Best Lodge In Poems
Parable of the Seed
“10 He said, “The knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of God has been given to you, but to others I speak in parables, so that, “‘though seeing, they may not see; though hearing, they may not understand.’11 “This is the meaning of the parable: The seed
is the word of God. 12 Those along the path are the ones who hear, and then the devil comes and takes away the word from their hearts, so that they may not believe and be saved.” Luke 8:10-12 NIV
We are the soil, and God’s Word the seed—
God is the farmer of the field.
The birds of the air is Satan and his host,
To whom the wicked yield.
When the seed falls on stony ground,
It withers in the sun and dies.
But when it falls on healthy soil,
On the Lord, it continually relies.
Good seeds are the Children of the Kingdom;
Weeds belong to the wicked one.
God’s seed represents His words of truth;
The weeds God’s truth have shun.
Let’s be like the soil of the mustard seed
And produce a tree of might.
When the birds lodge in its shadows,
They cannot destroy with blight.
The Word of God is a mighty seed,
When spoken and when read;
Mightier than many tall trees,
Where the ‘birds of the air’ have bed.
When we submit to the ‘farmer’,
And devour His precious truth seed;
Allow Him to tend and water us,
With heaven we’ll be agreed.
So when the Word of God is spoken
And truth absorbed with great delight,
The soil [saints] will prosper and flourish—
Of wickedness lose sight.
But when seed falls on the pathway,
That’s trodden down by time,
The heart is not receptive;
Has no desire for truth divine.
© Copyright 2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
Categories:
lodge in, faith, inspirational, god, god,
Form:
Rhyme
It’s raining. . . . again.
As I set at the key board not saying a word.
I feel like a muted, silly old . . . nerd.
For in the past, it’s oft been said:
I talk too much. Be quiet instead.
It’s also been mentioned as I’ve voiced my views.
If you’ve too much to say, folks won’t listen to you.
It goes in one ear and then out the other.
Folks don’t filter it. . . . . No time to bother.
So if you run a Q-tip deep down in your head.
Comes out a mysterious yellowish-orange or red.
That just may be a remnant of my being around.
My words passed your head as they fell to the ground.
But don’t be mislead by what you’ve read.
This good advice didn’t lodge in my head. :o)
Written by oldbuck after his cessation 14 mo. ago
Categories:
lodge in, how i feel, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
When an angel would flow into our breath
That golden moment seldom we can know
Whenever that sublime sunrise occurs
A happiness glow builds its nest on our face
The police sergeant was controlling traffic
In spite of green signal he suddenly stopped all cars
Grin surfaced on the initially annoyed drivers
The sergeant walked an old man across the road
The teacher loved his pupil's mother
Her husband asked her to sleep with him
Looking into her eyes in question he said
The cancer patient is on the verge of death
A couple of days back I lost my purse
With two debit cards along with PIN record
I lost my balance of mind in a trauma
All advised me to report it to the police station
I was about to drive for the station house
A domestic aid appeared like an angel
With the purse in hand and smile on his face
I had dropped it when alighting from the car
Rain clouds lodge in certain souls' DNA
At the slightest heat and dust of exigency
Pearl like drops of pink and green empathy
Moisten their heart towards a rose garden
Out of the blue sometimes a golden hand
Warmly holds your anxious palm in sweat
Reassured you look with green gratefulness
Like a full moon a random help has walked in
________________________________________________
09/02/2017
Categories:
lodge in, angel, encouraging, green, moon,
Form:
Free verse
The lift cables engage, elevating
our gondola high above the valley.
And as white snowflakes confetti blue skies
our honeymoon ski-trip feels surreal.
The allure of a ski lodge in the Alps,
is, it sounds so cozy and romantic.
For if the brisk breezes become too cold,
we'll retreat inside and toast marshmallows.
Together, we'll watch a scarlet sunset
as it sets the snowcapped mountains afire.
And kiss under trillions of twinkling stars,
like diamonds strewn across ebony.
We'll be like angels atop of the world,
only love imbues hearts with such feelings.
And we'll explore this new-found paradise,
with the enthusiasm of newlyweds.
(Blank Verse)
Oct. 12, 2018
Categories:
lodge in, 10th grade, adventure, celebration,
Form:
Blank verse
Tempter shrouds his cold flame
hovers dwelling in pleasure,
with no remorse
to lay a kiss
on the sleeping soul at their weakest
as they lodge in fear.
11/18/2017
Categories:
lodge in, fear,
Form:
Verse
Some disgusting and cute,
Many creepy and mute,
Some exotic and vain,
Mainly local and plain,
Some revolt, some amaze,
Most pest, bother and chase,
Some crawl, slither and jump,
Buzz, bite, scavenge and vamp,
Some work hard days and nights,
Others - pure parasites,
Gutsy settle indoors
To the horror of yours,
Bold get under your skin,
After where they have been,
Shameless species would thrive
In depth of afterlife,
There’s no equal rival
To their harsh survival,
They lodge in and about
And one can’t do without.
January 14, 2022
Categories:
lodge in, humorous, insect, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Where have all my people gone, the Navaho, Lakota,
And the Sioux,
Choking for a breath of life's sustaining air,
Smothered beneath the white man's blanket.
The beating heart of native drums, are stilled, frozen
In the middle of it's rhythmic thumping, no pauses echo,
Can be heard on the open plain.
The weeping woman kneels, on sacred ground, she sheds
A river of bleeding tears, burning a permanent mark, across
A baron landscape.
Death's black raven shields itself, under it's crimson soaked wing,
Against shames moral injustice, humanity's inhumanity, towards it's
Own kindred.
The final verdict of the white man's justice, based on nothing more,
Than skin color, difference of beliefs, and sheer ignorance.
Extermination, nay a holocaust, greed fever, drives the white demons.
How much blood can mother earth be forced to drink, before
She drowns herself, or spats up everything, with sheer
Disdane, and hatreds malice.
Treaties written in vanishing ink, promises disappear in thin air,
Revealing a liars sharpened tongue.
The odds have always been stacked against those believing
In fairness.
Flights appendages are clipped, on the dove of peace, leaving it
Unable to soar above it's own habitat.
Wreckage’s refugees stumble, in the ruins after math,
Rapes victims of civilizations civilized,
Are left devoid of their heritages legacy.
Elders chieftains representatives of a once great nation,
Smoke peace pipes in the white mans hunting lodge, in Washington,
As human beings are hauled like cattle's cargo,
Taken to reservations burial grounds.
Ancient ancestral beings, lit up heaven's vast expanse, by torches flame,
To guide the souls of the dead, unto their great spiritual plain beyond.
The pale horse gallops forward, without a rider,
And the red people become a phantom tribe, vanishing
Upon the winds shifting tides.
Giving one last final battle war cry,
Why my father but the great spirit answers not.
Behold America's legacy, a world trampled beneath
It's heavy feet, all in the name of progress, or for the cause
Of Manifest destiny.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
lodge in, dedication, emotions, heartbroken, imagery,
Form:
Free verse
Candle of Ishtar glints their eyes to taste
where fireplace burns hushed tones, a smoky glide
and dew anoints waxed mouths, sighs collide,
like unspoken quakes, uttered not in haste.
Lay bare night’s scent, unrelenting, unchaste
peeled garment floats on a lounge of mantle;
there, burst of seeds lodge in her ovule’s well
replayed, released, on nipples’ buds down waist.
Releasing logic, their notes pour as flame
on creamy skin, through dusk-time ever bold
and fingers crawl north to east without shame.
Lovers entwining as one in rush of heat
till tresses billow like moist sleet, to exclaim
of Ishtar’s ripe tunes; groans of moonlit suite.
~ Petrarchan Sonnet rhymed abbaabba,
followed by a 6-line ‘sestet’in cdcdcd
~Charlotte's Scorchers
11/25/2013
Categories:
lodge in, desire, love,
Form:
Sonnet
A pawn for a pawn, a crown to crown,
whom is Master of this Lodge in town,
this I enquire while preparing the pyre for you to retire,
my meddlesome mobility unabated, indicative of a congenital nobility,
configured to coral this clambering caravan of corrupted cargo,
like a sqaulid sailing ship mired by a dragging anchor
I will be the insensitive squall that screams and squashes
your spirit's resolve for immortality to which you aspire,
by necessity, your pirate army pines to encroach this backline of mine,
alert for advantage like hyenas on high ground,
but when the men turn round with countenances of lost children,
then the lead you must take and oasis forgo,
A final engagement cautiously commenced upon the carnage
of this conflict's first casualties, terrific testament of mortality,
gross scenes torn pale and asunder by torchlights,
unremitting images of the half dead bleeding,
their moans bare and last moments barren
like old channels of lost rivers,
raging exhaustion spurned and supplanted with a spontaneous summons
of a brazen belief that my foe is more weakened, warbled and wasted than we,
here in the middle, setting the endgame circuitously,
a defense is devised to deter like a pinching pillory,
my startegy is instinct, my ferocity diverse -
J.A.B. - Final Part -
Categories:
lodge in, engagement, lost, war,
Form:
Epic
The coldest season of the year,
Up toward the northern hemisphere,
Prepare for snow, all temperatures low,
The solstice seems so near.
Many say winter is full of grief,
A boring wall picture motif,
Insanely complaining, quite entertaining,
While I sit here and sigh in relief.
Snowfall precipitation is intriguing,
And the sun is certainly deceiving,
A lodge in the woods, sure sounds good,
Air so cold you see when you're breathing.
Cold climates reach record highs,
With accumulation up to our thighs,
Boots and gloves, hot cocoa and hugs,
"The Bridge May Be Icy" street signs.
Placed between fall and spring,
Let's go to the ice skating rink,
Fall on my behind, clumsy inclined,
I think I may need a shrink!
Written By: Laura Urbaniak
Date: November 10, 2015
~Write Me A Winter Poem~
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Categories:
lodge in, seasons, silly, snow, winter,
Form:
Rhyme
Das Ein Männlein
The silent echo reflects through the lodge,
Ein Männlein Steht im Wlade ganz Still und Stum…
Repeating itself in the young boys head.
He is not yet a man, but stands proud enough to be,
Coming back here to relieve himself of his past.
Crying out as he reaches the splintering and tilted door.
The memories of the cold, the blistering cold overpower him.
He spends time collecting himself as the moon moves across the sky.
He had been here with his family-
Says the toppled dining room table.
He also wasn’t the only child in the lodge-
Says the curled up paper dolls in the fireplace.
There was music- Ein Männlein Steht im Wlade ganz Still und Stumm…
Echoes the toppled ivory-keyed piano in the corner.
There was a war, as the Russian Graffiti on the wall complains.
The crashed bomber-plane with the seat full of bones assures that fact.
He came back to the rotting lodge in the forest
Back to the overgrown pile of shambles to find something
As he digs he picks objects out of the rubble, a boar’s head, jewelry, dog-tags,
And finally the thing he seemed to have been searching for.
A baby’s bathtub, with a scrolled handle, stares at him through the dust.
What happened to the other child?
She still has all of her baby teeth in her sweet little baby head.
She’s been sitting in that bathtub ever since that horrible night.
When she was boiled to death by hungry war criminals.
Categories:
lodge in, absence, baby, beauty, brother,
Form:
Free verse
My wife is a hardheaded lady
So when she makes up her mind
Whatever it is that she wanted
Is just a matter of time
She wanted a family vacation
Everyone must make the scene
Including our kids and their families
We are a group of sixteen
The first one took us to Oregon
To a motel on the beach
Although everyone had lots of fun
It was just too far to reach
The next one was also held out of town
A nice place on Lake Chelan
With boats and skis and a swimming pool
Everyone thought it was grand
Went to Lake Chelan for two more years
Then we found a brand new spot
It was a big lodge in Idaho
We all loved that place a lot
We had that big lodge all to our self
It was on Lake Pend Oreille
It rained the whole week were there
We played games inside all day
Even though we had that bad weather
The vacation was the best
The place so big, kids played hide-and-seek
Good visit, fun games and rest
We returned there again the next year
It has its dock and bay
Water sports, fishing and paddle boats
Then someone sold it away
The next year’s vacation was different
We rented two large house boats
A week boating on Lake Roosevelt
I got sick and almost croaked
Then we went to Marrowstone Island
To my daughter’s new beach place
They caught crabs and clams, then bought oysters
Crammed sea food into our face
Then the guy boated to Port Townsend
But when they were coming back
Yellow boat died in the ferry’s lane
They barely avoided a smack
The next year it was back to Lake Chelan
But at a different place
One of the kids brought a small scooter
Road it all around the place
Two years ago, back to the beach house
Played games and had lots of sun
The tenth family vacation for us
For two year’s now there’s been none
My wife and think it is so sad
To lose such a tradition
Let’s start now and plan one for next year
That is this poem’s mission
NOTE: There always seems to be confusion on pronouncing Chelan, but the locals say it "shuh-LAN" (short "A").
Also, Pend Oreille is pronounced "PAWN-do-RAY"
Categories:
lodge in, family, games, family, wife,
Form:
Quatrain
Once in a while -in a moment
of immense sulfurous clarity, when
every grace I locked in my dilated pupils
begins to form lesions, yellow-running
tears through the deepest, lusty scarlet –
black and white would be a relief.
My mind billows like sheets,
silken, swathing whore-hues
over my perception.
I have to turn my head, hold my eyelashes together
with two fingers
hoping reality is more palatable
in the abstract.
On the edges of my eyes, where the
tawny evil beckons, bending
streaks of light, blurred through my subconscious
I see myself continue.
Unfamiliar limbs flowing over the sidewalk,
never missing an ill-fated furrow,
the cracks that I know will break me
before they seep poison into my mother’s back.
I’ll set aflame this fool’s-gold heart in
my crimson-stained fingers
and hope I don’t burn myself down
like the insanity with her claws on my eyes,
holding every torch high and shrieking to the
heavens for
fire, fire, fire;
No pretenses, just destruction –
hope ashes don’t lodge in my throat
like the drunken revelry,
the celebration: saliva and child-sobbing
unending in the streetlamps
gag-reflex mercy from the pitiless
that preceded them.
Categories:
lodge in, recovery from..., sad
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
Your words travel the globe
machine to device,
wire to line.
Captured I am in adoration.
The syllables stand bare,
without shame or embarrassment,
perfection in form and verse.
Lustfully, I dwell on your arrangements.
But I am not satisfied!
Pixels do not quench my desires.
I need your aroma to pleasure me,
and to commingle our unique essence.
The euphoria of our first intense touch
will return us to virgin purity.
Standards will fall.
Barriers broken.
I will risk the darkest prison.
No! The most permanent Hell!
and all my treasure I will trade,
to spend one blissful night with you.
If I die before meeting you,
injustice will lodge in your heart.
I will have loved only your words,
naked pixels of enduring transcendence.
Will word reach me if your life ends?
Your tender poems will cease.
I will spend years combing the earth
looking for the ashes left from your golden temple.
Categories:
lodge in, devotion
Form:
Free verse
Time On Vacation
Time on vacation seemed to fly so fast;
Pretty soon all gone by and then it past;
No longer here;
Once was so dear,
And much longer wish that it would last.
Jim Horn
Back home from vacation at Animal
Kingdom Lodge in Disneyworld in
Orlando, FL area.
Categories:
lodge in, allegory, analogy,
Form:
Limerick