Long Baptise Poems
Long Baptise Poems. Below are the most popular long Baptise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baptise poems by poem length and keyword.
I will hold my pen to sleep-
When there is nothing to write,
When there is no poetry in sight
To cave from the tearful tilted sky.
I will hold the dreams of dashed wishes
I will fight through a quit choices made,
I will unbottle the million thoughts within
The maidens wallowing down the meadow.
I will hold my pen to sleep when the night
Is void of darkness but nemesis tilted behind.
Do not search through my blank face,
My express was lost on the surface of a book.
I will hold my thought to rest when nothing comes,
So says the angel to me:" love not to much of words"
I wait in the morning for the sun to tell of her mission, I will say prayers to baptise her sagging eyes.
I will hold my ill pen to sleep
When no more storm is howling behind us,
When no thunder sends fear into minds,
When no cloud covers our honeyed laughter.
We will pray together for our mother; Nigeria,
At the gate decorated with equilty and love.
No one shall find hate in her,
No one shall find weakness in her in the morning
After the agonized gushing of polluted fluid leaves.
No one shall be march for her bravery.
I have guided and secured this young child a decade,
And decades have I searched and prayed never
Shall I leave her alone but I will hold her to sleep.
Never shall my friend be lost in confusion!
For the love of poetry shall I hold her to sleep,
For the love of words shall I be her loving lover,
For the love of imagery shall I keep her home.
She has throw me the dough to survive in the jungle,
There shall be no infant voices to be heard again.
I will hold my pen to sleep-
When there is nothing seen aheard of my eyes.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
THE COLOR OF HATE UNLIKE ALL
THEE OTHER BRILLANT COLORS
OF THE WORLD I MEAN YOU SEE
IT IT'S STUNNING CAPTIVATING
EVEN CAUSING STRANGERS TO
GATHER TOGETHER SHARING THE
VERY SAME FAMILIAR TRAIT OF HATE
FOR MANY IT WAS TAUGHT OTHERS
FIND IT MORE EXCEPTABLE THE
COLOR OF HATE SEEMS TO CRAVE
CERTAIN AROUSALS FEEDING OFF
THE UNEXPECTED CREATURE THE
COLOR OF HATE HAS ABOSOLUTELY
NO VALUE NEVERTHELESS IT'S WORN
MOSTLY BY THE WEATHLY DEMINSIONING
THE CAUSE AND EFFECT THAT COMES
FROM DEEP WITHIN THE SELF CONSCIOUS
MIND TO ALLOW THE COLOR OF HATE TO
EXIST IN A WORLD COVERED SO BLATENLY
WITH PAIN IT CONTROLS THE PURITY OF
OUR CHARACTER WHY I'M BROWN MY
HUSBANDS WHITE OUR CHILDREN ARE
A COLORFUL RAINBOW TRIBE WE GATHER
LAUGH ENJOYING THE FREEDOMS OF JUST
LIVING LOVING UNRECOGNIZED AS A
HOLY MATRIMONY IN THE EYES OF MANY
LAWS HAVE CHANGED BUT EVERY NO
AND THEN WE ARE REMINDED CERTAIN
CLASS WOULD LYNCH US BOTH STRAIGH
AWAY LOOKING BACK OVER A TIME COUPLES
LIKE US RETREATED ACROSS STATE LINES JUST
TO EMBRACE WITHOUT THE PRYING EYES
THE TORCHES THE HOUNDS INVADING US
SMEARING OUR BLENDED HERITAGE TAINTING
LOVE WITH HATE PRYING EYES CHANT FOR
PERHAPS WE ARE THE SPECKLED SHEEP ARE
SHEPHERD IS LOVETHE COLOR OF LOVE
CAPTIVATES YOUR SPIRIT WHILE WE DANCE
ACROSS THE UNIVERSE SPREADING JOY
THIS HISSING THE CACKLING HOW DO THEY
LIVE HOW DO THEY LOVE GO WAY GO BACK
WHERE YOU CAME FROM WHAT COLOR ARE
THEY BLACK WHITE BROWN ARE THEY RED
WE ARE THE DESCENDANTS OF JEAN PAUL
BAPTISE POINTE DUSABLE THIS IS OUR HOME
WE ARE HOME WE SAFE WE ARE CHICAGO
CAHOKIA ILLINOIS
WRITTEN BY YOLANDA NICHOSEN
7-28-2024
TILL WE MEET AGAIN
Have you seen the sun smile recently?
I have seen him smiled in the season of my
Song in the year of the great harvest of yams.
Everyday is a gift, every moment is a blessing,
Every life holds a beauty of its own, but the
Day of our calling we cannot escape it for
Life and death has a common boundary to humans.
Tell every one that I love them very dearly,
To ijeoma; tell her that I won't forget those
Days when we danced naked under the rain.
The rain kissed her smiles with a holy kiss
Which beamed with a mountainous dreams of love.
Tell Ugonna of my pains, suffer not the enemy to live
Bring back the abducted girls from the forest
Keep singing those songs to mother for peace.
Forsake not the shrine of our forefathers,
There our lives began after the harmatten
Live every stone untouched and every woman in
The family compound should not become widow for long.
I am going not in joy but in tears since I can not
Reject the call of the ancestors.
Lower the hurricane lamp in the village square
And make peace with the gods for I must
Journey down beyond to tell our forebears the harm
They have done to us.
They abandoned and sold us to the enemy
I will tell them of the falling fence in the compound,
I will tell them the oil that have dried in the mouth of the gods.
No one is able to baptise their mouths with oil
Because we have none to give.
Take care of the mourning sheep in the compound
Treat the children well and give my sister the right
Man forget not the tradition of our people,
I will keep watch from beyond till we meet again.
This is where black breaks open into bright bleeding feeling
as souls suffer the fire of flesh to enter arena Earth screaming
searching the ether for Adam and Eve's answer to forbidden fever
while angels wear snake skins of war to remember the carnage of this theater
and demons adorn their horns with the rose thorns of newborns,
in the blue garden of aging Eden every breath has a burn, every flame forewarns
denuding knowledge of it's pretenses, unveiling appetites and their prices,
we begin to realize that the Great Mother is a killer as well as a provider for our vices
feeding us the fruits of fortune along with the fate of decay
building our bones, branding the brain, electrifying, crucifying and rectifying our clay,
she communicates, educates and fascinates with looks of lightning and sandy kisses
the Mistress of Lucifer and Christ, she supplies the wood, nails and rain for our wishes,
civilizations rage, rumble and crumble in the judgment of her storms
there's mud and rock for every foot of fury, a cave and castle for all who defy the norms,
in her imperial urn she will cremate your eyes in flames of crude oil
baptise hearts in pools of rose water filtered through eons of soul soil,
her gravity will grind you to the ground where grief grafts prayers from tears,
in the sanskrit of sunrises she will summon songs that give your love ears,
this cradle and cataclysm of her erratic elements is where hearts are born and buried,
Earth, a womb and tomb of ancient bloom, oasis in eternal space where life is carried -
J.A.B.
Matthew Scott Harris, whar art thou *****?
The following admission
honest to dogness haint no bunk
nobody, but yours truly
bore deeply and countersunk
his spontaneity satisfactorily
lightweight corporeal mein kampf,
didst more than baptise or dunk
cuff, which admirably aided to flunk,
(whereat no universal solvent,
could (kant) kelp dissolve barnacles
of sea sonned gunk),
asper thickly congealed
encasing this laughable
antithesis of hullo kit ting hue man
overweening tricky hunk,
which thought to attempt
skidding row bust humor
as a "FAKE" teetering drunk
ken-pro lit tarry overgrown punk
(riotously swinging balled fists
way of course), and mine
feeble insubstantial poetic jabs, where
teenage shadow boxer slunk
tis my harmless recourse to peddle
as sway to escape funk
seriously, Aesop hoes,
this personal mockery
wrote for no rhyme nor reason junk
bonded really gluten
free self deprecating
playfulness of course as chipper munk
makes any sense, neither kerplunk
emanating from atop me notch noggin
swishing with grade A klunk
emasculation par excellence, asper
out thee talking head of this lunk,
whose upcoming "talk therapy"
every other Monday
at 11:00 a.m. with preshrunk
kin shrink finds tarnished psyche resonating
analogous to reverberation while spelunk
king in an echo chamber futilely
questing, searching, rummaging...why I trunk
hated living when merely thirteen
courtesy Anorexia Nervosa
with spindle shank (chicken legs)
to attest as permanent stunted growth.
I want to go to school
Where papers draw lines on the sky;
Where we see our future backoning at us.
I want to learn how to steal with the biro
I want to reveil the hidden lines on the sky;
To reveal the sky' dirtiness to the world.
I want to go to school without a book,
I want to join those barking farmers;
Those farmers without holes and knives yet; they go to farm.
I want to sit among those seated with the moon;
Watch those that fly in the sky without wings,
I want to go and learn how to wet graves with tears.
I want to steal and speak corruption,
Hold Bible on my left hand and, gun
On my right with ease and confidence.
I want learn to write lines that break ribs,
To baptise many with words that change;
I want to go to school to learn change.
I want to learn how to cry under the water,
Learn if fishes ever get thirsty of water;
I want to know why birds don't fall off trees when they sleep.
I want to go to school and learn why building is called building when it is already built;
Why they say dogs food is new and improved,
when no one tastes it.
I want to know why and why and
Why pizza is round and comes in a square box;
Why doesn't glue stick to its bottle,
And why money does not grow on a tree but banks have branches.
I want to go to school and learn why I'm me,
And me and I never agree together when in trouble;
I want to learn why lizard has no hair and why
The sky is white without lines drawn on it.
Some where in Nigeria,
We sleep without light
Mosquitoes feasting on our body.
We are taken for granted,
We are abused morally and physically.
Here in Nigeria,
We see mothers abandoned children.
Girls get pregnant before they get husband,
Father rape a daughter to coma.
Here in Nigeria,
Children are abused like water is abused.
Here in Nigeria,
Freedom of speech is at your detriment.
We all move around like the snake
One for his own self, unity lost in the air.
Here in Nigeria, the birds sing no more.
Here in Nigeria,
A child beat his father and a father
Abuse his wife in the holy alter.
We have lost so many counts of hopes and dreams,
Ways and means, everything we see.
Nothing of progress seem to hold a congress, not even a dress on us.
Here in Nigeria,
Many youths had died before their prime.
Many teens had been married out in tears,
Many school boys had been killed by ritualist.
Here in Nigeria,
Terrorism has taken toll on us
Bombing and killing those who
Supposed to protect the family name.
Who shall tell us the culture when we die?
Here in Nigeria,
The church preaches about prosperity
Rather than the ancient doctrine of Christ-like.
They exploit the congregations in the name of christ.
We hide under the Umbrella of religious deceiving
Those who ought to be save and take to Christ.
Here in Nigeria are disvirgined school,
Where student teaches teachers.
Ignorance baptise our head at the call
Of wisdom and knowledge of the gods.
Lord to-day we come to you with joy in our hearts
As Evie’s journey of faith through life with God starts
Fill her with your faith, joy, peace and love
Please always watch over her from heaven above.
As members of Christ’s family we come to you in prayer
To take Evie into your world of love and care
As she takes her first steps on the road of faith
Please always bless her and keep her safe.
Evie is blessed with a sign of the cross you bore
Welcoming her to the family of Christ through the open door.
Bless her and her family, be with them always
To help her grow up as a child of God all of her days.
Bless her in her formative and teenage years
That she will grow in your love, free from strife and fears.
As she goes forward into her adult life
Guard and bless her through life’s toils and strife.
Help her to grow in your faith and love
Knowing you are always there looking down on her from above.
May she go through life as an instrument of your peace
May her love, joy and trust in you never cease
We now Baptise Evie with water from the eternal spring
As our gifts of love, hope, peace and welcome we bring
Let her be a beacon of your word, grace, truth and love
And light her way through life from heaven above.
Amen
Barbara Brewin 21st June 2009 All rights reserved.
This I ask not in folly but in honesty,
Perfect me gods of poetry
Make me an eyes that sees,
Make me the mouth that speaks.
Let me be the hands that writes,
The legs that walk for perfection
The tongue that taste words.
Perfect me Wole Soyinka
Perfect me Chinua Achebe
Perfect me Eriata Oribhabor
Perfect my Art J.P Clarks
Make me better through your remains Shakespeare
Breath into me Kukogho Iruesiri Samson.
Like the Thespians are initiated into their fold,
Initiate me into the fold of Poetry, my Lords.
Let me walk with you, Graciano Enwerem;
Hold my hands through your ghost, Christopher Okigbo;
Kiss me with a mouth of poetry, langston Hughes.
I pray in the name name of Maya Angelou,
I supplicate on my kneels in your name Williams Butler;
Baptise me with words, let me eat poetry,
I pray thee gods of poetry.
Cleanse my head, Pablo Neruda.
Fill my pen with your knowledge, Thomas Hardy.
Induce me into the shade, Gabriel Okara.
Where is the remains of your Biro, Niyi Osundare?!
I want to write with it to be better.
Where are the dust of your feet, Remi Raji?
Can I get your last draft, Ken Saro Wiwa?
I want to belong; to be a pen lord, lord of poetry.
Perfect me, distill me and cook me with
The remains of the atoms of your knowledge.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Egal your hurly-burly city,
Egal your stress bureaucracy;
Saturday I shall visit my garden,
Where I will bury all your plights
Like a slough snake long forgotten.
There await me rosy welcome
From my carnation and dafodil,
The sweet aroma of my lavender;
I shall kiss the beautiful stair of petals
Build by my darling ginger and tulip.
The quietude of my garden:
Dousing rain after a scorching heat,
Shall redeem me from your torture,
The amusement from the squirrels
Shall restore smile onto my face;
Under the robust cherry tree
I shall journey to the mount of thought.
And when the heavenly beam decends
To honour our weekly appointment
Like sky I will spread out my picnic mat,
Delight it with Andrea, Nette, Donna’s poems;
I will turn left and right, allowing it
To caress the gradient of my hips.
When my guest turns westward
Then I will bless all my darlings;
I will baptise them with heavenly dew
Anoint their feet with brown-black powder
And cast out any demon perching on them.
Hoping you that wolf will roar? Egal !
I shall not think of your sausage,
Your meatpie will not come to mind;
Above my head are young breast apples,
Mangoes and banana are at alert
Ready to arrest any roaring wolf.
Egal your hurly-burly city,
Egal your stress bureaucracy;
Saturday I shall visit my garden.