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.
O Camelot! O Camelot!
The winds have changed, the land got hot!
Though dromedaries are quite neat,
A bactrian's hard to unseat,
And so the knights still joust a lot.
At banquet feasts, the men are found,
And like the table, they are round.
The reason they are heavy-set:
Girls now see knighthood as a threat;
Who lives life chaste and honor-bound?
Sir Galahad, a handsy lad;
His boasting made the maidens mad.
Now saddled with the cursed #metoo,
Chivalrous days of riding through,
He gardens, in his armor clad.
And then there is Sir Lancelot
Sad, as he aged, he weirder got.
Exchanging quests for lowly toils,
He traveled far just lancing boils,
Relieving pustulence and rot.
And Arthur lost what he held dear:
His lovely bride, his Guinevere
The evil witch, Morgana Fay
Transitioned her without her say,
And as a knight she does appear.
O Camelot! I just cannot
Believe the damage time has wrought.
And now the lady of the lake:
A charlatan, a fraud, a fake!
Ran off with Merlin, on his yacht.
As Lot and his wife
Left the city of Sodom
Where gnosis flourished
His wife heard Yaldabaoth’s wrath
As the two lands burned
Hearing the children crying
Her heart made blood tears
It ripped from top to bottom
Hearing the calm call
Of gnosis singing with joy
Her soul remembered
She looked back with a quick glance
Before salty rain
Became rivers on her face
In an eye’s twinkling
She turned into a pillar
A pillar of salt
A tower of white rock salt
Through which her spirit
Climbed up the stairs of wisdom
All three thousand steps
And climbed above the heavens
And reached her first home
With all those spirits who rose
From the burning wrath
From Sodom and Gomorrah
Back below, her grave
Her grand pillar of our faith
Still stands as rock salt
To be used as seasoning
For the race of Seth
A seasoning of wisdom
To awaken all
By her noble sacrifice
Of love and gnosis
So that we all may join her
With all the angels
In the Pleroma’s banquet
Of dates and white grapes
As Philip the Apostle
Said to his students
“May our complete offering
Come with much sweet salt
For we name Sophia salt
Without her, no gift is sweet”
All glory to the Lord on His high mountain. Power and dominion are His. Forever and ever. Hallelujah to He who sent Jesus into the world. He has overcome the world and made our way into the kingdom of heaven with joy and gladness in our hearts. He gave me the keys.
All thanks to His glory, grace and mercy. Love abound and peace for all nations who come before the throne with repentance and forgiveness. Step into the freedom. Leave the darkness behind. It’s time to stop looking back. The filthy rags are gone and leave it. Rest in fine linens chosen for the banquet. Step across the threshold and walk in His righteousness. Clean.
Spilling over His holy anointing. The darkness shall not prevail. The walls God kicks down let His light shine in the darkness as the dark can no longer be seen. Only His light remains. Clean.
The arm of God is close. His spirit is at hand. He reaches for us to deliver us into His glory. Holy holy. Break these chains. Step into freedom. Clean.
Somewhere close, somewhere nearby with fingers in ears.
There’s a silent cry of a child, if we choose to hear.
Optioned to look away from a sign pleading.
“Hungry child at home.” We take as misleading.
But if it’s true? What do we do?
Shove coins deeper into pocket, hoping it accrues?
A stop along the way. A meal from an app.
First course before the banquet home.
Crumbs falling on a lap.
Still the sound. Omnipresent and loud.
Resonating from an empty belly we wrap in a shroud.
There are no monsters in this closet.
No demons under the bed.
The grumble that haunts the child is a belly underfed.
Lies in bed and dreams unlike most.
Not of trinkets or baubles, but for a piece of toast.
Yet no baskets of fish and bread from man.
Forgotten are the second part of His command.
“Love my Father and those around just the same”
“Let children come to me.” The kingdom is theirs to claim.
Still the sound. Omnipresent and true.
Not seen or heard unless in field of view.
Feed the children. Feed and watch them bloom.
If not for the children of God then for whom?
He answers all. A man just has to ask.
Strength is given to all who take on the task.
Then, a single reach for a pocket. Compassion is the key.
Prayer to go along with faith the size, of a mustard seed.
A man now looks in the mirror. Practice what he preach.
Selfishness, blindness and apathy must be impeached
Still the sound. Omnipresent but now, can be heard.
The man knows what he must do. Lines no longer blurred.
Walk the path. Do what He would do and has done
Bring all children to the table….bring them all, to the Son
Self-Portrait 1-12-24
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Still Life with Cheeses, Almonds and Pretzels
Still life, not stillborn,
With a woman’s face
In dusky background hues,
Pure clarity clothed in white,
Gazing on gastronomic abundance.
Artist of the banquet
One step behind –
The woman’s place of her time -
Guardian of the sweet rewards
Served like bridal wine,
Topping the earthen vessel
Of embryonic fermentation.
In a cradle of fine delft
Consummated almonds,
Mellow figs
Ripe fruit
Conceived out of ravenous rapture
Confinement released in harvest’s fare
In signatures of arms crossed -
Daily bread – gifts of finest wheat –
Served with golden curls,
Crushed seeds of grain
Birthing beauty’s fullness.
Above this feast of still life
A woman smiles
Her signature waiting to be discovered –
Waiting for the invitation to emerge
From the shadow!
Initialising silhouettes submit to midwinter dawn
Beginning willingly to swallow colour of choices
Fledgelings' flamboyant campaigns display oblivion
Audacious adolescents distribute chafing thoughts
Attach entire esteem to securing peer approval
Frivolous get transfixed in youth's lurid allure
Bustling balloons launch from high vaulting hearts
Adventurers revel in joy during jaunty occasions
Concerned observers avoid havoc's banquet
Money cascades proportionate to patrons' appraise
Circumspect travel with kaleidoscope analysis
Attentively pensive address torrid scheduling
Pallid consideration accompanies shaded misers
Assorted sections bolstered by merciful sharers
Principled accord favoured by fate's ultimation
Aura of agitation promotes copious desires
Hushed heeders find freedom in relinquishing
Dilating ease determines to exit temptation
Plethora of pleasures pledged by reoccurring sunrise
Replenished spirit operates as a doting shepherd
Validates delight in desiphered silence
Supreme reckoning denounces pretentious credentials
Clarity invades tainted captivity's insatiable tirade
Mortal manuscript mirrors sequel's assembling
20th April 2020
Submitted to Chantelle Anne Cooke's
Best NA Poem 2020 Re run
A holy letter written by
Abgarus the toparch of Edessa
To Bardaisan the passerby
Sent to him by Keefa the confessor
“Abgarus VIII the toparch writing
To Bardaisan, offspring of the dancing river
Son of Nah 'siram and my friend, greeting
I have heard reports of the baptised lamb’s power
Which makes the eyeless see, the lame to walk
Which makes lepers clean, and casts out lion-daimons
Which even makes the dead alive and talk
This faithful power exceeds so-called eudaemons
Indeed, I now believe in Christ Jesus
The saviour of all, who is either God himself
Who came down from the heavens above us
Or the Son of God sent down to save mankind’s self
I am in need of holy instruction
In all these high and heavenly matters of faith
I know from my old life of perdition
In this world which the dark dragon haunts like a wraith
Of your deeds that raised the public-spirit
The healings you performed, the sacred works you wrote
You are the harp of the holy spirit
The archer against daimons, cutting every throat
Therefore, I invite you to the banquet
In order to illuminate my mind with truth
In order to seal my soul’s empty pit
Over my household and kingdom, I have much ruth
I have a little kingdom that Rome will repress
But I will welcome you as Christ welcomed the dove: With comeliness”
(I've based this letter on the ancient Letter of King Abgar V to Jesus (public domain). Though that letter was a third century work, it was likely caused by Abgar VIII of Osroene conversion to Christianity by the Gnostic Bardaisan in 200 AD, Bardaisan was even part of Abgar's royal court.
I thought it would a fun idea to remake the letter to be correspodence between Abgar VIII and Gnostic Bardaisan instead, as it would be closer to what likely historically happened.)
My eyes were sorely struck when once they perceived
verity in your insightful words. Oh, how they grieved
when you chose to kneel low enough to kiss the ring
of a cunning being, whose unmerited praises you sing
My ignorance would have been a cliched state of bliss
if I'd not stumbled into great depth of a poetic abyss
'Twas with bitter regret that I unveiled your charade
No longer do I doubt the crux of a contrived crusade
With prudence and humble nature, you oft' disclosed
but a false facade was revealed and hubris exposed
As a poet you declared compassion and a meek heart
but sold your feeble soul for the nod of a counterpart
Poet, I hungrily supped at the banquet of your lines
but a person's integrity is one that genuinely defines
human value. From reading you, I refrain and eschew
Aware of your pretexts, I know what motivates you
*You may think I only post something on PS when I have a gripe, and I have when I've felt it was warranted. It's your right to believe what you will. My recent posts prove otherwise, but after very recently reading something that touched my heart in a sadly profound way, I chose to write about it instead of trying to forget that I saw the words. Writing has always been a means of comfort, solace and closure. This write serves as a dissolution for me.
SPOONING WITH PARCHED PALMS
a banquet of butterflies flutter ~
by her seaswept hair so bonnie. ~
sunshine and freckles fly free from the sky, ~
illuminating blue eyes, ~
dotting her suntanned skin. ~
a sailboat serenely knocks against the chiseled shore. ~
tartan cloth passionately charmed with cheese and wine. ~
pink blushing beach, a twinkle in his smile wants more. ~
his teeth bright as teeming waves of love’s moon shine. ~
picnic at full thrust ~
naked footprints rake through sand ~
soft music spellbound ~
chantilly lips on blitzed neck ~
seaside spooning with parched palms ~
4/4/2018
It’s All About Four/Sponsor: Broken Wings
Crystalline, Kimo, Quatrain, Tanka forms
Dear poet, you know it is a sin
to ignore the skeleton within,
forgetting that I will long outlast
your flesh, which lives, but soon will pass.
In fact, I see, you're starting to sag
around me. I'm the hero - you're a bag,
a temporary case
you wear, as you await death's embrace.
Time, my dear, will soon erase
your short-lived features,
and (like other living creatures)
I'm here to tell you, you'll soon die
still wondering the reason why,
and I doubt that anyone will cry.
But I'll remain, this bag of bones,
while what's left of you, that the earth still owns,
will quickly burn,
or be a banquet for a worm,
putrefied and rotten,
and very soon forgotten,
while I'll be picked nice and clean
(though in a grave or urn, unseen),
So, poet, kindly put down your pen,
and revere the skeleton within.