Long Towered Poems
Long Towered Poems. Below are the most popular long Towered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Towered poems by poem length and keyword.
Once addicted to carnality opium’s ecstasy
My flesh reigned with selfishness-excellency…
…But God, so merciful in His clemency
Transformed me to acknowledge His satisfaction-sufficiency.
Once exalted upon vain glory’s elegance
My heart towered toward destructive arrogance…
Yet the Lord, gracious in His forbearance
Pulled me toward meekness’ endurance.
Once afflicted by woes of poisonous transgression
My soul was slain midst venomous iniquity’s infection...
…But the Creator, verily the Author of revival action
Quickened* me to testify about His redeeming compassion.
Once destined to hell, condemned by sin-wages
My mind succumbed to humanism midst earthliness’ sages…
…But the Saviour, by His pardon assuring holy changes
Reached out to me, freeing me from damnation charges.
Once gripped with materialistic enrichments
My spirit could not abstain from worldly engagements…
…But the Almighty offered heavenly bestowments
Drew me near His fellowship of significant celestial moments.
Once drained from the pursuits of ephemeral endeavour
My life lost its essence according to divine flavour…
…But Christ with His grace midst sweet serenity’s savour
Wrought miracles for me and my faith-serving fervour.
*1Peter 3:18 For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the Spirit.
August 20, 2019
1st place, "STRAND CHOICE 6, any form, any theme"
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 1/26/2020.
From my door in a lovely town,
I look straight ahead in wonder,
clouds, seascape, distant boat,
are core of an early morning view,
a homely place now awakening,
the sound of each window heard,
people sense this charmed spot,
has depth, magic, and mystery,
which is such an attraction say,
as the day of passage in sunlight,
a green and brown leaf exponent,
from tree top towered ring fence,
on blissful watch as passersby,
aware of sage eager eco eye,
that glances o’er round the clock,
plot, play, pursuit, and presage.
of an urban gathering on purpose,
with infectious soul stepping forward,
in directions of a wonder world dream,
which at this point has only begun
PATHS were bordered by boxwood hedges
softened with fern, surrounding GARDEN edges.
Light floral scents perfumed the morning air
and sweet alyssum lined walkways; pea graveled.
I strolled through the MAZE with a hint of despair
for I'd never been more confused and unraveled,
or in greater fear for my own welfare
than I did standing beside the boundary WALL
that towered to heights, confoundingly tall.
Endless TWISTING trails were quite unexpected.
I cringed with timid thoughts of becoming LOST.
Forlorn from many dead end routes I'd selected
and annoyed from each fork I'd already crossed,
escape seemed to be hopeless and I felt rejected...
like a wave crashing on a sea that's storm tossed.
Now, with sunlight TURNING its warm face away,
I dropped to my knees and fervently began to pray.
I was TRAPPED inside a PUZZLE, with no way out,
winding among SINUOUS beds that roses adorned.
My mind became clouded and plagued with doubt.
Then I heard a whisper, while my heart mourned,
"Do not lose faith, Daughter. You must remain devout.
Find the courage to try once again," it mildly scorned.
I stood as twilight started painting the Eastern sky
and plucked a white rose bud as my undaunted reply.
MAZE-10 Word Challenge
Sponsored by A Dear Heart
Posted on June 28, 2020
One size does not fit all and the shoe horn stuck out
Tim shooed away foot prints ghosts and memories
When the clock struck midnight at the end of the year
Not much had differed when the fire works stopped
But resolve had to tighten the strings attached to his soul
Colour from outside of the box seeped through inside
Varnished the leather and the diamond soles of his mind
Weather worn foot wraps were made for walking untoward
His nib had not faltered much but he changed his ink
From angry red to soothing violet and indigo shades
The fountain pen was still the same old Mont Blanc
And valleys and hill tops rose among magic mountains
But when he scratched the core of granite and gold
He decided to rub out volcanoes from burnt paper
Left just enough residue to shine through the pages
Snow boots slipped onto parched story narration
Sandals sneaked cautiously to the front of the stride
Loafers pumped springs into well trodden steps
Moccasins flip-flopped as time poured into sand
High heels towered over a platform of high tops
He wondered how it was to march in peaking stilettos
To parade in high heels and low altitude of change
As he approached the fields and trenches of Flanders
Planted poppy seeds resting on unmarked wooden graves
Tim paused in thought and replaced the cartridge once more
04th January 2020
Monsters of conceit that human beings create,
With fantastic forms and shapes and strength decorate;
Licensing to love, loath, lust, lie, lure and loiter,
Wretched then; dare to kill the very creator...
Scientific ambition, sure, is creative,
What, if, the creator is made a fugitive?
Playing God, indeed, is a sin forgivable,
What, if, one thinks himself as God adorable?
Was Frankenstein's fantastic frantic tea party,
Amusements of bourgeoisies- sporty, haughty?
Or like politics played around the world today,
Mudslinging, slandering, tricky, dirty, and stray?
The monster was not a single entity whole,
He was pieces of flesh and bones put in a roll;
Race, caste, color, creed interests, and biases,
Had made him the best bundle of paradoxes...
He, like a battery robot, functioned so well,
When his cell got exhausted like his will he fell;
When re-charged with hearty feelings he soon arose,
When his master could not contain, his tantrum throws…
Frankenstein's party is a pandemonium,
Full of fear, havoc, chaos, madness, and mayhem;
The monster was created by master-power,
Master was overpowered and towered over!
We create monsters in our image and likeness,
We fill them with fancies and desires and coyness;
Frankenstein's tea party has great lessons to teach,
Monsters must be mastered - the goal of life to reach.
07 August 2021
Frankenstein tea party 2021 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Summers day, river bank stroll
Fields in gold and greens
Only me, the only soul
Walking in natures dreams
Walking under shaded
Wooden towered tree's
As the leaves wave down at me
In the warmed summer breeze
Skylarks,swifts and swallows
Show each other who fly best
Chirping to each other
In their airborne acrobatic best
Meandering river flows
Criscrossing this fine land
A living entity
One of natures awesome finds
Flowering harvests grow
Attracting insects of many kinds
A humming buzzing score
Scented flowers they all find
The baaing of sheep
As the cows all speak the moo
This ovine bovine chorus
Add to this farmland zoo
I stand rock still, as i look around
To absorb, all these wonderful magic sounds
Like staged musicals as many creatures sing
Listen to The Orchestra of Nature
She sure can do her thing.
Being short used to be my biggest insecurity
Because it was not very gender affirming –
Other boys towered above me like basketball nets.
If I would’ve looked up into their eye,
Pity would’ve punched holes in their sockets.
Before the tallest among them knew I was trans,
He didn’t see me as separate from him & his friends.
But when he found out,
He said "we’ve got *expletive* Terry on our team" in a PE football lesson.
I let him look down on me and laugh
When he noticed I was right behind him.
I don’t think that, when I was in sixth form,
Pupils would’ve poured water over my bag and chucked orange peel in the stall I was in,
Told their friends they could hear me pooing,
Making me scared to come out
If they didn’t look down on me.
*
But volunteering in a nursery at uni,
The kids were fighting
To hold my hands and sit on my lap.
I think my shortness was a contributor –
I wasn’t far off their height,
Wasn’t high above their level,
So they weren’t intimidated by me,
Could easily approach me.
Now people are only looking down at me
And I am looking up at them
In a literal sense.
I love being a little man.
I love getting to be at the front in photographs,
Not needing to duck under low doorways,
Having tall people’s pretty belts in my pretty eyes.
Although it’d be to try out being tall,
I’m happy being short.
The sunflower stretched
With its stalk and its neck
As far to the sky
As it could – reaching high,
Pushing its golden face
With clumsy, awkward grace
Trying, with all its might
To reach the highest height
That it could ever muster
So it could be like Custer
Or like a grand ole redwood
(I think it thought it could)
It reached into the atmosphere
Inhaled the biting air
Looked about in wonderment
High above the firmament
But slender was its frame
It did not have the strength
To stand as so unaided –
It weakened, and degraded
It towered, then bent over,
It leaned a little lower
And found the earth up close
Had just as much to boast
As did the open sky
It wondered at up high –
And thereto did it stay
Forever and a day
A little bit hung over
As if it lost its lover
Or better yet, had found
Upon the hallowed ground
Some cosmic explanation
About its situation
Which held it in its thrall
High above it all
And made its hanging there
That much easier to bear –
Pain is falling. Into your arms; pain is calling. Answer me! Pain says. Pain says jump. Anguish says how high sir. And the sky's the limit. It's right there. Here in your face; can you touch it? You cannot! Says Pain. Fear hides behind its stalker, awaiting wrath. Judgment withstood beside Pain and the verdict is in. GUILTY. Come again? GUILTY YOUR HONOR; sir. Bow down to Pain. Crumble beneath pains' ridicule and fall...Into Pain's arms. Snuggle with you? Pain will coddle you until you forget all of your dreams. Hope floats away. Bye bye hopes and—See you later those dreams.
Pain says never. Again we buckle under the pressure, of Pain. Hate hoards our love, collecting—An emotional miser of goodness sakes. Hate simply takes and hate takes...takes...but you just you wait...We have enough of our own strengths. We mustn't let hatred to take...take...take...
Fall out of love with this Hate...hate...out of love with this hate. Back in love with our fate. Knowing...I got what it takes...takes...I got what it takes...oh goodness my grace...put me back in my place and end this whole chase...whole place of this chase...Pain Pain go far far away. I say pain go away...Way...wait.
I need more than one plate. You all break with this slate. I'm done chalking up crapes.
I'm strong like an owl. And ya'll smell fairly foul. So times come to be towered. And I hoo hoo like an owl. Out of my circle, leave this powwow. I'm all over this now now. And Pain falls to the ground round; and...Hate trips on his towel. They both sit in time out now. Pain is gone now I'm falling—into grips with my calling. Reconnect with my family; and own up to ole' Sammy. Finally doing the damn thing. And this ending is happy. But don't let Pain gain way into your backseat. Life's a journey, don't call you the wrong taxi. Time has come, Pain go head try and get me, cannot catch me. Yes sir, (says Pain) just don't put me back into that taxi. I say that's right look right at me. When you speak talk about me. No more hate, pain is now but a memory. Hopes and dreams, love and family....Pain is falling—But not at me...
-end
8-29-17
© 2011 (Jim Sularz)
On blue ocean’s tide, on midsummer’s ides,
cold steely eyes stirred the deep.
Memories lingered and spied, starred sand dollars died,
where anemone and jellyfish sleep.
Otters bobbed with the waves, some laid back and sun bathed,
in a lazy late morning whim.
Green leaves of a tree, draped in long branched symmetry,
nestled chickadees from a seaside wind.
Dried flowers sighed low, a drop of rain, a rainbow,
soft petals and white feathered clouds.
Caught flying bugs bereft, roared the West winds spent,
ensnarled in a widow’s shroud.
Soaring black-tipped birds, flew small circles as they turned,
sandcastles towered below a butterfly’s grove.
Windowed, crumbled then denied, sunset drenched with the tide,
slowly languished near a lover’s cove.
A steam roller fog, cooled, white blanketed along,
washed ashore like a ghost shipwreck.
Timeworn hands of a man, carved impressions in sand,
and held fast to last summer’s edge.