Long Presided Poems
Long Presided Poems. Below are the most popular long Presided by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Presided poems by poem length and keyword.
Beliefs, rituals myths... are like organs of religions,
To god and goddesses, in respect, we fear like pigeons;
Apollo, Artemis, Athena, and Ares... of Greece,
Presided over by Zeus and Hera, did fear increase...!
Sumeria, Columbia, India, and Egypt,
Though varied, like treasures, had their age-old religious script;
Philosophers or poets or saints or serenely sages,
Invoked gods and goddesses before beginning their pages...!
John Milton called on the Spirit; darkness to illumine,
Lift his soul from mundane; always to dwell, in the divine;
Denise Levertov had his reason to make his house yarn,
Like a bear; and the snow blocking all the entrances, darken...!
Christians begin thoughts, words, and deeds with the Lord's great Prayer,
Muslims submit supplications - Dua - with great love and care;
Hindus chant Mantras, holding sacred power and virtue,
Sikh Akaal Moorat, Ajooni, Saibhang... have great value...!
The Eternal God living in me, I invoke, in awe,
Alla or Guru or Mohammad, or Christ of love-law;
Illuminate my lone paths in ways I do not know how,
To them, in love, sincere worship... ever I humbly bow...!
May my life, like mirrors, reflect your love, to each and all!
May yearnings of mine, like streams, in you ever rise and fall!
May no harm to any beings, in my heart spring at all!
May my soul, like a waiter, stand ready to heed your call...!
20 October 2021
oh my Good Lord for Christ’s sake who have you become
a well-known carpenter who suffered on his own cross
put nails in his own coffin a shepherd who lost to his flock
beggar man in rags once caring and sharing kindness and love
so the story goes but you caved in to prolonged abuse
misrepresented disavowed on the altar of religious deceit
you presided over wars subjugation poverty and holocaust
must have cried thousands of tears in horrible agony
dying all over the planet again once more and forever
they made you a star a celebrity icon poster boy idol
forgot in the process that actions shout louder than words
attached hypocrisy bigotry philistine culture to your name
now you dwell unrecognisably in bourgeoise falsification
in a shallow grave of history that spits on your genius
you were once so great had such wonderful ambition
so much so that if you had not existed we’d have created
a human being with such vision to ease self-imposed pain
your thorny crown has wilted on the spread sheet of time
a relic and artifact an illustration of vast compassion
we lost you in the fields of Flanders on our crusades
in the chambers of Auschwitz when we showed truths
about humankind and the punitive evil of our souls
yet a statue of the Madonna rests next to a lean Buddha
on the fireplace surround in my heart and the hearth
hellfire maybe but I have not forgotten your meaning
04th Amy 2021
Tell Me, Who Do You Say That I Am Poetry Contest
Sponsor Mystic Rose Rose
the steampunk convention was presided over by ABW, Mrs. McNack
Arrogant Bee Woman is what we called this piranha behind her back
ABW stood for something else but none of us knew what any more
We all held our breath though when queen bee came onto the floor
She had a way about her that was beyond arrogant and proud
Creeping through the exhibits quickly, stealthy, not loud
Yet there was something about her that struck terror in all
She was the steampunk’s ABW, thin, sneaky, scary and tall.
Why does she terrify us? Another steam punker asked me.
I knew it was not her costume even though she looked like a bee
Maybe it was her polish, her spit, her fine way of shining.
I know when she entered the cafeteria, I had to quit dining.
A gift to our country from France, she
stands majestically in New York Harbor,
an icon of freedom and this country.
Her importance is not new,
yet our nation remains in awe of her.
She exists because long ago
men desired to give liberty a name.
Lady Liberty is a stately, proud beauty.
Every inch of her symbolizes
some big or small freedom.
Did I say "small freedom"? Forgive me.
Her loose, flowing robe envelops us.
Each fold represents shelter.
Her torch bears no real flame,
yet, it warms my soul and lifts my spirits.
Her crown is mine--and yours.
Yes, we are royalty.
This date, precious as it is,
is not the equal of the one cradled in
her left hand—July 4, 1776.
A broken chain lies at her feet,
symbolizing the end of an era, as slavery
was no longer legal. The message “Give
me your tired, your poor . . .” is now at the
center of heated controversy.
We gaze upon her and know she
represents a land of certainties and
uncertainties; successes and failures;
laughter and tears; justice and injustice;
feast and famine; weakness and strength.
She is unique, as is the United States of America.
The Statue of Liberty arrived from France in crates.
The “Give me your tired . . . “ message is inscribed on a plaque in the museum at the Statue’s base.
On Oct. 28, 1886, the Statue of Liberty was officially dedicated during a ceremony presided over by President Grover Cleveland. The celebration also included something that would eventually become a New York City tradition of its own: its first ticker-tape parade.
August 20, 2018, entered in Brahn Bailey's (Your) Country 'Tis of
Thee Contest
And things got bad..And things became worse
Then a health opportunity arrived, like could break the curse
Yet the ukranian cheerer, well he just.? Well just
Stood by.' The levers of power..Did not even try to
Grasp or throw, one! Let alone a few.' A solicitless
Lawyer, it just won't do, but hes up in the chamber
Regular enough.' A lion at the despatch box where
It (really gets tough?) He's presided at banqets
And he even says prayers.' Yet when the Ostiches
Stuck there necks out.' He just didn't care.! I reckon
He's uni-party ( through and through ) could tell
Us in which bunker hunkers Hunka.' No he's not
Quite the man in all estimation.? To see Canada through.)
I once was a SEAL, an operator
I filled my country’s foes with cool dread,
Send countless terrorists screaming to hell
Where no virgins awaited the dead.
I met my own end many years later,
And a strange one it was at that.
Had a heart attack at a company game,
And died clutching a baseball bat.
I found myself inside of a great hall,
Filled with warriors from all the ages.
We drank and feasted, fought and caroused,
Celebrated life to the blue blazes!
A one-eyed God presided over it all,
And often joined our great revelries,
And more than once I took to my soft bed,
A stunning, strong, sweet Valkyrie.
But time went by and winter settled in
And stayed for three very long seasons.
Odin’s grins vanished like fog in the sun,
We pressed him to know of the reason.
He said ‘My friends, it is nothing you did
That makes me not want to drink or talk.
But the Doom of the Gods has now come home,
‘Tis the Eve of our fall: Ragnarok.’
I turned and looked to my fellow men,
Whose faces were still, and warrior-grim.
Mighty Odin, he then shuffled out,
And the great festive hall grew dim.
I said, ‘Well, if it’s really has come to this,
We should all of us be ready to stand.
At least this time we know in advance
Our enemy’s full battle plans!’
The morning came on Vigrid’s cold plain,
The Gods rode out as one to the fight,
They were dressed for war but fated to fail,
A predestined, and quite tragic plight.
But we all strode out before Loki’s horde,
And gazed out upon vicious Fenris,
And I turned and said the king of the gods:
‘Relax, my men have got this...’
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Eulogy of Diamond Dee
We were all a bit FASCINATED by the COMPLACENT Diamond Dee.
She maneuvered us like puppets, and I mean all of us, not just some.
Her INVOLVEMENT with men and women was well known in Lee.
Mysterious INTRIGUE paraded with her, said more than one bum.
I am not terrific at IMAGERY but let me try to set the scene.
Evanescent jewels and sequins arrived from an INFATUATION.
Due to her pretending to be bullied by the POIGNANT and the mean.
She was the master of the criminal go-to skill of MANIPULATION.
One thing we all knew about Diamond Dee, and some spoke of it.
Her COMPLACENT attitude was nigh onto self-congratulatory.
Her eulogy was much like her obituary, full of laughter and a bit of wit.
For it was presided over by one of her ex-lovers, my Great Uncle Rory.
Ten years ago, there was a cock
Who lived up to his name.
For though he left us all well-fed,
He left the yard in shame.
Replaced was he by one who was
A very silly goose.
That goose got cooked; he cooked himself;
A danger being loose!
And with him was a vulture,
And that vulture sure was mean.
He swooped down, getting us in war
that plucked us all quite clean.
I could not rest until the two of them
Were good and gone,
Praying I’d not have to watch
That grey goose on the lawn.
Another - grinning, wrinkly-necked -
On TV bobble-bobbling,
Paced with worn-out rhetoric
He was fond of gobble-gobbling.
And by him was his sidekick,,
Female version of a “Quayle.”
I hoped inside the white barn
that chick would never dwell.
The other bird, a darker fowl,
“said” he didn’t want a war.
He was called by some a “chicken"
But at least cared for the poor!
So for November’s bird
He was voted on one day -
The turkey that was chosen
Before Thanksgiving Day.
Two years have past and nothing's changed
The same old cuckoo song.
And I don’t see a good bird yet
To even come along.
How sad there’s no bird like the one
who from a forest came,
Then presided in the white barn.
Now a statue bears his name.
Like an eagle, symbol of
this stretch of land was he.
But since his time, few birds have flown
much higher than a tree.
It’s geese and quails and chickens
and turkeys growing here
while people on this vast great land
are filling up with fear.
I'd hoped our newest turkey were
an eagle in disguise,
and that he’d get to take us soaring
into bluer skies.
For how much longer can our farm
keep running all amuck,
in which case we’re all better off
electing Donald Duck!
For Nate Dilt's "I Hate Politicians" contest
There is some truth that madness
Has presided over March,
Though I’m not talking basketball,
Still full of pep and starch.
No, what I am referring to
Is, like a failed exam,
The fact that March forgot
To exit like a little lamb.
We all know what the adage says
And so I was relyin’
On March beginning, as it should,
Like some ferocious lion.
Instead, it tiptoed quietly
And lulled me to believe
That it would stay that way
With nothing hiding up its sleeve.
But now some freezing temperatures
And snow! are on the way.
It’s mean to treat the flowers thus,
So newly on display.
I guess we shouldn’t trust in sayings
Blurted by old wives.
Our senses will alert us
When the proper time arrives.
Can't explain
an emotional surge
lingered in thoughts
listless soul speaks
in metered gasps
of breathless sighs
pulse of words fall
eminent on page
September 1, 2019
just scribbling inspired by Vijay's comment on one of my recent poems
With a name literally meaning "beautiful-voiced" (from kallos, meaning "beauty," and ops, meaning "voice"), Calliope was the most prominent of the Muses-the nine sister goddesses who in Greek mythology presided over poetry, song, and the arts and sciences. She is represented in art as holding an epic poem in one hand and a trumpet in the other.