Emissaries Poems | Examples

Permanent Temporary

Temporal is aiming for permanence
But much benevolence paints the prudence
To keep change changing 
To keep range ranging 
To give meaning to purpose and hope
To create a future into which to elope 
From an old past on stone cast
Onwards fast to a great that will last 

Even that which may last forever 
In light of memory that may favour whatever 
Will suffer oblivion 
And the wavering of opinion 
Until it is craved for and recalled 
Once again hailed and installed 
Only to be trampled underfoot again 
And such be the recurring strain

So affirms the permanence of temporaries
Times and heirs being the emissaries 
Passing down through the years 
All cheers and jeers across seers and peers
And so it is now as it was then
Such temptations common to men
Throughout time and space
Even as enduring wisdom is strained of grace

K. Muitherero

THE DOORMAN

THE DOORMAN

He announced himself 
as doorman pulling   
veils of vortices 
archetypes tumbled out
there was Einstein and
St Theresa even Blake
and Stalin

Floating like elementals
with elevated subtlety 
he blessed them all as 
enticing experiences 

Excited he widened 
a door to expose 
emissaries stamping 
time and space
Monroe curled 
statuesque legs 
around his waist 
wobbly, said she 
only resonated with 
his doormanship

Then throated her
red lipped lust 
with vapour dust

He closed the
door


©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2024

Songs of Soul COS No 13: ABBA

Renewed life rewarded, heartbeat pipes true.
Fable's a quirky whiteness, mingling advent
amidst a dreamt sea of ice, a transient
couple transcends ..., Our pupils traced a dule
of cooing doves, creamy emissaries
that solicit the air, cradled bears in
their cavernous slumber, grasping the thin
contrasts value respect of Wintery's
shared. Rallies we as hosts, incite smiles that
tide a snowy bank to ensure the source
of our delight essences glacial course
pleasures us, our oneness eternal depth
Jigged we a two-stepped-hop, choreographed
to frigid-freed heartbeats lover's behalf.

Extraterrestrials Are Here

Extraterrestrials are here, among the stars they roam,
Their cosmic ships traverse the void, in search of Earthly home.
Alien minds with wisdom vast, secrets yet untold,
They watch us from afar, their presence manifold.

In silver saucers, sleek and grand, they soar across the sky,
Leaving trails of stardust as they gracefully pass by.
Their technology, advanced and strange, beyond our comprehension,
Their presence sparks both fear and awe, an otherworldly tension.

Their eyes, like galaxies, hold mysteries untamed,
Their touch, ethereal and cool, their voices unexplained.
They study Earth's complexities, our dreams and aspirations,
Observing human frailties, our hopes and frustrations.

Benevolent or malevolent, we cannot truly say,
But their arrival signals change, a cosmic turning day.
We gaze into the heavens, with wonder and with fear,
For extraterrestrials are here, their purpose still unclear.

Are they emissaries of peace, or heralds of the storm?
A question lingers in the air, their true intent to form.
We ponder the enigma, the truth we hope to find,
As we coexist with beings from the realms of space and time.

The Lion Who Runs From a Lion

THE LION WHO RUNS FROM A LION


Born of a Lion 
But raised among sheep.
Stronger than iron
But shiver like leaves in upsweep. 

Boldness is one of your identities 
But at the sight of your clan, 
you flee in company of groupies
And scatter before God and Man. 

Instead of taking your territories 
As it is written from the Genesis, 
You succumb to your enemies 
just at the sight of their emissaries,

Not knowing the old saying of wise words:
"He who runs because he has seen the Lions
can never run faster than he who runs 
because the Lions has seen him" in the woods. 


Since the son of a Lion is a (lion) cub,
Then the son of God is a god. 
That's the veracity you have to absorb.  
Accommodate this truth in your taste bud.

Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP} 
Copyright© December2022.

Entreaty

Amid the hisses and rattles
Of shameless emissaries of rift,
The nagging voice of virtue proclaims:
“Quench this conflagration!
Why set the house ablaze
To smite a thieving rat?
For when dogs pull down their shelter
Over a piece of dry bone,
They make themselves victim
Of the midnight downpour”

Let the flame of peace
Light up our hearts darkened by hate.
Let the sounds from drums of peace
Drown the hissing of our hate.
The thick wall of distrust
Which had blurred the light of brotherliness
Will be razed by our mutual smiles.
Then our sons shall learn
To eat from the same pot.

A Murder of Crows

Every day I wake up to the cacophony
Of a murder of crows cawing on tree tops
As the sun emerges from behind the hills 
They take to the skies in one and two, 
 Sometimes together in unison they fly
Cruise out in air like small boats   
Though dark, they are the emissaries of light!
 
Never in the sky for long, 
They land down and glide up shrieking
Flying from hedge to fence 
Hopping from mound to plane

These noisy folks remind me
Of the haggling fisher women never silent
Cocking their heads to and fro,
They keep a watchful eye 
Everything falls in their eyeshot
Picking up scraps and crumbs
 And tit bits from garbage piles
They thrive in gregarious company

With dusk fall, they come back homes
Full of gossip and tales of travel
These ubiquitous birds of all seasons
Are the unpaid scavengers of the Earth!

Sept. 25.2022

A Flock of Birds Poetry Contest 
Sponsor- Julia Ward

The Yard of the Lost

The lost ones, 
I walked through where they lay, 
In rows and columns, they were laid, 
Fathers, brothers and sons,
Departed from their loved ones.

Heroes laid to rest,
Lost on the battlefield,
They fought bravely,
With lion hearts and fiery spirits,
They stood against the assailants.

A battle that brought calm and rest,
A battle that took with it a ton of casualties,
The maimed not a few,
They assuaged the tempest,
And brought peace to our corridors.

He said he brought me to see and comprehend,
To understand the brevity of life,
How people sacrifice their lives for a worthy course,
To bring hope to their compatriots,
To bring an end to their sombre days.

I recalled the valley of dry bones,
And wished we could prophesy to the elements,
And bring back the dead, 
So they could go back to their homes,
And be united with their grieving ones.

I asked my father, “Where have the lost souls gone?”
He said,
Death goes to bring the lost
 and leaves them by the brink of the river,
Where the emissaries come for their pilgrims.





September 5, 2022.

Ex Machina Tempores - Rep

this last step...
protruding veins under the skin,
the other imperfections 
and these eyes,
from distance.
scaly is the word for it,
brittle skin.
it's not good,
evokes the relentless of time.
it is always destruction that rushes swiftly.
skin,
in this case ex-home.
the color looks gray,
but it is condition.
something that would be solemn in books,
but utterly brutal in reality,
because to the touch it conveys a sense of end.
just scales,
fur or feathers,
nothing flies,
when the emissaries of never arrive,
the last step is like a bird's
that without wings 
crawls to survive.

These Hands

These arms are my olive branches
And these hands are my emissaries 
They speak languages I cannot speak
And convey emotions I cannot always put into words
They have my full delegation to mediate on my behalf
To negotiate 
To appreciate 
To celebrate 
Or to capitulate if required 
They would like to think that they know you well 
And they never ever tire of trying to know you better
Even as I try to sleep they are still obsessed with you
To assess you
To undress you
To caress you
To possess you is their desire
What can I say, they also know me well
It is only you who make us so inspired
They know who I love 
And so they love you too, without reservation 
Without hesitation 
Without expectations 
Often without invitation 
Nor too much patience as you may have noticed!
They are naughty are they not?
These emissaries of mine
Without a doubt though, let me assure you 
Your annoyance is not their intention 
It is your pleasure that is their raison d’être
And for the next few nights, they’re really going to miss you!

Ex Machina Tempores

this last step,
the dead bird,
protruding veins under the skin,
now drying,
the other imperfections and these eyes,
from distance.
scaly is the word for skin, brittle.
not good, it evokes the relentless of time.
destruction...
is always what rushes down from heaven.
its color looks gray, but it's condition.
something that would be solemn in books,
the speed and fall of this kind of angels,
quite brutal in reality,
conveying a depressing sense of end.
just fur or feathers,
nothing on it flies,
the emissaries of never arrive,
the winged chariot that carries the defeated,
the last step is the bird that passed.
symptoms of our decay,
demigods that nothing can heal.

Vulture Angel

that last step,
veins protruding under the skin,
the other imperfections and these eyes,
eyes of distance.
flaky is the word for the skin, brittle. 
not good, evokes the time implacable.
it is always destruction that rushes forward.
skin, in this case bark ex-house.
that last step,
the color seems gray, but it is a condition.
something that would be solemn in books,
but totally brutal in reality,
because touched conveys sense of end.
only scales and damaged skin,
the emissaries of never arrive,
huge black wings that darken the day.
the last step is a vulture who sing.

Replenish

laughter rushes   summer cleanses
                            subverts subsistence 
children ramble  seaside scramble
                scribble sand
            
hamlet beckons   hangout persuades
                         hermits wade
worship freedom
                wooing
emissaries 
                dripping
leisure
                wedges in
                







Poem composed July 8, 2021

Angel Devotion

Streaming of wings 
Shade of daylight pearls 
Sacred emissaries 
Light throbbing from ye' soul 
Dedicated holy messengers 
Bound by vow 
Of God-like Pi·e·ty

Erasing Old Footprints

Snow showers arrived from the darkened sky 
Sometimes like rain, sometimes white flakes
Swirling freezing winds, whirling fallen leaves

From street to street and town to town they went
Shining grassy fields, crowning barren trees
Painting a winter scene, peaceful and serene

Then a new day came, with its own emissaries
Changing my landscape, erasing old footprints

March 17, 2019 
Placed 1st: Late March 2019 contest by Brian Strand

• Short Emissaries Poems
• Famous Emissaries Poems
• Best Emissaries Poems
• Read Emissaries Poems
• Long Emissaries Poems
• Emissaries Quotes