Long Support Poems
Long Support Poems. Below are the most popular long Support by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Support poems by poem length and keyword.
Don’t call me a Hero.
You weren’t even there
When I got the wound
That put me in this chair.
I was doing my duty
Patrolling disputed ground
It was just random chance
That I took a sniper’s round.
You didn’t see me
Moaning and crying
Totally convince I was
Bleeding out and dying.
No, the Hero was my mate
Who applied dressings that day
And stayed there with me until
The medics could take me away.
Heroes don’t wake up screaming
In the middle of the night
Because the bloody flashbacks
Have them convulsed with fright.
It would be wonderful, if,
Just for one special day,
I was there as myself,
Not as the Hero on display.
Please don’t call me a Hero
It’s such a status to live up to
And when l let you down
As I so often do
I feel in despair
At your so obvious surprise
And the disappointment
Reflected in your eyes
Just once when they tell me
How lucky I was not to die
I wish I had the nerve
To openly ask them why.
So, don’t call me a Hero.
All I did was survive,
And I’m not quite so sure
You can call this being alive.
A while ago I was chatting with a friend about treatment of Forces Veterans. He said he could be a little more sympathetic if they weren’t always referred to as Heroes. I pointed out generally Veterans don’t refer to themselves like that - just people doing their jobs - but it’s third parties, many of which weren’t Veterans, out to raise funds for whatever reason.
I met many fellow Veterans over the last 7 years working as a volunteer with a Veteran Support Organisation, quite a few of which I thought were Heroes, but none of them did.
As a young girl, I wanted to be a teacher,
Any girl would dream of this.
But my dream fell short,
When I was diagnosed with Auditory Processing Disorder.
My communication not as good as others,
I knew this would not help pursue my dream.
With this failure, I went into Admin,
Where I can receive support.
There are times when I wish I wasn’t disabled,
Life can be challenging with an invisible disability.
People don’t necessarily provide support,
They think I can do anything.
Being a teacher requires a lot of communication,
Something I know I will never have.
It was devastating having to give up,
But I knew I had to change my career plan.
27/06/21
Emotional intelligence
is best watered
with transparency
and fed through vulnerability.
Vulnerability becomes accessible
through practicing win/win courageous expectations
even in the most enduring partisan win/lose spaces,
secular and sacred
Transparency becomes articulate
through practicing multicultural curiosity
active and benign and free of prejudgment
and western white straight male
military-industrialized,
sometimes too fat and monoculturally self-satisfied
to become more than tolerant,
throwing outbound left-brain dominant
impatient-worded weapons
where right-brain interdependent active curiosity
listening tools
and win/win moderating skill-sets
for watering left-cognitive
and right-emotive
polyphonic intelligence
might foster rational reasons
to support resilient ego/eco-health care,
Receiving and giving balanced economic
ego-logos/eco-mythos
emotional intelligence,
emotive motives
best curiously watered
with courageous transparency
and fed through con-celebrated vulnerability.
Inspired by song “The Temple of the King” (Rainbow)
Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable-counter
**************************************************************
Light That Never Fades
When the gloom of night shrouds my life
And my journey is rife with strife,
To my inner self I retreat
To guide which way to trail my feet;
When roads I tread are rough and tough
And my strength is deemed not enough,
To my inner self I resort
Some support to me to afford;
When the hill I climb is too steep
And along slopes I have to creep,
My inner self flits for rescue,
To guide the path, I need pursue;
When in life I reach a crossroad
And burdened with a heavy load
I know not on which way to slide,
My inner self rests by my side;
The inner self, a bacon light
Day and night, shining silver bright,
Signals the rightful goal to stalk,
Along the seemly road to walk;
The seat of peace, glowing with grace,
It spreads its sparkle across space
As the light of the King`s temple
That like sunshine does resemble;
Let`s trust this light that never fades,
That no flame can blemish its shade,
A pure reflection of the soul,
An atom of the Divine Whole.
Faint flame emergent from neurotransmitters.
The brain, a torch arranging patterns of awareness,
patterns of recall, encounters, adventures, and ordeals.
Covert consciousness realized in coma patients,
detected in vegetative invalids by the analyzers
of EEGs, the probers of the mind.
Bedridden with no signs of life,
These sufferers were long thought braindead.
The only question; when to withdraw life support.
But our deepest traces do often linger with immobility.
Our hardly perceptible scintillas send measurable signals.
They offer no bodily changes, no responses to cues.
They never give themselves away in behaviors.
Yet, science now knows them as genuine.
Are these the souls and ghosts felt by our ancestors?
Are these the wraiths and apparitions feared
by so many?
Created from the temporal, assembled from
life, is their structure entirely in the mind?
Maybe part of their energy resides in other realms,
places in and out of which they drift at our death.
Accepted for publication: The Opiate Journal, spring 2023
When one closes ones eyes and listens to the rain
It takes you to places where the sane always reigns
To take you away from natures rains that fall
It's unjust and wrong and you lose it's en-thrall
It's a beautiful sight clouds engulfing blue skies
Of impending moisture arid grounds in surprise
So much depends on it's droplets of life
Turning the barren and relieving it's strife
Yes there are floods when natures tears swell
But we are the guilty in the places we dwell
When the rains fall we should open our arms
Without this phenomenon our life would be harmed
When you hear on the radio or watch weather reports
Respect what she delivers and show your support
There is a reason why her tears always fall
It appears to be humans, who are having a ball
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-9.php
You have always been the
best friend to me,
teaching and showing me
what others could not see.
Blessing me with
everything you do,
even when other showed
me hatred with their boo.
You are the greatest gift to
humanity,
and without you there will
be no human community.
Your love can never be
compared to none,
even in times of sadness
you always bring fun.
Each time i think of the
pains you went through for
my sake,
helps to bring me bad
memories that i can't take.
Especially the tears you
shield at the time of my
birth,
makes me wish that you
alone should be free from
death.
I can't imagine the pain of
carrying me for 270 days,
that is why i feel like
thanking you in a million
ways.
Thanks for the time you
had sleepless night,
and thanks for every dream
you made right.
Thanks for all the love and
care,
and also thanks for wiping
away all of my tears.
Thanks for believing in me
when others didn't,
and thanks for blessing me
with your love when others
couldn't.
Thanks for all of your moral
lessons,
and thanks for all of your
maternal blessings.
Thanks for always watching
my back,
and thanks for being the
light in my dark.
Thanks for all of your
delicious food,
and thanks for making me
the best in the hood.
Thanks for bearing all of my
bothering,
and thanks for sharing all of
my sufferings.
Thanks for the gift of life,
and thanks for being part of
my life.
Thanks for being part of my
success story,
and thanks for being part of
my tale alleglory.
Thanks for being the best
treasure i could ever find,
and thanks for your support
when am lagging behind.
I just can't thank you
enough for every thing you
have done,
right from the moment i
was born.
Thanks once more for
making me a human,
because all of your love and
care made me a super-
human.
I value you more than silver
and gold,
because you are the
sweetest mum in the world.
They call me Mr. Quick Fix.
I’m everywhere, in every school.
Over 400,000 of me in classrooms across the country.
Yet there’s minimal data on my effectiveness.
For this reason, among others, some call me Mr. Quagmire.
Here I am, the “least qualified, lowest paid” providing the “bulk of instruction.”
On top of that, I am rarely supervised, barely trained, and minimally vetted
While at the same time considered the “first, primary, and…only support response” for the student .
My student’s father calls me Mr. Godsend.
Distrusting of the school staff, I am his child’s protector
From any negative judgement bestowed upon the child by peer or adult.
The direct pipeline of communication often goes through me,
Not the head teacher, who sometimes refers to me as Mr. Why Didn’t You Tell Us That Earlier?
Some even call me Mr. Anything. Or Mr. Wing-It.
One day I may work with small groups beyond my assigned student.
Other days I’m creating lesson plans with no oversight.
I try not to question these practices, or lack of policy and procedures with regards to my role.
Everyday is a bit of chaos, and I’m just trying to make it a doable day like everyone else,
Helping wherever I can, however I can.
That’s my job, right? Right?
Some losses are too difficult to comprehend and cope with but we always hope that we can overcome them with love and support and hope and faith.
Piano on fire
By Michelle Morris
08/05/2020
Chorus
You set your piano on fire,
Trying to burn the memories;
But all you burned was your music,
And all that's left are your tears.
(End Chorus)
You lost him and felt
Like you'd lost it all;
Couldn't find the music again -
It had left your soul.
You lost him and it
Seemed you lost a
Piece of your mind...
Feeling to join him
In death
Was a gift so kind.
But we found you in time,
We stopped it for now...
The look in your eyes
Told us you were
Already in hell.
But hell is a dungeon
Of our own making;
The guilt; the shame;
The constant pacing...
Of a soul not at rest
Within itself...
You didn't sleep for nights;
The drinking didn't help.
Chorus
We tried to convince you,
There was more to life,
Than sitting around in the dark,
With a burned piano for a friend.
We tried to help you
Get through it all;
But only you could
Really make the call
- to live; to fight
- to dream, to love...
Only you could
Witness your soul
Free like a dove...
Free from all that
Heavy baggage;
Realising you're not
To blame for his
Miscarriage.
Chorus
We hope you find your music again;
To replace the burned piano friend.
We hope your soul will soar again...
We hope you'll
Find strength
And hope and
Peace again.
© Michelle Morris, 2020
I share a tree with a story to tell:
We were out for a walk round Dufton Pike
when this straggly hawthorn conveyed its spell,
holding my gaze on our afternoon hike.
A closer study showed not one but two
thorns twisted, contorted in a struggle,
their limbs, their joints entwined and tangled through
a wrestling of arms that writhe and tussle.
Or might this be some sibling rivalry
played out for decades to all those who pass
this way? A contest to show how vitally
rivals arise competing to outclass.
Best not to draw too close lest I get caught
in this thicket of thorns without support.
Sorry I can't post the photo.(/em>