Long Pomp Poems
Long Pomp Poems. Below are the most popular long Pomp by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pomp poems by poem length and keyword.
Las Vegas nights
Bright flashing lights
Guests arrive in droves
To visit gamble and let loose
Their private jets and stretch limos
Hollywood royalty on tour
Dressed for a neverending gala
The glamour and the pomp
Living it up at The Sahara
Exclusive parties in penthouse suites
Cocktail waitresses in skimpy outfits
Pouring lavish drinks as you desire
High on oxygen pumped through the air
A different era of glitz and glamour
Has less than everything really changed
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~RANDOM MUSINGS VOL.2~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
As the moon and sun share the fabric of a fading song of ancient blues
a ceremony of torch light identity ensues
chieftains in regalia of royal feather headdresses and mantles of warrior mania
approach the flagstaff that Clark and I stand under with a procession
of musicians clad in the symbols of their souls
playing instruments that speak the language of their knowledge,
after being bedazzled by the brute majesty of the music and pomp
our men give gifts of tobacco carrots, knives, beads and small bells,
chiefs Wueche and Arcawechar tap both of my shoulders
with their ceremonial spears, a gesture of friendship and blessing
after which we toast to the fortune of patient eyes with a dram of whiskey,
my elocution of America's intentions and jurisdiction
is delivered with sincerity and alacrity just as an eagle protects it's range
and with the wit and instincts of a wolf Chief Wueche
agrees with the terms of allegiance but also admonishes us
not only of the pirates of the Plains,
but that supremacy is the child of wrath for the natives
especially for the dominant tribe of the Sioux Nation, the Teton,
he seems to somberly realize that his Yankton people
must either become a weapon of America's war machine, or be destroyed by it,
J.A.B.
Thistledown wus his name and sometimes he stung, well actually his stem stung. The stinkers gave him a bad name, they did! Handsome wus he. Aye, the ladies loved him. Coming near to his full bushy head of royal purple pomp, thought he smelled good too, they did, bees to his honey.
Summer time was his time, the time to bloom. His thorns served as fairy swords. An', on mass, he an' his guarded the fey's mound. Thistledown kept the cows from trampin' the wee ones. An' the cow plops from offendin' the Royal's wee noses. No hoof falls made treacherous the field's lay.
Suren, he wus sharp this fine boyo. He did 'ave a soft side, a sure sweetness. When fall's goddess Mordron* brought the chill down, he softened. Queen Mab* sent fey to catch his whitened crownin' glory, as each strand, a silken treasure, soft fell and so, Ole Thistle lost his head, for from his crown, and its down, wur made sheets of silken softness for the Tuatha De Danaan's* beds.
*Goddess Mordron/Welsh mythology, Modron ("divine mother")
* Queen Mab of the Fairy
* Tuatha De Danaan pre-Christian gods represented as heroes or fairies.
[Tribes of the goddess Dana]
What beliefs within that do you define
the adversary's lies or Gods Truth divine
like a child absorbed what you've been taught
have you examined the things that are thought
In the stronghold of your heart and mind
the vast majority of information you will find
is designed to impair accurate thinking
because six thousand years of deceit are drinking
The Word of Truth is made for our correction
to tear down the the entanglements of defection
to expose corruption and self deception
the barriers and veil to the Father connection
People believe in angels but seem to forget
that the armies of Lucifer are still here yet
a deceiver and lies are his pathways
to deaden hearts where clouded thinking stays
Is the easter bunny a truth or lie
and when children grow up and do ask why
in the Truth of God they haven't believed
because like a fairy tale it is received
Just another story as it's understood
like the fables to show evil and good
that the outcome and end can't be serious
because they believe the Truth is mysterious
The paths of Truth lay within simplicity
and it's clarity does overcome lies duplicity
Gods Kingdoms children and such like ones
speak a single Truth not Babylon's tongues
Like the fiction of fairy tales lies reside
in religious doctrine whitewashed graves hide
by pomp and pageantry Jesus teaching denied
and the indoctrination of demons Gods Word belied
Fiction upon fiction are children fed
so like those tales Gods Truth made dead
why take it seriously when one is grown
all stories end happily in heaven is shown
What is important is what they get now
for death doesn't exist for eternal soul anyhow
Beliel and Satan and prophetic prediction
they can just chalk it up as another fiction
One cannot teach lies and be a spiritual Jew
by teaching of Jesus can only speak what is True
to be a Son of God with all lies must brake
for Holy Spirit must heart and mind remake
The Word of God should affect all reason
and clean out all thoughts that to God are treason
Jesus may have died to save all from sin
but that won't help if not reborn within
Behold I am coming quickly says He that is True
to cleanse the earth and make all things new
broad the path to destruction those chosen few
they have believed Gods Word and whats holy renew
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
So much thought to choose from,
the garden grows well in the rain and sun.
Through the window I can see
the dance of leaves upon the tree
but in the overcast of cloudy gray
there is a haze upon the day.
All is suddenly too quiet and too still
and nothing teases or tempts my will.
For the moment I am unafraid
watching the day slip by in parade.
No pomp, no circumstance
no band to play or steal my glance.
Here comes the rain, at first a drop or two
then a downpour like Noah's deluge
I run to escape weather's threatening storm
and the babbit runs away in free form forlorn.
In Verona, his hand’s steady and grand.
Grateful eyes - he sees the gold in her.
With pomp regret, dear Mary’s knees, like sand.
The dynamite of God blows sin asunder.
The women carried her into life’s wake.
Her worldly goods, misunderstood, dismissed.
This Magdalene blushes fully awake.
She’s recognized - by Jesus’ heart she’s kissed.
The foreshadowing drop of jewelry -
the sudden shift of Mary’s soul - it’s light.
Her beauty breaks away from foolery.
The proud that scamped was blind - Jesus made right.
The colors on the artist’s palette toil,
release the scene of royal scent - rose oil.
2/1/2022
https://www.parkwestgallery.com/peter-nixon-favorite-painting/
In the depths of the cosmos, a river flows,
a conduit, and vessel of prose, posing as
condensation of Ethos.
Moonbeams dance upon your ethereal ride.
A portal to mystical realms, of open-tide, alche-mist penetrate propellant in seam,
I see your cream of pride.
An incubus of mindful thoughts takes flight,
third eye wind,
let's thought linger to frequency, in pseudo celestial chambers you jump in.
Transcendental trans-human-deitism
quiver manifest plus arrow translate table digest.
Within your river of alchemy and dreams,
imbibed sleep, in glitter pomp
and deceitfullnesting-deposit ory,
whispering secrets in caustic,
cosmic seep.
Calls to mind, attache mirror reflecting, redirect of e theory_els
Quantum Leaps.
Evol of feelings, paint of elixir Alien Elemental,
stirring in chamber, chalice solvent silvery poison ale.
Your fluid tongue drips from beneath
damnation's skies.
For illuminating half truths
Into each glistening lie.
Your telepath
In Touch of Fairy Magic,
a malicious quickening dye.
O liquid stardust muse of musings,
Incubus's seed
of mindfulness,
filled with blasphemous possibilities,
is what you pretend not to be.
But a revealer of secrets, reveler in revelations
and aid to humanity.
O condense of moonbeam,
portal pool of dream scape residue.
Inn of collaboration of Morpheus and Hermes and Hephaestus's accomplice accomplished
's ethereal machine dew, of ai.tear.
Metal voiced whispers aloft carry your gear,
your secret keeps of lingering entrail
of residues areared.
Portal to realms, connecting conduits, material face uncovered of Hades- Siren's veil of silvery blue,
mini Wilky Way Tycoon, moonlighting
as a Science Toon.
Remember, you were de commissioned, rebuked at the second Council of Chyren's Dunes.
After 22 hours in planes and a ride on the London tube
our adventure in England had begun…
We met Bryan, Ali and Ava at our hotel…then it was off to have some fun.
To fend off any jet lag…we didn’t rest…we got going quick…
stopping for some French Pastry…which, by golly, did the trick.
Next it was off to Westminster Abbey…where they coronate their kings and queens.
The service was uplifting as the choir’s voices rose up to the heavens
in one of the most beautiful churches we have ever seen.
An interesting note…when we arrived outside of Westminster Abbey
barricades were up and Bobbies were everywhere…we knew something was going on.
It turns out London was being visited by French president Emmanuel Macron.
He was there to lay a wreath on the tomb of the unknown warrior-
(an unidentified soldier who died in World War I)
Then, after waving to us, he was off to address Parliament…
No doubt…given the state of the world today …there is much work to be done.
After our service was completed and we walked out Westminster Abbey’s door
we witnessed some of the pomp and pageantry the British are famous for.
The central band of the royal legion was playing La Marseillaise-
The National Anthem of France…
which we heard two young Frenchmen next to us sing…
this was followed by a rousing rendition of God Save The King
I know there are troubles in the UK…just like in America
(we passed homeless people sleeping on the street)
problems that need to be addressed…
but watching the British…the people who invented pomp and circumstance
we couldn’t help but be impressed.
The evening ended at the Kings Head pub…a fitting end to today’s trip…
in a traditional English Pub…while eating fish and chips.
Sitting around the table of that pub…with our children and grandchild…now grown
I had to stop and smile…as we celebrated with our own pomp and circumstance…
a royal family of our own.
They hold their courts of pomp and ceremony in the name of history they say.
They sway the poor and destitute at arms length to avoid acknowledging their eyes, their hearts, their voices for existing in this state of way.
They laugh of joy in conceited waste, and waste and waste. Entitlement lives and must be maintained this way they say.
They expect respect for rank in society and the loyalty of blood and sacrifice with no questions ever put their way.
They scoff and laugh sipping sherrys in clubs of oak panelled, vaulted halls, their derrières on the softest leathers while outside beggars crawl out of their way.
Xanadu, a replica of paradise
A place of opulence and regalia
rivaling god’s wonderments on earth,
The very citadel of pomp and pageantry
Befitting the king of kings
The khan of all khans!
A palace showcasing
his immense power and
extent of his conquest.
A place of pleasure and finesse
a place of magnificence and beauty
a place to indulge in wildest whims
and personal quest to narcissism.
Is Xanadu a mythical place in Mongolia?
Or, a legendary palace built with
a giant dome to indulge
Kublai Khan’s every fantasy?!
~04/30/23
~Contest: Writing Challenge 'X' Words
~Sponsor: Constance La France