Long Chanukah Poems
Long Chanukah Poems. Below are the most popular long Chanukah by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chanukah poems by poem length and keyword.
ONLY TIME.
Many things happen in this mysterious life and the greater part are things we'd not know,
Things shrouded in bleak mysteries that operate in obscurity but amongst men do show.
Trying to decipher these things is tantamount to trying to hold the wind which gives pain;
For every effort put in trying to decipher these encrypted things always proves to be vain.
Therefore, when you in all of your ruminations in trying to understand these things do fail,
Return to your point of peace, knowing that only time would gradually these things unveil.
Everything that happens in this realm of existence has a chosen season for it to be done;
For we exist not in a space of emptiness but are with overwhelming forces under the sun.
Nothing just happens; as a result, certain things play out which are all beyond our control,
And when we think of why they did happen and receive no answers, we're filled with dole.
The endless attempts in trying to unravel all these things make peacelessness your own;
Drop those things and push on with your life; for nothing will unveil them, only time alone.
Sometimes, it feels like the ground underneath you is so infertile, having no fruits to bear,
After all the energy you dissipated in tenacious tilling, and that fills the soul with despair.
Though your hope's fire burns, it's faint because of the unwanted state of things you see,
And though you don't want to give up, you weakly resign to the fate of "what'll be will be."
Consider then that just like it's been set that one year must end for another one to start,
In the same way, know that only time separates you and the things you want to be apart.
When you've tried and failed and are trying and failing, and it's like you're under the dust,
And you sit there in misery, regretting all about your existence and all your hopes are lost.
Life itself is so cruel; to the already devastated, it gives reasons to be hopeless the more,
And the ending stage of the feeling of emptiness would be worse than it was ever before.
Before you fly over that disheartening bar, take out some time to think about all of these,
And you'd find that only time is between your present unrest and the period of your ease.
Like ‘Nevermore’ sketched into water by Salvador Dali
Quickly running a message up a high mast in Mali
Or Michaelangelo his genius wild, cutting a lady less forlorn
With a savior already finished with work and free from scorn
Oddyseus’ raft might have hurried home
Had it not been for the Sirens’ mercurial foam
Everyman distracted, with each passing year
And epoch of pain pouring tear upon tear
Without discerning the rhyme or the reason
Or gaining knowable time season upon season
Always the lure of fruitless eternity insipid
The body and mind empty: blood, bone and lipid
When fools or king’s would rush in where others feared
Bombs fired all round and their people were seared
In jest, a plague of doubt, a feast for Decameron’s clowns
In love, the firing flesh of sin falling down
In war, the rage of the people aimed at shadows’ night
In peace, moments too few to count, the treasure slight
Wherefore the incessant loss and vainglory
From what source the endless folly
With each generation aimless proceeding
And substantial hope forever receding
How this vague sense of emptiness and sorrow
And no real horizon to fill one’s soul tomorrow
Each city above ground falling in on itself
A cascading destruction from the continental shelf [river]
All built upon empty dreams, from false stories past
Or emptied like a dream, when the brain wakes fast
Awake to the shuddering quake of earth below
Or perhaps Earth itself, blowing up in a glow
Just like Rome to fall away at the end of time
to pass the cup, to self-destruct on the vine
From Aeneas came the Trojan horde
Yet he ate his tables instead of fall on his sword
While some chanced Paris instead
Without casting runes or checking their head
To hence or from where it could not matter
On the fat of the lamb each gentile growing fatter
Over the centuries, the meaning of things or remorse
Grew dim and stolid, owning a garden or grooming a horse
With all of the sparkling treasure and treats so kind
None could fathom true nature’s curse, or pay it any mind
‘Twas the night before Christmas and I didn’t care;
I had dozens of latkes I had to prepare.
The menorah was ready, with candles to light,
Waiting there by the window, a wonderful sight.
The presents were wrapped and I lined up the dreidels;
The soup was a’bubble, with floating knaidels.
The applesauce waited to chill in the fridge
In a Chanukah bowl. (Yes, I tasted a smidge.)
The cookies were baked like my grandmother taught,
(So much better than any that anyone bought)
Shaped like candles and dreidels and six-sided stars;
There were plenty to fill cookie platters and jars.
When I suddenly sensed there was something the matter.
I raced to the kitchen – the oil was a’splatter!
For while I was fixing the festive display,
I should have been frying (not quite my forte).
The first batch of latkes was burnt to a crisp
And smoke filled the kitchen (much more than a wisp),
But tying my apron for take number two,
I ditched all the burnt ones and knew what to do.
I lowered the flame and reheated some oil,
Plopping spoonfuls of batter I wouldn’t let spoil.
Then I conjured my childhood and Chanukahs past,
When I had no idea years would fly by so fast.
And I pictured my nana and grandma, as well
As my parents, my grandfathers and Aunt Sydelle
And my brothers and sister and cousins galore
And my uncles and aunts I’ve not mentioned before.
While my latkes were frying, so crispy and gold,
I remembered how Chanukah used to unfold,
When we played with our dreidels and gathered our gelt,
In our family’s embrace and the love we all felt.
So I cooked the new latkes with patience and care,
Knowing that with my kids and my grandkids I’d share
All the pent-up emotions I’ve hidden inside
With a platter of latkes, now perfectly fried.
And to all who will celebrate Chanukah time,
I do hope there’s a lesson for you in this rhyme –
For the very-best feelings our childhoods instill,
Through traditions, our hearts and our bellies will fill.
December 7, 2022
Regardless of how you paint the reason for the season
(or ignore it), I hereby invite you to join me in a call for/wish for/thought for/prayer for/(insert your word here: ____ for)
Peace on Earth and some much-needed GOOD WILL to ALL
women/children/critters/men, etc.
(and maybe even a little compassion for poor old planet earth)
I hope ya got someone to hug and someone to hug ya back.
I sincerely hope that every day finds you with a full kettle
and underwear that doesn’t itch.
Idealists tend to get crucified, blown up, drawn and quartered,
vilified or just plain ignored
but
that doesn’t mean we should give up.
I tend to think poeters are idealists, otherwise, why would we keep believing that tossing eighty zillion poems a day into cyber space would make a difference in the cosmic tilt?
And, even though we spend a whole gob of time
writing about negative things — the woes and foibles of life,
we’re pretty good at saying:
“I’ll read yours, if you read mine,”
...even when we disagree.
I think that’s a pretty decent start toward looking each other in the eye — maybe even shaking hands — or, at the very least, choosing to resist an urge to put salt in someone’s tea just for spite.
There are a lot of ducks in this swamp. Some ducks fly better than others. Some quack louder. Some have more colorful pin feathers. Some are pretty good at stomping grapes so others can drink the wine.
It’d be a pretty boring soup if we didn’t have a few mergansers,
dabblers, gimbsheimers and such... maybe even a few turkeys
...an occasional grebe.
I realize this was one heck of a meander just to say “HAPPY HOLIDAYS!” but hey, I gotta do my part to fill up the cybervoid.
If you’re not into the holiday thang, no biggie. I hope you’re happy too.
There’s a lotta room for words in cyberia, folks, so
write on!
huggadoodlingfritcheroonies
~ john
Form:
In St. Pete
Where there is heat
They will compete
In a game that may not be so sweet
You see there are these knights
Who must fend off the herd and all their fights,
With a forecast for rain many may want to complain
About this holiday week event that has a Pirate name
Since the score has a spread of double digits
It maybe as exciting as shopping for stocking stuffer widgets.
Hope the fan will understand for the player this is their final exam
Offense, defense they will all play their part with the hopes of getting a professional football start.
Do not complain in the rain since the players may be in search of fortune and fame
Instead stoke the fire and remember how you were noticed to get your first job hire
For that position that turned into a lifelong mission.
That is what these bowl games are all about
For a collegian athlete to get their name out
If the underdog makes the spread
An ego may get fed,
But if it gets out of hand
Then the favorite will pass this athletic stand
Showing their skills that may get that Sunday check to pay the bills.
If you end up drenched and wet
Do not forget
This little poem and its message’s tone
You see Over on the ship the ghost of Gasperella will sit
Watching the football play out its sporting script
Wondering if the Herd will outsmart the knights
By keeping a winning score in their sights
But for Marshall the call may be to get a job down at the discount clothing store at the mall.
It could be UCF who could come up big
And take home the success of this matinee gig
For what it is worth
It could be competitive in the fourth
And if it is not
Then enjoy the romantic logs which should be burning hot.
It is the holiday season which gives us a reason
To say good luck to all
And we will see both teams back in the fall.
Travels make the mind wise
Wise enough to know
Everywhere you go is change
That comes either fast or slow
The Sun can be an enemy
Or the sun can be a friend
Weather it is in the desert
Or in the cold and wind
The rain goes where it needs
And sometimes strays too long
Watering vegetation, flooding
Thousands of homes
The rain can be an enemy
The rain can be a friend
We cannot make it’s limits
But we can try to defend
Time is sometimes limited
And sometime time is free
But when it comes to Revelation
We don’t know when it will be
Remember time can be your enemy
Or time can be your friend
Don’t play with time and you’ll find
Time will let you be
Wine is always available
But rarely is it free
Wine can change your feeling
And wine can give you sleep
But wine can be an enemy or
Wine can be your friend
Wine can destroy in seconds
And bring a trial to an end
Love can often find us
And makes slaves of the free
Love can also bind us
To the strongest tree
Love can be an enemy
or love can be a friend
The Love of Christ it finds us
and makes us all believe
War can bring us freedom
War can bring us sin
War can make us hero’s
And traitors deep with in
War can be an enemy
War can be a friend
War can bring us liberty
And cripple us while we live
Religion gives us reason
To fight the horrors of sin
We cannot love our brothers
without a god within
But religions can be our enemy
Or religion can be our friend
The cause of war and prejudice
And where hopes and prayers begin
God can give us assurance
That this is not the end
There will always be a something
And on that you can depend
But God can be an enemy
Or God can be a friend
To choose between Heaven or Hell
You have to listen to Him
a newspaper and frost
The winter of 1947 was very cold, the country was
exhausted, the German army that had given employment
to civilians, had surrendered and taken the train home
Mother was not one for sitting still, she secured two newspaper rounds, I was her little helper, so she could keep an eye on me.
In a courtyard, a man sat on the stone steps into his home, he sat very still and had ice on his eyebrows
I called Mother, and she said the man was dead of frost
She left to find a shop with a telephone and, a few people
had phones back then.
The police came, rang the doorbell, and a woman opened
the asked her if she knew this man, she did, it was her husband, he had been drunk, she wouldn't let him in
Well, he is sober, they said and carried him into
a green van that still has military markings on it.
Why didn't they put the man by the fireside
so he could thaw and come back to life?
I asked, my mother.
She said, the man's heart had frozen too and his soul
had left the body
What is a soul, do I have one? I asked
Yes, you have, like when you tell me lies, but insist it is true and when you go to bed, the inner voice tells you
you had lied, if you ignore that voice your heart will
will be hard and you will end up like this dead man
Mother was not a pedagog
We're not a religious household, but Mother said Jesus
was the first outspoken socialist, the priest didn't like him and complained to the Roman consul, who had Jesus put down
The consul's name was Pontious Pilatus they regretted
his decision and when on a skiing holiday in the Swiss Alps threw himself off a cliff
what do I know?
She also said, Santa Claus, was an errand boy for big
business, making us poor, buying what we didn't need.
A Holiday Poem
Mom and I went shopping at the mall
When we got there I saw a tree standing so tall.
I couldn’t believe all the decorations and lights
Decorations and lights that were oh so bright.
A few presents were under the tree
And I saw a small girl sitting on Santa’s knee.
She was telling Santa all of her wishes
A toy kitchen and maybe some play dishes.
As we walked on by I started to think
Does every child get to see Santa’s magical wink?
Are there any other holidays this time of year
Or is it just Christmas that brings families near?
Christmas isn’t just about a plump man with rosy, red cheeks
And gifts under a tree that might say don’t peek.
This day is to honor a baby boy born
A baby that is so loved and very adorned
Mom tried to explain different traditions this way.
You see Chanukah, a Jewish holiday lasts for seven days
A gift is given to each person each day of the week
The Star of David shines brightly for all who seek.
Kawanzaa an African-American holiday is one more
Celebrating a heritage with clothing that’s colorful and so much to adore
A holiday that brings awareness to all
No matter our color we should all stand tall
Don’t forget those who are homeless this night
They cling on to each other ever so tight
They might not have a tree with all the lights
When they look in the sky, stars are twinkling so very bright
Some might not have gifts to give to each other
But think of the love given to your parents, sister and brother
So much is happening during this season
No matter the day you don’t need a reason.
Enjoy all that you have, be it big or small
And Happy Holidays to one and all!!!
By Barbara Poor
such heretics pitched headlong
into fiendish frothing furnace
forcing obeisance toward primitive popular
identified, honored, glorified father figure
expressing devotion re:
decking the halls of the mountain king,
whence boughs of Juniper sprigs contriving wreaths
sanctifying twisted brambles via springling angel dust
(actually cremated remains of malefactors
stripped of habiliments) during bleak winter
unwittingly interweaving nascent (futuristic)
formally codified bona fied religions
unknowingly, tacitly, silently rendering
quintessential premises obliging
layperson to foreswear locally rooted secular treatises
trounced, trumpeted unction voided
wishy washy antithetical blind faith coalescing edicts
over course of time became established
Greco-Roman imposed group think
disallowing cynics,
diametrically emerging fanatics, skeptics
who (if he/she did not recant
recalcitrant reccommended recourse
faced torture amidst throng of madding crowd
as entertainment and forewarning gall
asper those who held steadfast dissimilar views
taught since birth, when citizenry reared
as just a little drummer boy/ girl pipsqueak
taught to stay the course (sans straight and true)
bound without freedom to express contrary aspects
of ways and whyfores, which controlled each green day
and silent night, wherefore unimaginable ogres
lined straying hip cats
eventually ensnared within warpath,
whence law of the land lend scimitar to smite
any mortal man, woman or child with flaming torches
licking the heretical body electric,
while defiant individuals
left to burn into decimated
charcoal blackened, ashen corpse.
Despite being atheist,
with serpent teen eyes,
I would nonetheless bet
Eve fen number guys
named Adam, or gals noel lies
(christened) dollars to donuts
(Dunkin and/or otherwise)
Jesus would be mighty pleased
to know, his surname
linkedin with commercial ties,
no matter, he might not garner rise
zen percentage of profits, no matter spies
infiltrate competition especially if he
unwittingly gets trampled and cries
amidst chaos (think euthanize)
untimely death by madding wise
flash mob crowd source realize
last seconds rushing to snap up
latest jamb door prize
as venders resort to all
manner of (subliminally
manipulative) marketing techniques
to lure patrons, (especially
photo opportunities with
one of the many
"FAKE" donned Santa
Claus), the latter,
who would lionize
their son(s) and/or apprise
daughter(s), subsequently
guaranteeing, nailing crosswise,
and clinching safeguards exercise
immunization against the Grinch
sure fire way to manure er... fertilize
guarantee future generations rise
zing will become avid consumers,
who reverently, obsequiously,
and devoutly idolize
supporting the apostles who revolutionize
creative commercialization to capitalize
nearly every Cyber Monday
occasion to finalize
(all sales) pennies on the dollar,
where merchants feign
going for broke, and capitalize
eulogize, and idealize
the mighty buck staging "FAKE"
news worthy shoppers to burst into tears
crying on command,
and all manner of pathos
pulling ploys nsync king
"shameful guilt" that squares
singled out forevery one to ostracize,
hash-tagged, and demonize
yours truly as Scrooge.