Long Cloven Poems
Long Cloven Poems. Below are the most popular long Cloven by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cloven poems by poem length and keyword.
(As Galileo left the session of the Inquisition
at which he had been forced to deny his own
discovery that the earth orbited the sun, and
had to "admit" that the earth was static, he
murmured, "eppur si muove" ("but it moves").
It's hard to live in Lilliput, I find.
I have to cross my fingers, play their game.
Their billing, filling, drilling daily grind
sits ill with me. They all trot out the same
tired cliches. Passing a painting, never fail
to comment on the squareness of the frame.
Unprofitable, weary, flat and stale.
You can't earn prizes here. These fools prize earning.
No sweets to eat. It's one long dreary tale
of condemnation, disapproval, spurning.
The Sunday supplements determine taste,
all tearing down, forbidding, banning, burning.
They're sealed in heavy metal, concrete-cased
austerity. They put the "die" in "diet".
What will survive of them is nuclear waste.
Denounce, detract, dismiss it and deny it.
Don't look for clover - look for cloven hooves.
Excoriate it, flay it, vilify it.
They'd love to let life lurch along in grooves,
the gauche, perverse, unruly human mind
trapped tidily in aspic. But it moves.
I am as a hammer.' Weilded by God.' Upon the rockface of
False piety.' O're which human blood pours; in great floods.' In power i
Assail it.' With blows of great might.' I am come for this
Epoch..' at this deepest midnight' I assault in this darkness every, twenty four hours.' The smoke from each
Impact echoes' deafening many with raw power.' A stench
Of acridity emmanates and surrounds.' There are shreiks
From the demons.' As they loose un-holy grounds.' I feel the
Tremor of volcanos.' As all humanity.' Starts to see! into; and through the confusion.' That has stood, ages overwhelmingly.'
The bitter taste of demise.'in my stomach now deeply lies'
Yet His words taste 'as sweetest honey' as I aim.! The summit in my eyes' The
Seat of all evil and calumny.' The end draws now apace .' God is readying His
Troops.. soon He will remove; every trace.' Every track
Of inquitys cloven hoof placed.' Every sacrifice to baal; and hate.' By the Word of His
Power we are all destined to our fate.' Lo' He raises an army.! to
Clear away the dark groves mates.' This very hour.! He is active' and all sin will be thrown
Down' when He Himself ( in all His Heavens fully shows) with true! Power echoing around!)
Brainstorming, concentrating
panning... for poem
idea shattered brew
tilly by deafening seasonal
greensward cutting crew
contracted throughout summer to mow
leaves of grass
every Tuesday, which drew
attention toward fragrant aroma
seeping into nostrils
of me - match hew,
heavily negated true
quiescence courtesy ear splitting
soundcloud of driving
mowers even moo
ving bovines would
clap cloven hooves
over soft as lambs wool
sensitive hearing micro corkscrew
innards, viz their spade
shaped audiological
anatomical accouterments -
cow word lee lowing Jew
pitter Io sliver by jove whew
once silence returns
(after cessation rip snorting bedlam)
savoring the hum of nature anew,
and moost likely relish
fresh cut leaves of grass
as I inhale analogous
delectable waft of homebrew
albeit molecules borne aloft
after sharp heavy duty blades
of industrial riding mowers bestrew
higglety pigglety, helter skelter
juicy fruit chlorophyll rich
plants releasing nectar
sweet as honeydew
olfactory imbibing nostalgic view
of yesterday, when agrarian farmsteads
populated landscape picturesquely
anointing, exuding, messaging...
perfuming faint clue
intimating rural lifestyle forebears
hapt tubby privy too,
where deer and antelope played
unaccosted by impending urbanization,
hence such idyllic serene rue
man nation - visage you
would probably concur
as most divine comity
worth more than any buckeroo
could purchase - vestiges vanishing
without a trace adieu
mother nature nowhere found
except caged up within zoo.
As I write my brain whispers
wicked words of doubt
soft as a newborn’s sleepy sigh
the babbling of a bubbling brook
before it suddenly begins to shout
screeching like the ear piercing
feedback from stereo speakers
shrieking shrilly as a hot teapot
booming low as a bass drum
beating in a repetitive rhythm
while horned demons with their
cloven hooves dance madly
amid the cacophony of chaos
chanting a malevolent mantra
of loathing and discontent
wielding daggers of diffidence
they drive deep into my confidence
blood dripping from the blades
the silence of those outside myself
nodding apathetic assent
We've woven Samson's hair, into Emperor's clothes
From the tangled web, that enough of us chose
We try to find our way back, while the drawbridge is closed
As the portcullis crashes on the cry in our throat
If we could but match it, with sincerity's tear
We might fashion a shield, and a mantle to wear
But if we cling to the cloak of the silk that's been woven
By the dance of the golden hooves of the cloven
We'll be trampled under, that stampede of lies
In the gathering storm, as it darkens the skies
It won't echo and thunder, as our epitaph
But a death knell our legend, as history laughs
At the folly of thinking, "We're better than that."
Swept into the dustpan, or under the mat
Placed at the bottom, of a yellowing page
In some forgotten tome... of enlightenment's age
In shadows deep, where darkness weaves its thread,
Sin's whispered lure, a path where mortals tread.
Temptation's fruit, a taste of what's denied,
It's here that Satan's cunning plans reside.
With cloven hooves and fiery eyes ablaze,
The fallen one, in wicked ways, conveys,
Deception's art, the master of the lie,
As Sin and Satan dance beneath the sky.
But Death, a specter cold, an endless night,
It waits for souls, extinguishing the light.
A consequence of choices, paths we choose,
In the cycle, Sin and Death, they're bound to fuse.
For Sin, the spark that sets temptation's fire,
Leads mortals down a treacherous desire.
In Satan's web, they find themselves entwined,
As Death awaits, its victory defined.
Yet in this tale of darkness, do not despair,
For hope can rise, dispelling all despair.
Redemption's light can break Sin's binding chain,
And from this trio's grasp, one can attain.
In life's grand tapestry of joy and strife,
We find the strength to face this endless strife.
For Sin, Satan, Death, they may persist,
But love and faith, in our hearts, exist.
October 14 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Acts 2-3
Key Verse – Acts 2:3-4 And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY DIVINE FIRE
Lord God, You are my divine Fire
through Your might and the Holy Ghost’s filling
Thank You for empowering me with Your indwelling…
Now, I submit to Your confounding amazement, joyously reveling
To stand testifying of Your grace, always ready for revival-fueling.
Lord God, You are my divine Fire
through Your miracles so great indeed
Thank You for delivering me by Your counsels of Scriptural creed…
Now, I rejoice in Your blessings toward sharing breed
To exalt Your name along Your compassion’s performing deed.
Lord God, You are my divine Fire
through Your magnificence shown in Your ascension
Thank You for assuring me of victory by Your redemption-propped crucifixion…
Now, I repent from my sins’ corruption
To claim Your promise of conversion.
Lord God, You are my divine Fire
through Your ministries according to Your Word
Thank You for adding me and my name to Your eternal record…
Now, I continue in Your doctrine along Your truth’s sword
To fight against falsities and confusing discord.
Lord God, You are my divine Fire
through Your mercy of prayer-hearing
Thank You for answering me with Your gracious caring…
Now, I fasten my eyes upon Your guiding stare toward service-gearing
To walk upon Your faith-nurturing and faithfulness-rearing.
Lord God, You are my divine Fire
through Your marvels marked by ready deliverance
Thank You for granting me of my desire for Your blest appearance…
Now, I cast my all to You including my arrogance and ignorance
To please You by faith with Your sustaining assurance.
Lord God, You are my divine Fire
through Your mentoring for my spiritual brace
Thank You for reviving me with Your heavenly replenishing rays
Now, I fulfill my covenant by Your inspiring ways
To keep on being a blessing while I run patiently the Christian race.
October 14, 2023
A bold faced cad of human form
Flesh and blood but not the norm
Retraced his steps through the wood
Careless fashion unparalleled as good
Yet the cliff came ending his trail
Of scattered footprints to no avail
Some were cloven others not
Armed with a net as I was taught
Climbed a tree of scruffy pine
Darkness ensued where sun did shine
A scream came from out of the blue
Chills ran up my spine as if held by glue
Creepy crawler my escaped human quest
Smelled so foul I do not jest
Of sweat and blood and maybe pee
Sweltering in the moonlight he saw me
Escape uncertain no wings had I
A sacrificial lamb in his ungodly eye
Of flesh and blood and simply bones
He devoured me except my clothes
The Devil’s Footprints
9 February, 1855
The last snowfall was at midnight
and we found the hoof marks at six o’clock
the following morning.
They stretched on for over a hundred miles,
mostly in straight lines,
over houses, hayricks and rivers,
on snow-covered walls and rooftops,
leading up to and exiting drainpipes.
We set forth with pitchforks,
and my dogs cowered in the woods.
Surely they were the cloven hooves of the Devil!
Some neighbours had other theories:
shackles from the mooring ropes of a balloon,
badgers, rats, otters, cats, swans and mice,
kangaroos, escaped from a private zoo,
mass hysteria on various different animals’ prints,
hoaxers having a joke…
But no one ever found out for sure.
Now, Railroad Bob has lost his job, he’s got no place for working,
His wife, she cries with desperate eyes, their baby’s head’s a’ jerking.
The union man don’t give a damn, Big Brother lies a’ lurking,
the boss’ in cabs are picking scabs, they count their money, smirking.
A pregnant lass with eyes of glass has never learned to cope.
Once set adrift her fall was swift, she slid a slipp’ry slope -
she casts the Curse, the Holy Verse, and shoots a shot of dope,
and stalks discreet Asylum Street her daily horoscope -
the stray was struck by random truck which was her only hope.
Well, Banjo Boy, with little joy, he strums her life entire:
“The wayward waif was never safe; her stars were dark and dire.
Born midst the rues and avenues where lack and want aspire
where no one heeds the childish needs that little ones require;
where faith survives in tempest lives, a swirl within the briar,
Infinity grinds as time unwinds, until the winds expire.
Her last caprice? The final peace that no one could deny her -
whipped by the flood, stray beads of blood are spattered on the spire;
though beads of sweat are cool and wet, cold clotted blood is dryer.”
Though broken there, she’s fled the snare with dying thoughts serene.
And now she’s dead, the rumours spread: her age? a sweet 16,
with child, unwed, her soul dyed red, her body so unclean.
A place is sought where she can rot, avoiding churchyard scenes,
in limey pits, as well befits, behind forbidding screens;
and all the while a dirge is styled on tattered tambourines
which echo through the human zoo in valleys of the Queens.
Without rejoice, in hissing voice, near soil that’s seldom trod
“In pious role, God bless my soul”, was mouthed with mitred nod,
neath scarlet trim with black, and grim, behind a robed facade -
“She’ll burn in hell and sulphur smell”, spat Priest and man of god.
Well, angels sweet with cloven feet, they sing in girl’s attire,
but Banjo Boy, he’s playing coy while chanting in the choir:
“The clueless search within the church to find what they desire,
but near the nave or gravelled grave, there is no Rectifier.”
And when he’s through, without ado, he stacks some stones nearby her.
Continued