Long Craftsman Poems
Long Craftsman Poems. Below are the most popular long Craftsman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Craftsman poems by poem length and keyword.
Mississippi.
Mostly mild, wet, and muddy in winter,
but also chilly, cold, and sometimes snowy.
We feasted on ice cycles from tin or asphalt rooftops;
We screamed and yelled as we fought each other with snowballs; With patience and craftsman-like precision, we made snowmen as mothers watched with smiles, making us the best tasting ice cream.
Late nights and early mornings, we waited to hear from the newscast.
“The roads are too bad, and for the sake of safety, no school today”.
Such words over the radio or television are the only ones that mattered.
But it was not all fun and games in the Northern Mississippi Dixie land.
Rain, snow, sleet, or sunshine, there were always outdoor chores to do.
There was wood to cut and to bring in with the coals to keep us warm.
There were hungry pigs, chickens, a cow, and sometimes goats to feed.
Chicago.
One day out near the O’Hare International Airport, my feet nearly froze.
That was when I was driving a VW Bus that was fun to drive until it got cold.
Let the truth be told, Chicago is not just a Windy city by the lake; it’s icy cold. I had my Chicago share of winters in the ‘70’s.
In Chicago, with hardened and freezing bones,
on short days or long ones, life always goes on.
It was so cold that I could hardly walk.
It was so cold that I could barely talk.
It was so cold, yet nothing seemed to halt.
It was so cold that my whole body would shake, and my ears ached in pain as if they would break.
If New York City never sleeps, Chicago never stops.
In the dead of winter, people on State Street continues to shop.
Mayor Daily’s city kept the streets clear, and the buses kept moving.
California.
This year our heating system was first used on Saturday evening, November 7. It seemed that summer forgot to cool down and depart, or even stall; but ran head-on into fall. My trees are still very green, and the leaves are slowly falling because Winter is calling. It’s Sunny California in the Sacramento Region, and Winter is just around the corner. For a few years now, the rainy winter season has produced much heat, but little rain. Our hope is that this winter will be different for a change; perhaps cold and wet.
11102015PS
The role of man is to experience the drama of life. We might guess why the universe was created, at the least it was for man to live this material life. His inherent nature has developed, over the eons of surviving in this lonely place. His passions have run the gamut of all things that can be held. With his bare hands, he has made every kind of thing found under the sun. His imaginative creations, speak of the artist and the craftsman as mystical shaman, and with an inspired hand, raises up all of mankind. For he has made that legendary journey of a thousand steps, and set in motion, The Divine Mission. Mans evolution is in the interest of all the cosmos, for where else would you find a race like the humans, with their extreme nature? With their war and peace, the dying and the newborn, the nightmares and the beautiful dreamers? Is there another place that has bred those such as us? Who else could you find that believe in a god such as ours, and where else would you find a creature that would die, for such a thing as love?!
Not one have I found
who is the like of you
a master craftsman
demonstrated in all you do
From the time you were given birth
your workmanship displayed
in our cosmos and in our earth
In unity with our Father
constructed every Law
so the movement of the universe
continues without flaw
Though subjected to frustration
the creation in decay
until the Revelation
God in his children will display
The gift of everlasting life
will creations energy infuse
all who rise within this kingdom
can accept it or refuse
All ages are appointed
to the formation of Gods plan
the instructions put in motion
many millennia's beforehand
Everything progresses by implements design
the specter of its majesty
the Architect of Time
You gave us the foreknowledge
how things in time would form
the unfolding of our history
and of the crisis where all mankind will mourn
Those who love your mastery
do watch with fascination
the working out of the plan
and of crowning new creation
You have implemented vision
so that our future is secured
the manner of all changes
and the things to be endured
Like the DNA that builds the things we see
the clock within the universe
propels the objectives gravity
COPYRIGHT © 2011 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
He could take what most found, in the time of that
Particular incumbent fashion, to be lacking in any
Pleasing or greatly passionate way,
And, after immersing it into low, blue flame,
Repeatedly beat upon this quivering mass as
If it were but a whitened molten lump when
Drawn from violent, torturing heat constrained
Deep within some smith's insatiable forge;
Seen there the blistered face, scorched forearms
Impervious to the fizz and burn of popping sparks;
Blackened hammer wielded by a gnarly hand,
The repeated raising; forceful, downward strikes --
High-pitched ringing chimes of metal on metal;
And him, the better craftsman, bent desperately
To his task, shaping something new and
Disturbingly strange...
While, amassed amid the silent roaring of those
Unremarkable fields,
An idealistic generation, readied, prepared to spill
Its hot, innocent young blood over a sea of
Flowering petals for the valueless ideal of an
Unworthy hour spawned by a vile whoring b***h
Before it slunk back into the lengthening
Shadows of a withering age.
Under the sun and moon, flawed men linger in the cold
Who in the mist of darkness, cut and rip apart trees eons old
While stepping on grass and insects for wood to be sold
Deaf to the pleas the light within makes to them while men seek for gold
To make for themselves gods to care as well as impugn
Blind to the Father of Greatness who stands above the sun and moon
Carving the wood with knives with the edges razor thin
Into aggressive lions, venomous serpents, armed men of sin
Maidens with iron-grey painted on their senseless skin
Leaving spikes to pierce through the lights of purity trapped within
And with skill, they craft horned bulls painted with bronze for flair
Leaving the spirits to burn in despair, with smoke to fill the air
And to sell them like slaves that customers have to pay
Though these gods are the apparent wisdom and light, or so they pray
Hanging them with silver chains by their necks as display
Trading them as property despite calling them the gods each day
Painted in blood red to make them easier to trade
With tears unseen flowing to the blue sky for tranquillizing aid
Bowing down to the wailing statue to be devote
With the worshippers filling the room with prayerful chants with each throat
Maybe praying for their deceased children’s river boat
While blindly bowing, with raining tears, to their children’s wooden coat
A statue sitting down with a serene face and veil
With souls in that chaotic Samsara, in that cyclical flail
Giving fruits of all colours that are pleasing to see
For the trapped souls to smell their brethren rotting as a death-filled sea
Pouring fish blood unto the wooden corpse of a tree
To show loyalty to the wooden carcass with their prayerful glee
Half the wood they burn for food which is perishable
Half the wood they worship as a god who is imperishable
Craftsmen make wooden crosses of a man crucified
To honour the one Christ whom the world of winter’s darkness denied
While nailing the Suffering Jesus with hands applied
Further crucifying the Cross of Light within the wood that died
May the light be free from the lion-headed craftsman
May the light, through the sun and moon, become the one and only Perfect Man
God established the color of His children
Yes, we are all of God's children
Well, we are one big extended family across the earth
More than that, we are brothers and sisters, kinfolks to each other
Our skin colors are an evolutionary adaptation and process due to the environmental conditions that we dwell in
Meanwhile, in the Garden of Eden, every color possesses a natural beauty within itself, but somehow evil drifts in the opposite direction of the will of God
Thus, religion has played a significant role in propagating hate, slavery, and racism for control, profit, and power over mankind
Well, God did not create black and white people, thus He used humus (Dark, earthy, rich, black soil) to create Adam
Furthermore, God specifically made a rainbow race of people
no shade of black nor shade of white - just red-orange, blue and green and a little bit of indigo
Notice that a rainbow doesn't have the colors black or white inside of the bending arc across the earth.
In summary, God is a wonderful creator and thus a master craftsman!
“Explore the length and breadth of the universe, drink deep from the fountain
of beauty and bliss and sing soulful songs of praise for its creator”
~ By Poet
Let my soul sing of the joys of Heaven and the earth!
Angels with alabaster wings and stars that align in constellations,
Clouds that vagrantly roam and moon that plays hide and seek,
Oceans that swirl and waves that roll, beating on sandy shores,
Mountains and trees that brush against, touching heaven’s seams,
Seasons that come and go, leaving their mark on nature's brow,
With a cocktail of colors, begetting joy and delight in every heart,
Spring Daffodils that smile and sway, summer beams that kiss the cheeks,
Autumn leaves in amber and gold and winter snowflakes in lacy flight,
All these scintillating scenes proclaim aloud that Heaven isn’t all that far,
And our Master Craftsman exhorts all- ‘Open your eyes wide and behold’!
I sat still in the moment's silence,
Listening to the songs of the birds—
A melody of varied frequencies,
A harmony is born from nature's gifts.
I gazed at the radiant sky,
I watched the clouds,
Artwork of a perfect Craftsman.
They stretch, move, and disperse in space,
All in a time set and approved by their Creator.
I turned to look at a bird on a wire,
Unafraid of its rhythmic movement,
it preened its feathers.
It later took off,
basking in the warmth of the friendly sky.
I observed the trees,
Dancing to the orchestra of the wind.
Their exuberant foliage is a blessing of spring;
Their healthy boughs are a result of a generous intake.
I wondered how soon they would be gone—
Our dominance and insatiable craving for aesthetics have encroached on their survival.
I reflected on how my mother tended her garden.
I thought about how she made sure we had trees planted in our yard,
How she told us stories about the forest and its mysteries,
How her face glowed when her garden thrived and bloomed.
I pondered how I found myself walking her path.
Suddenly, I was jolted out of my reverie—
It was a call from my mother.
She talked about how her purple flowers had finally turned the corner.
I smiled at the excitement in her voice.
Her love for nature has allowed her to age gracefully;
I believe she has made the wisest choice.
May 3, 2025.
Testimony about Love in Crystals of Truth
I will speak the truth crude as ice melted in flames of liquid mercury,
love is not always gentle but serpentines through the soul with fangs of jade,
and rarely is it fair like the cosmic scale that weighs our trembling hearts,
it does not arrive on time with music swelling like a waltz of falling stars.
Sometimes it comes limping late uncertain smelling of burnt velvet regret,
with clothes dirty from cosmic dust and eyes exhausted from searching through the void,
love does not repair you like a magic craftsman with tools of amber and light,
it finds you mid-sentence mid-failure mid-life suspended in crystal time.
And yet listen anyway with its ears of translucid crystal and living stone,
I will speak the truth: love is not the absence of loneliness but its magic presence,
it's loneliness sitting beside another loneliness in shimmering cold silence,
two cosmic voids agreeing not to leave first to remain in the luminous darkness.
Love forgets anniversaries like a mad poet who forgets his own name in wind,
but remembers the sound of your cough at three in the morning like a sacred prayer,
it fights over nothing and forgives something enormous without ever speaking its name,
it carries paradoxes that dance like fire butterflies in the desert of memory.
Here is the hardest truth to swallow like a pill of amber and aching pain,
love does not promise forever but only now this cold tea in the chipped cup,
this hand that reaches out still even when it knows how easily hands let go,
how they melt like wax in the flames of time flowing like a river of mercury.
And yet I swear this too in the name of dead stars floating in my chest,
when love is real it teaches the heart to stand in the witness box like crystal,
to speak without rehearsal without mask of melted wax before cosmic judgment,
"Yes I was terrified yes I stayed" like testimony carved in jade and silence.
Love is a psychedelic testimony in the courtroom of our desolate soul,
where truth flows like a river of silver tears through our trembling hearts,
where fear and courage dance together like two butterflies of light in living darkness,
where staying becomes sacred like a prayer whispered in the magic alphabet of pain.
Every morning and evening, I happen to watch parrots,
A pandemonium always adorns my guava tree;
Each parrot seems unique, having its very quaint merits,
Like angelic souls, they seem in physique and psyche free...!
What a strong jambiya dagger curved bill! Vertical stance!
Green drainpipe pants-clad legs! Clawed zygodactyl stylish feet!
The parrots that visit my tree in green the scene enhance,
In a romantic mood, merrily my guavas they eat...!
Splendidly observing humans, parrots mimic their speech,
So melodious is their Tabor pipe trumpeting song;
Ballet-like they grip, grasp, and at the highest top they reach,
A craft of the master craftsman, they're happy all day long...!
In my melancholic moods, parrots lift my heart and soul,
In gracing the charm of the world, parrots play a great role...!!!