Best Sundays Poems
Anyday and Sundays,
breathless with the word,
anticipation - he will show up.
It is the shout of Jericho,
as we walk out seven days…
the trumpet plays.
Good news for the narrow way!
The broad way is struck as if with lightning.
God is fearsome and frightening
when you push him away, reject him, and
press the ejection button.
But O, how elated to be in his presence
when he knows your name.
O my…he knows my name!
My knees weak as if in the presence of a lover,
easily bent…arms can’t be subdued.
When you know him intimately can’t help but smile.
His fiery passion, planted and groomed,
from heart to heart.
It’s the talk show where the host
surely will not make you weep,
but unexpectedly the Holy Spirit
snatches that emotion right out of you.
Suddenly your bonded to a sister
you never knew
shared your heartache.
You cling, with tears and tissues,
the issue dangling in front of everybody’s business.
No judgment here, just adulation at the brink
of healing — a rake, a plow, seeds planted now.
Raindrops falling, soul boiling - ready to reap
a whole lot of reckless love -
the kind that will change the world.
When he knows your name,
O my…he knows my name!
11/18/2021
Categories:
sundays, christian, sister,
Form:
Free verse
*Been posting some heavy stuff lately. Time for a bit of levity.
"Hey babe, you're never gonna believe this. Crab fishing in Alaska has been cancelled for 2023."
"I don't understand, dear."
"Well, according to the paper, all the crabs have 'left the building.' It's crabs no mo."
"But where did they go?"
"Ahh, that's the mystery, indeed. Some are blaming sockeye salmon, whatever the flip that is. But I have my own theories."
"Sigh. here we go..."
"Yeah, I figure the little buggers finally figured out that not getting out of the way of the sweeping net is really sucky. Or maybe they all went on strike and decided that ending up on dinner plates was a crappy way to go. Then again, it's possible that alien visitors sampled the tasty crustaceans and transported the lot of them to their home world. Of course, the prevailing conspiracy theory has it that a certain former president with a craving for crab monopolized the fishing industry in Alaska and hoarded them all in ginormous freezers at his Florida resort. All I know is, I'm gonna miss our seafood Sundays. Shrimp and lobster just ain't the same without a complementary pound or two of crab legs. I really believe the end of the world is here."
"Poor, poor baby. By the way, seafood Sunday is on this weekend. I was able to snatch up a few dozen pounds before they all did the Elvis thing."
"Seriously? Kewl. Crab Armageddon will have to wait. Hey, have you noticed the price of beef lately? There goes my Saturday steaks on the grill. I've got some theories on the present crisis..."
"Yes, dear."
Categories:
sundays, humor,
Form:
Narrative
Memories of garden walks
Primrose paths, intimate talks
A coin tossed wishfully in a fountain
Gazing up at snow-capped mountains...
Lazy Sundays in our reading chairs
Sunset, sipping tea in our town square
The glow of ruddy cheeks twilight demarcates
A last toast to Friendship ~ to sow and cultivate
Categories:
sundays, friendship, memory,
Form:
Couplet
SUNDAY
by Sandi Hoot
Sunday
A DAY TO REFLECT
all excited newness to be planted with our creators love
like a sponge absorbing energy from above
reflections of light twinkles in eyes
with roots connected in our humanly ties
A DAY TO CONNECT
cooking outdoors on the grill
kites in the air oh what a glorious thrill
smile is the language spoke on this day
souls connecting in such inwardly ways
A DAY TO RELAX
friends and family gather with full hearts and rumbling tummies
kids outside playing and acting funny
loud laughter fills the delicious warm air
this kind of happiness there is no compare
A DAY TO ENTERTAIN
trying to sing along to the bible hymns
but daydreaming of which football team wins
high five cheers in ears
such tradition through the years
A DAY TO REMEMBER
The snap shots of those that have departed
they are the reason these gatherings started
grandpa and grandma would be so thrilled
if only they were here still
A DAY TO CONSIDER
what happen last week is no longer the target
letting mistakes go not sweeping them under the carpet
for Sundays set the record a new
hopes that blessed will be the view
A DAY FOR GOALS
Setting higher standards from the past
asking God to let our lives last
for the falls are part of the crawl that leads to a closer goal
and makes that in you a better soul
A DAY FOR PEACE
Sunday helps us plug into that eternal peace
So let your light shine fully this upcoming week
HAPPY SUNDAY
Categories:
sundays, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
This is my story about Menudo, and not the boy band Menudo
Mexican Menudo soup, known as the breakfast of champions
It’s what borracho’s, and Ricky Martin and all el mundo saludo
Chili mix, cilantro and lemon or lime, oregano, served in ramekins
A hearty feel good spicy tripe soup, honeycombed and hominy
Intestines of a cow, the stomach lining, an endearing word pancita
Who says culinary is always flattering, for it is part of the anatomy
Soup a Mexican woman slaves over, we’re grateful kind senorita
If you grew up with it, whether an acquired taste—it’s the bomb
The atmosphere is what you look forward to on every Sunday
With your familia, and then occasionally Ce Ce’s “friend” Tom
Most of the family erm, drink excessively all night long and stay
Menudo has healing powers, cures hangovers and homesickness
Save lemon for Tecate, after this concoction you won’t regret
Beliefs ring true, this broth is good for you, good for any illness
True, your uncles and older cousins will be dripping in sweat,
It’s spicy blends of seasoning flows through the blood stream,
And that’s why it is topped off with a bottle of chilled Corona
While discussing last night’s behavior, debating it was a dream
Teasing the little ones, and embarrassing they’re sister Mona
Extra lime, and beer for cooling down, served up in ramekins
Menudo, it’s the soup they call the breakfast of champions
Hangovers have come and gone, and we tend to eat less meat
My favorite recipe substitute’s tripe for Oyster Mushrooms
Tasty Menudo I made in many vegan styles, no one can beat
Chopped for texture and spiced up, the unique flavors of legumes
Successful accomplished and asombroso, serve in a bowl and heat
Categories:
sundays, family, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Our coiled limbs
Refuse
To let go.
The Sun's rays
Mingle
With our glow.
Long past lunch,
Aching.
All we need
Is right here
Under
The duvet.
We're content
Laying
Close despite
Our clammy
Flesh, thighs
Adhering.
I kiss your
Forehead
Studded with
Your cool sweat.
And then
I'm hooked
All over again...
Categories:
sundays, love,
Form:
Romanticism
I pray to thee Lord from the depths of my agnosticism,
from within the fiery flames of belief that circle my pyre
and reach for me, then retreat, leaving smoking tinder.
Bibles mock me from hotel drawers;
Mass schedules reproach me at church doors.
Friends who are “saved” hope to save me as well.
They can't understand that agnosticism is as
immovable in me as their faith is in them.
But how did this come to be?
Sixteen years of Catholic school could not
save me from it; an Irish mother couldn't save me.
And it took courage the first time mortal sin held me
in its grasp on the day I deliberately took Sundays
back for myself.
I miss you, Lord, so I pray to thee, from the depths of my
agnosticism that you hear my agnostics prayer.
(If you're there.)
Categories:
sundays, absence, courage, faith, god,
Form:
Verse
Come down to river
‘tis cold you’ll quiver
Amend
and find the Giver
He will deliver
Transcend
Love’s a caregiver
Come down to river
Descend
No need to contend
when angels defend
God praise
No need to pretend
A life with no end
sans grays
Eternity spend
With Jesus your friend
Good pays
With the heart ablaze
sing salvation’s praise
Shiver
with the Spirit’s gaze
Let go sinful days
sliver
of the past a haze
baptised in Sunday’s
river
Categories:
sundays, christian,
Form:
Rhyme
The fresh baked bread was served with every meal
Grandma's true secrets were never revealed
Eggplant lasagna
With hand rolled pasta
Herbs and tomatoes, she grew in the field
Categories:
sundays, food
Form:
Limerick
Sunday was my favorite day growing up,
When we were young we went to Ionview United church.
I wore a pretty dress and hat,
We would receive our bible verses,
Meet with friends at church,
Summers we would be going to camp.
I would travel by bus and subway for two hours,
Taught Sunday school at St. George's Lutheran Church.
We had a church camp in a dreamy location,
I was a counselor, once I composed a dance of ribbons with the children,
This was especially for the parents,
What a lovely day that was.
We would go on nature hikes,
What a healthy lifestyle to have.
As a mother with children I would take my children with me,
And teach Sunday school, we went to Dietrich Bonhoeffer Lutheran Church.
This was a beautiful church, one day they had a friendship program,
Hundreds of balloons went up in the air, beautiful to view.
I would drive all the way from the beautiful Lorne Park,
To attend this church, I think our parents were proud of me.
As an adult I would perform with the community churches,
I sang with the church choir and music group.
What an honor that was, now I am at home for Sunday.
I listen to my favorite minister and his wife.
Sundays continue to be special days in my life,
Nice to be reflective of your experiences.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
Categories:
sundays, appreciation, beautiful, blessing, god,
Form:
Free verse
A Month of Sundays
Sunday I had a dream
And Monday I had to work
Tuesday I shone a beam
Wednesday nowhere to park
Thursday I shed a tear
Friday wept alone in the dark
Saturday was full of fear
Sunday I walked in the park
Monday I couldn’t wake
Tuesday spam and pasta bake
Wednesday, poor mid-week
Thursday failed to peak
Friday, lottery is lost
Saturday early morning frost
Sunday another dream
Monday was mundane
Tuesday full of rain
Wednesday I was born
Thursday around Cape Horn
Friday, hopes are high
Saturday no eyes were dry
Sunday I had a dream.
A month of Sundays.
David Cox 14/03/23
Categories:
sundays, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Rhyme
Heaven is falling through the blackest gaps in the sky,
Tumbling through this ceiling we created
And lodging, like seeds in earth,
In mind half-mad from
Misspent Sundays.
Categories:
sundays, introspection, life, religion,
Form:
Free verse
please don't turn my days
into endless sun shine and green
fields reaching as far as the eyes can see.
Most of the time you
don't mean it.
Just trying to look poetic before
a group of the worst dictators of
any poetic form.
I know the sky is blue and the
sun is warm and the ocean roars.
2007: not to be negative but
this is the year I first heard your
bull---- lets leave it there.
Tell me about the lord un-cut
and down to the point.
Give me a super natural experience.
Not a super power human being
looking to exploit the purpose
of the words written to reprove.
Categories:
sundays, faith, me,
Form:
Free verse
Every Sunday is always a life-changing moment. Sundays are the ones who decide one's fate
and determine the future. Sometimes, Sundays can be a bit depressing, but some of them
aren't. They're part of everyone's life. People are going to church, watch football games,
and/or playing golf at golf clubs and country clubs just for the joy of it. This is been
going on and on every single week. All Sundays are also considered the end of the weekends
and the beginning of the weeks. I think that a Sunday will be the first day for the rest
our lives. Without Sundays, we'd all be jumping a week.
Categories:
sundays, on writing and wordsgolf,
Form:
Epic
My eyes closed, he made me breathe, he stopped...
and I cried, I drowned myself in the taste of how it should be as he opened me, opened his
hand and showed me the way time escapes from us, and I would say...
yes...
in that moment, I would whisper myself across his hands and we'd watch yesterday scatter,
I'd study confusion and laugh.
I wanted to tell him that if I walked, I'd stumble, my head would turn backwards towards
him waiting to see him run...
but I'd never call, not once, not on a Saturday when the sun broke the sky and clouds
shattered, pieces of my heart breaking...
waiting...
for him to understand.
Nights followed me and daydreams appeared in his open mouth as I brushed my lips across
his shoulders and watched tomorrow come true, and I never wanted much, I never begged for
him, I fell to his side, I felt my life dissolve into him, I whispered secrets because
when he sleeps...
he never hears me...
he never knows I'm scared.
I wanted to agree, but blue never dropped down in straight lines and I was terrified my
tears would fall in patterns that resembled pain, I wanted to open my mouth and show him
who I was, but my voice sounds too pretty when I speak his name...
I wanted to tell him, but he slept...
he dreamed while my secrets kissed his skin and hushed the Saturdays I'd
waited
for him to call
and the Sundays when my tears tasted a little bit like how it should be
when my lips
still
tasted him.
Categories:
sundays, life, love, nostalgia, time,
Form:
Prose Poetry