Long Prophets Poems
Long Prophets Poems. Below are the most popular long Prophets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Prophets poems by poem length and keyword.
“And for what, except for you,
do I feel love”
Wallace Stevens
Concealed in full view
there are sanctuaries where you
can go when the shrill noise
of politicians, preachers and prophets
gets too loud - the quiet
of a morning wearing a glossy melt
of frost honeyed in the glow of first light -
forest trails winding
under the whispers of tall trees -
a shoreline slowly emerging
from the stillness of a thick fog
as if it were letting go of a dream
and at the end of the street,
a place in the mind where a poem
frees itself from gravity
and with frail wings
lifts itself towards love.
has He said it
shall He not do it
teaching on the mount
the old
explained in the new
five books,prophecy&
writings
until the teaching
of John
all the prophets
have spoken
information
concerning Him
truth
for His people
to have
foretold &forthtold
to bring
the kingdom in
revealing our Lord
has He said it
shall He not do it
a way to prepare
ministering for the present
declaring
the future
the will of God
a realisation fulfilled
flowering in Jesus
adjusting
our understanding
seeing
the beautiful word
in wholesome
divine revelation
has He said it
shall He not do it
the imperishable word
the cross
explained
by sacrifice
obedience
in practice&
principle
of what is right
with God
contrast sayings
of character
of transformed emotions
pledged fidelity genorosity
of spirit
inner god-likeness
outwardly displayed
has He said it
shall He not do it
serious&superficial
a present day
relevance
under
the teaching of Christ
past abrogated
prohibition gone
integrity
of principle
remains abiding
transcending culture
modified by revelation
because of the angels
truth
for His people
has He said it
shall He not do it
Then Abraham said, “If they will not listen to Moses and prophets, neither will they persuaded if someone would rise from the dead.” Luke 16:31
As a reporter
I once interviewed a priest who experienced a dramatic conversion
Before that he had regularly gotten a serious trouble
He wanted nothing to do with the Catholic faith that his mother continually urged him to practice
As compelling and joy-filled as change of heart was
He said that as the years went by the impact of the experienced lessened
While he would never forget it
He stayed strong in the faith by working on it every single day
We don’t need to look for spectacular miracles
Although God does provide them on occasion
We simply need to listen to Moses
the prophets, Jesus and the apostles
Our Blessed Mother
The saints
the holy people
and then put our faith into action
especially by helping those most in need
How can you help the Lazaruses in your life
Life is a dark labyrinth,
Every inch of it is a myth.
It is lighter outside,
Experiences say it is much heavier inside.
Welcome to the world of uncertainty,
Dilemma and chaos take place between reality and eternity.
Perplexity rises until death,
It does not consist of a single quiet bed!
I am a sojourner in this damp maze,
Slipping is my passionate habit in my eternal shape.
I will not live forever,
Neither anyone nor even prophets are constant saviours.
I just wish to live while I am alive,
This labyrinth causes me a severe headache.
I just don't want to live in this dilemma,
To me, the afterlife is more than an enigma.
Allow me to leave this labyrinth,
Wherever I wander, I am in a constant sprint.
The light grows darker day by day,
Lost in the haze, I drift astray.
Ours is a world of meanness, fear, and dissension
Filled with uncertainty, strife, and apprehension
A world fueled by selfish greed and profiteering
And false promises of those electioneering
A world filled with confusion, leaving us displaced
We try to understand, but still we are unbraced
The gains of labor are cancelled by inflation
Depleted further by burden of taxation
Driven by selfishness, people are afflicted
Wounded, broken, abused, hurt, sick, and addicted
Dreams are forgotten, lost on the slippery slope
Discouraged, depressed, hopeless, unable to cope
Two centuries ago, earth was a similar place
Angry, dark, mean, abusive, and in need of grace
People were in a hurry, seeking their own fame
Trying to get ahead, willing to shift the blame
Into this kind of world, the Lord Jesus was born
To deliver grace and peace to people forlorn
On mission to our planet that had blown a fuse
He came from heaven to deliver good news
Born of a virgin, as the prophets had foretold
Cradled in a manger, for the world to behold
A little baby boy, crying, making a fuss
They called him Immanuel, which means “God with us”.
“Our false self who fears, is nonexistent
The truth’s unknown, because we’re resistant”
~ quote by poet
Dwelling in our comfort zone, we are confined
to a small domain, afraid of the unknown,
so unless we leave ego spawned fears behind,
there’s no way that we can come into our own,
for the thought forms we spew, grip us in their bind
and we act not like our true Self but it’s clone.
So deep is our bondage to feeble thought crutch,
that though God is within, we’re afraid to touch.
Sages, prophets and masters have all proclaimed
that we’re not this mind-body but living light,
so it’s tragic we behave like someone maimed,
whilst freedom from fear is ours, if we alight
from habit of thinking, that joy be reclaimed
in the womb of silence that holds bliss beats tight,
whereupon dwelling in the present, we’re free,
being no longer tied to ego’s mind tree.
What is silence but our choice to just let go,
relinquishing mind, trusting the universe
that by God’s grace we finally get to know
deepest truths without any need to rehearse?
The unknown becomes known when thought flow is slow
and then our head aligned with heart, sings love’s verse.
We see without mirrors this dream life’s a test.
Our innate love and light, becomes manifest.
16-April-2023
___________
Writing Challenge - 'U' Words
Sponsor: Constance La France
HMS, Rhymezone, PS Grammar
(While reading this try to fit the melody
and rhyming rhythm with parts of Don
McLean's song "American Pie")
it was written in
the book of rocks
just looking at the
pictures for they can't talk
and dinosaurs were here
and every
where
the healthy ocean
bottom layer
with shells made
of and by soothsayer
creative crustacean
creators
forams for
thousands of years
then suddenly it all
came to a stop
if there's a god she
must have dropped
her watch forgetting
or regretting
what was made
it was then that there
was a single line
the k t boundary
well defined
no longer
limestone
but simple clay
then Atlas sat
and muttered something
someone heard
said it was nothing
and nothing is
exactly where
we're at
the prophets sat
around the table
sitting with
Cain and Able
Goliath
do you know who
cast that stone
with all the oceans
in commotion
red seas parting
arks a floatin'
Moses and Noah
knowing
noth
ing
Lao tzu's silence was
his answer
and Shiva thought
she was still a dancer
waving arms with
swords in hand
then Custer stood
and took
his last stand
but all this was
meaningless
the Golden Mean
means just this
while Fibonacci
contemplated
and ate
a slice of
Pisa Pi
the day
the Mesozoic
died
Form:
Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's-
but Caesar has stolen everything:
the land,the tongue,the airwaves,
even the prayers we whispered under stars.
Render unto God what is God's -
but God is tired of excuses,
God wants justice,not jingles.
God wants bread for the barefoot.
God wants truth that does't trend.
So tell Caesar:
We are the new prophets bro,
we carry Scripture in spray cans,
we baptize pavements with protest songs,
and our psalms wear hoodies and sneakers.
Tell him the meek are armed
with metaphors and memories,
Tell him our tithes is uprising,
our sermon is survival
our altar is the street.
Render unto Caesar his coins -
we're doing trading our souls.
For the kingdom of the poor is rising,
And the drum is the only law we obey now
Tympani, beat tremendous!
Like thunder roll above!
Dark matter a-tenebrous;
Knowest thou of love?
Ah, young master. In good time!
Riddles, rivers, rhyme!
Griddle, fiddle, sugar, slime.
Covert cold cut chime.
All right, sir, but in earnest;
Full, brass bull, trull, wool?
Summertime, hot clime, addressed!
Roundabout red rule!
Well, it's you two! Black and Blue!
So, what else is new?
Eggs a-light, serpents a-few?
Kittens blind that mew?
Knights of the nebula pond!
Elders strong and wise...
Mighty warlocks, wave thy wand!
Prize? Between the eyes.
Adepts of tomorrow!
Always? Skies and greys.
Surcease, students, all sorrow.
Living for todays!
Miles are marked for travelers?
Yes, and reason thus:
Reality whirs, then blurs.
Black and Blunderbuss.
Rain, pour poems on prophets.
Nerves heal as they warp.
O floodwaters, try Tophet's.
Sailors, tamp the tarp...
A voiceless whisper always speaks to me,
At times too faint for thought to comprehend,
Yet it speaks—sometimes even loud and clear—
To warn of danger or to guide to blessings.
Most times, its voice grows clearer when ignored,
But when I heed its prompt, it comes true,
It then fades~
like a whisper lost in the wind,
and like a dream slipped from grasp.
But whenever I long for its guiding light,
That's when its feet grow cold and heavy—
like a feather on a fish...
an imaginary tail a snail would love to wag.
But from where comes this inner voice?
That, like true prophets, dares to predict.
Is it God speaking in me—or something else?
If wishes were horses, I’d rather choose this inner voice—
For my outer voice makes only noise,
While this my inner voice flows like a river of truth,
of wisdom and understanding—
that sometimes may dry up,
but it never vanishes...
and it beams with a cadence that illumines my future.