Long Clarion Poems
Long Clarion Poems. Below are the most popular long Clarion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Clarion poems by poem length and keyword.
Mr. President, Mr. Vice President, Americans, and the world:
In the crucible of revolution, our forefathers etched their pledge—
a bold testament inscribed not solely in ink,
but in the quiet, relentless pulse of divine dependence.
It is as if the ink itself carried whispers
of a celestial covenant,
affirming divine Providence
into the very marrow of liberty.
Yet, as time past,
present battles won,
and future problems solved,
liberty's nation absolved themselves
from any responsibility
to the Providence from whose
sovereign ties
freed them from foreign foes.
And man's purpose became his own.
Hear this
If our purpose is in just us,
we will find we have lost ourselves,
encased in the cells of just-ice.
For if our forefathers found it requisite
to declare our nation's independence by
recognizing their dependence on the
"Laws of Nature and Nature's God"
beyond the limits of
mankind's powerful facade,
facading the source of
our country's origin,
our homeland's dominion,
foraging a jurisdiction of humanity alone,
thereby ascending mortality's throne
above the divine --
making mankind superior to the
"Supreme judge of the world,"
a position our forefather's forbade
"appealing... [In] rectitude...of [their] intentions"
to a God they believed in,
a declaration sovereignty -
bowed in solemnity,
proclaiming “with a firm reliance on the
protection of divine Providence,"
a dependence on a God they
entrusted their dependence to.
Who are we to say any different?
What difference does it make
if we believe in God or ourselves?
As the good word says,
"Shall the axe boast itself against him
that heweth therewith? or shall the saw
magnify itself against him that shaketh it?
As if the rod should shake itself against
them that lift it up, or as if the staff
should lift up itself, as if it were no wood."
For Godhood is to create,
and man was created by God.
And should man boast himself beyond
Him who spawned ages beyond ages,
he shall find himself his brother's pawn,
despondent, disheartened and disappointed,
foraging for the framework
of freedom our forefathers foraged,
overwhelmed by the damage
of a fallen nation who failed
to hear the caution within
the clarion calls of its creator.
This is a warning
from neighbor to neighbor.
(Just who are the most self-righteous people on earth?)
When God created Adam and designed the fall,
To reveal Christ's glorious salvation call.
Self-righteousness, then came into play,
To plague mankind in a wicked way.
Sadly, by nature we tend to be,
Righteous in our own works, you see.
The christian struggles most every day,
To keep his self-righteousness at bay.
But, the most self-righteous man on earth;
The one most permeated with its curse,
Is the atheist in whom we find,
Through the perversion of his mind,
An evil heart that readily condemns
All who dare disagree with him.
The beam is there , yet he sees it not,
But, 'oh the mote, it's in clear eyeshot.
From his cocksure "pulpit" above,
He promises to bring utopia and love.
He delights in questioning God, too see,
If he can set God at his knee,
Even to replace Him on His throne,
There to self-righteously rule alone.
He's been this way since the day of Cain.
The atheist, as God, will proclaim,
To be the righteous judge for all,
Obeisance to him is his clarion call.
The tyrant appears in manmade splendor,
Declaring there is no god but Caesar.
And given a little time, he'll appear again,
And we see the rise of Joseph Stalin.
Don't be fooled by this false hope,
That man in his own wisdom can cope,
With the ills lifes struggle brings,
Into our mortal transition scene.
The "seeming" right way to man, at best,
Becomes the wrong way leading to death.
As the battle royal turns out to be,
The war between my flesh and me.
Because the great danger exists,
In our deep-seated self-righteousness.
Unlike the atheist, we pray every day,
That God's Holy Word light our way.
But, the atheist will have none of this;
No matter how much "man made" pain exists,
From his self-righteous attempt to be,
The righteous judge for you and me.
With this "revealed" knowledge we should find,
Not hate, but love of a Godly kind,
For our adversary the atheist, you see,
But for God's grace, thats what we'd be.
1Cor.2:14 "the natural man recieveth not"...
Rom.8:7 " the carnal mind is enmity--neither can he know"....
John 6:44 "no man can....
John6:29 "this is the work of God, that ye believe"....
Lionel
We are hours into the mountain riverway, the current unfriendly to us
paddling earlier had simply strained the men to burning exhaustion,
those who have the shoulder strength are paddling the two larger canoes
while the other six vessels are being pulled along in the side shadows with elk skin rope,
their feet and ankles paying the price,
an incredible sight is rapidly, dramatically coming towards us,
two hundred yards from where the river bends
an unmanned horse is galloping in our direction
with a confident craze in it's agility as it stomps through the rocky mud shore to the left,
running like a messenger of madness, reckless and unstoppable in passion,
a white, grey spotted horse, mane long, white and smoking in the wind,
it has already run past my canoe 50 yards off shore
but Sheild's canoe, being pulled very close to it's path
and McNeal has gotten a rope to lasso this animal,
in trying to claim it they have only sped the horse's instincts
McNeal nearly trampled, has gotten a face full of rock water for his effort,
that beauty is long gone, but everyone saw the sign,
the hip of the horse had a skull, and crossbones of rifles painted in black,
suffice it to say our hearts are humpin hot!
down here where we are predictable targets confined to the river's warpath
in order to saddle up on the upcoming banks some of our men must remain exposed
everyone else has rifles lead ready and hugged, telescopes spying space,
Clark and I kneeling with plank boards for armor, rifles in hand
Sacagawea standing inbetween us at the nose of our trespassing vessel
breasts uncovered, her son Jean in her arms swaddled in a U.S. flag
repeating a Shoshone lyric of peace, her clarion voice of sincere spirit
echoing through the mountain passes like an angel of sapphire wisdom
in this methodical moment of cautious maneuver
I realize that I love her,
I love her like eyes love color,
she is so above the ordinary, so forbidden to me,
we must clarify to the unseen onlookers that we are no warparty
but that we are no laundry squaws either,
20 minutes later we find a suitable shore line and disembark swiftly,
there be no indication of Indians, no presence of hostility,
J.A.B.
Preacher E. Lye
He wears his white collar backwards
Piggy attenuated pagan wives’ tale
say the trigger Finger Man
has snake eyes in the back of his head
Got a gravelly-low, porcupine voice
that is cobra flatline prairie legendary
Using a lethal eighteen-wheel
hydraulic tongue roadkill,
he sermonizes with casket authority
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
The last person who asked
what happened to the missing retina,
got buried
in an unmarked, dry gulch ravine pocket
Preacher E. Lye low rides
with malevolent, maverick posse power
Mister Pus Papal Evil Eye
walks double cross with uno orbital pallbearer pride ...
Hanging eulogy twine ties
from the BP church steeple belfry tower
His barrel jaw revolving lies
keep his baron territory on a fear cower
Terrified bottomless pit cries
of the weak townspeople reign hope sour
Preacher E. Lye loves to spew verbal caustic speech:
Potassium hydroxide vows
fire hot lead, full of lung roulette chambers emptied
Mister Pulpit Evil Eye, on the sulfuric snide,
preach yellow-belly worms give-it-up or die:
Collection plate extortion on the cactus side
E. coli talks with snow collar pestilent pride
Black Plague canon cloaked in blue gunsmoke attire,
Chesterfield veiled threats
got the long gun branding irons set in brimstone fire
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Bottomless pit bull preacher,
bullet lung blasting pie-in-the-sky,
got his casino hands deep in pew pockets
Lupus leper lip E. Lye
tear sow scorpion alibis,
thru his planted posse of doppelganger sons
Wil E. coyote clan cries —
dirt devils on a slithering bandito desert run
Preacher E. Lye got one good eye,
and a black patch over his hollow socket
Preacher E. Lye blows a dust tide
with malevolent, cougar bloody paw grit
Red Barren hope
flows down a cemetery canyon
White flag mope
leaves nary grave task undone
Blue metal smoke
is Preacher E. Lye’s kill clarion
Preacher E. Lye stalks the widows
with his condor one eye
Devour their body-and-soul vittles,
then bury their dead cry
Written: December 27, 2024 For Contest Sponsored by: Hilo Poet
_________________________________
At dawn of a place cocooned once in avarice
silver-haired savvy savor sweetness
serene symphony of silliness...
Each echo is adorned
in mirrors of moments whilom
Still, the illness remains a threat
Silhouettes shaped by streetlight gloom.
Luigi Mangione delivers an arcane calix
crestfallen at awe-in junction of cathartic pain,
mark of jeopardy, spirits who stumbled
amid intricate twists of a complex web
where wellness waltzs whimsically as demon
sibylline, errorless, and suave
flimsy fusion of flux and mellifluous maunder.
Let us linger in lurched odds of yeender,
covenant, of concept, and courtesy
firm freedom fetching fairness for all.
seeking serenity in the scripts of statutes.
Yet we wonder, wrapped in a
whirlwind of wearying red tape
frailty of fitness, a puzzling paradox
where reviews reverberate as an epiphany
as doctors and designs decide the merit
yesterday's valiant victors,
confront morrow's troubling disregard.
Oh, the convoluted challenges of continuing!
a clock clicks constantly in the foreground
each tick teases the transience of time
whilst systems swirl swiftly shift and shape
to the tempo of transition, a thrum of turmoil
In a society that shuns, or selects to shun,
figures featuring fervent faces, fates at stake.
We stand strong, side by side, in such a struggle
amid a wave of apathy and regulations
the price of wellness is presented plainly
a burden of broad-based break bears our back
yet, we discover dynamism in togetherness
a steadfast strength of souls have survived storms
in chuckles of cherished seniors, once more liberated.
As we ascend from the abyssal katabatic,
let us linger on the lessons learned
a frailty of life, a grace of guardianship
and let Luigi’s manifesto heard an odyssey
a clarion call for a fairer future
where the weak are warmly welcomed
and the whispers of a wretched world
weave a wondrous wave of wellness.
1am: The clock strikes like bolts of lightning as my brain rapidly
fires neurons creating a torturous play field in my tired mind.
Pangs of loneliness hit me like a full speed train.
My bed feels emptier than the Sahara, colder than Antarctica.
Sleep evades me at this hour.
2am: I am nestling in my bed, tossing and turning, longing for
a restful sleep.
Calmness of impassioned night haunts me in my awakeness.
Wild fantasies flow through my mind provoking my sensuality
as i slide bare legs against the sheets.
I curl my arms under the pillow like apostrophes to imitate
an epic fail pillow talk with my thoughts.
Mulling over love; aching and craving for romance.
My fabric rustles, tugging onto the heat on my nude skin
as my body starves of slumber sweet.
3am: I am my own philosopher.
Taking twisted turns with life’s ironies and experiences.
A late night’s discontent filled with mind blowing debates,
trick questions, mumblings, pointless gibbers and quizzes.
Drifting in and out of the blank, endless room –displaying
sights and seeking answers.
Staring at the ceiling in the vertigo of the night.
Watching the steady accusations of the clock, and the
long gaze of the wall judging and mocking me.
I am plagued by the nagging thoughts, past recollections
roam the noisy streets of my mind.
Sleep still enervates me.
4am: My eyelids remain agape, my mind is agitated but my
soul accepts the enthralling path of uninterrupted
consciousness.
Time drips like a leaking bathtub faucet –flooding my
mind and reminding me of my sleep debt.
Bored, i rummage through my archives trying to dust
off yesterday’s verses and fading rhythms- editing
memories and reciting old poems as the world snores.
5am: The galling sound of my alarm summons my day’s routine
like a clarion call for duty.
My night’s sleep was a failed marathon and i must join the
awakening world with a stone face.
Damn Insomnia!
A change is coming here!
It will be announced when.
As of this moment, dear!
It's a chance for you to stop
being frightened by all the
leftist pens!
So make space, come out of
your closets, I implore you.
Plenty of blood was lost for you,
years ago.
So you would be free to express
yourself.
By a Creator who created and
loves you.
There is space for all sides.
Who listen and who love.
But you do nothing by hiding
your truth.
Don't be part of a dark sky,
Where there is no sun!
Do not soupmail me with
answers that lively spark.
Please stop hiding here in
your closet, Conservative,
Let go your idealogical sparks!
True, most poets favor the
leftist ideal.
Nothing wrong with that, but
time to hear both sides, for once
and for real.
No Conservative should be
shaking in their boots.
Let it all hang out, have a real hoot!
Stop cowtowing to liberalism!
Your heart is not in it, makes for a
patriotic soul schism.
Stand up openly in Open post for the
babies that will be killed.
Otherwise, you are nothing but a
Conservative shill.
We can all be friends, whether Left
or Right.
It has always been so in America.
Time to take on deadly forces of
Big Tech and fight!
Both sides will lose, if all our freedom
is gone.
All you will hear is goose steps and
propaganda's malicious song.
Stop being a chicken, saying
you will write of nothing political.
We have the power of the pen....
Its very real and hardly mythical.
Perhaps it's because we never lived
in a big war on our land?
I know many who look down
on a war...
Don't you get it?
Hitler or his cruel henchman
would now rule many lands!
Hitler demanded obedience
from all.
Do not let it become today's
clarion call.
We need not all be thinking like
twins.
If you keep your pen quiet,
nobody wins!
Comments to a poem like this
may be absent or few.
But I care for liberty?
What about you?
3/20/2021
~2~
Gone I am..sure as the sea rolls over the bones of the deep
Gone is Tikvah, gone is hope, gone as so many Jewish brides
from history in the guises placed upon them by gentiles.
All who chose to remember at all, name me Typkia Friedberg..
Ah but, Hershel, my dear, was merely from the town of Friedberg.
Third class we were, entertainers not what either parents
had wanted for their kinderlekhs, there darling children.
When the warning horns sounded, we were entertaining the others.
Hershel with the wee piano on his back, and I
dancing and playing around him in a whirl of skirts.
The room was packed, the clink of beer mugs and laughter
All stilled slowly in disbelief as a clarion call of horn filled the room.
Eyes moments before full of life now haunted the space,
knowing not the way upward, out of the hidey-hole nest of the lower decks.
As the crowd surged from the room, hopelessly, we retreated
hand in hand yet we were torn apart.
Hershel fell and the crowds surged over him, crushing him piano and all
to the carpeted floor of the hall, mere steps from the stairwell.
He screamed for me to run. Eyes, hands, feet, knees elbows
no hope, no hope at all of any movement but upward with the throng.
Up one level I made it, clothes in tatters, scratched and bleeding
and then I too fell, under the boot heels of passengers.
I do not rest beside my Hershel, yet with my last breath, I cried
“Mother, mother you will never met him now.”
My dear, my heart, for before the Titanic ever sunk, we died.
*It has been said there was a newly married couple
the woman called Typkia Friedberg aboard the Titanic
but her name does not appear nor her husbands in the records.
Survivors spoke of the couple and the woman family from Chicago.
I do not believe the names are correct for Typkia is not a name
not a Jewish name but a word meaning journal, diary and Freidberg
is the town where the pianos for the Titanic were made.
Tikvah is a Jewish woman's name and means Hope.
Hershel means deer.
Words on a page, sounds, Mother's calling
soft tones rose from leather tomes sweetly,
through rouged lips they tumble with love.
Lullabies call through the coldest of nights
as frost haloes about the curls, open-hearted,
eager, a child of contested love’s joining.
What would this chimera become now joined.
Oh what would be the result of this clarion call?
Angels wonder at the blend of unformed heart,
as words of Our Fathers resound so sweet
for the thrice kissed lips of child and overbearing night.
May all who come from the light delight in love.
May the child addressed bring comfort, bring love,
grow in service to the higher good and join
the wholesome hearts who warm the darkest night,
for bringing comfort, kindness, and caring is a calling,
which teaches every opened soul of sweetness
and heals the aching angry sores of forlorn hearts.
With words of joy, and a voice full of heart
let her hands touch, and sooth, each pain lovingly,
with the like-minded teachers and nurses sweetening
the balm smoothed upon the brow of man, enjoined
to heed the call, the ancient ever-present call
of majesty in morning and peaceful rest at night.
Each life presents its morning and ends in eternal night.
Each soul stores fonts of happiness and heartache.
Conception buds and blooms, sending out a clarion call
enjoining all who have the healing gift to garner love.
Gentle ones, who plant the seeds, tend the hearts join…
be the humble gardeners of the meek and sweet.
What task could be richer or path sweeter
than that of those who doctor, and nurse, and warm night?
Tender hearts and helping hands come together, join…
in the higher consciousness of he’s and she’s heartfelt.
Raise the banner; fly the unifying flag of healing love,
make this your onward path the Way, the Red Road your calling.
For what is sweeter day or night for each are joined,
heartily we love and live to heed these fine callings.
Men are now women and women are now men?
People have no more sense, than a rooster or a hen.
People blowing up fatter like parade balloons?
Then, we can float in trash dumps that once
were beautiful lagoons?
We no longer believe in God or His resurrection.
Just destroying the Constitution and condoning violent insurrections?
Dead bodies no longer bother us at all.
We hearken only to Fauci’s syringe shooting calls.
We were lied to, and told us the vaccine boosters work.
My friends who got them, got ill, some died, no
thanks to Fauci, that infamous jerk!
Of course, many are those with no vaccine who stayed well.
And baby embryos used in my blood are akin to my
burning in hell.
Suddenly, there’s polio! Please give me a break!
Stop~I have more brains than either a hen or a snake!
Monkeypox is a now a new STD, a must for pharmaceutical millions?
Don’t you clearly, obviously see, you are not a papillon!
The zany addicted mask freaks are out to scare us all!
They carry the clarion call to join their ghoulish ball.
I cannot bring back my loved ones from the dead.
They believed the lies the WHO and the CDC erroneously said.
And what’s with the spreading just plain fear in comments “Are you alright?”
As if the newest Covid monster were about to kill and alight?
This is Poetry Soup, not Fear Soup, or am I wrong?
“Isn’t life great”, is a happier comment than joining the fear throng.
Joy, love, family and honoring God,
Will give us courage to live, not shuddering,to be buried, beneath the sod.
We will be told to stay away from the elderly, too?
I took one picture of my grandson through the window, and I knew that was nonsense, I would never, never do!
I only state the things I see going on here.
The claws of madness, by a disease called FEAR!
7/28/2022
~2~