Long Flock Poems
Long Flock Poems. Below are the most popular long Flock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flock poems by poem length and keyword.
Hear their voices heed their cries
behind closed doors their terror lies
he left the stage and the public talk
but when home its principles mock
Day to day they live in fear
he's such a good man his children dear
but in truth he's Jeckel and Hyde
for acid are his inners and sugar outside
They dream as children for a fathers hug
but in private their back to the rug
the pain and conflict have left their mark
for current is hopeless and the future dark
He said they'd not believe you true
and thought a liar you would be
should you expose him and what he do
and what he started at age of three
The place where they were broken
should have been a safety zone
where the tenets of love are spoken
but empty of practice home
Rocks hidden in the rivers
but turbulence not rare
just beneath its surface
with the children drowning there
If you require another witness
get the children that exam
the dna would damn them
publicly remove that harmful man
Why do you whip the victim
and let the culprit free
the results from the doctor
would condemn him publicly
No shepherd of the flock is good
if he not protects the sheep
by oath you are bound to "truth"
and the commands your owner keep
The perpetrator by God convicted
but the shepherd who does not
pursue the "truth" will be exposed
his negligence will be caught
John 10:1-18
Matthew 7:15-23
COPYRIGHT © 2011 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Tell the Moms it didn't happen
Tell the Dads it isn't so
Pretty little roses blooming
In the garden – row on row –
Pretty little blossoms folding
Petals falling to the floor
Falling into angels rising
Sprouting wings on which to soar
Smite the gunman at the trigger!
Seize the madman at the gun!
Little voices in the hallway
Little faces in the sun
Little feet upon the heavens
With the morning just begun –
Strike the harp, and hold the fiddle
Let the bells peal out the tune
Mournful as the lonely shepherd
'Ere the clock is noon
Mourning for his little flock
Going home too soon
– And when the news had broken
And gotten all abroad
The stoutest of the stoutest hearts
Could only weep aloud
For here the pact was broken
For here the seal was lost
For here the children were not spared
The devil's holocaust
And startled in his earthly robes
His heart gone sudden cold
Himself a witness to the siege
Even God arose
And with a savage grace
That moved without a sound
Turned the barrel on itself
And with the final round
Emptied out the chamber
And smote the demon down –
Each morn at dawn I stroll along
the ocean's sandy shore,
the beach.
Each day it's different,
but always it's as it's ever been,
malleable,
resilient.
Sea and beach - what a perfect pair, a couple
holding hands, together, since time began.
Particles of sand, remnants of shells
obliterated to grit, eroded to dust
by the pounding of waves relentless.
The grain flecks flock, they
huddle and cuddle together as sand.
Barefoot, I strive to find an easy path
along the edge, where the sand is
neither too soft nor too hard.
Where the sand cushions my footfall steps
without sinking too deep,
without making a tiring drag.
I am ashamed to leave footprints
scarring the seashore's face.
But along the edge, the sea and tide
will heal the cuts, bruises and blotches,
I make each morn.
Soon, the beach will repair itself
to be perfectly smooth again,
making a mirror to glisten
and shine the sun's reflection.
As I look back,
my footprints have gone.
For the beach malleable, resilient
is the perfect sea barrier,
far better than us mere mortals could make.
It erodes and returns like the tide,
It forms dunes to shield the vegetation
It absorbs and quells the dashing waves
It says cheers to the froth, bubbles and spray
transforming them into white bridal vales,
as the sea and beach renew their vows,
malleable,
resilient.
At the dextrous flick of a pliant switch,
or some hue laden buoyant platform,
building sturdy grey grain bridges,
thin veil barren vacuum putative,
in a distant introverted wingspan,
yearning heart at the kernel of a handset,
shrink-wrap diaspora our intrinsic zeitgeist,
contact list on three dimension video,
in situ variegated infinite topic,
profound menu of cerebral dichotomy,
intimate engagement squeezes firm,
the lachrymose event within,
cognisant of prying web snoop,
on screen shadow world doubter,
secret anguish at forlorn tap,
proxy palm of hand palliative,
fingers jitter in composition panel,
pathos rapt in emoji display font,
deep ink well wiki tiered option link,
faint blue highlight access patch,
to master virtual mind concepts,
Jack-O-Lantern vapour a viral mask,
bogus face to face enchantment?
facile glib judgement I’d eschew,
labyrinthine waylay self-induced,
broad deep life question digital,
pop up connoisseur glossary,
perception at the press of a button,
in the eyes of the shrill yet genuine flock,
plus and minus fact sheet,
an overtopping wavelength,
how impoverished and lonely,
our dialogue would be,
this world would sink into,
even graver crass detachment,
without the many, many positives,
our smart devices regularly bring
THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of tamed and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus softened with that tender hand
which Shepherd to mild glen compels.
One fleece the more, one spot the less,
had half-possessed the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
that gently whitens o'er their face,
where eyes serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their ovine race.
And on that rump, and o'er that round,
so firm, so strong, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
An immortal time traveler,
I visit placid planets and shining stars
across the inter-stellar space
in the timeless continuum.
I’ve visited many times in disguise
the unique blue planet,
thriving with vibrant earthly life.
There, in the distant past eons ago,
I cherished the flow of geniality air.
On its affable wings
I could freely fly like a bird
across the span of the azure sky
to the horizon of lilting lands,
soar alongside of the floating flock
in the warm space of conviviality.
It was the chromatic time then,
when in the vibes of vibgyor dawn,
tinged by the spectral sunbeam,
I could see the friendly throng
in the breeze-braced plateau,
singing together the spring song
of unrestrained intimacy.
In my final visit now,
I see the shadow of lurking desolation
creep menacingly close unhindered,
turning the earth’s corners into cages.
The confined spirits plunging in lone abysses
stagnate within gripping isolation.
Intolerance weaves threads of hatred
in the fabric of the scary times.
Innocent blood is shed in madness,
fanaticism spreads like wild fire.
Life is splintered by the lancet of chaos
into disposable debris uncared.
In the psychic grip of insolent stress
the fostered relationships crash.
Before the world order collapses
I ardently wish the times change.
The war-tanks become pianos,
guns transform into harmonic flutes,
deadly arsenals turn harps,
mercenaries become violins.
They all perform the symphony
of peace and universal brotherhood.
Before the hourglass breaks,
let the essence of times change.
The thorns of contempt turn into flowers,
cactus of hatred changes to olive branch.
Let the crooked minds morph into alchemists,
make golden strands from rusted fence wire
that will create the garlands,
intertwine the humankind with love.
Scene of such grand pageantry, men flock to view in legions.
Phenomenon to behold in most Northern of Earth's regions.
Energies of atmospheric particles meet and burst in collision
Creating the most illustrious spectacle dancing into my vision.
Trails, as if rising to Heaven, glowing phosphorous apparition.
Aurora Borealis; cascades of light stretching across the skies
Curl and wave in beauteous rhapsody before awestruck eyes.
Under guise of king and queen, they dance as pawns look on.
Luminous waltzing monarchs on their chess board until dawn.
Alluring colors blending, shades of red, purple, green and blue,
Radiant aura painted by the hand of God, a gift for me and you.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
January 13th, 2016
Acrostic Contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Do the eyes see, or does the mind perceive
What shadows creep warily upon the eve
What forgotten past horde our gainful years
What winged doom bearers rouse our darkest fears
While doubts fester in the fields of the failed legionnaire
And fallen angels flock about thy desperate prayer
Know, aback the world dreaming dragon, I'll be there
Arisen from the dust and decay of The One's, promise broken
I am all that, of which mean, "power", awoken
The wailing grief of shadows fallen where darkness dare
Cleaved in twain by the righteous sword's gleaming glare
Nigh falls the last darkling felled to the abysmal deep
Goeth now from fretful slumbers to restful sleep
For, nor even death himself may reap
thy mortal soul
Whilst I stand guardian; the sacred fold
And so the sheep will flock, and the wolves will be watching.
And with time nothing will escape those strong jaws and sharp teeth.
Lured are the sheep by pastures green. Eat for free as much grass as you want my Sheep. Come daily.
We allow you to graze for free, go and spread the word, invite more sheep into our pastures.
We will be there waiting and watching.
And slowly we will pounce on you, with our endless annoying advertisements. We control the pastures you graze on.
We will make millions off your need to graze my sheep. Like our pages, share what you like, what you listen to, and what you eat.
You are such loyal sheep you eat daily and never complain. We have your mug shots, and your likes and dislikes and all for free, you have saved us millions in getting all this information as you provided it willingly and freely.
We have a great database and a big marketing and advertising niche in the market.
Thank you my sheep for being so sheepishly loyal. We promise to make more millions and annoy you with more changes and adverts, by withholding your posts, with love and broad smiles and even fatter bank balances.
We are the Wolves in your life.?Wonder who that is? I am sure my fellow sheep know very well. I wrote this a while back and nothing has changed, in fact, it has gotten much worse. Have a nice day my sheep. I am off to graze.
Far below,
a solitary,
white cockatoo
is flying along the valley floor.
It seems lost, separated
from its flock.
It turns
this way and that
as if following some
scrambled map printed
on its brain. It is so small
and insignificant
set against the immensity
of these mountains.
I can just make out
the ragged notes of its cry
carried through
the deep hush walled
along its way. I hear
alarm and fear woven
into its constant call.
Now, it is getting further away.
I try to hold the sound's
thin tapering thread
by cupping my ear,
but now there is only
the whisperings
of nearby trees.
Its stark, white,
flapping form
is growing smaller
and fainter as it tacks
into the darkening reaches
of the afternoon.
A tiny, blurred speck
hesitates, flickers briefly,
then is gone.
I stand for a while
as shadows thicken
and fill with cold,
my eyes transfixed
on the point of its going,
letting it go
to fly with almost all
of my life.