Long Plumb line Poems
Long Plumb line Poems. Below are the most popular long Plumb line by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plumb line poems by poem length and keyword.
All are unworthy. Each if us fail we are weighed
In the balance, the plumb line is streched over
Our ways, we fall like fruit before the harvest
Is here.' wasted in the very paths of redemption
We are close by..yet our ears are dim.!
Eyes full of sleep, we call out for sight.'
Yet we love apathy.' We do not struggle
Sin enfolds us, our days pass in turmoil
Like dew before the sun, we are a vapour
Those who know us, might search yet no
More will we be found, without help we
Are doomed.' The Great day approaches '
Yet we give no thought to salvation its
Path is the only one untrod by us.' The
Paths of anger and blasphemy we use'
But the valley of the dove.? We may never
Enter.? For its gate is low ' and we will
Not bow '
I always thought
That when it came to God
He'd get something done
Using someone
So I stood aside
In this passing life
And watched all the action
With self satisfaction
Then came the day
I stood up to say
Lord if not them
Who then...
Who will carry the banner
In what really matters
Spreading the word
To a nation unheard
The battle cry
Of the Lord Jesus Christ
The mighty call
Given to all
Before the lights went out
I again thought about
Lord if not them
Who then...
That's when God said to me
Just plant the seed
I'll do the rest
With all that is left
They surely will come
One by faithful one
At this moment in time
To pick up the plumb line
So if not you
And my chosen few
God said with a grin
Who then...
Dot to Dot
. 2 . Point to point
Painting life by the numbers
A moving chorus line of choice
Random patterns spurned
Unbroken pointillism paints a soul’s portrait
In shades of shadows and sunlight
. 2 . Day to day
In a sanctuary of measured stillness
Sunset and sunrise on a calculated thread
Sun and moon follow precise lines of gavotte
Like a moving celestial stairway
The pilgrimage of each morning and each night
. 2 . Mile by mile
Plumb line for restless steps
Stepping stones of revelation
Crossing over potholes of quick sand
Passing detours of indiscretion
Wisdom’s oasis marks each passage
. 2 . Note by note
Winsome, plaintive, joyful melody line
Rises from the deep eternal’s depths
That reads each note as written
One voicing after the other
The song of each life stitched together
. 2 . Line by line
Stars joined with silk filaments
Sweet ambrosia of constellations
Fiery guardians in strings of astral confetti
When north stars and southern crosses
Make paths through our tangled valleys
12-20-22
Contest: Dot to Dot
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Brainstorm cometh, damning frontal hemisphere
jamming lookout, noggin perched, roiling thinking
uber wayfaring zealot, drills legendary phalanx.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Writer's block afflicts Das scribe,
who whiz now stricken supine
adept dull livery sub par excellence
his gold standard worse
thus, another day
to slog thru arduous process
crafting admirable verse
wrestling behemoth loosed sniper
dodging enfilade broadcast sos terse.
N'er easy chore to fashion
acceptable word worth poem to whit
staring at flickering
accursed cursor doth blank stare visit
flash flooding warning saturated
gray matter fist sized unit
groundswell burgeoning leveed banks
barging signals transmit
urgent army corps of engineers
to reroute via sluice, sans surfeit
apprentice longshoreman
doth double duty
as grammarian sought to retrofit
arduous struggle ensues, where drowning
affects consummation
strong temptation quit
ditch ching progress made,
thus far in hot pursuit
mind comfortably numb
stream of consciousness
submerges concentration
entrenched deep posit
craftiness sentenced to punctuate
disequilibrium doth outwit
venerably beaded trademark
Scottish matted flair
abandoned unfinished poem
left forever stranded orbit
zero escape velocity
zinging, unsprung,
pinging mindscape nonprofit
able endeavor reflecting zeitgeist
bombarding Messerschmitt
undermining, strafing, disabling
cutting crew rescue outer limit
faint feint blinking in the twilight zone.
To whom has the hand of the Lord been revealed?
From where does He come? His movement is beyond
Known speed.) Also If you travel to the height of the sky.!
You will not discern His face, yet He will observe you
The plumb line is in his hand, by his breath the sea is parted
He is full of true light, yet He passes without human notice
He is full of energy, His way of travel known only to a few.'
To those He has chosen to reveal Himself before
Rest from studying Him now.. for He comes and goes
Yet never leaves those He has purchased bereft
His character is one of mercy, yet His decision is swift..'
Finality Is His perrogative, all life springs from Him.!
To whom has the hand of the Lord been revealed?
From where does He come? His movement is beyond
Known speed.) Also If you travel to the height of the sky.!
You will not discern His face, yet He will observe you
The plumb line is in his hand, by his breath the sea is parted
He is full of true light, yet He passes without human notice
He is full of energy, His way of travel known only to a few.'
To those He has chosen to reveal Himself before.!
Who know also they are but unworthy servants.'
Rest from studying Him now.. for He comes and goes
Yet never leaves those He has purchased bereft
His character is one of mercy, yet His decision is swift..'
Finality Is His perrogative, all life springs from Him.!
What counts as old? Columbus paddling ashore
on Cuba? Winchester Cathedral knocks
the Genoese out of his sodden socks,
for it was born four centuries before.
The longest nave in Europe. Slender threads
of Gothic columns spring like strands of frost
and soar, as if to heaven, till they cross
and mesh to form the vault, high overhead.
Cathedrals! What a glorious invention!
A skeleton as delicate as a wren’s,
with multi-coloured, fragile stained-glass skins,
and all poised like a spring, in graceful tension!
Men made it with a plumb-line and a hod,
and genuine desire to honour God.
On The Tail Winds of Dreams…
(Apropos Strong Men…)
The day stops. Night begins.
The cocooned dream hangs lazily
On the leaf to time. The veiled goddess
Justice remains oblivious; her skewed scales mimicking
A faked balance. The dream dreams back at us
a Mona Lisa smile teasing the realities of our beings:
zip-lining through winds of change:
Blowing over cob webbed roads we once marched down.
Old warriors sing silent songs (a mute chorus)
Pondering the deed yet undone; the children wander
But can not remember Zion; and we can not teach experience:
(Neither defeat nor victory.)
Though the tree of hope sheds her falling leaves,
In the spring tide of resurrection, they shall overcome;
And the cocooned womb shall birth forth a new freedom
No longer veiled in allegory; a plumb line shall be in our midst.
(Shall we question the Word? Who dares?)
The dream beacons. If memory could speak, I would cry;
Stone sheds no tears. Let Lincoln sit in his motionless chair;
As for me, I shall rise and cross many more meandering rivers:
The spirit of Martin and Malcolm being the wind in my sail.
(“And The Strong Men Just Keep Coming On…”)