Long Reverenced Poems
Long Reverenced Poems. Below are the most popular long Reverenced by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reverenced poems by poem length and keyword.
Some things are sacred
They shouldn’t be tarnished
With vulgarity or crudity
They deserve reverence
God is holy, above anything
He shines down His love
That should never be degraded
With rudeness or offensiveness
There are some things in this life
That is worth more than wealth
Nature with all it’s beautiful wonders
Alive with glimmers of creation’s air
The very air we breathe is a gift
A God given part of our lifeforce
We could never measure it’s worth
It is what keeps us from death’s hold
The trees, birds and brilliant colors
Of an earth that is covered in joys
So enlightening that they surround
With hues of tenderest acceptance
The sacred should be reverenced
With true adoration and respect
That flows from our hearts and souls
With a sense of what is God’s purpose
True wisdom will tell every reflection
That we are sent here with an intention
To give the parts of our own selves
That will acknowledge the spirit within
His spirit desires to guide us to the way
The truth, the life… Jesus is the answer
To teach us about sacred revelations
That whisper with gentle benevolence
mother carey’s chickens scream
as they slide just above wave height
following our creaming wake
as we plough forwards on to night.
there is a peculiar type of silence
in that dark not dark out here at sea
more of a reverenced muted hush
as the stars break suddenly free
to pinpoint the arched non darkness
as the waves break and hiss
rolling surely around our hull
like a mother’s all embracing kiss
and the water seem to beckon me
tempt me but mange somehow to fail
night after night calling to me
as I press hard against the rail
and mother carey’s chickens
heel and glide and swerve around
joining their soulful calling
to the other oceanic sounds
and in the enclosure of the night
midway to the approaching morn
I can understand a call to dying
for it seems far too far to dawn
and the orchestra of nature still
plays its solemn unconcerned air
calling always calling
for you to join it there
there is a certain time when
the will to win that fight
seems to want to ebb away
and then suddenly first light
mother carey’s chickens salute
you’ve managed to survive
yet one more night at sea
and come through it alive
but our voyage is just started
maybe it will prove too long
and I or someone like me
will succumb to the siren song
mother carey’s chickens
role and glide and scream
dive through your sleep
to enter into your dream
it’s all part of fascination
of a life spent on the sea
as though I’m a part of nature
and that same nature’s part of me
Oh mighty Father..Lord of all creation I am
Calling out to you..For your Name is the greatest.' Just your Name Lord..Just your
Name.! I beg your indulgence Father through all the Ages You are always unchanging..Although you are always doing new things.' Lord i know you can see
The depths to which people have fallen as
The world leaders have joined in a group to
Mock You Father.' They have abused the gift of life, they have desecrated Your Altar
In the innocent souls they have killed I live
In the same world i too am human and sinfull Lord Father..Yet these actions admitted to.' Recorded flaunted..There to
My mind needs to be a reckoning..I ask you
Father to punish the wicked.' To remove them before their time Lord.' Yet may all be
Done in accordance with Your Will.' Yet i
beleive many people..Not perfect people
just like me Lord and Father,
would welcome a
Sweep of Your Mighty hand, if six were gone soon
Lord? that Your Name be again reverenced..Amen amen amen Your Will be done.'
Within a lush verdant meadow, meanders a lazy river
Where wildflowers bloom beneath the warm breath of the sun
They sway upon a gypsy wind on this early morning in June
Stems of purple heather rise above the carpeted earth,
Emerald green as any Irish hillside or garden near the shore
Their saccharine scented plumes attract the pollen seekers
Bursts of color can be seen in shades of scarlet and white
For growing on the river's bank is a plethora of anemone
Not the variety that resides in the depths of a sea
Yellow iris mingle with daisies in this alfresco arboretum
Untouched by the hand of man, it's an immaculate bouquet
Resplendent in perfumed glory and pristine perfection
There's the mellifluous sound of a cascading waterfall
singing a soft melody as it spills from crevices of granite rock
Nourishing the serpentine river flowing through the glade
This haven appears as an Elysian Field, as Eden must have been
A sanctuary to remain inviolate and reverenced by the gods
Perceived to be hallowed ground, too sublime for mortal man
September 29, 2021
Your Best Sijo Poetry Contest
Sponsored by William Kekaula
With many names, I'll reverence You in prayer.
Alpha and Omega, You've always been there.
The Word became flesh, and among us You dwelt.
Lamb of God, You bore each accusation dealt.
Holy Anointed One, Chief Cornerstone,
uniting believers, for sin You atone.
Great High Priest, we may access God through You
by confessing our sins; Your promise is true.
Emmanuel, "God is with us" in flesh.
Bright Morning Star, you forgive us afresh.
Messiah, Yeshua, Savior of the world,
by You ancient scrolls become unfurled.
Wonderful Counselor, you empathize,
tempted in all ways, proven sinless and wise.
Good Shepherd, you chasten those who go astray,
leaving ninety-nine for one runaway.
Lord, You are The Way, The Truth, and The Life,
The Prince of Peace in a world filled with strife.
King of Kings and Lord of Lords, above all,
before You all nations will one day fall.
Good teacher, You instruct us day by day
as we seek Your whole heart and humbly pray.
5-2-2021
Tell Me, Who Do You Say That I Am Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Sometimes, in the mornings,
The morning crows don’t sing—
Perched and preaching by a loblolly.
Breathe in this metanoia,
We all live for it.
And if the morning crows never reverenced,
Sitting at my doorstep,
Waiting for my feet to touch pavement,
I might’ve deemed you worthy of abasement.
But the morning crows chant my indiscretions,
To the man in the moon,
Too far to touch, too distant to see—
So I cannot tell him
Of my worries.
Fill up this cup with your americano—
It’s been so long since I’ve tasted of it.
The morning crows fear I will be different
When the sun sets
And daybreak ends.
So I hide in my sleigh bed,
Too frightened to tell you
That I am revolutionizing myself.
The morning crows now mourn the loss of youth.
As I settle down to become holy,
They sing my death—
Heedlessness,
Widening your eyes,
Sharpening your grin.
When I wane once more,
The morning crows will say,
They told me so.
Perched and preaching by a loblolly,
I am reclaimed, rosy-eyed.
Breathe in this metanoia.
We all live for it—
As exemplary as a High Priest
and consecrated as a Temple's Inner Chamber.
Respected amongst his colleagues,
reverenced by His subordinates,
distinguished, honorable and set apart.
Then came the moment of Truth
like the refining fire which may burn or may purify.
A Golden Opportunity never to be seen again,
but a situation to break or to make him.
This is Crude Diamond Ore from a glance
already anticipating to do it at once
creating an allabi with occurrence in France
and covering all traces in utmost Brilliance
Not minding his activated self-repugnance
certainly it will give birth to wealth and public acceptance.
If Life gave him more options, he'd freelance.
But with this one opportunity, he'd like to dance.
Having no qualms; even if he disappoints his fans.
He isn't to be blamed if Life is not a balance
and success among all has no concomittance.
This is the start to his enjoyment galore
but can be forever hunted by the Law.
The heaped pressure pressing more and more,
but what the Hell! It's just one flaw.
With a blessing so raw,
attached with bountiful Harvest he never saw.
Thinking of his glory and celebration
and already holding his blessing
like a woman in lactation
yet a part of him suppresses
his whole in castigation
making him feel so useless
like a man facing castration
forcefully taking his freedom
and peace in extortion
Just about to make the decisive move,
he resisted the push and forgot about the groove
having in mind, something to prove
he signed the blank cheque without adding another "0"
Father and son in the same world, facing opposite directions
both consciences battle it out in the ring beneath the palace
if his father won’t be in hell, he will be five minutes late
a man of no honour, less reverenced than his own white horse
this young man hawks kindness to his people to see the difference
but they are ravaged by the fungal itch of his dad
his hands are open to ease them of their pain from blisters
they reject from the perceived smell of the palace’s butchery
the man sitting on the throne flunks his people’s welfare
to the son, without their love, there’s no freedom
what is the use of a conglomerate without loyal employees?
why should the affliction of a people be a mortal’s delicacy?
in his dad’s chapter of the kings’ chronicles
he forbids the nation’s historians to write down his name.
if he’ll be the next leader, his father’s portrait will be painted in red.
my life is like a string
being stitched together and coming undone
being stitched together and coming undone
my heart is like a rainstorm
the pitter-patter of my soul filled of love soliloquies unsung
filled of promises broken and repeated and rerun
and broken again
and again
my life is like a string being stitched together and coming undone
being stitched together and coming undone
filled of triumphs and awards and “Bug, I’m so proud of you”
and crushed spirits disguised as “fun” and “Am’Agyn look what you’ve done” and look who you’ve become and look what you all have forced me to be
my life is like a string being stitched together and coming undone
being stitched together and coming undone
my face is like a quilt weaved in relationship but laced in regret but reverenced with love
the smile of my mom and the rest of my dad
whose absence I swear doesn’t affect me but sometimes I wonder if with him id be less sad
if with him that first heartbreak wouldn’t have broken me and left me me feeling more alone than had
more hurt than healed
more hated than held
My life is like a string being stitched together and coming undone
Being stitched together and coming undone
and to the first boy I loved i still whisper your name in every breath
because I meant it when I said until apart does us death
My life is like a string being stitched together and coming undone
Being stitched together and coming undone
Highly decorated, often imitated, never duplicated, still and yet they say it’s luck- Am’Agyn Nae Spencer
Unforgettable, remarkable, and always “the one”
yet and still bursting at the seams, seeping with yearning, a pine that could leave you foaming at the mouth, a pain that you wouldn’t believe until it poured out
or until its weaving weakens
like a stubborn string
being stitched together and coming undone
being stitched together and coming undone
love, a luminous infinite energy
Omnipotent it encompasses all
rainbows in sky, full therapy
Universal reverenced arching
Consummates Creation’s call
love, a luminous infinite energy
Eternal enduring marching
God’s cosmic coloured fall
rainbows in sky, full therapy
Relentless, bounties boundless art
Liberates equates huge or small
love, a luminous infinite energy
Pains or rains blessings into Heart
Arrives in doses or floods, enthrall
rainbows in sky, full therapy
Dark-Light it weaves, recall your part
Tender and fierce, raw emotions sprawl
Love, a luminous infinite energy
rainbows in sky, full therapy
~~~~~~~~~~~