Long Hymnals Poems
Long Hymnals Poems. Below are the most popular long Hymnals by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Hymnals poems by poem length and keyword.
She never knew she had them
that the basket had been placed
upon her past and future
by the color of her face
He gazed upon the sunrise
at the shadows walking thin
entering the schoolhouse
but they wouldn’t let him in
She had no shoes – no fancy dress
could not read the hymnals prayers
sat outside as music played
a welcome to soothsayers
He wore a ring of ever-dirt
from which he sought release
razor eyes forever searching
bringing hunger to the feast
Their talents were the seeds that fell
upon harsh and bitter ground
gifts that withered on the vine
a talents loss forever bound
contest - The Parable of the Talents
sponsor – Holly Hippocampus
©10/5/2018
Queen in our eyes!
Goddess in our hearts.
Alleviated fears, shaped behaviors,
Built careers, educated a nation,
Sang hymnals through the moments slowly.
She learned to live and love,
Unperturbed by failure, unruffled by haste,
Rising in the midnight glory,
Unbounded by time, undimmed by hope.
She sang dirges in ceremonies,
Boxed by pain, razed with tears,
Called on God in heaven,
Pushed by problems unleashed by dreams.
To wipe our tears and mend our fails,
Charred by life’s harsh realities,
Unbroken by woes, strengthened in invocations,
Into our stubborn adolescent years,
Through hectic times and sickbed comforts.
I reminisce her brief scolding,
Refusing to go to school for no reason,
And all the exquisite wares I broke —
Can’t fathom the pain I caused her.
But she never gave up on me,
Not he, not her, not us.
Even those who laid upon her lap,
A neighborhood mum circumventing the hemisphere
With her selfless deeds.
Spreading euphoria here and there,
With little that she had, her love unrelenting,
For the ones she nurtured beneath her feet,
With a partner she adored since day one.
She smiles, and there is hope,
Of small beginnings and grand endings.
In her voice, comfort and peace,
I will forever be grateful for a mother like you.
So thank you for words uttered,
For actions and inactions,
For love unconditional,
Even in anger, even in pain.
Thank you for souls well nurtured,
The spanks so brusque, the food, the gifts,
Thank you for care unending,
May God bless you always.
Thank you for a life well lived;
In your footsteps we follow suit.
Confidence parades around in this sanctuary
The Reverend blesses them
Maybe me too
He tries anyway
But can I accept it?
Do I believe it?
My faith is gone.
Am I the only sinner here?
I look around for other sinners.
Not any obvious contenders.
Families touching each other in a lovely way
Opening hymnals, singing with faith.
I put my mask on.
I do not belong.
The sermon is about Jesus accepting everyone.
I think he means Christians
Not sinners like me.
There is an invitation.
Everyone is welcome.
I would have to share my true self.
I would have to let them know what a sinner I am.
They keep inviting and inviting.
I jump out of my seat as if I was shot out of a revolver.
Is the love of Jesus enough?
And who sent me up here?
I stare into the stained glass window.
Jesus is opening a door.
I am entranced.
Terrified, but entranced.
The reverend shakes my hand.
He says some words I do not recognize.
I have no idea how I got here.
Who propelled me out of my seat?
Jesus winks from the glass.
FIRE the Immortal
Fire the Immortal—primordial breath,
Kindled in chaos, a twin flame of death.
Born in the forge where the cosmos ignites,
It dances through nebulae, seeding the night.
With tongues of plasma and fusion-fed might,
It devours the dark, gives birth to the light.
Fueling the stars in their hydrogen blaze,
A crucible shaping the eons and days.
It dines upon carbon, on oil, on trees,
Unlocking their essence in alchemical ease.
Combustion—a whisper of matter undone,
Entropy's waltz beneath moonlight and sun.
In crackling hymnals it chants to the spheres,
Echoes of supernovae ring in our ears.
A sacred convulsion, a quantum ballet,
A flare in the silence where atoms decay.
It moves like a spirit through vacuum and void,
A relic of stars long burned and destroyed.
From the heart of a candle to Betelgeuse’s core,
It wanders forever—then burns all the more.
You may quench the blaze in a hearth or a storm,
But the ghost in the embers reforms and reforms.
For trapped in the ashes are secrets of suns,
And in every flicker, the universe runs.
In the fusion of atoms, in stellar descent,
In novas and firestorms, it finds its lament.
A force that remembers the Big Bang's first cry—
Still roaring in silence where galaxies lie.
So honor its wisdom, its wrath and its grace,
This elemental phantom that time can't erase.
Fire is not only destruction or birth—
It is stardust incarnate, the lifeblood of Earth.
Immortal it lingers, from cradle to tomb—
A guardian of cosmos, in heat, flame, and plume.
And even when silence extinguishes breath,
Fire remains—older than death.
Rant: Inevitability
by Michael R. Burch
This is a prophetic poem about the triumph of real poetry over its current poor imitation.
There is change in the wind; there is change in the sea
preternaturally strange with her myriad eyes—
stars mirrored in waves. Compelled by the moon,
whipped to foam, she is drawn into restive tides
rising and cresting as kestrels flee
shrieking, “Passion is all!” You are nothing to me.
What will be, will be.
There are words to arrange; there are tongues to employ;
there are songs to engrave on each vellum leaf.
But the gold will not hold lacking passion or joy
and the gilt ink fades without rage or grief.
All your high Latin hymnals bind spineless belief,
and your mild incantations mean nothing to me.
What will be, will be.
Emotionless arrows impale no meat,
leave no prey blood-splattered, no white bone staring,
no pale breast shattered, no lamb’s soft bleat ...
but a table barren, an ear uncaring.
And your listless denouements mean nothing to me.
What will be, will be.
There are souls’ riven screams, there are blind eyes staring—
imploring the sun or the moon or the sea
for an inkling of meaning, a morsel, a shaving ...
and your pallid dispassion means nothing to me.
What will be, will be.
There is much that is lost, and yet much to be gained
in each dark starless night, each advance of the sun.
We have so little time to wrestle your meaning.
Stars trestle the heavens. Wind haunts. You are done.
And your temple bells’ tinklings mean nothing to me.
What will be, will be.
All my cruel Celtic henchmen, my bold Nordic bards,
will shatter the canes of your cripples to shards,
impaling pale corpses on blood-slickened staves,
tossing leprous white limbs to the wild-drooling waves.
For your steaming viscera are manna to me.
What will be, will be.
No Iscariot kiss, but a Jubilant Hiss
you will get from me. What will be, now is.
Keywords/Tags: poetry, poets, poems, write, writing, words, romantic, romanticism, wind, sea, waves, moon, stars, tides, foam, passion, strange
Be there the bight of a November drain
turned off tattered ruffles blotted feign
a ledged I removed and tender earlobes
waif yonder spectral possession probes
cracked nut overture eighteenth twelve
emptied shells retiring indicative delve
drain feign earlobes probes twelve delve
the hour,
Penchant dragged scrape innard depth
souring blindly binds ruse lids breadth
spar sun astir, causation its wandering
scar bites of frost attend a clouded ring
constant errs my inner chambers abide
pivotal piques tricked darkening inside
depth breadth spar scar abide inside
the hour,
A vast plague of vulture flights accrues
a lowly sill contempt its stay construes
awake dreamt feverishly reposed body
quake aloof save I some valued nobody
unsorted escort disembodied but feats
wonder maroon beheld tethering beats
accrues construes awake quake feats beats
the hour,
Therefore I'd wallowed jousting to free
of peals of laughter trifle trailing spree
feeble villagers thoughtless each share
of riddled backside amidst tabled stare
and counters gossip whispers consume
be their claim graphic God they assume
free spree share stare consume assume
the hour,
Remains of a last supper disrobed hang
amidst bunker migrating seasons pang
yond trained reflect stories trail facials
a negging crowded calls milds a rituals
saved I a memoir cloistered singularity
paved upon silken weaves a familiarity
hang pang facials rituals saved paved
the hour,
Bewitched canons riddled yon the altar
stacking of hymnals liberates Gibraltar
of liquefied gift cascading gratification
love stain pigments of my imagination
hues meld a silencing orchestrate suite
enhance the loyal thunder ne'er retreat
altar Gibraltar of love suite retreat
the hour.
**Parody time! Please open your hymnals to "He Lives" as this what you can sing this parody to the tune too.
I eat a deep dish pizza,
it's in my mouth right now.
I know that it is tasty,
despite the carbs it has;
I see its mound of cheese,
its topped with mushrooms too.
And just because I want it,
I'll add the ranch.
The fun, the fun,
The pizza is the fun!
I snack on it and munch on it
upon my dinner plate.
The fun, the fun,
The pizza is the fun.
You ask me how I like my pizza?
I like it in my tummy.
With all the food around me
I choose the fresh baked cheese,
And tho my mouth did water
I'll add the pineapple.
I know I need the chicken
and the ranch dressing.
The time of my delivery,
will fill me up.
The fun, the fun,
the pizza is the fun!
I snack on it and much on it,
upon my dinner plate.
The fun, the fun,
The pizza is the fun.
You ask me how I like my pizza?
I like it in my tummy.
"Realities rights;
There is perfect, truths and insights;
Some Christian music Artist sing of the joys, the love of God and Jesus;
Sing and write those stories, from the whispering lips of God
A kiss to the lungs and ears;
Righteousness preached;
Reality rights vivid onslaughts
Real life, reality writes
Very, very, few artists have had there (original) songs
published inside Church hymnals Of any and all denominations
Some have been in the 80's & 90's such a Andre Crouch
Someone(s) of power should rally a yearly honored Christian songwriter
To be dove, complied and placed in Christians hymnals
My pick if I had the charge and power would be
"Truth Be Told" by MATTHEW WEST
Please if you're reading this go on line and listen to/read every word of this song
it well bless your soul and heart
Every word is Godly, (not manly) Godly true
and every WORD of this song applies to ALL humanity
each and every church, every man, woman, boy and girl
O' let's All start over
Truths be TOLD"
written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©
~We need to lead by God's Word and non denominational teachings were we differ Help us Father God your sheep of other folds~
November first two thousand nineteen...
abuzz with Autumnal thrum
Divine myriad biota amidst
heavenly Lily of the valley
(Convallaria majalis),
he didst imaginatively greet
Edenic heavenly terra
incognita immeasurably sweet
nature's ensemble proffering
Gaia's quintessential orchestration
resplendent sensational treat
natural splendour regaling,
this fellow wayfarer
happenstance gifted autochthonous peoples
espied proud specimens unobtrusive
planted armada, viz sleek bodies fleet,
of foot while me accidentally
risking, schlepping, traipsing... offbeat
winessed unschooled tribe,
yet verily synchronized,
primed, muscled... athlete
their soundless rhythmic swiftly tailored
flit to and fro upon poetic
unshod calloused feet
carefully, gingerly, lightly...
I shod dully tread nsync
toward drumlins upbeat
mouthing, kneading, imbibing... glorious
ebullient choral unadulterated feat
extemporaneously kickstarting crisp and neat
pow hour full rhythm across
analogous macroscopic excellent spreadsheet
inducing their sonorous symphonic
roundelay unfamiliar tweet,
whereby flora and fauna future meal to eat
oblivious regarding mine seat
dated existence, which quiescent aesthete,
yours truly basked,
froliced, luxuriated... complete
as once innocent hymnals kindled atrocity
this observer, spectator aghast white as sheet,
how civilization's machinations didst deplete
terrestrial firmament within one fell stroke
eradicated once pristine unbroken
promises chiseled to cheat
rightful owners expansive swath
over yonder til ocean and land did meet
Europeans scoured seas one after another
lumbering bulwarked fleet
exhausting resources while simultaneous
mowing down aborigines
grotesquely analogous harvesting wheat
indiscriminate deliberate genocide
decimating indigenous tribes beat
defenseless against microbial
weapons of mass destruction,
thus only within third blind eye
courtesy invisible paleface with tenderfeet
strictly envisioned Perkiomen Valley
once abundantly populated
with ample game during cold and/or heat
paradise unbroken stretched hinterland,
where place names mock to pay hollow tribute,
where native peoples no longer replete
vinyl city amidst amidst graveyard
lovely bones turned to dust
paved over by mainstreet.
Recently at an office
Where they check my ailing heart
While thumbing through a magazine
A photo set apart
The timeless snapshot black and white
I couldn't turn the page
Through watering eyes I looked back
To those innocent childhood days
It may have been, void of color
But certainly not to me
Trees were green as springtime grass
Skies as blue as seas
Rows and rows of fluff white cotton
With workers in the field
Hand sewn sacks across their backs
Most generally overfilled
What one couldn't see was clear to me
Sensations that I felt
I closed my eyes released my mind
My heart began to melt
Bleeding fingers, unbearable heat
Eye burning salty sweat
Those moans of hymnals while they worked
Things one does not forget
Raised in the country in my youth
Those fields were all around
We'd ride our bikes and watch them pick
We loved those soul felt sounds
Easily, that photo
Could have been, taken by my mother
Come to fetch us home to eat
Me and my big brother
original poem by Daniel Turner "poemdog" 2013