Long Clan Poems
Long Clan Poems. Below are the most popular long Clan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clan poems by poem length and keyword.
September 5 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Matthew 1-4
Key Verse – Matthew 1: 23Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, And they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY EVER-PRESENT EMMANUEL
Lord God, You are my ever-present Emmanuel,
along Your acts, revealed by the Holy Ghost
Thank You for saving me from sins’ condemning host
And still raising me as Your child within Your nurturing post…
Indeed, I honour You that You had me rescued against being eternally lost.
Lord God, You are my ever-present Emmanuel,
along Your wise plan
Thank You for finding me out from false religion’s clan
And still filling me with Your provisions as a blessed woman…
Indeed, I serve You, since it is only by Your power that I can.
Lord God, You are my ever-present Emmanuel,
along Your divine treasures
Thank You for enriching with Your spiritual promise that assures
And still taking me out from wickedness’ pressures…
Indeed, I praise You while I dwell in Your will’s pleasures.
Lord God, You are my ever-present Emmanuel,
along Your Word of biblical preaching
Thank You for enabling me to learn from Your Scriptures’ teaching
And still beseeching me with Your mercies-stretching…
Indeed, I worship You, privileged to involve in Your kingdom’s outreaching.
Lord God, You are my ever-present Emmanuel,
along Your constant goodness
Thank You for purging me from sinfulness
And still sanctifying me as I repent against wickedness…
Indeed, I trust You as I dwell in Your lovingkindness.
Lord God, You are my ever-present Emmanuel,
along Your bountiful compassion
Thank You for setting me toward character-perfection
And still transforming me by Your virtuous restoration…
Indeed, I need You as I live for Your glory with Your provision.
Lord God, You are my ever-present Emmanuel,
along Your Word of fulfilling might
Thank You for refreshing me with Your truth and right
And still strengthening me against weakness-blight…
Indeed, I exalt You, in the soaring of my faith-flight.
September 5, 2023
Ruler of the Cataracts-Maiden of the Mist
The thundering waters of the Niagara.
Voice of the mighty spirits of the water.
The natives believed and yearly sacrificed
a white canoe with fruit and flowers
and a chosen daughter, until the Christians
came and told them Jesus paid. Not until
Lela-Wala, an only child and motherless,
was chosen did the practice subside.
After she dived, her father Chief Eagle
ran out of the woods and followed her.
1/11/2022
HANDSOME LAKE
He was born as Hadawa'ko “Shaking Snow.”
Handsome’s half-brother was Cornplanter.
My heritage from People of the Longhouse —
John married Margaret, a French woman.
She birthed Helen, my great-great-great grandma.
Together they lived on a reservation.
Handsome was born in 1735 in a Seneca village
on the Genesee River into the Turtle Clan —
later he was adopted into the Wolf Clan.
Doubtless my relatives knew of Handsome Lake.
He signed the U.S. treaty with the Six Nations.
1/11/2022
Referenced Wikipedia.com and webwinds.com
Sun declines, beneath the emerald rim
And I'll be headin' home...
to a cottage in the moor lands
with a fire to warm me' bones
The kettle of beans are boilin'
and some coals will bake me scones
I will rest my weary shoulders
And be glad for what I've seen
I've witnessed bracken turn so reddin'
like a wildfire on the mountain
And wee nanny goats on hillsides,
too many now, for countin'
Heather waves in summer breezes...
Granite stones, and bogs of grass,
water gleams like shining glass
and harshness blows for but a reason
to turn around the seasons
Thar' be wavin' sails upon the blue
And leafy shamrocks on the green
Where rugged shores, and seagulls cry,
and pink skies capture me
Friendly folks be bearin' ruddy cheeks,
There's a colleen, fair thee lass
Who will tip our mug at village pub,
And we'll make a toast to Patrick's kin
and order one more glass
Let me always sink me' Irish eyes
upon the rugged land
Upon the skies, upon the streams,
where druid legends live
Upon the grand home of the clan,
where many roots began
Where the ole' pale moon at nightfall,
scatters me memories all a'glowing
Of fair thee rose of old Tralee,
over garden trellis growin'
Charming valleys, greener hillsides,
fill thee heart of all 'me clan
Pick ye' a shamrock.... look for gold,
shake yer' hands with leprechauns
Kiss a Blarney stone in sweet Killarny,
come to all that's home to me
Where names of O'Reily, or McDougal sprung
and the color green began
________________________________________________
The Blue Collar Poet
I am but a poet of simple, rigid mind,
With formal education, where hindsight isn't blind.
Sometimes I look at TRUE poets of education in the lits,
And wonder if it's true or if I'll ever fit.
For I look at other works of art and see that I'm quite plain;
I don't have the background to achieve the glory, fame.
But I am quite popular among my workers on the crew,
For my simple message just shines right on through.
I can speak in riddles, backward, or in rhymes,
But my simply worded message creates the best of times.
They are my blue-collar audience of hardworking men,
Soaking up the poetry as an honest clan.
I hope I've brought a little hope or introverted thought,
Something they can take with them that wasn't even bought.
Sometimes, when it hits with them, it's like water to and fro,
Wetting down the soil and planting seeds to grow.
Sometimes there's a snicker, sometimes there's a laugh,
But when they go quietly, I know they feel my path.
Yes, it's true I wish to master my art,
But the day my crew don't know me by my heart or my pen,
That's the day I wrap it up and truly say amen.
Ama you are a father
Father my father
Whose basket of fishes
Sweetened my mother’s dishes
Whose naked feet danced
The jungle drum you drummed.
I remember
Father I still remember
Those joyous days
When like brooding hens
You employed your hands
To shield the offsprings
Those several bodies
O! the little bodies
That clung to your bare wide chest
Like the eaglets unto their nest!
I remember
The sun-burnt days of the hunted panther
When the full moon-light chimed
The rhythms of jungle drum drummed
Rhyming with the story told
By the white-haired.
Then your roaring march
Along the prime paths of the forest
Then your rustic touch
Touching the weapon-hilt
Making carcasses of beasts
Making fresh clan feasts.
I still remember
The raw feasts of the drummer
Which strewed this universe
Like young Mbari warriors
Taking the spear from several clans
Turning their crowns into tributes!
Ama, you are the drummer
Whose communal tongue echoed
From the hidden chambers of the Niger
The drum of your conquests echoed
Everywhere in the universe
Like the gusto of the Sheik
Confiscating my land from the Sahara
In her eternal desiccation.
You are the royal father
Whose royal eyes woo the moon
Whose black hairs detain the sun
Like Joshua at Gibeon
Even in the deep valleys of Ajalon
Bringing the heavens to abrupt halts
When their course possesses progress.
O, Ama! you are a noble father
And like the gold-laying eagle my Africa
Your natural pocket flowers gold
Which fills the coffers of the household.
O Ama! you are our race
The clan greets her farmer
The tiller of my earth
The earth of the ancients
The ancients of my blood
The blood of my race.
The clan is still drumming
On the drum that now is a mere echo
Of the eternal rhythm of your drum
Ama, you are still our clan’s song;
O, you are my song
The song my jungle
The jungle of my blood
The blood of my race:
A race
Waiting
Now and ever
In a forlorn clan
Awaiting
A return of the drum?
Form:
'Like the silence that screams, cursing solitude...
whispers of faith sing patiently with prayers.'
(Quoted by Regina Mc Intosh)
Hung suspended from hive rafters hexagonal
Leader Lady Ruler Bee gorges imprudent
Heavy duty seeps striped desirous abdominal
Workers hover, rush beneath Queen exuberant
Team enthusiasm pumps a syrup scaffold
Propolis produces massed mission belligerent
Numb buzzing bumblers fumble fated cuckold
Hunger for cohesion, gold body encompass
Busy anonymous paupers, sources unresolved
Eager in sweetness, clan clustered accomplice
Reverently fulfills each gluttonous request
Swift need swords stung in caustic redundance
Plump with pupae, flightless wings flouresced
Polar iceberg cream honey hearts can't ingest
13th January 2021
Written for Contest: Terza Rima Quote
Sponsor: Regina Mc Intosh
Written: November 03, 2023
__________________________________________
Pristine his soul and tamed to the core,
Who was semaphored by a sloping wave?
He escaped the safe harbor of the shore,
And pushed by each coxswain and crave.
God foretells a quaint future for humanity,
The hidden channel for thinking and action.
Beware of fools; this is a hazardous vanity,
He sought sanctuary in the chilly reaction.
Underground stars emerged victorious,
And the ocean served as an awful grave.
He is surely a compassionate star, glorious,
People who pulled the cast first are brave.
Their moorings have above welcoming past,
Ventured out into the sea, lacking a map.
Liberty is the root of every storm and blast,
A span is the breadth of the Earth's sea gap.
And their daily unrest is merely a brief respite,
Mixed with man's untrustworthy spiritual kernel.
Desires lacking a shore, hidden and desperate,
Quite ardent, open to faith or clan air, eternal.
Mr. Cheetah’s wife was yelling “Give him a ticket! Give him a ticket!”
He outraced two pickup trucks and an antelope down in the thicket.
The highway patrolman was on the chase immediately, ready to write.
Hurry! electronic dashboard said. In a second he will be out of sight!
He'll run seventy miles an hour, robotic voice said in a persnickety way.
You’d best give chase in the most enthusiastic, exuberant way!
Highway patrolman, had heard of cheetahs racing, but this was new.
He'd never tried to outrun one in a car, he swore the air black and blue.
Cheetah had now been joined by a friend who gave Zeke the eye.
He wondered how many others in their clan would be running on by.
He put on his siren and made as much noise as he could to stop them.
You had better stop! His wife cautioned her husband. Her face grim.
Cheetah stopped suddenly, and waited for his ticket to be written out.
That the other cheetah had made him do this, Zeke had little doubt.
She was gloating in a way that the patrolman had seen in his own life.
I’ll be snickerpackered, he said to himself. I guess she is his wife!
As if a child should understand an adult’s muddle,
putrid oil slick puddle,
the dreadful pain we foist on wide-eyed offspring.
Robotic elders crush with rigid slabs of Portland censure whatever spark remains in those tiny rosebud cheeks before their prime.
Those innocents should never have to wrap their nascent minds around the wanton desecration of intertidal lakeland wetness gradients,
the callous douse of velvet purple algerita berries,
blighted by the stark timbre cloud forms
that recklessly pour bile on every genus.
The rug rats at our feet may never know the joys of sap-addicted sugar gliding nocturnal possums, whose acrobatic tree to tree mirror ball exploits mock Isaac Newton,
or the kinkajou of tail grip fame who flaunt their tan glow wooly fur coat in broad daylight,
or the dawn to dusk fennec fox, that doughty eagle owl and jackal dodger whose kissing cousin dens pockmark terracotta forests. But not alone in wider worlds are children being deprived.
A heartless milieu also asks our clutch and clan to dwell in
alloy girder mousetraps, those pale decor rat infested tumble downs gouged out by scrimp and scrape rust bucket caterpillars.
Beyond belief we tolerate the nick and hoist elevator,
that pressure cooker transit flight abduction of the harried wage slave parent,
those cotton garment dress code senseless
dragonfly stand-ins that hover in mid air.
There’s every chance we’ll leave our nursling’s ire to future bands of mutant stem cell rockers who are duty bound to sculpture rimshots meshed in suckling chimes,
when validating rawhide rattle chainsaw fret board anthems
at crowd mosher mud fests,
where rivers of apocalyptic visions burst the bank.
If only grown ups listened to that inner vocal quiver that we
may not yet have cast into plastic resin folly for the generations weaned in toxic smoke rooms,
we’d pollinate a luscious fairground acorn dotted garden with childhood zest its one and only buzzword.
A sweet treat gift with natural flavour pending,
eternal life for baby planet daisy chains of tender petal linkage,
who‘d finally experience pure clutter free environments,
an eco world that values new born thirst for natural realms
Before the world’s foundation, God kept me perfectly in His plan
To be born in His year into a loving family of Asian clan.
Nourishing me in His entrusted home to learn multi-tasked roles
The Lord nurtured my heart, midst frailties, toward great goals.
Authoring my faith, the Saviour offered to me secured relationship
He redeemed my soul, assured me blessed eternal blissful partnership.
Sealed with the Holy Spirit, I’m empowered to exalt His name
Building lives, glorifying the Almighty upon His truth’s flame.
Doing my best by His might as steward and soldier in His kingdom’s infantry.
I’m all set, ‘til death, to serve Christ* Who placed me in His ministry.
*Galatians 2:20 I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.
September 30, 2019
3rd place, "Story of My Life in Ten Lines"
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 10/4/2019.