Long Begotten Poems
Long Begotten Poems. Below are the most popular long Begotten by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Begotten poems by poem length and keyword.
straw strewned
to be eaten by as
s as well as sheep
but the chambermaid
at the manger made
a broom for which to
sweep and so
did she as it came
to pass that all that
bustle went but didn't last
subsiding as the magi
returned back from
whence they came so
they came and went
following no star to
take them home
as alone each
did ponder
but never wondered
after their wander
but Balthazar did
a bit for what
would a kid
do with
more myrrh
then he could
burn in a lifetime
but preferred not
to think about
it too much
so such
thoughts
we're forgotten
and lo the begotten
son not shone but
showed the doll
he was given in
the stall so simply
woven from left
over non eaten
by cloven feet
beasts that
that token
would take
him to the
knowing
of that
which
exists
but
has
been
left
in the
choosen
Form:
"Why not try living your life for an audience of one?" Gordon Robertson
"Why not try living your life for an audience of one?"
Instead of living to please yourself, why not try
living your life trying please Jesus Christ?
God's only begotten Son.
Instead of going your own way and getting lost
along the way? Why not turning your own
life around completely upside down?
If you are drowning your sorrows,
and/or puffing them up in smoke?
It is because by yourself you can
not cope. You can not survive all by
yourself and on your own. At
least if you the only one to lose is you.
If you want to fly like an eagle without
angels wings? And climbing a mountain
which is way too high. Finding out
much too late you can not fly.
Why let yourself become undone?
When all you have to do is call upon
the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.
All those who call upon the name of the
Lord shall be saved. Call upon the
name of the Lord while he still is
near. Call upon the name of the Lord
while you still are able to to. Come
tomorrow it may be much too late
for you!
You have no guarantee of living
more than one day at a time.
Why waste another minute of your life?
When Jesus Christ is knocking at
your hearts door!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
May 23, 2020
In the corner there...
Under the defused lights,
With spectral highlight’s here,
There, they float near and afar.
An apple sits in its technicolor glory,
It's not fully red or crimson or scarlet
Greens of sage and emerald
Dances in its hues,
Corruption is setting in as time passes
under these searing spots
as rot comes like a little death
spreading to the rest,
The rust of fruits oranges,
nectarines, bundles are of berries,
sliced in aromatic spice,
bloody droplets of cherry’s puddle,
next to a crystal chalice
of fine facets and filigrees
cut to trap light, to express
spectrums of color glitter and refract,
Standing starkly next
to the draped sacred rosary
and the sweet-fruited flesh.
Dust comes to rest
A raven of stately lorn,
blue on to black night into
nocturnal feathers bore
eyes deep as ink wells so black, onyx
dipping into hues blue in the reflect.
A haunting vestige that knows breath, nevermore!
Amidst the abstract, crowded
silent room linger
Still, stranger odd ornate objects gather...
from oblivion's shores.
A compass of intricate design,
sextons of aged patina brass,
Crack mirrors and mercury glass.
Mechanisms fine-tuned for sailors
to chart uncharted seas where “there be dragons”.
Deep, driven is the shaft of daggers hilted blade
Casts its long crucifixes shadow
Here on books of quaint and forgot lore
Tomes of cryptic grimoires,
archaic mysteries, ill-begotten biographies,
Black Bibles of some unknown deity...
Or leather-bound abominations
found in the depths of god-forsaken tombs.
Stacked like sand blown Persian Ziggurats.
To were a white horror stares
bleached bone and hollowed sockets glare
it grins sinisterly but it's harmless if you dare
But why would you care
Around this still life of oddities
Things found a life lived out fast
Hallmarks of someone long
forgotten history left in this corner
under these lights for someone
to render in all details
of its fading glories
Life is still at last.
Many people have asked this question
evidence they want to prove their point
if God can't be seen well he can't be
such futility man's mind out of joint
Let's look at this scientifically
mankind atoms made of such
God is spirit so cannot be seen
but is everywhere not to touch
Now logically it's quite plain
think of a fish in it's big ocean
it doesn't see anything just water
so is God He's not just a notion
Jesus spoke on a famous occasion
promising blessing to purest heart
the greatest gift able to see God
now such glory in no small part
This pure heart enlightened to wonder
that God should love whosoever
scriptural canon declares it is so
believingly see God be His receiver
(' Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.' Matthew 5: 8 (KJV)
'Who is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of every creature:' Colossians 1: 15(KJV)
'No man hath seen God at any time, the only begotten Son, which is in the bosom of the Father, he hath declared him.' John 1: 18 (KJV)
'No man hath seen God at any time. If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us.' )1 John 4: 12 (KJV)
Half flesh, half steel, sinews and twined wire,
Begotten in the heat of half-love, tempered
By hatred and the axe, fathered by one
Who killed her mother, the male chauvinist boar
Whose eye-teeth, razor-sharp, saw through the spine,
Joy-sword in sheath. Wrought iron, blood vessels,
Bone and cable, one part conceived, the other forged
On the hard anvil where gusts of blood are seed
Of all the axeman most does fear – cast iron woman
With stanchions for a trunk, iron breastplate,
A malleable black heart, a metallic chastity belt
No man may boast of stealing and still live,
Who beats men at their own battle games,
A dab hand with the axe herself, as salty tears
And globules of mercury exude from grey glands
Beauty was crying by the roadside,
I halted and lowered my load
joining all sitting by her side.
“Why are you crying, Beauty?
I forgot how to smile, please do,
So I can smile too, oh, Beauty?”
Yet, she didn’t raise her face
Nor the tears ceased to fall,
risking dust with a wet trace:
“Tell me what those tears mean,
I forgot how to dream, please do,
Dream so I can have a new dream?”
She still cried and refused to talk,
I felt something was begotten
as I stood and continued to walk.
Then I looked under a rainbow,
And found you copying the stars,
Fingertips sprinkled by their glow.
Tears started to fall, tears of glee
And I also lowered my head to cry:
Beauty like you is so rare to see…
Form:
“Conquering Xanadu’s enigmatic beauty is heaven’s majestic reality of God’s presence.” By the poet
Call me Xanadu---
“an idyllic, exotic
or luxurious place.”
Considered was I as the
Summer capital in 1274-1364
of the Mongol Empire.
Claiming for prominence
famous was I was then for
my palaces, gardens and waterways.
Creating muse for poetry
I represent a condition of mystery
splendid luxury, and easy living.
Carving an essence against enigmatic thought
my perspective delights in my being
a paradise, offering hope and peace.
Come to me as I point you to heaven* of biblical reality
such is abode of God with His grace, mercy and love
beyond the blue for beauteous worship-praise.
Crystal clear is its radiance of holiness’ rays
surpassing my glowing magnificence
since in Heaven, with faith's reality, Christ reigns.
*1Peter 1:3-5 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, To an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, Who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
April 30, 2023
1st place, "Writing Challenge - Words with 'X'" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 5/3/2023.
In a cupboard, silent skeletons sleep
Where darkness holds its secrets, buried deep,
Their shape unseen, yet ever close at hand,
That any time may burst across the land.
A quiet hum, a stillness in the air,
A spectral chill, that the winds can lay bare,
But carried through wings of time, strong and true,
Mysteries that very few ever knew.
The sands of time may slowly slip away,
But the secrets stand still, through passing days,
A stark riddle, etched in darkness of night
Of journeys made, from dawn to fading light.
No whispered word, no sigh of pain or glee,
Just jumbled echoes, indistinct and free,
A testament of tall bills begotten,
Beneath the gaze of the unblinking sun.
The hollow gaze, where once bright eyes did gleam,
Now holds the fragments of a waking dream,
The cupboard`s key declared lost, with no sign,
A silent story, sincerely sublime.
The rhythm of the mind, a reflective sound,
No longer works, where wizard can be found.
Yet life's own pulse, in memory remains,
Through flowing currents, in the subtle grains.
A stoic stance before the coming storm,
A dead silence, to keep the spirit warm,
For though the surprises stink over time
Their essence rests hidden, without a chime.
At long last the cat gets out of the bag
With the dwelling changing under new flag,
Bursting open of the cupboard with force,
Revealing tons of debt burden at source.
One cannot but gaze at the skeletons
As the damage left after a cyclone
And thereafter think of ways to redress
The legated dwelling left in distress.
The simple truth is a lovely facade
May hide an interior that is flawed
And one need to think deep and wide to scan
The space before the future one can plan.
"With each wave of anguish that crashes over me,
I find myself drowning in my own tears." ~ by poet
I walked through the rusted gates and entered a godforsaken plot of land. A family cemetery on top of the hill near the River Strand. A chilled mist was beginning to blanket the grave of the only man I'd ever loved... the one whose arms around me, I still crave. Grief-stricken, I rest my head on his tombstone, mournful tears spill from my eyes as I agonize with heartbreak. Life for me has lost its spark. I live each day in a twilight haze that melds into the dark.
through the rusted gates
death's breath clings upon the mist~
woe begotten hill
Ancient oaks are draped with moss. Their branches resemble arms hanging low over the graveyard as if they are ghostly specters. I think of them as my love's protectors, silently watching over him. The sky is darkening, and I hear myself groaning in sorrow. It's time to walk back through the rusted gates, but first I'll wipe away the spider's gossamer silk across his name as my heart grieves.
beneath oaken limbs
bodies rest in hallowed ground~
silence is daunting
"In Jesus' Name" is not a magic phrase
Many need to hold their tongue and behave
God the Father gave his Only Begotten Son
The name of Jesus is the name of redemption and
It is the productive life of Jesus and his mission that
Got us back to the Father
The Name of Jesus must be used in accordance with his mission
And not with ours
Many prayers are not answered because
It is not in accordance with His Mission
In Jesus' name does not guarantee anything
We must bring ourselves to understand that
We should pray in alignment with what Jesus stood for
We should pray in alignment with the mission he was sent
Which was to bring people closer to OUR HEAVENLY FATHER
"In Jesus' Name" is not a magic phrase
Many need to hold their tongue and behave
God the Father gave his Only Begotten Son
Mark Frank
Copyright 2025