Best Gloria Poems
My mother’s eyes of ebony, sparkling stars
Carefully, she paints her lips' gypsy red
A cascade of flowing ringlets, her hair shines from afar
Muscatels quaint flowers, she wore on her head
Her costume; polka-dot, red and white
To have spent more time with dance, her regrets
Her smell unique, perfume is there more delight?
With my small hands in hers she taught me castanets
A spirited folklore, so well I know
Flamenco music hath a far more pleasing sound
I grant I never saw a goddess glow
My mother, when she tapped, stomped the ground
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any revealed, beyond compare
Mother's Day
AUNT GLORIA
Lovely,
Sweet,
Generous,
And Good
These are the qualities for which she stood.
Thoughtful and respectful in every way,
she always had something nice to say.
She liked to laugh, share a story or two,
and didn't she look pretty in her Irish blue?
She was always glad to receive your call,
or hang your artwork on her wall.
She enjoyed long walks on the old farm road,
dinners at the lake,
a new scarf for the cold.
A cheerful soul and her spirits remained high.
So remember this as you look to the sky,
She is now in Heaven a beautiful place...
Resting with God's holy grace.
She heaves in doubt
The emptiness in her gaze
Lets her hair down
Not full enough
She sighs
Tresses tossed aside
Much like inner beauty
The agony of imperfection
A grand deception
What shapes her?
God or society
Testosterone was
Afterall, a divine idea
Leaving Gloria behind
Searching for a magic mirror
Longing for utopia
In a barren marital land
Her stalker lurking
"Is she crazy?"
Bedazzled beyond repair
Much ado about
Small details
"Picture perfect", he sighs
Love and obsession
A blurry line
Hubby walks in
A heartless peck
The pangs of lovelessness
"Can we have some fries, honey?"
Gloria,the temple
Body or soul, she wonders
Earthly goddess to one
French fry factory to another.
I sensed it in the rock
compressed a thousand feet below.
I saw it in the cardboard box
where some humanity must breathe
the stench of garbage that was once inside.
I heard it flung across the aisle in antiphon
to angel choirs who tend to chant
rom pannacles I cannot touch.
It sang in winds that moan
around the corners of the bar
where dead men go
to stare at life again,
or hope to...
glowed in execution chambers
as the light dimmed one last time.
It showed in the exuberance
of little men in trees--
then within the fires of Hiroshima
when they took away the sun.
I think resplendance is not privy to the heavenly hosts
who woke the shepherds one dark night.
I'm told it bursts out unannounced
among the handicapped, the hopeless,
and the one who understands their plight.
Perhaps I too, shall see it close at hand,
for there in Bethlehem's stark cave
is all the glory I can stand.
~
This poem perhaps should be submitted at Christmas time,
but I share it now as a milestone in the evolution of my
spiritual thought. I wrote it some time ago. Certainly,
I have since left the large portion of my religious faith behind,
but it marks a takeoff point in my constant quest for truth.
While its literal references are a thing of the past for me.
the luster of the experience is not.
Sit Transit Gloria Mundi
Rick Folker
Our current consumptive culture
Salivates over
"Tech" and "Cell" and "Screen"
That transmits the lurid, pornographic
Apocalyptic scenes.
We long for the end
Of the endless 24/7 hollow info
Hoping, even praying that
The Moral Arc would start to bend.
The dreadful, the destitute in their death throes
Are caught by our ever-present lens;
The Schadenfreude tourist
Documenting the world's worsening
woes.
We check off the trauma
As part of our Holy Bucket List
And tune in and tune out of another
Kardashian/Jerry Springer blitz.
All along we lurch from crisis to crisis
Bankers scot free, Blacks burned in worship
While blaming the ever-elusive Isis
White supremacy in the land of the free?
The clown in the White house doesn't get it ....
Or does he
Thought I'd like to meet a gorilla up close
Then I met Gloria, damn close my diagnose
With a hairy face
Bad odor, a trace
Arms pretty long and climbed trees like a pro
A well-known stud in Peoria
Brought lots of women euphoria
But married rather well,
After casting his spell
A gal he fondly called Gloria.
Written January 27, 2022
Gloria in Eggshellsis
By Mark Stucky
Will my shell crack open
from external stresses?
Will my soul ooze out to sizzle over fire.
Will my soul simply rot inside my shell,
forgotten and leaving inside
a core of putrid mess?
Will my soul hatch through my shell,
transforming and breaking through
into a joyfully chirping new life?
My soul has sizzled at times,
burned by flames of misfortune.
My soul has rotted at times,
despairing over the global future.
Will my soul still hatch in time
for renewed life and glory?
(First published in Agape Review, 9 June 2022. See also my poem “Purgatorial Perceptions.”)
(Photo by moritz320 on Pixabay.com.)
TRANSIT GLORIA
turning surreal
blooming
imaginative
yet vintage
& compelling in loftiness
an influx
of euphoria
triumphal
yet unbowed
such contemporary
polemics
in
joyful shrieks
an embellishment
to reward & reinvigorates
yet
a contentious dream
obscure & curious
in an
endless
procession
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Gloria Gupta's garbage bin
Has got all sort of trash within:
A starched piece of mouldy bread,
A broken doll without a head.
Three empty cans of soya beans,
Uncle Jimmy's old torn jeans.
Papers, documents that don't work,
Spoons and old dishes and forks.
Used out pens, money clips,
Broken lunch packs and bags of chips.
Bones and food that's began stinking...
I wonder what Gloria's thinking,
Cellphone covers and old remotes,
To do lists and cancelled notes.
Markers, socks and old CD's,
Bottles, cans, macaroni,
An old pair of worn out shoes
And a torn heart she can't use...
Gloria Gupta's garbage bin
Has got all sort of trash within.
Maybe twice is not good enough
For even eagles have to learn to soar
And if this piece is not good enough
Grapes are good although their taste is sour
Meeting you was such an amazing grace
It was, it is and forever would be
So gracious it was to first see your face
And hear words from your dear majesty
It was fate, or maybe it wasn't at all
But here am I inking verses for you
And if that doesn't seem like fate at all
At least, to me it is dream come true
I'm certain right now that this assertion is true
As written in the records of the alchemist
That someone in the world really awaits you
I feel it when I find myself in your midst
But if you think I should like time; just pass by
It was great knowing you dear Gloria
© Kanu Ekpezu
“Soli Deo Gloria*” --- we testify
God Almighty our praises magnify
Midst His mercy and truth that sanctify
Since He by His pardon does purify.
“Glory to God** alone” is our faith’s goal
In ministering with servanthood role
Fulfilling the best along kindness’ pole
Helping build lives, or making someone whole.
God deserves glory for our gratefulness
Thanking His compassionate graciousness
Granting our souls salvation-completeness
Assuring eternal life’s blissfulness.
For the Lord’s glory, we exalt His name
Majestic midst love’s omnipotent fame
Vanquishing hatred of deceitful game
Surmounting selfishness with pride-propped claim.
Giving Christ the glory along trust-flight
Pleases Him in our triumphant delight
Winning bravely over temptation’s fight
Clinging firmly to His mercy and might.
*“Soli Deo gloria” is a Latin term for “Glory to God alone.”
**Luke 2:14 Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
February 5, 2022
1st place, "Latin Lessons" Rhyme Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Margarita Lillico; judged on 2/17/2022.
Gloria
I have always been a lover of art,
So much that I did no harm to any human,
Feared all creation as sacred creatures,
That wait only to shout to God, Gloria!
Gloria to Shembe! Gloria to Shembe!
Through the windows of my soul,
I think what I see is the beginning of my End.
Every breath I take could have hurt a soul,
I See the breadth and depth of this call,
Before I leave, I will tell the whole world,
That indeed the Holy Spirit He promised us came.
Gloria! Gloria to Nyazi Lwezulu! Gloria!
Hurting people is not part of the art in my heart,
But as humans we err, we hurt and we also forgive.
Gloria to Shembe! Gloria! Gloria to Shembe!
Where He lead His people, no sin shall advance,
No grudges and heavy hearts shall advance.
Gloria to Shembe! Gloria! Gloria to Shembe.
As once did I arrive, so shall I depart as one.
To all those that I may have wronged, forgive me.
To all those I helped, I wish I could see you shine,
All those who never found in me what they looked for,
I wished I could be everything to everyone but I couldn’t.
To all those I never helped, you know I tried and I wished
My trying could somehow ease your crying.
Forgive me but forget me not for the good I did.
In Heaven there I go, I will sing Gloria! Gloria to Shembe!
Gloria to Christ! I will sing Gloria! Gloria to Shembe.
Now look with me towards the West,
God I hope and pray not for the worst.
My soul has traveled further away from the East,
Towards there where the sun shines last for the day.
In the Arms of Shembe is where I weep to belong,
Gloria to Shembe! Gloria! Gloria to Nyazi Lwezulu.
When winter comes and my gardens are whitened,
I pray to Shembe my faith is not flattened but heightened
For, He promised us a Home where Angels dwell,
Where the sun sets not!
Where joy is the order, praise the manner and worship
The culture.
Where the sun shines not,
Our eyes are blinded by the passing decaying glamour,
How so I wish the eyes of my soul be opened so they see,
The Home! The Home of the Nazarites,
Where we forever sing, alongside Angels of Light;
Gloria to God! Gloria to Shembe! Gloria to God.
Mzamane Mndzebele – The Black iPoet. 31032020
More Horn Haiku
had been wearing broach
while horses did pull a coach
winter would approach
way we like to live
should always be positive
ourselves to God give
How is this for more of my
Horn Haiku. Just saw Pike
Place Market and Borchart
Gardens in commercials.
Write some poems about
Vancouver and Victoria.
would see Gloria
entering euphoria
while in Victoria
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
(Thomas)
She comes, Hail Gloria, growing in her approach,
wind and sea rising together, embracing.
She washes over me in her ardent desire, touching, tasting, loving.
The sand, her fingers, raking, biting,
dots of blood well where she touches me.
My hair entwined with Her,
she heaves her force against my body and I kneel,
submissive, gloriously in love and pain.
She brushes my cheek, water drips into my mouth,
the afterglow of Her teeth on my body.
With a gently blown kiss, She flies.