Long Cruz Poems
Long Cruz Poems. Below are the most popular long Cruz by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cruz poems by poem length and keyword.
the moon commences its' illusion
it rides the crest fully
survivor of Roche's Limit
survivor of human prediction
filling the night with shadow
my early morning walks
the light in the distance
calls thru canopied jungle path
the setting moon
stepping on the soft white beach
where a silver highway plays
in the rippling water, i am
the human past who long ago
beheld such a sight
without the shaman's cheap trick
nor the cold touch of science
have accepted the moon just is
beautiful to behold
we let each other be
we are one and the same
dancing thru the universe
and when this is no more
we will be lip to lip
i do not know what God is
and have no such need
yet whatever it is
it is magnificent
the heavens live to die
and in that death
life finds itself again
my wishes, mere mortal longing
that so might i
even Rimbaud capitulated
the reprobates' fear of reprobation
and i have but one question
before the empyreal throne
is there in heaven, a moon
Norma's roof Santa Cruz 95
(The Spanish conquerors of the
Americas read out their legal
document, the "Requerimiento",
to the Indians. Failure to comply
meant the Spanish were free to
do what they wanted.)
Conquistadors in Vera Cruz
found themselves a radical ruse.
If pillaging was muy, muy lento,
they just whipped out Requerimiento.
Composed in fifteen seventeen,
this document was ultra-mean.
It won more scraps than Robert E. Lee,
was deadlier than DDT.
Suppose you met an Aztec mob
that wasn't happy to be robbed,
and far from handing on a platter
its gold and silver, wives and daughters,
was minded to contest the matter,
Requerimiento got unrolled.
In legal Latin, gooks were told
with lots of quid and quod and quaem,
exactly what was sought of them.
The royal writ was read aloud
to help the puzzled Aztec crowd.
So none may later look askance,
the dinks got every sporting chance.
All the Aztecs had to do
(clause forty-nine of section two)
was pay the pope an entry fee,
accept infallibility,
and send some gold to line his coffers.
Who could baulk at such an offer?
Clause fifty-eight - the Spanish king
must get his cut of Aztec bling.
They're hazy over "king" and "Spain"?
We'll have long decades to explain.
They don't respond? It simply means
we blow them all to smithereens.
The finer points can wait till later.
Non-compliance means they're traitors.
We've read the thing, so now we're free
of all responsibility
for theft or damage, flood or fire,
and if perchance it should transpire
that they don't dig what's going down,
why, take it up with Cross and Crown.
Thank God it's not like that today.
Before we step into the fray,
we tell them they're a "conflict zone",
and send in laser-guided drones.
If they accept their crude religion
is now a dead and pointless pigeon,
and take divorce and teenage moms,
then we won't use our cluster bombs.
There's other stuff here, on our list -
like Coca-Cola, lobbyists,
The Dukes of Hazzard, John McCain,
obesity and acid rain ...
at least we don't do like before,
and sell them, as we wade ashore
to occupy their ancient land,
some junk they'll never understand.
To Have Fun With the Candidates
By Franklin Price
1/25/2015
To have fun with the candidates
Should not cause any fuss
For after all most every day
They're having fun with us
Trump is a real playing card
Ted would like to Cruz to a win
Jeb's just beating 'round the Bush
Rubio thinks he's a Gem
Fiorina's whole wheat flour
Then there's honey Huckabee
We should be in a Santorum
There's a Christie cream to see
The taste could make a Kasich
Costing way too many Rand
Wouldn't like to drive their Carson
Maybe a Republican
The leprechaun O'Malley
Feels the Bern socialistically
If he's going to make it to the top
Has to climb the Hillary
So confused there are so many
Hard to see how I should vote
Who won't lead us lambs to slaughter?
Who won't be a Judas goat?
Guess that wasn't funny
Well it wasn't meant to be
Be careful what you're looking at
Is what you think you see
La Saeta
Dijo una voz popular:
“¿Quién me presta una escalera,
para subir al madero
para quitarle los clavos
a Jesús el Nazareno?”
¡Oh la saeta, el cantar
al Cristo de los gitanos,
siempre con sangre en las manos
siempre por desenclavar!
¡Cantar del pueblo andaluz
que todas las primaveras
anda pidiendo escaleras
para subir a la cruz!
¡Cantar de la tierra mía,
que echa flores
al Jesús de la agonía,
y es la fe de mis mayores!
¡Oh, no eres tú mi cantar!
¡No puedo cantar, ni quiero,
a ese Jesús del madero,
sino al que anduvo en el mar!
The Arrow
Said a popular voice:
“Who can lend me a ladder,
to climb the tree
to remove the nails
to Jesus the Nazarene?”
Oh, the arrow, the singing
to the Christ of the gypsies,
always with blood in the hands
always for taking nails off!
Song of the Andalusian people
that every spring
is asking for ladders
to climb up the cross!
Song of my land,
that throws flowers
to the Jesus of agony,
and it’s the faith of my elders!
Oh, you are not my song!
I can’t sing, nor do I want to,
to that Jesus on the wood,
but to the one who walked in the sea!
Written by: Antonio Machado
My poem will follow soon.
Said a popular voice
Is anyone worthy to remove the nails?
To climb that roughly hewn cross
To touch the bleeding feet and hands
Of Christ Jesus the lovely Galilean
Josephy of Arimathea ask permission
To take Jesus' broken body down
Nicodemus came bringing burial spices
For the body that was stripped bare
So, what Jesus did upon the cross
Can and should never be forgotten
I like to remember the miracles
Like when Jesus restored sight to the blind
His birth was one step when He came from Glory
His life following rules and tradition
Another step of telling the story
His ministry of parables and sermons
His healing of the sick and resurrection of friends
His death by hanging on the cross~the end
Praise to God! The empty tomb was witnessed
He lives again! He was seen carried away in the clouds
Conquistadors in Vera Cruz
found themselves a radical ruse.
If pillaging was muy, muy lento,
they just whipped out Requerimiento.
Composed in fifteen seventeen,
this document was ultra-mean.
It won more scraps than Robert E. Lee,
was deadlier than DDT.
Suppose you met an Aztec mob
that wasn’t happy to be robbed,
and far from handing on a platter
its gold and silver, wives and daughters,
was minded to contest the matter,
Requerimiento got unrolled.
In legal Latin, gooks were told
with lots of quid and quod and quaem,
exactly what was sought of them.
The royal writ was read aloud
to help the puzzled Aztec crowd.
So none may later look askance,
the dinks got every sporting chance.
All the Aztecs had to do
(clause forty-nine of section two)
was pay the pope an agent's fee,
accept infallibility,
and send some gold to line his coffers.
Who could baulk at such an offer?
Clause fifty-eight – the Spanish king
must get his cut of Aztec bling.
They’re hazy over “king” and “Spain”?
We’ll have long decades to explain.
They don’t respond? It simply means
we blow them all to smithereens.
The finer points can wait till later.
Non-compliance means they’re traitors.
We read the thing, so now we’re free
of all responsibility
for theft or damage, flood or fire,
and if perchance it should transpire
that they don’t dig what’s going down,
why, take it up with Cross and Crown.
Thank God it’s not like that today.
Before we step into the fray,
we tell them they’re a “conflict zone”,
and send in laser-guided drones.
If they accept their crude religion
is now a dead and pointless pigeon,
and take divorce and teenage moms,
then we won’t use our cluster bombs.
There’s other stuff here, on our list –
like Coca-Cola, lobbyists,
The Dukes of Hazzard, John McCain,
obesity and acid rain …
at least we don’t do like before,
and sell them, as we wade ashore
to occupy their ancient land
some junk they’ll never understand.
the moon commences its' illusion
it rides the crest fully
survivor of Roche's Limit
survivor of human prediction
filling the night with shadow
my early morning walks
the light in the distance
calls thru canopied jungle path
the setting moon
stepping on the soft white beach
where a silver highway plays
in the rippling water, i am
the human past who long ago
beheld such a sight
without the shaman's cheap trick
nor the cold touch of science
have accepted the moon just is
beautiful to behold
we let each other be
we are one and the same
dancing thru the universe
and when this is no more
we will be lip to lip
i do not know what God is
and have no such need
yet whatever it is
it is magnificent
heaven lives to die
and in that death
life finds itself again
my wishes, mere mortal longing
that so might i
even Rimbaud capitulated
the reprobates fear of reprobation
and i have but one question
before the empyreal throne
is there in heaven, a moon
Norma's roof Santa Cruz 95
THE LABEL I HIDE ON THE WINE BOTTLE There was no real need to know of the brand I did not want to prejudice the taste The wine was chosen on its own merit
THEY TOLD ME OF THE PSYCHO CAT'S DEMISE There was no need to prolong misery It was better for everyone concerned All the family totally agreed
SABBATICAL DREAMS AFTER QUARANTINE
Altered behavior will always follow Some families get closer; some farther The population may also increase
EERIE BOARDWALK CREAKS NEAR THE WHITE SAND BEACH Reminds me of the Santa Cruz boardwalk We were at that beach forty years ago Funny how time also made my bones creak
090420PSCtest, Collaborate With Me, Kim Rodrigues
10 syllables per line(Syllable counter). 1P
D. Trump
we dumped
Ted Cruz
you lose
Cuomo
should go
Newsom's*
gruesome
Biden's
hidin'
Faucci's
grouchy
Meghan's
ragin'
Harry's
scary
Queen Mom's
aplomb
Prince Charles
just snarls
ISIS
crisis
Iran
new bomb
Kim Jong
King Kong
Bit coin
come join
T-bonds
abscond
Oil price
up twice
Brit Spears
cry tears
Doc Seuss
cut loose
Big Dance*
short pants
Sis Jean*
Prom Queen
______________________________________________________
*Notes:
Newsom - California governor whom voters are trying to recall
The 'Big Dance' is a nickname for the NCAA basketball tourney,
which begins this week.
Sis Jean is Sister Jean, a 101 year-old nun who works at Loyola
University, which made the 'Big Dance' for the second time in the
last four years. At age 98, she accompanied the team to the 'Dance,'
sat on the bench, hugged and cheered players, even gave them
advice(!) and Loyola came made it to the Final Four! Wow! This year,
she's going back again, at 101! What a gal!
–What Manner of Love Does-Spanish Verse
¿QUÉ MANERA DE AMOR?¿Qué tipo de amor es?
Es esto..
¿Nos ha dado el Padre a nosotros?
Que debemos ser los Hijos de Dios;
¿Qué clase de amor viene conmigo
abrazando entretenido conmigo al desconocido?
A quien solo tal vez un ángel, un ángel disfrazado ... Qué manera, qué forma de amor es ...
Es el Padre, el Hijo y el Espíritu.
Esto es lo que hace el amor.
Semejante al venado y al forastero;
No recordando nada más que tu
nacimiento y luego la muerte, en tu último aliento;
No queda más que la eternidad en otro lugar.
Que clase de amor es
Solo recuerda que sin él Jesús estarás en peligro.
Dios es amor y ama a sus hijos;
Que clase de amor es El Padre nos otorgó, todo esto nos lo ha dado; Ama y somos sus hijos, su hijo Jesús murió por nosotros;
En la cruz ... qué forma de amor es.
Esta es la manera de lo que hace el amor;
Dios es la respuesta a todo amor y
Siempre debemos creer en un regocijo y quién es esa persona en quien debemos confiar;
Dios el Padre y su Hijo Jesús;
Esta es la forma de amor ...
Qué forma de amor hace;
7/18/19
Spanish TRANSLATION BY James Edward Lee Sr.
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. & arranged music by Jonathan Kabore©2010
For Kabore Praise Music
From Anthology “Johnthan Kabore, Kabore Praise 2”
I’m the heartbeat of salsa, the rhythm of the conga,
Where Tito Puente’s spirit still dances on Third Avenue.
My murals speak louder than words—
Che Guevara, Celia Cruz, and the Spirit of East Harlem
Painted on every wall, telling stories of pride.
El Museo del Barrio stands tall,
A testament to our Latinx heritage,
While La Marqueta bustles with flavors of the island.
Oh, you think you’ve got the soul?
I birthed the Harlem Renaissance,
Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston walked my streets.
The Apollo Theater echoes with the voices of legends,
And Rucker Park? It’s where streetball met the NBA.
My brownstones whisper tales of Strivers’ Row,
And Marcus Garvey Park stands as a monument to our history.
But have you seen my festivals?
The Puerto Rican Day Parade lights up 116th,
A sea of flags and music filling the air.
My bodegas hum with reggaeton beats,
And the scent of arroz con gandules wafts through the streets.
We honor our roots with pride and passion,
A community united by rhythm and tradition.
I’ve got my own rhythm, my own flair,
From the sounds of jazz to the gospel in the air.
Sylvia’s serves up soul food with a side of history,
And the Studio Museum showcases Black artistry.
My streets are lined with stories of resilience and grace,
A tapestry woven with every face.
True, our paths have crossed and intertwined,
But our spirits remain distinct, uniquely defined.
El Barrio pulses with a Latin beat,
While Harlem’s heart echoes with African roots beneath.
Together, we form a mosaic so grand,
A testament to the cultures that built this land.