Best Parsonage Poems
Of all fond thoughts held deep within the heart
Like strings lightly strummed fly with agile wings
Take flight yet never from my mind depart
Soar as wandering clouds where angels sing
Thrilling depths unknown and conscious thriving
Meant for few who’ve neutered malice thinking
Free of hate and void of carnal striving
Loosed from the pull of gravity’s sinking
Launched to heights reserved near omnipotence
God is there, since love is His personage
Displayed, arrayed in great magnificence
Building a home of divine parsonage
Forever to reign in heaven’s glory
Love is the wind and might of the story
Categories:
parsonage, celebration, god, heaven, love,
Form:
Sonnet
prosaic prologues bewitch
feeble minded scribe doth undertakes
tend toward lugubriousness ring tone
for goodness sake
echoing across,
a figurative lake woebegone, where quake
shutters latched storm windows,
clapped closed winter season didst make
physical environment lachrymose
analogous to imp pond durable dark lake
where sits inside secluded hut,
this fledgling author named Jake
a former cub (scout) at a loss
to string together an aria
tomb other nature and NOT FAKE,
sepulchral paeon to divine Gaea, Mother Earth
especially incorporating
mutisyllabic (sesquipedalian) words,
which exertion
on par with giving birth
(or so I guess),
a particularly heavily pregnant laden dearth
of help mates, doubling demonstrably
deadly duty devoid of mirth
totally tubular taxing toll,
an essentially unbearable
effort with bulging girth
whereat digestion consumes
latent mental ambition,
especially toasty warm near the hearth
which hitherto unknown to any reader
twas Xmas fabrication and fiction
no crime committed, nor animals harmed
in the making of diction
aery necessary entrapping unsuspecting intellect
to comprehend somber benediction
unless perchance one lone wolf
bait Oven English Major
with Westernization
topped off with a European
debunaire suave acculturation
even luckier if hypothetical personage
dips daintily into forays epicurean,
though careful,
and alert since church fathers
would frown on parsonage
whose natural born ardor,
a spiritual abduction
stealing austerity, complacency, and objection
toward forced irrational schemas
averse to abnegation
unfair imposition
to foist upon pruriant predilection
also impossible
to sequester arbitrary animal urges,
punishing call of the wild,
sowing seeds a beastial accusation
considered averse,
then imposition contrition!
Categories:
parsonage, assonance, autumn, creation, inspirational,
Form:
Free verse
PLEASE READ BRONTE INSPIRATION FIRST
Our courtship it continues at a gentle pace
Every time I see him my heart begins to race
Long walks in the country, late evenings by the fire
I really have discovered he is my hearts desire
Kisses in the moonlight, holding hands by candlelight
When I go to bed it’s him I dream of every night
But for now we kiss goodnight by the bedroom door
He respects my wishes that I want to remain pure
In the Parsonage Where the Bronte sisters slept
I fall to one knee and my promise is kept
The faded portraits seem to smile
Urging her to keep me waiting for a while
A wink from Emily, A grin from Anne
Charlotte's look tells me this is part of the plan
Waiting for the answer I feel my nerves dance
Adding to the feeling we are part of a Bronte romance.
We arrange a small wedding but there is no great haste
Until we are betrothed I am determined to remain chaste
My dress is made of beautiful silk and is the purest white
My groom he looks so handsome, he is my heart’s delight
At the altar like Jane and Rochester we stand side by side
This time there are no hitches, and soon I am his bride
We hold a small reception back at Wildfell Hall
Tonight for the first time into bed together we will fall
I hear the voice of my beloved
In my ear she seemed to say
Oh be patient if thou lov'st me
The power of love, The Bronte way
My ardour is inflamed by passions longing
But I must earn her virgin sacrifice
Soon she knows the feeling of being loved and belonging
For my bride only romantic perfection will suffice.
By Jan Allison and Darren Watson
19th April 2014
Categories:
parsonage, love, marriage, romance,
Form:
Rhyme
The chilly call of wolves
Troubles the shadow of my soul
Despair rips deep the heel of my youth
And my flesh holds no sympathy
Toll the bells in yonder glen
To bring the parsonage as one
Let tears fill the river Styx
And silence hush the agony of love
Rejection grinds my bones to powder
To be cast upon a cold north wind
There’s no shroud of warmth for me
While betrayal still walks among men
My spirit still quietly lingers
In the field were young maidens dream
Their hope remains until the evening
Then wolves come to feed
Categories:
parsonage, allegory, imagination, introspection, lost
Form:
Free verse
Mongrel mongeese can fly at very high altitudes but dome headed calves cannot as they must wait until they are 672 years old. Fly fly flight then. Oh great. See how the waving whales chanting circulating wisdom in a foam. And bathing basking. The hypothesis of a 5minute triangle is a good idea for a specific dialect to be spoken. The noises of a parsnip parsonage swell. Ingest not a seabird sandwich. Opening in a cave a smugglers' house. Housekeeping in a coven. Hahahaha dripped fondling fig figurehead fantastic fakery. Hahahaha and a mealworm singing opera to a friend of a prawn cocktail. Weary wearing weather. Washing. Xxxx gastronomically z z c y g z
Categories:
parsonage, assonance, baseball,
Form:
Sally Jane hung out the clothes
As her employer did upstairs doze
It was the same every week
Sally Jane's outlook was so bleak
An orphan child found in the lane
By the Reverend Parson Cane
He brought her to the parsonage
Her first job was to turn each bible's page
Hidden from view below the pulpit
Inside it's depths she would happily sit
Her next job was when she was a bit older
Carried milk pails slung across each shoulder
She whooshed the laying hens and cocks
And scaring crows as she ran about
shaking the hems of her frocks
When grown she had no permanent home
She preferred to live outdoors and to roam
As night fell a haystack, or in the winter a farmer's barn
On stormy nights that wetted the land
Sally Jane's cover was never planned
She arrived soaked through at any random door
They let her in and she slept on the floor
Now in her fiftieth year
Many village folk shed a tear
She had spontaneously combusted in John's hayrick
There had been no indication she had ever been sick
Her funeral was yesterday
Poor Sally Jane, it's a mystery.
Categories:
parsonage, character,
Form:
Free verse
TO FULLY UNDERSTAND THIS POEM PLEASE READ
BRONTE INSPIRATION - COLLABORATION BETWEEN JAN ALLISON AND DARREN WATSON
Our courtship it continues at a gentle pace
Every time I see him my heart begins to race
Long walks in the country, late evenings by the fire
I really have discovered he is my hearts desire
Kisses in the moonlight, holding hands by candlelight
When I go to bed it’s him I dream of every night
But for now we kiss goodnight by the bedroom door
He respects my wishes that I want to remain pure
In the Parsonage Where the Bronte sisters slept
I fall to one knee and my promise is kept
The faded portraits seem to smile
Urging her to keep me waiting for a while
A wink from Emily, A grin from Anne
Charlotte's look tells me this is part of the plan
Waiting for the answer I feel my nerves dance
Adding to the feeling we are part of a Bronte romance.
We arrange a small wedding but there is no great haste
Until we are betrothed I am determined to remain chaste
My dress is made of beautiful silk and is the purest white
My groom he looks so handsome, he is my heart’s delight
At the altar like Jane and Rochester we stand side by side
This time there are no hitches, and soon I am his bride
We hold a small reception back at Wildfell Hall
Tonight for the first time into bed together we will fall
I hear the voice of my beloved
In my ear she seemed to say
Oh be patient if thou lov'st me
The power of love, The Bronte way
My ardour is inflamed by passions longing
But I must earn her virgin sacrifice
Soon she knows the feeling of being loved and belonging
For my bride only romantic perfection will suffice.
By 'Jadazzle' Jan Allison and Darren Watson
19th April 2014
Please See My updated BLOG about our collaboration as JaDazzle
Categories:
parsonage, marriage, passion, romance,
Form:
Rhyme
There were his things, not estimating quote
the widow tracking lightly wherewithall,
his seasons, his reports, his favorite joke
and somewhere his adventures fill the wall.
The doors seem shut, but sunlight in between
does catch a space to modify extreme,
how wise the time were then, as wisdom seen
unending, but in gathering still the dream!
Now, only place, but echo's still esteem
a gusty propelling, his voice would ream
exhilaration still encountered, seen
the used momentum rising to extreme!
How quiet home now sits, its thought's redeem
is in the parsonage of caring, life still earned
ne'er scuttled, nor embraced without restraint
as even prayer acquitting would adjourn!
The widow, not by rocking, watching scorn
but the activity of caring, not forlorn
and this as love, no maintenance now worn
can change the loves encounter, nor conform!
How be it our togethers took its tide
in other memories, transfixing, rung
when once we reached unerring, side by side
now memories of the wasted, lie unsung!
Left over, now as aged faith's succumb
enthusiasm shed amidst the young
cannot endure this epilogue of choice
it is by aging, true love finds a voice!
Categories:
parsonage, age, wisdom, woman,
Form:
Monorhyme
Not then as mingling personage,
and its resort,
nor as linguistic parsonage
in moments scored!
So also referenced structuring
the church in ford,
oft marks the course in buffering
a message heard!
The sight of Christ, so ruffling
with wonders chord,
all else is stemmed from suffering
within reward!
I know of Christ, not muttering
in daily towards
as did address my sauntering
from human board!
The bonds so striven emptily
as merits hoard
cannot compare with brevity
His presence . . . soared!
Note ~ My only Son had married in Brookings, S. D., and he and wife were transferred to Iowa. I had hoped for a continuing relationship. They were transferred four times with his
Enron pipeline job ~ then the Company went under. But before leaving South Dakota I
was headed out to their home (they had left) and near a turn, where a School was blocking
the street ~ under a Street light ~ I witnessed the image of Jesus, he looked like the
paintings, in white, a mirage of a sort. Saying "Don't give up hope" the impact was so
real I started to drive, and drove past My sons home, and kept going, crying and filled
with so much awe ~ I ended up in Minnesota by a Lake Preston, and just kept sobbing and
feeling so special, I had seen what the world was waiting to see. Jesus is a personal
Savior ~ I would hope everyone could have such an encounter. My fear, disappointment,
pain everything else was swept away. Take Care!
Categories:
parsonage, farewell, future, jesus, leaving,
Form:
Monorhyme
Evidenced
FIFTYFOUR
CharlaXFabels
The Church Parsonage on Church Street the old Methodist Church where eye
used to go to church it Burned down.
My mother died a horrible murder death.
My brother died in a car wreck.
We used to fight each other though eye was elder he was bigger.
Eye was a weak and sickly child of GOD.
My Father died and eye do not knoe what of.
Eye was not always allowed to live at home.
My room was taken and the things in it like my toy box and the comics and the
yearbooks were all destroyed.
Eye was given a hardship discharge from the ARMY.
My home at Morrilton was burned down by a natural gas line leak which then
exploded. My family always hated me and wanted me to die alone. Eye stopped
my consumptive habits and was in a real fight in Arizona only was beaten into
Jesus and left to die half dead eye still try to live and love and write this is mye bio
mye evidenced.
Categories:
parsonage, death, introspection, loss, mother,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Five score minus eight years ago
January eighteenth two thousand twenty one
father of civil rights movement
the revered Martin Luther King Junior honored
as benevolent demigod figure
to the oppressed African American population
without whose bold risks
and subsequent brutal assassination April fourth
ninety sixty eight at the hands
of a crazed gunman (James Earl Ray),
whereby all the King's men
and all the King's horses...,
still aghast at tragic event
while reverberations felt forty two years later,
where embedded white privilege
begets continued racial strife
analogous to uncorked raging tempest
saddling people of color to human bondage
(no matter ponying up excellent equestrians),
nevertheless wrought empowerment
advancing cherished dreams
of slaves recent descendents
allowing, enabling and providing
once attainable aspirations
only bestowed upon
the self anointed masters and early settlers of
the virginal North American contiguous land mass
yet…generations prior
to this prestigious public personality
Abolitionists pitted themselves
against the institution of slavery
incrementally raising awareness
regarding the abomination
forced servitude incurred on those shackled
thus setting the stage
for this grandson of A.D. Williams
a rural parsonage,
who ministered spiritual support
for the small congregation
(initially only thirteen members)
comprising attendants at
Ebenezer Baptist church in Atlanta Georgia
setting precedent for freedom
(at risk of life and limb) against scourge of
racial prejudice courtesy
of sharecropper grandparents
whose objection to racial segregation
based on an affront to the will of God,
whereby the young whip smart precocious lad,
(whose impact we now memorialize)
showed his true colorful promise
when a young student at
Liberal Crozer Theological Seminary
in Chester, Pennsylvania
where the yet uncrowned
eminent king came under the influence
of theologian Reinhold Niebuhr,
a classmate of his father's
at Morehouse College
who became a mentor by exposing
his protégée to liberal views of theology
Categories:
parsonage, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Chelle knew she was too old to get married
or even meet a man now
She was living at home, working as a bookkeeper for her dad.
She would be doing this until she died, she imagined.
An old maid, she said. Who would have guessed it?
Chelle is twenty-seven years old, totally long in the tooth.
It is 1967; she lives in a small hick town in middle earth,
Bible belt, USA.
There are no unmarried boys now.
People stay married until they die.
Eighteen-year-olds who graduated two days ago are all getting married this weekend.
Chelle has resigned herself to the fact that it is just her,
Mom, Dad, and the Elvis, their dog.
Her path as a spinster is clear.
She will die reading a romance novel,
dreaming of what might have been and what never-will-be.
Her mother will have none of this feeling sorry for yourself nonsense; she thinks Chelle has a good life.
They love her don't they?
She drags a reluctant Chelle to the church parsonage
to help paint it. A new family is coming.
The family arrives early. Except it is not a family.
It is a young Reverend, fresh from divinity college.
He is twenty-eight, ready to settle down and preach from his heart. He notices Chelle right away.
She is standing on a ladder that starts to slip, and she has gorgeous legs. He races to help.
Steadies the ladder with a firm grip.
She turns to thank her mother. But it is not her mother.
His smile nearly makes her fall on her petootie.
It is someone new. Someone handsome and young.
A handsome man of twenty-eight -her new Reverend.
“My name is Reverend Jim,” he tells her.
She can barely speak, blushing. He has gorgeous brown eyes.
“I'm Chelle,” she says. “Thank you for saving me.”
That night she thanked God for being so good.
At last, instilling a little hope that there might be a chance
to not live the life of a spinster.
I am happy to report they saved each other.
Written 5-19-2019
Contest: The Smile at the Foot of the Ladder
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Categories:
parsonage, love,
Form:
Free verse
I have a great appreciation for the song,
"I left my heart in San Francisco"*, and I have
a great understanding of why one would leave
his/her heart in such a beautiful and most
enchanting city.
Ocean Beach, Golden Gate Park,
and the Golden Gate Bridge. Hilly streets,
trolley cars, and Twin Peaks looking down on
Market Street. The list goes on. What's not to like?
But in spite of so much to like, after an 8-year stay,
I departed the city by the bay but did not leave my heart
there. In fact, it could ok inbetter be said that I FOUND MY HEART
in San Francisco. In the Sunset, the Western Addition, and
the Mission Districts, I FOUND MY HEART. In Japan Town, Faith Asbury,
China Town, the financial district, and the Tenderloin,
I FOUND MY HEART. At a funeral home through the words
of a 10-year-old boy, I FOUND MY HEART.
Moreover, while pastoring a small church on Post Street and Baker,
I encountered a homeless and hungry man who became, in my opinion, the greatest key to finding my heart. I was young,
ambitious, and most determined to change the world. I was laden with a deeply rooted arrogance that I never realized existed to such
a degree.
Day after day, Reuben came to the doors of the parsonage
requesting food and taking my attention away from what I thought was my mission. Looking back, before I met Reuben, I AM ASHAMED OF THE HEART I BROUGHT TO SAN FRANCISCO, but it was he who
enabled me to FIND MY HEART in San Francisco. I tell you, it was there
that God began to form a heart within me more like His own.
Categories:
parsonage, christian, feelings, god, love,
Form:
Narrative
Ministries common following's ford
as rambling messaging's spaced toward
linguistic parsonage accord ~
. . . a neither pace attempts the Lord!
A breech of favored in between
is not the true essayist dream,
identities foregoing ream
is but identical in its seam!
Occlusion as the outcome's scheme,
a floating chance of origin
has none, but nature's begging scene,
doubt casting's fate becomes adjourn!
That placate stifles truth's concern,
while tensions buckle with their yearn!
Categories:
parsonage, hope, introspection,
Form:
Rhyme
Born five score minus seven years ago
minus attaining age of centenarian
father of civil rights movement,
the revered Martin Luther King Junior
honored as benevolent demigod figure
to the oppressed African American population
without whose bold risks
and subsequent brutal assassination April fourth
ninety sixty eight at the hands
of a crazed gunman (James Earl Ray),
whereby all the King's men
and all the King's horses...,
still aghast at tragic event
while reverberations felt forty two years later,
where embedded white privilege
begets continued racial strife
analogous to uncorked raging tempest
saddling people of color to human bondage
(no matter ponying up excellent equestrians),
nevertheless wrought empowerment
advancing cherished dreams
of slaves recent descendents
allowing, enabling and providing
once attainable aspirations
only bestowed upon
the self anointed masters and early settlers of
the virginal North American contiguous land mass
yet…generations prior
to this prestigious public personality
Abolitionists pitted themselves
against the institution of slavery
incrementally raising awareness
regarding the abomination
forced servitude incurred on those shackled
thus setting the stage
for this grandson of A.D. Williams
a rural parsonage,
who ministered spiritual support
for the small congregation
(initially only thirteen members)
comprising attendants at
Ebenezer Baptist church in Atlanta Georgia
setting precedent for freedom
Categories:
parsonage, america, anniversary, appreciation, beautiful,
Form:
Free verse