Long Trophies Poems
Long Trophies Poems. Below are the most popular long Trophies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Trophies poems by poem length and keyword.
Thief of Glory
Faded flowers,
dead on the table,
no vase, no water,
no blood,
no sacrifice,
of time, sweat, tears,
years and fears.
Regardless of the race,
unable to meet the rules,
making up your own,
to go along.
The crowd too busy to notice,
you are too big for your britches,
too tall for your crown,
too wanting in your desire,
to lead the parade.
Willing to step on...
the innocence of hope,
eating and relishing,
magnificence unearned.
Yea... that they call your name,
in praise and yet future retribution,
of all that you have stolen,
and can not give back.
Your sickness,
confusion of displacement,
a chance to be all that you are,
and taking more not less from others,
to achieve your purpose,
a splendor in the garden...
of white roses,
stained to red.
When you count your trophies,
and see the symbols of fame,
remember it is your name,
that came before all others.
That was important at the time,
and less so now.
But it is too late to change,
a history of destruction,
"Self Preservation",
far more worthy a title,
then "Queen" of anything.
Truly in the end,
a king of nothing.
Start
I’m sure you’ve heard his name before
From stories of knights in days of yore
Born in village La Mancha in Spain
Was enthralled of knights, he chose to feign
After resurrection, to America he came
In search of adventures and fame
As legend goes, every knight must have a lady- love
To bestow his “victories” to her as it behoove
He chose Princess Melania as the apple of his eye
And began his quest with her name as the battle-cry
He persuaded a ‘Sancho’ to be his faithful squire
With promise of an island to govern as his gift to aspire
Obsessed by the chivalrous deeds of knights he read
He decided to ride a horse which was almost dead
In search of the helpless to defend and the wicked to punish
He began his knighthood with a resolve to fight to the finish
He soon discovered that times have changed
There weren’t any country sides where Kings reigned
Nor castles to conquer or giants to attack
His weird armor and battle cries only drew flak
Nevertheless, he charged at a parked garbage truck
Struck it with his lance using all his pluck
Construing it to be an enemy out to destroy him
But, he fell to the ground with a broken limb
Bruised and battered, Sancho helped him up
Took him to a hospital for a thorough checkup
The doctors patched him up and examined his head
Found its content deficient, but permitted him to go ahead
Resuming his journey he saw a kitten hidden in a bush
“Let’s grope for the pussy,” he yelled at his horse with a push
The horse galloped fast but stumbled as it fell
The kitten got panicky and fled like hell
It’s enough for the day, felt the Don and returned to his lady love
He took a ‘selfie’ with her sitting on the statue of a dove
He knelt before her and said, “Here are my trophies for you”
Presented the broken lance and smashed helmet, before bidding her adieu.
End
I am from low cars
From classic old cars and car shows
To race cars and race events
From street racing and on the track
To sunset and sunrise joyrides
From cheers, victories, and even trophies
To boos and losses
But everyday is great when you’re from low cars
I am from lifted trucks
From Chevys and diesels
To offroad Jeeps and lifted Blazers
From black smoke and burnouts
To speeding tickets and even citations
From big, wide, tires and mud flaps
To the beautiful sound of the roaring engine
But everyday is great when you’re from lifted trucks
I am from a shop
From once clean clothes to work clothes
To a dirty cement floor
From mud everywhere and oil spills covering the ground
To working hard and getting your hands dirty
From cars and trucks that enter broken
To repairing and restoring, where they leave fixed
But everyday is great when you’re from a shop
No matter where I am, I am always
from low cars, lifted trucks, and a shop
Childbirth, so worth the cost.
Pictures of loved ones you have lost.
Pen, honestly, poet,no matter the cost!
Your garland of truth, glistens wonderfully upon your head.
You may be despised, but if not
genuine, you may as well be dead.
Bright stars surround a true spirit!
The plastic masses will see nothing in it.
Don't, worry, they are lost sheep-lings..
Born or raised to never get it!?
Fancy poetry is just empty space.
To impress, to win trophies with grace!
Behind them, I query, where is the real face?
"Here, let me impress you with a Sestina," said Paul.
I told him, I was not impressed at all
I asked him, "Can you be real at all?"
We went out and just genuinely laughed!
At each other's infantile poetry gaffes.
Then ordered a second, steaming coffee carafe.
Being real, is all,don't you see?
Sharing your true heart with humanity.
Anything else is but a tragic case of self-idolatry.
There is no reward for being real.
No headlines will you ever steal.
Go, now poet and pen only what you deeply feel!!
1/14/2021
~4~
Dwell not, O soul, on yesterday,
on sorrows past and gone -
the sketch you drew so long ago,
today may be redrawn.
Dwell not upon tomorrow's wars,
nor borrow from their pain -
that energy you need today
let not your worries drain.
Dwell not, O heart, on failures past
though each one left its scar -
rich lessons you have learned have forged
the person you now are.
Dwell not upon your victories,
for those shall also pass -
let not your pride construct a shrine
to trophies made of glass.
Dwell not, O soul, on others' gain
nor envy those with much -
contentment, paired with gratitude,
brings peace no wealth can touch.
Dwell not on anyone's downfall
as though it lifted up
your own estate; we're siblings all
and drink from the same cup.
So what is left, O soul - where does
the prudent soul pay heed?
Become less of a taker
always give to those in need.
Which seeds are we to plant
upon this plot of ground we plow?
Sow seeds of love, be brave, and dwell
in the eternal now.
Written 6 Dec 2020
We have reached the base of the Idol
where the iron is now mixed with clay
a kingdom broken and fractured
its lack of strength in full display
There can never be any cohesion
of elements weak and debased
governments and religions so splintered
where virtue and truth is erased
Oh senate of Rome you still rule here
and golden coins her decisions make
the amalgamations of your religions
continue the confusion you create
Your churches fictions were born in Persia
and your idols birth from Egypt took root
from Greece and Rome your philosophy
and senators who lie for money your offshoot
The former fools of the court now staged
the drunken revelry of Greece and Rome
highly paid keep your citizens engaged
is the takeout they dine on at home
History now accurately documents your error
the scribes no longer paid to hide your sin
but every truth has been now recorded
into the book of time not held by men
Men live as though
no record to their life exists
that every reflection of our minds and thought
and of our bodies
not in time encased
They seem as quickly to forget
the place where all exist
in where ever is the book
of time and space consist
Our inheritance millennia's of lies
the table of the world of thought
it has twisted the aim of the target
until our own destruction will have it brought
Tis the net and web that seeks to catch us
the bait is saturated with wine and song
a cup full drunk with its inebriation
until you cannot see what's right from wrong
Every conception in time has given birth
to the ideology that has taken root in man
it has grown into the tree that has not worth
and its branches to be burned and condemned
Men lavish praise on their idols
for the trophies and the titles to win
but if it is self service that you are seeking
the table that's spread will in death end
sources , Daniel
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
The shepherds whom the angels told,
of Jesus’ birth foretold of old,
made haste and found the humble place
and saw the Savior’s serene face.
One stormy night in a small boat
which sailors doubt would stay afloat,
the Savior found a resting place
and wore in sleep that serene face.
Upon a mount, the chosen three
beheld a scene that weakened knee.
And in that hallowed, sacred space,
they saw their Master’s shining face.
When merchants, of God’s Temple made,
a marketplace to ply their trade.
Jesus was wroth and did them chase
out of God’s house with a stern face.
And as He in the garden prayed,
in agony His body swayed.
The weight of sin from Adam’s race
sorrowed His heart, saddened His face.
When Jesus comes to take us home
we’ll rise with Him pass heaven’s dome,
as trophies of His saving grace
we will behold His smiling face.
6 April 2024 6:05 AM
The busy bee buzzing here and there,
for hours on end collecting nectar to prepare.
Pollen sticking to its body renewing the flowers it visits each day.
These seem to be the bees only purpose to feed and provide with the next generation as it's pay.
But I wonder does it know that every where it goes.
It helps create treasures much more preciouse than gold.
It's life and it's labour is all blessed by Gods favor.
Creates beauty and wonder and food for all to savor!
For without the bee and it's fellow pollinators all would parish from Gods creation.
All depend on them every specie in every nation.
We like the bee live out our busy lives.
So many of us our importance we never realize.
We just can't do enough and we feel like a failure.
We forget that we are gifted by our King our Savior.
Every little thing we do effects everything else.
It is just about life and not putting trophies on shelves.
We are not measured by works but by our faith.
So don't be in such a hurry it is ok to slow the pace.
That way we don't burn out we don't give up or give in.
We lean on His understanding because on Him we can depend.
rhymed couplets
Advice from the oldest in the pasture,
former race horse, derby grandmaster.
We are not losers let loose in the fields;
we horses tell how effortless "wild" feels
No jockeys here, no brutal whips.
No metal bar between my lips.
No braids in my tail making knots,
I will never be forced into slots.
No giddy crowds, no owner's frowns,
All handicaps stayed at the downs.
Out in the field when push comes to shove?
We move aside, think nothing thereof.
Winning is running, hear the steeds confess.
Trophies and purses? We horses care less.
For jockeys, all is lost past number three;
for horses, the winning is running free.
March 7, 2020
The walls are bare
The floors are free of debris
The laundry is put away
The beds are perfectly quaffed
...ready for habitation
Clothes are scattered 'round
Dirty dishes in the sink
Dusty trophies on the shelf
Toys line the hallway
...ready for battle ahead
The doors are locked
The lights are on
The water runs at will
The internet entertains
...ready for usage
The children have gathered
The adults are adulting
The tension pulls at choice
The cables are strong and firm
...ready for communication
The years pass quickly
The aged wonder in pain
The children run to repair
The earth groans under the weight
...ready for transition
RESTORATION REVEALS
The ORDERED HOUSE
Written by Trudy Schrader on 12-19-2022