Long Ceremony Poems
Long Ceremony Poems. Below are the most popular long Ceremony by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ceremony poems by poem length and keyword.
the golden fish couple eloped near the sea
finding the singing snail, they told him with glee
could you accompany us for our big day?
I’ll do better than that said the priest snail, Gray.
I will sing all the songs, and I will perform the wedding too.
Are others invited or will it just be you two?
We are having a small ceremony, said the blushing bride.
Her husband to be took her arm, and stood by her side.
But who will give you away? Gray Snail Priest said.
It can’t be my parents, she replied. They are both dead.
I will ask my wife, snail priest told them. Here she comes now.
Their wedding on the beach was an absolute wow!
“Can you feel the soul of an abandoned house,
can you hear the whispering? "
Quote by _Constance La France
Standing before this old, dilapidated house
Memories leap out from the moss-grown crevices of my mind,
Like snakes uncoiling, rather like bees swarming,
Fragmented, scented and sour!
I remember my old maternal uncle,
Who had turned a widower at forty-one,
The presiding deity of a joint family of fourteen.
Most of the time he sprawled in the armchair,
In the enclosed patio of this massive homestead
In the living room was an old grandfather clock
Ticking away like the faint heartbeats
Of that decadent house with crumbling plaster
He had seen heydays with many a ceremony of great fanfare,
When the house used to board all kith and kin
And the granary was full of paddy and tons of black gold.
But as time slowly weakened his torso,
The house too lost its onetime splendor.
His children got scattered far and wide.
They went to hoard fortunes abroad.
But grand uncle refused to move away.
With a shock, one day we heard of his death.
He left the house orphaning it forever.
Now the house remains fragment of an old memory.
Though once I thought I had escaped,
The compulsions of the past,
Now I discern, I am still pinioned by it!
As I stand before this house, my ears perk up,
To hear what it whispers, its one-time glory,
Or its sad deserted state?
I wonder if I can ever enjoy the love and life,
That once so luxuriously bloomed inside!
~ PLACED FIRST~
May.27.2023
Writing Challenge ‘C’ Quotes Poetry Challenge
Sponsor- Constance La France
Fish scale sequin
Burn unit skin
Glittering in the blister
DNA altered by radiations kiss
Chromosomes twisted like transistors
Sunlight falls around the sister
She hums her prayer in the morning dew
In gardens beyond the walls
Where patients cannot crawl
To puff on cigarettes
She walks the realm of the undead
The absent minded
The ones out of body
Floating between the wards
Geriatrics and psychiatry
Pop the pills and pray for peace
Luminal states glowing in the crease
She thinks that is where God might be
She waits with the diva in sequins
Burnt to the shins
Removed of all sins
The priest left hours past
She looks into the poor girls eyes
Waits for any sign
Lightning in the sky
Iris at night
Sleep too bright
But shepherds are rarely seen
In this quiet realm
Where the only sound
Is the beat of the machines
As they pump out the last signal
Total eclipse of the heart
Gone too soon
Never to part
Words recorded on rings
In ceremony
In spring
The world turns on a string
Cosmic and stretched thin
Will they remember
The summer of loves surrender
When the girl who came from the street
Died in the heat
Journalist captures the kiss
Riot in the street
Rue Misericorde
Mercy Street
Emergency needs
Nun closes the eye
Coins for the ferryman
Cross over the river
Cross to the sea
She gives the body to time
She leaves the bedside
The sequins fall to the floor
The diva has been here before
Forty hours in the sun
Eyes burned from the light
She saw it flicker
Saw it fade
Not ready to end the phase
The shift
The drift
The moment at the door
Three times knocking
She tries to see
Who answers the door
Who waits
Who wakes
Who stays
Who suffers the silence of remaining
She waits her turn
Spinning the wheels of fate
Dancing along the periphery
Of destiny
Is she the guide
Or the obstruction
Clear the channel
Empty the cell
This is the moment no one will tell
But she remains
To gather up the dust
When the moment is rust
A friend of mine and Me
Accustomed to things done quickly and without time
Because we're retired
We just attended the marriage of convenience
Of another friend of ours
Who married a married woman
From the Dominican Republic
In the chapel of the Monastery of San Juan (Burgos)
Whose husband was left waiting
At the entrance to the Monastery.
The ceremony was officiated
By a city councilor
Applauded by the small audience
Jumping with joy
The Dominican woman's new husband
Upon receiving the three thousand euros
Of the agreed-upon arrangement
Longing to have a honeymoon with her
Even if only for a little while
And she very happy to be able to obtain
Her residency papers on the spot.
From there, my friend and Me
Because the bride and groom didn't invite us to anything
How stingy!
We went for coffee, a croissant
And, perhaps, a quickie
At the Halo Paris Café
Very close to the Monastery.
There, we were served very kindly
By a Moroccan girl, Jalila from Marrakech
Who, without knowing me at all
Addressed me after serving us
Saying hopefully:
-I see you as virtuous and noble
With a good salary to take care of my mother
Who wants to come see me
And get Spanish citizenship.
I'll give you three thousand euros
If you marry her.
To this I replied:
-That sounds good to me
If I marry her at the same time
With you
That way I can have two glories
That your Allah allows there and here.
She replied disappointed:
-Not that. I don't like sharing the churro (prick)
And you enjoying our toast
Which is blood relatives' and tastes like nothing.
Think about it, and tell me
Another time you come back here.
I told her a little before leaving
Touching her breast without realizing it:
-Jalila, when I'm about to die I'll let you know.
Bring me your mother
So you can give me the three thousand euros
And she can show me her nest of Moroccan falcons
Which will do my soul a lot of good.
I was crying last night because I understood,
Everything that Gordon Aikman said and postulated,
It was mega, a long-awaited viewing, was food,
As I could relate to the things that he had tested.
The BBC did an extremely good and profound job,
Of letting us in on Gordon’s life, condition and disease,
What it means to live every day with MND, no snob,
And the ways that you can help to cure and release.
When he was on his own in his house without a carer,
And wanted to open the curtains, he used his teeth,
But fell out his wheelchair onto the floor, terror,
Was sick, felt death, got his legs twisted underneath.
He said that his disability felt like a job sometimes,
It felt like work ‘cos you had to concentrate so much,
Just on small actions, minute tasks and daily times,
That you felt exhausted by the day’s end, a smutch.
Advocating hard for the cure by medical research,
Gordon’s raised money and made more people aware,
And so tears ran down my cheek as I did silently smirch,
About the Christian’s quest for healing through prayer.
I had too many fights with my parents over James,
I said that god wouldn’t cure him, but he could be helped,
By doctors and by the NHS who would have no stains,
‘Cos they’d give all they could, James would be schlepped.
But my parents insisted on pouring oil on James’s head,
In a healing service at the Faith Mission Bible College,
Where James was laid hands on and a prayer said,
For him to be instantly cured of CF, his suffrage.
A few days before the healing ceremony occurred,
Mum and dad told James that just after the prayer,
He was to look up, say “yes” or “no” for what concurred:
So obviously he said “no” and he still required care.
I couldn’t ever cope with their beliefs or behaviour,
Those feelings and attitudes which so engulf religion,
And so really appreciated Gordon and his endeavour,
And I cherish his spirit so indomitable, a pavilion.
5th January 2016
Graveyard happiness
(A dream)
My fate walks in my mind, he is happy, never mind.
The loneliness of the cemetery is a great wedding
I was in love, my desire was murderous, still that
This cemetery is a world, living the life of old tombs, all that
I see an old crypt, the inscription is old.
More than two hundred years old, death is happy
I just keep walking. I found the purpose of my loneliness
There is a tomb, there is a name, my lost love
New tomb, there are so many flowers, all withered, old
Withered like my life, my living love, hell froze over more
Slowly. The woman (died) who I loved. Her life was saved (happiness)
I killed her, I did. She slowly, slowly died. My witchcraft is her end.
I had to kill her, I had to kill her…
Her life ruined me, destruction
We lost our hope, our life.
It was sweet to see her die.
?It's the end of life
?We never die.
Hell of the cemetery...
... Ceremony of graveyard
Church of hell...
Wedding...
Death celebrates our marriage
... And lives
When you attend a wedding,
You’d expect, one would assume,
That the planning would be geared for friends
Of both the bride and groom.
So it’s always a surprise, that as
The bride or groom’s mom’s friend,
There’d be oh, so many aspects
Of the wedding to commend.
Yes, my close friend’s daughter tied the knot,
The venue a delight,
The ceremony held outdoors,
The chuppah decked in white.
The food was all delicious
And the cocktail hour rocked,
With my favorite deli meats on rye –
Pastrami! I was shocked!
The ceremony was a blend
Of two religions, yet
Both traditions were included
In a magical duet.
The bride and groom were glowing
And the crowd could not help smile
When they joined the band to play the drums
With joy, pizzazz and style.
But the best part was the music,
Which made dancing not a choice,
For the pick of songs got everyone
To boogie and rejoice.
What was really most amazing
Was that all the dance tunes sung
Had familiar lyrics we all knew
From back when we were young.
Yet they spanned the generations
So the friends of groom and bride,
Plus their parents’ friends all hit the floor
With zeal they couldn’t hide.
Even grandkids danced a storm up
And their energy amazed!
Just watching them go on and on
Left some onlookers dazed.
Man, I haven’t had that kind of fun
In ages, which just proves
That the perfect setting helps us all
To bust out all our moves.
Weird, strange, illusion, dream, nonsense; words plenty since ever
To overcome fear, avoid confusion, maintain commonsense or whatever!
But this story of mine is an experience I record as game of nature;
Revisiting it, wondering on the hows and whys over the years as I grew mature.
The answer only he held; the one who wished to live life careless and carefree!
Then one day he sunk in the marsh and died, setting her widowed mother free
As if of all frustrations and reproaches from kin, peers and so many in the locality!
A good soul he had met once who admonished him, patiently
And left him in some good hands who could guide him start anew.
He tried to change but at his own time, as of what was in future he had no clue.
What thoughts in mind and what visions froze in eyes closing to death? One phone call to the good soul after a year; as if from other realm, a message.
His name he left, saying to tell that good soul he had called; was it a presage?
That good soul ready ever to help called a friend who related to him in melancholy;
That very morning, he had been to the boy’s one year after death ceremony!
The good soul sat in shock; he didn't even know about his death a year back.
In trance he walked to his fiancée's house; over night he talked to her about him, in flashback!
(I wrote a short story on this. Based on true experience in 1993, some months before my wedding. It was during the “Pitra Paksh” (Fete des morts in Hindi) – here we are actually in this period which ends on 1st oct 2016. The boy met my fiancé, a youth worker, who had some words with him and his family. He never met him again. Among Hindus the final after death ceremony is performed after one year of death and it is believed that the soul, if not departed earlier, has to after the last and final ceremony)
The board of operations
Has taken actions
Against members
Of Faction 5: this leading
To the Board of Directors
To take action against them.
Both sides have sought
Representation from outside
Sources. These actions come
From the Parent Company's
Reenstatment of Quelsey Utmoss
The operation manager of
The United Independent Wrestling Council
Who dually serves as Department Operations
President of the World Association of Wrestling
Who are members of the World Wrestling Corporation.
The issue is that upon reveiw of Areana sales
And merchandising, the Independent affiliate
Outsold the parent company, and members of the affiliate company wish to have more representation in operation managment, the President of the company made a descion to have both a operation board and a board of directors, both with oversight by a five member committee, two members of the Rasslin Union who have no voting rights unless
The two are in disagreement well and the vote was split even two/two while the presiding member was on vacation, he refused to make a descion abroad and heldup the doings until he returned to American soil. This gave the two opposition members to do as they pleased that until the presiding member returned. In a span of seven days they reconized an independent World Champion, signed six big contracts, and held a ceremony asking defunct companies to sell them there used titles, they took twenty titles and used a Trophy Cup to symbolize their Union, and called the Title The Independent World Champion and used language that
Put interest to aspiring members of the company. The signed contracts in the middle of the ring on nation wide television
And one of the announcers said, let the company jerks say this never happened. They were dancing hugging and kissing, and acting like they were pirates taking over a ship.
The harvest moon appears behind the hill
In purest enchantment like so foretold,
As her radiant tassels glimmer still
Like embroidered lace of russet and gold.
From whispering of the ambient breeze,
A nightscape etches autumn’s moss and fir
Through lucent bowers of glorious trees;
Where dragonflies and owls reel on, astir.
How bold the prism of a cycle’s ray
While September’s moonrise adorns the earth;
Igniting bright pageantry on display
With holy graces from nature’s rebirth.
Till majesty of lit sparkle descends;
And once more evenings’ ceremony ends.
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For John Hamilton's Your best rhyming poem-2
Posted 8.28.2016 Resubmitted 2.3.2017
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