Long Conferring Poems
Long Conferring Poems. Below are the most popular long Conferring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conferring poems by poem length and keyword.
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------ this is meant with a degree of humor -----
------ but I know, joy is in the ears that hear -----
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To quote as truth a source for which
You otherwise show great disdain
Is humorous at best, a stitch
That some might say was not quite sane.
And if you cherish this sweet book,
But have not read it much of late,
It’s time you took another look,
And gave some other verses weight.
If Genesis is normative
For when it is all life begins
Then we should take a closer look
At other verses close therein.
For “breath of life” can only be
Applied to one by “Adam” called;
That you’d apply this verse to Eve?
Oh, exegete! Do be appalled!
In fifteen verses, very clear,
We see God do a nice ad lib,
Puts Adam in a heavy sleep
And liberates Eve from his rib!
Now something here just can’t be right;
No, something here just doesn’t jive.
God’s “breath of life” did not her grace;
The woman cannot be alive!
To call these verses normative
Is simply ludicrous, of course.
The “breath of life” God gave the dust?
Not air, but animating force.
And in this telling of our firsts
neither of them come from a womb,
So literal or figurative,
we need to give these verses room.
A babe will breath when it is born
On schedule or ahead of time.
You know that’s not the entry point:
As silly as a talking mime.
Way back in John, when Christ appears
upon arising, after death,
Gives the disciples Spirit then,
Conferring it with sacred breath.
Were they then dead before he breathed?
In some sense, yes, perhaps contrived
Christ’s Spirit thus has come to stay;
Spiritually, they are alive.
You don’t belive that labor does
Somehow propel those clumps of cells
By magic through the birth canal
And then form babes when they’re expelled?
Of course not, or there’d be a glitch
In logic with regard to sections.
But nobody believes all that;
it's just a case of misdirection.
We read a babe lept in the womb;
In Psalms, He forms our inward parts.
Christ, too, alive, ere left the tomb,
And now, he’s giving life to hearts.
Let’s study then, the scriptures well;
Bereans be: look for yourself.
Review in depth when life begins,
Not leave His counsel on the shelf?
Sintered from the dust of dying stars
This vessel of mine was,
By hands that reached down
Through the veil above,
And together with one generous breath
Bestowed upon it
This uncanny spark—this soul—
That man so very hubristically
Dared to name so.
From the tenderest of age,
I felt a magnetic pull—
A silent tug upon my heart,
And upon that uncanny spark—
To cede way to the craving of the day,
To wield this vessel as I chose:
This great gift of free will—
To speak, and act, and squander it
As I so pleased.
And in so doing, unbeknownst
To my young heart—
Though surely not to He
Whose hands, within the gusty gale,
reach down through the starry veil—
This truly splendid vessel,
Sintered from the dust of dying stars,
Bestowed with this wondrous spark,
Echoed each day more...
From a hollowing dark,
Within its mined-out core.
I felt so weak
That first time on my knees—
My first admission of regret,
Fingers knit in sacred weave
Upon the edge of my tousled bed,
Still warm, still rich with the aroma
Of a woman whose name I hadn’t cared to ask.
Toward the leaden clouds I cast—
A weary sigh into the stormy sky.
If miracles are truly real,
They're surely cellared with great zeal,
And left to age like vintage wines,
Until the Heavenly Divine
Before the worthy sets them forth,
Conferred upon His fruitful crop,
Whose future hopes now shine on high,
Not hurled into the muddy slop
To bless the vile swine—like I.
I've watched my life pass by
Like a slideshow of selfishness.
This vessel defiled,
By rapturous chemicals,
This spark,
By the whims and wants of an imbecile.
On my knees, so many times, since that first regretful night.
As I am now, chin down, under the moonlight,
Here with no right, begging of his might—
A humbled man's intent, a stirring,
This cherished spark, with its God conferring.
Reverence heard, a compassionate sound of solemn word,
Resounds mercy of utmost goodwill, aura-divine spurred,
Performing deeds of beneficence, defying malevolence;
An epistle of angels on earth conferring gift of benevolence.
Such holy angels dwelling among us, are gems quite rare,
Purity of their actions proclaim~ how genuinely they care,
For the destitute, the hapless, caught in throes of despair,
Proffering words of prayer, pleading for hope and welfare.
Messengers of peace, hallowed in zeal of virtuous intention,
Supernal is their magnificence, never yearning attention,
Humble in service to others, dedicated to their missions,
Guiding through life’s hurdles, fulfilling human ambitions.
Inner harmony echoes from voice of their altruistic soul,
Righteous are such missives, sentiments endearing cajole,
Rejecting pessimism of fate in bold pursuit of virtuous goal,
Of kindness, of amity and love, teachings spiritual extol.
Featherless angels, mortals alike us, yet they live on and on,
Worshipped for their pious acts, long after they are gone,
For legacies of ideals devout, profound passions of heart,
For reassurance, inspiration of life, memories now impart.
Away from tireless desk job i.e.,which obliged
swearing allegiance, fealty, loyalty within complex
edifice, where obsolete quaint rubric, schematic,
thematic mantra "We Bring Good Things to Life,"
met with gnawing, emerging, chomping
objectionable quandary. The sedentary station
exhausted, milked usurped mental energies
linkedin hinged upon the figurative linchpin
sans contractual mandates. Steady employment
obliged conferring, forsaking, invoking credo,
ethos, hierarchical jujitsu marrying obligatory
penance requisite at General Electric, (which
daily tasks borne with gravitas witness
to crunching numbers vis a vis from gifted
mathematical application, and scientific mind).
Thus decades on end, my father remained
steadfast on this straight and true decree,
whereby dad (analogously applied his
Semitic nose to the whet grindstone)
applying inherent and learned math
ematical/ scientific principles respectively.
He made excellent use of mechanical en
gineering degree (earned free of charge
at Brooklyn City College viz Veterans benefit).
Whether the Indigenous People,
robed in leathers, head dressed in feathers,
who had their own sovereign nations,
wanted it or not,
June 2nd 1924,
U.S. President Calvin Coolidge
condescendingly signed the Snyder Act,
a.k.a., the Indian Citizenship Act, into law,
thereby conferring American citizenship
on American Indians.
He had it backwards,
it was no more than an affront
as, whether the Indigenous People
wanted them or not,
it was American Indians who,
altho' they made no claim to own Mother Earth,
should have conferred American citizenship
on the Paleface People,
who were mere trespassers on tribal territory.
And Woody Guthrie
(1912 – 1967),
another white man,
was not referring
to Native Americans
when he wrote,
'This land is your land.'
"Heart sets up vibration echoing wordless intent, mind translates in symbols
the flight of our soul’s ascent ! "
Where does the wind blow through when the soul is having its drink?
Intent on learning, living, giving, receiving, how does it come to glow?
If the stirrings of the soul are mayhap God's way of conferring, lets sink
into the abysses of His love agape and sip from the fountain of His know!
Does ascension of the soul happen while on earth or does it begin up there?
Are we aiming to grow like wild weeds, between the cracks of a sidewalk?
If the waterwheel of life is being turned by an invisible hand from thin air,
then we must be Kenetic energy, just like the water that falls by the clock.
Oh how our lives glow when we choose to take one single step for mankind
Oh how our hearts grow wise as we choose to live through Avian connection
Where does the wind blow through each time we are being loving and kind?
If stirrings of the soul mean ascension then we better give it good direction !
Time
Maybe we can reverse it
Maybe there is a way
Perhaps unwinding ravages
Will save the world from grey
Hit pause just for a moment
Check where we are right now
And tell me that it doesn't cause
A deeply furrowed brow
Where is that super human
To reverse the fatal spin?
Or the bat-shaped cloudy lantern
To erase the Joker's grin?
Truth is, this isn't funny
Truth is, we're in a spot
And our hearts are getting colder
While the Garden's getting hot
The polar bears are floating
On the land they used to roam.
The animals adapting to
Their temperamental home
The sky is flashing wildly.
The rain. The wind. The snow.
Are proclaiming rather loudly
They think it's time for us to go
The leaders are conferring
No-one now denies
That the Eden we once tended
Is corrupted by the lies
And the scientists and dreamers
Looking far towards the stars
Have they given up on healing
Now the open wounds form scars?
Can't we save our piece of heaven?
Let our navel gazing stop
Lifting eyes towards the future here
Not some lonely Martian rock
I want to be more hopeful
I need to feel the love
We need the rainbow promise
More than ever, from above
I want to sing a new song
Hear the birds and smell the rain
Be the heroes who can navigate
This treacherous terrain
So the minstrel turned to prophet
Whispered warnings in his rhyme
For the very thing to pray for
And the thing we need.. is time
Jinjagoliath
11th September 2021
I AM®
I am
Arthur, Cupid and the edge of a bow
Soldier of 9 lives in this generation of hue
His armoury brandished by men
And sculpted by the One God,
Broken, battered and buried soul
In dismal and dark crypts of life
But leap out of the dungeon of obscurity
To set pace for a long but new voyage.
I am
A train in motion; watch me to catch a glimpse,
I am a word in flight
Write it down quickly for it last
I am a prophesy in season
To come to pass in due course
I am a bubble bustling in a glass
Can you feel the magic?
I am a man in race
You can catch the moment
But not the main man
Catch the benefits of my pain,
My gallantry lore and conferring boons,
My chariot comes but now
Right on the move to a spectacle
You feel the snap wind.
Catch what I leave behind -
My legacy, my story and triumph,
Hear the fading sound
Of the chariot of fire basking away in explosives.
On the move like my fathers before me
Taping from the drip of my crimson river,
Draw the benefit from my predestined existence.
I am
The man that is loosed
Not the man on the loose.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2016.
[Exasperation! who can love as this poet?
A host to the heavens and bleeding life?
Conferring words as exchange between God -
angels and mankind?"\]
How his body will end up in dark spaces
and small places -- Palid, stiff, naked!
Yes, jokes! I do make them! Ah! When I
hear these angels speak! Ha! The ones
who left divine dwellings for this rock
called Earth! My fallen 'friends' upon
this clay! Becoming nothing at all!
How they dared! Leaving the brilliant
living light for darker regions.
To what unknown region borne, wilt thou now
wing thy distant flight?
Anguished and empty but can hear and see
humanity grow -- they: pale, cheerless,
and forlon!
:: 09.15.2021 ::
In the middle of deep dark woods
Beneath the clumsy, capricious clouds
A wacky, wiggly passage leads
To a captivating, cavernous ground
There dwells a divine dreamy Ipomoea__
With the sunset, she gets herself unwrap__
To brew with love, in her beaming lucent lap
Some nifty, nebulous Ambrosia
Pour one drop of it in your soul and soon___
You'll see a surreptitious door in the middle of thin air
Climb it__ embrace it___ no need to fear
And boom___ you are teleported to a river on the moon
Night Elves in gossamer gowns sing by the brink too
Ssshh! listen to the sweetest song, the calmest tune
Swim and watch the ethereal flies hovering over you
Until you are inebriated by river of the moon
The secret river, seen by none
But those with a tender heart
Purest of thoughts and sweetest clarion
And who love the universe __ till the very end
**************************************************
, 04-29-21)
Note:
IPOMOEA ALBA is a flower, also called moonflower or moon vine)
Ambrosia (in Greek mythology) is the food or drink of the Greek gods, often depicted as conferring longevity or immortality upon whoever consumed it. It was brought by doves and served at the heavenly feast.