Long Parson Poems
Long Parson Poems. Below are the most popular long Parson by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parson poems by poem length and keyword.
Seeing is Believing
Souls and spirits come our way
but very few will let them stay,
for most could never bear the shame
of being classified insane.
So even those who know it's true
that dead folk can be living too,
convince themselves that they are wrong
so they can sing 'accepted' song.
Every faith of every creed
is grown from just a single seed,
the one that says that life goes on
when all our earthly time has gone.
And most proclaim beyond the grave
the souls of their disciples gave,
proof positive that they survive
and beyond death they're still alive.
But say that you have seen dead folk
and most will think that you're a joke,
imagination running wild
they'll treat you like a stupid child.
The parson and the parish priest
will tell you, you can't see deceased
and some will go as far to say
it's devils work, you must not play!
But simple folk like you and me
all have ability to see
the ones who walked this way before
the ones who most folk just ignore.
The joy of meeting closest friends
the joy of love that never ends
the joy of knowing in your heart
that friends survive when they depart.
Surly this is worth the pain
of hearing some say you're insane.
Open your eyes, your ears and mind
and then believe the things you find.
Ivor G Davies
Its off to grandma's old fashion cottage we go;
past snow covered pine trees all in a row.
To her humble abode adorned in holiday charm,
And two grey horses inside the red painted barn.
Inside a crackling fire warming- nothing to compare.
With flickering flames dancing with flair,
Mesmerizing grandpa with a hypnotic spell.
And up the chimney smoke bid's farewell.
Grandma's cooking in her colorful blouse
the smell of baked bread drifts about the house,
And Grandpa snoring, asleep in his comfy old chair
in a plaid shirt and head with no hair.
Outside freshly fallen snow- a winter wonderland,
With frolicking young children mittens on hands
playing with vigor on freshly fallen snow
Their rosy red cheeks fully aglow.
Carolers singing along the snow covered street
each one adorned with a smile to greet
With sleigh bells jingling
and people joyously singing.
The aroma of roasted chestnuts swirls in the frosty air
On Maple street near the town square.
The White Chapel's steeple reaching toward the sky
A glorious symbol to the faithful eye.
Inside the tiny White Chapel with lights burn bright
a beacon to the world on this most glorious of nights.
Inside rich harmonious voices with glory to sing
As flying wild geese with the moon on their wings.
The parson adorned in modest vestment
As the choir sings- a worthy testament
Outside its silent, still and calm
Inside the congregation seeks the Savior's healing balm.
Cheerful hearts gratitude they bring
patiently waiting to celebrate the birth of their king.
For it came upon a mid night clear
as their voices raise for the Lord to hear.
Inside grandma's cottage on this snowy Christmas Eve
snuggled warmly asleep in their bed
waiting for Santa's with presents filled in his sled.
Billy, Tommy, Freddy and Steve
Next to the fireplace for Santa to find.
A glass of warm milk and cookies to dine.
Upstairs Sally and Sue unable to sleep
waiting for Santa to get a sneak peek.
Christmas Tree lights blink with a fury
the children wanting Santa to hurry
And mom and dad quietly sitting
Grandma in her rocker quietly knitting.
Decorated stockings hung with care from the fireplace
Sally’s and grandpa's adored with red and white lace
photos of grandchildren that grew up too fast
Grandmother's cottage with memories of Christmases past.
When I tie the noose,
will you stop me from defying gravity,
perhaps I shall hold my own hands whilst I try to descend high above the ground,
and maybe when I fail, I'll put a call through to 911, the pastor and the parson as I lay on the floor bleeding from the conk after the fall,
will you put my splatted brain back in the right place,
or after the h²o I inhale, i could lock my fingers on my chest and press and press and press and press and press,
then I tilt my head back and give myself the kiss of life so I may egest the thing in which i pray brings my end,
can you save me then?,
how would you save me then?,
they talk a big game when it comes to the love you share,
but from the look of things i see how little you care,
pages and pages of words that cause nothing but fear,
i have too many questions and many different answers,
I'm sorry but I cannot comprehend
you promise a life of abundance but then again I see many of your followers living like pigs in a pen,
I cannot compromise a life that is already unfair to play eni mini mani mo , which god should I choose to know
and I would not be forced to apologise,
I would not be forced to apologise,
apologise because I refuse to be confused,
I refuse to be cajoled ,
I refuse to be duped
I've seen the promises you've made to your peoples,
promises of love, life ,fulfilment, greatness
but which one do I pick,
which one is the right one,
which one rolls a double six,
because I want that, I want it all, the happiness, the joy, the love
I want it all, is it too much to ask that you be direct,
come to me here and now and show yourself,
show me you are worth the gamble,
whenever you are ready ,you know where to find me,
where you supposedly made me to be.
Form:
I heard that you have many homeless souls
Hidden in caverns, some buried on your soil
I learnt that now you feel too much relevant
Your troops are void of true bravely
Oh,Cowards!
They would have tender ribs bent
Subtle skins bleed
Quiet hearts yell aloud,
They are now butcher of wills and aspirations
They have no soul of pity,
They feel strong but no integrity
Now of what yardstick is your emblem?
The soldiers to protect
Thesame idiots destroys without remorse
Have you forgotten,
You have flesh and blood
Like a burning coal
You are a blight,
a consuming scorch
To those who innocently seek refuge from you
In your yard's economy they relied
To us they are many
But to you few
Many they are with glorious dreams
And these gracious hearts you annihilated
Their sudden doom
You beasts! Orchestrated.
Lib' you are doomed
You called for this fisticuffs
We shall assail your unholy ground
If in my reasoning I am asked
To what grade will I have you classed
I will state with undiluted rage
You are a grade of useless animals
And none out of your multitude
Deserves the light of tomorrow's dawn
If one parson do exist in your vineyard
Or any exists who was conceived of woman
Or any of your cruel leaders
That sheds our blood and still stay bizarre
Or any innocent blood
From you sprout
I say to whoever is by your blood bound
shall all vanquish by the fire of war
Lib' shall have no abode
No place amongst us
Lib' shall be no more.
Opinionated- And It’s Eyes---
I awoke and flung my mind soul in the heaven
What could there be more purely seven?
'It's that lordship,' I muttered;
And am I the nonbeliever never okaying;
I crave the divine, deponent denominationalism Why?
Death shall bring skies;
What could there be more purely otherwise?
And its eyes have all the lapping;
Human dogs!! I discovered the deists;
And its eyes have all the licking;
Instead I uncovered the thunderhead;
The grounds the earth cries, the garden smiled;
'It's that pagan,' I muttered
What could there be more purely profiled?
That moment my soul grew ritualistic;
And its eyes have all the plaining;
Eagerly I looked for the deity;
I am shorn of my heterogeneity;
Eagerly I looked for the backslider;
I felt compelled to sniff the atheists;
I awoke and flung the redeemer;
And its eyes have all the scudding;
Of the Zephyr's that is spudding;
It threw its ghost against the churchgoers;
Only this and a dominion;
And the eschatology never poppling;
Somewhat louder than the public opinion;
It threw its ghost against the peonies;
There stood a dear dominion;
The epistasis brought such sorrow;
I discovered the adherents;
The damnation laughed;
The patristic parson pitting;
And its eyes have all the reputing;
Death shall bring religionists;
But in the fact that it was whispering;
Loping and loping with my euphorbia;
Mankind, opinionated- And It’s Eyes
3/6/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2019
Tired of feeling sleepy today - August 17th, 2019
Lashed with fatigue,
eye cannot fend off lethargy
hazy, hot, humid weather zaps
mental physical, and spiritual energy
even men of cloth
various and sundry clergy.
Undoubtedly summoning Parson Brown
currently out of season,
though stratospheric demand
for his person now
unprecedented as summer
dog days force physical slowdown,
nonetheless he would
experience immediate meltdown
booked solid throughout
"Winter Wonderland,"
when deep freeze
doth make clampdown,
no matter sung by masses
with uncertain reason
caroling 'bout said enigmatic figure
heard in every hamlet
or sprawling boomtown
belted clear as bell
o'er nor'easter howl
undeterred by polar vortex windblown
chilling atlas shrugged
off undaunted facedown
weathering arctic blast
making snow angels
comfortably numb jollity reverses frown
even elderly folks
sport about though grown
spry stick figures shoveling tunnel
courtesy white blanketed lockdown
"careful ma am" not
to fall on keister or crown.
Presence of said parson
linkedin with spate
of blizzard conditions and
Frosty the Snowman,
whose power to bring society
to standstill will not abate
proof positive to commander
in chief who cannot extricate
whether from climate, and trumpets
what he doth cogitate
dismissing global warming -
calling out "end of debate"
twill usher doomsday, cuz he
and trolling henchmen skate
on thin ice, and whose
dawdling crass, base
actions only accelerate
day of wreck conning
when most species will
lack mien ways to acclimate
all the more rhyming reason
to bid mortality adieu
and slumber permanently
battened down hatches
with me sigh ease oompa loompa mate.
. for public domain
All Day Tomorrow
( a cast of characters in song )
Homeless Jo and Jane:
We've got all day tomorrow,
to wait by the New Jersey shore,
to beg for a nickel
'cause we're in a pickle.
No end to us being so poor.
Tonight let us rub off our bruises,
tonight let us sing bright and gay.
We filled up our bellies,
the storefront has telly.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
Parson at the pulpit:
We've got all day tomorrow,
to dry all the tears we will shed.
Our Blessings are fickle.
'cause we're in a pickle.
We can't count the hairs on our head.
Tonight let us kneel with our Savior,
tonight pass on worries what may.
Hand all of our cares
to Jesus upstairs.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
Children:
We've got all day tomorrow,
for skinning our knees out at play.
We've no butter brickle.
We haven't a nickel.
We're poor as the kids in Bombay.
Tonight all our bellies will grumble,
tonight, while the folks are away,
we'll run through the halls,
and mark up the walls.
Tomorrow may bring a good day.
And so on, and so forth with Parents, Fire Fighters, EMT's, Police Officers, Imam's, Rabbi's, Old West Gunslingers, Suffragettes, Pig Farmers, Bankers, Bad Guys in dark alleys, Peppermint Patty, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Odin, Cats, Screen Guild Members, and the Shadowy Neighbor next door who no one wants to meet.
He served as a deacon in his church and was as pious as they come.
(But on the side, he sold whiskey from a thirty-gallon drum!)
He taught junior high Sunday School and was a Bible scholar.
(But on the side he 'stilled' moonshine way back up in the holler!)
He was faithful in tithing ten percent of his ill-gotten gain.
(For his John Barleycorn he used only the best obtainable grain!)
He occupied the same pew every Sunday listening with attentive ear.
(It was rumored about that he also brewed some very potent beer!)
He proffered an 'amen' at appropriate times and wore a suit and tie.
(He was renowned throughout the county for his very delectable rye!)
His tenor voice blended well when singing, "I Love Thy Kingdom, Lord"!
(On back roads he did a bit of bootlegging in his hopped-up V-8 Ford!)
He was the first to offer succor to widows, orphans and others left bereft.
(He'd run his still for years - at evading 'revenooers' he was very deft!)
When folks were needed to serve on committees he was first to volunteer.
(When asked his occupation he replied, "I'm a 'Spirit'-ual Engineer!)
At Yuletide he was generous with the parson giving him beef, cash and pork.
(At annual church picnics he surreptitiously passed a bottle to uncork!)
There couldn't be found a finer saint in all of Boondock County, Kentucky!
(He'll continue to 'minister' to parched throats in the county - if he's lucky!
Won First Place in the Soup International Poetry Contest -April 2012
Bat Masterson was hired as a gamblin' boss at the Denver Saloon in 1891,
In a town high in the Rockies, Creede by name; he took no guff from anyone!
The rowdy saloon, restaurant and gamblin' hall ran twenty-four hours a day;
Bat patrolled the place with a pair of 44's on his hips to keep ruffians at bay!
One night he was approached by Parson Tom Uzzell who asked to preach,
As he was wont to do in minin' camps, hopin' fer errant souls to reach!
With misgivin's a sermon might dampen play, Bat banged a bottle on the bar
And told everyone to "remove yer hats while Parson Tom preaches over thar!"
After the sermon Bat directed a bar-tender to pass the hat for Parson Uzzell.
"Be generous with yer coin, then ya'll can continue with yer booze to guzzle"
"Boys, I'm a-thankin' ye", said Tom, "I'm gonna build a church in Creede!"
"I had a revelation from God; He said a heap of religion is what you need!"
Bat was a notorious practical joker and while the parson slept that night,
He had 3 of Soapy Smith's con men steal the parson's pants on the slight!
When the silver-laden pants pockets were emptied, $348 was tallied!
The raucous rabble agreed to double that amount when again they rallied!
$700 was collected; Bat put the pants and money in a safe in the saloon.
Tom roared into the saloon next day clad in red long-johns around noon!
Callin' on God to strike down the thief who had stolen his pants and money!
They laughed when Bat gave Tom his pants; even Tom thought it funny!
Honorin' the tradition of big winners, Parson Tom bought a round for all!
'Tis Colorado lore about the prank played on Tom in Denver Saloon Hall!
Off to grandmother’s cottage we go,
past snow covered pines all in a row,
to a cozy home with old fashion charm,
standing beside it the red painted barn.
Inside a crackling fire- nothing to compare.
mesmerizing flames flicker in the air,
each tiny flicker casting a hypnotic spell
up the chimney the smoke bid’s its farewell.
Scented smells drifting about the house,
grandma wearing her colorful blouse,
grandpa asleep in his comfy old chair,
in a plaid wool shirt and a head with no hair.
Outside freshly fallen snow- a winter wonderland,
joyous young children with mitten on hands
playing with vigor in the freshly fallen snow
their rosy red cheeks fully aglow.
Along the snow covered street
people wearing a smile -to greet
sleigh bells are jingling
and people are singing.
smell of chestnuts roasting fill the air
a wave here and a wave there
the chapel steeple reaching toward the sky
a wonderful symbol to the faithful eye.
Inside the chapel with lights so bright
a beacon to the people on this solemn night
rich harmony voice beginning to sing
geese fly with the moon on their wing.
A parson adorned in modest vestment
the choir singing- a worthy testament
The feeling outside is silent, still and calm
the congregation seeking the Savior's healing balm
Cheerful hearts with gratitude they bring
patiently waiting to celebrate the birth of their king.
It came upon a mid night clear
that voices raised for the Lord to hear.
In a small cottage on a snowy Christmas Eve
Billy, Tommy, Freddy and Steve
warmly snuggled in their bed
waiting for Santa in his sled.
A glass of milk and cookies to dine
next to the fireplace for Santa to find.
Sally and Sue unable to sleep
waiting for Santa to get a sneak peek.
Christmas Tree lights blink with a fury
the children waiting for Santa to hurry
with mom and dad quietly sitting
and grandma in her rocker doing her knitting.
Decorated socks hang from the fireplace
Sally’s adored with red and white lace
photos of grandchildren who grew up too fast
filled with memories of Christmases past.