Long Genuflecting Poems
Long Genuflecting Poems. Below are the most popular long Genuflecting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Genuflecting poems by poem length and keyword.
"Ten Bills for Mary"
Bottles on the wall
green crystalline
numbered and marked
all thinking they are
unseen
Mary put a mirror
behind 55
and in her eyes
reflected corridors
of light and Blue Sky
and taking her hand
like manna from heaven
one man transporting
becomes Ten Bills
multi-amorphous
kneeling like a knight
pledging loyalty
chivalrous
kind, honourable
genuflecting
Mary put a mirror
behind 55
and in her eyes
reflected corridors
of light and Blue Sky
The woman
from Magdala
speaking tongues
risking all
crucified
consorting
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
"Well she was
Blinded by the light
Revved up like a deuce
Another runner in the night
The calliope crashed to the ground"
Consort. v.
Summersaulting on the clouds of time
Makes me thirsty for yesterday’s old ones
They were the best; their laps were soft.
Kindness was their middle name.
Their first name polite.
No one said, “no problem”.
They said, “You are welcome”.
“No problem” to me means “you are not really welcome”.
My mind growls and snarls every time I hear it.
Curtseys are weird, and never looked right.
I do not go in for genuflecting either.
Because I am not of that religious persuasion.
Then of course I might flex.
I am doing cartwheels now, reaching my toes toward Jupiter
Showing the gods and goddesses I am limber enough to show them up
They scoff at my antics, sneering at my enthusiasm.
I care not, for I am in my own world
Still steaming over “no problem”
which I guess is one.
AntiPoem 2
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
Let us march now inside St. Mary’s,
March reverently through these green repentant doors,
These holy portals to grace and absolution,
Into a stain-glassed sanctuary of sinners kneeling in disguise,
These sullied souls coming in through the out door again,
Figuring death is furloughed from the crucifixion business,
Two thousand blurry years later.
Let us still march forward now to the glassed tabernacle,
Resting up there ensconced upon the marble altar,
Beyond human touch;
The host inside now transubstantiating as with earthen time,
From dry crusty oatmeal,
To omnipotent King of the Universe.
The boy holds his new Sunday missal,
As the family drives to ancient St. Joseph’s,
Up the asphalt hill, there on Gold Street,
Amidst the tentative Yuletide presentations,
Of tinsel-lit trees and blinking avenue abodes.
In the distance Lady Lassen wears a white bonnet,
As the Redding Christmas Tree stands exuberant,
Seventy-three feet into the icy air on Market Street,
A rainbow-glowing giant with a thousand staring eyes.
Brenda Lee is singing,
Rocking Around the Christmas Tree,
From blaring radios inside Oldsmobiles and Studebakers,
Cruising Placer Street to the Cascade showing Butterfield 8.
The boy is counting the neon cocktails,
While riding in the backseat on blue polyurethane,
His father is intently driving the blue ’58 impala,
Into a gravelly hilltop parking lot.
Blaring outward from the church there I heard voices,
A bubbling sacramental bouillabaisse of silent
Parishioners all genuflecting in pristine Latin confusion.
The girls choir wearing skirts of curious plaid, is
Singing loudly and softly their angelic vocal renderings:
“Gloria in excelsis Deo"
Father Elliot is extending his arms outward now,
Bestowing the final expectant blessing;
He is giving absolution to the captives driving Cadillacs.
You know only one thing and that is:
Dying is not on the agenda.
I worry about being unfair to other benign parasites
in my feeding-frenzy faith community,
and to myself,
because I need
and/or want
a residential
intentionally cooperative
resiliently win/win consensus
co-investing
co-managing
eco-responsible and responsive
health-wealth community.
This feels rather much to ask
of someone already satisfied with a weekly sanctuary bath,
washing off some of the weekday BusinessAsUsual compost,
looking for ever renewing possibilities for repurposing trash
into refueling treasure.
I fear afflicting innocent souls
with my competitive capitalistic commodifying infliction
endangering all sacred values
averse to genuflecting before all secularized disvalues;
My own intentional community dreams
of relief from justice as revenge
anticipate double-binding win/win commitment to mercy
as peace restoring justice
for mutually healing purposes,
Sacred sanctuary relations between and among
strong-faithed cooperative parasites on MotherEarth,
actively seeking ego-systemic kindness within
and eco-systemic compassion
communioned
communicated
through commonly-held metaphoric verbals
and metaphysical non-verbals,
motions and emotions also shared
without my own comfortably sacred faith community.
I worry this desire of mine
bears little difference
than a hope to live in a multicultural gym
rather than to come in,
invest in twenty aerobic minutes on empty rows of exercise bikes,
take a quick, very private, shower,
and leave enough hot water
for all future regenerations.
Efficient,
like commercial sandwich bread,
but not really the stuff of robust communion.
“dans le heure bleue"
My skin feels alive
when you are
next to me
blood pulsing
from the core
of me
Root Chakra Red
My throat exposed
the Wolf now
lies next to me
in my warm bed
savage and smiling
he is seen, he
smells of
fresh crushed green
pine leaves
lemon
basil
bergamot
a heart blooming
with jasmine
rose
carnation
coriander
patchouli
sandalwood
and iris root, then
I’m on my knees
genuflecting
he says,
“Come here,"
He kisses me
and tastes
like
Star Anise
"sauvage
je reviens
vers vous
Rouge
dans le
heure bleue..."
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
V.S.A.S.
"Scent of a Woman
rising from
the Oceans blue
necklace of pearls
on a clam shell
salt and air
silver cut grass
then earthed
terra australis
Red"
A single red hibiscus flower
Waits for me this very hour
In my garden small and quaint
Reminding me of one dear saint.
Who knew me when
I was a dream back then
Before my time and hour came
Giving my heart its burning flame.
While here I rest, ponder and gaze
At this beauty of beauties in the shade.
Amazed at the way it bends in the breeze
As if genuflecting next to me
Hands together, petal to petal
Love upon me gently settles
Deep within my aching heart
Praying for a brand new start.
Here inside this garden gate
Where whispers of my mother waits
With love beyond the grave’s cold ground
In this red hibiscus flower found.
The rose, Nature’s fragrant
Enchanter – inspiration of poets
Our preference for themes of romantic
Banter
Embracing her velvety flutes and
And silky arm swirls
Genuflecting servingly at her sacred
Scented altar
Is there more to be said of such
Endearing essence that has not
Already been amorously written
And gushingly read?
-------------------------------------
Perhaps highlight further
Her blood-like red -- rebleed years
Of greenless stems and deeply
Penetrating barbed thorns?
Or simply allow her to be
A manifest less complex rarity
Never linking her heavily to our own
Vein letting excesses and soul shredding
dooms
Affirm royally the Rose’s purpose, above all else
Simply to reside as another of Mother's perfect garden
Blooms --
The weary Shepherd of a benighted flock
has been cast into outer darkness;
languishing in a purgatory
of his own making.
And those flock of sheep are now
running amok, plaintively bleating "baa! baa!"
into the abyss. Trying but failing to regroup;
chin-stroking about who they're now supposed to be
Oh, what to do! They can't seem to figure out
what to do with themselves anymore, pathetically
desperate enough to go down the primrose path of
self-destruction with the false prophet that once LED them.
Now they're crestfallen about the glory they once knew.
Instead of throwing off the yoke of servitude,
they've chosen to come under it, like old times.
Exhibit A: of the whole bunch, the most dyed-in-the-wool
sheep made a trip to Florida, headed down
his old Shepherd's abode, genuflecting before him;
on his hands and knees, pleading
to be led, like old times.
*example for contest*
Date written: 01/30/2021
"A Rainbow in My Clouds"
Do you think
you are better?
Yes you follow the rules
like a good girl
of modesty
self righteousness
genuflecting before fools
Look outside the Circle ;
What you're standing within,
it’s an old boring closed tool
you run around inside
like a little mouse
afraid of its own voice
you follow the clowns
You’re all Ultra Violet
in the Rainbow in My Cloud
Raise you higher than me
I’m the anchor
A Life fully lived
The roots feeding nutrients to you,
I am the source of The Tree
Years older than you
I’m the Change Agent
Standing firm on war torn
battered ground
Love is here
Love is now
I hand you
wisdom
I hand you
power
(LadyLabyrinth/2020)
Ultraviolet light has shorter wavelengths than visible light.
Although UV waves are invisible to the human eye,
some insects, such as bumblebees, can see them.
This is similar to how a dog can hear the sound
of a whistle just outside the hearing range of humans.
(ALLITERATION)
Cows milked: mitigated mooing in the meadows then
Weaving on the warp, some workaholic women
Harvest of hapless halibuts on hooks
Bookish book-worms buried in books
A palomino and a pony patter on the paving
Hucksters and hawkers hawking every housing.
Ravers out on the razzle raising a raucous razz-ma-tazz
Beavers busy building beaver-dams but about it quite blasé.
Doves cooing in divine chorus
Frogs frisking out of focus
Horoscopes are hocus pocus.
Tidal waves of tsunami treacherously tread
Sea-anemones scattered upon the sea-bed.
Geraniums genuflecting in jungle-like gardens
Hunters wary of wandering wild-life wardens.
All this when I ventured about videotaping
Nature's much nicer even with no landscaping
These are direly different scenes from different parts of the globe
Perhaps like a space probe's kaleidoscopic poetic probe
( this poem has every letter of the alphabet except x)