Long All saints Poems
Long All saints Poems. Below are the most popular long All saints by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long All saints poems by poem length and keyword.
Step right up it's all the rage,
it's the dawning of a brand new age.
The wonderful world of Iron and Clay,
finally our time to shine, let's not delay.
Come get in line and get your chip,
you'll have the world at your fingertips.
Head or hand it's all up to you,
you'll be a brand new man, when we're through.
No more need for cards or cash to buy or sell,
just scan your head or hand, it will never fail.
With this tiny implant things will change,
the possibilities are just insane.
The whole world now we'll be able to track,
no lost children and that's a good fact.
Crime will plummet under this global plan,
it's hard to break the law without head or hand.
The medical wonders, too many to count,
with these devices your health is paramount.
We will be able to fix failing organs and missing limbs,
with electronic replacements built within.
All these things will extend your life,
a fountain of youth and no more strife.
All of your hand held devices at your command,
it's all in one, right in your head or hand.
Now this new age comes with faith as well,
no more talk about heaven or hell.
We will have heaven on earth it's true,
a regular garden of eden for me and you.
All religions and denominations will be as one,
a universal faith and a God that's fun.
Fire and brimstone will be no more,
come to our temple through the ecumenical door.
Your sins will be forgiven before they are committed,
the things in the Bible you don't like, just omit it.
We want the church to finally conform,
to this wonderful world and all its norms.
Our worship will be without constraints,
do what feels good, we are all saints.
No dress code needed in this place,
in fact nude is considered in good taste.
Political correction will be our doctrine,
no more punishment for those who sin.
We will not worship things unseen,
but an idol once thought to be obscene.
Now I think we've sold you on our vision,
to come together as one, without derision.
Man has finally reached the summit
and become a god, that even God could covet.
" Beaware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's
clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. " - Matthew 7:15
The dead-end street in front of the house
is still, and I notice leaves have fallen.
The roommate said last night no one
came here for trick or treating
and now a cold wind blows.
I just moved in here yesterday.
I’m starting my life again.
A cold wind blows and I go out.
Last night a stranger and I
drank together. She said
no one knows you like your mother.
The lady set down her drink and asked
where has the year gone.
Where has the year gone?
My mom’s gone.
My dad’s gone,
I think tonight
I’ll call my cousin.
The street in front is quiet.
rolled up newspapers are stacked
on the front porch
of the house next door.
A ravine lies on the east side
where the road ends.
Music plays downstairs
and a singer’s voice drones
to the rhythm of a drum machine
then falls silent.
A door slams shut.
The most recent poem I write
is a lost conversation.
All my past loves and all who died—
their shadows dance on the wall
as the sun looks through my window.
I’ll grab a bite for breakfast
after stepping out the door.
I haven’t met the neighbors,
not yet.
It’s true that we are looking
for someone, it’s true.
A fallen leaf dances across the yard
and my back aches.
A story stirring inside me
lives beyond its time.
The coldness of your methodical emptiness
shrewdly poisoned me with a darkness
Unavoidable.
I'll make it, some how.
You tainted me with rugged blood,
I saw it splatter over the spacious past unto
The nihilistic future of all saints and devils.
But, why?
There's something to your non verbal speech
I'd love to find out.
We listen to your silence
The very thing that permeates our surroundings.
And find utter nothingness.
You committed suicide,
We won't make it if you are sleeping on the job.
Somehow, we believe you rose from hellfire,
Yet still flagrantly asleep in a world where you
Never existed.
Explain this corruption now breathing in our veins?
And if it's all the same to non-existent you,
It's killing us just the same.
What feeds a writer’s art?
Why feed a writer’s art
when the appetite’s clearly insatiable?
I think in stiches, rows, paragraphs and stanzas,
and I’m not one to undershoot a thesis.
I can’t seem to just write a paper for school,
I have to craft some kind of narrative
- it’s practically involuntary.
Last week was ‘All Saints’ school break. It was a week in France that, like fall, shifted the temperature - cooling the pace, so Peter (my bf) and I could take a breath and metabolize the changes of the past few weeks, where we both moved to Paris - changing schools and jobs. We’ve had big feelings - it was a lot.
Peter’s content with my tireless run on the hamster wheel of education - he has a PhD, so he understands the grind and my often prickly, acerbic and deeply abstracted school-day moods.
He’s on a steep learning curve himself, these days, living suddenly in an all-French world, where every sign and menu is semi-unreadable. We’re working on it - we’ll get there because his tutor gives excellent rewards for effort.
.
.
Songs for this:
Take On Me by Josh Whitehouse
Poor Boy - Nick Drake
Window - Still Woozy
.
.
*For instance , I’ll find myself trying to form a narrative, in response to a clinical case scenario, meant to demonstrate my diagnostic reasoning.
God created universe for the love of Muhammad
Created sun and moon for the desire of Muhammad
Said be and was universe, written all from start to end
Recited Quran as a whole, for the glory of Muhammad
All saints had come, to mosque their faces daubed
Said word of testament, for the noor of Muhammad
Companions had conquered, next ones emulate
Eight heavens laid out, for the love of Muhammad
At skies birds flied, montanes and stones watered
Trees gave fruit, for the love of Muhammad
Infidels had come, from him they took faith
Prayed five times a day, for the love of Muhammad
Jonah praised cause him Quran praised
Remember and say Salawat, for the love of Muhammad
Written by Dervish Jonah (Yunus Emre)
Translation Onur Ünlü
Dia de Los Muertos
Day of the Dead
Originated by Aztecs
Celebrated in Mexico and Philippines
Aztecs called it Miccaihuitl
Catholics call it All Saints Day and All Souls Day
I call it Day of the Dead
Tribute to our ancestral souls
Honoring those in our family who have died
Keeping their memory alive
We celebrate with music, food and drink
festivals and parades
Women dress as La Catrina
Tall female skeleton who wears fancy dress
And a lavish hat
Originally derived to make fun of the rich
Sugar skulls and salt are placed on the ofrendas
Altars built to honor our loved ones
Marigold petals are there to guide spirits back home
Salt to purify the visiting souls
November 1st and 2nd
When spirits return home
To spend time with their families
Let’s show them a great time!
So still, so humble, there it lay
Cast aside on All Saints Day
A light brown stick, a tuft of hay
A witch’s broom on full display
As I approached, I heard it sigh
If I can’t fly, what good am I
And then the broom began to cry
You’ll never know how hard I try
To reassure, I did declare
Perhaps, your talents lie elsewhere
So many things that you can share
Stories that could raise your hair!
Why, you just need some confidence
Some witch’s ointment might make sense
It seems, I have some to dispense
Now fly my friend and no nonsense
With that, the broom let go the gloom
Exhibiting a wondrous plume
It thanked me and began to fume
I’m flying now, just watch me zoom!
I am insane, a life of hell.
A fractured mind, my prison cell.
Once innocence, Now dark decay,
Where Satan's voice, whispers obey.
An urban legend, dressed in black,
It's Halloween, and I am back.
A raging torment compels me,
When guided by depravity.
A surgeons knife inflicting pain,
As frenzied struggles were in vain.
When life departs, with one last breath,
Eternity awaits their death.
On All Saints Day, I'll kneel and pray,
Atonement stave's off Judgement Day.
While fools believe, yet cause me pain,
Until the Devil speaks again.
10 / 14 / 2022.
Sponsor Tania Kitchin.
A Scary Halloween Rhyme
Poetry contest.
Rhymezone.
Last night no pyre the land was; no tamarisk tree wood that’s
No wooden forest there was where cold night was silky silent
Inside of pumpkins there’re lightening the insightful candles
Left souls there were waiting for welcome with praying hauls
Souls they are now; forefathers’ souls now in holy existence
All changes into saints souls as we believe in spiritual trance
Let all saints come; let all come through our love as gratitude
Without chain of good ancestry none can show noble attitude
No need the dark night and drink wine on deceased souls to hail
Day and night; sun and moon; nature is our peaceful existing bail
No mask I need to wear before my hereditary prodigious souls
Don’t think I to serve in greetings only vegetable for me and all
So, eat, drink and be merry on wishing and praying day for saints
Let’s celebrate the day with sacred solemnity to get saintly taints
© Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
01/11/2022
All Saints applaud
Through the clouds above
We send our love
Our angels did show
On which path we shall go
God blessed this day
In which we prayed
A moment kept through time
He opened the divine
His power he entrusts
He showered upon us
Out came the sun
To declare it is done
Treating others with care
Jesus love has always been there
Two rainbows in the clouds
Heaven shouted loud
Be happy my dear
Your happiness is here
No longer wait
Your hearts are straight
Time you all advance
Enjoy your romance
Each and every day
You shall have time for play
Your heart shall be the example
That all is possible
Enjoy your double rainbow
Guided to where true love goes