Long Episcopal Poems
Long Episcopal Poems. Below are the most popular long Episcopal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Episcopal poems by poem length and keyword.
*** Life’s Growing Joy Poem Within a Poem ***
My 70’s may be the decade
For reaching my pathway’s
Ends and Epiphanies: a service of ‘Lessons and Pains’
— To help my growing….
For example, Truths that I heard repeatedly,
I now believe well enough to take
My spirit from Dreams to Actuality — metaphorically then —
— I lean into the sky as a noteworthy Gnarly Tree…
Also a lesson such as, ‘God lives within us,’ although
It’s hard for me to understand why Our Holy God opts
To be threading through these rickety,
— These creaking and oddly angling limbs….
Plus, like so many of the eternal, quite externally-wrought necesities
Are thought to bring to us every happiness: from wealth or friends;
Or, all the sweet, easy hours of comfort soaking in starlight and sun,
— Ignoring the wildly waving grass underneath…
The knowing of happines raises its cherished supports not from beyond,
But from within hearts treasuring freedom and wonder,
Focussed on what is Other — in those moments when ego’s set aside —
— While divinely coaxed roots of Joy, grow deeper, longer
Through time, betwixt Heaven and Earth to blessedly radiate and thrive…
—————————————————————————————————————-
(c) 6/22/2023 sally young eslinger
Thanks be to God—
* (In the Episcopal Church, just before Christmas, there
is a service called “Lessons and Carols,” telling the story of the birth of Christ.
** Please note! This could be considered an “Experimental” Poem, because, in a 2nd read, following the dashes, there IS to be found a poem-within-a-poem. Hope you enjoyed them both! Hugs & blessings,
sally
A euphemism is a way
of saying what went down,
of neutralising all dismay,
and rubbing out the frown.
The bad stuff has by now occurred,
but let’s not raise the tension:
we need a mollifying word,
a less-than-stressful mention.
“We cannot say for sure, at all,
how World War Two will end:
you think we’ve got a crystal ball?
Who knows how things may tend?”
These words of Hiro Hito were
designed to calm the moms:
did no-one in Japan say, “Sir,
they’ve dropped two atom bombs”?
Imagine that your local church
(episcopal, suppose)
needs newbies, and is on the search
for Sunday-sucker-Joes.
“This Hitler guy, let’s not say why,
won’t be the perfect warden.”
And if your parents have to die,
what’s wrong with Lizzie Borden?
A dinner invite: you’re recruiting
a trusty baby-sitter –
Rasputin, maybe? Why not Putin?
You don’t want Gary Glitter?
The kids need someone, prima facie,
less controversial, calmer:
Spencer Tracy? Kevin Spacey?
Let’s book the Dalai Lama!
Count Dracula is not Count Basie
(self-harmer, instant karma):
but better yet than John Wayne Gacey
or even Geoffrey Dahmer.
Euphemism doesn’t work.
I’d rather know the truth.
So Humphrey Bogart was a jerk,
Roy Rogers and Babe Ruth.
I dreamt I was in a church,
I was walking up to the candlelit altar.
There were clergy garbed in vestments,
whether they were Catholic or Episcopal,
I don't recall.
A mourning Mass was about to begin.
I approached an open small mahogany coffin,
an infant lost to abortion was lying in it,
instead of the bassinet it deserved to be
born into.
I placed my hand tenderly on the
lacy-robed babe.
Suddenly, the baby stirred and came to life,
gently cooing as many babies do.
The Life Dream,
sweet omnipresent Christ,
our prayers for unborn and born children.
Your infants of the ages,
of the earth's mother's receiving bosoms.
Our sorrows become our joys,
we saved through Your grace-
more of Your precious ones today. ~
3/10/15
It was visible
That he was a strange individual
Because he followed his own principles
And never believed in anything biblical or political
To some that was unforgivable
And despicable
Yet hardly anything he ever did was criminal or typical
And most of his ideas were original
In a world so digital
He knew that nothing was invincible
And far too many things were mythical
And fictional
But he stayed unpredictable
In a place that was truly livable
It was pitiful
That many were inhospitable
So he was never egotistical
Or critical
Because he loved being mystical
Even if it was considered as non traditional
Outside the municipal
He reached far above the pinnacle
But those that were episcopal
Tried to cover it up as if it was invisible
And even though it seemed rather inexplicable
He paid no attention because doing his own thing was irresistible
And what they had done was easily fixable
I Dont Give A Fig About The Brouhaha...
of new year's eve,
yet yours truly does consider
at least one singular plum me facet by Jeeve
er...Robert (or Rabbie) Burns,
a profoundly poignant poem, he did conceive.
Anyway, this wordsmith fascinated
by historical lyricist whose unbelieve
hub bull lee brief life, nonetheless
made a lasting contribution,
a psalm burr tune folks across webbed
wide world sing to grieve
of recent sorrows past, plus pay
homage to joys summoned from
deep within core of soul bellowed
forth with an exultant heave
perhaps unbeknownst to most Robert Burns
(25 January 1759 – 21 July 1796) did leave
his lasting legacy, sans (as national poet
of Scotland celebrated worldwide)
particularly the classic traditional chestnut
auld lang syne rendered in many versions
waving white capping
New Year's eve celebration proud
accomplishments one did achieve.
Coincidentally, "Auld Lang Syne"
and "America the Beautiful"
at which juncture, I interject
a historical grace note to mull
how latter named above patriotic
song in the United States,
(lyrics written by Katharine Lee
Bates saw many occasions
after music composed by church organist
and choirmaster Samuel
A. Ward at Grace Episcopal Church
in Newark, New Jersey) dull
lighting oomph and pizazz, extant
since early 1900s, origin gin null
intent format arranged as poem,
"Pikes Peak first published
Fourth of July full
edition of the church periodical
The Congregationalist in 1895,
now sung by mull teat hoods at Super Bowl
every year since 2009, and appeared pull
say ting stadiums at some sports events
after the 9/11 terror attack hull
lob bell loo in 2001.
The song comprises four verses,
one of isung before kick-off
in NFL's showpiece game.
Just by giving cerebral activity free rein,
this inquisitive mind of mine
learned how twenty first century New Year's
celebration include auld lang syne
linkedin with feted mid eighteenth poet
laureate, whose death at thirty seven, his spine
tingling spirit issues forth to give
him immortality almost divine
everlasting longevity within the pantheon
of August artists who humanity did assign
an eternal place future generations will
revere such metrical design.