Long Truce Poems
Long Truce Poems. Below are the most popular long Truce by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Truce poems by poem length and keyword.
If you are on your second or
Third DUI.
If you have been to rehab more
Then one time.
Are you messed up on drugs
Of all kinds?
The chemicals raging in your
Mind.
There are greater forces
At play.
There is a softer, better
Way.
The hustle keeps you on
The street.
You have a hard time making
Ends meet.
Your money goes to drugs,
Can't pay your bills.
You can get out,
Your fate Is not sealed.
Clear your head,
No stinking thinking.
It is like quicksand,
Keeps you sinking.
Your thoughts are a mess,
Your heart enslaved.
It is not an easy road;
But, you can be saved.
You dig deep back to your
Youth.
You and the past must make
A truce.
You and your monkey come
Face to face.
You can remember how addiction
Taste.
You can opt for change or,
Remain the same.
You can ride it out or,
Break the chain.
Turbo1904
I’m half me
Are you half you
We’ve given up
Still there’s much to lose
We’re lying here together
When we should call a truce
For fighting off these feelings
There really is no use
What we’re in....isn’t love
We’ve settled for
What’s not part of us
We both miss
The passion and lust
Cause what we’re in.... isn’t love
Would you like coming home
To open arms
Kisses that aren’t shallow
That are now the norm
I bet everyday
Would feel like years
Anticipating and waiting
For what awaits us dear
All the nights we could be talking
Wishing they never had an end
Instead we’re stuck here wondering
Not just settlin’
What we’re in....isn’t love
We’ve settled for
What’s not part of us
We both miss
The passion and lust
Cause what we’re in.... isn’t love
We’re waiting to find what we left behind
Way back in our youth...
The hardest part is knowing
And hiding from the truth
What we’re in....isn’t love
We’ve settled for
What’s not part of us
We both miss
The passion and lust
Cause what we’re in.... isn’t love
What we’re in....
Isn’t love
"Blushing is the color of virtue."
You're done.
You melt like a sigh
on the lips of angels.
You've drained
the paleness of injustice,
your own hands tangled up,
aw, the square stare of the truth,
impassable duel of the pupils.
Your hands are filled with the face of our tragedy,
witherering among the sidereal flowers,
a cursed sunset,
a lamp lit in the wee hours,
no truce is better than advancing to the edge of yourself,
throwing yourself into the fire of the stars,
crossing the hard core time;
with flimsy memories
descending into a blessed hell.
You want to die with the lamp lit,
not talk about anything that gives you away
when you smoke compulsively,
tramontane and bold,
you know how pliable is the scroll of fear.
You are bad, Diogenes,
with your airs of moldy poet,
twitching the neurons of those who feel
that Truth is even more pliable,
Come here, my ox, my friend.
I live in a small pueblo where every day or so
my neighbours sweep the pavement to keep
their side of the road clean and pick up the litter
And I like Beppo the Street Sweeper in Momo
by Michael Ende who always has the time
to speak a kind word to his legendary mates
Never liked to litter with trash rubbish or garbage
but I have cast words and actions upon my fellows
sometimes in anger and others in vulnerable pain
and they need not forget forgive or reward me
for my apologies must not sanction me with a medal
‘Purple Heart’ for my own suffering through the offence
which became a junk yard for wrong actions and speech
Life is short and wasteful memories can be long
but a short ‘I am sorry’ does not do any harm
as long as its honest and not for scoring immaculate
points on a spread sheet of blemishes and deceit
From my door step I voice ‘Hola’ and ‘Que pasa?’
to the little old ladies with the curlers and brooms
Dettol in hand and staggering steps in their stride
and wish to put my failings into the recycling bin
sanitize with truthful acceptance of my part in a toxic
environment that needs a tidy up before it sticks
like dog poo on a foul conscience and reeks havoc
‘Disculpe’ and ‘Lo siento’ as a tiny ‘mea culpa’
is simply an offer of truce not a white shiny flag
of capitulation or forced armistice under duress
but Peace and social encounters are tough enough
even without grievances and self-righteous pride
I can’t turn into perfume and on some occasions
an ‘I beg your pardon’ was not granted the request
my appeal for friendship was rebuffed and thrown
straight back into my face with fierce vengeance
but more often than not a land fill site of regret was
granted a home for a sincere olive branch in the shelter
of simply doing the right thing as the best one can do
23rd May 2021
What’s in a handshake?
What's its value or worth?
Between any two people,
All over this beautiful Earth.
The shake outshines
Ten thousand @replies.
It’s not a typed “Hi mate”,
It's much more personalized.
A shake can mean “Well done”,
From New York to a frozen Moscow.
A contract, a promise, an amnesty,
A truce, good bye, a plain hello.
Is the value the feel of human touch,
When starting intimate relations?
It’s so powerful it can even
Create peace between two nations.
Handshakes should be taught
To every school girl and boy.
We might then have universal peace,
Physically connecting all with joy.
True Christmas Miracle
Huddled in muddy trenches, the soldiers heard an eerie sound.
Troops were English, French & Belgians, and as they looked around,
The sound was coming from the German enemy lines just 50 yards away.
It was singing, and the German soldiers were approaching on that day.
It was the twenty fourth of December nineteen fourteen.
Between France and Belgium, The Western Front, was the scene.
As Germans left their trenches a cry of “Merry Christmas” could be heard.
Our solders could only watch without saying, even one word.
The German solders looked so jovial, it didn’t seem to be a trick,
Our soldiers hesitated, slowly coming out, their actions were not quick.
Soon they were striding up to the oncoming soldiers, accepting their invite.
The beautiful singing drew them in, even though they feared it wasn’t right.
There was laughing and joking, and they all exchanged gifts sent from home.
Seemed all men were the same, didn’t matter from where they roam.
They smoked and showed each other photos of their children & wives.
For a short time, they were comrades not one bit afraid for their lives.
As night fell, drowned in soft moonlight, German carols filled the air.
For the first time since the war began, each soldier felt comfort there.
Laughter resounded, and the allies began O Come All Ye Faithful, in tune.
Germans sang the same Hymn, in Latin Adeste Fideles, under the moon.
I wonder if it crossed their minds “Just what are we fighting for?”
How extraordinary, enemies singing together a carol in the middle of a war.
By morning gifts of cake, smokes and clothes were exchanged by each side.
Men chatting as a magician and a juggler were enjoyed, with eyes open wide.
A barber in civilian life, gave haircuts. Soldiers had notes they addressed,
Hoping to be taken to their loved ones in France and England in the west.
Soccer broke out. The game went hours, that history making Christmas day.
Soldiers on both sides spent time burying their comrades, to their dismay.
Soldiers who had been killed in fighting that preceded that wonderful truce.
A truce that should be an example of what we humans can willingly produce.
A true show, that men aren’t killing machines, everyone, a husband or a son.
A true Christmas Miracle from the bloody chapters of World War One.
The yuletide is here, with all its trappings,
And I'll count my blessings to finally see
My favorite package, in all her wrappings ...
You, My Love, 'neath our Christmas tree ...
I'm impatient as kids, goodness knows,
Swooning to savor those holiday sweets,
But Santa has managed with trims and bows
To hide all the best of your tastiest treats ...
I know our last tousle was fits and stalls,
So let's make amends by the fire with care ...
I'll do my darnedest to deck all your halls,
Weaving the garland to streak your hair ...
Oh, how divine, the grabs and grapples,
Our kindled pursuit of a Christmas truce,
Your thighs, firmly shaped for squeezing apples,
But devoted, as I, to that sparkling juice ...
And should we yet dare to imbibe that cider,
Attending our wassails long through the night,
I'm sure that your hearth will be warming wider,
So keeping our passions AND holidays ... bright!
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Cool Writes And Imagination" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
My ego,
devoid of outside voices
songs and sacred dances,
Missing outdoor ecoschools
sponsored by GreenFaith Communities
studying outside multicultural EcoFaith Cooperatives
supported by EcoVillage Guilds
and WiseElder Councils
with health-wealth optimizing goals
established with green permacultural designing
co-consultants,
suffering Ego/Eco CoMessiahs.
I have learned to expect authority
exercised as patriarchal demands,
after a bit of WinLose compromising
and egocentric truce-making,
self-defense of dueling dualistic WinLose
hard-fought evolutionary/devolutioning compromises
Informing/exformational dipolarities
In which my RightBrain mind-spirit loses
so my LeftBrain body-nature can continue
asserting it's Either/Or
Win/Lose demands
for rational anger and fear management expectations,
retributive justice against,
rather than for,
sinners like me
falling short of enslaved blind faith
in dualistic bipolar fundamentalist
escape from HellFire and Damnation addictions
Demands for LeftBrain reform
through punishing ego-oppression,
suppression
My hard way
tough love
of patriarchal plutocratic inside-voice pirates--
Not wu-wei of nondual
bilateral tipping pointed
dipolar WinWin extensions of grateful invitations,
Both/And
sacred ElderRight
with secular NewBorn Left.
My RightBrain sacred NatureSpirits
invite WinWin responses
through co-mentoring HereNow gratitude
for Earth's matriarchal health-wealth CoPresence
Forming all my WinWin cooperative days,
co-investment programs,
health policies,
PositivEnergy projects,
CommonGround propositions,
could not demand WinWin convergence,
resilience,
resonance
Because invitations express healthy-wealth
of and for nurturing Gratitude
LeftBrain attitudes
singing and prancing beatitudes,
RightBrain sacred integrity
of YangBody
with YinMind,
My EgoLeft
with Green EcoSchool inviting fellow conservationists
polycultural
polypathic
polyphonic right
feeling both adrenaline ultra-violet Wonder
co-investing Here,
and dopamine green Awe
bilateral ZeroZones
co-inviting timeless aptic Now
My Win or Lose adrenaline on demand
with WinWin dopamine
by Left-Right cooperative invitation only.
How does one Say even one verse, unknown to thy grace?
Taming is not shaming, Souls, too compromising of a truce.
We are not there, we are not, one spellbound vibrant muse
At least, could be in blindfolded dreams, hopeful morn, bless.
Words, reign in one raining morn, an hour, wishful in pace
Drizzle, a lighter cadence, for earnest hearts, still in prudence
May you reign over a blissful may, fainting sounds, longing grace
Fallen reasons through the blissful seasons, fall colors, vibrance
In a world,frozen tears pour in enormous stalagmites, indifference of oblivion
Be thy glory in your silent peace, a face,trying in for so long a time, time bygone
Your hands, helpful in belief, find me in prayers, morning hours, rhyming season
a Sun is the lamp of the day,in a long forgotten faded moon,on one gothic morn.
A warrior is a warrior through pain and glory, pages of life will find truth,Reason.
Said the fauna to the flora, upon the forest floor
“Which tree is the tallest, is it the Sycamore?”
The Tulip tree was listening and answered “it is me”
To which the Pine responded “Can neither of you see?"
"When it comes to being tall clearly I am very!”
“I’m not so sure, you sappy bore”, chimed the nearby Cherry.
“Such crowing from my forest friends and foolish paranoia”
“It is I, without a doubt!” Exclaimed the great Sequoia
“Nonsense!” said a gnarly tree “Till now I have not spoke"
"The grandest tree, for all to see Is me the Mighty Oak!"
The forest filled with endless boasts as the night came creeping
The stately Spruce called for a truce, the willow tree was weeping.
Said the Flora to the Fauna as the day departed,
“Happy now my mossy friend, just look at what you started!”