Long Pentecost Poems
Long Pentecost Poems. Below are the most popular long Pentecost by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pentecost poems by poem length and keyword.
i need to stop frowning and epitomizing
and sell this Caddy to the Cardinal
trying to let it miss your attention won't fly
since writing is speech even if somewhat removed
or fit only for bouncy news anchor banter
pancake makeup a bit too aflame
like they do in shadow theater
where the container is the contained
because we can still index the cornucopia
eff you said the furry little May Pole Bunny
you can be sure he was in on it too
along with the Hen in the Willow
the Great Flaming Spiral in the Sky
and the nuns of St. Manacle
doing their Plantation Rebel Dance
with cascade of equally herkimer antecedents
perpetually enthused with the mystery of tomorrow
just don't try to tell me how to move my eyelids
smoke signals will always take care of that
cascading across the clacking copper contacts
in a total lack of continuity all at once
it is a pigeon tongue spoken in barter
barely able to walk after the derision of linguists
lobbed horseshoes across the barricades
against surgeons wielding kitchen knives
on a search and destroy mission
for chopped liver epicures from the Bank of Winter
living dead men's dreams was no picnic
memes eating my soul like red worms
only my degree from the School for the Sickly
standing between me and the Necromancers
who were emphatically not house trained
my collective unconscious operation manual
tossed on the burn pile half a life ago
now dumbed down to syntactically correct
in infinitesimal quantities with a Nefertiti smile
my mind a bordello of interpretation
God is not dead he is passe etc.
a raised by wolves feral non-conformist
everything orbits everything else
and that's space for you
which will bend yer crank kid
unless you can get your mood to swing
out from the nether realms of mourning
and the agony of oblique signals
written with the ***** of Satan
shaking money from your pockets again
a Conniving Backstabbing Bastard production
he hated coercion like he hated licorice
he was revolution incarnate all fresh and rosy
it was a kosher Pentecost event
tried quoting Lenin but it was too easy
the proletariat is people in a pickle
the dueling cucumbers of class warfare
now I'm on a dozen watch lists
followed by Diana's paparazzi
to this claustrophobic cinemaplex
and its temporal artery of light
at 3 in the afternoon
a good cheap remedy
following a bad diagnosis
It begins at home
even closer: it begins "I"nside
I have forgiven failures, failing in faith, inside me
Have you? Until you do, it is almost too hard
To forgive your imperfect parent, and therefore Father-in-Heaven
Lest it seems, I speak ordinary, old, old-fashioned sermon or speech
"Remember Mandela, South Africa, TRC? I was there!"
While billions only speak it, I have to live it
I did not want to; Mandela (OUR BELOVED MADIBA) made it policy
In the bad old South Africa, poisoned by a white Minority, 300 years
Still wanting NOT to share anything today; but we must for ourselves
And for Jesus (or for Mandela, or for Gandhi: both graced South Africa)
Yes, I have grown to love Forgiveness and Reconciliation in my heart
There it must begin, or it cannot come out into this bloody world
From the blood pump inside you, pure Jesus lineage can overflow
Once the mind and heart come into agreement, concord, one accord
(That's what happened at the Pentecost that birthed Christ's Church -
When the disciples, dreading death after Jesus's Crucifixion, locked doors
In the Upper Room, in Jerusalem, tarrying still: Fire in Holy Spirit fell!)
The Holy Spirit tells me to love like Jesus and Mother Theresa (now Saint)
Love till it hurts (and once hurt like that, NOTHING will ever hurt you & me)
I forgive because I see the forgiveness of Jesus (What does it mean? Sins?)
LOVE may begin in sin; but it flies with eagle wings, near the SON, forgiven
We reconcile with the Parent Above; who is really everywhere, doctrines do
not tell us all, only a start: God loved and offered reconciliation, but Truth
Demands we confess: I was a dirty, dastardly sinner, until He washed me
In the pure, precious blood of a Perfect Man, High-Priest after Melchizadek
So, dear brother and sister, I do not list sins to make you mad
That is only to assure YOU the Jesus way: Confess, Receive Grace, Live Free
TRC in RSA: TRUTH and Reconciliation (& Commission Under Archbishop Tutu)
Said anyone, white or black, who confessed their murders and sins
Would not be taken to court; only one was (Wouter Basson)
A whole nation forgave the white Minority under Mandela's mighty mandate
To Love and forgive like Jesus, for BIGGER things: like saving a country
From the kind of civil wars that rage on and on, fed by hate, all about US
“Hear, O Israel: the Lord your God is one Lord!”
This is what was spoken by the true and only majestic one.
To a people whom He had hand chosen,
And all He wanted in return was a people to love, this is how it all begun.
And how He could just speak things into place with His Word.
When you think about the days of creation,
It testifies to the astonishing power of His Word,
Which later on would take on another relation.
The Hebrew words are El, Elah, or Elohim,
This is the name that SOME knew Him by.
Another Hebrew name that comes to mind,
Elyon meaning “God the highest”, some knew until they died.
Another Hebrew name is Adonai meaning “master”,
Telling me that I am to respect, worship and pay homage to
But always knowing that there is only one true that can be called Master.
We were made to adore, reverence and exalt Him,
This is the whole purpose of man.
But to which one can adore reverence or exalt,
If I am seeing more than one on hand.
The very first commandment tells us,
“Thou shalt have no other Gods before me.”
Which lets me know that there can be more than one,
But only one can I serve TRUTHFULLY!!!
El Shaddai was another Hebrew name He had
Which signifies almightiness or “All-sufficient”
Then we have the Hebrew name El Olam “Everlasting God”
Which goes along with one of His characteristics which is “omni-present.
“JEHOVAH” is another one of His many names which means “I AM THAT I AM,”
He was known as “JEHOVAH-JIREH” to some, “JEHOVAH-NISSI” to others.
because He is our peace and He is always present,
Being not only a provider but also a banner as a Father to His brothers.
“JEHOVAH-SHALOM” to some, “JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH” also,
because He is our peace and He is present always.
Whatever the occasion called for is what they called Him,
But His “SAVING NAME” had not been revealed yet until the right days.
but I want to as ask you this with all sincerity,
For us in this “Grace Dispensation” where do we stand.
For if you notice after the “Day of Pentecost,”
All things were done in His impressive “SAVING NAME.”
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was God,
“…and the Word was made flesh” and dwelt amongst us just the same.
I leave you with a question of thought, if Jesus was not Almighty alone,
Then when was God manifested in the flesh…Received up in glory taking the name?
Form:
BOTTLE DANCE
Across my land, abysses gnaw at automobiles,
From the foot of the mountain,
To the shores of the oil fountain.
Certificated youths drinking piss to mellow their brains,
Clutching at wheels, dodging bumps into fog lights.
“Stupid, ing dog” curse survivors of amputation “you bastard”
“Who cares, you swine” retorts I the offender
just before crashing into the next one.
In my shack, counting my yields and sighing,
evading the burning eyes of hungry breeds.
How did I ever get here?
In the ring stood I, surrounded by Foncha, Endeley, Jua and Ntumazah
Um Nyobe sang the UPC song and they danced.
They danced the bottle dance.
Sandwiching in the center, on the slaughter slab, my motherland.
Nigeria to the left, La Republique to the right,
Trampling upon outright independence.
Foncha danced and Endeley danced and Nyobe sang and Britain watched.
The tune was clear, the rhythm was jazzed but the lyrics were blur;
Whence had a nation’s independence,
Been conditioned upon attachment to already independent states?
So how did we ever get here?
A loaf of bread baked in the flames of WWI
And served into the plates of Imperial barons of foreign insanity
Too blind to the tongues of oneness.
Drawing a line far far away in the halls of mirror
That tore grandmother’s breasts apart.
The story of the Ewes of Togoland
Was being whispered in her land while she slept.
A line dragged across the highlands of the Adamawa and drained into the Atlantic,
Sullied the virginity and orthography of kamerun.
Grooming a set of dysfunctional twins through years of alien doctrines,
Only to be reunited in an unholy matrimony called Cameroon or Cameroun.
Testaments of tongues foreign like those on a devil’s Pentecost,
That sowed seeds of immortal division.
So this is how really I got here!
A son deprived of the warmth of a Mother
Drained of her milk,
Tapped and shipped offshore.
Scorned and oppressed by a brother,
His name slowing fading away from the sands of time.
And now, the land of bottle dancers clamour for a new dance:
For I know how we got here and I too want to dance;
Federation to the left, secession to the right,
Trampling upon the pseudo 1972 re-unification.
The blood of the brave pipe the tunes
And rhythms of gunshots meet hallelujah,
Sang in a coffin.
**This is a special set of poetry written with my friend Justin Connor--we each wrote separate accounts of special companions. The ending verse we wrote together. These poems are meant to be one piece of work. **
Scarcely a year old, I remember with sad, sinking heart
But then I smile, because I remember all the good times
It was the night of Pentecost, our little kitten was found
My mother, happy to bring in the oddest of pets,
Curled her fingers around a small kitten, beaming
And there was sunlight in all eyes all the night
He had been crying in the bushes for a place to stay
And he had found one…it might have been destiny
There was something in his green eyes that dazzled me
Weakening and strengthening my heart all in one I held him in my arms,
A special cat on a special day
Pentecost is his name, and it is here he will remain
I remember everyone loved him because of his grace
That dreamy eye and soft-hearted face
I remember the first night and many more nights to come
I turned my music box, opened it up and sang him a song
He listened intently and soon was fast asleep
His small colorful multi-marked body breathing deeply
His tiny, white boot legs tucked under his chest
“You’re the best, Pentecost,” I whispered. “You’re the best…”
Even my father, who was never fond of cats,
Was won over by his embraceable charms
Pentecost would spawn an effort to make him smile
Stretching out on the floor making sure everyone was watching
Listening lovingly to my dad’s favorite classical repertoire..
He would ring around our ankles with his paws playfully
Causing us to scream in shock and skip away
He would jump back from the shriek making us laugh up a storm
And look up at all the noise curiously
Pentecost also liked small boxes to squeeze into
I would lift up a cardboard flap to see a whiskered jewel
And he would look up at us and wonder
Can we make room for two?
He favored no one and was friendly with all
Long and muscular, this cat had boundless energy
One point he’d be at the window
And the next in the laundry, his tail whipping
What I will never forget was how happy he would lay in the grass
I would watch him and pet him, the sun hitting his fur
Gray black stripes and swirls of art lighting all at once
His soft, sensitive ears rubbing against my arm
The affection was mutual as Destiny knew
Recent reports indicate that as many as 36%
of community college students are food deprived.*
In times like these, our country could easily transition
from food deprived to 'food denied'. May God forbid.
By now, history should have taught us that if not properly
handled, we are one panic away from disastrous pandemonium.
In Biblical time, there was a food bank, and distribution of food was
being made. It appears that this practice may have been a new form of
assisting people in need. By today's standards, this was a small Christian
endeavor endorsed and promoted by the local church in Jerusalem. This new
enterprise took place after Jesus' ascension and some time after the festival of Pentecost; perhaps that same year. Things were off to a good start as converts gave of their means to aid each other and the new converts which were growing daily.
And then it happened. The Jewish leaders of the food distribution ministry were accused of being partial and discriminating against the Greeks. This was surely a cause for panic, but this problem was immediately resolved at the highest level. There was panic, but not a riot. There was resolution without government interference or politics. Harmony and tranquility were reestablished with minimal disturbance.
Right and righteous leadership was appointed without distracting or causing the greater purpose to be compromised. Immediate and wise response, not reaction, allowed the panic but disallowed a pandemonium. The times and seasons may differ, but people are the same; and wise and proper principles work on any and every continent.
072921PSCtest, Panic At The Food Bank, Kai Michael Neumann *Abigail Johnson "AJ" Hess @AbigailJHess
As we search the river’s source,
It jumps the banks of our twisted past,
Set sail for the uncharted,
The pale flickering of the pole star,
The ever present circle,
Surrounding, unfolding, revealing,
Where mere words find their ending,
My being extols with creation,
As the unseen manifests,
My heart glows at the hope of promise,
Wings of protection above,
Passover and Pentecost crossing,
The sentient creatures converge,
The fluxing pulse of the Comforter,
And I marvel at the care,
That she left the Teacher’s feet for me,
Within His radiant love,
Lives the sustenance of our spirits,
Behold the divine order,
This ink is the blood of the prophets,
The words that come unbeckoned,
To every thief emboldened by grace,
To whom pardon is granted,
Pension within His magnus opus,
New senses are awakened,
All the expanse of ether alive,
The tongue of my muse proclaims,
The Logos who is Lion and Lamb,
The cloud of saints angelic,
Ever spreading the incense of prayer,
Those sown in humility,
Are the heirs of the royal bloodline,
This is the message of love:
“Tend the spark within; fear is no more”,
So hearing, I am entranced,
Imbued in spinning perpetual,
Beyond the evanescent,
Dreams coalesce in truth triumphant,
On this plane surrounding time,
Reverence is felt in shades of silence,
Communing I am aware,
Our souls form the structure of heaven,
Grafting to the woven chord,
Volition found in acquiescence,
Eyes set to the horizon,
My love drinks in a dawn without end,
The well that will not run dry,
Our longing, His signature sincere,
Washing in resurrection,
With the sign of victory christened,
The Light Incarnate burning,
Baptized by fire, our eyes perfected,
Perceiving that great storehouse,
Where moth and rust could never be known,
There every blessing returns,
In harmony transposed to healing,
Upon her visage reflects,
The Illuminate everlasting,
Burning from our countenance,
The remembrance of locusts and lies,
Latent instinct intrinsic,
Drawing us to our intended home,
Confident in obtaining,
Beatrice kneels before the I AM,
Eternal Author of time,
Whose character fills the Book of Names
White Magic
In our uninhibited exuberance for the beauties of Mother Nature;
We sometimes seem to forget the strength of nature’s dark force.
Peel back the layers of beauty only to discover a sinister black magic,
Hidden amid the divine adornments nature draws from its source.
The lush grasses of rolling countryside are covered in autumn frost;
The sky remote as heaven and cold as steel in this season of Pentecost.
Bone grey clouds gather their forces and roam the sky with lurid haloes;
The desperate daylight seeking ways to shine forth on the earth below.
A lonely redwood farmhouse gleamed against a row of forest trees;
Trees dark and waving ominously with branches full of dead leaves.
By the house, deep green growths were grey with the powder of frost;
Weeds drained the fading colors in the flower-beds until all color is lost.
The house stood waist-high in a melee of shrubs and bushes in a bundle.
Too luxuriant in these northern climes, lending the air of an arctic jungle.
A grey confusion filled the country fields, protected by a straw scarecrow;
A great continent of cloud hovered overhead suggesting: “It’s going to snow."
The pillars of trees in the distance now seem dwarfed by this canopy of cloud;
As I say, Nature comes dressed in all its divine glory, but what is this shroud?
On the fencing and up the side of the barn cling the sinews of creepy vines;
The grey canopy of cloud seems to bow down to earth amid the forest pines.
Sometimes Mother Nature seems to draw upon a mind with elaborate schemes;
Earthquakes, tsunamis and unrestrained storms are exactly what nature seems.
The wild forces use a secret language to break the rhythms that design brings;
Mysterious signs and wordless pictures invoke the names of nameless things.
The fall of twilight accompanied by the angelic horde of snow falling down,
Drifting idly from Heaven to Earth as if the landscape with peace to crown.
The land suddenly whitened into a purity that earlier seemed almost tragic;
The earth now cast into a divine glow that seemed born of a white magic.
There is a disturbing discrepancy
Between mortals and the spirit world,
Such as the eternal salvation of man
From the curse of sin and its hold.
The paradox of a meek virgin conceiving
After being by the Spirit overshadowed,
And then a perfect chap is born in a manger
Is a narrative of its own peculiar mode.
That in death life was made everlasting
And in suffering relief was won,
Is a creed that requires bravery to embrace,
And great conviction to believe in such a One.
Perhaps the reason why I believe in Him
Is because he only asks that I believe,
Perchance I would abandon my little faith
If was not a mortal so powerless and naïve.
And perhaps the reason why you believe in Him
Is because you only want to look fashionable enough,
Or are simply totally unsure of your afterlife
And fear finding the Judgment Panel so solemn tough.
And maybe your preacher finds it even harder to believe
The tall story he has been telling strangers day by day,
And he maybe he would quit being a peddler of funny tales
Had he another way to earn his keep and his expenses pay.
Perhaps the reason why pagans and agnostics refuse to accept
The story of this Immortal Chap who is reportedly the way and truth,
Is because they find it a bit safer to believe in nothing at all
Than to place such great stakes on the escapades of a Jewish Youth.
Now there’s the little matter of the Helper,
The benign Spirit who descended on the Pentecost
To prove without doubt that the Chap indeed was God,
But then He’s still unseen, and any may claim his presence.
I do not write to spurn the endless graces of the sky
Nor to quash my eligibility to eternal breath,
I without blasphemy observe the uncertainties facing man
And his innocent inquiry into life after death.
To believe in this Jewish Chap who forgave also the unborn
Is a risky business, and one of the greatest tragedies by the way;
The only bigger tragedy being your refusal to believe in Him
And yet find Him at the gates of Paradise on the Judgment Day.
There is a particular tree in the backyard that is named Thomas,
Strange that this tree and only this tree had longtime remained dormant,
All the other trees were budding and expressing fruitful promise,
Producing and flourishing with buds in the midst of foliage garment.
Many weeks it was lifeless while others were showing growth’s lineup,
If it had died, why not just cut it down and dig up the dead trunk,
Previous owner said to give it time, give it time, it would catch up,
And sure enough it did; it just had a sluggish display of *****.
Thomas was not present when Jesus appeared to three plus seven,
That was the basis for dubbing the failing plant, Thomas-the-tree,
Thomas was slow coming around to believe Jesus had risen,
As the languid tree was slow in awakening to Spring’s beauty.
Nevertheless, once Thomas has seen Jesus, he caught up quickly,
By Pentecost, he had made up for lost time hiding and shaking,
A most dedicated disciple after he revived rightly,
Bearing a witness as strong as when Thomas-the-tree awakens.
It reminds of when Jesus announced after Lazarus had died,
“Are there not twelve hours of daylight?” Said the Lord, Author of the day,
Anyone who walks in the daytime will not stumble,” He replied,
For they see by this world’s light”; so hear His word of eternal sway.
There is urgency in following Jesus, and for good reason,
Procrastinating Christians don’t get far letting their faith decline,
Thomas was a learner who showed courage in following Jesus,
He knew that time was precious, too valuable to fall behind.
Thomas-the-tree now bears foliage as full as all the other trees,
Giving encouragement that God’s grace allows us all to catch up,
Thomas-the-tree reminds that we can trust a truth to great degree,
Though there are times we fall behind, Jesus gives us time to grow up
(Inspired by a true experience of my pastor, Dr. Len Keever, Pastor of First Baptist Church, Dunn, NC, who named a tree, Thomas-the-tree)