Long Kneeled Poems
Long Kneeled Poems. Below are the most popular long Kneeled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Kneeled poems by poem length and keyword.
In an old vineyard
When Jesus was just a lamb
His coat eight years old
Working with the chaste Joseph
His father and guide
As the beloved Mary
Kneeled and prayed to God
In their small and humble home
A visitor came
Golden and shining brightly
Like beams of sunlight
Shooting through the home’s window
Shooting from heaven
Shooting down from the clear heights
Mary beheld him
Thinking he was her young son
Putting off his coat
With gentleness the child said
“Where is dear Jesus
My dear brother and brave twin
I want to meet him”
Mary never responded
In fearful blindness
Thinking he was a phantom
From the lightless depths
Rather than light from the heights
She seized his right arm
And tied his arm to the foot
Of the worn, torn bed
Not wishing to scare her more
He remained at peace
Not saying a single word
During this event
Jesus held an empty branch
Observing the wood
As if it were a mirror
Soon he heard Mary
Jabbering in confusion
With tears raining down
In this dim storm of wailing
Jesus heard the words
Breaking through the whirling clouds
“A phantom has come
Dressed in golden apparel
Dressed in bright lightning
Saying “Where is dear Jesus
My twin and brother
I desire to see him”
Joseph please help me”
Only Jesus saw the light
And heard the thunder
For he had wise eyes to see
And had ears to hear
He proclaimed with holy strength
“Mother, where is he
So that I may see the light
Or should I wait here
Waiting for the bright sunlight
To break through this storm”
Jesus said these words in joy
Joseph was startled
Mary wiped away her tears
They entered the house
And found the spirit at peace
Still bound to the bed
Both the parents looked at him
Then looked at Jesus
And found them to be the same
Mary walked further
And unloosed the child angel
He bowed to Mary
He and Jesus said no words
For they were brothers
They hugged with their gentle arms
Gave a holy kiss
The angel child disappeared
For he and Jesus
Became one white pearl of light
Thus the empty branch
Bloomed with delicious almonds
Bloomed with holy life
Thus this town was sanctified
Crowned with golden, shining grace
Poem based on the account from the ancient apocryphal book The Pistis Sophia, Chapter 61.
The stench of blood so thick you could taste it
Raivel swallowed hard amongst the slashed
corpses of terrified souls littering the field
A harvest of death gleams and sparkles
as the crimson dripped from his swords edge
Duty is duty, never question, everyone dies
Untangle the mortal souls that clutch the earth
of their graves. Send them to the gods...
Raivel was half divine but pure evil
numb from life, dark inside
His eyes slits of glowing hate,
Only fully opened when he killed
with a bosterious laughter of doom.
Raivel was created for the kill
Killing all, good or bad, young or old
ugly or beautiful, dead was dead
Death was his wages for his being
and he was always paid in full
Demon perhaps, Vengeance not quite
Justice? who amongst humans can judge the gods
His face was void, only devil eyes and open mouth
of laughter. Mercy never, emotionless but beautiful
in a haunting ballad of slaughter.
All who saw him fell and trembled
All who fled impaled on his spear
There was no where to hide
Only time to die
Prayers to the gods who sent him
mocked the very existence of his being.
Was Raivel sent to perish the human race
were the gods tired of disappointment
or was slaughter morbid enjoyment
Fire from the sky would cleanse the mounds of dead
flames licking away until the smoldering ashes
blown into the wind would darken the sky
and fore warn others of their fate.
On the Field of Jade, earth's perfection
of grace and beauty
Raivel kneeled a wash in the splatters of blood red
His back towards the dead polluting this sacred place.
Raivel stood and open his eyes and screamed the pain
of millions of butcher souls. He swung his mighty sword into
heaven to pierce the bellies of the gods.
No more my lords, no more...
A shiver of mist blanketed the earth as soft raindrops cried
upon the land. Raivel his open eyes full blood red shed a single tear
as he combusted from within shooting flames of hell so high
the ashes of heaven buried the dead.
Time has passed, legends are born
little children be good or Raivel will slay us all
And people to this day still visit the wonderful
Field of Jade where roses bloom full and heavy
colored deep in the hue of Blood Red.
Her teeth are no longer white
and bright as in 1960s
when she first fell in love with my grandfather.
I blame that BB, because she always has a headache
when she doesn’t take it.
People from all corners of
Bothaville are afraid of her.
My dear black child has accused her
of being a witch.
Some have labelled her as a healer.
But I label her as my grandma.
She is my strength
and also my weakness,
the love of my life and
the philosopher who inspires everything.
She is the inspiration for all my books,
she is the heart of all my poems.
Without the stories she told me
when I was three years old,
I wouldn’t be the poet that I am today.
Her way of telling the stories
have given birth to my style of writing.
The characters in her stories
made me into the author that I am today.
I had failed to thank my grandfather
before he was wiped off this dry planet,
to either the place of rest
or given powers somehow to protect me
from distractions on this earth.
My grandma held my hand
and dragged me to his grave,
ordered me to place a stone
on top of his grave
and forced me to speak to him.
“Speak to your grandfather, Teboho,
he is listening to you,” she said.
She kneeled before the grave
where the person she’d loved was laid.
The person she knew
and spent her life with
since she was seventeen.
But 2009 was not kind to us
as it wiped his roots out.
Does it make a difference
that I am named after him?
Yes his name will live on,
but his body has decomposed.
My grandma is old,
but thankfully she knows 2021.
I know how her body is tired,
the aches she feels at night,
waking up with a headache
and a heavy load on her body,
As if her ninety-six years
are not both blessing and curse.
I know she can’t live on
but her memory shall.
All my poems and my books
will always reflect her.
I will recite poems about her,
I will paint her as the hero she is.
I will be her philosopher
and tell her story to her grandchildren
whom she kisses every night
before she goes to sleep
Sleep that might turn into a nightmare
for both the Ntaita and Tayita families.
We will weep on
but her love will give us strength again.
Do I dare?
As years passed, I continued to wonder
Haunted by a silent question
Buried at the back of my head, is a lifetime quest for answers
Lurking in my subconscious, Is a lifetime of shadows
Masked in deep shaded silhouettes
Caught up in a maze of illusions
A space were pieces of my life laid buried
Loaded with decades of uncertainty
What do I dare to call him?
The one I know only from memories
Like a ghost, he roams behind closed doors
Exists in a parallel universe
Masquerading in my dreams
Disappears and appears at random times
I had worshiped him, and his unwillingness to conform
Fascinated by his magic tricks
Abra cadabra, he vanished just as quickly
Snatched away by the world of the unknown
Never really knew him, acquainted only with his visage
He lives in my fantasy land
What should I call this man?
He remains a mystery
He with no care in the world
The first to initiate me into the grownup world of heartbreak
To teach me of unbearable sorrow and disappointment
It is he that brought me great despair
Partook in my bearing, but showed me no mercy
He wounded me, preparing my heart for a long battle ahead
Stealing my precious childhood
As I spend my life’s journey walking on splinters of broken glasses
Like a wounded soldier, I bore old scars
With bible verses, scripted on my soul
I now thread carefully through life, running away from all that reminds me of him
Struggling to leave his shadows behind
As I now embody his vile illness
With a heart that has turned to decay
Do I dare call him father?
He took advantage of my innocence, toyed with my vulnerable nature
He is the cause of my masked loneliness
Like a wet sponge, I had absorbed his ways
Floundering through life like a mythical creature
Blundered by his lies and broken promises
And all I was seeking was his validation
But in his absence he deemed me unworthy
For so long I kneeled as he ordered
Like a gospel, I followed his every command
Yet, he constantly broke the vows he swore to keep
Do I dare call him father?
The man whose heart had grown as cold as stone
He that watched me wither away to his very eyes
As I made my slow fall from grace
A man will find one woman. and he will lay the fruit of his labor at the feet of the father and
he will return with the portion given to him by The Most High..and he will gain great joy and
pleasure in adorning this one Queen with this gift from God.
Scriptures reveal the weakness of the meek is the strength of timelessness
I feel the cool wind blow on me and as the strong sturdy oak..and sway and bend to the
rhythm of the wind
Although I stand tall
I bend low
Earth is the Lord and the fullness there of
But I was planted in the garden..and given dominion over all I see
The Metraton kneeled to pay me homage
Not because I’m worthy
but because he loved me so
And I looked and could see the throne prepared for me
and from my inner bone..he molded a mate to be my companion and co-dependant
Some one I could tell of HIS greatness
And she could teach the youth
So his praise shall be in my mouth continually
Every Day the Night replaced..every Night that is revealed by the Day
Opens the seals..so I can know him as my own!
Know HIM as myself…and He will be.
Prophecy. Prophecy!!
Ya understand?
Yes, I will
Written in the Torah as Surah
What was written..Shall be.. ’cause no word shall return to him void
For what echo returns different then how it was sent.
I am the echo of his consciousness… I must return filled with his redemption
With the resurrection…The reward…and revelation
According to the promise of the ages
He provides, you hear?
Come all ye children of God!!... Come out of your foreign ways..And submit to the Keeper of
your soul
No weapon formed can prosper against your sincere trust and faith
Walk and be not afraid... For no Atrocities shall come nigh unto thee
The lamb's blood on the door post...was the sign to pass me over Lord
And it could not snare me
It was I when there was none only my blood can be the sacrifice…only my sin can bring
curse to the world
People can’t you see and know…what is really going on
Who HE is…and who you are destined to be..
Ausar….Obatala… Adonai… Yahweh…El-Elyon…Elohim…Medhanie Alem….Jehovah
'Igzee'abihier, let Jah be praised
Form:
Bluebird Cafe off of music row and all they ever told him was no no and no
He was outta time and outta dough cause they never played his songs on the radio
Then and there he kneeled to pray and these are the words he heard that day
We may stumble and we may fall knew today’d be the day you'd call
We may stumble and we may fall write about Peter Pilate and Paul
Now don't worry son take my hand and I'll lead you to the promised land
Get your verse from the scripture make it vivid so they get the picture
Paint 'em rainbows and the clear blue skies fire and brimstone from the lightning strikes
Heaven's streets are paved with gold Hell is hotter than the sun tenfold
We may stumble and we may fall illustrate that big fireball
We may stumble and we may fall don't cost a dime to make this call
The crown of thorns were on my head just so you could have a comfy bed
They pounded the nails in my feet here's the scar would you like to see it
I'll be back in a purple robe to pass judgment across the globe
Bring to life my Holy Spirit crank it up so they can hear it
We may stumble and we may fall listen to the words of apostle Paul
We may stumble and we may fall watch out for that summer squall
All the hearts of woman and man were formulated from my master plan
The devil gets in when you drop your guard so pass along my business card
Think of me day and night and I'll be here to fight the fight
The groundwork's down for you to walk the walk so consider this our little talk
We may stumble and we may fall you won't walk until you crawl
We may stumble and we may fall I'll show up whenever you call
All the goose bumps and the standing hair how in the world did they get there
I can send a chill up and down your spine or appear as a vision to convince your mind
Life is not a perfect painting so get off your knees the world's awaiting
We may stumble and we may fall I'm the judge jury and all
We may stumble and we may fall there's your answer so get on the ball
We may stumble and we may fall turn it up and tell em all!
Who is Bigfoot’s Great-grand Daddy?
Whether living in a city or on the mountain side,
People from the world around astound us with their views.
He’s nine-feet tall, a hairy thing, uprightly he flees astride.
Only tracks are left behind and the mystery accrues.
They say that Big Foot does exist and for eons has survived.
A humanoid of greatest size a hairy manlike beast.
Is he really all they say, or are the stories contrived?
And if he lives, tell me, are our imaginations fleeced?
(Genesis 27 … paraphrased…)
Jacob goes to get two goats and steal his father’s blessing.
Their mom prepared a feast of goat, delicious, to Isaac’s taste.
Then, tied goatskin to Jacob’s neck and hands, realizing.
Jacob dressed in Esau’s clothes calmly goes to his father with haste.
Meanwhile, Esau, far away was hunting for venison as asked.
Traipsing around through the scrubby woods tracking.
Moving quickly with his great might to fulfill his father’s task.
A man with hair like that of a goat, his birthright was loosing.
Jacob smelled like Esau and the fields, but his voice…
Isaac questioned, so he felt Jacob’s goatskin clad hands.
Satisfied by the goatskin disguise, destiny made its choice.
Jacob received a blessing of wealth and all of his father’s lands.
When Esau returned with the venison feast, deceit was revealed.
But it was too late his birthright was gone; he was very mad.
“Give me a blessing, father please.” He begged as he kneeled.
You shall live on the fat of the earth…unyoked…his father said.
I wonder –
Is Bigfoot, like Esau, a hunter-gatherer with hands as hairy as a goat?
Does he live independently, a type of man, a scary giant beast?
Wandering upon earth, too and fro, with life barely afloat.
Brothers separated by that ancient deceit filled feast.
Is Bigfoot the hunter-gatherer living on the fat of the land?
Has he since the day of Rachael’s scam lived secluded and beastly?
Have generation upon generation descended that ancient hunting man?
Could Isaac in the Bible be Big Foot’s ancient Great-grand Daddy?
One cold night, deep in thought, and curled in fright,
From folklore tales aimed to scare;
My rigid poise froze to a screeching noise
Outside, a voice not like I've heard before, to leave I would not dare
“It’s probably just an owl or creature of the night out there"
I muttered to myself, then pretended not to care
Oh, I recall quite vividly this icy Winter’s night
With grainy sight, the sandman came to lead me to his land
The weariness I fought but eventually he caught
Pulling me quite taut to somewhere far less bland
Where I became the leader of a marvellous brass band
And down that path sandman tightly gripped me by my hand
Trumpeters and trombone players played musically in layers
Exciting each and everyone, spreading joy to all around
But my dreams were playing tricks, my mind was in a mix
The bass tuba sounded sick, not playing tuneful sounds
Instead a grating shrill, then the whining of a hound
The lightning and the rain came too, my dream then ran aground
Alone I grew more frightened and the intensity just heightened
The shrieks and shrills grew louder with an occasional thunder clap
Taking sanctuary under bed sheets, preying for melodic sound beats
Suffering this painful feat, my soul took a massive slap
Oh how I longed for it to stop and to return me to my nap
The bleakness of that night, my mind caught in a trap
Morning later broke, the ground outside was soaked
The noise had faded but there was still a haunting in my ears
A crunch, a grind, a squeak a whine
The cause I vowed to find, and to take away my fears
From the upstairs window I saw a farmer crouched in tears
And a windmill's broken sails; the mystery closure neared
Across the muddy field, I approached the man kneeled
Sobbing over what appeared to be a dead Alsatian
He'd found it just lying there, the hound, his best friend
Downed by a falling windmill piece, killing gods creation
"A slow death" the farmer said "he must have cried out for attention"
"And my mill cranks broken causing noises of a nauseating sensation"
The meandering Universe or tightly packed with no edges at all
The Universe huge and pulsing enough to give seed to the life forms is packed rock into a ball
The Universe did it know all along about Love?
Hey what is life anyway? Some say they know from messages above, within— without
Some say they know by analysis, some philosophers, mystics, priests, all claim they have the key to the riddle-- What do they know?
I have voyaged with Plato, and Aristotle feeling the firm ground beneath me slipping away,
I mourned the Passion, I have kneeled for Allah, Vishnu, Shiva, Yahweh, RA, Amun-Ra, Odin, and I have imbibed the mystic, elevating into a fugue
Hawkins, Sagan, Einstein have wisely spoken, I speak their words, “Where did God hide those confounded data?”
I have visited the land where law of religions becomes the external garb of man, atoms flowing rapidly energetically all from cloth to flesh and back again--
In those black holes I have held hands with Sagan, De Grasse
In search of other worldly terrestrial beings, and have floated into eternity embracing Hawkings into beauteous things— with water at the center of it all…
Plunged into darkness, and never found those dice,
What can I say, I am only man.
We have tried for millenniums to answer the puzzling riddles, what is the ‘mystery of inequity’, perchance it is of no substance at all, or is split asunder in the vital soul of man himself some slippery essence waiting to ooze out into the atmosphere,
The riddles are great, and the universe holds them somewhere in the abyss, of man blackest recesses perchance— Maybe there is no mystery at all… “Philosophy is a smile on a dog”
Some say they know by analysis, some Philosophers, mystics, Scientists, all claim they have the key to the riddle…What do they know?
In the desperate search of God we have despised our ways, Men have become haters of Love. I saw the birth of the humanist once upon a page-- Petrarch my father
He held the keys jangling with a smirk and rage…
Man disappoints man…
i feel homeless though i have a home no one to hear my poems, roamed the
streets alone becoming weak eventually lost focus, someone stole the light of
day from me the skies above me stormed, lord deliver me from evil i just want to
go back home, i went from standing on my own my world suddenly turned
backwards, if there's someone really out there then how come nobody answers,
as time passed i started searching for a way to ease the pain, then ended up
hitting rock bottom landed face first on the pavement, laid my faith to rest i left it
six feet deep below i graveyard in a nameless grave that i myself in graved the
word forsaken, life had taken me to places, shown me things no man should
witness, cold as Christmas snow that falls upon homeless innocent children, i
spent countless evenings breathing in a smoke that only weaken me, took full
control with out me knowing thank god it didn't cripple me, it took over the price i
had to pay was costly, cost me more that money i lost trust, disrespected my
family, sadly that still didn't stop me like my conscience kneeled cowardly down
before a substance that had grow too strong to overpower, then the hours
became days the same way days had become weeks after so many suns had
set months eventually turned to years, my fears had come to life i crossed i line i
didn't know i crossed, ashes to ashes dust to dust all i left behind was monster,
who once upon a time thought he'd grow up to be a doctor, i get torn apart it's
hard knowing i turned his dreams to nightmares i wish i could hand him candles
to light the roads he must travel where shadows will cloud his mind, with his
eyes open wide deny those around him that call him blind, getting left behind by
ghost whom he thought were his closest friends, who hear him knocking for help
but i guess were just too embarrassed, their friendships had dies along with the
part of him that had perished, i havn't a doubt their mouth never spoke his name
in their prayers.