part Two]
The elder took no notice of risking life and limb.
Hither, thither ran the children, glancing up at him,
while indulging mindlessly in each impulsive whim,
with no apprehension of the future looking grim.
Their chances for salvation seemed increasingly slim…
That aged man’s deep compassion filled him to the brim.
The father knew the children liked any strange device,
exotic playthings, trinkets, whatever would entice.
He needed now to improvise a mode, in a trice,
that could capture their attention— something to suffice
to hold their young imaginations— to be precise,
a mechanism marvelous, no matter the price.
He had stores of immeasurable wealth, beyond doubt,
and his warmhearted love was impartially devout.
Just then the elder had the thought that not in the least
would his limitless riches and reserves be decreased,
even if to a kingdom vast he were to dispense
his overflowing fortune… so why shouldn’t he hence
give out his wealth directly to his progeny all,
before the children’s catastrophic deaths should befall?
The aged man reflected on what tactic to pick—
an expedient means that was sure to do the trick.
He told the children of exquisite toys he possessed
along with lots of precious carts of the very best
craftsmanship and quality, that all had been designed
expressly with the youngsters’ own enjoyment in mind.
The elder next, in order to persuade them, stated
that right outside the house at the entrance awaited,
to suit the young ones’ fancies skillfully created
goat, sheep, deer, and ox carts, ornately decorated.
He said that they must rush to leave the mansion, in haste,
and he’d give them everything— there was no time to waste.
Then the children finally fulfilled his desire
and scurried in a race safely out of the fire.
The father beamed with bliss that the urgency had passed.
They had securely left the burning building at last!
When they’d exited and scampered out, they all sat down
on the dewy earth and asked their father, with a frown,
where the toys and carts were that the elder had portrayed
for their own special likings to have been tailor-made.
The youngsters had escaped and the elder’s heart was eased.
But now each one of their capricious wants must be pleased.
[Continued in Part Four]
~ Harley White