Long Cliff Poems
Long Cliff Poems. Below are the most popular long Cliff by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cliff poems by poem length and keyword.
"Oh Lord Jesus, Please Help Our Unbelief!
We very commonly and collectively pray
to our beloved Lord and Savior, Jesus
Christ. Knowing that if we ask anything
in the name of our beloved Heavenly
Father, in Jesus' name He will grant our
desperate pleas.
Yet, how many of us, who are God's
special children? Even take the time
to realize that unbelief is a sin against
God, Almighty Creator of the Heaven
and the and Earth! Unbelief is a sin
that blocks us from receiving His
wonderful blessings!
When Jesus Christ walked on the earth
among men, He healed the very least
of them. Jesus of Nazareth also
preformed miracles as well.
But in His own town of Nazareth,
He only performed a few healings!
All because of their unbelief,
they also sought to kill Him by
throwing Him over a cliff! Thus
adding the sin of attempted
murder to their collective sins
of unbelief.
Repeated sins of unbelief not only
lead to us having hardened hearts,
but also to us having stony hearts.
God has a harder time penetrating
hardened hearts. And yet even He
considers our stony hearts impossible
for Him to penetrate!
When that does occur, we need to
humble ourselves and pray to
our Savior, and our Redeemer,
Jesus Christ! Asking Him to remove
our stony hearts and to replace
them with ones of flesh!
Once He does that, He can reach
us and help our collective sins
of unbelief! The more people
pray to have faith, hope, and
trust for Him to answer our
prayers!
It makes Him feel all of our love
and appreciations. Whenever
that happens the windows
of heaven will open wide for
all of us to receive, "showers
of blessings!"
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
December 11, 2020
Findlater Castle overlooks the Moray Firth
In Scotland's north, situated on a quartz perch
Norse named, fyn leitr
The white cliff, for King Alexander
1246 historical note
In the books of the past
Historians quote
Built to deter an attack from the north
From Norway's, King Haakon the IV
Viking marauder, plunderer of Scots
Perishing's of both, after they fought
The Castle that stands
In the year 2009
History in its fading walls
Stand the test of time
To the Mullery family
Who breathed the air
Around the history and memories there
In its Aura, they have shared
" A short poem dedicated to Patrick my colleague
whose daughter was totally taken by their visit to Findlater Castle "
Once again he climbs the hills above the salty bay
and walks along the path through fields where she used to play.
His silver hair and tattered clothes blowing in the wind,
that whispers the name of his sweet darling Carolynn.
He sits upon a rock and looks out to the water,
and once again she comes to him, his precious daughter;
through the ghostly floating mist, he sees her smiling eyes,
those eyes where forever more, his heart and soul reside.
She takes his hand and leads him to the fields of clover;
to that place on the cliff that the old tree grows over;
and he sees the rope tied 'round the bough of that old tree,
and feels the sunshine on his face, hears the humming bees.
His heart begins to pound, like a hammer in his chest,
as she runs with glee towards the overhanging crest;
he tries to stop her, but his feet stay froze to the ground;
he screams to no avail, being deaf she hears no sound.
She laughs and waves goodbye as she grabs the braided rope
and runs with all her might and swings out above the slope
and in that moment, he hears the snapping of the bough,
and he sees her dangling there, high above the brow.
He sees her startled eyes and he hears her helpless cries,
just before she falls on to the rocks below and dies.
He falls to his knees screaming and crawls out to the edge,
and when he looks below, he knows that he too is dead.
And they find him forty years from that fateful day,
Hanging from the old oak tree, where she used to play.
Joy’s like dewdrops on lotus leaf
If you know not life’s subtle brief.
It’s dawn if I open eyes,
If not, a darkling night,
The wise whose sun would not rise,
There reigns enduring blight
All along, life of buts and if,
Joy’s like dewdrops on lotus leaf.
Life’s echo spreads no far
Like haply chirping birds,
As footsteps on sands are,
As on deathbed last words,
In rivers as if flotsam adrift,
Joy’s like dewdrops on lotus leaf.
Here today or on mountain cliff,
Joy’s mirage, dews on lotus leaf.
___________________
Rhyme |13.02.2025| joy, happiness, mirage
Note: In anapaest metre.
Way back then when I was two,
I couldn't even tie my shoe.
But I could stand up on a chair
to retrieve my teddy bear.
Way back then when I was four,
I'd sneak out the doggie door,
cause the door latch was too high
for such a little guy.
Way back then when I was six,
I could really do some tricks.
I would climb way up in trees
and hang there from my knees.
Way back then when I was eight,
I sure loved to roller skate.
It was always quite a thrill
to go flying down a hill.
Way back then when I was ten,
I for swimming had a yen.
From a cliff beside the falls
I did lots of cannonballs.
When I think of stuff I did
when I was just a kid,
I'm stumped how one so bold
could end up getting old.
January 23, 2016
People will swim murky oceans with man-eating behemoths.
Free climb sheer rock faces in gale-force winds.
Dive headfirst off a cliff into an abyss wearing nothing but plastic wings.
These same people won't go for a walk in the inner city.
They'd rather take a stroll, without caliber, through a lion-infested savanna.
Crawl through deserts and jungles with smirking serpents and panthers.
Ride the green eye of a seventy-foot neck-snapping wave.
We've failed as a society, as a people, as human beings.
We needed to go in for a societal Pap smear long ago.
We ignored the pang in our soul flank for too long.
Now our mojo and soul piss is Coca-Cola colored.
The infection is spreading-now everybody's pissing black.
We needed to take the plastic wings off a long time ago,
Taken a mental inventory of where our hearts are.
Taken a long crawl through the city.
Pluck a weed from the sweet gutter, lick its heat.
Shuck out the smolder before it burns living to the ground.
I choose several cliff top properties close to home, as my gardening clients.
One; during our torrential deluging endless rain year - slipped away. Sea foliage entangled hedge intermingled with quintessential pohutukawa sentinels fell. Leaving an almost infinity pool. A few months after owners
moved, new ones moved in.
empty house with pool
duck tenants enjoy sea views
full circle of life
My next gardening visit, I had a good chuckle. There was a whole pool party of ducks in progress! Brought to mind our Real Estate agents adage:
Location - location - location!!!
location so fine
word spreads flock comes to appraise
this nest surely best
After seeing another post on our neighbourly website was determined to capture my own photo of quacker saga. To my amusement, didn't find the pool party in progress, only 3 quackers standing on edge of pool facing the sea. Making duckerly comments.
chill grey sky and sea
only one invited today
not party weather
It's hard to start over with an open mind when your heart has been bruised shut
It's hard to let myself go into your arms when my eyes have been blackened with regret
But if I've learned anything from the wrinkles of age on my watch it's that living in the hurt causes you to rot
Whereas swimming in the moment allows you to just float and forget
And even if you find yourself swallowing the sad melodies after attempting to walk on water the gratitude of the lesson makes it all worth it
So, this time I'm jumping off the cliff to the beginning not the end
And when I fall, I'll dive into your eyes because watching from your perspective adds to the scenery of us
As I let go without trying to grab the air, I tell myself it's ok to love fast as long as you're not recklessly driving
With the wind massaging me and the conclusion approaching
Learning that a period isn't the last breath as long as I decide to keep breathing
Cheers to a falling because it's better to have fell in love than into a ditch
It's better to free fall with the opportunity to get back up than to stay stuck in bed
Back to the cliff, I'm afraid to jump
I still haven't jumped
Then I see your smile
And fear becomes easy to forget
p.s. the cliff doesn't feel as high holding your hand...
The title has been taken by kind permission of Valsa George’s “Sweet Memories” for which I thank and dedicate my poem to Valsa George for her friendship.
We were lying on the sand,
Listening to the soft murmur
Of short and light cool waves.
Above us, a red octagonal sun umbrella
Gave us the much-desired rest.
Far away a bunch of guillemots
Cross swiftly across the tranquil bay
To rest near a sturdy lighthouse.
Whilst puffins nest in burrows in the cliffs.
My wife noted the activity of birds
As some flew around the lighthouse.
She wanted to go and investigate
But it was too hot to trek up the cliff.
We’ll go at sunset, darling, I coaxed her.
The sea will be purplish red
Whilst boats began their trip home,
Their sails so crimson as the sun begins to set.
So, we packed all into our SUV,
And slowly wound our way
Amongst the thriving fields.
In our small cottage we had some tasty fare
And after a shower returned to bed.
Then that nightfall we returned to the lighthouse.
Oh, what a sight we enjoyed.
Till late at night, we admired the vista.
How happy and elated we were as we headed home.
My culture has been taken away,
I am a result of the government;
my hair dark and long
sometimes I wear it in braids,
I am of an era brought up white.
My life happy and I have been loved,
though, I always knew that I was different
and have a wildness inside of me
that could never be tamed.
(I yearned for something unseen;
in dreams I ride a wild horse
and live in a forest- green.)
In time I was told:
that I was Ojibwe
so I went in search of my roots,
the reason for my vivid dreams.
I recall my first visit to an Ojibwe Culture Center,
where I felt, this is where I belong, with
my people.
I listened to the teachings of the elders
their stories, songs, and the beating drums,
I heard the lessons on morals, values and spirit.
The stepping stones one must follow,
The 7 Grandfather teachings;
the wolf, the raven, the buffalo, the bear,
the beaver, the turtle, and the eagle
and that everything in life is circular, and
the heart is the center;
and after all this I embraced the eagle.
(The eagle flies the highest and is
closest to the creator and sees all
from a great distance, the eagle
is the core to all teachings. The
eagle is love.)
One day, I climbed a high cliff
I stood tall in my doe skin dress,
and my black braids blew in the wind
in my mind drums beat a rhythmic pounding
and the elders sang.
Soon an eagle was hovering above in the azure
and down drifted an eagle feather
into my hands.
This is considered the highest honor
the most sacred gift,
I placed it in my hair- and now I have found
my place in the circle of life and who I am
meant to be.
_________________________
February 10, 2017
Poetry/Narrative/Everything In Life Is Circular
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 874-147-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Native American Lore Contest
sponsor, Frank Herrera
Third Place