Long Paraclete Poems
Long Paraclete Poems. Below are the most popular long Paraclete by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Paraclete poems by poem length and keyword.
I want things to be good
When the hawk touches down
Have to stand where we should
When the hawk touches down
When polished and spiffed,
Our spirits will lift
Let us ready the gift
When the hawk touches down
I want things to go right
When the hawk touches down
No squabbles no fights
When the hawk touches down
Not a single forked tongue
From the old or the young
Just clean air in our lungs
When the hawk touches down
When atmosphere gives in to pressure
And the surging rivers arise,
Baby, let’s show up together
With nothing but love in our eyes
Gotta keep a straight face
When the hawk touches down
All games in their place
When the hawk touches down
No signs of disorder
Or cobwebs in the corner
You’ll be shot at the border
When the hawk touches down
This race will be judged
When the hawk touches down
Never sleep on a grudge
Lest the hawk touches down
He can pick up the scent
Of discouragement
All report to the tent
For when the hawk touches down
When atmosphere gives in to pressure
And the surging rivers arise,
Baby, let’s stand up together
With nothing but love in our eyes
Your heart is your seal
When the hawk touches down
The unrighteous made real
When the hawk touches down
From the unleavened wheat
To the washing of feet
By the true Paraclete –
All rites shall complete
when the hawk touches down
You bet we all pray
When the hawk touches down
It’s Contrition Day
When the hawk touches down
Under scarlet moon
Amid molten dunes
Jesus follows soon
after the hawk touches down.
As the devil roams the earth, sometimes
believing church folk depend on other
Christians for support during occasions of
doubt and despair. I find myself
errantly choosing the wrong paths
forgetting that I have professed
God as the One on whom I depend.
He is my faithful Redeemer who
intercedes with mercy’s kindness, yet
judiciously knowing I need a Father's
kindling fire for my disobedient heart with
love, forgiveness and discipline.
My earthly friends would condone my
narcissism and stubborn conceit which
occludes the very Paraclete within me;
penitence is what I really need.
Quashing the ploys of the evil one,
repentant souls refresh their
spirits. Spurning Satan’s subversion
teaches us dependence upon God's remedy for
unfaithfulness, the loose rocks on our route.
Vital to our strength is a well-meaning,
wise Friend’s honesty. God’s Spirit is that
xenolith who supports each believer,
yokes Christians yearning to bring
zealots back into relationship with their Redeemer.
First words of each line can also be read as a "abc" type poem:
As believing Christians doubt
errantly forgetting God,
He intercedes judiciously kindling love.
My narcissism occludes penitence.
Quashing repentant spirits teaches unfaithfulness.
Vital, wise xenolith yokes zealots.
February 10, 2020
Caren Krutsinger's ABCEDARIAN contest
My Love is like the Sky, a wind of dreams,
Like trailing Heav’n her garment covers me,
Stars line her cloak, her sword’s not what it seems,
It’s limned with lightning, she pulls it from a tree!
Her glowing hands and face show golden moons
Penumbra them about in pregnant mist,
They streak across the Night, bestowing boons,
Her lips, always, and never, to be kissed.
Beneath her softshod feet, angels press up,
And keep her from the burden of the earth,
From Paraclete Dove, comes the proffered cup,
Engilded, and enjeweled with gems of mirth
As bright as sun that shines on fields of snow,
From thence, drinks, smiles, and makes the darkness go.
A perfect bird takes flight on yellow wings
Dipped in golden sunbeams from pure light
Crimson days are etched with feathers pointed
Darting in and out of dangling limbs of trees
Made possible only by a gust of steady wind
On borrowed time through opened arms of love
Stretching out for miles on tomorrows time
Songs echo in the forest on the softer side
Birds sing there is no sorrow without sin
The Paraclete is no ordinary creature
It figures to be settled in by Christmas
Into a Trinity with all the trimmings living
When Christmas comes there is a pretty box
Nestled under the tree with lights and ornaments
Colorful wrapping with movement coming from inside
Outside is snow, below the bow is action
We pray that someone made some holes
For breathing is important for living things with souls
Bring plenty of towels and water in case of birth
Is that a chirp or something with a song of hope
If it is perfect can we keep it
If it has feathers should we let it go
I feel him there all day and night.
In my dreams, he speaks to me and makes my burden light.
His voice is like a soft and beautiful cymbal.
His turn of phrase makes my heart quick and my mind nimble.
His righteous utterance of confidence during the day,(sigh) shows me the way.
In retrospect, he was always there during my jejunity.
My father left me and my mother was not caring enough to love me.
He laid his finger on my heart and I felt his love.
His sweet and indomitable breath guided me to rise above.
I was abused by many antagonists and callous people over the years.
He fed me the fruit of his righteousness and chased away my fears.
He has made my life bountiful.
He has rectified my inefficient life so that I can become skillful.
In my winter solstice, I feel that time is nearing the fall of my withering and fermenting flesh to the earth.
My prayer is that my soul will bloom into immortal mirth.
Marchl 12, 2023
For the faithful be encouraged by John chapter 14 verse 18
My thoughts arrive in short, staccato bursts;
the long lines never seem to want to flow.
Macabre at best, generally, worse;
uncertain, the direction they will go.
Romantic phrasing seems a foreign tongue;
a lilting verse on love just comes out forced.
Yet beetles drawn to steaming piles of dung,
as love language, are largely not endorsed.
On this, Hallmark’s most halcyon of days,
pray do not be incensed, thy count’nance marred,
if, in attempts to woo with lofty praise,
I do compare thy scent to fragrant nard.
Penned valentines, a Sisyphean feat,
but you’re my rock, and I, your paraclete.
—————
for the Valentine Poetry Contest
sponsored by Mystic Rose Rose
written on 01/13/23
Illuminating a radainces
An air of nobility
it's elegance amid
grace
a radiant aura of
beauty
and Grandeur
as onlookers gaze
in reverence
it creates it's own
sequence
strong and powerful
a majestic presence in it's
beauty
a dance across the sky
He spoke of the Eagle
as he wore
a dove with an Olive
branch on his
shirt.
Paraclete
an
intercessor
of truth
Where Drones View the ground
is where men see
these things
You are eternal, we extol your power!
The Creator of the universe;
You are the Everlasting Father,
Provider of salvation by grace
You reign with justice, goodness and mercy.
We submit to your dominion and power
You are forever, we declare your peace!
You are the Son, everlasting Word;
You are the beloved Prince of Peace
Promised Son, yet to be King.
You bled, You died, You rose to victory!
We lay down our lives and our souls in peace.
You are without end, we welcome your presence!
Eternal Spirit, you walk beside us;
You are our Wonderful Counselor,
Paraclete, our help, our guide.
You will protect, correct, and direct us.
We exist within your holy presence.
You are worthy, we worship you with praise!
Three times unique, matchless three in one,
Father, Son and Spirit: Mighty God -
Physician to whom we run.
You heal the heart, the mind, and the body.
We offer you glory, thanksgiving and praise.
Christ and the Soldier by Siegfried Sassoon (1916)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7OEnXw7P60
The straggled soldier halted and clumsily went down "O blessed crucifix, I'm beat !"
Christ still sentried by a seraphim between two splintered trees did speak
"My son, behold these hands and feet."The soldier eyed him upwardas he muttered, "Wounds like these, Would shift a bloke to Blighty just a treat !"
Christ, gazing downward grieving and ungrim, Whispered,
"I made for you the mysteries, beyond all battles moves the Paraclete."
The soldier chucked his rifle in the dust, slipped his pack, wiped his neck, then said -- "O Christ Almighty, stop this bleeding fight !"Above that hill the sky was stained like rust With smoke. In sullen daybreak flaring red, the guns were thundering and the soldier cried,
"I was born full of lust,hungry and thirsty, with a wishfulness to wed. Who cares today if I done wrong or right?" Christ asked , "Can you not trust my word? Am I not resurrection, life and light ?"
Machine-guns rattled from below, high bullets flicked and whistled through the leaves; smoke came drifting from exploding shells.
Christ said "Believe and I can cleanse your ill. I have not died in vain between two thieves; Nor made a fruitless gift of miracles."
"A bird lit onto Christ. a breeze came to pass and shook the ripening corn
A Red Cross waggon bumped along the track "Lord Jesus, ain't you got no more to say ?" He bowed his head with a crown full of thorns, as the soldier shifted, then stumbled on his way.
"O God," he groaned,"why was I ever born ?". The battle boomed, and no reply came back.
Posted by kipper at 14:22
Three blocks away a church bell from my parish always calls
Pleading for my soul as the statues of Mary hang within the church's walls
I visualize the sculptured faces and count the clapper’s swings
I almost hear my name in the rhythm as the bell rings
Lying in my bed the guilt tries to pull down the sheet
My body is warm but my spirit is scorched in the heat
I could literary walk in my sleep to a pew in my church
I can count the footsteps to where my soul wants to perch
I envision the crucifix with the same expression as before
Yet that still gracious face is saying something new to my soul
Through the church bell I sense my hearts palpitations
This mismatch of my mind and soul need salvation
The call of the church bell is getting louder and louder
I am cocooned between these sheets but my soul is outside
Walking to a place around the altar and taking a seat
To a place it can converse with the Paraclete