Long Presbyterian Poems
Long Presbyterian Poems. Below are the most popular long Presbyterian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Presbyterian poems by poem length and keyword.
Celtic Outlier, Lexington, VA
By Sarah Emmett
To Moor – to tie up, to steady, boat
The day of unmooring
Untying
Oh, I try not to sneer: “So you didn’t grow up here?”
The reply “Overseas, yes.”
So you over see what is happening
How we fall apart
“Learn from it” you say
But yet it is immortalized
Huge statues
On even bigger columns
As big as the boxcars that took my people away
Overseeing people going about their business
Being overshadowed
A cause long since lost
A Barbaric civilization
Written in dusty tomes
Tucked away in musty libraries
Upended crosses on motorcycle men
Banalities “The South Will Rise Again”
I cried for days
Great-Great Grandmother’s will
Faded Presbyterian eyes
“Do not sell the boy from the mother until he is 10, then he will choose a trade”
Worried more for her eternal soul than the lives in her stead
I seek for her grave in town
Wanting to rip the marble from the parched earth
Seething over my legacy of enslavement and death
Here are my comments on the creative process that you requested. As a poet, The moment really chose me; I was in Lexington, VA, specifically to write poetry. I’d been writing a lot about COVID, the political, economic, and social ramifications of which took up a lot of my time.
The hardest sentence to write was the sentence about the actual talking with the woman in the store, and how I had to write about the time it happened as well as to bring up the painful memory.
In the first draft, I had a hard time separating myself from the content, I felt it was overly soul-bearing. I kept the part about crying because I did, and it seemed to fit. I also kept the anger, and I never have found her grave. I wanted the poem to feel unsettled. I am still unsettled.
and intuitive paramour, whence swooning swain first experienced anew
an alien emotional lightness of being
within mine hardened carapace did brew
a propensity to surmise, intuit, and detect a romantic joyful dew
drop similar to lovers in dustbin of historical annals
dipped ‘ere farewell flew
common as the air we breathe,
this new found muse sic cull passion grew
yet handled with kid gloves,
which lacked the means to nurture and hue
a novel interpersonal ecstasy, which with fits and starts knew
tony yen physics manifested into a mutual attraction
despite any self-admission new
to this chap, whose skills sans intimacy infantile
and as a result inadvertently caused grief
to a gal (who valiantly christened her vehicle Ruby)
hoping to stride down the pew
which outcome thwarted,
now tis much more sands of mine life time
funneled down the hourglass shaped queue
without any rhyme nor reason find this bard **** to rue
how a golden opportunity indiscriminately
lost a flickr and sentiments now
akin to culinary Michelin patshke stew
rather futile to ruminate
the long lapsed travails that tripped a true
lee darling dame, whose take on the matter,
this poet would cherish a view
yet….nary a clue exists
if any possibility to revisit that denouement recalling
the awkward fits and starts
before embers of warm reciprocity kindled
reciprocal an ambition to court, jest and indubitably woo
to flip and shutterfly at greased lightening speed
back to that contra dance at Summit Presbyterian Church
at the cross roads of Green and Westview Avenues.
Life paints many a picture to us
various colours hits us between the eyes
whether it be hardship or something soft
the reality is the final day comes and dies
It's so important to value all our time
for we've only got an allotted time spell
we don't know when our span will be up
but God will say time up and ring our bell
So in this life, our eyes must be clear
look sharply into our picture to see light
whatever our view be sure of one thing
see past the mist however unclear our sight
See nothing in the picture but Jesus
reject all other sightings no matter who
Jesus is the only one that will count
in the great scheme of things, He's always true
Jesus only Jesus and only Him alone
has the wisdom power and merciful grace
to lead us through life's dark valleys
so be sure to look fully on His wonderful face
(Quote:
'See nothing in the picture but Jesus'
- Derek Thomas, Senior Pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Columbia, South Carolina and Bible teacher.)
As believers seek always to walk
close to Christ as we can be
abiding in His inerrant holy word
meditate upon it to reverently agree
God gives to us His provision
to meet our needs whatever they are
sometimes things go so smoothly
other times it seems so slow by far
We need constantly to be in prayer
asking the Lord for more grace
so we can become so like Jesus
that others be attracted to His case
This grace doesn't do well in summer
it seems to not go down too deep
when things don't rough us up too much
our spirituality is like a wandering sheep
The best season for it to grow
is winter full of hardship and cold
there grace gets a real depth within
making sure we do as we're told
That old divine Samuel Rutherford
told it really truly so very well
grace grows indeed better in winter
then God works to make us gel
(Quote:
Grace grows better in winter - Samuel Rutherford (1600-1661) Scottish presbyterian minister/theologian)
Old Glory was hoisted on the green in Smalltown, USA at dawn.
Flags flutter on Elm Street from each porch and emerald lawn.
Banners are proudly displayed to honor this glorious nation.
Young and old of every stripe and creed join in celebration!
There'll be a parade followed by a community picnic in the park.
After the mayor's interminable speech there'll be fireworks after dark.
The Presbyterian Choir will sing before the school band concert.
The normally stingy town council will provide watermelon for dessert!
Paunchy guys form the honor guard from the American Legion Post.
Old veterans proudly salute the flag in a respectful toast!
Fancy floats are towed by John Deere tractors along the way,
With the Garden Club and Red Hat Society dames in strange array!
Before the picnic, the long-time mayor spouts his usual spiel.
People mill about and stomachs growl awaiting the noonday meal.
Volley ball, horseshoes and soft ball games round out the day.
Less athletic types find a shady tree to snooze the time away!
"Stars and Stripes Forever" by the band brings everyone to their feet!
The fire department lights fireworks to make the day complete.
Thanks to the founding fathers and brave patriots of yesteryear,
We can assemble each year to celebrate the freedoms we hold dear!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
WALT WHITMAN PURSUING BEAUTY
( In his 200 Aniversary )
His Biosphere, his Biorealm, his Bioprovince
His Bioregion, his Biolocale
Beat plunged humming “Leaves of Grass”
Throught drunken twisted paths
Stumbling pleasures and thinking about
The quality of being different
Transparent, unthinkable
Just talking from experience
Tracing the tread of our heads
Into a web and so mysterious and clear.
Despite the Presbyterian pastor’ words
Ralph Smith
Saying with envy and burr:
- Walter is a Freeroamer of Love
That has converted the Locust Grove School
In a School of Sodoma
Or the John Peter Lesley’s, geologist:
-Walter is a “pretencious gil”
And his Leaves of Grass
Are “profane and obscene trash”
Walter and his Leaves of Grass
Still are a promise and a delight.
We’ve been thinking about his offer
And their answer is a strong tentative yes.
I love it:
His new possible consciousness of the Earth
Filled with demons – making scenes
Of Love and Freedom
Wastings what he has given to You and me:
Leaves of Grass
And its natural science: that the Earth
Is the center of the attention
Not another’s manipulation on it.
It is a lovely pamphlet of possible Life.
O honey
Walter, You’re an acorus calamus
I love You.
The man in black alit from the stagecoach that hot and sultry day.
With his hat he brushed dust from his suit as he surveyed old Santa Fe.
He pulled his hat down over his eyes as he strode to the nearby saloon.
Who was this mysterious stranger? A gambler or a business tycoon?
There was a prominent bulge under his coat where a pistol might be.
He carried a fine leather valise, its contents provoking curiosity!
He was clad in the finest cloth and was built like an old rugged oak,
Wore white linen, fine leather boots, topped off with a stylish cloak!
He sat down with a sigh, took off his hat and ordered a bottle of rye.
He took not a nip but said, "Fellows, step up! A drink for you I'll buy!"
That was unusual - free booze - they scarcely knew what to think!
But the town rabble and ne'er-do-wells flew to his table for a drink!
In the meantime, the sheriff received word about this new man in town.
He rushed to the saloon with hands on his rods to calm things down!
"What's yer business here, pilgrim? I don't want any trouble!
If you're here to gamble or pimp, you kin leave town on the double!"
"Calm down, mister sheriff! I aim to help you in maintaining the peace!
To deal with those who flaunt the law and help crime to decrease!
May I introduce myself, sir. I'm the Reverend Mister Percival Brown,
And I aim to settle here and build a Presbyterian church in your town!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
A hush fell o'er the Little Kirk Presbyterian Congregation,
Anticipating the annual Sunday School Christmas presentation.
The solemn flock, (usually obsessed with predestination),
Relaxed in their pews to enjoy Jesus' birthday celebration!
For weeks, moms had fashioned halos, stars and angels' wings,
Also, beards, crowns and robes for the trio of royal kings.
Over and over, harried teachers rehearsed the little dears.
This promised to be the smoothest pageant production in years!
Alas, things didn't go as conceived from the very start!
Kids bawled for Mom and Dad while others forgot their part!
Tho' Cindy Lou could at times be quite the prima donna,
She was chosen to star in the role of Mary the Madonna.
Little angels hovered about, their wings all askew.
The shepherds milled about not knowing what to do.
Joseph toyed with the Jesus doll and it cried, "I want my mama!"
Causing parishioners to titter, detracting from the drama!
The pastor read the Christmas Story from the account in Luke.
The kids harmonized on "Away in the Manger", a propitious fluke!
They portrayed the Christmas Miracle, despite some serious flaws,
And for their efforts received a standing round of applause!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
and intuitive paramour, whence swooning swain first experienced anew
an alien emotional lightness of being
within mine hardened carapace did brew
a propensity to surmise, intuit, and detect a romantic joyful dew
drop similar to lovers in dustbin of historical annals
dipped ‘ere farewell flew
common as the air we breathe,
this new found muse sic cull passion grew
yet handled with kid gloves,
which lacked the means to nurture and hue
a novel interpersonal ecstasy, which with fits and starts knew
tony yen physics manifested into a mutual attraction
despite any self-admission new
to this chap, whose skills sans intimacy infantile
and as a result inadvertently caused grief
to a gal (who valiantly christened her vehicle Ruby)
hoping to stride down the pew
which outcome thwarted,
now tis much more sands of mine life time
funneled down the hourglass shaped queue
without any rhyme nor reason find this bard **** to rue
how a golden opportunity indiscriminately
lost a flickr and sentiments now
akin to culinary Michelin patshke stew
rather futile to ruminate
the long lapsed travails that tripped a true
lee darling dame, whose take on the matter,
this poet would cherish a view
yet….nary a clue exists
if any possibility to revisit that denouement recalling
the awkward fits and starts
before embers of warm reciprocity kindled
reciprocal an ambition to court, jest and indubitably woo
to buzzfeed flip ant lee, and shutterfly at greased lightening speed
back to that contra dance at Summit Presbyterian Church
at the cross roads of Green and Westview Avenues.
There’s a basement flat at Central Presbyterian.
However, you’ll have to share with two other women.
The followed pattern here is living in harmony.
Living outside fellowship is contradictory.
She replied, “I don’t want to share. I live on my own.
I have my life. I don’t care about what you condone.
Mr. Phillips responded, “Why? What purpose is there?
Everyone has their domiciles willing to share.
Cecelia answered, “What does the word ‘purpose’ mean?
Do you have places for an individual’s scene?
With a bit of reluctance, he said he had a few.
Then Mr. Phillips expressed the town’s common value:
“Prester differs from other communities a lot.
The Network News described us in a four-minute spot.
We live for and love God in everything that we do.
Also, please tell me, what denomination are you?”
Cecelia maintained reticence on this one thing.
She would not show her denomination as nothing.
Mr. Phillips repeated his question. She would say:
“I can dream about whatever I want any day.
If I want to go to Paris, or other city;
dreams are my own. They’re my individuality.”
The realtor asked her, expressing curiosity:
“What do you dream about mostly?” He listened closely.
Unafraid of him, she said “Sexual things, mostly!”
He would look away when hearing those words she would say.
Responding, “Prester is not that kind of town today.”
To be continued