Long Muslin Poems
Long Muslin Poems. Below are the most popular long Muslin by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Muslin poems by poem length and keyword.
Enter your grave, as though a pilgrim, full of smile,
Within satin muslin decked coffin, sleep peaceful,
May death, the deathless (?), feel ashamed of his sly guile...!
Tomb, the womb of nature, has its grandeur and style,
Ask your guardian-angel! Make your stay blissful!
Enter your grave, as though a pilgrim, full of smile,
Body might decompose into bone - nerve - flesh pile,
Dwell, like a zen cloister; make life calm and graceful;
May death, the deathless (?), feel ashamed of his sly guile...!
You are, like a seed; you might remain for a while,
Each trial you face will make your journey tranquil;
Enter your grave, as though a pilgrim, full of smile,
Tell yourself stories that could make your stay worthwhile,
Bright corners must make you feel heartily thankful;
May death, the deathless (?), feel ashamed of his sly guile...!
Midst thunder, you'll see the son of man's arrival,
Hold on him and remain, for his graces, grateful;
Enter your grave, as though a pilgrim, full of smile,
May death, the deathless (?), feel ashamed of his sly guile...!
15 April 2022
My wife, my huntress, rides the Holy Wind,
But still, daisies adorn her thick brown hair!
Her muslin robes blow out, her hair's unpinned,
Let dark thoughts try to chase her, if they dare!
For she outrides them all, strews flowers like hopes
And, with her hunting-dogs, argent, and gold,
She frees all prisoners, breaks all hangmen's ropes
A sure shot from her bow, and - young and old,
The wretched find their freedom come at last!
The hopeless rise and throw off fear's dull chains,
The blinded see the Now, Future, and Past
The horses lead their riders without reins!
Now, through the Night, she bolts like lightning's fire!
A fiery seraphim, who'll never tire!
Women of the Word
Some wore finest linen –
Others wore wool;
Some wore the silk of royalty –
Some wore cotton, some muslin;
Some were called to great things –
Others walked with sorrow
Some were called to ordinary days
All were called by God
Some lived in a palace
In Jerusalem
Some lived in a simple tent
One from the land of Moab
Some lived in Judah
In the flowing hills
Some made their home in far off Galilee
All lived in the Lord.
And see, their lives reflect their God
These handmaids of the Lord
Oh, these women of the Word.
One was named Sarah
One was called Ruth;
There was a queen named Esther
Deborah, Martha and Anne;
Elizabeth and Abigail
Tabitha and Hannah
A girl named Mary in quiet Nazareth
All said “Yes” to God
And see, their lives reflect their God
These handmaids of the Lord
Oh, these women of the Word.
They plant the seeds to birth at harvest
Grind the flour for the bread
Gather family at the table
See that all who come are fed
Share their stories with the children
Put their hands to every kind of task
They are wives and mothers, sisters
Who work and share their giftedness.
Some wear denim blue jeans
Others love pink
They live their lives of faithful love
Lives of courage and hope
They put their hands to simple tasks
In the service of God
No matter which age they’re called to live
They are women of the Word –
Oh these Women of the Word
3-23-22
Contest: We Salute You, Dear Women
Sponsor: Beata Augustin
With sweet incline her ear is on dawn's arrival
even if night reigns by day, she has no rival
only the morning contains her birthing vine
Her ear is on dawn's arrival with sweet incline'
Dolce Amor upon the curve of her pillow rest
is the indent of the dreams that loved her best
only the dawn holds the whispers of her core
The curve of her pillow rest upon Dolce Amor
She is the scented violet of his early fantasies
more deep then the indigo of deep blue seas
a muslin touch of running silk with eyelets
Of his early fantasies she is the scented violets'
Dolce Amor a rose and a bouquet of baby breath
he knows that she will love him even until death
she is pepper on his heart and scented tuberose
A bouquet of baby breath and Dolce Amor his rose
June 25, 2020
I am "Black",and I do not blame all of my misfortunes on "The White Man"!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Look in "The Mirror",and realize: and see what you yourself have done to "Help or Hurt" anyone!!!!!!!! Red,Yellow,Brown,Black,or White!!!!!!!!!!! Christian,Muslin,Jew,or any ,or no Religious Belief at "All"!!!!!!!!!!!! Hatred is "Always Wrong"and is "Never Right"!!!! Can or Will we some how "See The Light"?????????? The "Real Enemy" is "Hatred"!!!!!!!! Am I Right? Can "We finally "See Reality" in "A True Clear Light?We need to decide "What is Wrong? We need to decide"What is Right"? Red,Yellow,Brown,Black,and White...........We fight "Racism,and Hatred" that is embeded in some of those of every ethnic origin.........Must I "Begin Again"and blame "White Men"?Men and Women live on "Land",and travel through the air,and travel on the "Oceans,and on "The Seas",and "The Enemy" has taught "Racism"in "The Home of The Brave,and where "We fight for "Freedom" so that "All Men and Women" can be "Free"!!!! Racism was "Taught to you and me"!!!!!!! We are "The Lord's God Almighty's Creatures,and his "Sun" shines on you and me,and I believe that "Racism "The Mental Illness" has sent many a man or woman to "Hell" where they will never be "Free"!!!!!!"I see "Racism" practiced everyday,and every night!!!! I see "Racism Practiced by those who are "Red,Yellow,Brown,Black,and White!!!! Racism is "Wrong,and is never Right"!!!!!!!Racism is a"Criminally Learned" or "Criminally Taught" "................Mental Illness!!!!!!!!!!!
CRAZY QUILT MADNESS
crazy quilt madness,
sewn onto muslin squares.
nothing square, about these cool croppings.
left over scraps become something unique -
beautiful, with buttons and floral encryptions -
forget me - knots.
crazy quilt madness,
my life’s serene lift of lived-in patterns,
adventurous ascents onto glaciers and mountains,
descending waterfalls and into voluptuous valleys.
crazy quilt madness
of family sorrows, and peeks,
weaving in and out of all its metes.
a grand landscape of life well-lived.
crazy quilt madness:
join the therapy group.
cut into the cathartic cloth.
snip away and sew, yourself,
into the freedom of frenetic fancy.
leave behind the perfect squares,
for the perfect lives,
in the perfectly square, cookie cutter log cabins,
and join me in wild despair,
picking juicy berries of lonely snippets
for a “berry” good time under the moon of
crazy quilt madness.
9/29/2017
Tremble at this door child but do not come in yelled the Quent
she an ogress at the end of her wits wearing muslin and flint
was only looking for a King who could love her as she was
When the angry boombox voice gave her quivering she went
away, hunching her shoulders she glided away her ogre scent
A little latch opened a flash of blue a slant of eye then he re spoke
"do you clean Kingdoms and can you cook, for a jaunty bloke?"
"oh for the love of God" she cried, I got teacups bigger than this place
yes I can wipe your palace, dust your crocket, just don't look at my face
and so he let her into the Kingdom of JUA, and so began their chase
A little fairy magic in the soup was all he needed as he ate in one gulp
contented as a Mishka, he cried out, " my your skin is soft as pulp! "
From an Ogress to a Tigress, down she went like a pile of timber
while he headlong without haste planted a kiss so soft and limber
that it opened her heart, henceforth they lived happily ever after .
The End.
December 24, 2020
A youngling just born, full of life and pureness.
Innocence remains, a soul yet burdened by time.
Unbeknownst to the youngling of life,
The one dressed in the habiliments of the grave dances.
The cruel dance has begun, and the youngling's eyes just opened.
Throughout time, a crow watches over the youngling.
From tender steps to wizened stride,
The crow observes with an all-seeing eye.
A woven muslin through the sands of time spun,
Where shadows lengthen, day is done.
The path ahead, a fading light,
A whispered promise, a haunting night.
Through fields of lycoris, the youngling wanders with time,
Each step echoes with a mournful chime.
As innocence succumbs to time.
The heart, once pure, now blackened with time,
Beneath a cold and pale lackluster stime.
What evermore can befall this youngling.
The crow watches keenly in the night,
Observes the fading, horrid, dim light.
It watches all, all knowing of the dread,
The whispers from the soil of the dead.
As the youngling’s spirit wanes, the crow intones its somber strains.
The spirit dances full of life, soon comes to halt,
The dance of life, Oh, how a morbid waltz.
The crow watches over, a dance well known before,
It sees the habiliments of the grave lurking evermore.
Lurking, it tricks the youngling into a dance of flaws,
The crow watches as tears befall.
As the spirit dances, the chains tighten,
Now, in the grasp of the lurker.
The spirit makes the final embrace of earth.
Needle by needle
The tunes for the fiddle
Press by press
The pink caress
The up and down
The silky gown
Sideways too
The silky hue
The muslin sheen
The fluid violin
The orange sun
With love spun
The slippery satin
The tender teens
The roof grows crack
The burlap sack
Coarse daytime
The internal rhyme
The needles of strife
The burlap life
The people ragtag
The burlap bag
The filigree of labour
The burlap savour
The blue attachment
For the natural scent
The crafting and decor
Burlap we look for
The hugs and kisses
The blue berry bushes
The burlap screen
No harsh wind
The happy times
For the shrubs and the vines
Though poles apart
Both close to our hearts
Burlap and satin
The brown and the green
From the knife and the blade
Towards the burlap shed
From the market din
Towards the songs of satin
Burlap and satin
The stories umpteen
________________________________
March 26, 2018
Burlap and Satin - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Anthony Slausen
You live in sapphire-decked castles. You wear soft muslin clothes.
The snugness of mundane wealth, like the termite, eats you up.
Though you care less for God, in his name, you dare to take oaths.
With your vanilla wines, the pains of the poor fill your cup.
You're already comforted, Jesus said; what more do you need?
Why do you need a heaven above when you have it here?
Woe to you because you've killed your soul due to your greed.
The unending furnace of the afterlife, don't you fear?
The tears of the poor you mock at utter: you'll mourn as well.
Do you, at your conceit, shout and jump as though on cloud nine?
You're galloping like a drunken horse, unaware of hell.
Cobwebs of lust, spite, wrath, and sloth have filled your inner shrine.
Could any bird, with a snake that eats its eggs, feel at ease?
On you, the wrath of the one who loves them will never cease.