Long Thrilled Poems
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The Lord be thanked for our revival* by His compassion of loving kindness
Indeed forgiving our confessed iniquities as well as our sinfulness
Since He sanctifies us to walk along paths of righteousness
And guards us from human nature’s tempting weakness.
The Lord ensures our revival for us to stay strong in His triumphant might
Indeed smiting our vain arrogance to yield to His sovereignty’s height
Since He reproves our disobedience so we strive to do what’s right
And upholds us in walking by faith along His light.
The Lord listens to our pleas for revival, making us truly Spirit-filled
Indeed hearing our supplications that causes us to be soul-stilled
Since He deals with us, correcting our being self-willed
And teaches us to submit to Him, blessedly-thrilled.
The Lord grants revival toward zealous kingdom advancement
Indeed working in our spirituality by His empowerment
Since He saved us from hell’s grievous endangerment
And granted us life eternal with grace-endowment.
The Lord enables our revival toward sharing Gospel story
Indeed reminding us to love whom He loves for His great glory
Since He leads us through His Word toward sure victory
And moves us to abide in His will’s perfect territory.
The Lord propels our revival to fulfill the Great Commission without delay
Indeed helping us bring the lost to the Saviour - the truth, life, and way
Since He wants us to become enthusiastic soulwinners as we do pray
And keeps us involved in church ministries while in His will we stay.
The Lord sustains our revival-joy by His constant admonition and instruction
Indeed perfecting us toward Christlikeness along character-transformation
Since He delights in our glad worship midst faithful stewardship-function
And cheers us in our good works’ perseverance for His exaltation.
*Isaiah 57:15 For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.
October 31, 2021
For the culmination of the 31 days of Revival Worship Services
from October 1 to 31, 2021 - enabled by the great God Almighty - hosted by
the Christian Bible Baptist Church, City of San Pedro, Laguna, Philippines
I went to the Hollywood studio meeting
Paul, Steve and Sandy gave me a warm greeting
I was there to advise them, hired from Spain
My motto in business was no pain, no gain
So we sat down to the business at hand
Their movies were sinking, like stones in quicksand.
"How about a cowboy movie," I said...
"Good guys and bad guys with the latter shot dead!"
A gasp of wonder spread to them all
"Why didn't we think of that?" said Paul
Said Sandy, who though rich, struck me as obtuse
"It has to be woke, it must have juice
The cowboy, we'll call him Abdul McPherson
No, wait, we should refer to him as a CowPerson
His love interest should be black or brown
A birthing person, the soul of the town
The villains name could be Donald McKnight
A Donald Trump stand-in, got to be white."
"Wait," said Steve, "cis-male is a relic."
Abdul should be tender, gender-fluid and angelic."
Steve looked at his reflection in the table of mahogany
Added "How about hints of consensual non-monogamy?"
Sandy said "No! We must push the edge with our fans!
Every character, even the horse, must be trans!"
I was sarcastic, I said "for a true creative spark
We know Spielberg had a hit long ago about a shark,
Maybe stick one in the film, somewhere in the sagebrush
A gasp spread around the table, an awestruck hush
Paul shouted, "that's it! Cowperson versus Jaws!
A fable about transgressing natures laws!
Lets start shooting tomorrow, drop that Batman remake:
With this kind of theme, we can't make a mistake!"
Despite guaranteed payment, I was feeling sick
I already knew there was no hope for this flick
But they got so thrilled, they made their bet
Sunk investor millions, their studio further in debt.
I gathered my fees, went back to Spain
And "Cowperson versus Jaws" circled down the drain
To my horror in the credits, they mentioned my name
I was jeered in Madrid, couldn't face the shame.
Paul, Steve and Sandy did fine at the bank
Woke investors kept funding, though the movie stank
Though audiences felt under a dentist's drill
The Critics said the movie was epic, groundbreaking, a thrill.
Geologists say that one day, California will fall into the sea
Its already happened; Hollywood is a parody
Showdown at Noon but no Gary Cooper, can't find John Wayne
Woke Bandits have stolen the gold off the movie train.
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.
Across the valley
Stood the mountain I believed to be id
Two levels and a summit
Made it appear layered
Like first-dynasty pyramids
It would be a long climb
Step, stumble, slip,
Clutch and elevate my entire being
The valley’s simple green plants
Lived in symbiotic coexistence
With bees and ants
Nature nurturing nature
An embryonic journey
Between the Tigres and Euphrates
Such splendor might have caused me to remain
Many do
But I walked on
At the base of the mountain I paused
The summit hidden by a cloud ring
I looked back upon my Mesopotamia
Hailing its verdant simplicity
Questioning the summit’s worth
But uncontrollable curiosity
And unquenchable desire
Edged me forward
I climbed onto rocky soil
I stumbled as stones slipped ‘neath my feet
Reaching out to clutch a bush
I pulled upward
The first plateau ran before me as a brook
I peered into the pool of life
Finding amphibians, reptiles, fish
I waded
Ankles rubbing green algae
Creating eerie sensitivity
Slippery touch
The water cooled me
Thinning air brought calm
A sandy bottom soothed me
Such harmony might have
Caused me to remain
Many do
But above me
Within a mystical Saturnic cloud
Secrets of the summit beckoned
Edging me to elevate
Sweaty palms grasped a wild rose’s stem
Sharp thorns drew blood
My body fatigued, I cursed the climb
What marvels lay above the ring
The second plateau’s diversity thrilled me
Simple moss, brown rabbits
Deer with long, willowy legs
Hundreds of life forms
Gave me entrance
To Thoreau’s untouched paradise
The alluring cloud hung low above me
I questioned my destination
The second plateau’s oasis might have
Caused me to remain
Many do
But irresistible desire
Again edged me to step, stumble
Slip, clutch and elevate
I entered the cloud layer
Feeling hot and cold dancing vapor
The mountain I believed to be id
Swam under my feet
Perplexed, I muddled upward
Above the timber line
No trees, no grass
No plants, no animals
No life
Still I was curious for id
And took the final step
A cold granite peak
Amidst the grey moisture
Self-realization was achieved
I had seen all that was beautiful
But passed it by
The key to paradise was offered
Three times
Yet I had been a martyr to my own desire
I could not see
The valley, brook,
Or paradise of total life
I could see
Only myself
And I cried
For want of something beautiful
I had a girl for company.
She answered to the name, Time.
It was love at first sight;
who else could've a girl like mine?
Moments we lived in, were dreams
We spoke through thoughts, no words to tell.
She was a pretty witch
& I was cast under her spell..
An elixir in flesh and bone;
her voice thrilled me, her warmth filled me.
My skin longed for her touch, enticing;
a moment's caress can surpass eternity.
Lady Luck roared, my aims soared;
I had aspirations now.
I got used to Her appraisals;
drunk on her fortunes..& how!
My aims soared, my demons roared,
"She's wasting your life away!!
Share your life with some better lass
and ditch her, without delay."
Thus my gal Time, I did show the door.
I then sought ambition's hand.
Success & fame, all went and came;
for them, I was a one-night-stand.
Smashed by sadness, I searched for company.
Looking afar,'twas Time, I could tell.
She walked alone, roaming in solitude.
Was I missing, in her life as well?
And so I called out to her,
"Blinded by ambition, our love I did kill.
These wounds I'd like to heal,
so we can be lovers still.."
Desperation drove me after her.
Untrodden paths, my feet did pound.
I felt, she was just a mirage:
why did she not turn around?
Blind to all around me,
I stumbled, on objects unknown.
And fell tumbling, towards a stream,
where to me, my thirst was shown.
Exhausted, leaden limbs
dragging myself to the edge, I drank.
Thirst quenched, I looked in
to see a face staring back..
I took a closer look to see:
alas, it's my own image.
Fingers worn out by fatigue.
A face ravaged by age..
Then I felt my own weight on me;
my body defeated, paralysed.
'twas then, that Time came to me;
It was her all along, I realised.
"Oh, what a fool, you've been.
With your eyes, could you have not seen?
That I'm time, itself, past, present, and what is to be;
forever young, if with me, you had always been.."
"When you had me, you had all of time;
to chase ambitions, night and day.
Erase absolute blunders, at a moment's passing!
For time was yours, here to stay.."
"Don't you know time and tide, wait for none?.
When you left me, you wasted time away.
So when you started chasing me again,
did you expect, forever young, you'd stay?"
(an older poem rewritten)
Bring me a cup of Java, honey, and put some coffee in the water, will you?...
Whoa there! Bet you can feel the withering sarcasm in that simple phrase...
People, I welcome you to the world of crime novels by James Hadley Chase...
With cryptic titles like I'll Bury My Dead, it's a crime novel befitting even the dead...
The protagonists in every novel, Mr Chase humanized each of them in good stead...
As a crime writer, Mr Chase has no master, or even an equal of his calibre...
Dialogues, suave and cultured or in the low life lingo, is excellence beyond compare...
Most of all, the many believable twists and turns in every one of his crime story...
You'll empathise with the hero and the heroine, and root for them in each story...
What Is Better Than Money is yet another master yarn uniquely spun by Mr Chase...
About how a piano player bidding time tangled with a junky beauty with trilling vocals ....
It is amazing how you will identify with the struggling two bit piano player as he grapples...
With the opportunity of a lifetime to hitch his economic wagon on a less than perfect starlet..
In No Orchids For Miss Blandish, I remember rereading the same book twice over...
To be thrilled and to savour how the master story teller spun the story altogether...
Mind you, I was back then just a little boy, given access to the senior section of the library..
Faced with rows and decks of all kind of books, I was a bewildered boy lost in the library...
Then I spied a rather worn out hard cover book entitled No Orchids for Miss Blandish...
Small in print, yellowed in pages and looked slightly misbegotten, but the title intrigued..
Reaching home, I could not put down the book once I started reading that slim book...
I was thrilled, I was truly engrossed in a fascinating tale of crime found within a book...
Etched in my memory to this day, I recall vividly the awe and the joy in novels by Mr Chase...
Little wonder through the years I often read and reread crime novels spun by Mr Chase...
James Hadley Chase, crime story teller supreme, without any cheap graphic x rated scenes...
He is the ultimate maestro for story characters and crime tales that electrify your senses...
Readers, Mr James Hadley Chase, he's The Man for grippping realistic crime stories....!!!
Yesterday I had a beer
In a place that was near
Soft light and music filled
The sight of you left me thrilled
Your name I did not know
But oh I loved your body so
Thick but lean, muscled and tanned
What a fine specimen of a man
I sat and sipped and watched all night
At lips that promised sheer delight
Of arms that could capture me
Unbridled passion now set free
Your eyes blue grey with such depth
Languid lust that silently crept
Arousal concealed under shadow of lash
Upon Love's shore I yearned to crash
Someone said your name aloud
I heard it float through the crowd
Andrew they said your name to be
Randy Andy I hoped to me
Randy Andy with hair so fair
Magnetism that caused all to stare
A body made for hands to explore
Leaving me yearning and needing more
I decided to try and attract you
So up beside you to give you a view
For such was the ache inside off me
Begging loudly for you to set it free
You turned your head and found my eyes
As if you suddenly heard my cries
Reaching out you touched my hand
Lust's fire burned and did so expand
I was so focused on your sexy lips
As you gently moved your fingertips
Lost I was in your touch
I wanted you so very much
So imagine my shock when you spoke
In that high pitched little girl croak
I shook my head, I didn't believe
Your voice did so absolutely deceive
My beautiful sexy dream of a man
Had a voice as scratchy as a old tin can
Lust took off and went straight to bed
Reality quickly raced through my head
If that wasn't bad enough you see
Your breath stunk and your IQ was three
Within a minute I knew you were a Neanderthal
Clearly visible even through all the alcohol
It shook me from my dreamy reverie
What had I been thinking anyway
To fall for someone from afar
Is like wishing on a blessed star
For wishes rarely turn out to be
What you thought you wanted to see
So now I know the right thing to do
Look past the looks to the inside and true
Ah Randy Andy I thought you were the one
In you I saw the rising sun
But once it shone, I found the glare
Way to harsh to sit and stare
So now my search begins anew
To find love within my view
But I will always look deeper within
For someone to spend my years in sin
A pair of monolid eyes, and I’m academically enlightened.
As if I’m some talented prodigy on his way to an Ivy League.
Able to quickly solve problems without ever breaking a sweat.
Absolutely - perfect - in every single subject I decide to take on.
Always an A+, an automated Asian-American achiever android
As an unwilling recipient of a C in Algebra 2, I really disagree.
Before you chant “Dishonor on you! Dishonor on your cow!”,
Consider the billions of Asians who are never working in STEM.
Division homework I can handle, algebraic functions, not so much.
Even with A’s in Geometry last year, my EOC score was only a two.
For every decent grade I earn, is a test I end up completely bombing.
Good student, yes. But “perfect student?” Not in this lifetime, I am.
The worst feeling in the world is falling so far behind these expectations.
Often, it seems like I’m sinking in an ocean of questions left unanswered.
The water filling up my lungs is all the pressure I have to endure each day.
The air I’m losing more and more of is the confusion and frustration I face.
It’s all too much to bear; not living up to this idea of what I’m supposed to be.
Sometimes, I wish I was one of those geeky cliches, non-Asians think of us as.
So no, Harvard, Princeton, Yale, Columbia, Brown, Cornell, Dartmouth,
and Penn are not camping outside my door with a full-ride in their hands.
I don’t know how to graph cubic or polynomial functions to save my life.
Complex solutions and complicated rational functions have accurate names.
And shoutout to Chemistry, where my mathematical issues have extended to.
I still don’t get what those equations have to do with elements and formulas.
Truthfully, I’m just not the model minority stereotype people think I am.
I have many strengths and lots of weaknesses, just like everyone else.
I’m not special. I’m hardly the greatest mind this school has ever seen.
Am I thrilled about it? Heck no. If only I was good at Math and Science.
But what’s the use in lamenting? All I can do to change that is to improve.
Inside, I know I’m very smart. Not perfect at all. But still smart nonetheless.
Years from now, I’ll realize that, even with all my flaws, I am good enough.
And no matter how much I fit into a stereotype, the truth is all that matters
Wonder not
if my thoughts are thrilled and twisted
daily and deeply by the albums of your ways,
I succumb severely to the impulse of imminent interplay
so dumb with joy, grateful for the fusion of our fevers,
I've never let you leave my mind,
you haven't finished eating your portion of my heart,
there is so much more for you, still in my chest, on my eyes,
I am your rare happiness,
that bare beast of a woman's best distress,
trigger your storm sirens with a single drop of Goodbye,
serve you with the most sensational sadness,
replenish your youth with an admiration that won't die,
knowing that I am not a makeshift man, nor a loyalty within a lie,
that I'll punish your pulse with peppered pleasure
because I can, because I must,
pull your hair just to hear those breaths beg for big flares,
treat the smooth and sweet lascerations of love's lament
butterfly cut into the surface of a girl's search for sincerity,
we get intoxicated on performance of personality,
buzzed beautifully from believing in the addiction of adoration's affliction,
We know we can handle one another's hurt
as warriors bleed hard because they sell themselves the sacrafice,
that we can process history with humor by breaking the shame of blame,
synthesize epiphany with sympathy to nourish symphonies of Divinity
we realize that intensity is the regal implement of our tournament,
I like it when you tell me the tough truths,
that you want to be loved for more than one reason,
that being respected in segments isn't enough,
that he will never be me,
that words can outlast the disappointment of distance,
that the world overwhelms you when you most expect,
that sometimes you'd rather be a heart attack
before being a pretty song or a favorite memory,
I understand your need for absolute affection, absolute attention,
lets allow our love to be confusing, dazzling, on the verge of villainy,
it isn't steady as a sleeping heart beat
or ready for celebration like a " gee wiz " graduation,
it is our Love, and its undefinably volatile and lovely,
Your cosmos gives a question that feeds one answer,
that love is ours, safe in the arms of Armageddon,
I remember the ember of our future
spazing on the hearth of fresh earth,
don't ever miss me Babe, just keep lovin me -
J.A.B.
Remember me, the cool glass milk bottle. I used to sit on your front porch early in the morning. You could hear me arriving before the sun was up. I am a Bateson Model Dairy milk bottle, beautifully made of thick clear glass. A lot of milk bottles have been replaced with plastic but I am an expensive looking quality original. I am one of the most popular milk bottles in the area.
I came from a small processing dairy in Wingham, Ontario where the Bateson family owned and operated their business for many, many years. Working seven days a week during the very early hours bottling milk delivered from local farmers producing hundreds of bottles for their loyal customers.
Remember the wonderful clinking sound of the milk bottles arriving? Leaving out the empties represents many people’s first concept of recycling. I can remember that relatively traumatic moment when I was replaced with the carton. There was just something really wrong about pouring milk out of a carton because it didn’t have that refreshing coolness of a glass bottle. A cold bottle of milk has a certain integrity to it and the glass retains that. What a shame.
The milkman would deliver me to the door and collect the empties which held a few coins or milk tickets to pay for the fresh bottle of milk. Many conversations occurred on the stoop of each home as the family pet circled for a sniff. My travels around town went from the horse drawn milk wagon to a square van. Sometimes when the van stopped the old dog, Dina would wake up to chase a cat up a tree.
Over the years my shape has changed and my new caps gave me some upbeat fashion. But the quality of my contents stayed true. Sadly, if you show a child a glass milk bottle today he won’t know what it is. I come in many shapes and sizes, the quart, the pint, the half pint, the creamer and many more. The name printed on my side changed little over the years to keep the nostalgia of the small time dairy business.
Now I am considered an antique waiting on dusty shelves in antique shops for a new home. When you see me you may be thrilled to find a bit of history to place on the mantle of your home. You might recall childhood memories of the comforting sound of the milk man arriving at the door with fresh milk so very early in the morning.