Long Wellbeing Poems
Long Wellbeing Poems. Below are the most popular long Wellbeing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wellbeing poems by poem length and keyword.
For everything i've seen and done
Nothing will compare
Soldiers taking there own live every week
This surely is not fair
They were trained to the highest degree
British soldiers pride is the best
Unfortunately governments disagree
And let them be laid to rest
If they had helped these soldiers out
Veterans wouldn't scream and shout
Something better needs to be done
Or unnecessary deaths will just go on
The UK is not alone it's happening across the pond
But one thing veterans always have is that military bond
So come on politicians do what is right
Spend money on after care and not just the fight
I know there are things like TRIM
While the soldier is away
But does this really help him
When living day to day
CBT is the way to go
Coping mechanisms put in place
So his mind can but grow
Demons come in last place
I know they have to shout for help
This shouldn't be the case
More support given before they yelp
And not just in their Base
They are not mental
They are not weak
Support is instrumental
An understanding what they seek
No nightmares if they do sleep
Hypersensitivity all but gone
The feeling of dropping into the deep
Is not where they belong
They deserve the help that they need
Written in the soldiers creed
Support and wellbeing is a must
So come and join stop being unjust
If you're a Carer or Empath, please remember to fill your own cup first... and put on your oxygen mask to ensure you're alive first before helping others.
It's too easy to keep giving and putting others in front of yourself and your needs...
But if we don't take care of ourselves, we are at risk of burnout and/or having some kind of physical or mental health issue developing.
Caring for others is lovely
By Michelle Morris
24/07/2024
It's great to be a giver
It's wonderful to care for all
But unless you take of yourself
You'll be heading for a fall
Caring for others is lovely
Being an Empath is a gift
But if our cups are left to empty
We can fall into an abyss
Health and wellbeing issues
Can creep in and affect our mood
We can't pour from endless cups
There's a need for balance to the good
You have to put on your oxygen mask
Breathe deeply and remain alive and thriving
You have to fill up your own cup with joy
And remember you're here to feel alive
Caring for others is lovely
Being an Empath is a special art
But remember that you're also important
Don't let your Light dim into Darkness
The more you fill your own cup
The better you fit that oxygen mask
Will equip you to reach your highest potential
And empower you to fulfil anything destiny asks
© Michelle Morris, 2024
In the indifferent desiccated wasteland
obscure tender tufts of slender grass
struggle to rise through the cleavage of ruthless rocks,
their tips holding the pearls of dew drops,
sparkling in the shine of the rising sun.
I see in them the faces of the children of fate
lighted by the waning smile of residual innocence,
although regrettably for them the sun rises
with no rays of hope, no tinge of dream,
for it has already set in the dark horizon of future.
The infirm dew drops don’t bejewel the grass,
they’re tarnished by the dirt of our times.
In the harsh winds of servitude
they toil, uncared and soiled,
they dry and disappear, ignored and abandoned.
In the glare of the blazing sun
the dreams of dew die premature.
It pains me, it hurts me
to see their blank colorless faces,
carrying the vestiges of joy of juvenile splendor,
flowing in tears, drowning in the depth of obscurity,
Nobody helps, doesn’t hold their hands,
nobody cares, doesn’t take them to the shore of wellbeing.
In my twilight hours
I wish to give the last rays of my setting sun
to the hue-less dew drops, so they can glow,
I wish to drip the last drop of empathy,
so their innocent smile doesn’t dry,
I wish to show the children of deprivation
the dreams of dew that would never die.
Blessed in abundance that manifests in our
stressed daily interaction with our fellow man, and the sincerest
form of our inner wellbeing is the outpour of laughter.
Dormant in the face of adversity, while we empathise with
modern populace at large and try to bring some
modicum of humanity and relief of the pain.
We’d all experience this from time to time and this is
seed of essence in our reality that is forever fraught.
Felled by ulterior motives – punished like Sisyphus by our
fellow peers – as the dulcet tones of compliments, the sweetest
wrung encouragement that soothed our souls like songs
sung at our cradle; the melodies now forgotten. They are
symbols indelibly edged into our subconscious and those
cymbals that tend to want to drown us out so that
we spin in the vortex, but vector us towards the stories to tell.
Be it to explain the tumultuous emotions raging beneath the surface of
our designer exterior – this is by far the saddest
hour and we, eventually, rather opt for the dilatory thought.
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
Percy Bysshe Shelly – To a Skylark
No “Grumble, grumble.”
Not a groan in my ribcage.
A sense of wellbeing.
No “Glug, glug,” frantic feeling.
No riptide.
No lost earring feeling.
Lunch.
With a sense of wellbeing as dessert.
I just…
Hum a little bit for now.
As lunch breezes through.
Soda spills a bit.
Like old shoes.
Like crust.
Like must.
Like mustard.
Like a hunch, or “huh.”
Sometimes, I have a short period of time.
But nice hours get used up, and the riptide comes in.
That’s the thing about a sense of wellbeing.
Well, it is like smelling coconut but it’s actually coconut lotion.
Like coconuts knocking around.
Grrr.
An enthralling entrancing time of the year,
When we are pensive and reflect on spiritual bliss,
Memories come back tiptoeing, joyful or sad,
Treasured friends and loved ones - we reminisce!
Emerald waves breaking on sand, griefs and
Heartaches, overwhelm with remorse, and care,
In the innermost, saddest corner of our mind,
Ring some unsought tinge of dismal despair.
Not aware who my scornful enemies were,
Never thought, disliked anyone with contempt,
Prayed ardently for their safety and wellbeing,
No harm was asked for, absolutely no attempt!
Let all human beings live in harmony…negativity,
Enmity doesn't solve any bitter problem,
Wishing happiness for everyone, close and far,
My heart feels peaceful, delighted, and solemn!
Four years as an apprentice, skills combine
With my willing ability to thrive...
As I try again, let fortune be mine,
And compliment the acquired knowledge's wine -
Sip daily to boost quests, future contrive.
Four years as an apprentice, skills combine-
Hope with fulfilling efforts on dream's line,
Cum what risk in luck per chance can survive.
As I try again, let fortune be mine,
And save me from an acrimonious fine,
Of ceaseless dues while trying to revive
Four years as an apprentice, skills combine...
Discipline and endurance; wellbeing dine,
To nurture lifespan; sh*ts culture deprive.
As I try again, let fortune be mine.
Till I get back on its fruits so divine,
Within the reach of lazy old days' drive.
Four years as an apprentice, skills combine;
As I try again, let fortune be mine.
William shows his absolute integrity and empathy when he says
“If I had anything tender in me, I shot it dead.
How can I write to you after what I’ve done?
What I’ve seen?”
Sure, he is a deserter, but there is so much more to this man.
He is not only a deserter, he is a husband and a caregiver.
He is a man who feels he has not lived up to his wife’s expectations.
He feels ruined, unworthy of her now.
This quote gave this reader hope, for I know that he cares.
He is concerned about his wife's wellbeing, about what she thinks.
He is humble, and unassuming.
It makes him more handsome and desirable.
I am cheering for him to write to his wife now.
Our most resonant health opportunities
appear to be
and to always have been
our most resilient harmonic wealth investments--
Absence of unnecessary
Left-nature fighting Right-spirit
cultures of fundamental Ego v SacredMatriarchal EcoSpirit
pathology
EgoPatriarchal dualism
between Earth's sinfully mortal Nature
and Sun's Radiantly OmniPotent Spirit.
Personal intimate dualism
between PositivEnergy Now and FutureTrust Here
Ego/EcoTherapeutic
WinWin ZeroZones
of NewBorn ReBorn Yang Attitude
actively re-allied each morning
advocating
revolutioning
Yin Sacred NightTime CoOperatively-Owning Gratitude.
WellBeing of a species,
constitutionally protected
by Yang defining and Yin refining
Rights of MatriarchalEarth,
ecopolitical health ethology, purpose, practice, experience, exercise
psychologically PositiveNature
double-binding notnot co-arising Negative
Secular/sacred ecological
and theologically Universal/Synergetic
EarthSystemic WinWin CoOperative Open Systems
and nondually purposeful-meaningful
methodical
medicinal
organic designed
and restoratively therapeutic
resonantly resilient reweaving regenerating
polypathicYang/polyphonicYin
SunLight Seasons/EarthNight Reasons
Speaking through DNA tempered seas
and reason-seasons
bilateral-fractal co-arising
bosonic 4D RealTime EgoAvatar Universes
double-binding WinHealth/WinWealth
symmetric DNA Tao
ZeroZone wu-wei
HealthCaring for and of and within regenerating plants
cooperatively caring within humane/divine EarthTribe experiences
defining and refining
describing and prescribing
exegeting and re-eisegeting
climate health and co-relational pathology re-acclimation
health defining and wealth refining
Cooperatively researching Gaia health and nutrition safety
and health and happiness
wellbeing constitutionally protected
with ReCreational Behavioral Authority
retelling responsible creolizing
Health RainbowCreation Stories
of SacredHope.
Like SkyWoman
deductively/inductively labeling
defining and refining
exegeting and re-eisegeting SunGod
competing and cooperating
Either-Oring and Both-Anding
all Earth's polyphonic polynomial
newborn
reborn enthymemes
co-arising Zen ZeroZone
restoring integrity
of MatriarchalEarth/PatriarchalSun synergetic balance.
We gather with chatter and pockets of seeds,
With trowels and laughter and half-formed needs,
With minds full of clutter and days that are long,
Then someone starts digging, and we fall into song.
The soil gets turned and the air starts to shift,
A joke passes round and the whole group will lift,
We talk of the weather, then drift into more,
Little by little, we open the door.
We plant out the beans in a neat, hopeful row,
And someone admits they’ve been feeling quite low,
No big declarations, no need to pretend,
Just hands in the dirt and a nod from a friend.
The rhythm is simple: we weed and we sow,
We water, we wander, we watch how things grow,
The courgettes sprawl wildly, the sunflowers lean,
And somehow our thoughts feel a little more clean.
There’s comfort in passing a spade or some twine,
In sharing a moment, a story, a line,
In knowing you’re part of a slow, steady crew
Who show up each week and make space just for you.
We don’t fix each other, don’t try to be wise,
But light finds a way in the cracks we disguise.
With dirt on our fingers and sun on our backs,
We’re quietly mending what life sometimes lacks.
So here in this patch where the good things begin,
With mud on our boots and a calm settling in,
We grow more than veg in these well-tended rows,
We grow something deeper than anyone knows.