Long Banquet Poems
Long Banquet Poems. Below are the most popular long Banquet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banquet poems by poem length and keyword.
One of America’s most treasured holiday and tradition is known as the celebration of Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving a plentiful feast of food and a gathering of friends and family a holiday began as a feast in the beginning days of Americans is one of the most celebrated traditions .To some thanksgiving is just another holiday that is unimportant just another reminder that Christmas is just around the calendar .Just a day off of work or school ,a tradition passed on over the years, commonly excuse to over eat , an occasion that is between two months ,November the 4th Thursday and October the 2nd Monday for Canadians .
But in November 1621 ,after the pilgrims first harvest the Governor William Bradford established a feast and invited a group of the Native American allies .Now remembered as the “first Thanksgiving “ by Americans even though the pilgrims used this terms to describe the feast it was held for three consecutive days .Even though there isn’t a known historic banquet menu of there was record of that several of the Wampanoag guests arrived Bearing five dear by Edward Winslow who wrote in his journal .Also Many Historians suggest that many of the meals were served in traditional Native American spices and cooking methods . Because none of the pilgrims had oven and the Mayflower sugar supply had dwindled there was not the modern day traditional that featured pies, cakes and other desserts .The celebration of Thanksgiving has never changed through the year weather your nationality or faith background it is always been a time to express the thankfulness of family Thanksgiving is the day to reunite with family and feast upon food.
There are many traditions that come with thanksgiving but one that is know over all of America is the food. This tradition is know by many households is that many families struggle to finish out the thanksgiving without having a Ham or turkey on thanksgiving . Also many us have all heard you cant have a turkey day with football, Not every family in America makes football a part of their tradition but the most do .This could range form watching the game to having a little fun playing a game outside .
But you cant forget the essence of thankfulness this can be saying a prayer of thanks to the family gathering to tell what there most thankful for and There are many ways that this can be expressed.
With full apprecation of all thing concidered.
In respect to all that are involved..
Its defintion becomes it reason to exsist.
To grow from the seeds: which harvested
shall be fruit to nourish, and seed again for
it's future.
We those who see these things done, now
look to create and establish this day,
the means and ways to create.
The creation of this new entity from these
new begannings. This new Entity from this start.
For thoise who wish to chore and labor. In the industry
from the support of this company,
shall do so as employees.
Some with stakes: as stakeholders and visionaries.
Some as emoyees: but all together
as members of an enitity who
wishes to change the world with the influence of creation.
Standing on the surfaced plain, stacking the walls,
and roofing the the show. Doers of works.
Research, development, rehearst,
and displayed.
"Addio Padre, Addio Padre!
Soo right, Soo, Right
ah ooh redition
Publlic presentation
addio
Padre, So right , so right!:"
Collabarations and demostrations.
In the styles of now and future.
To influence the ulture it shall create.
In recreation and creation.
With the emphasis on creation
Showcasing talents, contracting events.
Catering to the many who like what we do
and those who wish to inspire change
by research and development.
Standing topside
looking
to other venues and helping
contract business for the need
of effeincancy.
Methods and strategies:
influencing and making
new fusions in all genres, where
the opendoor
will allow new people
as consumers followers
and business oppurtunites.
Job creations in temoray and perminat positions.
Learning how to teach people to do things our way
mifght we learn to adapt to do things your way.
Ladies and Gentlemen we
Now introduce you too
Trends Elegant
The crimping edges of fashion.
Auditions for the new Orcheastra,^0 peice. Singers both male and Female
Lead singers and Background Vocalist.
all types of musicains welcomed.
Both Traditional and Folktype.
We will work together
to create a modern sound.
To move, groove,dance,
or just good ole
foot tapping music.
Creation of Audiences using Demographic Targeting.
Music, Food, Fashion and Design.
Sports Wrestling.
A world: with A world.
Championed as Best.
Courtesy of I wanna Sing this One Music Company.
While looking for Elvis
Met Nessie in Loch Ness
Hoarding a leprechauns pot of gold
While getting ready to depart
I tripped over the Lost Ark
In the baggage of a hitchhiking Pharaoh
Thought I had got lost in flight
Stumble into Camelot at night
King Arthur shooting Robin Hood's arrows
Little green men from Mars
Battling a dragon with bumper cars
Jumping on my unicorn I rode
Diving into the Ocean
The mermaids gave me notions
My search for Elvis was getting cold
Swam down to Atlantis in the Atlantic
Dine at Poseidon's banquet
He had a big Roman nose
Cruising the Devil's Triangle
Being careful for any angle
I try to assassinate Castro
No money for the Florida toll booth
I wander into the Flountain of Youth
I look much younger so I'm told
On my way to Colorado
I kiss the Indian Princess of El Dorado
They can keep their entire treasure load
I saw Jimmy Hoffa eating a hot dog
While sitting with Big Foot on a redwood log
They were both getting pretty old
Went over to Memphis
Back through Las Vegas
My search for Elvis was about to fold
Than an angel named Gabriel
Told me about the new guy down at the stable
So I flew off to Shangri-la with pilot Joe
Our wings iced without warning
Damn this damn Global warming
Flying over Santa and a Chinese Viking Eskimo
We crashed landed in Xanadu
Met a few people we both knew
But Elvis left so I was told
With my new friend Yeti
We shared a big bowl of spaghetti
Amelia Earhart cooked and sold
Round the Garden of Eden
I traded an apple for freedom
From the lost tribes of Isreal though
On Mount Olympus I heard singing
The voice of Elvis reigning
I found the King of Rock and Roll
We ate a fried banana peanut butter sandwich
Elvis offer me the last bite of his sandwich
I politely refused I couldn't be so bold
Before I could ask Elvis as such
He rose and said "Thank you very much"
The answers I needed were put on hold
"Beam me up Scottie" he quipped
Than in a flash he was on the Mother Ship
And I turn and saw my friend little Moe
Area 51 is where that saucer came from
In Noah's Ark we drank wine and hard rum
Finding Elvis I am no hero
Looking for Elvis is half the fun
Its the trip that ends where it begun
Down in Dallas on a grassy knoll
Down here,
is an abysmally dead world!
The sun shines at night while the moon
Illunates the busy day
Plane run on railway tracks and let the
Train fly up there in the sky
Ship have taken over the road and allows the vehicles to sail on oceans.
Our soldiers returned home joyfully and send their wives to the war front,
While they breast feed the babies at home.
People die of hunger seated before a banquet
A flower planted by the riverside die of drought.
Out there,
you do not dodge potholes, you only choose the one to enter.
Down here, water stick between our teeth,
Fishes run helter skelter into the forest,
The mountain minted into water as the streams flow into the deserts in horror;
And rivers rise above the skies for safety.
Stars descend to the grassland for cow's milk
The heavens are rented by the wild beast of underground.
To see a man of reputation here is like looking for a virgin lady in a brothel.
On this land
Mother taught us how to smile sitting beside a corpse,
How to cry when we see a man succeeding;
How to giggle watching the hell fall on us fiercely.
Watching here like a dry tongue
looking like shadows from old men,
Looking like a garage filled by slippers.
This land died yesterday
This land never gave us shards of new beginning,
She died leaving a quatrain walked out of it body,
It died owning wounds in our heart...
The day Nigeria died was the day we littered the skies with accusation fingers blaming the government of every fly that crossed our path.
She made our joy dissolved into shreds of sorrow. Lack. Pains. Calamities!
When you see a child sing in the fireplace,
he either sing of his lost mother or father or his only palm fruit.
Nigeria died in our hands and knees
Spelling this spit of fire from my sister's lip, the beneficient knowledge of dead show how illusion killed many of us.
The day Nigeria died, she died in our palms crying of her lost prestige.
Oh!
A country of glee!
Oh mother land! Oh father land!
We'll sing no more dirge at your grave
Those flowers shall we gather home
We've failed you and killed you looking at each other eyes to find the culprits.
Go well till we make you better by 2019.
Yours Poetically,
©John Chizoba Vincent
Skylights warn and warm where acorns drip. The slight angle of acidity in the air can be measured accurately with a ruler or the nib of a ball point pen. Ball point pens are not really balls or points for they are pens and pens are prints, paint, and form occasional prisms in a paper whorl of scribbled ink. Of every hue. Fine and finer. And details outlying the plans are interrupted by a sixteen ton coffee cup whose snores cause vibrations then the liquid seeps over the edges and lands upon the written words causing much smudge marks. Suited earwig headed man with round glasses is not amused. Most perturbed to be exact. All night he had spent revising and crossing the t's and dotting the I's. And now it was indeed a rather sad scrawl of blur. Oh dear. Picking up the pen he walked over to the papers and spoke loudly in order to wake the cup. The cup was startled. What had it done? "you were snoring" shouted the earwig head. "you have spilt liquid onto my work. MY work is thus destroyed." To which the coffee cup gave a nonchalant look and folded his arm handles. Great thought the man. But wait are not those pieces of building blocks left from the babies ball banquet. Great they are. I can make a little model of what I composed on print. He began work immediately. Five seconds of sleep. Wow. Always astonishing how a window cloth can gather a stronghold over smears. The model began to take shape. It would be ready for the board soon. Remarkable. The thick pieces of plastic were soon assembled into formation. Overseen by a paperweight swan which glided around the desk hissing at the cup. And later the widow spiders would wave, the whales would walk, the wallpaper would wink and all the grounds would begin singing operatic arias and clouded liquids would clear the residue of a fallen road kill of a suitcase. Suitcases can look quite messy of left at the side of a road. Especially when they are run over. Splattered. The nylon wire in the air is humming today but isnt in tune with the birds. Ha the sentinels are sweeping the little play tent. Ha ha the paleontologist is playing with a patented patterned platypus. Xxxxx multicolumns z z z z z with a twist of a dormant doorman dormouse standing at over three thousand feet in a stable. Ok then. Interplanetary. Z.
Form:
In Asgard, kingdom of the mighty God Odin
A place awaits all battle fallen warrior heroes
It's in Valhalla where there is endless feasting
And an ending of all griefs and sorrows
The Valkyries, Odin's warrior daughters
Carry the fallen heroes from the battlefield
To Valhalla to join other fallen warriors
Where they are restored to life fully healed
Each day the warriors fight on Asgard's plain
Their battle skills to sharpen and maintain
Every evening wounds and injuries they sustain
Are healed and each warrior made whole again
They dine on liquor and fresh cooked meat
That is always in great abundance for all
Providing a delicious gourmet treat
At Odin's banquet in Valhalla's dining hall
July 18, 2014
Addition:
Here is the poem which aroused my childhood interest in the Vikings, and to
which I referred in my reply to Shadow. I would like to share it with others.
It is "The Sea King's Burial" by Charles Mackay. It recalls the days when a
Viking chief died and his body was placed in a boat. The vessel with full sail
set and a fire lighted, was then sent drifting out to sea. It is a long poem so I
am only quoting the first and last verses:
My strength is failing fast
(Said the sea-king to his men).
I shall never sail the seas
Like a conqueror again,
But while yet a drop remains
Of the life-blood in my veins
Raise, oh, raise me from my bed,
Put the crown upon my head,
Put my good sword in my hand,
And so lead me to the strand,
Where my ship at anchor rides
Steadily;
If I cannot end my life
In the crimsoned battle-strife
Let me die as I have lived,
On the sea.
.......................................
Once alone a cry arose,
Half of anguish, half of pride,
As he sprang upon his feet,
With the flames on every side.
"I am coming! " said the king,
Where the swords and bucklers ring,
Where the warrior lives again,
Where the souls of mighty men
And the weary find repose,
And the red wine ever flows,
I am coming, great -All-Father,
Unto thee!
Unto Odin, unto Thor,
And the strong, true hearts of yore:
I am coming to Valhalla
O'er the sea."
http://www.rampantscotland.com/poetry/blpoems_seaking.htm
Look, there's a white line, dead center of this empty road
Wow, that sun is hot out here...
and here I am sitting on the edge of this blacktop world
waiting for a tow .......crying out loud......why, Lord, why today?.....
Some shortcut huh? You might call it a back road error in judgement...
leaving me sitting in this no-man's land of desolate boredom....
a missed appointment, a frustrated friend waiting, while all I can do is
look at heat waves billowing up in the heat of Indian summer and watch the
peafowl grazing in the tall brown weeds behind me, ......hunting grasshoppers I suppose....
Territorial hens and cocks at their banquet
One patriarch, with his vast train, it seems he reigns aloof ..sitting there,
in the shade of a vagrant oak. At least there's one tree helping to shadow the place where I sit and oh yeah, that lone hen, wandering onto the white line, and looking at me, (with disdain, no less!)
I am an intruder, in a world I don't belong....she knows it.....should I apologize? "Okay, ....sorry you Chickadee!" "Whattaya expect me to do?"......
Hmmm..... that fading white line................
how do they get it dead center of the road, I wonder?
I have been sitting here for nearly an hour, sigh.............and that long, long, line.......
going to nowhere..........strange..........how you can be
mesmerized by a long white line that meanders into the distant horizon...
Wonder how long has it been since I've had such a moment
just a small moment to contemplate such a trifle...
a narrow white line in the center of an asphalt road
Who put it there? What sort of man? Who drives the machine, that paints this line?
Did he do this all day...draw these straight white painted stripes?
Does he give it much thought? This artist,...this Da'vinci of roadways?
Does he think of the life he might save....or the order this brings?
His touch of white on a blacktop world?
Does he do this all day.....day after day?
This artwork to pay for his wife's medicine?
Or for a son's braces, or a daughter's tuition?
Trivial contemplation, perhaps, crazy maybe to ponder by the side of a road.....
You say.....it is just a white line......so what??
To someone....even a trifle....a white line on asphalt....
might be important......
THE GREAT BANQUET
I’ve been to many banquets and many smorgasbords;
The fare has been so sumptuous as there it all was stored.
I’d try to take a sample of everything I liked;
The salads were so tasty, the meat looked cooked just right.
The thing I most regretted was when I took too much
And I could not all finish the things that I had touched.
And then there was the price tag--that bill I had to pay!
Sometimes it was expensive and would keep me away.
And at the fancy restaurants we’d always stand in line,
And fussed about the others who seemed to take your time.
But every time I’d go there and find my place in line
And look down at the tables and all the food so fine,
I think of a day coming when once again I’ll eat
At a great marriage supper, there at my Saviour’s feet.
I’ve often thought and wondered just what we’ll eat up there
As we sit at that table upon the shore so fair.
Will we get to taste the manna that Israel often ate?
Will we have desserts and salads there served upon our plate?
Will we eat lamb that roasted in fire cooked just right
And served with herbs so bitter like that Passover night?
And will we have that supper of unleavened bread and wine
That we all take together to remind us of the time
When just before His torture and sentence, Jesus said,
“Take, eat, this is My body,” and then He broke the bread.
And then He took the cup there, the grape juice pure and blue,
And said, “This is the covenant of My blood shed for you.”
I don’t know what we’ll eat there, I cannot speculate,
But I know we’ll enjoy it, it all will be so great.
And what is nice about it is that it all is free;
I can have all I want there, all good it’s going to be.
I know that He will serve it and as it passes by,
I’ll see the nail-scarred hands then and remember why He died.
Oh, yes, ‘twill be some banquet! I’m glad I’m going there;
I’ve made my reservations, by faith I am prepared.
You, too, can be a part of the banquet fine and fair,
Just come unto the Saviour and say the sinner’s prayer:
“God, please show me Your mercy, I humbly now repent,
I trust the living Saviour who to this world was sent.
And I accept forgiveness from all my sin and shame,
Believing in Your offer of salvation through Your name.”
Heaven’s Servant
The grass of the earth The King of Heaven generously gave
People to enjoy Kentucky Bluegrass nice lawn, nutritious hay,
Timothy grass highly cultivated and seed easily harvested
Stock cattle, sheep, and horses healthily eat by day in sun’s ray.
Long ago Yeshûa? sat 5,000 men, besides women and children,
on grassy comfortable ground
Enjoying bread with fish on perhaps Buffalo grass ‘Bulbilis’
or Festuca sheep’s fescue,
Maybe Velvet grass growing in coast regions carpeted the banquet of
truth lovers;
Or was it Orchard grass adapted to drier soils The LORD of the vineyard
gave rescue.
The lion shall eat straw like the ox; will it be young and tender
‘Hordeum’ Squirrel-tail grass?
Perhaps the lion will like the 15 foot or higher Reed grass to jump and pounce,
Meadow Fescue grass could be the lucky one to grow green
for the king of the jungle,
Teosinte tropical plant related to corn ‘maize’ may be the one
relished every ounce.
“And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass,” and this is nice
Ornamental grasses grace beautiful gardens, striped variety of Reed,
Bamboo Ribbon grass and Ravenna grass of Italy graceful show,
Pampas grass of the Argentine pampas, ornamental grasses give the lead.
Coastal grasses grow comfortable in sand, ‘Ammophila’ beach grass
sand-binding,
Canadian Bluegrass sand binder pasture grass on sandy loam soils, holds tight
Shore grasses warm the hearts of beach combers looking at marram,
Beachside craggy bait shop enjoys uneven beach grass, as a kite
flies in beautiful height.
Job’s tears ornamental grass shows remembrance of Job long ago,
Beauty now radiates from Coix lachrymal-jobi inspiring life enduring living,
Alive cheerfully Uniola exceedingly graceful most beautiful of the grasses,
Zizania wild rice grass most striking in appearance happy in giving.
Vanilla grass Savastana odorata sweet grass fragrant mats and boxes
Wonderful to smell and hold useful for storing wheat to save for vanilla cake,
Various grasses grow for our sake, millet, Redtop, Bermuda, Avena,
Johnson grass, Italian Rye grass, and many more grasses, a beautiful world left in its wake.
I didn’t want to let her down. She was a fellow teacher in the language institute and a very dear friend. When my husband went on trips, which was often, she’d look out for me, so when she made the suggestion to go to the student banquet, I didn’t have the heart to say no.
We were the first ones there. We chose seats right next to the big floor to ceiling glass windows. Out below us, the sparkling lights of Beirut mesmerized. A young couple sat on the veranda, outside the glass partitions, enjoying a meal in the cool night air. They were warmed by the love that hung around them in the smoke from their hubbly bubblies (hookas). The whole atmosphere was romantic and beautiful. My heart constricted. Slowly the students started to filter in, and invariably, they would come over to give us kisses and greetings. It was a lovely evening, but my heart was heavy. I looked at the beautiful girls: hair…stylishly coiffed, make-up…flawless, dresses and skirts short…tight…revealing….sexy. I tried not to cry as I flashed them all smiles.
Picture taking time: the girls posing like models, showing off long sleek legs, the young men acting cool…models one and all. I sat at my table, feeling old at 46…Old. One of the students would always come over to me and flirt…such a sweet young man. He made me feel young. As I smiled at one of my pretty students further down, I thought to myself as I looked at her…”That, that was ME.” I remembered what it felt like to be young and beautiful, what it felt like to have young men swarm…what it felt like…
I tried to push away the thoughts. I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I looked up into sky blue eyes peering out at me from a handsome bearded face. There was Ryan, one of the young Americans who had joined our communication staff, camera in hand. He flashed a killer smile as he leaned in and said, above the pounding sound of the live band, “So, when are you going to show us your moves?”
“What?” I looked at him incredulously.
He smiled showing nice even teeth. “The little birdy told me that you are quite the dancer.”
I smiled, feeling like a million dollars. “Maybe not tonight,” was all I could manage.
Eileen M Ghali
TO BE CONTINUED......