Long Offerings Poems
Long Offerings Poems. Below are the most popular long Offerings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Offerings poems by poem length and keyword.
Your watch,
Fastened upon your wrist,
Giving you an extra charm
Bids me to want
To throw away my offerings,
To mute the prayers echoing in my heart
And to pull at my hair,
While screaming out vicious tsunamis
Which can engulf you
In their melodious harmony
Merely
Because
Of the strong appeal
That emanates from you!
Your watch,
Clasped tightly upon your wrist,
Has me imagining of how
It shall be when
I shall soar at you
Seated on a sparkling unicorn
To steal it
Because wearing that which is yours
Creates a new world in my galaxy,
One in which you and I
Play, side by side,
A romantic symphony,
Which bids flowers and trees to dance!
If Christ had not risen
If Christ had not risen, our sins could not be forgiven.
We would never be able to be granted a pardon.
If Christ had not risen, there would be no way for us to get access to grace and eternity.
If Christ had not risen, what would we do for the sacrifice of the sin offering? Turtledove and bullock prices would be high, and sin offerings would be too much to pay for you or even me. Christ saw the problem, and He paid the price a long, long time ago.
If Christ had not risen, our souls would be lost.
But because of His blood, we are pardoned and set free at the cross.
If Christ had not risen, where would we spend eternity? That's a question each one must answer.
But thank God for Christ's victory; we are saved and set free.
*Image of Landscapes by Giphy.
Plantae I
I lie in my earthly womb
Unflowered cribbed in my ultimate bed
Bared to the encountering elements
Trifles steep their enriched parts
Distinct rain their confidences
Exert savored energies
A nourishing obligates
'Neath the weight of my girth
I sprout
Embedded toes stabilizing
Feverishly spreading, a flourishing site,
Unfathomable stretches, probing in growth,
Neath the weight of me to the sight of my being,
Whence the sense of my essence takes a peak,
E'er so slightly, I oft rise and slowly unsheath,
My shallow blade, by and by, will mightily survive the descent of me,
As I surrendered poking further,
Abandoned to the cares of this earth,
I yield myself purposefully pulling incessantly,
Lowly, a humble worth,
A petite verdant clothed insignificant am I,
Yet I spring forth the breadth of life, a stillness via inches, reveals,
Offerings bestowed freely, subtle trades, being accordingly,
An opportune enrichment as a component of this world,
The ingenious extent throughout my presence,
Expose a unique character in the design of me,
Sharing my children via the virtuous elements upon their calls of me,
Whereby, validating my species assuredness,
Forever in a day undressing my colors fully for passing eyes to favor,
The colorfulness, an artistic compromise as personas are expressed,
Unprotected as a seasonal passage occupies the conquest of time,
We bare ourselves in subjugated humility,
Of a short-lived consequence,
Our age foretold, ringed in our statuesque frame, ingrained within,
Announces a withering, one of many,
Spacial spatterings of a species, a forest, in global respect,
Nevertheless, a cessation that was long-addressed,
Paves anew, as chartreuse blades, diminutive in stature,
Outcrops a foundation previously possessed,
Its former tenant, tis save a legacy,
Notwithstanding, on the greatest of scales,
A similar fate awaits this world,
For now, be it a novel.
2020 February 24
Padraig's Fire
Hurry!
Hurry through the night
With windstorms
Breathing at your back
Before the shadows know
You pass their doors -
Their darkened, dusty, empty hearths -
Before the dawn ascends -
Before the pipes awaken;
Carry close
Precious flint and tinder
Next to the wildly beating
Warmth -
Beneath your flowing cape.
Hurry!
Hurry down the rolling path,
Rising up to meet your feet,
Sweetly caressing your rushing steps,
Passing sentinels
Of ancient oaks,
Graveyards
Where primeval elms once stood,
That guard a narrow door
Of the river Boyne
Watching over Tara's keep
In a valley of wild rushing eddies
Shedding superstitions
Restraining deep planted longings.
Hurry!
No faire voices invitation;
Only life, held out in promises,
Beckons pilgrims here -
Pass through the numbing chill
Going down to rise up
Past myths
Into inviting aires and covenants;
Pass through the chill of seperation;
Pass through the swirling current
Gripping to release sandaled feet;
Hold high the flint and tinder
Then rest within the hollows of a hand
In quiet glens of grace.
Listen!
Listen for the kerry drums
Pounding welcome in swirling reels -
Ancient dances -
Reawakened from Adam's time
Released from sleep to circle round and round
While sparks from glowing tinder,
Brought to life from sharpened flint,
Battle winds of haunted years
That lived in isolation
Pulling up from fiery spindles flaming whorls -
New and paschal fire returning;
Circles meeting circles thunder
In death's shattering death.
Listen!
Listen as the moan of banshees
Banishes forever winter's touch
To see the sleeping hills
Shake off an exiled life
And hear the harps - uilleann pipes,
Newborn visions
Watch the wind dance of the kells begin
With towering fireworks
Shooting up from the valley floor
In rhythm to the bohdran and the tiompan
To seek completeness
In the hotly glow of dawning -
Vernal offerings in emerald fire.
Arise!
Arise to cradle emerald fire
Dreaming ever softly
In fields of clover
And timeworn stones,
Witnesses
To the arrival of winnowing flames
When centuries embraced
Again
Until the days remembering
Final meals and crosses - a waiting tomb -
Blesses once again
The quest of hard flint and soft tender
Before a cross - life within a circle.
My nutty week stays long in my memory
My brain didn't process like it would normally
But just to be sure I now lay of the pink gin
I will share you my tale and shall now begin.
Paracetamol had been placed inside the freezer
Then found in the bread bin, the daily newspaper
My mouthwash was used as a face cleanser
Then sprayed underarms with the air freshener.
When cooking dinner I put no water in pans
Smoke and burnt offerings, so opened a soup can
Two hours of slow sewing, repairing some things
Only to discover I'd missed both sides of the seams.
Made tea instead of coffee, an easy mistake
But my feather head told me it's chocolate milk shake
Lucky that time the tea had cooled down
But annoyed with myself and felt a right clown.
Was I losing my marbles? why all the muddles?
That week I seemed in a right fuddy duddle
But the last straw came when I went to bed
I had slept on the floor of the garden shed.
The second stanza is true, I have done all that
The rest is made up for bit of spoof slap
But wanted a poem for the nutty contest
This I made up from my nutty mind set.
"N" Contest, New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor Constance La France
Written 20.09.21
For When The Sun Rises
When the sun sets on this we reset our values,
treasure the little things,
offerings to you,
bringing smiles,
perspective of pettiness now seemingly vile,
the rampant greed and selfishness,
there's no place for this,
let’s leave behind this style,
heed this message
help the rest,
mankind has the word kind there in it,
“n am kind” and I’m kind,
offence is subjective,
turn down the dial,
we lived spoiled,
always entitled,
too much comfort,
very little appreciation,
too much expectation,
the hardest times teach the priceless lessons,
"all in it together",
Let this be the lasting impression.
For when the sun rises again the world is new,
the world is me the world is you
Quayside bazaar
Odd artifacts;
Trinkets to go
~~~~~~~~~
Poignant tune
Old memories flood;
Trip to yesterday
~~~~~~~~~
Airport arrival
Homecoming route;
Mid-afternoon buzz
~~~~~~~~~
Laundry lady
Dry cleaning job;
Helpful hints
~~~~~~~~~
Sleepy hangover
My mother's voice;
Dreamy interlude
~~~~~~~~~
Old giant rubber tree
Huge monolith;
Treasured monument
~~~~~~~~~
Abrupt torrential rain
Misty blur ooze;
Traffic congestion
~~~~~~~~~
Newspaper headline
Yangtze River mishap;
Death by drowning
~~~~~~~~~
Mailbox arrivals
Big brown envelope;
Prize-winning certificates
~~~~~~~~
Busy arrival hall
Airport crowds loiter;
Familiar faces
~~~~~~~~~
Fruit shoppe offerings
Delicious temptations;
Colourful range
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
04 June 2015
Singapore
And the colored girls sing (A tribute to Lou Reed)
“Sugar Plum Fairy came and hit the streets”
Dragging the soul of a contender
who painted crooked lines and dotted futures
Spinning lies on the edges of gossamer wings,
then lickin her lips, black as night patterned velvet
while tracing underground sidewalks in glittered graffiti
and menu’d offerings
“Lookin' for soul food and a place to eat”
Digging in the pockets of her intended victims,
tossing lint to the curb in puddles of drool
Singing in a voice louder than her grumbling stomach
now exposed to the harsh winter of tomorrow
as foot soldier scarves in drab green
wrap her twisting ankles from the cold
“Went to the Apollo”
Standing in a long line for a ticket
to this sold out show, basking in the marquee lights
Collecting auditions from drifters
and finding her melody in a passing taxi,
yellow as her checkered present,
ignoring her cries to be ridden
“You should have seen him go, go, go”
Exhaust fumes mixed with knock off Channel #5
and scraping stiletto heels sparking on the emotions
of an ill fitting t-shirt with Lou Reed’s face stretched
to the limits of her darkly carved wild side,
she falls in line, fourth from the right
as metronome earrings sway in rhythm
“and the colored girls sing…”
The quoted lines are from the Lou Reed song, “Walk on the Wild Side”
(And one of the scribes came, and having heard them reasoning together, and perceiving that he had answered them well, asked him, Which is the first commandment of all?
And Jesus answered him, The first of all the commandments is, Hear, O Israel; The Lord our God is one Lord:
And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment.
And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these.
And the scribe said unto him, Well, Master, thou hast said the truth: for there is one God; and there is none other but he:
And to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the soul, and with all the strength, and to love his neighbour as himself, is more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.) Mark 12: 29-33.
The Lord is one
It is so clear, please, read
God is one Lord
At the crossroads
were once left offerings
to the goddess of ghosts
Hecate with her keys
At the crossroads
were once buried the bodies
of criminals and those
who chose to commit suicide
considered unworthy to be laid to rest
in the hallowed earth of a cemetery
their spirits left to wander
aimlessly for eternity
At the crossroads
Robert Johnson fell to his knees
unable to hitch a ride
as the sun sank low in the sky
fearing he would die hanging from a tree
or maybe he sold his soul to Satan there
depending on the story
At the crossroads
I stand at midnight under the milky moon
singing my own song of heartache
waiting for some sign from the divine
to tell me which path to take