Long Publican Poems
Long Publican Poems. Below are the most popular long Publican by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Publican poems by poem length and keyword.
Why do you do as you do
and not do as you don't say?
asked the journalist of the leader,
asked the child of her parent.
Because I like to help
and I do not enjoy recognizing myself
as a selfish hypocrite,
responds the leader
to writers of famous and infamous history,
respond therapeutic parents
to children writing compassion stories.
How do you know you are helping
and not helping retain a flawed toxic elitist system,
maintaining poverty of margins
far below wealth piling into too much power?
asked the cynical divestor
challenging this help-as-health investor,
asked the hurt and wounded child
challenging her health-confessing
professing irreligious monoculture.
I doubt I could help
without co-investing in flawed health with pathology
in both political and economic systems,
responds this wu wei leader,
responds this co-mentoring parent,
but what have you noticed
might help more
while collaterally hurting less?
It seems to me,
writes aging journalist
and systemic trauma informed WholeEarth Tribalists,
those plans and budgets and stories cooperatively researched and written
by and with and for co-investors
in our civil passion/pleasure trusting enterprise
sustain more healthy multiculturing mind/body wealth,
with less pathological neurosystemic backwash,
as compared to Business As 0-sum Usual,
anthro-absorbed profit monocultures
elitist Publican winning
to lose further uncapitalized
democratically needy
competitors against too-exclusive empowerment.
Why do you win/win extend co-empathy as you do
and engage compassionate communication
as you would become Earth's Beloved PeaceCommunity?
asked the exhausted leader of retiring generals,
asks indigenously co-intelligent MotherTrees
of their polyculturally extending forests
Root and crown
body and mind therapeutic
politically empowering/disempowering
enlightened/unenlightened economies.
Why do you inclusively co-invest as you do
and not empower what you don't communicate?
asked the journaling child
about her favorite MotherTree's
inter-religious Golden Rule
to optimize effective
and efficient co-governance.
It was hours before dawn and I could not sleep.
The gloomy fog overpowered the cold dark street.
The street lights offered patches of misty light.
Rain had glossed the pavement, in the dead of night.
From my window I saw the publican escorting old Joe.
Put him out in the street, he closed the pub hours ago.
My yawning fogged the window as he toddled home.
Last of the rain flowed down the gutters leaving foam.
The eerie silence matched the cold dark grey scene.
A more lonely looking place, there had never been.
Scraps of paper and food wrappers were tumbling,
Pushed along by a breeze as I watched Joe stumbling.
He made it to his gate down the end of the road.
A truck carrying newspapers slung off its load,
Plastic wrapped and landed at the newsagent’s door.
I hoped to watch the deserted street, just a bit more.
To see the sunrise and it be busy with people galore.
Such a transformation was worth waiting for.
To see vehicles appear, all come alive in early morn.
But my bed called and I fell asleep before the dawn.
amnesia sets in
selective memory
forgetting the gossip
written in a rhyme
poison inked words
splatter on the screen
to demean
to be mean
misjudge
tattle taler
repeat hater
carries on...
others pics forgotten
other words forgotten
hate fueled
hate sated
the true state
not debated
never stopping to think
could be wrong
has to push down
to be strong
and so it goes on
wrong after wrong
and like the publican
feels good to pray
and say
"Thank God...I'm not like others....a sinner
I'm a winner!"
Morality laden
A chaste maiden
Oh, but erased
is not defaced
there is another record
One with a trace
Seen by another Judge
ONE not common place
a remembered name
a remembered face
and I?
Well, I rest my case....
For I am nothing
but a sinner
in need of grace
Eileen Manassian
There is a beautiful little village
Down a long rainbow coloured country lane
Known to only a few
Where collective colourful characters reign
The residents of Rainbow Village
Are a creative colourful bunch
Who meet every week religiously
At the local Village Inn for Sunday lunch
Mr Red is the local policeman
He is driven and a natural born leader
Decisive, firm but fair
Authoritative while following police procedure
Policeman Red married Miss White
The villages well loved librarian
An independent calm gentle soul
A compassionate revered humanitarian
Together they have a daughter
A little girl called Pink who is ten years old
A playful ,sensitive, loving child
Adventurous and bold
Dr Brown is the villages doctor
A warm natured, comforting, reliable man
Who is married to Dr Blue the local veterinarian
A kind ,caring dependable bloke who will help anyone he can
Miss Purple is the towns local artist
Beautiful, talented and unique
Unbelievably imaginative and creative
Her colourful creativity is displayed on every cobbled street
Mr Green is Rainbow Villages resident gardener
A young man totally at one with nature and harmony
The village is abound with happy, bright colourful flora
As far as the eye can see
Mr & Mrs Orange are both school teachers
Both are optimistic, enthusiastic and love to teach
Energetic ,cheerful and passionate
Learning and education never far from their minds reach
Mr Grey , l should say Mayor Grey
Has the village and residents best interest at heart
Always calm, composed and diplomatic
Supporting locals with their creativity, colour and art
Miss Yellow runs the village general store
A lovely outgoing lady with a heart of gold
Always trying to accomodate all the residents wants and needs
Her produce is quality so be quick or it will be sold!
Mr Black is the publican of the Rainbow Inn
An intriguing powerful fellow
A somewhat mysterious man
Who is secretly and hopelessly in love with Miss Yellow
Rainbow Village is a wonderful place to reside
Full of incredible interesting and varied folk
Not always do they see eye to eye
Yet come Sunday all gather and unite over lunch and a joke
From Byron bay to Broome on rolling russet plains
beauty shine’s the Kimberly when the northern territory rains
My heart will always weep when the scent of wattle’s lost
gum trees out of sight my world lays unembossed
Kookaburra laughs as dawn lights us with grace
we really love to giggle even wearing egg on face
our words are sometimes drawled but wait theres a but
when we get excited ? is when things start heating up
In Pub’s and R.S.L’s your bound to meet good blokes
even cheeky sheilas who don’t mind a dirty joke
at everything we do we strive to reach the stars
even when we’re older and writing our memoirs
A country mixed in color of every different race
But every one of us Is a heartbeat of this place
creative souls are we building from red soil
everything we have was made from honest spoils
Kooris and the white folk get along alright
but sometimes when they drink they start aground to fight
the old men roar with laughter the ladies are aghast
publican runs yelling hes red enough to blast
Eucalypt and kangaroos are some of our trademarks
if you want to see real beauties our forests cant be past
mountain streams and waterfalls we really have it all
even in a snowfall we’ve had a bloody ball
Whiteness lines our shores kissed with foamy waves
lining round our border is a multitude of caves
rain-forest glistens plants are rich with life
I really hate to see them get in global strife
Cyclones rage our shores fire our summer nights
beauty rests within our hearts and red-gum minds
no different are our faces in this far-reaching world
but because a youthful land we are we’ve bowed our heads to toil
Form:
Hello. My name is Nicholas, and you can call me Nick. I also must tell you about Matthew, and you can call him Mat. I once despised Mat and others like him, but now he has become my best friend. I am the Pharisee and Nick is the Publican about whom Jesus gave a parable. There was an occasion when Mat and I went to the temple to pray at the same time. I'm sure you would agree that my thanksgiving prayer left no doubt about what I was most grateful for. My prayer described a 'righteous' person who despised others unlike himself. I was thankful for that. Jesus used me as a perfect example of a person who is 'thankfully righteous' in his own eyes and with those same eyes, look down on other people.
Listen if you will to a short prayer I once prayed that I would never utter again because my life has been completely changed. "OH GOD, I THANK YOU that I am not like other people-robbers, crooks, adulterers, or, heaven forbid, like this tax man. I fast twice a week and tithe on all my income. Now, listen to Mat's prayer. He had no pride nor anything to boast about. "God, give mercy. Forgive me, a sinner." *
It was as if I had a Thanksgiving Holiday Spread filled with everything for my personal satisfaction. i.e. I had an overflowing POT of "I'm not like other people". I had a larger than normal BOWL of "I fast two times a week". I had a commercial-sized PAN of "I give tithes of all I possess". I had a big PLATTER of "I am a just man". I had a PLATE full of "I'm faithful to my wife". My dining table was overflowing with things I feasted on. I was full of it; full of myself. Yet, after feasting on all that I had, I was still hungry and empty, unjustified, abased, and unacceptable by God. On the other hand, the tax collector came hungry and empty but left filled, fulfilled, forgiven, and justified by God.
I later met Jesus and became born again. Now, I despise none and love everyone. And now, like my best friend Mat, I know how to pray, and I understand the true meaning of Thanksgiving.
11122018PoSoup *Message Bible
Passed the old church at midnight
Night time dark, damp and windy
Thoughts about coming home to a warm bed
Hear sounds from the bushes and trees
Glimpsing human shadows
They move slowly and very quiet
The wind comes against me with a rotten smell
The smell is indescribable nauseating
The lights of a car further down the street
gives me a cruel picture
Three human figures indented and rotting faces
Apathetic and dull but driven by the will to kill
The car is advancing by my side, the driver he knows he's seen it before
Zombies love this place at midnight
Never go here alone on the night of Halloween
Who has not heard of it ....
I can still smell the rotten smell
Sponsor Leonora Galinta
Contest Name Halloween Poem Contest with Only 1 theme.
15.10.2013
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
(2nd place in the contest)
Though small in size you stood strong' and wise
In your answer to him, of your intended demise!
And that of our fair state.' In our great land.'
For right here i recount of that old 'dingo dan'
He'd paid the blood money, he's bought a plot'
Oh how my blood boils.' And i can tolerate a lot.)
Its plain he had a dirty plan, to cottaging; that spot; on prime Murray river bank land'
Well it did not come good.' No not at all.!
For a true blue builder, rejected that call
He came like a demon..yet left like a cur.!
On that; may freedom loving Aussies all concur!
Keep shunning the dingo.' May mange be upon him'
I praise our publican, may all blessings be on him.!
I told my boss this was a job I didn’t relish
Reports so far deemed this Elfin war rather hellish.
Troops had crossed the border and entered the valley.
So far we didn’t have a death or injury tally.
I entered the tavern, only a mile from the enemy line.
The locals seemed relaxed and all seemed fine.
I sat at a table with three burly men drinking beer.
They didn't seem to mind me being here.
Introduced myself as a war correspondent.
After I ordered them all another beer they were very respondent.
Eager to tell me what they knew of the Elfin war.
At that time, I didn’t realize what I had in store.
I urged them to go on and tell me much more
Soon others in the pub, heard the tales and began to chip in.
First hand accounts of fighting they saw, I hardly knew where to begin.
Seems the fighting was very tactical. The rebels would advance to attack,
The allied Army was ready and their weapons would force them back.
Evidentially a local man, a sergeant of note, was injured by a blast.
He wandered in the way of a hand grenade, on his patrol as he passed.
Most stories were of artillery fire being heard in the morning hours.
Patrons of the tavern didn't seem too perturbed about the rebels powers.
Confidence reined in the army from what they could see.
The publican joined us with a round of beer saying these are free.
”Laddy, I am sure you’ll want to mention this home spun brew.
The best brewed beer and everyone loves it, your readers will too.
It’s called Ellery Tavern Lager. We make it right here in town.”
“He’ll only be interested if the mongrels burn the factory down”
I was feeling light headed, lost count of the number of beers I had.
Went to stand up and realized I was feeling rather shaky and quite bad.
My trusty tape recorder, had some good stories for me to write.
Wandering out to get some fresh air I took some photos before night.
Friggity friggity!
MacRaith and O’ Tuama:
poets incessant and
blabbering bores.
Publican served insults –
flibbertigibbeting.
Rhetoric ingrained dull;
flyting supreme!
________________________________________________________
The limerick is an English comedic five-line poem. The form could be found in England as far back as the early part of the 18th-century. It is thought to be derived from the Maigue Poets of Croom, County Limerick (depicted here). When the two erstwhile friends, Sean O’ Tuama and Andrias MacRaith, had a falling out they started trading insults (in rhyme format), ie flyting.
LEXICON
flibbertigibbeting: frivolous, flighty, or excessively talk.
Flyting or fliting is a contest consisting of the exchange of insults between two parties, often conducted in verse.