Long Bunyan Poems
Long Bunyan Poems. Below are the most popular long Bunyan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bunyan poems by poem length and keyword.
There are scanty men of tasty rhyme.
Shakespeare is dead and Marlow has gone with time,
Tennyson is under the soil and Holmes is no more;
Bunyan will never live again, and where is Poe?
I miss the verse of Nahum Tate,
A man stolen by the tides of fate.
I wish I could behold the mien of Coleridge,
Or see Longfellow musing upon a lonely bridge!
Now the uncoursed apprentices of this superior art
Have been left to dash hither and thither,
Knowing not which word to choose,
Chasing in vain some erratic Muse.
They say that little boats ought to keep the shore
And that larger ones may venture more.
I vote to labor on hot days and lonely nights,
I choose to rob myself of sleep and such basic rights
And attempt to fill these gaping gaps.
I seek no gain on this sorrowful earth,
I labour to earn some mystic mirth
When warmed by the blissful wings of death;
When its vanished the deceitful pride of breath.
Let no man recognize me for my plaintive works
While I'm on this earth of muddy murks!
Last call for alcohol, embargo
on the cargo headed for Fargo?
Bootlegging articles of?
"ConfederationNow",
Boot logger, droned Over all? Foggered... Froggers, sprawled. Farms attacked by competing vows. ++
Blood drained Cows.
Imagine, Gaia hype- our brainwashing, a
sacrifice to a Paul Bunyan Nephilim type, "Savior" moonshining wormwood tea in exchange for Sheep. Believing them to be. Stoned blind in Texas, right wing.
Liquid Media medicinals, points for eveyone West of, Diagonal the Allegheny, best of show, suggestion,
allegiant, allegory. (Oh...allegedly.)
As The King of the North fights zombies that believe the Game of Thrones just fantasy. Conspiracy_ Storytellers of propagandolf, minds of Sauron to keep
eyes Wide-Shut. By Aristocracy.
To "pass" on the proof of those stoned blind in Texas, shekeled, bought, brought a Rose, of Sharon,
from Ticked Karen's, in their own Eden.
Those non-Citizens,
"Christians of the un-Enlightened" l"unacy of Old',
thoughts? NoahmadicHeathens!
Of the tide turning; going South.
The dark side of the moon,
a journey scape of wet dreams in swoon.
To partake the half empty side of drink.
Salt of thirsts.
Cup of wrath of the Directional Winds.
A piracy bloodbath of Nationhood in martyred demarcation zones.
Cusp of swilling blood of the swill,
Apocalyptic feel, fills,
notes of the unveiling of the Whore who Rides the Beast on the Seven Seas. Leviathan is leavened,
rising, ready to eat.
Now, there is censorship on speech on the internet,
then is, when, is then en-Tyrely.
The Gatekeepers at Fallens keep,
keeping freedom, voices "Crying in the Wilderness"',
Peeps out of reach.
Accept for Government (entities) with algorithms, keyloggers, identity id thieves, imagers of the Beast.
Spell binders binding
their articles-of-New-World-Sourcery-Cheaping-Rumpelstiltskin-Seamstitchery-Tailoring-Truth- blinding-digital-mining-slaves for the Wolves,
Kings of the East, Trading Company.
Trading souls for an hour with the Beast.
It's wonderful~how some women's
shoes are delightful and feminine.
Yet women dress more and more
like men each day.
It's very sad in the USA, to watch
femininity quickly pass way.
Why wear pretty underwear inside
while dressing Paul Bunyan on the
outside?
Why get facial waxes, when a beard
and a mustache, matches your mannish
clothes and shoes?
What's the need for Dooney and Burke
expensive purses?
When sweaters your deceased grandpa
would not wear, you flash
with unabashed flair!
What happened to daughters who once
dressed as girls?
All have fallen and been totally destroyed
in a giant, omnivorous jean-factory world.
Why do sons and daughters dress like
fathers?
And why this fetish for masculinity?
And the crushing decimation of our
femininity?
January 24, 2020
11am PST
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing.
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
You were ready.
Age is just a number, you said
grinning broadly like a
little girl repeating a loving fib.
You wanted a protector,
a guardian of devotion.
But I am not your Paul Bunyan,
the mighty timberman in your dreams.
In my twilight, I remember so many
mighty forests burning to cinder.
Frailty disintegrates the will.
Big-strong-protecting-men wilt with age.
They offer their pleading eyes,
longing to be cradled.
Maturity is mortality ticking.
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing,
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
©2010 (Jim Sularz)
Was it by chance or pure circumstance,
that the path I took, led me far out West?
An island hop, a drifting castaway,
with treasured moments, of bygone yesterdays.
Where family, friends, who all grew old,
there, one by one died, as I was told.
Faint northern lights, where Paul Bunyan swings,
I’ll take back from time, my boyhood dreams.
I’ll renew the love, my heart holds high,
and celebrate in life, what remains of time.
I’ll turn back this vessel, that’s been adrift,
to a warm embrace, a last-forgotten kiss.
And when this journey draws near complete,
I’ll feel the soft Earth, cool, beneath my feet.
On that final hour, deep within my soul,
will live a place I once left, I’ll still call – home.
So, bury me high within the hills,
with the purple lilacs and the daffodils.
Where loons wail, and sighing willows weep,
where Hiawatha, rocks us fast asleep.
Hope, a window
in which to see
tomorrow's sunrise.
The door in which
to enter the kingdom
of possibilities.
The balloon floating
over a stygian abyss.
The wheel
in which pregnant dreams
are spun.
The bridge that links
the trying present
to an auspicious future.
The thing
to steadfastly cling to
in the midst
of pessimism;
in the midst
of trials and tribulations.
On his pilgrimage,
Christian clutched to hope
as he traveled...
from the City
of Destruction
to the Celestial City.
Hope was
all that remained
in Pandora's box
When the ills of the world
flew out
with a gale-force wind.
The deus-ex-machina
that swooped down
when sucked into
the vortex
of a catastrophe;
when calamity
roared like thunder.
Hope, Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire (Winner: 5th Place)
Date written and posted: 10/18/2016
A STUNNER 2017 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier (Winner: 2nd Place)
Date written and posted: 10/18/2016
References:
The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan
Pandora's box refers to the container opened by the Greek mythological woman Pandora releasing all the evils of humanity into the world -- Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia
There are scanty men of tasty rhyme.
Shakespeare is dead and Marlow has gone with time,
Tennyson is under the soil and Holmes is no more;
Bunyan will never live again, and where is Poe?
I miss the verse of Nahum Tate,
A man stolen by the tides of fate.
I wish I could behold the mien of Coleridge,
Or see Longfellow musing upon a lonely bridge!
Now the uncoursed apprentices of this superior art
Have been left to dash hither and thither,
Knowing not which word to choose,
Chasing in vain some erratic Muse.
They say that little boats ought to keep the shore
And that larger ones may venture more.
I vote to labor on hot days and lonely nights,
I choose to rob myself of sleep and such basic rights
And attempt to fill these gaping gaps.
I seek no gain on this sorrowful earth,
I labour to earn some mystic mirth
When warmed by the blissful wings of death;
When its vanished the deceitful pride of breath.
Let no man recognize me for my plaintive works
While I'm on this earth of muddy murks!
9/9/17
Don't f*****
Push my buttons
Really, really buzzin
Often high and drunken
Just trying to function
Stand in the way, and your ship will be sunken
No time for interruptions
If it is not about cash, end of discussion
Cold blooded
Leaving others gutted
Especially those that can't be trusted
A bunch of gluttons
And so much corruption
By the hundreds
Not dozens
They've been bluffin'
And frontin'
I wasn't
Really came up from nothin'
Did my own thing, got somethin'
And my name buzzin'
I blame myself for any self-destruction
No time for assumptions
Even after disruptions
And conundrums
Experiments continually conducted
Tools eventually rusted
Volcanoes erupted
Animals got hunted
Areas flooded
What some people just did
Left me disgusted
Which is why they quickly got punished
Since no one else did, I stood up to such rubbish
I was way down in a dungeon
Then clarity, came all of a sudden
Got out of there, and reached the summit
Way above it
With no intention to plummet
Or kick the bucket
While saying "f*** it"
Got strong like Paul Bunyan
Inside and out, no matter the obstruction
No fue mi plan, cuando tomé la pluma
para dedicar la obra que te ofrezco.
[...]
En esta variedad de pareceres,
Y o me encontraba como en un estrecho,
Y pensé: Pues están tan divididos,
Lo imprimiré, y asunto ya resuelto.
Não havia nada elitista ou sofisticado sobre Bunyan, mas havia algo excepcionalmente profundo.
Bunyan mostrou as eternas verdades eternas da Sagrada Escritura - a
milagre da graça redentora e a batalha que todo peregrino deve empreender
antes que ele chegue na Cidade Celestial.
E ele fez isso de uma forma que até mesmo a criança mais simples poderia entender.
Desde a idade de nove anos, meu apreço e minha paixão por as obras de Bunyan, especialmente Pilgrim's Progress cresceram.
Muitas das ilustrações me guiaram minha própria peregrinação. Mas, infelizmente, o que foi um benefício tão grande para mim é apreciado por apenas alguns parentes hoje.
Quem sabe aumentamos com a divulgação do livro.
http://bit.ly/2019_EL_progreso_del_Peregrino_Ilustrado_Espanhol
As I was about to enter the frontier of a forest
I was greeted by a Bunyan tree at the very entrance
It started talking to me in a language audible
That could be wisely deciphered as follows;
“I am a Bunyan tree, full of magic and grace
Nestling among smaller trees in our forest kingdom
From a tiny seed dropped by a bird, I grew
Into immeasurable size with a verdant crown
Now a vast territory is under my domain
I stretch and swing my arms all around
Support my body on a hundred legs
That no storm or gale can uproot me
My leafy arms are curved to the ground
Forming a maze of arches and tangy knots
With an enigmatic darkness hovering
Where birds roost and squirrels run about
When I bear fruits, the feathered folks come in flocks
Green parrots, bulbuls, mynas and crows
Squabbling with each other for my scarlet gems
Leaving me noisy with their mad crescendo
I proudly host these denizens of land and air
Never resisting their obtrusive invasion
I offer them shade and shelter, making them joyful
As they hop about and romance among my branches
I never set any boundaries as I find joy
In exploring and conquering
And into newer and newer realms, I move
With none hindering my encroachment
Sad, when we are grown, men hack us and cut us down
Now my only prayer is that no axe should fall on us
As we trees supply tons of oxygen for man and beast
And without us, life never can thrive or flourish”
____________________________________________
Placed Second
May.19. 2022
Wisdom From Trees Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Anoucheka Gangabissoon