Long Puritan Poems
Long Puritan Poems. Below are the most popular long Puritan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Puritan poems by poem length and keyword.
They punch a fist in the air
Anger written on their faces
Those deaths of their own..
Having ignited hidden fires
Rushing over each other arsonist...
Reason and civility is thrown away
Adopting hardwired survival mode
They rant chant and grow furious
Distancing rules of Covid forgat
I cry with them and pray morrow
We won't be burying them too..
When the dreaded virus attacks
Who is fueling these fires now..
At a time when the neo-revolutionaries
Risk being executed by a Covid 19 virus
Distancing they are testing a hypothesis
In a battle as old as time the surge-on
Is it the Spanish conquerors who ignited it now..
Or the Arabian enslavers who planted the seeds
Or them Templer's founders of the Newfoundland
Who appeased them fires with an in God we trust
When the puritans in Salem burnt Tituba
Her confessions to witchcraft but coerced
A puritan community covering behind Law
Aiding and abetting an injustice of racism
Wait now..did they but then set her free..
Where are all the gains made in rights movements
If at the tiniest spark flames allover do now ignite
Is tolerance but a subtle retreat as peoples gather..
All manner of arsenal in battle the for domination...
Sons of a lesser God are there really any now One
Yet you do recite that he called his son from Kafira
With Kemet said to have enslaved a race chosen..
Am reminded he blessed them all.. subdue the earth
Not subdue and conquer each other
Not to exploit other's guise of labour
As they enshrine a demi-god of greed
Fondly aptly its named urban culture
This one now does call for patient(ce+...
Have they not suffered enough anguish
At this stage of the Journey-Kibrithmana
And as Moosa uplifted that bronze snake
Don a bib... We pray it not Horsemen
We heard what seven thunders spake
As angels Swoon all over the earth...
Reapers working overtime.. Jumbos
It’s Christmas day
Hip hip hooray
With festive cheer
And our family here
The feast begins
Amidst all our grins
Crackers pulled, mottos read
Fancy hats upon each head
With turkey eaten
We’ll not be beaten
Enter the flaming pud
Which looks so good
But whence it came?
This pudding of fame
‘Twas a Roman cook
Where first we look
Making pottage of meat and veg
Placing in readiness on a window ledge
By the fourteenth century frumenty it became
Meat with fruit, wine and spices, it was not the same
This soupy dish was a fasting meal
A preparation for Christmas was the deal
With added eggs, breadcrumbs and fruit it changed once more
Plum pudding lasted until banned under Puritan law
The arrival of King George, the ‘Pudding King’
Got the outlawed pud back in the swing
For his royal feast he did declare
Plum pudding would be the dessert fayre
By Victorian days the meat had gone
Enter the Christmas pud known by everyone
Merry Christmas!
~~~
A seasonal frame of mind led to this!
New World Colossus Deception—2015
(Apropos The Sonnet of Emma Lazarus)
In her brazened left hand she holds the tablet year
of her shore’s liberty;
And a raised right lights the weary way to the land
of the brave and free;
But today, blind eyes look out to the wretched skies
and tormenting seas
Where frothing waves and white clouds tease hopes
of fleeing refugees.
No longer are there waiting arms and love
for a roaming, exiled family—
Greeted no longer with silent lips, but with vociferous voices
screaming no
To “…huddled masses…homeless, tempest-tossed…” children
that are to be;
Though they dare, must be aware upon these shore
is nowhere for them to go.
Their religiosity—washed with blood of the innocent—
has no place in this land;
For them and theirs—is no way a true Puritan would ever lend
a helping hand
To welcome their tried tired yearning pregnant hopes
of a new life begun.
No! Hell no! There of those here still waiting for true
and full freedom to be won!
This is the land of the Pilgrim’s pride; land where other
fleeing fathers and mothers died.
This land has only fought wars of peace; there is no place here
for you to peacefully abide.
It’s Christmas day
Hip hip hooray
With festive cheer
And our family here
The feast begins
Amidst all our grins
Crackers pulled, mottos read
Fancy hats upon each head
With turkey eaten
We’ll not be beaten
Enter the flaming pud
Which looks so good
But whence it came?
This pudding of fame
‘Twas a Roman cook
Where first we look
Making pottage of meat and veg
Placing in readiness on a window ledge
By the fourteenth century frumenty it became
Meat with fruit, wine and spices, it was not the same
This soupy dish was a fasting meal
A preparation for Christmas was the deal
With added eggs, breadcrumbs and fruit it changed once more
Plum pudding lasted until banned under Puritan law
The arrival of King George, the ‘Pudding King’
Got the outlawed pud back in the swing
For his royal feast he did declare
Plum pudding would be the dessert fayre
By Victorian days the meat had gone
Enter the Christmas pud known by everyone
Merry Christmas!
Presidents Truman, Kennedy, Regan, Biden
Sparing a turkey from a Thanksgiving table. The presidential Turkey Pardon
Massachusetts
is a truly historic state.
Indigenous people lived there for
over ten thousand years before it was
colonized by the English in the 17th century.
The 17th century brought a mass migration
of Puritan immigrants into the area
while the subsequent centuries
brought new waves of
immigrants.
Abraham Lincoln’s
son Tad got upset when
he found out someone was going to kill
the live turkey brought for the presidential
family’s Christmas dinner. Eventually Tad’s plea was admitted,
and the turkey’s life spared. Abraham Lincoln made
Thanksgiving an official
U.S. holiday in
1863.
A decade later
Rhode Island poultry dealer
Horace Vose starts sending Thanksgiving
and Christmas turkeys to the first families. Vose was the
White House’s unofficial turkey provider for more than
40 years after that first turkey to President
Ulysses S. Grant, but by 1914, Americans
from around the country were
sending live turkeys for
the holidays.
William Bradford’s
journal was discovered and published
by Sarah Josepha Hale, a magazine editor.
Hale was so taken with the story of that first Thanksgiving,
that she lobbied five U.S. presidents to make it a federal holiday.
Abraham Lincoln declared Thanksgiving an official U.S. holiday,
an act he saw as a step toward reuniting the
fractured country after the Civil War.
He put it on the calendar for
the last Thursday
of November.
1941
December,
Franklin D. Roosevelt
changed Thanksgiving to the fourth
Thursday in November to avoid confusion
where there is a fifth Thursday in
November.
People
often incorrectly
date the official pardoning ceremony
back to 1947 with Harry Truman, a myth
that stems from the fact that the National Turkey Federation
which runs the modern presidential turkey pardon
ceremonies sent a president a turkey for the
first time that year. Truman
didn’t spare that bird’s life
he ate it.
'Tis said that the first Thanksgiving feast was celebrated in sixteen twenty-one.
'Twas the Pilgrims' first bountiful harvest so they decided to have some fun!
(That was the genesis of church potlucks that are popular to this very day,
And the origin of that American addiction, the all-you-can-stuff-ten-buck buffet!)
They invited Indian friends but with wary eye kept their blunderbusses handy,
In case the guests and their squaws might become sozzled with too much brandy!
The Injuns brought canoes full of maize, deer and fishes from Cape Cod Bay.
(Puritan ladies shyly tittered at the breechcloths worn by braves on that day!)
The Pilgrims had diligently tilled God's good earth to grow vittles for the feast,
And prowled forest and waterway on the hunt for fowl and four-footed beast!
Tables groaned with grub - the menu would've done the Waldorf-Astoria proud.
There was little talk 'cept for an occasional "pass the salt" from that ravenous crowd!
There were apple, peach and punkin pies and heaps of smoked and roasted turkey.
Also, fiery brandy, cider, barbequed beef, lima beans and piles of venison jerky!
Succotash, sweet pertaters, peas and turnips were heaped on pewter plates.
Gluttonous souls were heard to groan and appeared to be in desperate straits!
Missing was the dreaded green bean casserole that hadn't been concocted yet,
Since Campbell's mushroom soup, an essential ingredient, they could not get!
'Twas on that notable day that the strutting and hapless turkey made its debut!
(Oft I've mused - did the Palefaces and the Redskins play a football game too?)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I have fallen
I have fallen; this death I despise.
When I have fallen; will I rise?
Will I float up, above the skies?
I have fallen…will I rise?
Arise titan! You are strong of heart!
Arise puritan! You are pure of thought!
Arise illumini! You are the light in the dark!
Arise I tell you! This is the end of your war!
As I get to my feet, I am lost in a thought;
Am I strong enough? To rise once more?
Once more the time has come, to draw my sword.
Once more I manage to make a stand;
Never again shall I fall.
As angels lead me throughout Heaven;
I am surrounded by light, in search of family and friends.
As I am lead into the afterlife,
I am told my new life has just begun…
And there will be no end.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
You cast your gaze, sharp and cold/
A relic of Salem, a story retold/
Convictions weigh heavy, though truth stands clear/
Yet you brand me alarming, fueled by fear/
Your judgement looms, a shadowed stake/
Bound by laws, yet the fire you'd make/
If time unshackled your hands today/
Would I see the embers of history's fray/
Puritan echoes, they linger still/
Through whispers low and sharpened will/
Not robes and hats, nor torches bright/
Yet still you strike with veiled delight/
I am a person with rights to defend/
My faith, my freedom, no need to amend/
No shame, no guilt, no crime in sight/
Yet you twist belief into blinding fright/
You see the world in black and white/
A rigid mind, afraid of light/
Yet truth will stand where flames may fall/
And justice calls beyond your wall/
Let laws restrain what hands would do/
But laws can't cleanse the thoughts in you/
Puritan thinking, aged yet bold/
Still walks among us, shrouded in gold/
Chimera World
Ghostly midnight Moon
on crescent brink
made me a wink.
Behind clouds fled soon
in eye of blink.
Loitering in maze
on deep dense dream,
I had to scream.
I slipped, when to gaze
through mosaic brim.
Local guardian
of my hostel
put me in cell.
Perfect puritan
pushed me in hell.
Angel from Heaven
appeared in void
as an android.
and brought in garden.
My heart rejoiced.
Dressed in white christening gown
Creaky snow break mountain melt
Dissolves rigid in simmering spring
Ached ankles pummel, putrid pond
Ancient decompose steams surface
Sulphur syphons Winter hestitance
Grabs goblins soup bowl grotesque
Monster murky rub manic massage
Active agitate upsets puritan sculpt
Boiling bubbles bump aside burden
Besieged by beast belly, slimy spa
Crystallises chartreuse, past spent
Dunk of disgusting salve, hot spew
Baptises black ducks in inky erupt
Aotearoa flow, now zeal spills over
Rejuvenating Rotarua
- two lakes -
5th January