Long Conniver Poems
Long Conniver Poems. Below are the most popular long Conniver by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Conniver poems by poem length and keyword.
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Form:
Midst our covenant of trust and fidelity
I succumbed to luring temptation’s delight
As a faith-traitor, flirting with world’s enmity
Oblivious of my vow to love GOD fully right.
Guilty was I of betraying my Redeemer
Grieving Him, I confessed as an evil conniver…
Faithful*, He pardoned, drawing me to Him closer.
Meanwhile, in the trial court I stood as scam-victim
Facing the culprits, my trusted friends, in pain’s grim
Since they fooled our contract by their deceitful whim.
Struggling hard to accept their “sorry” with pity
I agonized bearing load of my justice-plight
Thus, I prayed to be a true “forgiveness-giver”
Grateful to God that I received His grace to the brim!
*1John 1:9 If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
November 21, 2018
Edited on June 26, 2022
2nd place, "Forgiveness" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Anoucheka Gangabissoon; judged on 7/18/2022.
Clean cut; people clean cut.! Well styled suits, groomed to impress we gel well
in success, success reads so well.. Glitz is the goal WOW the 'surface' the substance.'
Cut so clean.' free standing see you all & now; how i'll stand not bow..
Yet my whole truth? there's another side too, so today oyay.. Oyay.'
When I knew I'd been cut.! I felt the keen, clean cut after I saw blood
Felt its wet slick flow.' the air hit me cold then I felt the blades touch..!
I slipped into the gutter, feeling shock in the fog; a fog of de'je-vue
How was made that clean cut.! Cutting away my humanity; tearing up
the deal struck with me, going to a better source its just a buisness
of course.!
So back to the stage, to a new charge who'll be groomed.' To the clean
cut scene, and sin.. What then its purpose? & Is it always to subvert us?
I take note of its action, can I repel its attraction? it starts blunt as a weapon
that over time starts to sharpen, with indifference it hardens, reminds me
of bad times, of my ancestors whoredom; drudgery worldly serfdom' of
the chains I am wearing, the pain deeply tearing pushes me deep into drown
Become aware of the driver; satan the conniver who through this whole
gamut, is 'himself' just a marker a 'pawn' shades of darker, whom you will
use should it please you, if you want to show us who's who.' So when we
sop ourseleves deep in.. In the oceons of a worlds sin, we will be turned to
our insides? will we tire before we expire? fed up to our backteeth of sin & its
mis-chief.? become ready for redemption; Clean cut from the marle of the mire
Cut from the cords for the fire, when sin has outworn us before death 'is' to call us, of one thing be certain, Jesus rent that great curtain.. Faithful & True
He beat down deaths sting, so forget now your mis-givings to call on Jesus the mighty, call out now contritely.. From the the heart of the humble, from a soul that has stumbled, become 'in Him' to rightness one more spark in His brightness.'
Many years ago, I was in a down-heartened funk, after deciding to get a little bit drunk.
Beer guzzling queens won’t tell you, but liquor tastes bad going down and coming back up is truly no joy.
Some will tell you how great drinking liquor makes them feel, happy, and wonderful. But they’re full of bunk
Being wasted, angry, crying, and a bit mean is no way to meet any kind of a man or dating boy
And if you are completely silly, to hug, or touch or god forbid fore take in a sloppy drunk kiss
I must tell you the story of a naïve woman who got herself in a real pickle in St. Croix
If you are already completely wasted, and angry, and mean, this warning you will probably dismiss
This sordid tale of a girl, a boy, a golden pony, a red flute that laughed, and a shiny green Shamrock
The way this tale was told to me, by my gram, it entered my ears totally unbiased and Faultless
There was a pipe, and a honey bee, and a well-intentioned, prettied up edible pink and plump Ham hock
I do remember someone laughing, and a foot being broken, and a yellow three cent postage stamp.
There was a nickel’s worth of lead, and an angry man, and a princess in a lavender and pink Frock
The men crowded around to watch Trixie Lou dance, for she was a well-known, conniving, trickster of a Vamp
In my inebriated state, I can recall but one bit of the story that has any bearing now.
Grandpa’s dream girl was a devious witch of a woman according to Big Ma, a hard-hearted Tramp
Told by Big Ma, Trixie was a flaunter, a floozy, a conniver, a flute-playing nasty old cow,
She had pink cheeks, sky blue eyes, and she wore her red curls pinned with green shamrocks; she was all kinds of pretty.
This information was slipped to me in whispers by Grandpa, who considered Trixie a giant wow.