Long Address Poems
Long Address Poems. Below are the most popular long Address by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Address poems by poem length and keyword.
words
law
terms&blessings
in a historical retrospective
a meditative
application
of the decalogue
in fundamental
obligations
blessings&curses
of the covenant
in a final address
making plain God's law
clarifying
why disobedience
costs
&obedience. rewards
in the form
of blessings
a people of the word
who abandoned
the way of faith
in God
whose hand
everything has its
time&purpose
to whom
obedience is proof
of love&means
of grace
in our battle for sanctificaton
in prayer&
through the irreplaceable
word
When directors of social justice,
whether parents
or teachers
or community leaders
or religious leaders
and eco-political livers,
lovers address EarthJustice
by recommending immersion experiences,
journeys to commune with hurting populations
and species
and systems,
We provide a better justice service
by remembering that most vulnerable populations
suffering from diverse systemic subclimate pathologies
are not human societies
associations
communities
families
individual embodied energy systems.
If social justice advocates
have any doubts about this,
please consider communing with trees,
producers of renewable oxygen,
useful for the soul function of breathing;
conversing with topsoil nurturers
helpful for recycling nutrition;
consider an immersion experience with boundary swamps
and mouths of rivers
quenching salty ocean thirst,
harboring birds
consorting with tasty insects
rodents
snakes.
In this face of Earth Not-Justice,
we find outdoor life
a long immersion journey
from infant crawling on picnic blankets
to ocean front death shrouds,
tombs within meadows and gardens,
woodlands fueled by radiant sunlight,
fertilized by fully committed bodies
of fibers
fleas
fish
fowl
fungi
frogs
foliage.
Where
and when
and how
could such unfinished immersion end
with EarthJustice?
Although not sure,
not whole,
perhaps this journey only begins
and ends
with outdoor people,
longing to return to solidarity
with trees
and tides
and tale-winds.
An empty page awaits my muse:
I sit and wait for feel to fling,
Let passion stage and hurl new use,
Here at the gate watch words now sing.
I keep my poise in fragrant style:
Align my heart to pen fond writes,
Match simple choice with thoughts worthwhile,
Words swirl and start as message cites.
Ink stains address the way of rhyme:
Feel sums and seeds the magic lines,
Wit can process a vivid chime,
Feel and thought feed a touch most fine.
Verse flows and flows in calm imprint:
The voice makes waves in profound span,
I fashion glow to hurl clear hint,
Soul now awakes to spice most grand.
Leon Enriquez
21 January 2015
Singapore
We find deep inside ourselves
The traits of ancestors therein dwells
Grandpa’s eyes, our Mom’s hair
Our stature from … who knows where?
What we claim as thought process
We may be forced to re-address
Twas Grandpa Lee that caused, you see,
Our newer minds to think like he.
Our gait, as we walk around
Has origins in history bound
Great-aunt Edna, strolled about
With identical strides – long and stout.
And talents that we think so fine
Are not all yours, not all mine
For somewhere in our ancestry
There lay originality.
Our composition, it is made
Of melded steel that made our blade
For all our ancestral kin
Provided steel to place therein
We flaunt individuality
But in truth, it’s not just we
‘Tis ages of posterity
That comprise our totality
All the world a stage
Our love not left on a shelf
Waters edge, in spades
Written in stone, ring
Waddle waddle kind of swing
Will you marry me
As we take the plunge
Into the depths out of blue
Our ceremony
Is a slow walk, true
Is a path already paved
So walk with me slow
God smiling on us
Giving our Union, blessing
Rehearsal, dressed, no?
Our friends will be there
Will live with us, be funny
At our same address
We'll make days of it
Nights at pool, entertaining
Make a clan, of it
We'll all just commune
Come and go, always here and there
In and out, ya know
Like the melting snow
Running into the pot
A melting pot, a roast, err
We could use for fish
Fish in that great big setting
The one that crashes
Gives gift at wedding
Gets drunk then disappears
Faster than lightning
Take a bow and bring
Flipper, for those who don't sing
Nor dance, sit and spin!
As we do our thing
It's reflected in the stars
Surrounded by ours
Setting in stone ring
All in black and white
Written pebabbles
Have tuxedo, will
Travel, In tandem in a
Cold World, poetry
without moving anything but my eyes I see
a mouse pad, computer, power cord, phone
fork, knife, spoon, half eaten chunk of meatloaf
stapler, scissors, Clorox wipes
Jason Reynolds and Ibram X Kendi’s books Stamped
without leaving my seat at my desk
I see two bottles of hand sanitizer, my work badge,
a red cloth face mask I am tired of wearing
an address book with a multitude of squiggles
which no one else could read
they might possibly think I was mentally ill if they got closer
by turning only my head to the right I see two notebooks
three pens, one of them happily has red ink
an oversized yellow bottle of water I continually knock over
a roll of blue tape, and a walkie talkie that needs plugged in
I am looking to the left now. Three posters
One says “Effort and Perseverance are the Keys to Success”
There is a blue chair with an ugly hexagonal print in yellow
A bookcase with kinesthetic sand which I love as much as the children
Welcome to an Elementary School Counselor’s Office
The Marmite Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Natasha L Scragg
Written 8-17-2021
a place called HEAVEN PART 2
I am a traveler, a reformed sinner;
I left heaven bound to this earth;
Came straight from the birth canal;(into this sinful world)
A wayward visitor from heaven; (into this sinful life)
And I come here to earth; birth (dirty, I was unholy)
To be picked from the dirt;
To grow in sin, and later be born again;
To cry, die, suffer, Jesus is our buffer;
He's the only way back to the Father;
a place called HEAVEN
Where is there no more pain
And where is there no more shame;
And whose name you all gonna call on;
Well I know a place;
And no it's not in outer space;
And you can only get there by grace;
And Jesus...
There'll be no more shame, not there;
There's no more dying, not there;
Only eternal worship and praises;
No more moon or sun;
God shall light forevermore;
I'm going back home to a place called heaven;
There'll be angels walking with me;
Jesus and God are also there;
Might even have a family reunion where...
in Heaven
Dancing and singing and praising
On and on, and on, and on forever
My new address will be 777 Paradise Circle
In the Ivory and gold mansion;
I'm going back home, where angels roam
A place called heaven
4/3/18
Written by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
FOR POET Curtis Moorman
After she left the house for realities unknown,
the abandoned rooms hollowed out
small discrete spaces for her to rest within
should she ever return.
Buses still stopped next door,
sparrows hopped over the stalks of phantom roses,
Eventually, Girl Guides selling cookies nixed
her address off their clipboards.
The mail began to forward itself to nowhere.
The house tidied up the way den denizens do.
sifting through mites and squamous dust
for signs of her in-dwelling mind.
It found non-intrinsic parts of her
which it glued to the stale air as her likeness,
yet this remembered facsimile
kept dissolving in puddles of moonlight.
The house began to whisper to passersby’s.
It called to migrant cats, homeless mice,
indigenous tribes of Carpenter bees.
A face on a board was planted in the yard,
prospective buyers entered and left,
none moved in.
The previous owner came back for a while,
She occupied the new spaces
pleased with the improvements.
Then she left the house
riding upon a starlit stairlift,
her ghost moving upwards to a safer premise
where grab bars and access ramps
were reimagined
in a newly renovated sky.
I think I've found the address to hell
There's a jukebox even laughter
And sad stories to tell
Our souls are long gone
From the heartache we've felt
I think I've found the address to hell
Just off of Main Street sits a smoky old place
Where memories of past loves, always congregate
The sign on the outside, says all welcome, please come in
And that's where this story begins
Each man is a member, as long as he's paid the fee
Of sorrow and misery, along with some grief
We drink to our demise, each night of the week
Who knew hell, had a doorway, just off Main Street
I think I've found the address to hell
There's a jukebox even laughter
And sad stories to tell
Our souls are long gone
From the heartache we've felt
I think I've found the address to hell
I walked in with, intentions, of leaving
Thought maybe, I'd just have a few....
But the jukebox plays hits, and we're all masochists
When it comes to, the bottle, and the truth
Our stories, like a mirror, reflecting
Each ending, with just different names
We hide in the shame, of who's really to blame
And our demons, are one in the same
I think I've found the address to hell
There's a jukebox even laughter
And sad stories to tell
Our souls are long gone
And our bodies just a shell
I think I've found the address to hell
In every town on Main Street
Are memberships paid with grief....
I think I've found the address to hell......
As I watched the wedding of Meghan Markle and Prince Harry (a real life fairy
tale every little girl dreams of), I was taken back to my childhood when I used
to imagine in my grandma's attic that I was a princess waiting for my prince
charming to arrive. We would dance and my dress was floating like a gauzy
cloud. Meghan was just an ordinary girl, well she was a actress, of course but
so was I when I used to make believe. And even when I walked through the
forest close to my home, it became a magical place and I was a princess lost,
then the dashing prince on his horse would find me and we would life happily
ever after.
the birds sang loudly
unseen in the drooping trees
the little girl twirled
That night in my dream, I was a normal girl who is marrying a prince, but not
in England but in my city. A beautiful city full of history and charm. (With the
Queen as our Monarch) . My dreamy wedding takes place in the largest church
in Ottawa, Notre Dame Cathedral with it's breathtaking interior, Gothic style.
Every citizen of the city has come and the cathedral bells are ringing over the
city and through the streets. Every important person has turned out, even the
royal family. My father walks me down the isle beaming with pride (which is
odd as his address is Heaven) and my mother looking beautiful is weeping
(her address is Heaven too, infact, my whole family lives there). My dress is
perfection, like a cloud drifting. And when we say I do, there is a great cheer.
pigeons in steeples
flutter as we step in sun
cooing and bells twine
_______________________
May 30, 2018
Poetry/Haibun/My Fairy Tale Wedding
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1027-108-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Fairy Tale Contest
sponsor, Alexis Y.
First Place