Long Grazing Poems
Long Grazing Poems. Below are the most popular long Grazing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grazing poems by poem length and keyword.
"mathew" 6: 12-13
“and forgive us our debts”
(not only does a sheep get 3 squares a day,
but it is also believed that if one begs the
sky enough, one’s problems will just
wash away---this is to be the subsequent
consequence of ALL humans following
suit & getting down on four legs, growing
their thick coats & chewing grass)
“as we forgive our debtors”
(as the sheep thinking that their problems
are solved by an imaginary listener in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky,
so do the sheep continue grazing with a
sort of “live and let live” mentality,
until they are picked off by hunters)
“and do not lead us into temptation”
(so, the same imaginary listener who resides
in that imaginary trailer park, who seemed
to be the one that all the sheep were
comfortably baaaaa-ing to, now is
something to be feared as well? perhaps
that which one feels the need to submit
the whole of their will to is the same
corrupted core inside that would come up
with such a ridiculous hoax to begin with,
as found in the schizophrenic comment
here in the command to oneself (a baaaaa
into the mirror, if you will)
“but deliver us from the evil one”
(the EVIL ONE? is not the concept of
evil just that which goes against the
simultaneous baaaaa of the herd in the
grassy field? was not the GOOD ONE
just told in the last line to “not lead us
into temptation,” thereby being the only
“one” which can do so? make sure when
getting the ladle of kool-aid dumped into
your dixie cup, that you ask if said
dumper is EVIL or GOOD…certainly at
that point it will make all the difference in
the world)
“for yours is the kingdom and the power
and the glory forever”
(there is no other imaginary listener, whose
two-faced multiple personalities, residing in
an imaginary trailer park in the sky, handing
out its ladles of kool-aid, whose overwhelming
passion could be heard any louder than that
which dwells within the very heads of the
already brainwashed sheep baaaaa-ing out
the rest of their days, dissatisfied with the
actual physical world around them &
waiting for the end of what they deem as
a great big thorn in their side---that is,
the rest of us who are not convinced, and
who are not baaaaa-ing with the rest of
em’)
“amen”
(right there, in a nutshell, the whole lie
itself was conjured up by “a man,” or
a few men---all who had way too much
time on their hands & a rather limited
imagination).
When I appear there Nature seems to
Dance and dance and dance,
When I disappear she is prone to
Weep and weep and weep.
Withdraws all clouds from sky to set a
Splendid scenery,
So that me rising from the river
Afresh may there espy.
Whether it sun or shower or snow or
Storm, when I arise
To set my arms, the setting Sun
Certainly will be there.
Women who go to the river for bathing
Choose my choicy time,
So that there they may bathe in warm and
Yellow sunshine time.
Now here a plant blossoms and blooms and
Soon another there,
Here Spring is reappearing, with her
Bring all beauties back.
Nature is dancing with her rhythmic
Steps and divine smile,
Why can't I row a boat here swaying
To and fro on waves?
The valleys wear their flowery carpets,
And the mountains are
Once again clad in colours, such this
Sylvan scene is set.
White cranes are there always on serene
Haunted islets sit,
Or stand by whiter cows there grazing
O'er the lushy green.
Suppose some Beauty glance and dance in
This wild atmosphere,
Then surely that's a dance to see, when
Mother Nature dance.
So Nature takes the pen out of my
Hands and writes for me,
May that there me, the clouds and cranes and
Cows and waves witness.
On cloudy days, practically there will be no sun to see. But it was my insistence that when I rise up after bathing in the river and look up to the sky, the sun should be there in the western horizon for me to worship. If it is a heavy raining day, I will select the time to go to the river according to when the rain will have a possibility of abating. Even on the heaviest raining days in the east, nature is benevolent enough to uncover sun at least for a few seconds. I will select this time to rise up from the river with my eyes closed and fervently wishing for father sun to be there when I open my eyes. With closed eyes when we look westward, standing river fresh, I don't know what makes it happen but the sun will always be there though sometimes be for only a few seconds. It is like this life-giver listens to fervent wishes of his off-springs and grants them.
A Poem By P.S.Remesh Chandran. Editor, Sahyadri Books & Bloom Books. Trivandrum.
Read more about our views on poetry and about our various poetry editorial services, kindly visit http://poetryeditservice.blogspot.in/
Armadilly Billy the Sling Shot Kidster, was the Sheriff of our town.
When mangy rustlers went into action, he was wont to hunt them down.
‘The Buzzard’ and his surly gang of rustlers of epically, bad renown…
Had picked Texas and other states clean, and were on the move, NOW!
A terrible dust storm, dumped them smack dab, into our piece of territory.
The evil buzzard leader sat, now contemplating, upon the hangman’s tree.
His gang was ready to rustle, as he sat scoping out, many a nefarious deed.
Their base camp was an Old Box canyon, not far, and full of tumbleweeds.
Now, snail rustling’s a crime, so word got out, of where they’d be found.
As they’d gleaned, every single snail, grazing in all the creeks, all around.
The outlaws were expecting soon, to get away quite clean, with them all.
But the sheriff of our town, Billy was steamed, and he was standing tall.
Billy went on the move, and he meant business, if you know, what I mean.
Yep! He’s tough! He’s mean! He’s focused! His eyes were hard and lean!
While ‘The Buzzard’s’ head was bald, eyes cruel, his stance was cold as ice.
In the box canyon they’d be snail kabobs, by sundown, if Billy didn’t strike.
The snails were easy to follow, just had to follow their trail of yucky slime.
With Billy’s trusty stead Jalopy, they were at the boxed canyon by noontime.
Now, No One, and I mean NO ONE, steals, while Billy’s Sheriff in any town.
That no good, low down, Buzzard better watch out, for he’d now been found.
When Billy arrived they were loading snails into a boxcar to ship for Escargot.
The French black market in Quebec would offer a price, beyond compare so…
To bring them buzzards down, Billy’s slingshot clipped each wing and tail.
Without their feathers they couldn’t fly so they couldn’t remotely prevail.
But not without looking each one in the eye, for he was the good guy, after all.
There was neigh a feather left, as they were buzzard bait, way before nightfall.
But who can tell on a buzzard, for they don’t have much to start with, anyway.
Now they were the one’s loaded on a train set to Yuma, to prison all the way.
The moral to my story is that: Crime never EVER pays. Besides…
Snail rustling is just plain dumb! They’re so slow, that it's a pain!
To the music: The Good The Bad and the Ugly.
Dawn, when silence falters
And the trees of the range-
Are tucked in a bucket of fog
Marching dawn, whose beauty never alters,
I tuck myself in blankets like a log
At the Treetops Hotel upon the range
Dainty dreams upon dawn’s altar
The dappled peacock dazes the dawn
While the African crowned eagle
Will soar, prowling for prey
And tourists peep and picture the fawn
While their eyes prowl the breakfast tray
Jacaranda festooned fashion regal
Its blue flowers blue snowfall upon dawn
Elephants trudge to the watering hole
Buffalo follow, even the bush buck
The warthog always walks silly,
The big five will steal your soul
At the Ark's perch, you will be stuck
The water adorned by the pond lily
The range's serenity, waters your soul
Pristine streams gush from the moorlands
The Hagenia, decked in velvet green
The sword lily, sheathed in fibrous tunic
And as the Karuru falls hit land
True love will pierce to the gene
For pristine nature, is the true cupid.
Breaths bated as lovers hold hand
Further, nestled nigh in the blue skies
The Kinangop peak, peeking through
The closer I get, the further it hides
A sun bird chatters, along my trail's high
My eyes in tune, such wondrous hillsides
I sweat as I head towards the bamboo
I am among the butterflies
Ringlets in a dance, oh! Surreal world
Monkeys swing, tree to tree, a trail of imagination
A reed buck is openly grazing
A canvas of the grassland in its gold
I spot a Serval cat, in hiding
On a safari truck, the breeze is an inspiration
Beauty flows in the altitudes that I behold
At dusk the steeped villages prepare for sleep
The Nyandarua range, yawns its last
Fabled home of the Kikuyu god
Curtain like shadows befall the steep
And this wonderland begins to nod
As the women fluff off days dust fast
Men’s ears wide open as it darkens deep
Wild animals are known to visit
Roving around, excitement for the young
But the animals are known to visit hungry
The locals know too well, memories vivid
An elephant’s wrath is meted out bluntly
Protection for man and beast not far flung
Conservation and nurture is the spirit
As Mount Satima watches her watered floors,
She knows the heart goes deep
Collaboration with njeri hunjeri who is a wonderful poet
"Human mind knows no constraints. Without spending time or money, one can make an odyssey into the outer space and even into other planets. What is needed is the fuel of imagination." - By Poet
Outside, the night was gathering strength
How swift our lightning Sputnik,
Out running the speed of sound and light
Shot into space with a violent jerk, leaving us psychotic.
At a distance were luminous spheres
Suspended like glowing lanterns
Comets and meteors in hyper space
Seemed more like diffused patterns
An asteroid came whizzing towards us.
I closed my eyes in dreadful shock,
Fearing a terrible head on collision.
Thank God! It deviated from our track!
I looked at my friend seated beside
Obviously not here, lost in thought!
Looking down, I saw Mother Earth
A luminous ball, not bigger than a sapphire dot
Oh! How quickly we landed on Mars
It is so different from what I had learnt
Neither a barren belt of sterile terrain
Nor a rugged stretch of craters burnt
But a heavenly place so cool and serene
Full of scintillating scenes and ravishing sights
We, the emissaries from a far away land
Were warmly received by a team of alien sprites
The weight of the world suddenly lifted from us
We bounced up and down almost floating in the air
Found ourselves in a gorgeous garden
With springing fountains and blossoms fair
Trees were laden with dazzling gems
Lagoons and lakes of liquid silver
Vast expanse of tawny vistas
Plains waving with luxuriant verdure
What fun…! Hmm…over there,
Nothing like those seen on planet Earth
A herd of animals so strange and rare
Grazing on red grass in a canyon of great width
Our restless eyes scanning all around,
We accelerated our pace in rising delight.
As we were eager to explore every bit of ground,
We moved forward with enthusiastic gait.
Sudden was the sound I heard behind
And saw my mother standing near
Puzzled and confused as I looked around
In my ears her voice fell ringing clear-
“You lazy one, know this is exam time”
Rough and curt was her angry tirade.
“Again you can’t play a dumb mime”
Her words made my afternoon reverie suddenly fade
I saw my open book sneering at me
And my uncovered syllabus, a vast sea
The earth moans the earth and blood is soaked into dirt, the beatitude stands still and the mountain goat is grazing patiently on the hill. The birds are conducting Sunday morning mass and the leaders are prostrating on the grass; woeful tears are streaming down their faces and sins of their youth are scattered in open ditches, running streams, sidewalks and fortified manholes. Bullets wriggling in their flesh and some of them lay face down gasping for breath.
The whippoorwill is flying about and cannery is flying with a knife stuck in its throat. The sun is barely peeping out and the new is flying around the town. Some too busy to listen to it and other are too scared to absorb it. Everything came to a standstill and the news is already waving in the sky. Anxious eyes scrambling for answer and their body temperature are getting hotter. I mute my lips and take a gigantic leap over the three hundred- and fifty-kilometers precipice , clouds beneath clouds, create a waving movement in the sky and clouds underneath clouds spreading inside out. Hundreds of bodies lie still at the altar, swimming in their own pool while the morning scampers along with the machine gun trembling in their hands; they are getting ready for another Sunday mass
The Priests are purifying the grounds and they are spilling the incense all around; a strange sensation burst through the atmosphere and mourners are lining the streets watching destiny as it completes its final round. The old flag is lowered and the new flag is raised to the tower.
Pine cone appears in the middle of the earth and covers the earth’s surface in an oblique manner. They roll from the top of the hill pitching a big tenth in the middle of nowhere, silver, brown and grey they all had something unique to say. It’s regeneration, its human enlightenment it is the rebirth of the life that I have never lived, it’s my childhood yearning my adolescence longing and my adult new life, I have always dream of someone like you but can you really make my adult dream come through, and what about all the people around you I will carve the message on the pumpkin skin and sign it with a daffodils. The lantern is lit, the fireplaces is warm so meet my for coffee or tea before the break of dawn and take the silver pine cone with you.
Lifted into the eternal,
Peter walked through Heaven's pearly gates...
Greeted by his name's sake.
Ushered into the city of golden streets,
Meeting up with Jesus Whom escorts him around personally.
Manor houses arranged beautifully throughout this Holy city.
"One of these houses are yours Peter," Jesus said to him.
"Which one?" Peter asked the Lord of all.
"All you need to do is follow the song until you come to the house
that is singing to you," the Lord replied.
Peter stood for a moment while tuning into what was sublime,
Sung by a voice so sweet... beckoning him to follow where it would lead.
The streets of gold connected to a road of masterfully tailored, bejeweled cobblestone.
As they made their way further along this road... city turned into meadow,
Wild grass... the blades the color of emerald yet soft to the touch.
Making their way along this road, Peter noticed calves grazing... this grass was delicious to them yet even so their heads lifted up in greeting as they remembered Peter who had taken care of them in that other time.. that other place.
Continuing along their way a beautiful chapel came into sight... not unlike the one Peter left behind it was his time to take his place in this world.
Not far from this chapel which contained a barn underneath it stood a large manor house. There were giant trees of all kinds surrounding this property.
To the left a brook which was fed by delicate streams of living water. This water comes down from Mt. Zion itself.
As Peter along with Jesus drew closer, Peter's loved ones and church family... the ones who had gone on before came to greet him with overwhelming warm loving cheer... a reunion of great magnitude did take place.
Peter radiant with joy is home.
Jesus said to Peter something we all long to hear, "Well done my good and faithful servant whom I am honored to call my friend, my beloved."
So now we all know that there is no end to our time with loved ones and friends.
There is no end to our life with Father God, the Lamb of God, the Holy Spirit.
Farm Chapel Continue is a dedication to the Late Peter Smith of Southfield Chapel in Lancashire England. Farm Chapel is the second poem in Farm Chapel
which was also prompted by beloved friends Pastor Barry and Dorothy Dickinson.
Hold your breath
Not a touch of death
Go above the atmosphere…
Embrace the rainclouds that sponge in fear
Tell them that there’s a hopeful Utopia that lies ahead
Wipe away their tears of dread
Put all of your doubts to bed
Walk into the orchards of thousands of trees
Scan the rocky paths gingerly…
We’re grazing about like buzzing bees
Unveil the beautiful scene to everyone cheerfully
We can pass as psychopaths….sorry that I said that weirdly
Outlandish owls flutter about
In the current of the aqua-blue sky…we’re soaring so high, making me almost wanna cry! Never wave goodbye to surreal moments like these!
They’re all going the same route
I can’t help, but ask myself why…why we don’t have the ability to fly like bountiful, pleased bees! God will hear our pleas and guide us with gentle breeze!
Reach to the baby blue sky in childlike innocence
Don’t be fenced in by sad reminiscence…
It will soon turn to the process of evanescence
Someday, we all must turn to repentance…
I’m sorry – I’m trying to help you in this circumstance
He’ll help us out in advance and enhance our joyous appeal – we’re dancing merrily in harmony…in unity, we twinkle with elegance like stars, brightening with brilliance!
Drifting, white clouds pass us by,
Blending and floating in the sundrenched sky
Leave the past behind us – there’s a bright future
With many bright opportunities…that will nurture
Broken-hearted souls like ours…
God has incredible, genius powers
Rely on Him and He’ll take us beyond the distance and fulfill our heart’s desires
He’ll put out the hindrance…the quarrels that spread like wildfires
Know that God is far greater than men
He bestows us with miracles and gives us hope in mind again and again
So, when in doubt, look up to Him
And our hearts will flourish with far-fetched faith and He suits our fancy; our hearts are pumping with plenty of passionate pleasure – our lights will not dim!
Instead, He'll fill our cups to the rim
If I were you, I would thank Him!
Thank you, Lord, for giving me the ability to fly!
I'm crawling out of my shell; I'm bold as a lion, not shy like a sheep, grazing for who knows how long - I get on my knees and sigh...
Fine. I'll repent of my sins that I've committed in the past - it's the truth I cannot cover or deny!
I just realized something, and it hit me really hard deep down into my core, that I will never experience certain things with you, and I don’t know why I couldn’t see this before
I believe that I was reliving all of those beautiful memories that we once shared, and not thinking about things that I would miss that would never happen and in that moment my soul was bared
Tears started flowing down my cheeks and I tried to wipe them away, but then I just accepted them as my pain escaping from memories that I never got to taste
I’ll never hear sweet, seductive whispers into my ear as you lie beside me in the night, I’ll never feel your arms wrapped around me comforting me through my fright
There will never be silent moments shared looking into one another’s eyes, transferring our feelings and emotions to one another through the transcendence of time
There will be no pillow talk, laughter within our bed, sheets wrapped around us so tightly wound together with my legs wrapped around your legs
There will be no grazing of your fingertips so softly tracing the lines on my skin, teasing me so seductively making a path to the places you want to go that will never have an end
There will be no holding of each other’s hands as we make love so deeply, so true, there will be no exertion, no lying with each other in a state of bliss after we both have witnessed the truth
The truth that what we share there is nothing that has ever felt this way, the way that we melt into one another we were sculpted into our own shape
There will never be a moment as I lie there cradled inside of your strong arms, and feeling nothing but your love that is so real and genuine surrounding me to the point that it turns me on
There will never be an epiphany had where I know I was meant to be here in this moment in time just with you, I know that I will never feel this alive at least not without you
There will never be that dream of you just running your fingers through my hair and looking so deeply into my eyes that you can see into my soul…. I swear
There will never be a love that could ever come close to or replace what I once had/dreamed of having with you, and the realization of sadness in this thought is knowing that there is nothing that I can do.
Look, there's a white line, dead center of this empty road
Wow, that sun is hot out here...
and here I am sitting on the edge of this blacktop world
waiting for a tow .......crying out loud......why, Lord, why today?.....
Some shortcut huh? You might call it a back road error in judgement...
leaving me sitting in this no-man's land of desolate boredom....
a missed appointment, a frustrated friend waiting, while all I can do is
look at heat waves billowing up in the heat of Indian summer and watch the
peafowl grazing in the tall brown weeds behind me, ......hunting grasshoppers I suppose....
Territorial hens and cocks at their banquet
One patriarch, with his vast train, it seems he reigns aloof ..sitting there,
in the shade of a vagrant oak. At least there's one tree helping to shadow the place where I sit and oh yeah, that lone hen, wandering onto the white line, and looking at me, (with disdain, no less!)
I am an intruder, in a world I don't belong....she knows it.....should I apologize? "Okay, ....sorry you Chickadee!" "Whattaya expect me to do?"......
Hmmm..... that fading white line................
how do they get it dead center of the road, I wonder?
I have been sitting here for nearly an hour, sigh.............and that long, long, line.......
going to nowhere..........strange..........how you can be
mesmerized by a long white line that meanders into the distant horizon...
Wonder how long has it been since I've had such a moment
just a small moment to contemplate such a trifle...
a narrow white line in the center of an asphalt road
Who put it there? What sort of man? Who drives the machine, that paints this line?
Did he do this all day...draw these straight white painted stripes?
Does he give it much thought? This artist,...this Da'vinci of roadways?
Does he think of the life he might save....or the order this brings?
His touch of white on a blacktop world?
Does he do this all day.....day after day?
This artwork to pay for his wife's medicine?
Or for a son's braces, or a daughter's tuition?
Trivial contemplation, perhaps, crazy maybe to ponder by the side of a road.....
You say.....it is just a white line......so what??
To someone....even a trifle....a white line on asphalt....
might be important......