Best Procession Poems
See the pollens and spores
from flowers and weeds
and all manner of life
sparkle on a stray breeze
in the late afternoon
sunlight.
Know that the dust in your house
is mostly you and your spouse
and what ever children are
still hanging around,
and that thousands of creatures
call that dust
home.
Hear that scientists are concerned
with the melt of polar ice
that releases ancient viruses
and a zillion bacterium
into our daily
lives.
Read that life and more life
travels through space
on a billion meteorites
and we must wonder where
we march in the procession of
life.
Categories:
procession, imagination, introspection, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
See the procession. Yonder they come'
None plays a flute- no one beats a drum.
Just a small rag-tagged group of a dozen or so.
Who, for three years, have preached wherever they go.
They know this ministry will soon draw to a close.
What door God opens next, He only knows'
Yet there is an aura about this group of men.
Unlikely to be seen in Judea again.
Even the donkey, on which their Leader does ride,
At someone else's gate was so recently tied.
Hear the refrain which they commenced to sing;
"Glory' Hosanna' To the King of all Kings'"
Some throw their cloaks on the ground,
Others are laying palm branches down.
The High Priest inquires what this is about?
"If the people keep quiet, the rocks will cry out'"
All this accomplished words written long ago,
Every detail was fulfilled- and precisely so'
A Hero this day as He rides among men,
Though shortly these same ones will yell "Crucify Him."
Today- triumphal entry; but on Friday He dies'
Sunday is coming when He'll split the skies.
This is the story of Jesus our Lord,
Born, lived, and died; now alive evermore'
Coming to Jerusalem- a small band of men-
Jesus led captivity captive; a large procession then,
What has been building in the ensuing ages
As the History Books have been filled with numerous pages.
The Church has been built; mighty and strong,
For which Jesus will return before very long.
He'll claim His bride and carry her away.
Later with His saints beside Him, He'll return to stay.
The Procession expands each time it's in views.
How does this apply to me and you?
I've made my decision and taken my stand.
Are you willing to grasp His nailed scarred hand?
You know the words Jesus has said,
And you've heard how God raised Him from the dead.
Will you believe Him, trust Him, and be saved today?
Come join our precession: He's passing your way'
Art Ball (H.S.L.P.)
February 19. 2006
Categories:
procession, faithwords, god, god, jesus,
Form:
Rhyme
There goes a lonely soul in a coffin
carried by pallbearers which step forward with slow-pace
a funeral leader goes with black umbrella up
the brass band follows:
the trumpet vomits blood from its shredded heart,
one step forwards leaning to left
the trombone steps backward heaving a heavy sigh,
two steps leaning to right;
when the saxophone scatters wandering spirits in the air
the spirits twist their bodies with the sax yearning for lost paradise;
the tuba, on the verge of tears, struggles to advance out of breath,
keeps swaying its bulky body trying not to fallout from the line.
The enchanting melodies of Dixieland,
appeal not only to the mourners but
curious bystanders ears as well.
Categories:
procession, farewell, funeral,
Form:
Free verse
fog's fingertips creep
moon silently cackles, grins...
soft glow on blackness
twisted trees moan, creak
pumpkins' wrinkles choke, dig deep...
lit up distortions
shuffling, shifting steps
spirited procession, screams...
smiles flash, trick or treat!
*** Sept. 9 2010
for Linda-Marie's Halloween haiku contest :)
Categories:
procession, holiday, lifehalloween,
Form:
Haiku
Stately,slender trees-
Procession towards heaven
From the woods uphill
Categories:
procession, heaven, nature, tree,
Form:
Haiku
The Funeral Procession
By Elton Camp
The town’s richest old miser finally died
So only a few cars went on the final ride
Out to the cemetery to see him put away
Where he would stay until judgment day
A man on the sidewalk removed his hat
It was nice to see such respect as that
What I saw next looked so much worse
Laughing in the car behind the hearse
The five in the car were in a good mood
It made me ask who could be that crude
My companion explained the lack of cares
“That car is the one carrying all his heirs.”
Categories:
procession, funny, car, car,
Form:
Rhyme
This is the closest that I have ever been to a funeral for more than forty years, a young boy just eighteen was shot dead for stealing
I sat quietly on the school veranda and watch the hearse drive into the yard and parked on the property that house the church and the school. I saw them arranging the chairs the day before
But I did not know what was going on for sure, so I inquired within. I could hardly believe that it was a funeral, neatly adorned blue and white ribbons, everything looked so divine and pristine. The casket and the dressing was so pure, it looked like a romantic wedding on the sand shore. I watched people streaming in and I could feel the fire burning within, no tear no smile, just a useless grin and the chatter and the laughter has caused me to wonder. I could hardly believe that it was a funeral because the dress code was very loud, short miniskirts and party shirt, and a fashion that was so impure, the old ladies, the young girls, and men galore, some not ready for the season and they come without a reason. I could not tell who was close to the youth because no one was telling the truth. The hearse parked in front of me and I heard a sniffling and continuous talking, a man that looked like the father of the youth was crying for truth because it was his son lying beside the gun. He seemed a bit anxious but he did not fuss He had the expression of an officer and a body of a father. I could see deep remorse in his eyes and the spirit of God standing by. At quarter past twelve the service began to bury dead. I could hear bits and pieces of the sermon as the procession roll along, a thief? A gun slinger and a potential murder his innocence was so hard to tell. The day was already done and there was no more room to have fun.A young man whose life was taken too soon was destined for doom, the shouting from the pulpit and rebuke from the sermon could not bring back the dead to life.
The procession ended with a happy song and the minstrel marched along. Sunrise, sun set the spirit of death rolled up the street and community followed the hearse to the cemetery.
Categories:
procession, age, character, community, death,
Form:
Narrative
An Image of the Traffic in Kolkata
“Be careful, look out, swerve to the right, you’ll hit the oncoming bus,
Go slow, a rickshaw is in the way, don’t speed, there’s a frantic rush!
Honk, honk! A man is crossing chatting merrily on his mobile phone; He is insured; he doesn’t care losing a tooth or fracturing a bone!!”
“Look out”! We all shout, a speeding auto comes crashing head on,
Traffic ahead is stalled for Chief Minister’s visit from early morn.
The Up road is blocked; a procession is on its way for Victory Day.
Streets are choked by raucous hawkers cheekily obstructing the way.
The heritage trams, the rickety trains, the daring cyclists go past too,
The vehicles, the prized museum pieces invariably come into view.
Hear Cars sputter or else stutter, some dilapidated, a few brand new.
Don’t be surprised if you see a mangy dog or a monkey from the zoo!
It’s the daunting traffic in Kolkata, is what we may term “unique”.
To drive here, I warn you, one must know the skillful PC Sorcar trick! After the relentless mental shelling, soothing music one must turn on,
Stay unruffled amidst the cacophony, then your battle is surely won!
Brita Roy
8/D1 Loch Tower
Categories:
procession, confusion, humor, image,
Form:
Rhyme
April's scratchy rain
drives daffodils ornate glow
garden temple bliss
spiked blooms of proud gold
sweet charm of composed spires
in sunlight leisure
drift to awareness
canopy of yellow buds
that come up for air
Composed: April 20, 2021
Categories:
procession, april, beauty, daffodils, encouraging,
Form:
Haiku
(a saeta is a brief, improvised
gypsy song, associated with
the high emotion of the
Holy Week processions)
Once a year
O Santiago
we gather here
for this farrago.
Our sandals wear
the same old track -
once round the square,
then shuffle back.
With sinners' cones
on every head
we gaze on bones
of saints long dead
we hum and strum
and ring and sing
but don't accomplish
anything.
This stop and go,
it's all in vain -
the static flow,
the Dance of Spain.
Categories:
procession, celebration,
Form:
Rhyme
His participation won't be needed
But he has this fact not heeded:
To their church his father's lands ceded
And church-building time had them weeded.
It is in real mystery shrouded;
When the issue was raised halls crowded.
"Here men have ascended God's Heaven,
One with six plots he soon made seven
Joel with ten he dragged to eleven,
And this buffoon prefers their cession,
"Happy he's heading church procession."
For "Chief" James had hoped participation,
His picking an anticipation
Building towards preoccupation...
Categories:
procession, conflict, people, political, religion,
Form:
Rhyme
Life is a procession of days,
They fly past us,
With acute precision,
They keep us with a vision,
Times are floating by,
We live in days,
At times happy,
At times sorrowful,
And at times dull,
Yet our count on earth,
Continues to evaporate,
The doctor comes,
The priest comes,
Our lives and our times vanish.
Categories:
procession, change, death, destiny, how
Form:
Free verse
All in a dream
A procession
A walking past
A feeling of their acceptance
All ages seen but mainly a happy old
Another strange dream best left untold
Some faces I recognise there
Seen with a smile a wave old Granddad
So my lovely Grandma the paternal side
There look are the kind Mr and Mrs Lozelle
There between them in their holding hands
There pretty little Jacquie
Overcome with emotion
Even in dreams
Let me see no more
Dedicated to Mr & Mrs Lozelle and Jacquie from my dream, killed in a tragic car accident
in 1971
Categories:
procession, old, dream, dream, old,
Form:
Elegy
The funeral procession
Moved in silence
Through the empty lane;
Otherwise,
A busier street of,
Puddles during rain,
And those buzzing horns off,
On all by-lanes,
Gave no goosebumps,
As always.
The sumptuous ride,
of the fabulous virus,
Created fear amongst the masses.
The funeral of my friend too
Laid off in silence.
Only a handful loved ones
Could attend her last rites.
I remembered,
Those golden school days,
A few decades back,
Then we shared our tiffin
And gossips together.
Knows not when we lost
The contacts of each other.
Meanwhile, life got busier
With the challenges as ever.
Today,
Her freshness smiles in a frame
Where the breeze couldn’t caress
Her pepper white hairs even in vain.
When I looked back, I realized;
The worth of one’s presence in our precious lives!
All Rights Reserved!
Geetha Jayakumar
May her soul rest in peace.
Categories:
procession, death of a friend,
Form:
Free verse
The thoughts they come, the thoughts they go.
I’m sitting like a bum trying to make things flow.
But I can’t seem to think quite clearly enough,
my thoughts, like a candle, just keep getting snuffed.
I know for these thoughts it just isn’t fair,
and I know for myself I need some fresh air.
So I’ll take a walk to clear my head,
and for the birds I’ll bring along some bread.
I’ve learned about birds from things I've read,
the places they go without having been lead.
Sometimes I wish that I were a bird,
but always take back my every word.
For to give up this life for that of a bird,
is a notion I’ve deemed completely absurd.
Having walked up a hillside a rest I shall take,
I’ve a view from the top overlooking a lake.
Now I think to myself of the art I’d create,
if I had but a canvas or even a slate.
I love this place, I like it here.
I’ve walked this far, now my heads clear.
Yet whisper does the wind unto my ear,
I must be departing for nightfall is near.
So I'll head back on to my home,
and dive into my thinking dome.
I find my head a reservoir,
of all the thoughts that is and are
wanting past their prison bars.
I want this gateway flung ajar.
Every thought is inside, all in a pack,
and there's a crack in the dam that’s holding them back.
The thoughts like water trickle through,
I need paper and pen to make them flow true.
Without paper or pen the thoughts will not surface,
without paper or pen, the thoughts have no purpose.
I’ve found my paper; I’ve found my pen,
but I find myself asking what next, what then?
I return to the dam with the crack in itself,
and with the pen that I found, I dig for my health.
As the rock starts to crumble and the dam falls down,
I lay down the paper, under words it will drown.
The thoughts they come cascading through,
now in the open, here for you.
Categories:
procession, imagination, on writing and
Form:
Verse