Long Kneel Poems
Long Kneel Poems. Below are the most popular long Kneel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kneel poems by poem length and keyword.
she and he in polished shoes,
his tie she tied like a noose,
sunday's knight,
shining with borrowed grace.
the church bell rings,
like something forgotten it had to say—
they hear it as their anthem.
he's got the Book
tucked under his arm,
pages marked with
sins they swear aren't theirs.
mouth's whisper Solomon's psalms
that their hands have never followed,
but still, they kneel,
all theater and flourish, cheeks flushed.
he sneered at the beggar
on the church steps,
dropping a coin only when
he knew, that someone was watching.
inside, they clasp their hands,
not to pray,
but to shield themselves
from their own insidious reflections.
out they walk,
cleaner than confession,
a god in their own minds,
but the devil's grin
hides behind their lips.
and somewhere,
someone who does believe,
but loves,
sleeps on just fine.
A Cry to the Vicar of Christ
On the eighth of May—
in the year the world was wounded—
white smoke rose,
and the Spirit whispered:
Leo XIV.
Not a crown,
but a cross.
Not glory—
but Gethsemane.
Go now,
Holy Father,
to Gaza,
where God bleeds quietly
under shattered mosques.
A child cries without sound.
A mother digs without grave.
Hope is ash.
Peace is myth.
And still—
your hands are clean.
Go to the sons of empire—
tell them:
No more prayers dipped in petrol.
No more justice from jets.
No more peace purchased with pain.
And to Israel,
tell Benjamin:
God is not your sword.
He is your witness.
Every Palestinian child
is a gospel we’ve burned.
Every mother,
a Madonna without her Christ.
Go also to Congo. Sudan. Libya. Ukraine.
Do not wave.
Do not preach.
Walk.
Bleed.
Kneel.
Did you not hear Romero,
when the soil sang blood in El Salvador?
The Church was never meant
to hide behind stained glass.
Let the Vatican strip gold from its bones.
Let the cassock gather dust.
Let the Pope
become a man.
For when Pope Francis passed,
he whispered:
“Reality is more than ideas.”
And Gaza is real.
God weeps there still.
Let history write,
not of sermons,
but of a man in white
who saved God
in Gaza.
One day the lion will walk through the door and grab my tired and old arm,
My wrinkled arm, the one with which I threw the dice in the game of my life,
And I will scream in the bedroom, understanding nothing of the force with which it presses me,
It will be far too strong, and people will come to watch the spectacle.
A wife, a lover, an illegitimate son, a stranger from the street, and a doctor,
Will watch as the lion shows no interest in them, only in the arm it has taken,
When the arm is gone, the doctor will place his stethoscope on my chest,
He will say it might be shock and blood loss, but I already know that.
Now the lion takes my other arm, I try to hit it with my knee,
Its tail knocks a painting off the wall, a Dutch mill in the sun,
The day is beautiful, the world seems good, the dream of swimming envelops me,
But the lion does not relent, and the other arm disappears under its merciless force.
People kneel to pray, all except a silent doctor,
The lion tears at my chest, trying to reach my trembling heart,
I ask the doctor to light a cigarette for me, and he does so with mute sadness,
Then the priest enters, but the lion is not yet disturbed, it only devours me.
I've heard of the lion, how sometimes it is quick, other times slow and cunning,
I knew it prefers the old, but sometimes it catches even children or the young,
God, save me, I shout, but the people do not move from their places,
Let the lion devour me, the priest murmurs incantations incomprehensible to me.
The doctor turns his gaze to the window, it is July outside,
The air tastes like butter, and I become a memory fading quickly,
Before my eyes, I see moths, birds of prey, and angels burning in light,
The lion eats my heart, and the doctor silently places the sheet over my head.
It's early morning, very early, when decent people are still asleep,
Most with heavy breathing, a few making love in the dark,
And most are not like me, not yet, but time will change their fate,
Under the same morning light, they will find their way to their own truth.
I see a red, red rose covered with dew.
It's perfect; I pick it for my friend dear.
My lonely heart is strained and I feel blue.
There on his grave, I stand where wild shrubs grew,
how can I ever stop even one tear?
I see a red, red rose covered with dew.
How the man had died I’d wish to pursue.
Thinking of it my heart is full of fear
My lonely heart is strained and I feel blue.
God knew how much he played with his canoe.
Why did he have to paddle to the pier?
I see a red, red rose covered with dew.
Was it a freak wave that made him fall through?
Indeed the whole affair was rather dreer
My lonely heart is strained and I feel blue.
I kneel in prayer as if in a pew,
for now, all are left without any cheer.
I see a red, red rose covered with dew.
My lonely heart is strained and I feel blue.
God-focused Christmas celebration along victorious fruitfulness
Such is our goal by His harvest-bountifulness
For us to increase in His service-productiveness
Along His grace that propels our growth’s blessedness.
God-focused Christmas festivities midst successful faith-sowing
Such is our aim by His light always glowing
For us to continue in works of well-doing
Along His peace that causes our patience with joy overflowing.
God-focused Christmas Gospel-sharing of eternal salvation-certainty
Such is our delight by His forgiveness-security
For us to overcome temptations’ adversity
Along His power that enables our fortitude’s ability.
God-focused Christmas reflection around biblical standard-circumference
Such is our target by His vision of divine reverence
For us to strive for holiness midst worldliness’ interference
Along His strength that upholds our scriptural conviction-adherence.
God-focused Christmas faith toward miraculous life-transformation
Such is our direction by His constant sanctification
For us to experience character-refining toward perfection
Along His humbling that breaks our pride and self-exaltation.
God-focused Christmas prayers upon earnest vow-fulfillment
Such is our supplication by His empowerment
For us to show genuine ministry-commitment
Along His provision that settles our contentment.
God-focused Christmas gatherings through spirited worship*
Such is our desire by His fatherly leadership
For us to practice faithful stewardship
Along His presence that sweetens our fellowship.
*Psalm 95:6 O come, let us worship and bow down: let us kneel before the LORD our maker.
December 24, 2021
Empty
Nothing but baren sticks,
No leaves of color blanket it’s branches,
I know it’s thoughts, no need to admire anymore.
Clouds fill the skies, winter is showing its signs.
The barren trees,
blows in the wind, cuts in my chest, fills my already empty soul with November chill.
Bomb fires, cardboard burning to warm the unseen, forgotten souls, taking shelter underneath the tall pine trees.
I kneel down, to seek its warmth, we are all GODS children, yet here I must worship alone.
.For my cries of that young unloved child, seeking to learn of GODS faith have fell on deafs ears, for the unseen unloved unprivileged no sponsor stood behind me, to pray in private, cometh to me.
I seek refuge under you my barren trees, I too grew up with nobody to look into my eyes, teach me of GODS love, each Sunday I must be subjected to pain, rejection of an inner child 54 years ago, no faith lessons came my way..
Thunder, dark heavy clouds fall upon me, no shelter I seek, my cold empty hurt body drenched in rain, thus my life story, where are my saving grace?
Jesus, do you still love me, why must I do this alone, only you know my hurt, where was my sponsor so many years ago, instead of love, pain, ignorance, loneliness, decite..
Thus forest of barren trees, nobody sees anymore, their beauty of fall leaves have let go, swept raked up three away,…… much like my self worth…
“When I started counting my blessings, my whole world turned around” -Willie Nelson
Life has been good
even with all its ups and downs.
However, I believe the last few years
have hit many souls hard.
I know I’m one of them, for I’ve been complaining
about things in life over which I’ve no control,
such as my chronic conditions
and unfortunate family situations.
I must lose all
my resentments and bitterness.
There is still so much to be grateful for.
I must give more time to
giving God my gratitude when I pray to Him.
Also, I should pray more often and on my knees -
not simply as I drive my car.
I will kneel daily to thank God for my blessings.
In the blackness of a merciless night,
I stand alone, chained are my hands.
No mercy found, no guiding light,
Just the pulse of rage where silence stands.
Fate strikes hard—its blows I feel.
But I refuse to crumble, refuse to kneel.
The world may twist, may bleed me dry.
Yet my mind, my core, I have concealed.
Beyond the edge, death waits it's cold,
But I face it square, unshaken, spent.
My scars I wear, every story told,
Carves the empire of my own design.
Lock me in darkness, drown me here.
It matters not—the fire does not go out.
I own the path my spirit takes,
Unbroken, unbound, until my end.
A child as grows enjoys rainbow of joys,
Many a marvel in a wondrous world,
Joys mingling with toys getting bouncy buoys,
A world of birds and butterflies unfurled.
As comes his youth that changes only toys,
Rewards of life so naïve staying no more--
Boys chasing girls, and girls giggly at boys,
And soon mid-age knocks at a blissful door,
Clay pots as if in kiln get to ripen,
Realities reel out nigh hard and keen,
The joys of old times no more enliven,
Time knocks, nudges him to kneel, look within,
In hope he grows old, fulfilled life to find,
But grows blasé, bliss of ere left way behind.
___________________________
Sonnet | 08.09.2014 | life, reflection, childhood, youth, joys, old age
Note: As one grows old he tends to reflect on his past
You, unfeeling creatures
Who call yourselves human,
You, fleeting bubbles of reason,
Accidental parasites of time,
You, filthy microbes of cancer,
Ephemera of invincible eternity,
You, who try to fill your vanity
With abominable crimes,
You, insensible butchers of animals,
Notorious destroyers of pastures,
You, contaminators of oceans,
Deleterious polluters of rivers,
You, menacing beings of harmony,
Transgressors of universal laws,
You,
Who have deliberately put me through
The tormenting agony of dying
By
Strewing your treacherous dark web of
Your unworthy ambitions, all over my face,
Shadowing my generous fertility and
Rendering me sterile,
Behold,
For the time has come for you
To feel my wrath and my fury
Boiling lava over you
To flow every day,
Kneel,
Your tiny mortal beings
In front of the immortal cosmos,
For the shiny heavy sword of
Universal justice,
Avenger of transgressions, guardians of
The eternal laws,
Over your thoughtless heads to fall
With vengeance and rage
Decapitating most of you and
Those who would survive
Shall feel the torturing pain in
Their hearts
For
Uncountable years!*
© Demetrios Trifiatis
20 March 2020
* This poem I wrote in 1985 in Montreal, Canada, when, as a co-founder of a peace movement, I was making efforts to raise consciousness to save Mother Earth. "THE MOURNING OF MOTHER EARTH." THIS IS A STERN WARNING TO ALL OF US WHO DESTROY HER: REMEMBER, NOT MUCH TIME IS LEFT TO SAVE OUR PLANET AND OURSELVES!