Long Convenience Poems
Long Convenience Poems. Below are the most popular long Convenience by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Convenience poems by poem length and keyword.
Fire And Brimstone start the eternal party
A spiders thread dangles high over hell
Over the flames of a Christian based faith
All of humanity hangs on one single strand
A voice yells out loud, “But I'm a Christian!”
A Christian is not a religion with meaning
It is a watered down version of Protestant
It is certainly not a Catholic by any stretch
It is a name, a moniker, a label, a word
Given by you to you as a convenience
A person who calls themselves “Christian”
Is something said to friends in a yawn
It is a word with no strings attached
No rules, no path, no structure strong
To hold you up when you are going down
Dangling on that one thin thread with others
By that one true friend you ever had
The eight legged creature called Satan
Lowering you down while gently spinning
The truth which is always about you
Something snaps... or simply runs out of line
“Have a nice day!” were the last words cursed
Anarchist’s
By: Miracle Man
August 2, 2020
When ignoring things that don’t readily affect us,
we forget that convenience always comes at a cost.
While ANTIFA is protesting and perpetuating a fuss,
we turn a blind eye until a Rubicon’s been crossed.
Rioters burn flag and Bibles, desecrating God’s word,
by abominable ideology these anarchists are driven.
Christians must pray that their hearts will be stirred,
and ahead of Jesus’ second coming, seek to be forgiven.
2 Corinthians 5:10 KJV
10 For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.
Ecclesiastes11:3
“If the clouds be full of rain, they empty themselves upon the earth: and if the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be.”
Collaboration with Marcello Eans
What is the real meaning of a handshake?
Is it just a greeting or something a bit more?
It’s such a small gesture that anyone can make.
It shows a little trust that wasn’t there before.
We seem to have lost the meaning of the little things.
What is it about life that has hardened our hearts?
It’s easy to smile and see the happiness that it brings.
A simple nod to a stranger is where it all starts.
Seems we’ve forgotten about the Father’s only begotten,
Son sent to a foreign land immoral & rotten.
Wrapped in swaddling clothes, placed in a manger,
Honored and presented gifts in the face of danger.
Christmas is now X-mas, meaning lost through the ages,
Gifts given in vain, no wonder we squander our wages.
Will we remember Christmas as the birth of Jesus,
Or just another day off to be people-pleasers?
What is the real meaning of a wedding vow?
Is it just an empty promise that pretends reality?
Marriage seems to be a convenience for now –
Divorce our scapegoat when it’s no longer easy.
We seem to have lost the meaning of commitment.
What is it about the world that makes us break that oath?
It’s a simple matter of accepting a chosen arrangement
And following the path that’s right for us both.
Love has lost its meaning, a term of endearment,
Misused to embezzle feelings after a one-night experience.
Expressed freely and in abundance, often spoken without seeing,
Love is sacrifice from being to being.
Midst Monday bouts in work arena
knocking body with fatigue angst…
God’s victory* strengthens my faith to keep pressing on.
Though Tuesday schedule seems to fail
frustrating mind against planning zest…
The Lord revives my spirit as a warrior marching forward.
When Wednesday pursuits become futile
with routine turning toward torturous ennui…
Christ rejuvenates my soul against insistent boredom.
Trying Thursday times intensified by deadline pressure
test patience succumbing to fruitlessness’ blight…
The Saviour props my commitment for life-building endeavours.
Frustrating Friday obscures sublime vision
while carnality attacks what is divine…
Light of the Sovereign illumines my heart, seeking what’s heavenly.
Sometimes, Saturday tempts with slothfulness’ convenience
bringing guilt of worthlessness’ pangs…
Forgiving Master offers help, empowering my zeal for faithful service.
Since Sunday expectations shout sincere worship
unmasking hypocrisy, reproving skepticism and doubt…
The Holy Ghost* grips my trust, hoisting it by His grace and love.
*1Corinthians 15:57 But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
(This “busy week” has made me weary; and I thank the Lord for enabling me to make it… to be able to sing “It is no Secret What God Can Do” during our ministry live broadcast.)
July 4, 2020
1st place, "STRAND completely new (5) any theme any form" Poetry Contest Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 7/6/2020.
Lines reign rectangular beyond widely
sombre dour density of inhabitants
Living rendered responsible behind wisely
secure doors definitely insure us
Neighbours harbour unfamiliar stories
Measureless textures hold untapped instruction
Sectioned protected fences forbode inquiry
Composite dismissed in driveway's reflection
Stranger to Earth's purposeful cycle
Continuum of plenty and scarcity
Cup overflows with options available
Convenience success declares to be
Money making matrix of tyranny
directs development's doctrine devours
Cataclysmic quick fix erect a thousand
nature inhibiting pattern of houses
Maze Ministers administer complacency
Tempered treacle assertions anethetise
Placated patients injected with necessity
Propel dominance of capitalism's rise
Studious city sews a hem pressed wide
Insidious greed knows a slow demise
Commodities local harvest would provide
Remote industry manoeuvre bulk supplies
Creek dipped reaching tree to residents listens
Combined myriad of incessant insects minuscule
Comical tousles, tasks of a toiling existence
Trials surmounted gain victories incremental
Environmentally in tune communities
easily trade effort borne resources
Trust, patience, guidance received
Compassion's fountain pours importance
Muscle of masses hinge bones as ligaments
Harvesting knowledge of fecundity's longevity
Endurance and learning with strength intersect
Woven contribution formulates society's liberty
Just to advise its still alive, and satan is its driver, with commoditys and convenience he plys.' Consider to ask
Jesus into your hearts, there is no need for physical travel.' Just open your ears
Mind; and heart..To end your own captivity' is how it it must start.' There is
No statement of dignatarys that even get a 'bit part' i suggest look around see all the money and time
wasted on different wars; that
Are touted to be for peace.? Which one of
Us sees that from our own to distant shores.' No the war is within us..And we alone cannot win.! We need the King of the universe's remedy or we will ever wallow in un-numbered human degrees of
Sin. Call out to ' your maker ' His Name runs through your dna..He sent Jesus on
That misson whose blood is still active
to the last person, up to the very final day.'
Being God's Pen
Written: by Tom Wright
2006
Thoughts Promenade inside my head
Absent of composition or direction,
As water dollops on a heated griddle.
I pass time exhuming notions
Thought long ago perished.
From night filled crevices of my mother wit,
I examine ideas whose propellant
is as monster bat wings darting to and fro.
Free flying, suddenly vanishing,
As if having been exiled from my psyche.
Their duration, analogous to griddle dollops;
Once vaporization has occurred,
I'm left to contemplate these mental aerobics,
In selfish tones, while examining my worthiness
As God's humble quill this day.
Conceivably, those concepts I've pursued,
Will birth in ink another time.
A time of God's convenience and choosing.
if the minimum unity of all that is
is two,
how did Parmenides come to believe
in the infinity of one?
if three is how god is expressed
at its best,
how did his image come coded
in four?
while five has properties completely
unique,
the universe is just what it is,
six so to speak.
once there was a seven,
joined to eleven,
whose convenience I dispute
and whole heartedly repute.
but eight is no longer enough,
and nine is so boring,
three threes is hardly the stuff,
to stop me from snoring.
the real magic begins with a number called ten,
whose counting little fingers first asked,
a dozen eggs or a feathery hen?
numbers are fun and make no one dumb,
but never forget what’s behind their neat mask:
twenty six magical letters, put to a task.
Self's colors-change in the modes of wanting,
as a chameleon in the daylight,
as the seasons fade to black, hunting season
where loyalty is clothed in sackcloth,
used as a knapsack with monogrammed font.
To embellish the pride inside, attacks reason.
Game played, war waged against trust and integrity,
hair trigger, sights blurred and uncalibrated.
Sport saved for fair weather and played-with
when in moods of folly-misunderstood
as heart's pedigree, but self the only royalty.
In the mists where lovers-lie, dormant
on the rocks of
sacrifice,
sprayed and neutered with the scent of the world,
blessed by holly-wood burning to ashes,
embraced skeletons of Pride's carbon copy fairytale.
Convenience, just a behemoth-witch of cull,
changes the love's color to grey-scale,
when it fits the bill of soul sale.
No effort no altruistic deeds,
no walls scaled or ride on valiant steed,
no searchlight, or care but for selfish greed.
Just a crone noose and bonfire of vanity,
just a cast of thespian spells playing part
in new reality.
Scale-weighs, and reckoning's executioner-pendulum swings
and approaches with royalties-undertaker
with box of pre-fitted manacle rings
empty in hand save for null need,
as truth-sees eye to eye-darkness looks away, cares not for its deeds,
Rewards itself handsomely,
a black wedding knot to tie.
Vows weigh the truth's true order of things,
from it's wheelhouse shipwreck beacon by the sea.
Sees souls found wanting, rescue, denied
and sees the light go forth from it's spotlight,
a disorder to groom with a whore for a bride
and open bedroom.
A vacancy window, black hole portal that blocks the sunlight from it's boardroom orgy of doom.
The Sweat of Thy Face
When we were young, we were given a charge by the Almighty…
“ Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it.”
( This, we seemed able to do.
It was the second charge we've had trouble with…)
“...In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground…”
History, according to the Bible, tells us that, one reason Adam was formed was because God wanted someone to till the ground…to work the soil, planting seeds and reaping the fruits of their labor.
Since it goes on to say we will do this with the sweat of our face, we can deduce that this will be hard work. Perhaps mankind misunderstood the words, “of THY face”, reading it as, “the sweat of THEIR face”?
****************************************************************************
Slavery,
Bond servants,
Free labor…
Sacrificing humanity and compassion for a footstool.
****************************************************************************
Freedom! Finally, unpaid and forced labor is rejected and despised…outlawed.
However, the ones in power were still the wealthy.
Mankind, always searching for the loophole to save their soft, lilly white hands from respectable callouses.
We began to forget how to work, how to grow food, preserve it, and how to be self reliant.
We sacrificed quality for quantity, flavor for convenience, health for sloth.
We've been blessed with intelligence, ingenuity, common sense…what do we accomplish with these blessings? Discovering more and more ways to avoid a sweaty face and those calloused hands.
****************************************************************************
The industrial revolution,
The Sciences, Technology,
Our superpower, Pollution.
****************************************************************************
Now, on the cusp of inventing the ultimate slave, we could be creating a world where human beings are merely dumb animals relying on our own creation to do all the hard stuff…like thinking.
Once again we create the tower of Babel.
Not to reach heaven, no...
a tower that controls our very own Adam...
Our highly polished, Eve.
When one tries to control Artificial Intelligence , how will we know who holds the leash and who wears the collar?