Long Choir Poems
Long Choir Poems. Below are the most popular long Choir by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Choir poems by poem length and keyword.
I dreamed
walking up a hill
with an empty bucket to fill
a lake on my right stood still
I climbed higher to see
what the sparkling
on the summit might be.
By a lake limpid and clean
a man all in white stood still
eager I approached to draw
that liquid light from the sea.
The man all in white said “No,
your bucket is too dirty to draw
go down to the lake to clean
your bucket before you can fill.”
The light on the mountain grew dim
thunder shook the hill
frozen by fear I stood still
till the man in white said to me.
“Ask my child, if you will
downhill will I accompany thee.”
“You know everything, but at Thy will
I will ask it of Thee”.
Walking alone downhill,
as He vanished taking my fear
a choir of angels heard I sing
in melody unveiling to me
the meaning of the bucket to clean:
Cleanse me o Lord
Make me worthy to draw
The water of salvation
From the fountain of life
My God.
First Place Winner: Brian Strand-All Yours-1/26/21
Snow is falling from the sky
Tears fill up some happy eyes
Flowers color the whiteness
That sparkle in the brightness
A trail of rose petals
Lead from outside to a hall
Christmas breezes fill a room
Waiting for a bride and groom
Flower girls looking so sweet
Pretty shoes upon their feet
Little boys holding the rings
As the choir starts to sing
Bridesmaids in long lacy gowns
You can hear the brides heart pound
The best man is doing his best
To calm the groom in his new vest
A hushed silence fills the air
The brides march is what you hear
As doors open and you see
A gorgeous gown and the beauty
Of a bride that can not wait
To be wife--it will be great
A preacher saying the I Do's
No objections from the pews
Rings are placed softly with care
Kissing lips and happy cheers
A Christmas wedding that will be
The greatest one in history
Full of joy and lots of love
Snow falling from up above
As angels bless this happy union
Of a couple always swooning
11/7/2013
John you are a world full of passion and music
A lovable romantic,
A musical song bird who sings in the choir
A preacher who is knowledgeable of the Bible
A warm hearted Christian soul
Who is the passionate writer you all know
A friendly, brotherly type with a sympathic ear
One brother, two sisters and a mother who is dear
Someone who has seen the hard part of life
Someone who has faced adversity and came out just right
Someone who I am proud to call my friend
Someone who was willing to try and make a difference
So song bird, my special buddy to you I salute.
(For the contest I chose my buddy John Loving iii)
Kindled my soul at the time of my birth.
It feeds my craving for the boundless,
superior joys of desiring to be soulless.
Owing to the breadth-widening death.
Like it drew the moth to the fire spot,
Your heart will no longer be the same.
The zeal blazed deep within my frame.
Being your goal is all I desire in my heart.
Similar to how a fire burns logs of wood.
It turned each log into a heap of dust.
If life across you falls apart, hold trust.
Adding soul light to fire as a lover should.
She swayed to the rhythm of her drum.
Drumming swings penetrated the darkness.
Fireflies lit the way with a sharp blackness.
I'm baffled; what drives you to clean scum?
Sharp fangs tear your soul aside eating fire.
Embrace those who support your view in dark.
I quietly beg for red flowers and a sheer stark.
You are aware that I grant you light and choir.
Your eyes shine brightly in the sunlight.
Your presence brightens my every day.
Your inner fire inspired me in every way.
Not even a single tear escapes my sight.
Cast light on the radiant hunger of life,
increase with each brilliant dawn beam
and soothe during the night's quiet gleam.
Where every day creates various strife.
Your best mate is your spunky soul fire.
Seeing love in your eyes quenches the carrier.
I pray that your soul sets fire to every barrier.
It aims to foster a mindset over your pyre.
My skin is on fire from the pain of a needle.
as if a comet is hurling toward the sun.
The soul's shells burn, fall, and hold a ton.
I understood how life and death wheedle.
Will we all perish in the raging fire?
Restore our spirits and release us.
Water was enabled to stoke the glory.
Without wings, you are stuck in a dire.
Hopes were burned by fire-spawned smoke.
It faded from vibrant light, fearful of wrath.
Should it be uprooted if it strikes a scathe?
Will wiping the slate or leaving it to invoke?
Written: December 10, 2022
In the abyss of a heavy silence, I feel like an anchor weighing down dreams,
And the world seems an atlas that no longer knows how to bend me towards heights.
I call tenderly for shadows that can permeate me, a sublime rebirth,
To pour into me a new life, transfigured, with meanings finely woven in time's girth.
I create connections, carving in dawn and twilight, gems of colored light,
A string of pearls gracefully fallen from the necklace of eternity;
My words are archipelagos isolating the heart, without shackling it tight,
And it's a love that deeply refuses any dusk, calling for endless unity.
That smile stretching arches of stars across my darkened night,
Every unseen promise that soaks my desire to drink from the day's blue might.
A murmur, a chant, a hush of an echo to revitalize me
When the world crumbles, and my smile is lonesome, a shield for tranquility.
Her laughter, a choir of light flickering in the night of my troubled soul,
A gentle caress I encounter unbeknownst, a blessing in disguise, whole.
That voice, a balm emanating from the core of silence, the breeze that softly strokes,
In this somber setting that surrounds me, as the world distills its venomous pokes.
Seeking that embrace, an inner sun that never sets,
Even when it's absent from my outstretched palm, scorching my retinas.
A whisper rearranging the pieces of my inner universe,
A peace rediscovered, a hesitant step on the path to a potential Eden diverse.
And still I run, choosing to flee from the peace after which my soul roamed,
Refusing the smooth bed where angels lay me down, but my blood is not homed.
When love is welfare and illusion, it’s not left for fate to disperse,
And what is true doesn't subtract from my essence, if it’s destined to immerse.
A sign, a line on palms, or an accidental fate betwixt unanswered queries?
How can a fragment of the unknown become the center of existence in a world of flurries?
I hope only it does not fade, does not become a phantom whisked by the evening breeze stealth,
Sometimes it's a grace to know, other times, the cosmos decides to slide into the heart of loss's wealth.
I have no idea why I joined the choir.
What possessed me to jump on such a limb?
No idea why I even qualified.
I couldn't sing a tune then; nor can I now.
My first shot at singing started in high school.
No idea why I even qualified.
Singing tenor, I travelled with our choir as we
competed against other schools in our state.
No idea why I even qualified.
So shy and withdrawn; yet I jumped to the opportunity.
And then, several years later, I joined our church choir.
No idea why I even qualified.
I don't know why I thought about it today, as my wife
and I were chatting and snacking at the kitchen table.
No idea why I even qualified.
It was a rather pleasant 55 year recall; and some mysteries go forever unresolved, and this might just be one of them.
No idea why I even qualified.
071621PS
Hands clench stuck in a culinary trench with no French
Devotion can’t bench sensory commotion a saucy wench
Emotions wrench if no whiff on the breeze of cheese stench
Potions & notions quench..ocean lotions tastebuds drench
For a foodie bouillebaisse with timeless grace like Judi Dench
No dodgy Brigitte Bardot politics or slick card tricks of tarot
Go for Gallic garlic gall.. all will enthrall when in Gaul..Escargot
Choir of desire ce soir more beurre.. pot au feu.. boudin noir
The star steak au poivre or oeuvre as they make fresh tartare
Mussel frites hustle.. boozy bustle.. shellfish tussle of a bistro
Cassoulet with pomme puree then creme brulee classics spar
Foie gras a mardi gras or bizarre faux pas in brasserie bazaar
Pastry crew Michelin route could be choux or tasty en croute
Never hasty flavour douche a louche croquembouche maestro
Pouting fondue goo spouting fountains on mountains outing
Creamy tartiflette or steamy andouillette from piggy toilette
Forget Pret get a better baguette cornichons raclette touting
What’s more francois then petit pois or dreamy dauphinoise
Carbs shouting.. barbs flouting.. baked camembert scouting
No doubting dishes with calories sprouting diets are a routing
For some it’s foodie hell for me Heaven..my true blue belle
Fruit de Mer in that terracotta apparel has me over a barrel
Travel under the spell crustaceans relations you fell.. unravel
Shell fish fresh from saline swell my divine dell in La Rochelle
No askance glance at the chance for your palette to dance
In a trance at how they enchant stuff always buff & enhance
Know in advance their cultural stance.. revolution..the lance
Saw red aristocrats dead off with their head no longer prance
Instead perchance adored smorgasbord hoard vive la France
Tall and willowy she stands
out from all the other women;
her face most expressive
when the choir sings a song.
"Out on the Mira, on warm afternoons..."
her voice blends so easily,
a tone clear and strong.
I glance at her occasionally
noting with pleasure
the pleasure on her face;
singing with others
is her special place.
I stand and sing in the bass section
trying to follow the conductor's direction,
but, admittedly, I am distracted
by the long-legged alto
standing several feet away.
I want to engage with her...
not sure what I'll say.
During a break,
I catch her eye by smiling...
her look is demure
and so beguiling.
I try to be funny,
to "be cool with the lines"
but then I stop myself;
it's best to be genuine.
We converse with small talk,
I see her face brighten;
my own nervousness eases,
I feel my mood lighten.
She says her hands feel cold,
I say mine are quite warm.
I reach out to hold them,
a boyish attempt to charm.
She does not pull them away,
in fact, they relax.
We seem to have
made a connection...perhaps.
My heart jumps,
a feeling deep emerges
so real, so true,
and then I smile and think
"I'd love to fall
in love with you."
Sunday sits unmoved.
The theater pipes on fire.
Restorative proved -
join the next door choir
in heart, soul, mind and strength of eye, O God!
Paired with our pastor.
He wears grief well and joyous,
heav’n’s alabaster.
Suff’ring does not destroy us.
Precious silver and gold stored up, O God!
His Spirit stirs us,
absent of steepled building.
Our faith’s profession,
together as church gilding,
one mediator between man and God.
So close and so far.
Only a quick winded walk.
Peace and calm, on par,
are the church bells of the clock.
Cruise left us scarred. Christ’s balm in hand. Glory!
All is well. The lift,
week away, our friendships keep -
with God there’s no rift.
Insufferable pride, let sleep -
All Knowing grants healing we need. Glory!
9/25/2022
.
Never looking up to see the sky
A "Robin's eggshell" color
Nor noticing or appreciating
The sun's golden hue
As it rose each day
Only seeing, breathing, feeling work~
Labor intensive work~
Capturing each thought
Holding bondage each breath
As each long hot day passed
Turning into years of misery
Early in the morning about the breaking of dawn
"Backed by a choir of ten thousand crickets"
Their voices mixed in with the music "reached up to touch heaven with a song"
Their heads bowed looking at the cotton crop
That held them prisoners for a lifetime
Wondering if, if there was any hope of redemption
Since they were tied to the land in bondage to scrape out a livin'
What is the rest of the story for it is unfinished 'til this day
"Closer" by Chris Aechtner
"Robin's Eggshell"
"Cotton Pickin' Paradise" by Tim Ryerson
"Backed by a choir of ten thousand crickets"
"Reaching up to touch heaven with a song"
Sponor: Debbie Guzzi
Contest: Referential
I based it somewhat on my parents telling about how they worked as children in the cotton fields, corn patches, gardens, etc. Then they left the farm and went to the cotton mills and some of the descendence from these two families rose above the poverty of both places..There was one doctor, one Lt. Colonel in the Coast Guard, and many more occupations scattered thorough out families that came from that poverty situation..