Long Graven image Poems
Long Graven image Poems. Below are the most popular long Graven image by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Graven image poems by poem length and keyword.
society has fallen prey to the status quo
unwilling to stand up for the God we all love and know
more concerned with being acceptable in the eyes of man
afraid to step out, to blaze a trail or even to take a stand
looking for approval from any and everyone
searching for commendations until the day is done
but a true Christian, a child of God can always discern
to stand up for God no matter how hot the fires will burn
and hope that those who worship false idols will one day see
that to fall under the devil's influence will lead to purgatory
don't ever let go of what you truly believe in life
take your stand and hold firm to the principles of the Lord Christ
be willing to stand boldly and tell society to it's face
that you wholly trust in the one true God who is full of mercy and grace
for greater is the God that is in me
greater than anything that man could ever be
take your stand in life and be true to your beliefs
don't fall for society's ways of ease and relief
don't hang with crowds for they'll slow you up or hurry you along
stand alone in the righteousness of God knowing right from wrong
tell that group of so-called friends you don't have time for pettiness
as you're too busy listening to God and keeping His holiness
fear not said the Lord, it's time to stand and fight
don't worry about the enemy for his dark can't diminish God's light
the enemy may huff and he may puff but he can't blow your foundation down
for you are standing on the word of God and are now on higher ground
for the devil is a liar and like a hooker always on the stroll
so be anxious over nothing as Father God is in control
to be like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego
to refuse to bow down to a graven image with a golden glow
take your stand, hold to God's hands and let the whole world see
that you won't accept any and all types of immorality
take your stand, stick up for Christ and tell the so-called powers that be
that you will only kneel down in the face of the Lord God's authority
take your stand, keep the faith, trust in God and have no fear
for He's in complete control and will always be there
All of a sudden there I was being led to where I did not
want to go, and I wasn't alone in this fact.
Killer bees telling us what to do, where to go, where to sit,
when to kneel and pray, how to be, telling us what we could
eat or drink, or if we could eat and drink at all that day.
Then we were all outside as a Cadillac convertible pulled up
and came to a stop. There was a woman sitting upon the top
of the backseat so she could be clearly seen. She was dressed
all in black from head to toe, only her very dark eyes did show.
I had a feeling she that belonged to all.
I stared at them and they started right back at me and my
very white skin with so much hate, thank the Lord I still was
not covered up with the dark robes that would restrict the air
that was still nice and cool around me, oxygen that filled my lungs full of life.
I was so hungry as this scene progressed, I was ready to eat
half an orange that had been discarded on the ground.
Before I could bring this piece of fruit up to my lips, a very angry
man said to me that this piece of orange was full of deadly bacteria.
Then we were standing in an arena or theater of sorts.. so many
people were packed in there as we surrounded a stage. There was
a lady dressed in a beautiful white dress, she had long flowing black
hair and as we watched her as she gestured towards a tall statue,
a pure white calf which was standing upright. The hostess sang
a pretty song which contained the lyrics, "we will worship all that is divine." Then the people knelt down to pray.
I started to kneel as well, but I being very keen of mind stood back
up quickly a I realized what was taking place.
I and the hostess seem to be the only ones who remained standing
before this graven image of worship. I knew instantly what would
happen if I remained standing before this calf.
But I all I knew is that where I was going was never going to be as
bad as where those very scarred people were right then and there.
That if they did not stand up and repent from worshiping this false idol
that their fate would be far worse than death.
Your honor I wish to state, with utmost rhapsody before the crescent azure, that my client is as white as a Lilly
was it fare that he died, a tender soul twenty one phases of the harvest moon
buried at the bloom of owls, bats to grace the occasion, ghosts to usher the procession, dogs to disguise as chief moaners
is it justified that the noble lad had to endure the disgrace of his anatomy, twenty strokes to the count to fulfill an accursed ritual
was it justified that my friend, left behind a park of wives sobbing behind the stench abounded streams, unleashing life to the ruins he called home
was my client an astrology to manipulate his destiny that drew him closer to the trigger, son of a gun he had no choice
did the cops drew in their hands, utmost monopoly on his life to pin him as easily as tapping a fly, the books of records think otherwise
am not a Marxist but truth be said that poverty and affluence unify in boxing duels, my friend was just but a soul, caught in the line of capitalism dynamism
was my friend born in the antiquities of an emperor, Shakespeare would tremble before the letters of his epitaph
was my client marooned in the lavishness of the middle class,Vincent van Gogh would dance before the master piece of his graven image
I don't believe in the tune of reincarnation but my client would obligingly accept, a second chance in whatever form, your grace shall offer
make him go back the statue of liberty, to enlighten mankind of the powers of democracy
allow him to return as the cutest kitten, to offer warmth to a broken heart
I have stated, I have mourned, not in desperation but in love, not to win but to exude the jury with truth, of the realities beyond these pearly gates, the day in life of a mere mortal,
my case rests,
Form:
from antiquity of the Peruvian Inca mountains
'til today's unsheathed bladed Java buttons clicking
the numbers add up to incessant discounting counting
to sacrifice our own graven image sown sickening
if she floats - she's a witch and frankly must die
if she sinks, well, obviously she's sufficiently pious
when down on the bottom, we can't hear her cries
of sacrifice, still, very little can get by us
filed and defiled is all the better all the while
as the former digits click off of our palms
fingers and toes, complete legs fall away, as do
whole heads mounting kill count without qualms
virgin girls, citizen children, soldiers of play
their sacrifice is for civilization after all
us, uh, i mean the gods, won't have it any other way
they must have their place on our wailing wall
the altar so sacred, so blood red royal
C-4 strapped around plain white-robed torso
from handlers who assure they have the will of God
sending heavenward, pink clouded supplication - more so
for the sacrifice of the body than of the soul
robed theocratic surgeons who cut off our noses
in a perceived attempt to maintain their control
of those around them that might be opposed to
notions that they need not explain themselves,
or that God demands carnage for reasons unknown,
that their actions should beget peace in our time
that they shan't pick up, to cast, the first stone
that we all could be better humans I suppose
if we sacrificed our pride, instead of our fear
if we worked hard not to be taken for a ride by
admitting things aren't what they might first appear
dunno, but if there is a god for us to pray to
then maybe we could pray to not be preyed upon
and sacrificed for that bloody old world view
time to cook up some whorled peas - and move on
© Goode Guy 2012-08-02
In Small Doses
Living a life is like taking poison –you die a little each day.
I am screwed
Know not when? Know not how? –Marriage happened.
Gone Astray
Religion is a well-traversed road –I am lost!
Favored
There’s no substitute for hard work and perseverance –except luck.
Fool of Wisdom
It requires wisdom to comprehend –a fool.
Recipe for Success
The ingredients for a successful life –Passion, Perfection, Patience.
Salvation
Sailing upstream against the wind –I have a strayed soul to summon.
Legally moral
When it becomes legal, it becomes moral –then, it's normal.
Common Factor
We are common people; the tail-enders –we hide between the legs in adversity.
Good for nothing
A good deed with ulterior motive is worse than a bad deed –with good intent.
Back Street blues
Don’t be scared of the back alleys –they might get you home quicker.
Idolatry
I picked a stray stone and carved a graven image of my God –I then worshiped.
Heavenly Bliss
Nothing happens by just wishing for the heaven –You have to first die for it.
Afterlife
There's only one sure way to immortality –die young.
False Hope
Gives you what was never yours to begin with –Chasing illusions.
Tarry no longer
A wet knot is hard to untie. Vet the person you marry –before you tie the knot.
Postscript
Poison, Potion, Prayer –either make you ill, immune or immortal.
~04/28/22
~Contest: A Brian Strand Premiere
It’s a terrible thing to be treated
as less than human ... all should abhor
Considered only as beast of burden —
that’s the lying end of it, nothing more
Iron yoke was our neck collar,
leash was a throat chain
Valued sixty cents on a dollar,
man is a doggone shame!
We were oxen on a perpetual till,
work mules in a plantation field
Our sweat harvest was golden amber grain
of one hundred percent sob pain inhumane
On the wage scale of cloaked justice,
for our labor, we were given nothing
Every economy based on oppression knows,
slaves are beast of burden most profitable
Muzzled voices auction sold
in the free market as pack animals
Degradation of subhuman sorrow
made us feel less than whole
Wary buyers were merchant told,
slaves were worth their weight in gold
Bray truth load in the cargo hold:
Talking mules have a Three-Fifth soul
~
O, Shopper Queen, $$ bag Lady Liberty,
I pagan pray with measured uncertainty
Leaning hard on your graven image mercy
for sooo long has been spiked crown thorny
I do now toil realize, hence I speak Perseus bold:
The grind-stone torch you Medusa hold,
whose covetous flame be imperious cold,
has dollar burned a hole into my Three-Fifth soul
False Profits bought have emptied out
from these pockets of Forty acre doubt
Wavy trust carry not any anthem clout,
rest easy on full pay is plow turnabout
This I do believe, Miss Lady Liberty, from Times old:
Pyramid schemes have an expiration date bar code
400-years interest repaid of Redeem hope stole
has principally made whole my Three-Fifth soul
Steal away the idol children
Work ‘em to death,
give them no pay
Carry their cries
on a plaintive wind
Pilfer their graven image mind
Then fill it with empty thoughts
of caste assimilation
Melting pot of Ag forged oars
had a fiery green blade muzzle shade
A laden, dragging metal sound made
on Independence Day shores
Bow wishful plow sweat parade
floated a Con-stitution charade
Sleight-of-hand stump rest speaking
Skin unlock plan
was auction heresy pulpit preaching
An Elmer Gantry shout
to the easy-picking pocket prey
Allow the stolen children
to veto believe
they can vote
the forced submission pain away
Give that captive audience
some fetter sugar cain —
Plantation toil saccharin
Bedtime stories of runaway glory,
sweet liberty lullabies
Cotton candy dreamland revision
of Emancipated lies
Printed mint tales of a mythical Abolition
be pigeon drop Prop-G:
Penny dreadful bales
of sharecropper Jim Crow caw con-dition
Sell them crass coined kleptocracy
Tell ‘em their slave residency
was merely indentured democracy
Pyramid-scheme toga villains
rob brazenly
Neo-pirate flags waving freely in the breeze
Steal away the vexed children,
who lazily
worshiped so gluttonously with pagan ease
Have the hex wards of the city-state
deliver hard labor unpaid ~ Such an unfruitful taste
Then tear tax their unproductive ways
Pickpocket tier demands
is how every kleptocracy is raised
Grifter chain-of-command
is Babel Tower iron tether praised
*Prop-G is my Ebonics shorthand for Propaganda
— Romantic Warrior
Long time ago when I was still a child,
I watched my grandpa in his shrine pour out libation,
Under the tree and amidst sun’s ferocious tide,
To a graven image constructed out of determination.
Sacred worships to gods known and unknown,
Handed-down by tradition as the story told,
In memory of the dead known and unknown,
Grandpa the sacred tradition his turn to hold.
And then the white man came,
From his roaming about though uninvited,
Grandpa responded and offered a game,
As demanded by his culture when by a stranger visited.
The white man introduced his own idea of worship,
Though of better value by my judgement,
I pondered what in man craves for worship,
May be the soul is afraid of judgement.
The white man brought a book,
In it was written many stories,
About a righteous man whose life they took,
Who went about doing good as told by the stories.
Grandpa believed what the white man brought,
The book he called the holy bible,
Where God will bring all wickedness to naught,
A message of hope to the people.
Grandpa his shrine began to destroy,
Cathedrals they began to build,
Materials they began to deploy,
Block by block they began to build.
On the alter is laid a cross,
To guide them by persecution will fall their faith,
To remind them to carry their daily cross,
Thus is formed my faith, oh the sound of faith.
one short score and five ago
it wasn't so - that streams
flowed in airless wires
that Dolby heard symphonic
on hand phones was absurd
that art could be a part of everyone's day
meals smartly delivered - have it your way
cookies cooked on every chip
bits for sales cooked to look legit
who knew we'd get delivery
of anything we could want or see
how-to brain surgery on YouTube
all mind's desires blogged now denude
and the ****, oh the ****
so high-def, so hot and forlorn
progress, regress, no matter now,
not totally, but - it's just a mess
we made it, a mirrored graven image
like us, to carry on our lineage
rub-a-dub-dub, it's all over us
newness notions hopelessly scrubbed
it's really the same ol' us you see
trinity or the favored Menage à Trois
we'll always take it to the Nth degree
so type 'n' say your mind's eye's desire
the whole world web buys 'n' sells us entirely
© Goode Guy 2014-03-13
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_Wide_Web
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tim_Berners-Lee
http://www.npr.org/2014/03/13/289750726/its-been-25-years-since-the-world-wide-web-was-invented
http://www.npr.org/2014/03/12/289594960/a-very-special-proposal-anniversary-for-the-world-wide-web
http://www.npr.org/blogs/alltechconsidered/2014/02/27/282965383/the-web-at-25-hugely-popular-and-viewed-as-a-positive-force
Form:
OBSESSION OF SOAPS
obsessed with the daylight hours
specifically the graven-image afternoon
like high place dungeon towers
calgon’s commercial didn’t “take me away”
but a clever string of soaps did the trick
yes ~ for three “wholesome” hours every day
like following a clever treasure map
i lived for “all my children”
Such lovely drivel and maple sap
for health’s sake visited “general hospital”
after all, i have only “one life to live”
where i delved into the incredible and impossible:
clever tales, like candles in tunnels
where danger lurks, and romance,
with abundant pleasures, funnels
stories old as time itself ~
they were my sweet craving
on a lovely built in shelf
kept me sane until they drove me insane
a drip drip of sand through an hourglass
i envisioned myself with false teeth and a cane
only when my husband and kids
began to refer to them as “my soaps”
did i realize my life on the skids,
and like a potion i’d been pedaled
did i remove the suds from my eyes
in my lightbulb-brain, it was settled!
who wants to see a gravestone:
“HERE LIES MY SPOUSE WHO LIVED FOR HER SOAPS”
7/21/2017
Contest - Obsession
*True so many years ago. I don’t watch them anymore :)