Long Hereafter Poems
Long Hereafter Poems. Below are the most popular long Hereafter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hereafter poems by poem length and keyword.
i and my killer
standing face to face
i can see the redness in his eyes
he would have not slept last night
i and my killer
we have never met before
we are complete stranger to each other
perhaps he not knew neither i
why he is going to kill me
i have kids back home
he is in his teen should be alone
but now the time has finished
we are ready to go in the tunnel of dark
we will be no longer i and he
we will be a news article hereafter
i have no fear
i have only worry
how to save my kids
from becoming a next suicidal bomber
o my killer
let it be the last victim
let the world lovely as it was before you
u need my blood its there
not for ugly thoughts of you
but for the promising new peaceful world
Form:
Those seeds you plant are positively primitive, almost nothing at all. You can eat them from the palm of your soulful hand. You can look at them, greedily hide them - close them up in your tight fist. Imprisoned, not by the earth, not buried in the moist dark, but in a wad. You open up your wallet-hand to count the seedlings, grind them up in worrying. Notice those worries don’t disappear- nothing magical about these beans. You can’t climb its vine - no problem giants, nor insects, no clipping, nor tenderness. No golden eggs nor melodic harp, no goose - no fowl. Positively primitive, your thoughts, that go no further than your hand or tongue.
Those seeds scattered to the birds, for the birds, for toes to trot, spoiled brats of happenstance. Scattered to be spat upon by hapless storms, burnt to a crisp in nakedness. Those orphan seeds have no home to call their own, no future children…why were they born?
O tender seeds of glory in childlike hands, soft, resilient. There’s a plan for each speck. Wow! There’s a God who cares for the minute. A babe kisses the ground with its knees, uses a humble trowel to dig - knows the depth, beads of sweat, sighs in the petrichor. She digs one hole. He digs ninety-nine more. He drops a solitary seed into a hole. She drops ninety-nine more. The babe waters and unsparingly invites the sun. The sentinel matures, waits for the first shoot. O faith in the root, its source thirsty for a drink and warmth.
Seeds are sown. Seeds are sown. Now we wait. Now we wait. Will we reap one hundred percent? The cost was great. Weeds amidst the planting cleared. The saints have risen from each grave. Beauty from ashes, each flower shines in the hereafter.
1/12/2022
Tell me why, you dratted bard,
you have to come and spoil my yard?
All these centuries lying dead,
yet there, your voice, oft in my head.
So many times I start a phrase,
become aware I’m in your gaze.
Out, damned spot, leave me alone
To conjure verses of my own.
Perchance, could you just silent dream?
You’re messing with my self-esteem.
Again, I start afresh, anew
To find, again, I’ve referenced you.
The sole of wit, the heel, the fool,
and once again, I’m just your tool.
Discontent haunts all the seasons,
subtle, infiltrating reason,
plays discordant etudes, brute
(slipped another in, eh, cute?)
As I read “with mirth and laughter,”
another pilfered verse, hereafter.
Perhaps delayed, protest too much
that all my poems are such stuff?
As you like it, as you will;
still I’m glad I met you, Bill.
*Image of Pendulum by Pixabay.
Of Fatalism
'Tis past the eleventh hour,
As time ...,
Here in the bunker,
I walked away from the Atomic Clock whose pendulum terminated its sway,
Walked I, away from expressionless gazes of our hereafter,
Longings tethered to massive cement deterrents laden with steel rods that point every which way,
It encompasses us, hanging as fitting sheaths insulating our newly acquisitions -- swords of Damocles,
Each of us has someone whom we treasured still up there,
That would justify the emptiness I see,
They're benumbed by internal seething pain,
Tormented by their incapacities to help,
Haunted by incessant wailings,
And then, of course, the little ones,
Oh, my sweet Jesus!
What have I done, what have I done,
There were protection elements everywhere,
They were set up at every point,
Outside, beyond the perimeter,
Ubiquitously, near primary targets,
However, also, everywhere,
... was uncompromising resistance,
After the inevitable played out,
They, too, joined the vacant masses,
I guess that is how good old warriors just fade away,
A newly carped floor in the War Room where lies my rejected arguments,
it is under the dismissive course of action,
and that's shoved neath disappointing occurrences involving hypothetical possibilities,
How do I overcome these unforgivable mistakes and missed opportunities?
[He sees two-armed guards at their post]
He mumbles, "Coward!
Well, Mr. Speech Writer, since your first debate"
There is the disoriented,
the miss-connect,
the heartbroken
the lonely
and me,
I'm the one left holding a piece of thread,
Gentlemen,
Let them in,
for it is time for us to begin,
... Year One.
2022 August 08
What if the world is full of love
Accepting of God's message arising from above
What if the world is full of laughter
Knowing there exists a glorified hereafter
What if the world is full of truth
Fills the minds of all the youth
What if the world declared no more nasty wars
Much healing to amend all divisive people flaws
What if the world now all together as community
With each other develop affectionate perpetuity
What if the world lives in harmony with nature
Ascendance of the soul enhanced a joyous stature
What if the world is full of happy smiling faces, brows no longer furrowed, worried
A gentle pace of movement in a world no longer hurried
What if the world is full of kindness supporting when we fall
A world that's full of freedom allowing each proudly to walk tall
What if the world fulfils untapped loving potential
What if all the what ifs morphed becomes existential
WHAT IF.........
Angels in the snow
Look around
They’re all around
Elf and cherub cheeks
Flapping wild wings with scarves, coats and laughter
Fantasy of evergreens
Look around
They’re all around
Silver and Gold snow
And glorious stars stunning the hereafter
Whimsical lovers
Look around
They’re all around
Ice cold skates in spin
Their dreamy hearts and lifts, sought after
White-bearded Santas
Look around
They’re all around
With jolly tummies
Global doppelgängers with ho-ho laughter
12/3/2021
Contest: Winter Wishes
Sponsor: Chantelle Ann Cooke
Hope.........
Hope,a child's longing for petty things.
Hope,a bird's strive for it's fledglings.
Hope,a poor-man's prayer when it's raining.
Hope, a man's wish for life when drowning.
Hope,a bedouin's search for the lost dromedary,
Hope,an old couple's wish to meet their progeny.
Hope,a dying woman's recluse in the after-life.
Hope, innocent desires of a kid's life.
Hope in God's mercy in everything good or bad.
Hope in God's will,when in joy or sad.
Hope of rain when it's hot as owen.
Hope of sun, when cold & frozen.
Hope,an everlasting sensation.
Hope, a rectifying sensation.
Hope gives life it's true meaning.
Hope enjoys, despair complaining.
Hope energizes today for tomorrow.
Hope is sowing seeds for reaping tomorrow .
Hope transcends from Here to Hereafter.
Hope corrects this life & life-after.
If you bear the best of intensions
Then fear not the malicious oppositions
For the case of Christ and Godliness is worth contention
Pursue it heart and soul without concession
For eternity trumps lifetimes in proportion
Seek yourself here and hereafter a worthwhile portion
Endurance against times and seasons
While opting out squeezes itself among your decisions
Is the mocker of every man who claimed a vision
What then is this aura and power among the nations
That subdues men into passing time and abdicating mission
Little achievement but endless collosal celebration
We work hard for the money, severance and pension
And many still feel fruitless at the day of their ascension
How things could have been be the lingering question
If all the lost time and energy took a meaningful direction
"Undared" adventure and "unshown" affection
Unrendered service and hence nothing worth the mention
It's the wrong exercising of rights we tend to with passion
Leading in the following of trends and perceived fashion
Our will we surrender and ourselves we place on auction
Even the freedom we claim is subject to instruction
Try God and see yourselves burn and bury your frustrations
And have His Spirit to your day-to-day ministration
K. Muitherero.
I wish I could help you each and everyone.
You light up my life and the same I would
like to do for you.
I don't like seeing you feeling so sad.
If I could find that one thing to make it all
better I surely would do it.
Could I sit by your side when you feel the
need to hide from it all?
I would wipe away your tears and try to
chase away your fears.
I would hold your hand and whisper soothing
words to you until you fall asleep.
I pray for you to be free from all your pain and
sadness today...tomorrow...and everyday hereafter.
I wish for you to be able to enjoy everything life has
to offer.
Please know that you my family and friends each and
everyone of you mean the world to me.
For Christmas a miracle to you I would give...if only I could !!!
Entry: Your Christmas Miracle Contest
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
Written On: 12/08/2011
Written By: Carol Brown
1st Place Winner
Buildin’ Birds…
Your hands dart and weave
In, out, up.. then hover
Swoop right… then left
As simply as sight
Of a birds dreamy flight
Floating to perch proud on rocky cleft
Subtle magic’s paint
Concept, thought to Action
Life wrought from death
As eloquently as the Master
Reaches out from the hereafter
And grants the unborn gift of breath
Chaos now cornered
Seeks out surge, hands direct
And collar by will
And just as Angels acting
So precise, measured, and exacting
Leave scarce a ripple on waters still
Trumpet Grande Crescendo
Labors love ushered in
A diamond from primal smolder
A new winged gift to grace us
Snatched still in pristine stasis
To soar in the eye of the beholder
(Narrative)
I wrote this poem after peeping through the doorway of my wife Nancy’s workspace as she
crafted her beautiful bird sculptures. I was utterly amazed at the delicate movements she so
gracefully employed to wring creations that seemed to capture a split second of nature so
completely as to cause the beholder the illusion that she had somehow stopped time.
Literally, a hummingbird caught between the beats of its wing for one to marvel at. Of all
Nancy’s creative endeavors I still rank her “Buildin’ Birds” as her paramount artistic
endeavor.