Long Robe Poems
Long Robe Poems. Below are the most popular long Robe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Robe poems by poem length and keyword.
What do I know, what do I know of you, Lord?
I know what you divulge. I know if I dig deep enough.
I’m not required to take a shovel, but to trust you,
as if that friend that waits to catch me as I fall.
You do catch me, even if I don’t see the effect.
Whys don’t wise me up, but between the cracks
you expose the deeper things and fruit matures
instead of weeds. L O V E
is the greatest produce.
J O Y ~
happiness within our hope.
P E A C E
that passes ALL understanding…
P A T I E N C E
under pressure, as we wait for the greater reward,
for our hearts want to jump too quickly.
God’s slowness is mercy. K I N D N E S S
toward our
fellow
man
G O O D N E S S not of our own making, but His.
G E N T L E N E S S ~
that spot-on touch from heaven
that wipes all tears
that quietly holds a friend or stranger’s hand.
F A I T H F U L N E S S ~
showing up, every time, at least
in thought or prayer, but yes, oh yes, showing up between
the cracks, when time stands still, when the clock won’t
q
u
i
t
and
when you want to binge, scream, die, keep an eye on
S E L F ~ C O N T R O L. You are not
in control, but the Spirit of God
will catch your lows
carry you high
into His bosom
where you lay your head
and He dries ALL your tears
and He washes your robe in HIS blood
that WHITE robe, precious.
Lest we forget, HE is our happily-ever-after.
Apparitions of buried memories exhumed with rash eulogies
Arouse dried up tears that ever fail to cleanse the robe of guilt
Arraigning again before the partial jury of tormenting thoughts
Kaleidoscopic filial relationships hypnotize the mind to dumbness
Kamikaze images on ethereal screen longingly beckoning for a role
Kedging the ship of life’s voyage with sorrowful tugs to damnation
Intentions misjudged rivet spiteful labels reflected by wicked eyes
Impaling arrows of hate perforate the spirit to seep out its essence
Invitation to invasion by dark fiends to fetter the mind’s fragile walls
Neglected on shore as brothers and sisters sail out with patron’s hearse
Neighbors cut out their flesh of revenge measuring with unjust scales
Neutral judges acquiesce with stolid silence as the gavel of authority
Black skin refuses to be cajoled by those richly perfumed emollients
Bronzing came by nature’s quirk and glistening the sweat of its kiln
Brawn cultivated in the gymnasium of hard labor threads the body
Anodynes are moments of laughter with friends that rob sorrow of joy
Allayed fears sucked into the chasm of oblivion by a vortex of pleasure
Annoyance a rare display on a platform erected on the base of candor
Mistakes of the past hurled as fiery pebbles of insult across continents
Mark with contorting bruises turning the face into an offensive mask
Maturity date for restoration of loaned out bond suspended on a caveat
Intermittent pulses race to recesses of cranial bank to withdraw memories
Intractable dramas staged to the roars of disgust banished with entreaties
Internalized are kernels of the fruit of life eaten hurriedly in ignorance
Emeka Akpe
On the weary wings of winter
the northern winds depart disheartened,
their harsh whisper in the frozen air
the frost-fastened barren boughs hear,
“wait, you’ll listen the sweet music soon,
don’t despair, the serenading southern breeze
will embrace you with the melody of spring”.
The misty mask of ambience melts away,
turns the sky into a cobalt cauldron,
the ambrosia of spring descends,
drizzles sequined aura in the diaphanous air,
gossamer clouds gorgeously embroidered
with the wispy ribbons of regal robe appear.
Lured by their shifting shapes of soft shadow
the buds begin to unfurl the hued fresco.
Defoliated trees spring to vibrant life
after their verdant resurrection,
the sunburst sky sprays surreal spectrum
on the dew-crowned emerald meadow.
On the cadenced flow of joyous zephyr
floral fragrance finds the aromatic course,
trailing the beguiled butterflies flittering
in the rhythmic waves of spring symphony.
The wondrous southern winds waft enthralled
your scintillating scent to me,
alluring me with the moonlit magical trance
to the amorous ambience of your grace.
Its silver sequins pulsate with the refrain
of the mesmeric moonbeam concerto,
resonating with the echo of ecstasy
of your eternal spring sonata.
One night I found the old bed I used to sleep on,
got tired of lasting confinement, decided to fly out.
On wings of the bed-sheet turning a soaring swan
it started to flutter away before I could even doubt…
could a bed really become a flying bird?
I clutched in fear the flapping wings lest off I fall,
through my bemused eyes I looked up skyward,
saw the stars beckoning me as I heard their call.
The bed flew to an alien land beyond the globe,
where vermilion sun was stuck in silk sky all the hour.
The flying bed got wrapped up in a colorful royal robe,
landed softly on a crimson valley of flushing flower.
Encircled by fairies I fell asleep on the flower-decked bed,
the unseen dreams I left dormant in my room returned.
These were not in black and white, but in blazing red,
took kaleidoscopic shapes I desired, my heart patterned.
Mind needs to invent a flying bed in the realm of fantasy,
form dreams in color painted by heart in trance of ecstasy.
January 1, 2021
Word Count : 180 ( PS Word Counter)
Contest : Fantasy With Fictional Beings
Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger
This morning weighs more than it should
a preponderance of sorrow and joy
about what I have and what I lost
and the moon to the west hides before the storm.
Astronomers say the universe, too, weighs
more than it should. It bears a dark presence.
I know I must let go of the love I’ve known
to put it in its time and place.
A side street lies in front of my house—
I’ve travelled many highways and roads
I’ll never forget.
I’ll always remember what brought me here.
Thunder rumbles over the hills
on a quiet morning as I sit at my laptop.
I write after I watch a video
of Ben Folds composing a song
for an orchestra in time minutes.
He lays melodies for the string section
upon melodies for woodwinds and brass
and he sings as the composition
comes to life.
My memories whisper as the screen fades
Clouds obscure the sky
and I long for much-needed rain.
A small sliver of atmosphere
hugs the earth and bears the change
just below vast darkness and bands of stars.
Rain patters the window as I sit
in a dim room and write
and I embrace what I compose
allowing my poem to possess
before I turn on the light.
The clothes dryer in the back hallway hums
as I wear my underwear and robe.
As the world around me lives and dies
I am looking for stars.
*Ben Folds— a pop music performer, pianist, and composure of classical music
i want you to know,
my body is your blank canvas
paint me with the manicured strokes of your brush,
bathe me in the lipstick red of your infinite touch
exfoliate my highly charged tactile robe of flesh
hold me!
my mind is your barren field to seed,
fertilize my soil with your green thumb
water my crop deep to my roots
let my stalk grow tall and strong
feed me!
my spirit is your glass to shape,
heat my crystal under a hot blue flame
melt me down to blend into you as one
blow us under the fire a goblet for one
drink until we stagger sweet, drunk in lust
consume me!
High up here,
amid this cold and alone,
my tools might best be
forgiven if they've
long-since forgot
that they deserve better.
But the only lips my teacup
have known are my blurburing two.
The only ink my brush has known
has been that scolded into some
sorrowful form on this not-mulberry rock.
The only skin this robe has known
was that of this persistent perpetrator.
It's yet to feel a worthy monk; the only sage its known
is the sage I've crumbled into my pestle
in pitiably inchoate mockery of an apothecary
when my knee went turned and grew as big
as my dreams.
The only ears or heart my poems have reached
up here, in this thin air,
have been,
has been my own -
Source and resting place of my
ignoble offerings.
I forgive my cup.
I forgive my robe.
I forgive my brush.
I forgive my flesh.
It never knew better.
It always deserved better.
It never knew better.
She wears only a light robe
and doesn't complains it's cold;
may I introduce her to you guys:
her name is crazy Josephine...
she drinks alchool and uses morphine...
what a shame: she a grandmother and tells lies!
Fatter than a cow, she eats cookies
dunked in carnation milk...and laughs as a freak,
or a drag queen showing her silver teeth;
that makes me think: did she ever take down those bullies!
I talked to her and told her to get off that staff immediately,
it doesn't work for her depression and loneliness...
will she heed, or continue doing harm to her body?
At forty two, she should think of a better existence!
Let me tell you about the weird personality of Josephine:
she can't cook or make coffee...she only cleans and sings
while Hannessy make her face red and she begins to dance
whispering, " Hi, sweety...hand me some of that ovaltine!"
Mad, mad Josephine, don't seduce me with your flamboyant charm,
I couldn't lie in bed with you, not even for a moment and whisper romantic words;
it would definetely kill any sexual desire even when the room is calm...
please go somewhere else, and find a boyfriend who won't close his eyes and arms.
In the quiet solitude of evening I come before The Lord.
In the secrecy of my chambers I seek His presence.
It is here that I kneel before my Master and bare my soul.
Tough I fail Him time and again He will receive me.
Though I disappoint Him He will not reject me.
Though He chastises me He will not cast me out.
He will lift me up from the mire and set my feet upon firm ground.
He will wash away my sin and clothe me in a robe of righteousness.
With His right hand He reaches out to me.
With His left hand He holds my enemies at bay.
With His right hand He provides all that I need.
With His left hand He shelters me from the elements.
All this He promises me for He is a loving Father,
And I am His Child.
Clothed with purple robe*, Saviour covered my damnation’s anguish
Bearing crown of thorns so in pride’s affliction I would not languish
Saluted “King of the Jews” only mockers could distinguish
Scourged to be crucified for my hell-fire verdict to extinguish.
Awarded with lovely sash of purple tints and hues
I’m grateful to God for blessings He does infuse
As He vanquishes my miseries blues---
Awed, I exalt His name, radiant with divine virtues!
*Mark 15:17 And they clothed him (Jesus Christ) with purple…
January 29, 2019
1st place, "CONTEST 560, any theme,any form..." Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 2/17/2019.