Long Women Poems
Long Women Poems. Below are the most popular long Women by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Women poems by poem length and keyword.
The Blood of Calvary is rooted in history
It was spilled to draw men and women closer
The Blood of Jesus that was lost was the victory
It ended the enmity that existed between God and man
The blood war that existed in the time of Jesus
Was the pathway back to the Eternal Heavenly Father
The need for blood will exist while on this earth
Hatred will be present while on this earth
The need for blood is essential for life
Yet many want to spill it in revenge
Blood wars exist
On this planet, many persist for blood
The need for blood in the hearts of men
Brings calamity that divides and breaks the impact of unity
Yet the Blood of Jesus is the purifier and
The Pathway back to the Eternal Father
Copyright 2024
In a world of wandering souls, I seek the man of kind,
A beacon of wisdom, steady and whole, unbound by time.
Unshackled from the chains of doubt and fear,
He stands tall, a guiding light, year after year.
A man who strays but finds his way, back to the heart,
Where love and compassion never depart.
Serene and still, he faces life's design,
Resisting temptations that would make him decline.
Imagine a man standing tall, amidst the chaos and strife,
Refusing to succumb to the darkness of life.
Choosing the righteous path, each day and night,
He shines like a star, a beacon in flight.
I yearn for a man of sense, a father to nations true,
A guide who leads with wisdom, and a heart that's new.
Respecting women without pretense or guile,
Raising children with love, and a gentle smile.
In the midst of turmoil, he finds his peaceful place,
Where love and kindness fill the space.
A refuge from the storm, a shelter from the rain,
He stands as a rock, unbroken and sustained.
His words are honey, sweet and pure of heart,
His actions speak louder, a work of art.
In a world of wandering souls, he's a guiding light,
A beacon of hope, shining through the dark of night.
His presence is a gift, a treasure to behold,
A treasure that's rare, and worth more than gold.
For in his company, we find our peaceful nest,
A place where love and kindness are the greatest quest.
So let us seek this man, with hearts full of cheer,
And follow his example, year after year.
For in his footsteps, we'll find our way to peace,
And a world of love and kindness, will forever release.
Form:
So what brought you back here after twelve long years; what brought you back here when you don’t have any good news to share?
You run the company bone dry and suddenly took off to the sky. You have been living a life filled with luxury, hosting executive dinners and weekly exorbitant party. Pretty women dining on your lawn and men caught up in a brawl, exhibiting colorful socks and advertising their mother’s frock, the moment was rare but there was more to share.
So what brought you back here when you have nothing to fear, what brought you back here when the message is already clear? You have made a fortune from me to access my personal diary, you have used all my thoughts to buy house, land and property, limousine and an island across the stream and a big development called mountain of the past.
you have manipulated my words and distribute it around the world and when you get rich you throw my document in the ditch and then you come back here to continue your ridiculous irony.
See the cabinet sitting over there, it is filled with documents dates back for more than thirty years, you have build bridges and factories, trains airplanes, buses, trucks and van, development across the land and construction dating back for more than thirty years with my word running down those pages.
The words that make you into a man the words that cause you to stand, the words that send your family to school and the word that provide your daily food.
For what reason did you come back here? to drag me out into the street and disrupt my heart beat? I am just an island sitting in the sun without an amour or a gun, you have been so discrete, and I will not stop until you settle every penny you earn in the street and the sleepless night I stood on my feet, you will have to answer to the sky and compensate the people before you die.
See those people standing in line, that reaches the center of the universe, they are willing to stand there until daylight just to mark the x to remove you from that artificial intelligence desk.
Let your conscience speak to tend to matters, let your consciences speak to deal with what is proper; one group is moving out of town and I don’t know where they are bound , they are honking their horn but destiny will meet them before dawn for what reason did you come back here.
Asian Black, Kodiak, Polar Bear, Grizzly and cuddly Teddy bear too….
Which one would you want to find wearing your pajamas when you have the flu?
The purple and pink striped ones would look the prettiest on the Asian Black,
But she is particular, and prefers a polka dotted nightie with a sheer and sexy back.
Let’s say you see a bear creep into your bedroom in the middle of the day,
You see her putting on your pantyhose, and she rips them every which way.
I choose Giant Panda, hoping she will want to wear my flowered blouse.
I would share all my every day clothes with her, for I am not a louse.
Sri Lanka Sloth Bear is the neatest, with her tidy extra- long hairless snout.
I know if she was visiting, I would let her wear my fancy blue dress, no doubt.
Polar Bear would have to wait until my Uncle Zeb came by to take a nap.
At a thousand pounds and holding,
all my clothes on her would surely tear and gap.
Grizzly and Kodiak are the ones I would truly dread to catch in my bedroom.
They are wild women who wear too much smelly overpowering perfume.
We had them once for a slumber party, and they tore up my bed being funny.
They cannot come back, because their parents paid no restitution money.
Better make up your mind, and do it much quicker than you have
done in the immediate past.
I just saw a trail of bear prints head toward your house,
and they were moving rather fast.
Boitumelo knelt where no one stood, His hands soaked deep in healing wood. He was not king, nor sought the seat, Just guardian to the village beat.
He'd lived in stillness, left the blade, His spear long buried, peace now made. But winds had shifted, drums were tight, The air grew thick with unseen fight.
A child he saved spoke in a tongue That hadn't lived since time was young. She cried, "They’re watching in the trees— The ones who twist the prophecy."
And that night, dreams began to burn: A cave with flames that dared return. Three old women, veiled in flame, Each whispering his stolen name.
Spirit 1:
“Boitumelo, peace is a fragile thread.”
Spirit 2:
“The soil remembers what kings forget.”
Spirit 3:
“Come find the throne. It waits in dread.”
He woke with ash upon his chest, The smell of blood, the ache of rest. He wept beneath the rising moon, Not for the crown — but for it soon.
The Fugitive
He’s now subdued and has health issues.
He was once in a dysfunctional marriage.
He’s presently in a stable relationship.
He’s more responsible and doesn’t drink like he use to.
He’s a gentleman, and no longer beats and abuses women.
Once a dead beat dad; he’s now trying to be a good father.
Once like an enemy to me; but now, he’s civil and a friend.
But there was a long journey before entering the road to civility.
He had prior criminal offenses before I ever came to know him.
Serving time for his crimes did little to alter his bad behavior.
He disturbed my family’s peace, and the peace of my neighbors.
The law did not protect anyone from the destruction of his disturbed soul.
He refused to surrender to law enforcement to face the music for his crimes.
Becoming a fugitive from justice, he fled the continental United States, and
remained so for some five years.
No man is an Island, and at some point, we all get caught.
He has now paid his debt to society, and his running days are over.
03092016 PS Contest, “A Fugitive”, by Julia Ward
The Quakers, being religiously persecuted, set sail from expatriated England;
they were the first settlers to reach the shore of New England: a free land!
Later the Puritans came and settled in other eastern, bustling colonies
seeking the same religious freedom, but their urge was stronger than dreams.
Many moved westward on foot, on horseback and on overloaded wagons...
exploring the American wilderness plundered by indigenous Indians;
they searched for grassland everywhere, to let their cattle roam and graze;
first they built wooden shacks on vast, lush prairies full of Queen Ann's Lace.
And out of this American westward expansion, came the fearless pioneers,
who sought gold mines...despite the wild cowboys causing troubles
with heavy drinking and desire for unscrupulous women, seeking money and pleasure,
who served them more whisky and lured them to a room with a demeaning measure.
Beyond the Rocky Mountains' and the Appalachians Mountains' skies,
these diligent pioneers obtained wealth with sweat and sacrifices...
changing and shaping the wild landscapes of arable land,
avoiding the drudgery of getting stuck in mud and sand.
Few men can claim understanding
Of the workings of a woman’s mind
It’s great if they’re smart and it’s great if they’re fun
And a ‘plus’ is a gorgeous behind
Partner or wife, if the girl in your life
Is sporting a tear in her eye
No man ever knows if she’s happy or sad
But no man dare ever ask why
And yet if a man should just stare into space
An unfocused infinity glare
That distant expressionless look on his face
Means he’s not seeing anything there
But she will dig deep into his rationale
Prodding for what’s in his mind
Alas, ‘Nothing, Dear’ will never suffice
As an answer he struggles to find
***
The thing about men is we think all the time
But sometimes not in a straight line
Incomplete thoughts that will not form a whole
From the light or a very deep hole
Thoughts that - however we try - will not gel
Thoughts twisting, not ringing a bell
Thoughts fit for heaven and then fit for hell
Thoughts of birth or a sullen death knell
And then she will say, ‘What you thinking about?’
We say ‘nothing’ (we can’t work it out)
But when she’s insistent, ‘You ARE thinking something!’
The best we can tell her is ‘Nothing.’
Once, we were happy to juggle these notions
Yet now we must share our emotions
But when we say ‘Nothing,’ it isn’t absurd
When our mind is blank… just take our word
Endless, Youthful days
are never forgotten by anyone,
neither by us nor time:
they were yours and mine;
can they never be taken away
from these nostalgic minds
drunken with tasty wine...
so saddened by the auburn trees
shedding their dry leaves
and masquerading the last sunray?
Everything was wonderful,
women sang while embroidering sweaters
for kids to wear on frigid winter days;
the sturdy locksmiths worked on old, medieval doors...
making sure that no thief broke in and took gold,
at seven a.m. all the faithful rushed to the nearby church
and pray for a miracle little deserved!
It was Lent in the fourth week of March!
Summer came and lively butterflies fled above,
sunshine slowly was tanning up
the pale skins, neighbors held up
cups of harvested juice under the grove
of lemons that offered fragrance
and cooling shade to those feeling a bit sentimental;
most lovers wanted quick nightfall for romance,
a few huddled together and dreamed of a rainfall!
Endless, youthful days
are never forgotten by anyone,
they were adored by me more than the others;
and the rascals skipping school loved them even more!
I carried my heavy books until I reached the stairs
that led to the veranda and left them there;
mom screamed and running I messed up my neat hair.
My dad was at work and I didn't care,
what a brat I was not listening to her;
what I wanted was to get away and play basketball,
I tripped, fell, and bled while mom continued to howl!
Bessie M. Good
1890-1913
By the time I was 21 years along,
I had given birth to two girls,
Nadine and Ruth, my precious babies.
Both had eyes of tea green,
With perfect fragrant cheeks,
Softly redolent of sweet-smelling spice-
That special baby smell- Heaven’s spice,
And both were loved completely,
By a strong soulful love,
Immensely deep and earth-real;
Only women who have dutifully dropped
Their blessed ten pound bundle,
Upon this love-lonely, cursed world,
Can attest to this compelling love,
This gripping, primordial bonding,
This indescribable link to the hand of God!
And so, it is to God I ask this question-
Why?
Why did you take Nadine from me?
My sweet baby! Why?
I cried shrieking in hysterical circles;
My husband Henry sat motionless
And staring downward, inert.
For many days and weeks we mourned,
Never really getting over it;
How does one recover from the death of a child?
How?
Then God answered our prayers with sweet Ruth!
Adorable, innocent beautiful Ruth!
For two wonderful years we were together,
Then, unexpectedly, Death took my sweet Ruth…
Why God?
Why did you take Ruth from me?
My sweet baby! Why?
I cried shrieking in hysterical circles!
Here in my dusty forgotten grave,
At shady Mt Olive Cemetery,
The deep pain of such heartbreaking episodes,
Which killed me slowly by age 23,
Has long ebbed away from me.
And now, no one remembers or cares, about
What happened to me and my girls,
Many shaded years ago.
And finally my epitaph:
Life has always had its tragedies,
At least that’s what all my teachers said.
My advice? Get right with God.