Long Proceeding Poems
Long Proceeding Poems. Below are the most popular long Proceeding by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Proceeding poems by poem length and keyword.
In my dream, there’d be a huge parade
Proceeding down my block
And as they reached my building,
I would join the marching flock.
I waited, wearing gypsy garb,
In need of some caffeine,
Pacing nervously ‘cause I forgot
To bring my tambourine.
The elevator opened and
My father stepped outside,
A carton in his hands with snacks
He’d promised to provide.
“Look what I’ve got – brown pears!” he said.
“The kind you always buy!”
He also had my tambourine,
Which almost made me cry.
I woke up then, before the march,
But felt an inner glow
From the visit with my dad, who died
Some forty years ago.
Awakened by song of long distant voice,
a beam of light cuts the abyss.
Serenades calling, the lost and the falling,
sneaking into lives gone far amiss.
The sound of strings breathing, emotions retrieving,
new rhythm transforming new sight.
Each serenade seeming, a shard of glass beaming
as stars in the deepest of night.
With Joshua leading, I set forth proceeding
on journey that once traveled twice,
forms vision a-bursting, cools parched soul a-thirsting,
yet contrary to former advice.
Confusion distilling, my mind is not willing
to follow the truth in my heart.
But asking and seeking, my thoughts are led streaking
to rest on “The Message” in part.
Tears forming, veil thinning, in awe with mind spinning.
A life long forgotten doth send,
scenes that come forming with comfort and warming -
a promise made to an old friend.
Then left to stand starring, confused and not daring
to act, lest my mask be discerned.
A stranger reminding, slow motion rewinding,
the strengths of my roots are returned.
But the sacrifice – haunting. The size of task daunting,
would at times rather cause all to fail.
Each step leads to stumbling, each word becomes bumbling,
and the Weight Of The World doth prevail.
So, in silence retreating, the darkness repeating,
slowly creeps in - the thought that I’m wrong.
But my heart doth remember, the light of dream’s ember,
conviction to forge becomes strong.
But alone I must travel and ignore the world’s gavel,
on a fortune’s advice I have leaned.
Knowing what I’ll be finding, cold shoulder reminding -
what was warned when the council convened.
But so many souls hang in the balance at hand
thus, I must press on til the end,
and I’ll risk every schilling, and pray that God willing
you will find… I’m forever your friend.
It's been said by many who write
that writing among other things
is an escape for them. For me,
writing is not an escape from
anything of which I am aware.
Rather, for me, writing is
primarily a calling, a mission
to which I feel obligated to
express myself and my beliefs
through writing.
It's vital that one should document
and have 'his say' in his community
and the world at large. It is also
for the cause of our legacy.
It is paramount, especially after we are gone,
to have said, "I was here, and I left these lines
and words for my family and for others. It was
a part of my God-given purpose in life before
proceeding to my final destiny".
053123PS
4.
on this spine
having a mouth of crocodile
always jump down
the climate
everyday
the sunglass changes
look at the soil and the sky
no one of them has any body-guard
the open mouth of the light
swallows the grey coin
here the wall becomes more tamed
the wild jasmine comes nearer to the heart
and hums
then ripping open my veins
should i also vomit the blue elocution
accumulated on the cock-pit
after recovery of the flower-mill from fever
the harmonium is being played on
even introduction with the gas-balloon
has not been done yet
5.
arrangements are being made
the green shirt will gradually
turn reddish
the culverts that have become exhausted
within the travel-format
will get recharged again to sit up straight
and the hawker will get passed the silent-home
shouting with undressed coconuts in hands
from the lap of the stand-still rocking-cradles
of the children-park
the amaltas will say
i’m ready
then to escape the sun-shine
the boy who comes to attend the private tuition
will embrace… oh margosa … its your pierced-heart
you may tell him that the name of the girl
who is eating guava and swinging her legs
sitting on its branch is munni
6.
the horse is running
just above 3 feet of the yellow cornice
his back is full of dreams
or a girl named miss dorothy
around it is the mid-night
around it is the wind that wants to be printed
and in every corner of its flying
are hundreds of skirts
all are of free-size
what may be their market-price
there is no shop-keeper there
in that valley
a shadow is proceeding on
do you know whose shadow it is
he is philip the teacher who gets irritated easily
this time there is no thin cane
in his hand
in the pieces of papers dumped in the waste-box
under his window there is a manuscript eaten up by the worms
there is ‘darling’ there
and ‘yours beloved greta’
in which skirt
a touch of that greta does remain
is it being searched even today
is it greta or margaret or eliza
there is no bar if it is dorothy
in whose smell there is no greta
who has no such horse flying just above three feet
of the yellow cornice
each mid-night fills the fountain pen
with the flow of blue ink
EX
CLAIM unfulfilled ?
Just EXCLAIM !
PLAIN actions
turning tough ?
Try to EXPLAIN.
HUSBAND divorced
turned lover,
being EX HUSBAND.
TENSION for leave sanction
got solved
getting EXTENSION.
AMPLE questions
to be answered
putting EXAMPLE.
ACT on right track
proceeding EXACT.
CITE an example
to EXCITE.
IT has entered but
to leave through EXIT.
03/28/23
6/27/17
No longer dreaming
Just proceeding
Without cheating
I am achieving
More than I ever was believing
Every single evening
Now my impressions are leaving
Even more meaning
To other human beings
While I am still breathing
It's time to make this year better
Despite all the weird weather
My dome vexed
I felt my bones flex
Across stone steps
After being shown less
Before pushing past the home stretch
With all chromosomes left
I then took over the throne next
And any other opposition with cloned flesh
Nearby a crows nest
Now ain't that some ****
As they like to say payback's a *****
The light from the sun shines
Amid the pines
Where there was an abandoned mine
For a long time
The only hound stood
But how could
It sound good
All around the hood
When I doubt it would
It didn't matter if it ever would place in a chart
Because it was straight from the heart
Even when the day was dark
Across the bay and park
Beside all the waves and sharks
The flu hit
And the air was too thick
But I put out some even more true ****
Because the shoe fit
And it was the best way to do it
With very few tricks
While talking to some new chicks
A ship that got stopped atop the rocks sank
While there was an ever increasing fog bank
Some continued to give god thanks
While the size of several bogs shrank
I was feeling like I was in quite an odd place
If I never had it, then how could I ever have lost faith?
Vehicles at different rates going zero to sixty
Some of which go beyond one hundred and fifty
During winter smoke coming out the chimney
In the country and city
People walking their dogs and playing in the park with a Frisbee
Carbonation making it all fizzy
Spinning, all about now feeling dizzy
Areas spotless or really filthy
Objects and animals, tall average or mini
In the end the crime scene was grisly
Morning comes alive and the sound of fire crackers erupted in the skies; the traffic began to flow smoothly and I could hear a distance sound resonating in the background and as I get closer to my destination, I felt a strange sensation around me and something preying upon my dignity and the sound gets louder and louder.
It is one of those familiar tunes that gets on your nerves and presses you against the wall and pull the words from your lips and before you know it the big gate opens and the crowd rushes in to listen to the final verdict.
Everyone saddles up in their winter gears wearing turtle neck sweater to trap the cold air and decorative silk scarf to make them look bold. I saw more than a hundred men walking courageously down the marble tiled corridor wearing slick pants suit and a special shoe that cries out with a creak when they walked along the marbled tiled floor.
I didn’t know which way to turn so I followed the men everywhere they go and I ended up at the constitution chamber and a group of people were sitting patiently waiting for me. My heart was beating faster than before as if I was going to a wedding that had some misgiving but when the security guard came and open the side door the stage was already for the proceedings to begin and the dressed men walks in and sits quietly.
Solemn is the king that render his will and matchless is the bride whose pride was taken just before midnight and the blood stained bed with torn up sheet evidence the struggle that ensued when she tried to escape through the gate.
The flamboyant crowd erupts just before the proceeding was about to begin and the wind start to blow rooting out strong trees from the ground and the people start to scream and suddenly, I woke up from my dream when the wind enters the flamboyant hall way.
"Has solitude ever led your steps down a forest path . . . "
Quote by Constance La France
On a beautiful afternoon, seeking solitude
I set out on a trek to the nearby woods
Except my camera, intentionally picked up
I hadn’t carried with me any other thing
All along, I saw wildflowers and strange herbs
And paused to take pictures, but kept moving
No doubt, it was a rewarding experience
The lure of the unknown seemed bewitching
From the cluster of flowers on a sprawling tree
The wind wafted a rare exotic smell divine
I heard the twitter of chirping sparrows
And could spot large squirrels with bushy tails
Proceeding further, heard a gurgling sound
It must be a small cataract, I did suppose
My guess was right. It fell off a rock running into a stream
With murmur enough to lull one to sweet sleep
Close to the falls, I went frolicking in mist
Splashes of water vapor, making me pleasantly wet
The whistle of a quail fell in my ears
And the rhythm of the tapping of a woodpecker
Also, the creaking of dry leaves under my feet
Sounds so familiar to any forest trekker
Feeling happy over my progress without a hitch
Listening to the soft cajoling of birds,
And the confused drone of honeybees,
I walked playfully stamping on the dried-up leaves
That moaned painfully under my feet.
Passing fragrant cedar trees and tall growing pines,
I roamed for long enjoying the beauty of the woods
Amid the multitude of trees and the flora and fauna
My spirit felt a deep solitude, I couldn’t explain
Though I longed to explore more into its hidden pockets
I saw the slanting rays of the setting sun
And quickened my way home before darkness invaded
Feeling quite happy and at peace with myself !
Nov.16.2022
~ Placed First~
Writing Challenge “V” forms Poetry Contest
Sponsor. Constance La France
December 31 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Revelation 22
Key Verse– Revelation 22:1 And he shewed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY WATER OF LIFE
Lord God, You are my Water of life,
so pure and clear as crystal
Thank You for enabling me to yield fruits surely immortal
I come to Your throne, my prayer-portal
With my healed soul, rescued from hell that’s verily fatal.
Lord God, You are my Water of life,
so powerful in healing me from curse of sinfulness
Thank You for letting me see Your face by faith’s pureness
I submit to Your altar midst servanthood meekness
With my humble heart, acknowledging Your highness.
Lord God, You are my Water of life,
so bright with Your light
Thank You for allowing me to worship You by Your wisdom’s insight
I stay in Your faithfulness, truthfully right
With my blissful state, upheld by Your blessedness’ might.
Lord God, You are my Water of life,
so convicting along Your book’s prophecy
Thank You for commending me of my work’s diligent persistency
I possess Your seal, confirming Your salvation mercy
With my justified condition imputed by Your pardon’s fervency.
Lord God, You are my Water of life,
so omnipotent in Your Alpha and Omega reign
Thank You for inviting me to enter into Your gates of divine terrain
I cling to Your power devoid of any selfish gain
With my willing obedience, never vain.
Lord God, You are my Water of life,
so loving with Your forgiving
Thank You for revealing to me Your Word for jubilant reviving
I testify about Your goodness and blessings I am receiving
With my cheerful heart, inspired by spiritual thriving.
Lord God, You are my Water of life,
so holy in Your virtue-bestowment
Thank You for changing me toward character-development
I wait for Your coming while victorious in my ministry involvement
With my vibrant disposition for Your prosperous New Year-endowment.
December 31, 2023
Father’s day…
That old familiar ache in my heart returns along with a lump in my throat.
I become distant as that day grows closer, not taking in much of anything
anyone has to say … my only thoughts of you.
I find the sweater I gave you on Father’s Day, 12 years ago; when you sat
on the porch in the blistering heat, wearing it, and a toque, shaking because
you were cold.
I put the sweater on and feel you close to me, and go for my morning walk
along a no exit gravel road in the early morning, wanting to be alone with you
and my random thoughts, knowing, more than likely, there won’t be a
single car pass me.
On the Road again by, Willie Nelson, runs through my mind; the song you requested
be played at your celebration of life; the song that defined you…a free spirit
who finally found what you had been looking for, when ill health
forced you to stop roaming, and for 23 years after your heart attack,
you became the father I had so longed for.
I see you now, sitting on the kitchen floor playing with your grandchildren,
completely content, your contagious laughter making me laugh,
your sparkling eyes, looking into mine, speaking volumes without saying a word.
I think of the days proceeding your passing, and you in your feeble voice,
singing to mom, those lyrics from ‘Last Fairwell’, by Roger Whittaker," ‘for you are beautiful, and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken words can tell".
And as the sun rises over the hill, I swallow the lump in my throat,
and continue on down the road.
In loving memory of my dear father,
Harold George, October 25 1927 - August 11,2003