Long Hospitality Poems
Long Hospitality Poems. Below are the most popular long Hospitality by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hospitality poems by poem length and keyword.
Fascinating,
this multicultural shift from monotheistic "feminist"
to compassionate "womanist".
Not an either-or, competitive shift,
typically left-brain dominant;
But a more complementary
cooperative
reciprocal
dipolar contrast
between ecological feminists
and theologically polypathic womanists,
reconnecting secular-sacred iconography
for MotherEarth's healthiest resilience.
Ecofeminists
struggling against egopatriarchal grand-staged history
of violence
war
capital-driven colonization,
rabid predation,
viral rabidity.
But, a womanist herstoric view
more quietly
domestically
intimately
vulnerably
transparently
sacredly
mysteriously
curiously
courageously
challenges left-brain straight white male humanists
to think and feel and act
with less anthropocentric assumptions
about underlying cooperative health systems
and nutrition networks
and safety values,
To include,
or at least consider more divinely
transcendently
and yet intimately,
To invite,
extend warm hospitality
to all organic creatures,
all ecosystemic energy systems
thirsting for reciprocal democratic healing
health
safety
compassion
resonant resilience
polyphonic polypaths
restoring health within retributive
win/lose
capitalistic degenerative systems.
To stretch our cooperative imaginations,
to reinterpret herstory
of a domestic and internationally transcendent MotherEarth
nature healing through restoring peace
and spiritual justice
what left-brain dominant humanists
have disassociated
with retributive anthro-hubris,
man v nature
and angry woman v left/righteous harmonic spirit.
Fascinating,
this multi-paradigmatic shift from monotheistic "sacred feminist"
to compassionate
health-resilient
water-bearer
womb well-being "womanist".
Somewhere in her white house
There was a gray future spouse
Looking for cheese
Doing as he please
Enchanting accent came from the mouth
A drawing sound noting the south
Filled with luring charm
Made a home by telling many a yarn
Living in a guest quarter
Which he could barely afford her
Making his ways through academic halls
Everyone studying engravings on the walls
Defending peaceful thoughts interacting throughout student’s mall
Coming to a relaxing place
Seeing Carolina’s face
“They are making their case”
The blue angel said
About the reason she should not wed
And take a lifelong committed man into her first bed
“We have a right
During our fight
To cross our stripes
Challenging city slicker’s type
Slanting our color navy being no fool
While having a civil feud”
Wanting a comfort shot he stood calm
Listening to reality going on
This was love not a raunchy affair
Where revenge was the dare
“We made an X for a reason
It was not an ax that was treason
Wanting out of the union
Northerner’s knew not what they were doing
Money here money there
We belles had land everywhere”
Now this fellow
Understood his bride’s bellow
And wanted a few minutes to mellow
“Look at the sun
It is almost done
Orange skies
You are marrying a beautiful guy
I am a gamecock
Early morning riser with nice stock
While you are a Tar Heel
When hearts were a major steal
Our relationship is very real
Friends and family will watch us seal
This romantic deal
Then enjoy a joyful meal”
Hearing his soothing voice
She knew he was the proper choice
“Our United States is at war
Diplomatic rhetoric acting out having the stage floor
Rotten as a big apple at the core”
Honest feelings had truth
Questionable just like the Yankee spectacle Babe Ruth
“Remember when physical interaction was deemed a sin
Gossip talking where the two have been
After our vows and we are alone
Shutting off all Ma Bell phones
I will state to only you
Never will we be through”
Below the Mason Dixon line
Where others are treated very kind
Moon reminded them where they met
No longer was the daylight set
Darkness figured out this was the perfect get
Lunar glare smiling watching the innocent talk
Hoping they will be happy after the matrimony walk
Show real genuine Christ-like love
but what's genuine love really like?
look at life of Jesus there's it's seen
his effected everyone it sure did strike
Give God your first place of honour
serving Him with all fervency and zeal
be patient always in prayer filled with hope
meet others needs and be the real deal
Seek always the goodness of others
bless those who sought your persecution
draw near to those who are rejoicing
helping them receive their resurrection
Be harmonious with all you know
seeking peace being never too wise
doing the right thing for good of all
never be evil making good your prize
God is your avenger, He will judge
so feed your enemy, do him good
for in doing so, you turn coals on his head
overcome evil with good as you should
(Marks of the True Christian
Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality.
Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly. Never be wise in your own sight. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honourable in the sight of all. If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God, for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.” To the contrary, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head.” Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.)
Romans 12: 9-21 (esv)
I walked to the backyard of my childhood home, and was surprised with a gorgeous garden. No cinder pile, no tire swing, no cottonwood trees, no tree house, no dirty lumber, and no shed. No proof we had ever been here.
A gloriously beautiful weeping almond tree held me spellbound, causing a myriad of emotions in me. This is what our backyard could have been, but never was. A man in overalls waved me over.
I explained who I was, and asked permission to look around. He did not recognize my name, So I tried the names of every neighbor I remembered, and I remembered them all. My child’s heart smiled as I remembered spying on them for hours from my tree house perch.
I remembered the huts we built, digging to China in the ditch, and so many other terrific adventures. I asked permission to walk around and he nodded his head, hospitality continued to be the norm here.
Was anything left of us? The warm sun loved me, as I walked, looking for any sign that we had ever lived in our family's homestead. Three generations of living here, and what had we left? At last, I discovered a solitary purple violet by our oak tree; it smiled, remembering me.
Dear Shari Todd – written July 29, 2015
While rifling thru outdated writing,
which virtual thumbing
wrought non deadly chancre “FAKE” blister
(long thee envy o' this wordy mister
a reference to mine youngest sister
prior tuff fall lout dynamic
emotional frenzied analogous
rapacious seditious tempestuous twister)
Tis hospitality of yar behalf
to league gal lee
tender our lovely daughter
begat in part by meself,
whose punctured psyche doth chaff
at mine severe prepubescent short comings,
which trajectory of teen years,
a downward line on spiro (Agnew) graph
which deprivations well nigh
finds a civil war raging
against one half of ma being
(Oh Henry), a Harris son,
who these days genuinely
tries his Level best
at lighter side of life to laugh
comedy of errors, boot
haunting visions visit Twelfth Night
figuratively brow beat
like an unseen dis staff.
glad that Shana (thee darling daughter
afflicted with cognitive development
entailing homebased intervention) wince
she blossomed into
a beautiful young lady,
now under Dunning aegis (bonanza) since
emotionally stable, and quiet
on western (Bend,
Oregon) front, rinse
sing with yar incredible credit karma,
her existence Quince
sud dental (juiced teething),
living with papa,
would mount to a travesty,
sham, mockery...if superficial
only perp pull reigning “FAKE” Prince
likely to barrel within
outward bound mince
meted MainLiners along here
built “mini mansion” homes
NOT bedecked with chintz
at 724 west railroad avenue
(previous address of this bummer)
anyway, should ill fate befall
like an overstuffed blintz
if this king Lear Rick Hill
wannabe meets fatal doom,
thy "mother abby" would
get panic stricken (rue...
Rushing to tables, to people
Mostly strangers in vibrant colors
Hungry for more than biscuits
Starving for a kind word, a smile
All those years, through tears
And often through tired fears
I hurried past eager voices, accents
Telling and retelling of life journeys
Dishes piled up on empty tables
Waiting to be cleared, scrubbed
By faithful hands with wet rags
Who left not a blemish or smudge
Sprinting through the crowd
Of diners, many off from work
Taking their lunch break sometimes
And an evening feast other nights
Racing from one waiting diner to another
Hoping to please them enough so
They would leave a nice tip, my salary
Dependent on their kindness, their gifts
Waiting for the moment when departure
Of the café would bring me their offering
Their humanity poured out with a glass of tea
And a plate full of hope from a waitress in need
After making my rounds to the kitchen and back
Into the shift of dashing from one table
To the next with a cheerful smile and pitcher
I long to know the ease of naked feet
Feet that have felt the pangs of a few hours
Of twisting and turning through the patrons
Who never see the pain of aching backs
And sore feet on the beaming face they meet
Waitress' and waiters seldom tell the customer
How difficult it is to simply absorb the discomfort
Into a beaming grin of friendliness, embracing
Both the heart and soul with hospitality and affection
Gratuities left for me are blessings I breathe
A heartfelt thanks for the moment I’m away from
The restaurant’s heavy hustling and bustling
That leaves me so exhausted I almost tremble
Open Poetry 4 Contest
Sponsored by: Charlotte Puddifoot
May 1, 2021
I am reporting from Normandy,
where a cheese war has started
between two hospitality business tycoons,
for acquiring the ownership of a shipload
of Brie and Comembert soft and creamy cheese,
heavily consumed popularly in their two outlets,
Wine and Cheese Tavern and Charcuterue Shack.
As the cheese ship arrived,
the owners of these dining holes tried
to negotiate the price with the Captain, but failed,
for both the parties offered increasing competitive bids.
So, the indecisive Captain suggested
they fight out the possession issue
in the cheese war, going on now for two months,
and seems not to end, for no one is winning.
The eventual owner might be getting
a shipload of rotten French delicacy.
I hope you slept,
not because the night was gentle
we both know it rarely is,
but because some part of you
the part that still remembers how to trust
slipped past the sentinels of thought
and found the older room inside the mind
where rest is not earned, only permitted.
I hope your breath discovered its own metre,
unhurried iambs drifting over the shallow shoals
of cortisol and unclosed questions,
each exhale a small vote of confidence
that the world would continue turning
even if your eyes stayed open.
I hope the darkness, for once,
was not a prosecutor.
That it forgot to catalogue your failures,
and instead behaved like velvet
absorbing sound, softening edges,
holding every unsent message and every unsaid apology
without demanding verdict or reply.
If sleep came only in fragments
ten-minute islands between two rogue waves of dread
I hope you felt, in the narrow space between heartbeats,
that you were not being required to win the night,
only to endure it with something like dignity,
which is to say: without pretending.
And if no real sleep arrived at all,
if you simply lay there bearing witness
to the slow machinery of worry grinding on,
then know this:
that stillness, too, is a form of courage.
A refusal to flee.
A quiet, stubborn hospitality
extended even to the parts of yourself
that arrived uninvited and would not leave.
I hope some filament of warmth reached you
perhaps the memory of a hand once laid across your back,
or the absurd loyalty of your own pulse,
still counting, still here,
still willing to begin another day
on your behalf.
Sleep or no sleep,
you were not alone in that dark.
I was there in the way one mind can sit
beside another without speaking
holding the same hour,
breathing the same difficult air,
loving you exactly as fiercely
as the night tried to convince you
you were unlovable.
Rest now, if even a little.
The darkness has had its turn.
Let something kinder take the next watch.
Someone has said that every generation
Has its golden lipstick era
Philippines is not like that
It's always beautiful and stunning
A special beauty for all ages
Glittering golden beaches
Somewhere in every island corner
Of thousands islets in the Philippines
More so its unique lineage genealogy
From the primitives to the occupants
Conglomerating all races into one
Making the brown race formidable
A diasphora race around the globe
Sharing joy, talents and services
The culture, the food, the hospitality
Affecting the leaven bread of the world
I invite the people of the world to visit us
What the Philippines can offer to all races
Come, borrow the wind to fly
To the magical land that shines
As white as the pearl of the orient seas.
Caves and lakes, pine trees, apple orchards.
Festivals to honor summer, spring, and fall.
Arkansas has the hillbilly music I grew up on.
Blue grass too. Grab a fiddle and join us!
The roads are winding and hilly for this is the Ozarks.
If you are visiting Arkansas, make it in the fall
When the apples, pumpkins and gourds are ready.
Everything will be decorated in lively oranges and yellows.
There is a diamond mine, recommended highly.
I have started out there several times but stopped along the way
And spent my money on homemade honey and biscuits,
Jimmy Dean sausage and enough gravy to soak a car.
They believe in country hospitality
Big breakfasts, large families, feuds,
Story-telling, whittling, and diddling.
It is a nice place to relax and take a breath.