Long Katherine Poems
Long Katherine Poems. Below are the most popular long Katherine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Katherine poems by poem length and keyword.
Like the charming Ancient Sirens Your POEMS, YOUR words, beckoning my
mind.
Listening to the Whispers each letter foretells, searching YOUR meaning: I’m
Blind.
I read YOUR POEMS, YOUR words, I see YOUR, MIND, SOUL : YOUR HEART.
I love YOUR SMILES, I bear the Frowns, up with YOUR UPS: down with your
downs.
YOUR POEMS, YOUR WORDS, a Delicate, Intricate, Exquisite : WEB of ART.
YOUR WORDS : Subtle at times, ALWAYS INSPIRATIONAL, ALWAYS
HEARTFELT.
Seeing YOUR SMILES, Penning their way, down the Paper Pathway of
ETERNITY.
SMILES, Blazing a trail through the ERAS of HISTORY. ALWAYS a Part of
POSTERITY.
POETESS, Expressing THEIR FEELING : FOR ALL THE WORLD TO READ.
Dedicated to MY : LOVE MY: MENTOR MY : INSPIRATIONS
JILL CAROL TAMMIVIOLET
Elaine George
Katherine Stella
Lynn Marie
Josette
Colleen
Dedication to Service
Rather, whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant, whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave. Just so, the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and give His life as a ransom for many. Matthew 20:26-28
Today’s lesson on serving others can be found in the life of St. Katherine Drexel
Born into one of the wealthiest U.S. families of the 19th century
She could have lived an extravagant life inside the world of rich and famous
The young heirness might have chosen to be a chief benefactor parsing out
Sizable donations to good causes
Yet her understanding of the Good News led to a different choice
St. Katherine dedicated her life to helping those most in need
Her outreach stretched across the country as she embraced the mission of education
Most notably building schools for impoverished African American children
We are each born into different circumstances with variety of gifts
Most of us are not wealthy
yet we have an equal opportunity to live out this lesson of service to others.
SHE INSPIRES ME TAINT NO PLAIN OLE NOR BEAUTIFUL WOMAN KNOWS MORE THAN THIS-KH
U know God done- He don’t make no mess!
Yawl! Know God don’t make NO MISTAKES
He made Woman
And she inspires me…
Ever she inspires me
Taint no plain ole, nor beautiful woman knows more than this,
There’s ain’t none not deserving,
To be called His Daughters
For in all creation God ain’t made NO plain Woman
For they (we) are beautiful spirits and souls
Created by the ALL Mighty
A beautiful God
Ever she inspires me
Taint no plain ole, nor beautiful woman knows more than this,
And they (we) are bearers of humanity
Ain’t nothing plain bout’ me?
And I am a nurturer
And I am made in HIS image
And I am Mother(s) of the World
This world…
Only I bear in my chest humanities Children
To be called His Daughter
Mother of the World
To be His bride,
On His spiritual side
Ever she inspires me
Taint no plain ole, nor beautiful woman knows more than this,
Plain things are simple, unadorned,
That ain’t me
And plain even a little boring. ...
And that ain’t me
One meaning of the word is, as in a flat prairie or low lying
I stand ever tall nothing horizontal bout me.
I’m gorgeous and elegant a queen
God’s HOLY daughter
No obstructions. Embellished, baring, or unimpressive love holy things.
Ever she inspires me
Taint no plain ole, nor beautiful woman knows more than this,
I am more than a
Plain women
I know more about men than beautiful ones do
God has made me (us) more than pain, more than beautiful you see
Even sinner, saved men need a holy woman too!
12/14/19
For She Inspires Series KH Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Maureen McGreavy
| "Plain women know more about men than beautiful ones do."
-Katherine Hepburn
POETRY, runs through HER veins : A Matriarch : All of the SOUP, KNOWS
ALWAYS, the ink in Her Motherly Pen with BLESSINGS LOVE ,FLOWS
REVEALS, the Heart of a MOTHER, with the POEMS of HER JENNY ROSE
HEARTFELT writes for Country, Flag, HEROS of War, and FALLEN TOWERS
FEELINGS of Patriotism from Her abound, like refreshing summer SHOWERS
WITH-IN the Pen of the BLEST POETESS “Dedications” hours upon HOURS
POETS LOVE to receive HER Comments, with BLESSINGS to YOU and YOURS
HEARTS PRAISE her wisdom : Wisdom like a Majestic Waterfall OUT-POURS
SPEAKING TRUTH the BLEST POETESS whispers WRITE YOUR HEART; SHE
ROARS
DEDICATED TO
KATHERINE STELLA
My soul was ruptured by crystal soprano
As I walk from door to door
Try to outpace my welling tears
Noble silver - perfect jewel
Reduce a man to burning fuel
Untill I spellbound dont exist
Your voice a bell , my disbelief
That could summon men to wander off
To dwell in wanton pergatory
and kneel in wonder of a eucharist
A radiant flame of holiness - an arum lily
The palor of thy countenance
Taste of Russian Ural honey
Lift me to the stratosphere
Never was heard a sweeter sound
I was born for hearing this
Surpassing every ounce of elegance
Surrender meekly to thy song of godliness
An angel proacting as a contradiction to Spawn,
Hatches plans to murder the Spawn and bring in a new dawn;
The hatred turned into a romance, ironically,
Killed, many a hellspawn, so very sardonically...!
Did Angela able to know her earthly existence?
How she was born from five mortal souls molded assistance?
Was she not designed by the immaculate light of God?
Was she, by any illegitimate powers, got awed...?
God-particle created Angela, mixed with five souls,
Her visions and connections with them kept alive her goals;
Warned by her mentor, Katherine, she stood optimistic,
Divinity, with the angels, made her master mystic...!
Hunting hellspawn, murdering maddening spirits, she flew,
Like a valiant vulture, in strength and youthfulness, she grew;
Assuming her goal is hunting spawns, resuscitated,
Enters Elysium, losing geometrics fated...!
Hunts a Sandalphon Dragon; gets surrounded and arrested,
Turns rules and laws and states and situations; gets rested;
Confronts Argus, a spide-virus that feed of souls and blood,
Gets pulled tentatively toward the Earth, thus, gets a thud...!
Tackles Celestine; gets knocked out; to hell with all she goes,
To close or hose or froze, she so well, eternally knows;
These truly, indeed, make Angela special of special,
Do you know, yet, Angela has never been a devil...???
17 April 2023
Spawn Characters Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
The story you read
In the shape of a poem
Its all about life
To continue it growing
The recent case
Of Daniel Hauser
To deny him help
Media exposure
This 13 year old boy
Saw his aunt the same way
He took his first course
But the course made him sway
And his mothers thoughts
Maybe religion will save
And the fear of the thought
Her son no longer the brave
Behind the scenes, the Religion Nemenhah
A white mans dream of the " Cloudpiler " Landis man ah!
Where Natural Curing is what they can?
Is this the reason why they ran?
My thoughts go back to the way his auntie was
For to continue his treatment, as his bravado thaws
Its the word Chemo and the course it takes
Going through spells of goodness and sickly states
How many cases where the parent was ill
Did they make their own choices, to get better at will
Or did a another person decide for them
With their consent, with the write of a pen
In natures eyes, as a mother gives birth
It should be in her want, to save her child first
Why she would do this, take her child and run
Is it this Nemenhah cause, that prevents her son?
Written to answer my thoughts on the question posed by
Katherine Stella on her poem
" Kid Natural ( the Daniel Hauser story ) "
You built your house upon the mist,
The sea-sigh cradled every beam,
And winds like lost and wistful souls
Would lean against your fevered dream.
You wore the sky against your hair,
The stubborn stars beneath your feet,
Your laughter was a thistledown —
Too wild, too swift, too fleet.
In Adam’s Rib, you wove your song,
A silver thread through jest and war,
Bright was your spirit, fierce and long,
A river breaking on the shore.
But storms came calling at your door,
And none could hold them back or plead;
The walls were torn, the hearth was drowned,
The sea had learned your creed.
Yet still you rise — a ghost, a flame,
A prayer stitched into rain —
The salt remembers your brave name,
And we remember all your pain.
I read the Poems Of others, Poetic Sisters, Poetic Brothers.
I read the comments then write a comment or two.
More than two words, usually, for “Heart Broken” Carol, More than three.
Tamiviolet’s “ Visions “; John Boak’s “ Destiny “, Katherine Stella’s Haikus:
Ernesto’s “ The Truth, I Will Never Forget “, Vince’s “ Hey Old Man “ Has
Special meaning to me. The free verse of my new Beloved: “ My Dearest “.
These are only just a few; of those who help me Write.
There are so many, MANY more on the internet’s PoetrySoup site.
Inspired By the Poem: “Poetrysoup“--By Norman Purvis
Dedicated to all my Family of Poets at { POETRYSOUP }.
Happy THANKSGIVING, There is much to be HAPPY about
JOHN MICHAEL MACMILLAN
What do they call you in heaven, John Michael MacMillan?
Are you still the "Baby-Baby", that player from the past?
Sometimes I try to catch you, somehow to hold you
Long enough to know that your ship has safely docked.
Can you read the poem alone now, John Michael MacMillan?
Did God allow you the small, simple pleasure
Of having a deck on which to bleed, a place in which to read,
A room that owns a door?
Sometimes I miss you, John Michael MacMillan.
Sometimes I miss the hope we had.
Sometimes I wish I had gone with you.
Is that why I try so hard to catch you, John Michael MacMillan?
Would I know you, as much as I knew you then;
Or will I merely remember the haunted story of your past?
Your brilliant, blasted brother shot down in your place;
Your sanctified vengeance and your holy justice;
The penalty imposed on a child.
That terrible, eternal loyalty impressed in blue ink
To ‘Mama’ Katherine: that damnable necklace of maternal tribute.
What of that, John Michael? Did God heal that pain?
Do ‘Mama’ Katherine’s walk His streets
Holding hands with twin baby boys?
Do you still wear her name, John Michael?
Or have you forgiven yourself for the rejection
Fostered out upon you and your brother.
Have you learned to believe that you were worthy of love?
That you deserved a better life than the one you stumbled upon;
Than the one that stumbled upon you;
The one that stomped you; the one that ate you up.
If I knew the right words to bring you back, John Michael, I’d use them.
But you left too soon; left me behind holding the ghosts of your life.
I wonder if you ever look down and just laugh
When you hear me calling for you,
My serious voice repeating “O Captain, My Captain...”
Sometimes I try to see life with your obscure humor,
But mostly I listen for the slow, silent tread,
Aware your spirit is passing over me.
And I know, I know
I cannot catch you ever again.
For you are gone, John Michael MacMillan,
Oh Baby-Baby, you are gone from me
And now dwell among the dead.
[To John Michael MacMillan. Rest in peace, Baby-Baby.]