Best Moment Of Glory Poems
Based on the Scripture, 2 Timothy 3:3-13, which gives
warning to escape the snare of the birdcatcher.
On stage he struts in sequined costume
a plume of feathers cocked high on head
A thespian of no account, though in loud rant
his troupe boasts of his skill and talent
But the look of a clown is on his sad face
when he's alone. It's heartache he embraces
for he's aware that he's been misleading
himself and bleeding hearts
the extras cast in his show
Bravo! Bravo!
He's paid the audience to shout
as they stand in ovation
whistling for more; an unearned encore
He promises, "I'll support you all one day."
Foolish would-bes, presume without a doubt
that he's a man of his word, but that's absurd
for actors such as he never share the limelight
once the spotlight has shown on their faces
What price for his moment of glory
The highest toll one can pay is the loss of his soul
Each bow he takes should give cause for worry
that one day the birdcatcher will collect his due
Barter he'll pay for being haughty and boastful
for being puffed up with pride, his words all lies
for acts of unkindness, for being out of control
the foolish one must relinquish his soul
From ones such as he, turn away, turn away
and come to an accurate knowledge of the truth
His folly should be distinguishable for all to see
that those who have an appearance of godliness
prove false in the obiesance of God's Holy Word
Wicked ones go from bad to worse
misleading as though under Satan's spell
from them you should quickly flee
and save yourself from His condemnation
like the rebellious angel who long ago fell
The Echo Of Stars
Galaxies away the echo of stars make her bloom
this rose made of warm inside a heated hand *
Fine tuning her soul to the chime of a thousand crystal pieces
she blasts out and planets resound within her Chalice heart;
Resonating inside her, the peeling bells of Notre- Dame
contain her whole Universe...
Tucked safely inside an IVEAN cloak she lives free
no longer part of this global world.
A star of multiple constellations, she belongs only
to One identifiable light, HIS own.
Evolving endlessly in time she reverberates and rings
entering God's vestibule of heaven without a single sound
Wearing the immortal crown of existence she delves
in, a crowning moment of glory
The mirror shatters in a million tiny pieces and all of truth
arrives, making her whole once again.
“it’s not desire per say but the clinging ~
that stifles soul and stops heart from singing
enlivening silence sets our soul free ~
vibrant in the now, joyful and carefree”
Scintillating lights softly dancing with the moon
dreamy music playing from the halls of our memory
this is your story and this is mine
Tall willowy blades of grass leaning gently towards hills
midnight fantasies that calm our weary minds
this is your place and this is mine
Secrets of lives yet untold beneath the honest stars
each thought becomes a healing bless of joyful rest
this is your moment of glory and also mine
Glide with me towards tomorrow leave behind all sorrow
join the magic of night's journey and come away with me
this is your story, and it is also mine.
The rose is a most beautiful flower
And it gives off the most glorious scent
It is mostly called the flower of Love
It’s fragrance from heaven lent
Its beauty has inspired legends
Hither and yon all over the land
It has been involved in Gentlemen
Asking for a lady’s hand
It has decorated wedding days
And been there when love dies
It has been present so many times
As it inspired wishful sighs
Any color can be thought of
From deep pink to a sunset red
A beautiful single scarlet rose
On the pillow of a lady’s bed
The beauty of the rose is famous
No matter the color you choose
Its blooms are inspired by all
Depending on which color you use
It is sad to watch its beauty fade
As petals fall from the rose sublime
Age has taken its toll on the rose
Even its beauty no match for time
Is there a lesson here for me?
No it is just the way things unfold
All life has its moment of glory
But not all the wonder gets told
Connie Moore
There was an angel in my story,
And that was my moment of glory..
The way her eyes shine when she make a smile,
blows me away say a mile..
That moment when she wets her lips with her tongue end,
I could get many poems penned..
Her lips that appear like a orange slice,
Cuts my body into thrice ..
Nevertheless, I failed to make her as my wife,
Convincing my mind that she is just a chapter in my life...
My brain knows that she is just an illusion,
All my heart needs is an elusion..
Let me focus on those things that shape my future,
Such that I would achieve my life goal before my departure!......
There was an angel in my story,
And that was my moment of glory....
-Madhivanan.
Elusion-Escape, Departure-death
Oh Vanity, you that trick men to exchange their souls for a fleeting moment of glory, I thee abhor!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
17 February 2016
At the seashore, a late evening.
The scenic beauty; I am enjoying.
People are running;
So I am watching.
Writing an unfinished story;
Continuing from the moment of glory.
Shallow waves touches my feet;
Makes my feet neat.
I am back in my homeland.
And it is an epic weekend.
Sun is about to set,
And my feet are still wet.
Here comes the creepy dark cloud;
Making loud sound.
Thunder is striking,
Wind is blowing,
And I am singing;
A SAD SONG.
It starts dribbling,
And I am still sitting, soaking.
Ferns behind me are dancing;
As the wind is blowing.
The embracing scenic beauty,
Has become dirty.
Now it’s gloomy,
And I am feeling doomy.
Rain is washing off the black ink on my white paper,
So I am searching for my draper,
While I am still singing;
THAT SAD SONG.
Its pouring heavy;
And I am shaky.
The unfinished story; reamains unfinished.
Shaky makes me tired.
Still I am shivering,
And somebody is hugging;
It is my husband;
And I am being pampered.
He is cuddling;
While I am still shaking,
And I am now having a sound sleep.
As a soul is free to weave ,
It has the no intention to leave ,
So free to retrieve and perceive
Yet when a soul needs a bit more ,
It disconnects from the world
Feels it is and needs to be alone , fears that no connection is to be found.
One needs to arrive soon..
As it searches through the dark holes, bumpy roads,
Unforgiving tones ,
Chilling to bones ...
As the funny phones too make it more confused.
Energy leaks its drained
Sensitive in addition,
Gets bashed and rushed ... hates to be, as it prefers its own pace and zone
As it falls ... and gets back
In lost trace, but still so overwhelmed.
Needs to be retrieved ..
By who ? Would reach the uneven soul whos fine on its own
If time passed it learned to deal with its own death of sorrow , or down , awareness , attention divide the inability to decide ...
But needs a bit more... It needs to retrieve a soul who's in the same deep hole .
So another yearns to retrieve .
Catches it's golden hand ,
they just know . Encounter
They jump up over the dark ramp
It's a moment of glory matter
They were trapped in a map
Way is found ...
The end to the vicious lap
Mutually healed ,
Forever cheered .
Perfect understanding to immeasurability
.... Own terrane, of deep soul infinity
Perfect compromise
Love has no price
In this thankful terrace
A true reflection
To this new connection.
On stage he struts in sequined costume,
a plume of feathers cocked high on head
A thespian poet of no account is ranting
though his troupe boasts of his skill and talent
But the look of a charlatan paints his face
when he's alone. Heartache he embraces
for he's aware that he's been misleading
himself and his bleeding heart followers,
the extras he casts to applaud his show.
"Bravo! Bravo!"
He paid them to sit in the audience shouting,
and boasting on him while standing in ovation.
They whistle for more, for his unearned encore.
He promises, "I'll support you all one day."
Foolish would-be, presume without a doubt
that he's a man of his word, but that's absurd
for actors such as he never share the limelight
once the spotlight shines on a narcissist's face.
What price does he pay for his moment of glory?
The highest toll is the loss of a soul.
Each bow he takes should give cause for worry
that one day the bird catcher will collect his due.
He'll barter with Satan for being haughtily boastful
for being puffed up with pride, and for his crime
the foolish one must relinquish his soul.
LOST IN FAME
In a twinkling of an eye,
In a moment of glory
He forget to see the mirror of himself
But live a shadow of himself
Unquestionable he becomes,
Unconquerable he feels,
Uncontrollable he become
Make himself above the gods.
Question the master that taught him,
Challenge them in quest with pride,
Forgetting he was once a servant
To a master.
The four corner winds cries for it downfall
He begins to fall,he never knew.
Bcos he fail to listen.
Oh!how great was his fall.
Blow the trumpet in the city,
And give warning to the sons
Of men.
How great the might has falling,
Bcos he lost himself in moment
Of glory.
BY ANIEMEKA NATHANIEL
With whispered farewells breathed from the fiery lips of The Western Sun, She slips to that dark resting place beyond horizon’s edge as yet another grain falls forever through the glass of time- leaving me spellbound,,, held in trance of passing moment’s beauty and ever mindful of price paid to bear witness of such- for I live not under deception my days are without number.
I cast my thoughts in direction of task yet unfulfilled- living in hope the morrow shall bring more favorable end to such as I take pause to smile in moment of such self indulgence. Still,,,with intent to hurry on my way I find my spirit delightfully brightened by the waking hellos of evening stars and moonlit paths which lead to home.
Peace reigns in it’s moment of glory - suffering no loss in the memories of a well finished day- bringing thoughts of rest, the warm haven of home and glimmer of hope eternal.
At the end of the day,
The sun shines its light;
The rain stops pouring,
As shown by rainbow's delight.
At the end of the day,
After the long journey;
Storms of life weathered
Submit to a moment of glory.
At the end of the day,
Begins the victory parade;
Sweet success is shining
Through our sacrifices made.
At the end of the day,
Sadness shall disappear;
Aches dwelled in the heart
Shall fade for us, my dear.
Let's start all over again,
Let's do it, don't delay;
Our love remains the same
At the end of the day.
Founded I choose,
Beddy-bye time in an opened field.
Hand of the night season,
Bush painting two shades of gold mixed silver,
Giving grass hope,
Colorful life.
"That tickles!"
Playground are my ears for choreography harvest strings.
Tonight I lay underneath the contsellation blanket,
Warm & cuddling in it's bright lumisous of protection.
Not a care in the world,
Divine Favored summons the wind to carry this trouble around me,
Never touching my skin.
Free to breathe the Moment of Glory.
This eventide,
Blue moon seems more as bright smiling of happiness.
Creating from it's light dazzling of casting shadow people.
What the current flow missed,
Waltzing eclipse species,
Dancing the rest away.
"For me my friend overhead? Thank you!"
Turning into the gentle,
Point beyond overview of oneself.
Moonlight speaks whispering light to my eyes,
"One only has to ask."
Bewitched and Bothered
If I float like a feather high in the sky
Hope all of my problems will pass by
And plainly in view should see below
Being bigger as they grow and grow.
Bewitched and bothered become you
Are fearful and afraid of what to do
As to consequences you must endure
While many facts still seem obscure.
Am growing older and days increased
Weigh priorities from biggest to least
For me and my plans to be a success
Say prayers to God so me will bless.
In my tears of sorrow I did not drown
Moment of glory came wearing a crown
No more Bernie or Trump through to wade
Neither one of them liked orange marmalade.
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
This is not a moment of glory
This is the time to say sorry.
It's the time that Nature points with her finger the cliff
Yet, we're still searching to discover a hint.
This is the time when nights get longer
When we pray with souls filled with hunger.
And as voices are getting too loud
We follow the crowd and with them we shout.
But the boats are changing course for another shore,
As we try to change the sky's shapeless form.
In a war we arrive but this is not the time
Our empty hands reflect their lines at sunshine.