Long Delivered Poems

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Dancing With the Spirit Part 2

The Spirit of the Lord is not mentioned often in the Holy Scriptures 
But if you read the book of Acts you will get the full gospel picture 
Of the power of the Holy Spirit and what It can do
Of the power that God has and how it can delight in you

When you dance with the Spirit your priorities will be rearranged 
When you dance with the Spirit your whole outlook on life will change 
Understand that God desires to be in relationship with us totally 
God wants to be a part of our triumphs and our tragedies 
God wants us to dance with HIm in true harmony 
Cheek to cheek hand in hand is how God wants it to be 

Now when the Spirit comes its more than an emotional two step move 
When the Spirit comes it comes in a full transformal groove 
To touch our souls, to open our hearts and to strengthen our minds
The Spirit wants to dance with us in a manner most kind
The Spirit wants to move us out of our brokenness and our mess
The Spirit wants to call us out on those things we need to address 
To not be so concerned about what society has to say
To not be overwhelmed by life's circumstances as we journey on our way 
Now dancing with life, full of joy and spiritually purified 
Cleansed of those things that God sees as being  horrified 
Baptized by water and forged by the fire of spiritual transformation 
A new creation in Christ now housed on a new foundation 

Dancing with the Spirit jitterbugging with the Lord Christ 
Doing the spiritual salsa, the holy hustle and the tango for the rest of my life 
No longer will I define myself by my worst experience thus far
I'm now dancing with the Spirit no longer bitter nor faint of heart
Stepping out of the boat with courage and holiness abound
A new adjective before my name as the spirit in me has been found
No longer crackhead Sue but now Life Coach Susan
No longer drunken Joe but now Detective Joseph the man

Now dancing with the Spirit delivered from the adversary 
Full of godly power to fight against my enemies 
I'm dancing the merengue, the cha cha and the samba with the Holy Spirit 
I'm dancing the swing, the bolero and the mambo as I'm now with it
Dancing with the Spirit I'm doing the jive
Dancing with the Spirit and I'm feeling so alive 
Doing the gospel waltz, the holy hip-hop and the heavenly electric slide 
I'm dancing with the Holy Spirit cheek to cheek side by side
Form: Didactic


Death Dreaming

Death dreaming

Playfully I kicked the round object.
The round object did not object.
It rolled and rolled and rolled,
While on and on I lazily strolled.
Suddenly I stopped with untold dread,
As I indeed beheld someone’s head.
A lifeless skull lifelessly gazing at me,
A fleshless face silently talking to me.

Around me human bones lay scattered,
Remains of a community forever shattered.
Bones once delivered alive at birth,
Came to life again but in certain death,
Each bone narrating its own story,
In horrific details all too gory.
I could see the picture all clear and plain,
A vivid portrait of human death and pain.

Guns suddenly barked piercing golden silence.
Silence destroyed was replaced by violence.
Cries of pain and anguish rang in my ear,
Terrified eyes darting in total fear.
Men and women no more living treasure,
As they were butchered for mere pleasure.
Beautiful and innocent but most scared,
Children and babies were not spared.
Pregnant mothers viciously cut open,
Their unborn left to wither away in the open.
I could smell the flowing warm blood,
Which soon turned into a cold flood.

The alarm clock suddenly let out a sharp scream.
Alarmed I woke up from a terrifying dream.
Cold sweat pouring from every single pore,
As if chased by the most ferocious foe.
My hand fumbled for the remote control,
To watch events I do not control.
My pounding heart stopped with untold dread.
As I indeed beheld numerous heads,
Lifeless skulls painfully gazing at the world,
Lifeless faces silently talking to the world.
All over human bodies lay scattered,
Remains of communities forever shattered.
This time I was not just dreaming,
What I was watching was somewhere happening.

But this world is for all to live in peace.
Citizens of one world we can live in peace.
All of us destined for prosperity and peace.
Why then hatred that hates peace?
Why the brutality that shatters peace?
Why then selfishness that denies peace?
Why the raping that abuses peace?
Why senseless killing that kills our peace?
Why violence that violates the right to peace?
Why the genocide that wipes away peace?
Immediately I stood up to fight for peace,
Forever the unarmed soldier of peace.
You, what shall you choose but in peace,
Will it be violence or will it be peace?
Come join me in the battle for peace.
 
Peter Marimi
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Eddie Mars and the Solar Winds

EDDIE MARS AND THE SOLAR WINDS

The biggest band in Lisburn and fronted by Eddie Mars
A guy who could play anything, on his collection of guitars
On vocals, Charlie Venus, who was the joker in the pack
He played his fender tele' through a great big marshall stack
On bass was Johnny Neptune, with his yellow platform shoes
He harmonized on vocal, a disciple of the blues
The keyboards were delivered, by Hector Mothership
He worshipped things electrical, and loved the microchip
Ray Uranus kept the beat and he wore a bowler hat
Sure only a crazy drummer, would adopt a name like that

They played all over Britain, with their rockin lunar style
They sold out gigs in Wigan, they were lauded in Millisle
Their stage show was fantastic, with a massive lighting rig
A spaceship and some planets, lit the stage at every gig
That grew a loyal fan base, as they played across the land
They lived a life of excess, just like any touring band
Success soon followed in their wake, awards came thick and fast
And very soon the space machine, had an ever growing cast
Five young lads from Lisburn, fifty people in their crew
An entourage of strangers that they never even knew

Five big trucks, a fleet of cars, a chopper and two planes
A man to do the finance, who didn't even know their names, 
Still, fashions change, the sales dried up, the audience died away
And soon there were no big crowds, to watch the five lads play
Their last gig at the Ulster hall, was an evening to forget
Out of tune, and full of beer, as they stumbled through the set
And things got pretty messy when accountants came to call
They had no cash, they had no rights, seems their manager had it all
Their luck ran out, the band where broke, they had to end the show
They had to sell up everything, the spaceship had to go

Ray could never come to terms, with all the hurt and pain
He took some drugs and alcohol, he just never woke again
Hector went to college and he earned a top degree
And now he is the I.T guy in a light bulb factory
Johnny is the local star, who likes to talk about his fame
He tries to pull the young girls, and dine out on his name
Charlie lost his family, when the alcohol took hold
He shelters in the hostels when the weather gets too cold
Eddie left the country, when it all became too much
He now lives in Australia, but he never kept in touch
Form: Rhyme

Letting Go

I wrote this about the recent passing of my mother, Annette.  She was a rock, kind and
loving, my confidant and best friend - a Godly woman.  I miss her already, deeply.  

She died on January 24th, 2009 at 10:30 p.m. due to complications of a UTI that went
septic through her system, and a blood clot that formed in her foot.  She suffered and
painfully fought for three weeks... she was facing multiple amputations of all her limbs
and multiple organ failure.  She was only 61. 

My heart was imprinted greatly with her love and I am thankful for her.  She made me so
much of who I am today.



Letting Go
     by Amy Swanson 


Letting go
    of things that I
          once held dear, believed in

My soul
    stripped bare
             in agony, for all the world to see

Heart beats
     yet
          it feels so cold inside

Silence
      sits like stone
           in my spirit.

Life has led us
       on this 
             journey...
                  but one lonely road 
                         sought us out with furious speed;


A road that was not wanted or desired.


How can you
    be so accepting?

How can you
    not be angry, as I am?

How can you
     ... still believe?

...and how will I
      ever again believe...?


I feel as though life took a wrong turn...
    or someone didn't write the script correctly...
         it wasn't supposed to be this way.



I weep
    great sobbing tears
           that threaten to rip out my very essence


The pain so sharp
      like knives of ice

The judgment harsh
       unfair and undeserved

Sternly.... 
     mercilessly...
              delivered.

They say that there is peace in death
     but there was none
             only cruel suffering
                  that should not have been allowed;
                         torment inflicted
                             poor bruised body
                                    until
                                       so still you lay...

                                               life was no more.


I ask, "What meaning can there be?"

    I strain to hear the answer
                but there is no response...

                         only unwavering silence.


A part of me will never be the same.



Existence I now view with different eyes.

Dumbfoundedness Still Prevails Three Weeks Later

Dumbfoundedness still prevails three weeks later...
when held spellbound courtesy grifter

Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;

Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.

Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.

Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.

No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.

Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.

Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
Form: Rhyme


South of the United States Border

South Of The (United States) Border...
(Reigns A Welter Of Disorder)

Caravans comprising multitudinous
     peoples plodded a steady course
analogous to iron filings drawn by
     strong magnetic force
gravitational pull generated

     by North America
     an irresistible source,
which tug felt
     nearly all the way round
     webbed wide world beckoning

     for waves of humanity
figuratively donned as spawning fish,
toward which currently dimming
     beacon of democracy flickr
     Trump might extinguish

though tis quite heart
     breaking to experience
vicariously as one collective soul,
     these desperate folks
ambitious to seek asylum,

     (and eventual citizenship),
     while this "FAKE" president
     invents many a...holy SMOKES
outrageous, nefarious, and malicious
     dagger o type cruel barbed wire

accusing, condemning, and emasculating,
     (I could continue),
     but ye dear reader would tire
unless individuals 
     affected by xenophobia

     countenance same stance
     as Commander in Chief,
     or contrariwise some
     like minded 
     thinkers, rack coon sitter
the migrant situation dire,

     would effectively serve me
     as preaching to
     the Unitarian choir,
yet any sensate 
     person must admit
tis quite upsetting, lamenting,

     and agonizing to witness
     hordes of persons treated like
     some pestilential 
     eyesore dagnabbit,
yes this chap can
     endlessly spout flibbertigibbet,

though thee crux of my opinion,
     inspires a poem express
     sing supportive emotions
     particularly acknowledging,
     how these masses (thousands)

     of vulnerable individuals
show true grit,
nonetheless yours truly,
     would be hard pressed
     for an immediate

     humane solution to corral
this extensive kit
and caboodle, though this generic guy
with a poetic knack
shakes his noggin

watching armed flack
delivered from border patrol agents/
United States military, lack
restraint, and who outright attack
trespassers at point

     blank range that pack,
a deadly (Judge Judy ish
     huss) punch smack
king young ones
     upside the head forcing

everyone to backtrack
to their homeland of
     persecution by crack
headed gang members, which thugs
     violently land a deadly whack!
Form: Ballad

Premium Member Pillaged Poet

I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls, 
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.

"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking the trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet, 
but you're nothing more than a joke."

Guilt is the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion for poetry shrivels on its vine.
Withering like a flower, my empty heart 
has stripped my soul of its craving to write.

It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings.
They thirst, and their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them, 
and for this I'm filled with remorse and regret.

That mocking voice invaded my aching breast,
when again, it ridiculed me as a fool... 
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task.
You should put down the quill and live in disgrace."

There is no saving grace for me. 
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken, drowning in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only drums in rhythm to keep me alive.

Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered.
Parched and dying, drying up in a field of grief.
While I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit 
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
into an abyss, my fingers charred in a fire.

I can only water the seeds of self doubt
with salty sweat from my furrowed brow
and over fertilize them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption. 
Damnation will out.

My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower 
to give my wilting buds reprieve, a relief.
I've tried to save them all, or was it just
a half-hearted attempt made in vain?

Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain.
I'm suffering from loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself 
in what was once an emotional voice.

No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay. 
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and praying that I be forgiven.
For the folly, I've only myself to blame, 
this pillaged poet.
© Lin Lane  Create an image from this poem.

E V E R Y O N E 1

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"~"   "~" ("~") LOVE> ("~")
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""(H)ONEST-GOD ((O))PEN-(((W)))ILLING-All-WAYS-HOPEFUL;
HONOR-LOVE-HIS HEAVENLY; CREATOR-PROVIDING "~" (~) "~" 
ETERNAL "~" (~) "~" HUMBLY-ABIDING-HIMSELF FOR-HIS-OWN 
"REACHING" "~ (~) ~" ACCEPTING "~ (~) ~" always-what-Hate; 
cannot - born-of LOVE, Grace-UNCONDITIONAL; THE-DEVOTIONAL 
LIFE; HIS-FREE-SPIRIT, man-forged-sent-into-the-mixture; 

"~ (~) ~" ENTRUSTED "~ (~) ~"

Faith-instilled-Faith Evolving-IS--HIS-PERFECTED "HIS CHILDREN"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eM61MusOE7g&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aOSUDwV57hY&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sz2oFHAp2VI&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WV2gS5qQlic&feature=fvw

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L78wcxUXxYc

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QcIups90YsY

http://www.youtube.com/user/Darknesser666

The-Desire... Pureness; Of-Man - 

GRACE-MERCY-CONSIDERED - 

MERCY/FORGIVENESS/PEACE
PARDON/PONDERED/LOVE-
SURRENDERED... OFFERED;

INNOCENCE-DELIVERED,
JESUS... THE-EXAMPLE - 

So-through HIM-ETERNITY - 

"THUS; THE-BOLDNESS "OF" MAN!""

~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~ (~) ~
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Date December 19th 2010: http://www.whitehouse.gov/thank-you
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=269101
Plus a copy of this reference to being mailed.
Time today is: 306 AM first message same one mailed after second one to the 
President at 3:36 AM or around there about: 
http://www.whitehouse.gov/thank-you
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JkUnBPdR9RU&feature=channel

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=269230
http://allpoetry.com/ban/show/6960
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"~"   "~" ("~") LOVE> ("~")
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlTcgwcjxLE&feature=related
© James Long  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Epic

Thus of Man Part 2

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"~"   "~" ("~") LOVE> ("~")
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""(H)ONEST-GOD ((O))PEN-(((W)))ILLING-All-WAYS-HOPEFUL;
HONOR-LOVE-HIS HEAVENLY; CREATOR-PROVIDING "~" (~) "~" 
ETERNAL "~" (~) "~" HUMBLY-ABIDING-HIMSELF FOR-HIS-OWN 
"REACHING" "~ (~) ~" ACCEPTING "~ (~) ~" always-what-Hate; 
cannot - born-of LOVE, Grace-UNCONDITIONAL; THE-DEVOTIONAL 
LIFE; HIS-FREE-SPIRIT, man-forged-sent-into-the-mixture; 

"~ (~) ~" ENTRUSTED "~ (~) ~"

Faith-instilled-Faith Evolving-IS--HIS-PERFECTED "HIS CHILDREN"

Broken-born-are WE; it-is-would-it-be alone without-HIM - 

JESUS-BEGOTTEN-Of-HIM-SON-PURE; Of-LOVE- 
The-Desire... Pureness; Of-Man - 

GRACE-MERCY-CONSIDERED - 

MERCY/FORGIVENESS/PEACE
PARDON/PONDERED/LOVE-
SURRENDERED... OFFERED;

INNOCENCE-DELIVERED,
JESUS... THE-EXAMPLE - 

So-through HIM-ETERNITY - 

"THUS; THE-BOLDNESS "OF" MAN!""

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sz2oFHAp2VI&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3of_EN0XpxI&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP-szEkhMZo&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3of_EN0XpxI&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP-szEkhMZo&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSAkeHOWn5Y&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fSAkeHOWn5Y&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeDlwU6KVQc&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUyDZa3uSYc&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftTfViVNwiM&feature=channel

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1iSvHlWHLhs&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOl85O8nGXs&feature=related
http://allpoetry.com/ban/show/6960
 
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"~"   "~" ("~") LOVE> ("~")
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http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=269101
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=269170

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© James Long  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Epic

Soul of Beauty

Soul of Beauty


Through the dirt and grime of centuries
Bloody carnage of hate and fickle fate
In mediocre destinies
With shattered and reviled dreams
                                                                                           
It came creeping

From the tears of lovers
Left to weep with graves
From the stories and legends
Of hearts bitter revenge
                                                                                         
Struggling to rise

Floating in the carbon toxic
And the filth of monoxide stench
Rallying with the scream of cinder burnt
Atomic rising sun wastelands
                                                                                         
Ever straining

Cringing and cowering by pilloried hands
Slapped back to the slavery
The chains of abuse still hanging
Bare and bleeding their spiritual noose
    
                                                                                  
It lifted up

In wretched and ravaged cries of torture
The prostituted life of raped soul
In the stinking and festering pits
In concrete caves of darkest eyes
 
                                                                                        
A quiet cry

With misguided faith
And fear filled thoughts
With the drudgery of time
And its wasted philosophies come to nought
            
                                                                                         
To be recognised

All terror and anguish
Delivered to a single inescapable point
Of useless and overburdened hope
To heavens repentant angel of death
               
                                                                                         
And be free

Trammelled by its own steel shod hypocrisy
Flayed by its lies and deceit
Whipped to the post of progress
And entertainments release
                                                                                         
At last released

With a felon grin
And wrenching sadness
Pleading eyes
And with wistful smiles
           
                                                                             
It came creeping
Struggling to rise
Ever straining
It lifted up
A quiet cry
To be recognised
And be free
At last released

The soul of beauty

The heart of mankind

The spirit of love

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