Long Cris Poems
Long Cris Poems. Below are the most popular long Cris by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cris poems by poem length and keyword.
When we arrive at the cabin in summer after it’s been winterized…
and no one has entered before us…
We often know what little hiccups the cabin has waiting for us.
This year we did know one hiccup waiting…as to the cabin we were heading.
We needed to repair the oven door which fell off in October
during Trista and Damien’s wedding.
This was a hiccup we were prepared for…but one hiccup we were not
was once we opened up the house…our water would not get hot.
We arrived on a Saturday…Cris our repairman couldn’t make it out till Wednesday
which meant…for the 5 days it would take…we would not have any hot water
and worse than that…Deborah could not bake!
Cris had no trouble repairing the water heater…sometimes elements just go bad…
but the news he gave us about the stove…made Deborah, the baker, sad.
He would have to order hinges and he was not sure how long that would take…
which meant we weren’t sure when this summer Deborah would get to bake…
But the first parts did not fit…and when the second set arrived…then and only then…
did Cris inform us that our wounded stove…would never bake again…
Which meant a trip to Lowes…where we bought a new stove…one that was on display
and that new stove after almost two months of waiting…was delivered yesterday…
It’s funny how in life after being married for so long…some things come to be…
because I noticed Deborah looked at her new stove…the way she once looked at me…
After doing without hot water for a few days…and an oven most of the summer
my first thought…
Was that sometimes hiccups enter our life to remind us…what’s important…
and at the same time…what is not.
Love, and family and friendship…being together, being healthy…enjoying nature
are what’s truly important every moment we’re awake…
Hot water is a luxury…as is the ability to bake…
Having said that, however, I must admit taking a hot shower is awfully sweet…
and there’s something special about holding a warm chocolate chip cookie…
that Deborah just baked…and I’m about to eat.
Ce jour-là
Ce jour-là je serai dans la joie, je verrais un être humain revenir à la vie.
Plus jamais de pleurs??ni de douleur??.
Ce jour-là je vivrai dans ma propre maison??, ma famille et moi serons en bonne santé.
Je n’aurai plus à devoir un loyer??à qui que ce soit.
On se réjouira avec nos amis??, aucun d’eux ne dira : Je suis malade
On vivra en harmonie avec tous les animaux. Le petit garçon??conduira le Lion avec joie??
L’amour sera partout dans le monde ??.
La guerre disparaîtra et plus personne ne fuira dans son pays pour se réfugier dans un autre.
Oh Toi qui étais sourd???, Toi qui étais aveugle et Toi qui étais mué,
TU entendras, verras et parleras.
Ce jour-là, Il n’y aura que des cris de joie??, Il y aura une terre nouvelle et un ciel nouveau car alors Jéhovah aura réalisé sa promesse.
Jésus, établi par Jéhovah, depuis son trône??céleste régnera sur toute la planète ?? de ceux qui ont été choisis??pour diriger avec lui.
Ce JOUR-LÀ Jéhovah sera avec lui, il lui sera fidèle et il fera disparaître toute méchanceté, on ne se rappellera plus les choses anciennes de la terre et ils ne reviendront plus remuer le cœur.
Veux-tu voir ce beau jour?
Le recueil (ou la section) « Ce jour-là (partie 1) » se compose de 9 poèmes :
1. Ah, la guerre !
2. En ce temps-là
3. Ce jour-là
4. Remarquable preuve du véritable Amour
5. Une vie sans haine
6. Pourquoi ?
7. Sur le poteau
8. Adam ?, Jésus ? (Romains 5:11)
9. Ta Paix
More info on Poetry.com
Rustic mountains
Through glaciations
Moulded this wonderful
Scottish Nation
Caledonian Forests
Covered our land
On our Western Islands
Golden beached sands
Glens and rivers
Cris cross our land
Glorious moors
Where the Highland Stag stands
Majestic and tall
Proud and might
This king of beasts
The most wonderful sight
Scenery to thrill
Heather-ed in purpled bloom
Look out any window
Its our own front room
Golden Eagles
Soar above these lands
Winged royalty
In their blue blooded strand
Our contribution to our modern world
Is all around us, read and learn
Logie Baird, with Television
Pedal Cycle, Kirkpatrick MacMillan
Medical marvel, Penicillin
In other Nations our touch has felt
Our Ancestors us, we Celts
For centuries we cast our nets
To further lands
We were always met
Friendly Scots in every way
Gave this world
A better say
America, Canada, New Zealand too
Us Scots are in me and you
Ancestral blood runs through our veins
The quite wonderful Scottish strain
Alba.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php
Qu'est-ce que nous sommes, sinon des larmes tombant dans les villes,
Tu es moi, et je suis toi, et ensemble nous pleurons,
Écrivant de la poésie au milieu de la nuit,
Fuyant la politique, les nouvelles et les mensonges.
"Nous sommes la tête perdue à l'intérieur de nos crânes,"
Cris de désespoir, nos cœurs se sentent fragiles.
Une simple équation, pour pousser et glisser de côté,
Pouce sur les hommes-œufs, comme un morse par la marée,
Dans les jardins psychédéliques de fleurs mangeuses de chair,
Nous mangeons des fous souriants, alors que les porcs grognent en costumes bleus de pouvoir.
Edgar Allan Poe sait que je suis le poète,
Je me suis assis sur un rocher en attendant que le groupe mort arrive,
"Nous sommes les hommes-œufs", nous crions en défiance,
Tandis que Lucy court avec Alice dans le profond terrier de la conformité.
"J'ai dit prêtre comme culotte baissée,"
Et les politiciens font des règles entre les cuisses tendres des adolescents,
Comme s'ils étaient des ours pédophiles comme des porcs expert-text-pert,
Volant dans la nuit, leur obscurité déguisée.
Un futur simulé au sommet de la tour Eiffel,
Et leur leader assailli par la puissance des gens en colère.
Comme nous détestons ceux qui nous détestent et cherchent à nous diviser,
Mais tout va bien, nous traverserons ensemble cela.
Car nous avons déjà vu cela, il y a des siècles,
Et nous nous élevons toujours pour affronter un autre jour inconnu.
The Upper Wealthy
It was said that famous families
only lasts for about three generations
The Churchills, the Kennedys, and many
Others have a sale by date.
I thought of that while watching a program by
Crise Hedges, who happens to have grown up
among the stratospheric wealthy, and he
spent time trying to distance himself from
that class of people
He can't, everything about his language
manner, the smoothness of those who have
not had to strive
Cris was interviewing a man who writes
books about the rich, who, according to
him are bad for our society and economy
Clearly, the rich are different from those who have
No private plane when going shopping
They send children to the top school in a limo
They have a big household staff to keep
them in clover, and security, to be rich also
Mean someone is out to do your harm
The two men began annoying me, telling
stories about the wealthy, sounding like
a couple trying not to sound envious
You shouldn't know the colour of falling light
As it descends into the abyss of passion.
When limbs intertwine in sweet complete delight
And the thin skin wraps the fiery flesh
In the soothing caress of the conductor's hand
Cris crossing and cutting the air afresh
With his smooth effervescent and pulsating baton.
You shouldn't know the colour of his seduction,
His ragged jagged downward pointing chin,
The tangled mangled wilderness of his beard,
The forceful resourcefulness of his kisses,
The colours of that fascinating rude tattoo.
The feeling of injection and quick retraction,
You shouldn't know the colour of his flame,
Or the sound of his intoxicating and secret name
You must somehow savour with hungry lust.
Eyes rolling back as you inevitably fall
It is all some God almighty magnetic rich taboo.
His name, his eyes, the things you will recall
In the lonely moments of night time longing,
When you know it was all a dreadful act of wronging
That must be forever pushed aside, inside, denied,
Far away from the colour of the falling light.
© Allen Ansell 2025