Long Anglican Poems
Long Anglican Poems. Below are the most popular long Anglican by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anglican poems by poem length and keyword.
Liberal Christians are in denial,
About how much they validate,
The fundamentalist church old,
Because the same story is told.
I know that the Queen, royalty,
Is a liberal, but that’s irrelevant,
Because history will offer people,
A legacy of the Christian steeple.
When fundamentalist’s err and sin,
They go to their Christian friends bin,
For a validation that’s assumed,
From society’s morals consumed.
Christians back in the seventies,
Were innocent even if felt guilty,
And they would even site the Queen,
To describe their reputation lean.
You can’t do that anymore, thankfully,
Because kids have iPhones, Samsungs,
So communication can made directly,
By the child who may just feel feckly.
I think the state should intervene,
And turn the tables on ancient history,
By dictating to the Anglican world,
Their faith healing rights burled.
It’s not difficult to see and realise,
That fundamentalism goes to far,
So if we set laws for Anglicans,
Then we’ll all be better citizens.
For over a year quiet it lay,
the big gray stones in the walls
framing what seemed more
empty tomb than church--
the stained glass windows
did not sing out their beauty
for no one was there to hear...
well, God, as He's everywhere,
but not his priests, nor sextons
nor ushers, and no worshipers as
they were all sheltering at home.
But isn't a church [or temple or
mosque] the home of believers?
Why did they all stay away when
the terrible storm plagued all
parts of an unprepared world?
When Jesus slept in the boat
as a tempest plagued his men,
men who saw his work every day,
who knew his power, his other-
worldly love, his lonely communion
with his Father, yet still they feared,
like children terrified of the dark.
And then in their cowardice they
scolded Jesus for falling asleep!
For leaving them naked to the
brutal wind and stinging rains...
and his heart must have cracked
a bit to see that his chosen ones
were still blind and deaf and dumb.
Yet our church, our lovely stone
church built in the Anglican style
of the last century when faith
was still central to most lives,
welcomed us, the handful or two
of mostly aging or old worshipers
who came to talk to God as one,
to sing to God as a single voice,
to listen for His ever so quiet Word,
just a whisper, so easy to miss...
Is God Jewish, keeping kosher
and laying down the Law?
[Though the Israelite name
was unpronounceable--no vowels,
because what human can truly
speak the name of God....]
Is God a Roman Catholic,
with an army of saints behind him?
Or maybe He's a Mennonite,
plainly dressed and plainly spoken?
Could God be a fiery Baptist,
reminding us that hell's torment
is as real as heaven's joy?
Might He be an Episcopalian,
soft-spoken, and all so polite?
[Though in England He would
say He's an Anglican, and have
a classy British accent...]
Perhaps God is a Hindu,
manifesting in 33 million ways,
or maybe He likes to be called
Allah in the desert places?
What does it matter what
God's name is, so long as
you seek Him, and know
you are not God...?
They married in their own garden under the canopy of a Wild Date Tree
An indigenous plant standing tall for sweetness and benevolent spirits
This one untamed and miraculously withstanding droughts in the City of Gold
It gave meaning to their union which had begun with similar unbroken desire
A small bonfire at midday crackled with pure passion and unified souls
It was warm in their hearts and droplets of faith embraced the heat
Shadows of yesteryear’s clouds had retreated from sorrow and sadness
Not long ago the two lovers had eloped into sunshine and started again
A small party of family and friends sat on the grass casually dressed
The bride in an attire from Camden market wore a rose petal crown
That matched the floral display on his colourful shirt which was in date
With Hippie dreams and nostalgic reverberation of rebellion and Peace
Her Anglican priest had refused to wed them ‘I need to ask my bishop
Who would have to absolve you from the sin of divorce and new love’
They found a Lutheran pastor who arrived dressed in African garb
Aptly with crash helmet and Harley Davidson with a roar to his engine
The lovers had decided against fireworks because they would resemble
Gunshots rather endemic in Johannesburg for all the wrong reasons
Sparklers would do nicely and sky lanterns floated into heaven above
Reached high rising feelings released bright unequivocal compassion
‘We honour our ancestors with all their beauty and divine guidance’
They proposed followed by clapping of hands and a rain dance’s vows
The sun sent its rays to bless everyone in the congregation of well-wishers
When it started to rain at the same time they danced naked in the spray
When such water and solar power combines at such a meaningful time and
Forms a rainbow presiding over the ceremony it’s called monkey’s wedding
And its display brings grace and good luck to withstand vagaries and misfortune
With a ring he gave her a wild date as the fruit never failed to deliver its promise
01st July 2019
Every Wednesday he held a healing service for the sick
since Betty's cancer had spread to a point of no return
Fr. N was the only one she followed, with faith unbroken;
He stood at the front of the church and called us over
one by one. Up we went with all of our hurts and pains;
He healed by instinct and Godly knowledge, of this I have
not doubt.
Sadly, Betty did pass but not before receiving inner peace,
which that in itself was the greatest miracle of all...
Years later upon my return from Pittsburgh I visited this quiet
Anglican church with the hope of healing something deep inside
of me. My soul had been hungering for acceptance for many years.
"One of you is here to heal their inner child" he said,
"whomever you are please come up and receive your healing. "
I felt like he was talking to me so I got up and walked up the isle
towards him. He held a bottle of Olive oil in his right hand, after
anointing me he whispered, "Why do I hold a vision of split acorns
in my head ? "
Unbeknownst to him, I had just come back from a forest located
in Pittsburgh. I had actually picked acorns, and turning them in
my hands, I had noticed they were split and took them home with
me in a bag to glue together.
I went down like a soft feathered bird and when I came to,
I wept for half an hour, until all my fears subsided,
When it came to this special priest there was nowhere to hide,
he was a faith healer of the truest kind, always on your side...
December 3, 2020
I was baptized into
The Anglican faith when I was a baby,
Therefore I have always been "saved"
Through how Yeshua (Christ)
Long ago set a magnificent
Example of how mankind
Should be; in harmony with both
His divine side and human side,
Through long awaited everchange
in my thoughts and feelings,
Thanks to the Holy Spirit
(which is in all of us).
I am grateful for what I've learned in life,
So far, I have gained much
introspection and perception,
and it is thanks to the Lord of all lords,
The God of all gods
For making me who I am,
believe I am, think I am, feel I am,
and who I was always meant to be.
If God once said "I Am That I Am",
then we all truly are all "God's Children".
We are all equally imperfect,
But also equal in potential to be like Him.
dusk settles on an Anglican Shrub
vespertine is downy down upon the vertical horizon
spring like frost is unraveling
toward a sunset on its late afternoon decline
at this stage of early-black twilight
a cygar shaped delirium is seeding
its exotic fragrance sweetly empowering
will linger until the crack of dawn
tenderly grown staked and supported
the poisonous angel scrumpet trumpets
a crepuscule's sundown into darknness
a pitch illumination begging to brighten
bathed in orange moire reflecting
by her petaled drowsiness unfurling
a day dream and a nightmare
time travel in tandem
lying dormant now in a trance
like flesh inside a nutshell
vespertine pulls away from early-bright
she's never this reflective in the sunlight
As one travels through life believing
having faith in God for all He's worth
troubles come and go with ups and downs
but God remains faithful and keeps you first
Since the day I first believed in Jesus
God has always assured me He will abide
next to me wherever I am Jesus is there
no matter my feelings in Christ I can confide
Despite my battles with my stammer
God's assured me of His love so deep
for He accepts me just as I am
whatever mountains come, Christ will keep
In life and death, the Lord abides
His light shines through the gloom bright
Jesus holds His cross before my eyes
such joy and glory, a beautiful sight
This hymn written by H.F. Lyte is so inspiring
it held me up when I thought I was beat
with the Lord, I always have the majority
O Lord abide in me to keep me on my feet
(This piece is based on the hymn 'Abide With Me' by Henry F. Lyte (1793-1847), a Scottish Anglican hymnist and poet.
Especially the final verse of the hymn.
"Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies;
Heav’n’s morning breaks and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.").
I met a man from the East
While visiting the West.
He was dancing with a northern girl,
Drinking wine made
In the South.
I joined the company
And sat among my fellow countrymen.
The DJ played a Western song;
A lady jumped high
And staggered to my table.
She was from the Black Eastern country.
I took a turn with her
And fell in love with
Her friend
From the White Empire.
Every story was written to remember:
Our skin tones were just colors.
We were enjoying the souls
Living underneath those skins.
She asked about my Catholic rosary,
And I wanted to exchange it
For her Anglican hymns book.
“My God—your God,” she said,
“Are one.”
So she asked me to marry her
In a mosque,
And pray at Buddha’s church
For our future.
What’s important is life:
Not race, not religion, not wealth.
Life taught me more than love alone.
Last week, our minister
Married a disabled woman
Who owns the biggest supermarket
In the city.
Disability is not inability;
That’s their life.
Life is not just watching
The sun rise and set;
It is not merely seeing
Years pass, and grey hairs appear.
Life is love, unity, and loyalty.
The world may be wide
But would be just a village
Without racism or greed.
I wonder what it was
Before man discovered
Guns, spheres, swords, and other weapons;
Before politicians clenched their teeth
At citizens and opponents,
While their bellies grew ever larger.
My fiancée and I
Took her fair London skin
To my dark countryside,
Where African mothers share everything
From water streams to sewing needles,
And African fathers gather their families
All evening to tell stories
Of their youth.
She preached to me
How European parents take
Their children to watch
Soccer or movies.
Those are the lives we should build
And spread.
We should infect the world
With peace, not disease.