Long Rachel Poems
Long Rachel Poems. Below are the most popular long Rachel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rachel poems by poem length and keyword.
Murder of the Bethlehem Children
Matthew 2:16-18
When you consider the wealth of love,
Language, fashion and script of cree,
We have in today’s society - stealth dove,
Then you see past societies as plea.
Savage, murderous and passionate,
The governments did not create freespace,
But rather killed kids, women and primate,
Without knowing the boundaries, trace.
“16 When Herod knew the magi had fooled him,
He grew very angry. He sent soldiers to kill,
All the male children in Bethlehem [the dictum]
And in the surrounding territory, [he did till] -
Who were two years old and younger [ok],
According to the time that he had learned,
From the magi. 17 this fulfilled the word [clay],
Spoken through the [prophet] Jeremiah [earned].
...A voice was heard in Raman, weeping [loud],
And much grieving. Rachel weeping for [denounce],
Her children, and she did not want to be [vowed],
Comforted, because they were no more” [announce].
That was Matthew 2:16-18, and the reference,
To Raman was that this name meant ‘advice’,
‘Decision’ and ‘protector’ in Greek, deference,
To top people, the leaders who heard twice.
Rachel is a reference in this New Testament,
To Jacob in the Old Testament, Genesis,
Who chose to partner this beauty ardent,
Not Leah, in line and traditionally epigenesis.
When traditional structures persist, filtered,
Do you supersede and claim, or run away?
Jacob did marry Rachel, but was altered,
Such that their children did toil and fray.
Their affidavit was not heard possibly,
Until Matthew fought the case for rulers,
To be chosen, not birthed, their ability,
‘Cos Leah the older sister was droolers.
Thus, because Jesus was born a gem,
To a line of Jewish worshippers, Torah,
Not to governors, Herod the taxer, hem,
Wanted Jesus dead, a criminal pakora.
There was no reason for this cull, cerberus,
To kill all these babies, kids the citizens,
Absolutely. Morally, no death admonitus,
Is legal. Life is right, and judged ions.
Common English Bible used.
Allison scrunched up her nose and oinked like a pig.
Joey stuck out his tongue and opened his eyes so big.
The other children in the classroom laughed out loud
when silly little Willie made his funny face then bowed.
Erin rubbed her little cheeks red with lots of finger paint.
Jack patted his face with chalk dust and pretended to faint.
Rachel pulled her eyebrows up and her chin way down
while Brent spiked his hair and wore a bad boy frown.
Each kid had a turn to try to win the honor and prize.
The shyest child of all was the winner. What a surprise!
It was the quiet little girl who was funniest of them all.
Jenna pursed her lips and cried, "Mama," like a real doll.
Then the teacher said, "It's time to return to your places,
but I promise we'll have another day of making funny faces."
April 21st, 2016
Salt flavor on the beach inside the tent
Beneath the folding flesh, a taste
Licentious fever measured on the oiled skin
Blankets grasped by fingers in the grip of love
Ocean breeze, wave and breath of passion crest
Overflow into the nature of the lady and her man
To the edge they crash with every hunger craven
Coupling never ends, hidden under sun in heat
Lovers stop, only to softly speak each other’s name
Then start again inspired, desires repeated in the tent
Clinging to release each other's open lust upon the blanket
In a summer sweat
Created on 2/28/15 for Hotsy Totsy – Poetry Contest – Sponsored by: Rachel Firmin
Come from the East, they tracked a star and gave a king their gold.
Then leaving by another way, warned in a dream, foretold.
Another sought him - Rachel weeps; she will not be consoled.
Then frankincense for a high priest, to consecrate the child.
Grain offering: the bread of life was beaten, scorned, reviled.
Propitiation for God's wrath, that we might reconcile.
Last, myrrh, a precious fragrant oil for healing, it was said.
With nard, his feet washed with her tears and hairs atop her head.
When mixed with wine, a bitter gall; with herbs, embalms the dead.
There's naught else mentioned of these men, but this we know is true:
The Magi recognized the signs, and further followed through.
So seek this child; you don't need gifts ~ in truth, He just wants you.
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for the Writing Challenge - Write a Christmas Poem Poetry Contest
sponsored by Constance La France
11/27/2022
Rooty Toot Toot, two men in a boot
Bobbing along on the waves
One was old with long silvery hair
Renowned for being quite brave
The other had pimple on the tip of his nose
He was cross-eyed and cranky at best
“That's an omen!” the old man told him
“Squeeze it, and you'll surely be blessed”
As he squeezed it a humongous zit popped out
Flying through the air it transformed
To a beautiful maiden with wings of silver
And a sweet tender smile so warm
The maiden decreed, “You both have a wish
But your wish you must never reveal
Make someone happy beyond their dreams”
They took on the task with much zeal
The pimple guy had a marvellous plan
Knew Rachel the young girl next door
Was always wearing the same shabby clothes
Decided she needed the wish much more
As for the old man, he'd had a good life
So he also wouldn't keep it for himself
Thought he would help out this needy family
Blessed them and wished them good health
So the silvery haired man and the pimple guy
Were rewarded for their unselfish act
Nevermore would they want for a thing in life
Absolutely nothing that they would lack!
Rooty Toot Toot, two men in a boot
Bobbing along on the foam
The pimple guy and the silvery haired man
Are heroes wherever they roam!
© Jack Ellison 2012
A is for an album to hold my stamp hoard,
B is for back of book where my “specials” are stored.
C is for the cancellation that causes such strife,
D is for definitives with their unlimited life.
E is for excitement, the thrill of the find,
F is for fiscal and its financial bind.
G is for the gum that sticks them in the post,
H is for the hinges displaying those I love most.
I is for imperforates, those joined with no holes,
J is for a Johfra box to soak off without bowls.
K is for a killer mark that destroys a stamp’s worth
L is for local stamps with a limited dearth.
M is for the magnifying glass used for searching out flaws
N is for the newspaper stamps that brought headlines to our doors.
O is for “officials” with a government cachet
P is for postage due when the sender fails to pay.
Q is for the Queen’s head on all British stamps
R is for retouches and forgers re vamps.
S is for a stockbook for stamps that are spare
T is for tweezers to handle them with care.
U is for unused, a stamp postally mint,
V is for variety, it has a fault in its print.
W is for watermark to prove authenticity
X is for xanthic spots, rust, that strikes without pity.
Y is for youngsters and encouraging their dream
Z is for Zemstvo a rare Russian theme.
To see a stamp thrown in the bin, now that is such a crime,
I’ll revere it in my collection making it sublime.
Written 1st March 2013 by Rachel Fawcett. I am a Trained Nurse by day and spend my time off collecting stamps and trying to write poetry. I haven’t been publicly writing very long and this is only the second poetry competition I've ever entered. I love writing as it stretches my imagination and I enjoy the challenge it brings. I love collecting stamps as they bring order to my mind.
When Jacob fled from Laban’s house,
He went with everything he had.
With Laban off and shearing sheep,
He set his face towards Gilead.
It was while Laban was away
That Rachel did a thing most odd:
While packing for escape that day,
she pilfered Laban’s household gods.
When Laban found out they had left,
He mounted chase in swift pursuit,
O’ertook them, leveled charge of theft,
Demanded swift return of loot.
But Jacob raised protest, denied,
Invited him to search the tent.
Whoever stole would surely die.
(Not knowing Rachel’s ill intent)
So Laban searches, he finds naught
The idol hid between her legs.
“I cannot rise,” remains uncaught.
“The way of women,” how she begs.
At this, I thought, a question begs,
For Rachel felt a sense of shame,
An idol hid between her legs,
But do we likewise feel the same?
The idol ‘twixt the legs now, sex,
We glorify and lift on high.
We, full immune to shame’s effects,
No longer blush, see naught awry.
We flaunt it in the public square
For all to see, on full display
These things just better left unshared,
That shouldn’t see the light of day.
What lesson do we draw from this?
Perhaps it’s simply to remind
That, holding on, we are remiss;
Our idols, best, when left behind.
(from Genesis 31)
Bird watchers say
there are birds that return in spring to play
build a nest, raise their young
but as seasons change there are always some
who stay the winter, forage for seeds
familiar ones that cling as autumn bleeds.
The robins well know
the proper time to come and go
and as the chill begins to fall
black-capped chickadees and wrens tweet their call
with caped juncos and titmouses slipping thru the trees
riding in on a wintry chilled and icy breeze.
Others stay like the screeching blue jay
clinging to a set of traditional ways
there is a click of cardinals bright orange and cherry red
slip in and out the old decaying garden bed,
woodpeckers like the big red-bellied and downy
glide sideways up trunks to find their bounty.
As winter ice and snow begin to fade
familiar feathers return to the glade
robins, sparrows, orioles and waxwings flit in and out the yews
nesting in houses left from buntings of red and indigo blue
you can catch a glimpse of the bevies in their gathering
mocking catbirds, wrens, doves and finches blabbering.
Birds of spring return in March on varied dates
some earlier far sooner than late
born for flight, scanning the earth escapes
reaching back in time unable to hesitate,
called by an ingrained memory
back to the place of their fledgling treasury.
Surely there are more feathered flybys
but climate change and migratory spies
and sadly on occasion, some clusters face
extinction by the human race
finding fewer familiar species in the states
the greed and corruption of primates.
They're just birds some will say
but if Rachel Carlson's Silent Spring arrives
how many will we find, survive?
For Spring BIrds contest
sponsored by Constance La France
2/19/21
Jacob loved Rachel
Laban connived
Jacob wed Leah
Leah, weak eyed
Jacob wed Rachel
Seven long years!
Rachel was loved
Rachel was barren
Leah was scorned
Leah was bearing
Leah bore Reuben
See, a son!
Leah bore Simeon
God has heard!
Leah bore Levi
I am attached!
Leah bore Judah
Now, I will praise!
Rachel felt envy
Let me just die!
Jacob was angry
Am I now God?
Rachel connived
Here is my servant
Bilhah conceived
Bilhah bore Dan
Rachel, relieved
God has judged!
Billah bore Naphtali
I have wrestled
Wrestled with Leah
Rachel prevailed
Leah competed
Here is my servant
Zilpah bore Gad
Good fortune has come!
Zilpah bore Asher
Happy am I!
Rachel got mandrakes
Leah got Jacob
Leah bore Issachar
Wages, for hire
Leah bore Zebulun
Now I have honor!
God now remembered
Rachel, not barren
Rachel bore Joseph
May he add!
Remove my reproach!
Rachel bore Benjamin
Son of my strength
Son of my sorrow
Rachel then died
Jacob loved Rachel
Jacob then cried
(from Genesis 29, 30, 35)
I seriously don't know what style this is - seems a little structured to be free verse? I would welcome comments or opinions on that - I have not run through all the listed types/forms, am trying to continue to do so.
Form:
Annie Lander
I never took notice of
Aunt Jemima photo as exploitation
Nothing racial or stereo types (did you)?
All I remember was the sticky bottle
on our kitchen table, next to a stack
a sack of pancakes or bakes :
I wonder who going to take her place
Would it be Rachel Ray, or the pioneer woman?
Black lives matters movement
is cleaning house of justice
and the rats behind the walls is surfacing:
Would poems about Negros race be erasing?
The things we fear most will come upon ya!
Are we making appointment with another riots-- plus death?
Have we any ideas who is attacking our souls
It's like what the Spanish proverb says –
**"Drink nothing without seeing it; Sign nothing without reading it." Quote :**
When words go blind
Tracing one ideas
Would be so hard to recalled
Through darkness one will fumble
Leaving a life of consequences
Visionless:
we cannot save them from the angry wind