Be inspired to take action by these wishing poems. Good advice, stop wishing and start doing - truly encouraging words. Wishing never accomplishes anything but doing - taking action that is when things get accomplished.
We hope the poems encourage you to turn your wishes into goals and move forward with purpose and a vision!
Israelmore Ayivor said in his book, 101 Keys To Everyday Passion, "There are three categories of people exist in the world; 'the wanters', 'the wishers' and 'the makers'." Which are you?
If you want something go out and get it,
Stop sitting and wishing you had.
It's time to make dreams a reality,
And stop waiting for things to go bad.
We have everything we need,
To make our dreams come true.
We have endurance and determination all within ourselves,
It's time to put them to good use.
So what will your first order of business be?
Will you plan your journey all out?
The first thing you probably should do,
Is figure out who could give you some help.
As we are very capable of achieving our goals,
A little help is never a bad thing.
Sometimes a little help is just what we need,
To get us into full swing.
How many times have you or your friends said the words, I Wish. Rather
than wishing, start doing! Set a goal, take action, just do it.
The Poet is trying to encourage
and make us realize we just have to take that first step, not worry about the next one, just one step at a time. And, she gently reminds us to accept the help of others!
Share these verses with someone you know who needs to stop wishing and start doing!
I might wish the world were better,
I might sit around and sigh
For a water that is wetter
And a bluer sort of sky.
There are times I think the weather
Could be much improved upon,
But when taken altogether
It's a good old world we're on.
I might tell how I would make it,
But when I have had my say
It is still my job to take it
As it is, from day to day.
I might wish that men were kinder,
And less eager after gold;
I might wish that they were blinder
To the faults they now behold.
And I'd try to make them gentle,
And more tolerant in strife
And a bit more sentimental
O'er the finer things of life.
But I am not here to make them,
Or to work in human clay;
It is just my work to take them
As they are from day to day.
Here's a world that suffers sorrow,
Here are bitterness and pain,
And the joy we plan tomorrow
May be ruined by the rain.
Here are hate and greed and badness,
Here are love and friendship, too,
But the most of it is gladness
When at last we've run it through.
Could we only understand it
As we shall some distant day
We should see that He who planned it
Knew our needs along the way.
I would not ask for thee a fadeless summer —
When all is bright;
Nor that eternal day surround thee,
Without a night;
For if our summer lasted all the year,
No vernal Spring in beauty would appear.
I would not ask for thee a life of pleasure —
Without a care;
Nor that thy path be strewn with roses,
Through meadows fair;
For if our days were only happy days,
And if our ways were only pleasant ways,
Our lives in dull monotony would run —
Without the peace that comes when toil is done.
But I would wish for thee a Heavenly measure
Of shade and shine;
Enough to make thee grasp the closer
The Hand divine,
Enough to bend thee to His sovereign will —
Whate'er His mandate, be it good or ill.
Oh, for a lodge in a garden of cucumbers!
Oh, for an iceberg or two at control!
Oh, for a vale that at mid-day the dew cumbers,
Oh, for a pleasure trip to the north pole.
Oh, that this cold world were twenty times colder!
(That's irony red-hot, it seemeth to me,)
Oh, for a turn of its dreaded cold shoulder!
Oh, what a comfort an ague would be!
Oh, for a grotto, frost-lined and rill-riven.
Scooped in the rock under cataracts vast!
Oh, for a winter of discontent, even!
Oh, for wet blankets judiciously cast!
Oh for a soda-fount spouting up boldly
From every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!
Oh for proud maiden to look on me coldly,
Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!
Then oh for a draught from a cup of "cold pizen!"
And oh for a resting-place in the cold grave!
With a bath in the Styx, where the thick shadow lies on
And deepens the chill of its dark-running wave!