Long Work up Poems
Long Work up Poems. Below are the most popular long Work up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Work up poems by poem length and keyword.
The truth can’t be seen through blinders.
Eyes and ears covered with hatred.
The tongue’s ready-lash sidewinders,
twisting and spinning what’s sacred.
The truth, the fact, reality
masked - the masses bobble their heads.
The illusion of blasphemy
here, when the scripture’s left unread.
No need for truth, when it’s made up.
“What is truth,” plank’s in Pilate’s eye.
Pilate knows - the charges trumped-up.
Wolfish masses prefer a lie.
How often the accusation,
front page news, folks - everyone’s riled.
The leak, having no foundation,
reneged where no one looks - exiled.
But still the crowd cheers old nick.
The stage decked out in crimson fire.
A civil war waged with a Bic.
No matter the damage - it’s dire!
The law, “Love others as yourself,”
truculent in divisive ways -
‘stead hate and pride speech off-the-shelf.
Lollygagging verses… no one prays…
Spend time in the prayer closet.
It’s worth every cent! Spare time!
Hear God - work up the composite.
Don’t listen to the world. PEACE TIME!
9/3/2022
...By now Carmena’s anger had built up,
and she glared searing flames at her ‘friend,’
said,”You shut you damn mouth and listen close,
everything you just said does offend.
“You think that my skin is what determines
the direction and care of my thoughts?
That certain opinions I cannot share?
Spoken like a well-and-true bigot!
“You’d reduce me to a function of a group,
take away all of my sovereignty,
deny my agency and my freedom,
deny every choice that makes me me.
“Do you not comprehend your own birth-right,
that I never knew until I moved here?
That you have the choice to build your own life,
be it normal, or crazy, or weird?
“Are you evil enough to deny that
to me over meaningless pigment?
Try to bully me with race-baiting crap,
you and your kind can all go get bent!
“And as for calling me a ‘Hispanic,’
as if that was important to say,
go get your facts straight, I’m American,
the kind the does not hyphenate!
“My family wouldn’t have come this far
if they didn’t mean to join in the club
of free people living by their own will,
that is what I am and it’s enough!
“I don’t like your illegal aliens,
or the way you want to control speech.
I’ve seen socialism fail first-hand,
I hate the tyranny of P.C!
“And if I haven’t made it clear enough,
if you haven’t figured out my gist,
for trying to put me inside a box
I will never vote for a leftist!”
She stormed away before Sue could even
work up the nerve again to talk.
She assumed they weren’t friends anymore,
but in truth it was not that great a loss.
Later that night she was browsing online
when she saw Sue’s social media feed,
full of hard smears, distortions of her words,
the kind that make an honest person seethe.
When Carmena pointed out Sue’s bald-faced lies
it was she who received the attacks!
But instead of cowering she doubled down,
against this evil she would not turn her back.
And though it did cost her relationships,
she was not one who could run from a fight.
All the years and the toil were for nothing
if she could not speak of what she though was right.
She would not be skin, or a face in the crowd,
no matter what the price was in the end.
She would be what she chose, or be not at all,
she was Carmena the American.
God has need of a few good men up there in heaven, I suppose,
But sometimes he picks one of the very best, and we wonder why he does.
Is there some heavy duty work up there, that only a strong man can do?
Like fixing the hinges on those gates of pearl, or tuning up a harp or two?
Or…Could he need the trumpets polished for that final blast that’s about due?
It won’t be long til the rapture occurs, maybe they need a choir director up there,
Or maybe an usher to handle the crowd, and show them around heaven on tour.
Streets of gold, walls of jasper, and the River of Life we are told,
The Tree of Life and the throne of God are some of the wonders we’ll behold.
Maybe God needs a few good men up there, around his heavenly throne,
Just to sing his praises throughout the ages, while the years on earth roll on.
Whatever his reason for taking good men, whom to us seem too young to go,
His word assures us that he loves each of us, and his plan is neither too fast or too slow.
When our purpose here is completed, and our journey through life is o’er,
He’ll escort us safely to our heavenly home, and the joys that he has in store.
Time will one day cease as we know it, and eternity will unfold.
One endless eternal day awaits those who reach that city of gold.
I saw you with your perfect man,
while walking home just the other day.
You were sitting in a coffee house,
laughing at what the other had to say.
It was truly such a sight to see,
two young people so well in tune.
Your smiles were so sincere and warm
that they brightened up the whole room.
And the way you cuddled up to him,
under his shoulder where you belonged,
was so natural that it made me think
of a thousand sappy love songs.
It’s really hard to find that one
that you’ll always thirst to kiss,
and harder still to work up the nerve,
to step up to the plate, to take the risk.
It’s easy to imagine the two of you
settling down in a nice, big house.
You’d be chasing after the kids,
who scrambled round and giggled loud.
He'd be out moving the lawn
and would smile at the joyous sight.
Come bedtime you’d both take them up,
then tuck them in for the night.
Most folks are probably glad for you,
that you’ve found what you’re looking for.
They’d ask you if you’ve set a date,
and why you would wait a minute more.
In their shoes, I’d agree with them
and encourage you not to linger.
The only problem is that I am the man
who put a wedding ring on your finger!
...Get out.
I sat on the edge of love
Too afraid to go all in;
Not knowing if I would sink and drown,
Or, instinctively know how to swim.
I stood upon the shoreline
Watching many a fish swim by,
Never working up the courage
To give meeting any of them a try.
When finally, I dove in,
I discovered I was just another guy,
And when living emersed in water
No one notices when you have a cry.
I eventually found my lover,
After venturing into the deep end,
Surprised to have discovered,
She was disguised as my best friend.
I wasted time standing on the sideline,
That could have been spent with my soul mate,
But, better than never diving in,
Is jumping in a little bit late.
So, if you are sitting on the edge of love,
To you I give this advice,
Work up the courage to come on in,
The water in here is nice.
TELL HER I LOVE HER part 2---
I seen you in school one day;
My heart skipped a beat;
I'd go all out of my way;
Just to tell you you're sweet;
And I would sell my soul, hey!
Just to be allow to walk you down the street
Ever so shy I am speechless;
I would ask my friend
Even ask her brother
This, tell, tell her I
Tell her I love her
Please tell her that I love and adore her
I see you on the playground;
And this I've found;
So aloring your adorning I
Just want to tell you you're sweet;
And I would sell my soul, hey!
Just to be allow to walk you down the street
Just want to tell you you're sweet;
And work up the courage;
To tell you, that I love you;
10/7/74
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. & Michael Block©1974, 2018
Sunday morning in the deep green woods.
Shoulds and should nots don’t stir my soul.
I could touch the church with my foot. I could
stretch my thighs and shins then shout.
Waking up rather late, not late, but later,
my coffee just out the gate. I stumble into
my recliner and read an unknown poet
to me. To others, I could be that utterly. Hot
on the trail of neither shoulds or should nots -
to write another poem on the spot with stains
on my cup, on my soul, or be so bold as to
go to church, raise the roof, hug the necks -
oh yes so bold as to love God and one another,
to live those two commandments, to reach heaven,
no it’s not too late. I’m out the gate. Communion
on my plate - remembrance of the life Christ lived.
Should not need a bag of nails and a hammer
to work up eternity’s sweat. Nonetheless, I’ll
follow my Lord to the moon and back. Which
moon you ask? Now isn’t that the point?
The Son of Man owns it all, and I hear the stir
of waters as the blinding light illuminates it all,
and guess what, I can see in transcending primaries,
but also in the not-seen-before, and so why do I
go to church? I stretch my hands to Abba (Daddy)
for all its worth - the provider of all that prevails.
Sunday morning in the deep green woods.
Shoulds and should nots don’t stir my soul.
It’s all magic to Joe
and music to me, too.
An owl’s quiet hoot
even simpler than the pentatonic bamboo flute.
* * *
Belonging to the drums and wooful war
I woof and bay like every other dog.
Ukes v. Orcs, a hockey brawl
the pros vault the stands and redd the fans.
* * *
It’s only a papier-mache moon. Or is it?
Hey ho the wind and rain wear us away and it’s ok.
The outline disappears and the meaning.
This could be a pert sweet thing.
* * *
Rain in my courtyard. Rusty trucks stuck in mud.
To bring order from chaos, just say yes.
Or do the day’s disputes leave you indisposed
to share your heart of zero and your inner rose?
* * *
The tragic mind knows nuclear inferno is a probability.
Every leaf that’s coming out is out, come what may.
That’s joy. As time grows short, I get stoic.
There’s work to do but does it matter if I do it?
* * *
Start each day in despair, work up to acceptance.
That there’s no there there requires resistance.
Give generously, gratuitously, flamboyantly
like good luck, but stop before it hurts.
* * *
Apocalyptic visions are popular again
but Earth will merely take a mulligan.
Beyond mountains more mountains,
peepers peeping.
. Quite often
. Inspiring prompts
. Are offered
. Brain waves
. Work up
. A storm
. Crashing towards
. SPONTANEOUS
. Outbursts of
. Creative expression
. In exultation
. You ride
. The crests
. Celebrating your
. Impulsive poetry
Old Bald Frog and a toad named Ander
saw Sally wander down by the road.
Said Frog, "Now Sally, me and Ander
been wondering where you do meander?"
Now, Ander was a three-toed toad,
had four before that Sally strode
upon his feet, a feat that slowed
and hobbled Ander’s hopping mode,
and took him longer when he mowed.
See, Frog and Ander, seeding sod,
done seen a scene they are thought was odd.
Miss Sally Mander did meander
on their sod with horse unshod.
And furthermore, she spared no rod.
The more they rode, they trampled, trod,
the more the sod got ample flawed,
a fact that gnawed, till with a nod,
Frog hopped the road with Toad in tow.
He looped his shawl and roped the rod,
and to a crawl, that horse was slowed.
Say, what’s the matter, Sally Mander?
Why you race the grass me, Ander
Working so to get to grow?
O, Froggie, don’t work up a dander,
I’s just taking me a gander.
See, I’ve a plot to buy that plot;
By Jove, I plan to pay a lot!
How’s we deal instead of grouse?
If you and Toad will move my house,
including all the stuff I’ve cached,
I’ll even plan to pay in cash,
and you’ll be rich and maybe hot,
you slap a toupee on that spot.
And so, he’d cede the sod he sowed;
she’d sew the shoddy shawl he showed.
Then he, that three-toed toad, they towed
her new abode down by the road;
the cattle lowed under their load.
Then, since they had no grass to mow,
they ambled by another mode,
There on the lake by her abode,
‘twas not a road and so they rowed.
Truth told, too old, he rode, toad rowed.
And with this cache of cash, he near explodes.
With tears, he tears the note he owed,
the last that lien is ever seen,
leans back his head and sings this ode.
----------
for the Homophone Rhyme Poetry Contest
sponsored by Hat Bueckert
written on 10/11/22
may not be exactly what was looked for since a lot of
the homophones are used as inner rhymes,
but it was a fun write, so there's that!