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Long Baptism Poems

Long Baptism Poems. Below are the most popular long Baptism by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baptism poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by James Edward Lee Sr. | Details

You Don't Know Me

Everyone has the freedom of choice 
Everyone has an expressiveness to save their own voice
Who are you who am I to judge this choice 
You don't know me
You don't know me
 I may have  rebelled against God 
Been disobedient and above odds 
This resulted in the introduction 
Of my sins,  of our sin into the human race 
Now doesn't matter what took place 
You don't know me, you don't know me
But maybe it does matter how you judge my face 
Stop judging me I've been forgiven by Jesus Christ
You don't know me, you don't know me
Sin is committed against three parties 
You myself  and God then this is described as a transgression 
But it was Jesus eternal mission 
To grant us freedom and liberty and forgiveness 
Against the lawlessness 
That we have embraced the consequence 
You don't know me, you don't know me
Of unforgiven sin is spiritual death 
You don't want to be  not called in God gift 
His gift of eternal life 
For the believer leave it those sins,  receive it the blessings
Of eternal life
I may have done many wrong things 
We all have done many wrong things
You don't know me, you don't know me 
Now i maybe a liar and I maybe a cheat 
I may throw sticks and rocks at dogs,when walking down the street
And I maybe a murderer, atheist a blasphemer even a discriminator 
But 
You don't know me,  you don't know me
 I may be a wife abuser and I maybe a child abuser but you can't judge me 
You have no hell for me 
Before you throw your stones look a what you have done
I don't know you only God knows you
You don't know me you don't know me now 
I may be an elder abuser and I maybe a criminal and I may be disgusting for you 
But you don't know me you don't know me 
No sin is inexcusable you can't win if you don't repent of them
 I know because I am a creation 
But you don't know me you don't know me 
Lord I have sinned against thee and you know me I have seen the soul that's in
Lord you have restored me, you've restored me
I have sin against God but you know me and you know me 
So you know me Only God can judge now 
I'm a winner WHY
I'm thankful  NOW
I've repented AND 
He knows me,  my God knows me 
He knows every hair on my head He knows everything that I have shared 
He knows every droplets of the blood and every tear that I shed 
And He knows me my God knows me  in this act willful deliberation Freedom's choice 
In choosing a violation
Serious transgression against my creator 
He knows me yes He knows me 
Now I may have fallen dropping the ball a few times 
We all are redeemable if we just stopped and realize 
We can only take one to the grave but, God takes us to Eternity  
We can remain but only if we stop and turn around confess one's sins
And it begins with me  
So let us release our witness our shame the sins that we have found with a sincere heart begin a new start we can rejoice and receive it 
We can know Him, we can know Him now in the pardon of my (our) sins
I may have committed fonacation I maybe have even committed adultery pride of the eye Pride of life I maybe even guilty of stealing money and time
I maybe even guilty of breaking the laws of man be convicted I'm unworthy
Again you don't know me you don't know me
Could be chosen but God knows me you don't know me now it's all just a matter of time 
Before the sun rise, before the Son sets comes down 
Before God comes down through the clouds and if I if we were to die before sunrise 
One thing I know you don't know me you have no Heaven no hell for me 
You can't judge and convicting and deplore me  upon all of this I've mentioned 
You don't know me Only God knows me 
So let us stop judging one another 
Your conviction to convict me is above me for there's only one who can judge me 
You don't know me, I don't know you only God knows me only God knows me
Only God knows us you are command to always forgive any and all transgressions
Seven times 70
For give me don't judge me  pray for me forgive me
Seven times 70

You don't know me
Let us redeem the time and pray for everyone 
All mankind we are all sinner's on this planet 
This premised place on this place called Earth I don't know you 
But I am forgiven and so are you 
No matter what you've done or matter what I've done I have repented
I have committed I have changed I am now a child of the King  
Born Again  
Of all my transgressions  
This I am sure and I believe  I am here again to receive my blessings
Of eternal life with God and Christ
Before you put on those bifocal magnifying glasses
Looking through,  looking into my eyes through my mind my spirit soul and body 
And trying to wrestle and rationalize me all ready convicted and judged me
And already concluding through your judgment and your self-righteousness 
Even those things that I've done that are negative and were against God 
And you, you continually judge me
When you point one finger forward remember there's always three fingers pointing back 
But just relax 
Because in all of this I still love you even though you don't know me
I thank God Almighty that He knows me and that He loves me
So my brother my sister, my fellow sinner, my fellow saints 
Be careful of those judgements or complaints
Cause believe me leave every knee shall bow every tongue shall confess Jesus is Lord
Going to the Golden Gates to the place called heaven
No matter my sin my transgressions you may or may not know them
All that matters MY God forgiven me and He loves me
And with this I again Repent I say!!!!!!

YOU DON'T KNOW ME 
Amen
 
Written by James Edward Lee ©2017
From anthology " REALLY"©2017

Copyright © James Edward Lee Sr. | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details

Dear Neighbors

Dear neighbors,

I realize we have not met,
other than the guy next door
but that doesn't really count
cause that was just to put up a fence between us,
and I have met Marvelously Mad Mike,
behind me, on the River,
but primarily because I could not run away fast enough.

Regardless,
I want to invite you over
for kind of a potluck neighborhood open house party.

Just come as you happen to be at the moment,
bring something to drink
and, oh yes,
something to eat that you would consider politically and economically
and, oh yes,
nutritionally correct.

But not to worry,
we will have political correctness exams
at the front door,
prior to gaining admission,
unless you would like that of course,
in which case
perhaps I should mention,
so as not to become justly accused of hidden agendas,
I would prefer to disclose
a politically correct completely open agenda,
and that probably goes for your porky political
and/or porkless spiritual beliefs too.

If you want to talk about how I really should get myself Born Again,
if only for the life insurance values,
I will almost certainly agree
that I hope to dream deep rich baptisms of fire
and rain
and wind every night
to be reborn again each morning,
except on those too-rare occasions
when I could theoretically have baptized myself
in erotic dreams
to awake feeling less reborn,
more uncompleted,
heuristically speaking,
of course.

Nor would I drop a jaw
were you to explain to me
why I should aspire to transcendent mysticism,
the rather imprecise feedback
I get from my defiant kids
right after they rob me blind
or lie to me as if I were senseless
and preferably more transcendent
and mysteriously preoccupied with larger issues
of climatic change
in Great Political-Economic Scientific-EcoTherapeutic Transition,
and not so much
these smaller political and economic 
most uncooperative and unmindful transactions.

Lest you fear I may have some hidden political,
or, god forbid,
some cultish religious-fundamentalist agenda,
rather than a party smorgasbord
and self-entertainment and -governance menu,
with issues that march along
some more Traditionally Orthodox Party Line,
perhaps scripture lessons on how to invest heart beats
and wise inhale-exhale breaths of bicameral mindfulness,
allow me to expose
my polypathic proclivities as a Taoist-Christian.

This T-C is a hybrid line,
somewhat like U-U,
which is, for some weird regenetic reason,
also dialectically like dipolar Uracil-Cytosine nutritional health balance,
going back to both Eastern and Western shamans.

So, nothing is supposed to surprise us
except the absence of bad news,
and even then
we are not to let on,
pretending that we have been predicting this,
the continuing advent of good TaoBalancing news all along,
sort of permaculturally,
but usually,
and preferably,
only to those who would be most certain
not to take us seriously,
too deeply,
too unliterally,
too radically through fundamentally fractally,
so long as they treat us as shamans
and not the more totally insane polypaths,
terrorized by emerging voices of climatic anger
and silos of echoing foggy fears
about ego's future emptiness,
absence of life-becoming.

So, not to worry,
Taoist lies before the hyphenatic Christian,
meaning Radical Revolutionary Christian.
We are so radically revolutionary
that we believe Christianity should declare its mission statement
as 100% self-perpetuatingly regeneratively replete,
and now move on to more globally optimizing multicultural issues,
like investing in more cooperatively nutritious politics
and active-cooperative-invested economic choices,
more teleologically ecologically bicamerally informed
by sacred-humane nondual TaoBalance
YangLeftHealthyNature-YinRightSpiritBiLateral EcoMentoring MessiahLight.

Tao EarthLoving Christians are so radically revolutionary
we believe good nature is always nutritionally kind
and we don't believe we should even (0)-sum ego-exist.
So, not to worry,
no evangelical intentions are allowed by Yin,
much as Yang would love to love you to death
with the LeftBrain Wisdom
of multicultural truths
as harmonic fractal-crystal beauty
of econconsciousness in fertile-octave light bilateral-cross-messianic frequencies.

Just come as you are
in your own light
with whomever you happen to have
hanging around at the moment you finish reading this.

Feel free to bring your pets 
and any tools you might have to share,
or just a list would be fine,
and I'm wondering if we want to exchange email addresses,
so there will be a sign-in sheet for those who want to include that,
and those who don't,
and please check off if you might be interested in collaborative gardening
this next spring coming up.

And if you or any of your accompanying tribe
has any skills or talents,
songs, dances, readings,
stories, drums,
other musical instruments,
except maybe not a tuba
because I'm just not that musically evolved
and I realize you could not laugh with me
while playing your foghorn of a tuba,
bring anyone or anything except a monopolistic tuba,
which really isn't a party instrument anyway,
for our cooperative skills and talent show.

Stay as long as we all like,
and can afford to live together.
I'm sure we have much to co-invest and celebrate about.

OK, you can bring that damned tuba, if you must.
Maybe I am being invited to evolve in some foghorn kind of way.

With gratitude.

G.O.D.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by James Long | Details

Morning Wheat - A Concrete Poetic Prose Work

~ Morning Wheat ~ (A Pros Poetry Works) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ""Grace, faith ~~ patience, ~~ mercy joy belief, humility and true absolution, who themselves do not desire or cry out from within, for the solace and security of this... ?" ~~ ~~ "For I have felt and seen, that gracious, love exults the very principals ... and generous surrender for all eternity of their open will." ~~ ~~ Soaring higher, inspiring and relative to this; far beyond the normal a true originality stands alone, lives Honestly boldly, Openly Willingly, remains connected, centered and free, is confined never within itself, ~~ ~~ looks for a perfect home amid the mix revealing for all the goodness frosting the butter cake welcomes the test of time stays at home within the heart of what is real; challenges only itself offers its hope to another to live a life; as irrefutable ~~ ~~ Because I believe true humility is innocent and free; evolving through life continually aspiring before God and man to move in gratitude; and being Heavenly, and gracious, tenderly aware; it is always surrendering itself to the opportunity ~~ ~~ remaining unconditionally faithful to this principal; and overtly willing to abide in peace and passionate unity with the World around it; thereby being recreated; itself; before the brevity of it's days given whatever, the limitation; or matter". ~~ ~~ "Perfect innocence, hopefulness and liberty overt from the day they were born, raging winds could not defile because docile, they remain amenable, an endearing vision of truth, though however fragile." ~~ ~~ "No greater joy is there for me, nor anything more divine, bridging the expanse, between bitter abhorrence ... my own tendentiousness ... unbridled greed, a genuine ... injustice, and immeasurable peace." ~~ ~~ "So taken in by the wheat fields supplicating mid conciliate winds, teeming I tarried to view them as I did amble along amid the swaying stalks so very felicitous to be alive, and in quiet reverence, to my Father; ~~ ~~ touched by their faithfulness I offered again to Him for His promise culminated for me; ~~ ~~ my essence."" ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Copyright © James Long | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Sergio Silveira | Details

The Volunteer, A Poem Inspired by HRH Prince George of Cambridge

'We have a future king to make,'
Said the deep, resounding voice.
'But it is not a proper fit for everyone.
For a king must know first how to obey than to command,
And to abide rather than reign.'

'And thus, I need a volunteer.'

The eager little voices swiftly gathered ‘round.
'To have a throne and my own crown,' said a little voice with delight. 
'A great palace for my home,' cried another, 'or a castle with tall ramparts.'
'I’d be above all others,' said yet another, 'that would surely ease one’s comparing mind;'
'And best of all, to be revered by everyone and through all time!'   

'Don’t fool yourselves with thrones and crowns,' said a little voice from the side,
'Do not haste into a choice you may regret for all your life!
I’d rather risk oblivion and even want, but be free to choose my fate,
What is precious life for but to discover one’s gift and thirst?
You take that crown and throne, and you forever renounce the greatest prize you own!'

There were no volunteers at hand for that grand, distinguished life.
The once lively little voices now stood silent, with cautious glances in their eyes.
Yet they began to move a little, but not to volunteer their fates; 
Someone was slowly coming forward all the way from far behind. 
Soon, one single little voice stood ahead of all the others, and with a thoughtful stare, it spoke:

'I overheard a story once
Of a vast and balmy river 
That braves across cold, stormy seas
So it can meet a fabled shore
And become one with it.

'Wearied from its long voyage, 
It crashes beneath the sheer cliffs.
And as its froth caresses the jagged rocks,
It echoes the green, velvety meadows above
Which gently cuddle the harsh precipice. 

'The wee, babe-in-arms coming king 
Will hold that fabled shore in him.
For he, though one sole man
Will stand for an entire land.
And in choosing this destiny
Of that fabled shore I also shall be,
For it will be a part of me, 
And I, humbly, of it.

'And then, there is the brave lad who in sheer fright,
Gathered all his nerve and leaped into the dark night
Over the unknown enemy’s laird.
Oh, how I would leap into the dark along with thee!
Though he is now long gone, he will live in me,
And I, humbly, in him.

'And the family who huddled deep beneath the ground
Through the terrifying shudder of the enemy’s raging rounds. 
Then, to rise again, and not concede.
I was in that shelter along with them,
And so were a million others who were yet to be!

'Such as the young boy now walking to school on a quiet country lane,
To learn his Scott, his Shakespeare, his Milton, and his Keats.
I will follow him close behind, and my own feet shall grow within his footprints.
It takes no less than each of them to make a king, 
And not more than lacking one to lessen him.
For a king, though one sole self, stands for all, 
And all do stand for him.

'I know that in choosing this path, 
I’ll forever relinquish command of my compass, 
And may never find out what I could’ve become on my own, 
Or what my true talent may be.
I will follow, instead, a course that has long been set,
By others, and not by me.

'But I have a strong hunch 
That if I don’t put myself first,
Or what I feel I’m entitled to do and to have,
And choose, instead, to be fair, as best as I possibly can, 
To those for whom I’ll be honored to stand,
I’ll eventually know who I really am; 
And will meet, one day, the man I am meant to become.'

'Thus, I volunteer 
To be the child who’s one day to be king.'

A newborn day blazed in the distance,
And a transformation was about to take place, 
As momentous as the invasion of spring,
The rising of the harvest, or a mighty winter gale.
Nearly two thousand babies were coming to life on that land, 
From that land, to that land, for that land, 
And a single one amongst them exalted all. 

Half a world away, a vast and balmy river 
Was setting out on its long voyage to a fabled shore,
And nearby, radiant sunlight battled gray, stormy clouds,
So as to break through and paint in brilliant and broad brushstrokes
The lofty Highlands below,
And thus, be reborn as shimmering glens and moors.

Copyright © Sergio Silveira | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Taoi Chanan | Details

la la di dah dah la

Earth dwelling mongeese are neither toys nor coins and pedalling backwards then forward is not considered the primary way of jet propulsion off a very high hill. So one two ping means fried rice coming? How long for? Will it rest a while? On a sofa or a couch? It is not particular. When passing trade tickles the fancy if the local gentry then sentries can be posted at doors. And savouring a little bit of currant pie is a fantastic idea in an afternoon soiree. Quite pleasurable really. Resolution reaching radiuses rather radically. How observant is a door frame. How sectioned are the audio reactive wave arches? A temple in a bean burger and a pistol in a frilly night gown. Oooh look a diamante leaf tiarap bending and freeing captured twigs. How rather nice and polite it is. Framework fashioned fixated first fleeces found foundations. And the tail arch from a tailrace is very very very quick and versatile too. Mingle with the moons in a bowl of white leaf soup. And dip feet into puddles to correct erosions of toes. Then upon rising chanting to windows can often display a timely workout in a garden gym. Pushing plants. Wearing weeds. Standing soils. All whilst wearing a Bhatia hat of fine distinction. But to ascertain whether the verb flies south is to organise a noun in a pleasure dome. Not fun. Not good or useful. In fact it is quite unnecessary. In an era measuring two minutes it is wise to be a bee than a mildew. And a tidal force can operate the machinery. So never rely on the symbolic codes on a screen. Point now. Go on point. It is the point that places the cuckoo clock. On the hour song. On the hour chime. Spare not a dime nor a pound for a disturbed crocodile face on a yacht. Travelling. In a pair of white shorts and shirts. Pristine. Cleaned daily. Ha ha said the passing whale. It would be great to knock into the boat and spill the red drink over the oversized frames of those greedy obnoxious humans. They sail around whilst people on the ground over there forage for fodder on the floor like ants. Such fun. Then whale glides away. Monotony does not sit well with whales you see. And a flurry in a hurry is a passing shoal. Ants attempting a backflip to entertain should be stripped and whipped and put in front of the high queen. Then doomed to a life underground removing faeces from carnage brought by the open dwellers. Link not a laughter. And heel clicking is best performed upside-down in the artic circle in a thunderstorm. Plaintiffs plainly play political polo politely and the zoo opens the doors to the wilds for the flood arrives when temperatures dip. The incessant chatting from the thermometer changes and argues with the satellite dish. Woof said the dog in a garden bake sprawled. By a small square empty pool. With a crack. Boil no brow said a fountain in the town. It is here I stand proud. Although I was erected upon ancient graves. I do not care for that. I am delicate and handsomely carved. Curators cheat chickens chatting charging chimes chopped. And the wide angled dish of tomatoes can be located at the west of the supermarket. Ding dong. Eastern smell and a drafty curtain bringing spices unto the streets. Wow. Generalistic genocide gearing gaining goblets. And a wide tooth or pincer works best in the snow than a tongue. Please do be aware that when an eel dons snow boots it is time for the skiing competitions. Worldwide. Of course worldwide. No country is ever omitted in a nature contest. And nowhere to be seen is the mangled mish mashed heaps of fortified blaming brigades. Duel duality daring deviations during denominations. And joining in wisdom spanning decades appropriately. Tailoring hop of a seven foot cloud. Grinning angelic and demonic orchestrations of a circular formation dancing. Whirling. Wow. Fantastic isn't it. Free souls of men. Radius of watery eyes weaving. Hahahaha bookings boy bootjack boots. Hahahahahahah wisdom whirlpool xxxxxxx coniferous clambering clam xxxxx deforestation destitution z

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Shaila Touchton | Details

Jesus Christ A Perfect Sacrifice

Jesus is the word of God, through him all things are made
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, 
And the Word was God
The Word became flesh and dwelt among us
So that we could behold God's glory
He came to the world to love us and deliver us from all sins
God was revealed visibly through Jesus Christ

He is holy, blameless, pure, set apart from sinners, exalted above the heavens
He redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us
He shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners
The sacrifice of animals could never take away our sins
Jesus offered the perfect sacrifice for the sins of the world


Jesus received blasphemous false accusations from the world
He was denied, abandoned, mocked, was arrested and bound.
He was rejected by his own hometown and was asked deceitful questions.
He was ridiculed by his own family members, he was blindfolded, beaten
Struck with blows, was arrested, wounded, bruised unaccompanied by his accusers
He was falsely charged, chastised, endured stripes, oppressed, led to the slaughter
Cut off from the land of the living, he was abused by the roman soldiers
He was scourged, put on a crown of thorns on his head, a reed in His right hand
Struck Him on the head with the reed
The soldiers striped him and divided His garments, nailed on the cross
He bore his own cross and was crucified.
The chief priests with the scribes mocked and sneered at him

Jesus paid a debt of sin that He did not owe
We owed a debt of sin that we could not pay
Jesus came to serve, to take away the sins of many people
He willingly paid the ultimate sacrifice for the sins of the world
Our sins had to be paid with Jesus blood
Without shedding of His blood there is no remission of sins
He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows
He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities
He died on the cross as our perfect, unblemished, unspotted substitute
Who did not suffer for his own sins, but for the sins of others
Like a lamb that is led to the slaughter
He is the perfect Lamb without spot and without blemish
He is The Lamb of God who took away the sins of the world


He made a peace between God and man through His death.
To reconcile to Himself all things, 
Whether things on earth or things in heaven
Through His blood shed on the cross
We have been made holy through his one perfect sacrifice
We are saved and redeemed by His blood
Our sins are forgiven and we are justified through His blood
We have eternal life, communion and fellowship with God
Through His blood
He who follows Him shall not walk in darkness, 
But have the light of life
For He is the way, the truth, and the light
The resurrection and the life
He is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever
He is the one who baptized with the Holy Spirit

Jesus is our advocate, our comforter
He is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation
He sent us ANOTHER comforter which is Holy Spirit
Lord Jesus Christ is the comforting Holy Spirit
And we must not grieve the Holy Spirit of God
For we are sealed unto the day of redemption.
For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form
But laid aside his mighty power and glory, 
Taking the disguise of a slave and becoming like men
God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, 
Seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles
Believed on in the world, received up into glory
He was manifested to take away our sins
And in him there is no sin
For Jesus Christ is in the Father and the Father in him
The Holy Spirit is the spirit of God which is the spirit of Jesus Christ
For Father and Jesus are One
And Salvation is found only in Jesus Christ.

Copyright © Shaila Touchton | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Taoi Chanan | Details

bring brring telephone calling

'BRRRING BRRRING' said the telephone

“Oh hello” said the wide viewfinder to the telephone. “How are you today?” The telephone fell silent. Very silent. It had no battery with which to call, speak, shout or do anything that much really. Batteries could be bought. But bum batteries break. And so it often is not worth the finances really. A big vibrational shudder from the telephone. It so wished it could enter the era of before. And just have wires. Now the vibrational shudder could only be received by some vertical air currents. Hardly worth the pain and anguish of inserted wires and loops and hoops. And placement in rows upon rows upon rows of bleeping beeping green lights that glowed brightly upon displays. Bring the fashionable ones to the front then. The trends. The taught. The told. Oh how very annihilating then. 
Wires can be eaten and chewed away though. Thought the rabbit. Hopping behind the back of the sofa. Delighting at the view. HA! He thought. Then boinged away. Nowadays though there was no such view. And as an older rabbit he had told all of the bunnies about the fun to be had cutting the humans off from their technology. They all knew that technology would progress but simply would not have the same prowess as eating over 796 carrots over an acre of a farmer's field. Or building a warren. Many rooms. Many chambers. Inner. Internally. And that was a feat wasn't it?
And so spoke the spokes from the trivet. Private though. Wouldn't want all warm pans to know and acknowledge all that was true. And so all was painted over and over again until all was left heavily swamped by so many layers that the true and righteous was left misunderstood and disregarded by the mass layers. Chewing on a chomp then. But a bar in a march is an armed marching display of many many acrid acreages of apple stained woe. And so it was such a day that the hare stood, the pinnacle pentacle prawn chased the sceptre shrimp. And not much fate was to be made out of the array of ingredients left to make a cake. Catalogue that then. Go on. It would be amazing now wouldn't it? 
How to bellow is often instructed in great rows. Lengths. Widths. But not heights. For heights are neither hefty heaping halogen herons having humorous humus and neither are they heaving hippopotami. Ok then. Fold then. Go on fold. Folding is a pleasant past time particularly at the weekend for the serviettes must be kept in nice neat orderly bundles then to be utilised as wiping instruments. Then just thrown away. Away. Simple is not a simpleton it is a shroud of a shark. And that's great isn't it? 
Ten biking buffaloes meat twenty motorcycling bugs and add to the balms but the balm from a palm is neither a tree nor a hand anyway so never ski in a semi corroded pan formed from the lightest sprays of steel stems. 
Laughter is the epitome of a phenomenon but not a psychic, poltergeist, or a polyester photogenic pea. The psychoanalytical potato only weaves once during a high wind. It makes a coat. A layered coat. No lacquer required for a halo hairdo. 
8
9
10
Not a timed idea.
Oh dear!
Z Colepiocephale Z 
And a huge diagonal diamond X at forty seven grown ups giving nineteen turnips a present and a curry at the birthday of vegetables.
8 9 0 Z X
peanut hat on a whirlwind ship shapes sinks, bathrooms and fashionable quantities of antiquities.
Now then
100 % queued on doormats.
X

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Taoi Chanan | Details

Baha ok

A synchronised swan chime is very pleasant in a cool breeze but sampling an electric blanket supper is just not that amazing. Nor is it justifiable in a spring turreted garden. Gardeners grabbing gates greedily getting geraniums. And general gnome stands up to fish. Oh great. Sheer divine luxury in a field of a bed. Beetroots should be avoided at all costs less they should have talons and talons are takers and takers are tyrannical tyrant types who typically talk in a stripe. So pit on a lilac coloured long tall dress and kiss the buds from the growth. Undergrowth spots a curl in a divinatory weave. Oh woven ones please rise to assist the mud who is baking in an incorrect pattern. Circular chant of effortless cloud clapping. Release no dog to a disco bowl. And cease to chin a chin in a china cup. Wow. Noodles niggling. Giggling. Wiggling. But no worm. Clouds of patterned miscellaneous information swings north south and east in a fabric turret of inner mind. How rather acrobatic. Wow. Wield no weapon of a teaspoon for the trays will become very upset and cry. It is the contemporary contemplation of a benign fruit tree standing in the middle of a busy road. How loud the traffic flow. How hard the concrete claves. Always put the paintings in a point. To create shields. Now waltz in a semi circle and sing sha la la la to a very large bird with an ample bust. Wise wishing waiting wanton womanly whisk. And a printed floral avenue of curses. Should be rather entertaining and remarkable really to underpin an underworld to gain insight and access albeit briefly, to a televised monstrosity of noise emblems. Seas of ice cream served. Countries are clapping. But no caps. No capped interest, deficit or percent. And no taxable income ever really moves in a room so don't put papers in a heaped conical format. Rather like a radio. Rather like a fusion of fishes. Swirling. In riots worldwide. Police no hockey boards. And clasp no metal orifice either. Translate transaxle twice transferring the taco's tracking trailers. Mystic sin bin. Wow. Now put on a very smart hat and smile. Interesting isn't it? And fat jackals on drums can never be trusted with any drawing pins. Ever. So ever decreasing circles reach the plasma beta waves of the patio where is the fountain. There are some doors here. Sages and magi and other religious deities are here. Knock then. Go on knock. Here is Alteron. He is dressed in a long garment. With a flowing white beard. Quite ornate really. Hello alteron. How are you after all these years? Tha k you for the waters from your fountain which have replenished. And now i can see into the flames. The water. The ground. And the sky. Aerodynamics of atmospherical aura then. That bull is writing nonsense. And that mongoose is travelling the wrong way down the waters. How very rude of it. So now is to see and to see is not to shove, shunt or brake. Nor is it to bake a loaf of bread whilst carrying a jug of jiggling wine. Bayaha bang bang bang. But no boom. And no bookshelf looking at the carpets. Hahaaa many a teapot leap from a high shelf. Haha no drawing room draws. Xxxxx horticultural z. And that was the latest news from the p Y Q REPORTING ON THE APPROPRIATE MOTORWAY xxx z. Z.

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Taoi Chanan | Details

Inspired by a lint cloth

Ten slices of pure marmalade plus two years of misted Karmapa bread equals? Oh do hurry up. The sum is easy. Oh ok then try another. Twelve custard tarts divided by an in between feathered door divider plus a couch multiplied by a coupon? Well now. That is a layered lacquered lump. I simply do not have the time nor the inclination to wait for your answer. I am currently very very very busy lining up stones, petals, forks, gables, turrets and toes of newts. Cables cannot carry cakes and cakes are not carrying creatures. All together now in unison "that is not clever. That is not heather. That is unseen. That is the bean". Bean's breastrokes bring breasts. And a clap tap clap from the swinging cat on the ceiling fan. Grinning. Meow meow meow meow meow and this noise on and on and on to accompany the whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr rrrrrrrrrrr of steady rotating dog like blades. But a dog is fashionable if placed on atmospheric pressure lines. Fathom frog fathom. And gingerly hop to the pad of lily. Lily will greet you with a white space. Like an opened offering. Akin to homemade flourishing flour in a kiln. Rampant rampaging rotundical rhinoceros ringing righteous ringtones reaching realignment reality. Rather radically. Radially. But not a racial race. And a portrayal of a thirty three dimensional cuckoo clock can only be drawn when the bird appears. Bursting through then cuckooooo cuckooooooo cuckoooooooooooOoooooooOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOO at least until heard by all attendees at the sports race of Loughborough lounge. Loungers leaking leftovers. And leftovers are sniffed by a six foot monster mongrel. The leftovers get very frightened and run away. Very fast. Small legs more speed. Specification of anti aging devices on little ties which can snap like a dainty crocodile in a summer dress. Tertullian telling tales is a tortilla sunbathing but a totalitarian eating a roast beef sandwich is a bit like an ice cream on toast running over the coastal paths. Spray no wanton mutual multicoloured multipurpose multifunctional multinational mutation musically. And a stripes pyjama wearing drumming ooooo in a jar seeks refuge from hat wearing ringmasters tourists and caged leotards. Baffle no bun on a bus then. For no real complete area of shrinkage is ever sealed in a bap. Cue in the curry acre. Trees of papadum, plants of pork, canopy of chicken, beef birches. The raining in measures denotes strength of spice and slices of skewered shapes of tofu are always offered as a meat alternative. And procurement is a produce of unforeseen diagramming disco dish clothed dumpsters dancing. Whirling. When eighteen equals ten and ten is equivalent to nought. Z Papadopoulos Z at forty six y plus eleven a b cees. Jiggling. Bibliographical in a hexagonal tent. The bee hoon main road in a pair of plimsolls. XXX hahaha xx love you said gibbons to swineherds. Z

Copyright © Taoi Chanan | Year Posted 2017

Long poem by Nina Mindova | Details

Sea impression

                 
                 Wave a sea softened
                  and a pain and a tenderness
                   throw dreams in fascination
                   of the blue.
                   And let shave the waves of
                   Your eternity , oh, weigh
                    above me,
                    oh,weigh a  coast of years.
                    Carry far in azure, spiral
                    ships,
                    with bulging little abdomens,
                    flutter with mahagony pinions
                    and already in vain  expect you
                    to stop the scales harbours 
                    with hot flames for You are
                    open.
                    Far away, far away ,far away,
                    stretched string,
                    heart and frank await the 
                    hymn of June.
                    All sea sisters are dressed in
                    mother-of-pearl garment
                    embroidered of kiss of 
                    eternity. 
                    In the morning hunts them
                    fishermen and revive with
                    breath of their man’s hands.
                    In the evening girls wash 
                    their black tunics,
                    in their blue hearts,
                    their feet white ,who cadge
                    heavy chains.
                    The night is squeezed enigma
                    and ugly,
                    predatory like a bat pecking
                    of scarlet fig.
                    Sea sisters, sea sisters,
                    remember His steps 
                    which go through you noiselessly,
                  and ou swing like
                  bloody wine-
                 hold in His fingers Herod,
                 Pilate washes his hands,
                in Yours heirs
               and they bristled like winter
               icicles bristles of innoncent blood .
               There at Golgotha 
                hearing terrible cry,
                blood gushes like
               wounded river disappear
               like Easter roses,
              in weeds of flushed 
     preditory crowd,
     to open way of
     saving.
     Who is He?
     Do you heard 
     His name ?
     He is Messiah,
     God’s anoited
      Jesus Christ.
      Like little sheeps,
      clouds of candy floss,
      they welcome festivaly.
       Barefooted are feet 
      of lovely swarthy steps
     of the sun, came to bow,
      before You , Creator.
      The sea throws his 
       magnificent silver flesh,
      blue like heavently lace,
       to swallow all stars 
       only Bethlehem’s
      stays inextinguishable,
       pretty like uncreated
      like an apple of not 
      born girl.      

Copyright © Nina Mindova | Year Posted 2012

Long Poems