Long Accords Poems
Long Accords Poems. Below are the most popular long Accords by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Accords poems by poem length and keyword.
The blue hour takes root ...
There is the dark wing of the steamer,
Which takes the open sea, and carries away its regrets,
Tiny passengers, waving handkerchiefs
And the seagulls passing and passing again.
Heavy rusty chains, in heaps on the edge of the quay,
Puddles where the clouds pass,
In which dead leaves are diluting.
The evening is maritime,
The sun is still clinging to the cranes of the harbor,
Which seem aimless,
And on the summit of the trees.
The freshness already slips on its silver soles,
And it remains a few moments, on the water
The wake of dreams.
It doesn't wait to dilutes itself in oblivion.
The boat came out of my field of vision,
Perhaps a point, hidden behind the buildings of the mole.
The wind knocks at my window.
A bus goes up the avenue, almost empty.
The silver stone of the moon rises from the horizon.
The muses escaped.
The blue hour takes root,
I put a disc
And from the piano, Chopin chords.
These are the "Nocturnes".
They soon overtake the reddish mists:
Ultimate bursts of a day that goes out.
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( translated from french )
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original text:
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L'heure bleue prend racine...
Il y a l'aileron sombre du paquebot,
qui prend le large, et emporte ses regrets,
des passagers minuscules, agitant des mouchoirs
et les mouettes qui passent et repassent .
De lourdes chaînes rouillées, en tas sur le bord du quai,
des flaques où passent les nuages,
dans lesquelles se diluent des feuilles mortes .
Le soir est maritime,
le soleil s'accroche encore sur les grues du port,
qui semblent désoeuvrées,
et sur la cîme des arbres.
La fraîcheur glisse déjà sur ses semelles d'argent,
et il reste quelques instants, sur l'eau
le sillage des songes.
Il ne tarde pas à se diluer dans l'oubli.
Le bateau est sorti de mon champ de vision,
peut-être un point, caché derrière les bâtiments du môle.
Le vent frappe à ma fenêtre.
Un autobus remonte l'avenue, presque vide .
La pierre argentée de la lune monte de l'horizon.
Les muses se sont échappées.
L'heure bleue prend racine,
je mets un disque
et du piano, s'égrènent les accords de Chopin.
Ce sont les « Nocturnes ».
Ils devancent de peu les brumes rousses :
ultimes sursauts d'un jour qui s'éteint.
RC
The Word of Eternal God
Which is the power of Eternal God for salvation to everyone who has faith
Is set forth
Displays its power in a most wonderful way in the writings of the New Testament
Which hand on the ultimate truth of Eternal God’s Revelation
Their central object is Jesus or Father Christ
Eternal God’s incarnate Son
His acts
Teachings
Mission and glorification
His Church’s beginnings under the spirit’s guidance
The Gospels are the heart of all Scriptures
Because they are our principal source for the life
Teaching of the incarnate Word
Our Savior
We can distinguish three stages in the formation of the Gospels
The life and teaching of Jesus or Father Christ
The Church holds firmly that the four Gospels
Whose historicity she unhesitatingly affirms
Faithfully hand on what Jesus
The Eternal Son of Eternal God
While He lived among men
Really did and taught for their salvation
Until the day when He was taken up
The oral tradition
For
After the ascension of the Lord
The apostles handed onto their hearers what they had said and done
But with fuller understanding which they
Instructed by the glorious events of Father Christ
Enlightened by the spirit of truth
Now enjoyed
The written Gospels
The sacred authors
In writing the four gospels
Selected certain of the many elements which had been handed on
Either orally or already in written form
Others they senthesized or explained with an eye to the situation of the Churches
While sustaining the form of preaching
But always in such a fashion that they have told us the honest truth about Jesus
The fourfold Gospel holds a unique place in the Church
As is evident both in the veneration which the liturgy accords it
In surpassing attraction it has exercised on the saints at all times
There is no doctrine which could be better
More precious
More splendid than the text of the Gospel
Behold and retain what our Lord and Master
Father Christ
Has taught by His words and accomplished by His deeds
But above all it’s the Gospels that occupy my mind when I’m at prayer
My poor soul has so many needs
Yet this is the one thing needful
I’m always finding fresh lights there
Hidden and enthralling meanings
1242015
There Are A Thousand Treasures Of Kings
Worth More, Than All The Wealth, There Could Be !
Some Say, It’s In A Kingdom Of Dreams
Others Say, It’s As Real As You & Me
The Legend Says, There’s A Kingdom Of Love
In A Kingdom, Far Away & Above
Kings-Treasures, To Be Claimed By The Best
Those Worthy Of Courage, To Quest
& So, This Is Where I’ll Start, My Friend,
Tho’, This Isn’t Where The Real Tale Begins
You See, There Was A Merry Band Of Adventurers
Who Went On A Quest, As Treasure-Gatherers
There Was Moses, The Freedom-Circle-Rider
Stayed His Course, Like An Eagle-Glider
There Was Goff, The Monk Of Sky and Trees
His Visions Of Life, Were As Open As Doors With Keys
There Was Kendricks, The Keeper Of ‘Interesting’ Tracks
& Marty, Of The Hale & Hearty & Power-Pen Pack
There Was Adell of Deep Wells … & Dio, The Devoted
& Dame Brown Of Mountain-Ground, So Sweetly-Noted
There Was An Irish Lass, O’Leary Of Laughter
& The Golden Daughter Of Grace & Audrey Of Gifted-Banter
& Devonshire, The Dove & Highlander Of Heather-Cove
Of First To Join Search: For Soup & Treasure-Trove
Of Course, We Have A Prince Of Passion Land
& Ismael, A Dream-Merchant From His Own Island
The Prince, Paints Of Pleasures; The Islander Speaks of Treasures
Both Know Of Biggest Royal Cache That We Could Ever Measure !
There Came Tim, The Archer Of The Wit-Forest
& A Determined Mother with Son, The Lady Doris
Maid Adams, Who Teaches How To Keep Cold Away
& The Lightning-Voice Of Linda Marie, Keeps Wolves At-Bay
There Is Sir Lamoureu of Sir Lancelot's Order
He Wields Words In Articulate Axes & Armor
And To Those Who Dare Say Chivalry Is Dead ...
Is Because -The Sonnets of Sir Lamoureu, They Have Not Read
& The Legendary Language That Sir Lamoureu Pledge
Then There's Lady Linda, A Chatelaine & A Poet Destroyer
But She Only Versus The Verses of The Vanity Voyeurers
Her Skill With Quill Accurately Quite Accords
As Proof of Pens Being Mightier Than Swords
We Have A Pretty Elf Known As Anne Lise Andresen
Her Piquant Topics of Poetry Makes Her Our Taliesin
And We Have Our Very Own Kind Maid Merryman
She Transports Adventures Better Than A Ferryman
Part 1 of 2
Written & Copyrighted By: MoonBee Canady
There Are A Thousand Treasures Of Kings
Worth More, Than All The Wealth, There Could Be !
Some Say, It’s In A Kingdom Of Dreams
Others Say, It’s As Real As You & Me
The Legend Says, There’s A Kingdom Of Love
In A Kingdom, Far Away & Above
Kings-Treasures, To Be Claimed By The Best
Those Worthy Of Courage, To Quest
& So, This Is Where I’ll Start, My Friend,
Tho’, This Isn’t Where The Real Tale Begins
You See, There Was A Merry Band Of Adventurers
Who Went On A Quest, As Treasure-Gatherers
There Was Moses, The Freedom-Circle-Rider
Stayed His Course, Like An Eagle-Glider
There Was Goff, The Monk Of Sky and Trees
His Visions Of Life, Were As Open As Doors With Keys
There Was Kendricks, The Keeper Of ‘Interesting’ Tracks
& Marty, Of The Hale & Hearty & Power-Pen Pack
There Was Adell of Deep Wells … & Dio, The Devoted
& Dame Brown Of Mountain-Ground, So Sweetly-Noted
There Was An Irish Lass, O’Leary Of Laughter
& The Golden Daughter Of Grace & Audrey Of Gifted-Banter
& Devonshire, The Dove & Highlander Of Heather-Cove
Of First To Join Search: For Soup & Treasure-Trove
Of Course, We Have A Prince Of Passion Land
& Ismael, A Dream-Merchant From His Own Island
The Prince, Paints Of Pleasures; The Islander Speaks of Treasures
Both Know Of Biggest Royal Cache That We Could Ever Measure !
There Came Tim, The Archer Of The Wit-Forest
& A Determined Mother with Son, The Lady Doris
Maid Adams, Who Teaches How To Keep Cold Away
& The Lightning-Voice Of Linda Marie, Keeps Wolves At-Bay
There Is Sir Lamoureu of Sir Lancelot's Order
He Wields Words In Articulate Axes & Armor
And To Those Who Dare Say Chivalry Is Dead ...
Is Because -The Sonnets of Sir Lamoureu, They Have Not Read
& The Legendary Language That Sir Lamoureu Pledge
Then There's Lady Linda, A Chatelaine & A Poet Destroyer
But She Only Versus The Verses of The Vanity Voyeurers
Her Skill With Quill Accurately Quite Accords
As Proof of Pens Being Mightier Than Swords
We Have A Pretty Elf Known As Anne Lise Andresen
Her Piquant Topics of Poetry Makes Her Our Taliesin
And We Have Our Very Own Kind Maid Merryman
She Transports Adventures Better Than A Ferryman
Part 1 of 2
There will be a gentle calm before the mighty storm. There will be total silence before someone blows the horn.
20 seconds flew by as the rivers all run dry; 100 seconds to go.
The clock is ticking at a fiercely steady pace and will cease, come midnight. It seems the moon and stars have gotten word that mankind has seen the light. Peace accords have been agreed upon and signed; all is calm, quiet and still. The United Nations and The big Five now realize there's no more need to kill.
30 seconds rushed by as the oceans and seas came ashore; 70 seconds more.
For the last three and a half years, all the world has become one big lovely place. All debts have been forgiven and legal obligations are null, void, and all erased. Sins against humanity and crimes against the state are no longer held accountable. Great leaders have struck a harmonious tune of goodwill that's absolutely unbelievable.
40 seconds flew by as the fires consumed the forest; 30 seconds and counting down. But the happy citizens of the world have failed to realize that the sun has set and it's too late. The clock has always been ticking, alarms have been warning us of a destiny mankind can't navigate. Now, it's just a 'matter of time', 30 seconds more to be exact, and time as we know it will tick its last. The true colors of everyone will surface, and all entities as we know them will become a thing of the past.
30 seconds of human horror, madness, and terror jetted into oblivion; and time stood still.
02062018PS Contest, The Doomsday Clock, 2 Minutes to Midnight; 3rd. Place "There was silence in heaven for about half an hour" Revelations 8:1
An Outrageous Case of Illegal Immigration
By Elton Camp
We hear much about invasion from Mexico
But the U.S. northern border is the way to go
Aliens can, and do, cross with greatest ease
For proof, here’s an example of one of these
There is a man who comes and goes at will
He has done it for many years and does it still
Since he acts friendly and is always smiling
So, he is given an exemption from profiling
Though his appearance shows he’s not one of us
Without any doubt, he is some old foreign cuss
His strange clothes, thick beard and too-long hair
Show that he comes from somewhere “over there”
Oh, it’s true that he acts plenty generous enough
Friendship he buys by giving away valuable stuff
The government really should say, “What the heck!”
Since on private lives he makes a thorough check
Arbitrary standards of his own selection he’s set
That determine what, if anything, people will get
Should some foreigner ever be allowed to dictate
His own standards by which Americans he will rate
Should an alien establish what’s wrong and right
And be able to do it without protest or any fight?
Where is the outcry from the media or the press
Why is it this outrage they totally fail to address?
The employment he provides sure isn’t here
That he runs a virtual sweatshop is what I fear
According to what a good many people say
He accords his band of workers little or no pay
Since his manufacturing is done practically free,
To American companies it seems unfair to me
It’s unlikely that any tax this bad man does pay
For his workers, a union has nothing it can say
Worse, it is to our children he directs his appeal
To a foreigner their admiration and love to steal
Who knows just what his ultimate goal might be
Shall we wait passively and hope to finally see?
No! The time to take action is now well overdue
With these illegal border crossings we are through
Since it is well known when Santa Claus usually flies
The government should shoot him out of the skies
I like my winters "neat" ...
But they all come "on the rocks" here
So a day will come when palms will dominate my view
Instead of evergreen trees and pine cones and juniper bushes
(Though I do love my Chickadees, Cardinals and Juncos)
I grew up here and skiing was my life ... once
As soon as I walked, I skied ...
Freestyle, moguls, powder, and air
The bigger the jump, the better, always pushing limits
But I have lived in the tropics as well
My heart yearned for it long before I went
And I realized home-away with my first breath of Caribbean air
The white sand beaches of St. Croix
The swaying palms and smell of sugar cane on the wind
Those incredible waters and reefs, teeming with colorful life
I adored it there, but couldn't stay ...
I lived a few months in Florida, and then back home to Boston
I have made no accords on unknowns like "reincarnation"
I believe the "big" spiritual questions to be just that - unknown
Faith itself INSISTS on a lack of knowledge or explanation
But I have dreamed of the South Pacific since my earliest memories
Long before I'd read or heard about it
Long before I'd seen a movie or television show of it
And though I've yet to go there
I have very distinct memories of it
Specific memories that include faces and sounds and flavors
Even the special way the sun shines on the underside of the clouds
The way the volcanic mounts bite up from the aqua seas
Nipping their dark, earthy teeth into azure heavens
And the way the sweet breath of the palms and fruits
Mixes with the dusty trade winds from Australia
To dance on the palate with each inhalation
Seems we humans always want what we don't have
And I'm sure there are many there who long for America
But a part of me is there, a part I haven't met
And I must at least try to make it ...
Or he will always be ... a stranger.
Arm to arm, sinews clutch
One another, makes friend and crutch;
One crimson call, which guidance brought
The feeble, stern: the working lot
To stand much greater, taller, strong
Filled with hope, in lines long,
That stretch from pain, from glum, from slum
To the halls of white where nations clump
In the deadest form of gathered hoards
Of finance and shares, secluded boards
Who array the work, who shackle in loans
Whose empty plots tempt the sleeping droves
In tent and rag, in cough and drag,
From hand to mouth, to work and back.
Yet in contempt that line is struck,
Still the routine is mute, no more this work
That builds the villa, never the mason’s,
Unthanked which blooms the fields all season,
The folks split off by plastic partition
Giving wealth immense, yet maimed cognition
Had kept whom bound to desk and ground
Their eyes have met and their fists now pound
Against steel ribbed doors, but why such fear
Thee lords of land in prim kept highest tiers?
Arisen so, on the claim of wealth,
At the cost of Earth, of hearth and health;
How much more flight, behind guarded holds,
Behind sentries and dictates so cold
Even in scorch of war, where poor kills poor;
So the wealth of nations in tons can pour
Onto odd few hands, to hold all us chained
To the will of profit, for profit’s sake.
But in queues, we’ve come, tools shucked
Your batons brooked, your shots shrugged
By the calloused bossom, by tried spine,
That props all of it up, runs it all in time.
And without us many, your wealth is rust,
Without our trust it’s all a fleeting gust
Of paper slips and accords of force
And we see dawn, from these dues divorced.
And the sun to snatch, the sickle drives,
And the barricades the hammer tries,
While the quill writes, not fearing death,
A push for renewal, for a gasp of breath.
The emotion of your call came over me and I can't stay impassible
this silent keyboard which I can get wonderful sound
my fingers are moving, and can not resist petting and be sensible
the first notes escape and fly in dark night aground
The night is conducive to desire and fantasy
each note one by one is delicately balanced
stronger than a caprice, in pleasure I slip easily
Soft music flies to a new space, light and spiced
I feel within me with every movement of my hands
as a violent storm, strong and melodious
this wave through me and takes me far away to the end
in a world of accents lyrical and harmonious
The strength of a desire expressed beyond the mountains and seas
the inevitable need to create and to leave in the joy of playing
I lose myself In a divine and solitary ecstasy which it releases
under the sweet stare of the silvery moon smiling
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L'émotion de ton appel m'envahit et je ne peux rester insensible
sur ce clavier muet d'où peuvent sortir de belles sonorités
mes doigts glissent, commencent à le caresser, en gestes paisibles
les premières notes s'échappent et s'envolent avec célérité
La nuit est propice aux fantasmes et aux désirs
avec délicatesse chaque note est harmonieuse
plus fort qu'un caprice, je me laisse aller au plaisir
une musique douce vole vers une autre dimension gracieuse
Je sens en moi à chaque mouvement de mes mains
comme une violente bourrasque aux accords mélodieux
cette onde qui me traverse et qui m'emporte très loin
dans un monde aux accents lyriques harmonieux
La force d'un désir exprimé au delà des montagnes et des mers
le besoin inévitable de se livrer à la joie de jouer
libère mon extase divine et solitaire dans laquelle je me perds
sous le regard doux et bienveillant de la lune argentée.
Under the mantle of night, dark and woven with cryptic gleams,
A dreaming artist finds his calling, a secret and eternal protest,
The words that escape his lips tear through the thick veil of conformity,
Defying all that is official, public, and nationalist,
For every murmur of his is a scandalous cry of pure truth.
In the diaphanous light of the moon, his soul becomes a spectral beacon,
Illuminating the uncharted paths of those who defy common norms,
Each gesture of his, a sacrifice the world deems insane,
For in following his inner light, the artist inevitably chooses... poverty.
He sacrifices all status for a crystalline dream that gleams enigmatically,
Renouncing all worldly comforts to embrace divine truths,
In the depths of his heart, an unseen flame burns, guiding him toward mystery,
Even though his path is paved with renunciations and profound loneliness.
In every canvas and musical note, in every melodic and melancholic verse,
The soul of an artist flows, a living, vibrant protest,
In the silence of the night, his calling becomes a sacred incantation,
A promise to live beyond the limits of materiality, in a world steeped in magic.
And perhaps, one day, he might even renounce his art, for a higher dream,
In the final accords and agonizing colors, he will defy the passage of time itself,
He will embrace nothingness and infinity, for his true calling is to be a beacon,
A guiding light, an invitation towards the hidden sublime of the universe.
Under the scattered brilliance of stars and the pale moon, his soul dances,
In a waltz of renunciations and revelations, a living and mysterious poetry,
For in every sigh, in every murmur of the artist, an eternal epic is written,
A protest against conformity, a call to the pure magic of hidden truth.