Long Errantly Poems
Long Errantly Poems. Below are the most popular long Errantly by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Errantly poems by poem length and keyword.
Chaotic rain divulges errantly
how can this be God’s poetry
it plunders like a tsunami
the Devil’s masterpiece
How can this be mercy
torrent waters surge
floods creating oceans
inescapable drowning
Each rain drop becomes louder
caught in the line of fire
no escaping the bullets
tranquil peace destroyed
Peaceful melodies are lost
storms reflect unpleasant music
senseless evil heavy metal lyrics
no purpose – shouting and screaming
Doused, drenched, engulfed
suffocating – soaking strain
where is Noah and his Ark?
Will this barricade conclude
The Silent One
Originally written 7 January 2016
Repost: 1 January 2018
As the devil roams the earth, sometimes
believing church folk depend on other
Christians for support during occasions of
doubt and despair. I find myself
errantly choosing the wrong paths
forgetting that I have professed
God as the One on whom I depend.
He is my faithful Redeemer who
intercedes with mercy’s kindness, yet
judiciously knowing I need a Father's
kindling fire for my disobedient heart with
love, forgiveness and discipline.
My earthly friends would condone my
narcissism and stubborn conceit which
occludes the very Paraclete within me;
penitence is what I really need.
Quashing the ploys of the evil one,
repentant souls refresh their
spirits. Spurning Satan’s subversion
teaches us dependence upon God's remedy for
unfaithfulness, the loose rocks on our route.
Vital to our strength is a well-meaning,
wise Friend’s honesty. God’s Spirit is that
xenolith who supports each believer,
yokes Christians yearning to bring
zealots back into relationship with their Redeemer.
First words of each line can also be read as a "abc" type poem:
As believing Christians doubt
errantly forgetting God,
He intercedes judiciously kindling love.
My narcissism occludes penitence.
Quashing repentant spirits teaches unfaithfulness.
Vital, wise xenolith yokes zealots.
February 10, 2020
Caren Krutsinger's ABCEDARIAN contest
rainbow rhapsody
morphs momentarily
into
morose mélange
of
shredded exuberance
bleeding colors
from
chromatic clouds
of
twilight zone
embroidered ephemerally
by
sunset spectrum
permeates profoundly
as
ingrained insignia
of
cobalt lattice
of
broken heart
painting blue
love linen
f r a y e d....
receding requiem
of
remote roses
resonates melody
in
tragic concerto
of
melancholic medley
as
petals wilt
with
forlorn feelings
while
dripping teardrops
of
mourning dew
on
floral luster
fading
desiccates desolate
in
somber sunshine
of
marooned mind
flagging flowers
make motif
of
withered wreath
for
decedent passion
o b s c u r e....
convergent cacophony
accrues dissonance
relentless
in
entropy cauldron
of
disharmonic music
as
snarled symphony
of
dismantled tune
incoherent
on
refrain ripples
discordant
configured contorted
in
strained smile
sneers sense
inane
of
lonely life
where
sanguinity songs
transform deplorably
into
nonsensical noise
echoed errantly
by
reflective soul
a r c a n e....
life’s leitmotif
listless
seen skeptically
through
cynic lens
indolent
of
distorted essence
magnifies manifold
into
crooked contortion
of
convoluted consciousness
a b e r r a n t....
The First Time
A brooding forest illuminated by a wishful recitation,
Errantly proffered, for woodland creature's, to savor,
A humble soul, who is slow in the course of courting,
A supportive procedure, of airy words to practice by.
Nimble eyes brashly grazed the overworn paper,
Promising to thoughts sake, of multiple repeats,
Apprehensive importuned by that thawing hour,
As the momentous occurrence, developed itself.
Yon floweret holds neath dangling mistletoe,
Her fervent fragrance burst to exude scents,
Ventured out eagerly entice the staled nose,
Urbane sweet-smelling embrace a new year.
The sweet nothings poured first from his lips,
To tendered labyrinths to absorb and exist in,
The elder minds remember and youth fickles,
Naught this brave budding cause for he begs.
So he gathers the courage to submissiveness,
With both hands behind his back and yield . . .
. . . fingers crossed, he leans in towards her too,
favors a kiss to be in-kind, she willfully responds.
. . . two as one . . . for the first time.
2020 January 17
What Are Your Wishes
*7th Place*
Second Chances N-A Poems From My Contests Only Part I
~~Chantelle Anne Cooke
*2nd Place*
Writing Prompt - Take the Dagger Out
~~Constance La France
I listen to the wind as it dries my tears
because its flowing current is wiser than all my years.
~ Quote by poet
Wind is never silent, echoing its cries
It sings in the night to stars in celestial skies
Stories are told upon the rushing wind
but in the telling, never does it feel chagrined.
Quicker than a heartbeat, it errantly flies.
Across mountain peaks its music is heard.
In its harmony, I hear every word.
I feel the cold of its temperate sting
and with its beckoning lyrics, I sing.
When its message touches me, I'm stirred.
In a gentle voice through meadows, it talks
I feel like chasing it on morning walks
I'd rise with wildflowers to take flight,
soaring to the moon at its zenith height,
if I had pinion wings like eagles and hawks.
I listen to the wind as it howls without grace,
When it blows waves of saltwater in my face.
It speaks of love in such a solemn breath
In its stillness, I hear it mourning death.
Never, for very long does it stay in one place.
*Image of Hands In Mine by giphy Ruoloc.
Of A Chasten Kind
We were both in the advent moment,
In appreciation of our wants and likes were similar,
A comparison game we played,
For our desires was for another time to ponder away,
Per 'carpe diem' 'twas the name of the game,
Forthwith we did not gamble our sins,
Be another day to filter away,
And not by a whim to spin on a dime,
Yet heads or tails were a game played by one,
For in all due process, one of us had jumped the gun,
The noose was tightened and hung high,
Too high for me to judge righteously,
For my heart was still playing the game,
Not knowing you had stopped all the same and baited,
For but to steal a chance and awaken a sleeping giant,
And kindle a spark hoping to inflame a forest,
A dampen moment ill-gotten,
Gained clarity in way of doubt, the distance made short,
Apparent left speechless and a heartbeat nevertheless,
Could not perceive eyes belonged to another, claim abandoned,
The transparency ended, a future made errantly,
Lost soul took flight ends the tryst e'er made,
Now one doesn't play anymore,
For being alone 'tis no game at all.
Revised Date: 2020 March 18
Original Date: 2019 May 07
I listen to the wind as it dries my tears
because its flowing current is wiser than all my years.
~ Quote by poet
Wind is never silent, echoing its cries
Sings in the night to stars in celestial skies
Stories are told upon the rushing wind
but in the telling, never does it feel chagrined.
Quicker than a heartbeat, it errantly flies.
Across mountain peaks its music is heard.
In harmony, I listen to every word.
I feel the cold of its temperate sting
and along with its beckoning lyrics, I sing.
When its message touches me, I am stirred.
In a gentle voice through meadows, it talks
Capturing my attention on morning walks
Inviting me along with flowers to take flight
to soar to the moon. I'd accept the invite
if I had pinion wings like eagles and hawks.
I listen to the wind as it howls without grace,
blows briny waves of saltwater in my face.
It speaks of love in such a solemn breath
In its stillness, sometimes I hear it mourning death.
Oh, my gosh, I’m freaking and feel such dread.
What the hay is this nonsense on my head?
I can’t go to work, can't enter the office!
I will be seen, visible to peers and bosses,
be the fool who provided entertainment gossip.
God, please, send help, I am stress-nauseous.
I do not care about appearing faultless,
but I'd rather errantly tuck a dress in my hose
and walk through the office cluelessly exposed
than have everyone think this is what I choose.
I wonder if I should call in with a case of ugly,
hire someone to gently, but effectively mug me?
Perhaps I'll get pulled and cuffed on the roadside
for publicly exposing the ugliest hair ever dyed.
Shame a wig class wasn't at business school:
"How to Avoid Looking Like the Office Fool."
I look like a horrified, horror movie hostess.
Even my own mirror is refusing to focus.
Here I am, paler than even fresh new snow,
with midnight black hair grooving to and fro.
My very first dye and, oh my, I could just die!
Box said ‘brown’, now I'm so down, I might cry.
Universe, please – send a natural disaster,
nothing fatal, it's just one repair day I’m after.