Long Roof Poems
Long Roof Poems. Below are the most popular long Roof by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roof poems by poem length and keyword.
Christ’s new ministry was so interrupted
By Satan the Prince of the World
The fallen anointed demon in jewels
Trying to take charge in a whirl
“What is this teaching?” The amazed crowd asked,
“Isn’t this one the carpenter’s son?”
Unsettling as it was, he went on his way
Departing on foot for Capernaum;
Jesus made house calls in homes of the ill
While engaging Himself in their lives;
He rebuked the fever not the person
Determined with compassion he strived
Take the boat farther from land, Jesus called,
Throw your net into the deep water;
His call to Peter is His call to us—
Now you will catch men, do not fear;
You can make me clean, the leper believed.
Friend your sins are forgiven was echoed
As Jesus saw faith coming through the roof
To the paralytic, Take up … go…
Earthly bodies are mortal – life’s handbreadths—
Our lifetime is nothing in His sight;
Christ ignored neither the urgent need nor
The ultimate goal; the latter being right;
Satan is everywhere, e’en the wheat fields
On the Sabbath day of lawful rest—
The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath,
Withered hand restored and stretched out – Blessed!
Jesus is the authority and the LORD!
We are His tools to use in world’s strife,
Not needing praise and free from prideful hurt
We find rest in Him, the Way and Life
Luke 5:4, 10;
Luke 5:20, 24--
In a dream, I was exploring a green forest, lush and tangled with vines.
Following a path I was on a quest of some sort. As I journeyed onwards
I stopped often to investigate a wildflower or a plant or to listen to birds
singing and chattering. I have no idea what I was looking for but I was
on a mission, determined I walked through the thick vegetation and came
to a stream. Oh lovely, a place to rest, taking off my shoes I put my feet
in the cool stream, oh blessed tranquility! Of course, I fell fast asleep and
when I woke it was raining. I needed to 'seek shelter' so I started walking
deeper and deeper into the forest for a refuge, perhaps an abandoned den
or cabin. A haven from the rain and wind, hopefully with a roof! And then,
there it was the perfect hideaway in the shadows of ancient trees. An old
home, a retreat from the storm. The door creaked and spiders scattered.
It was dusty but dry, I set up a resting place in my new found sanctuary.
All that night I listened to the patter of raindrops on the roof and in the
morning to the dawn birds calling each other. I felt the sun on my face
and opened my eyes to find myself in my own bed with my purring cat.
birds twittered to me
as I traversed the forest ~~
a haven dwelling
Mocking the dead,
the vampire on the hill, high
above the cityscape. Why
does his cloak wrap around?
It moves with a hissing sound,
blackened on the outside,
blue on the molten graveside.
Sharpening incisors on the crag,
but
the villagers with their worn rags
tight fisted with their goodly lights -
those lanterns, infused with salt
of garlic, compelled forward in the dead
of night. Mockers and murderers, fed
by rage, want to dispel the wine and bread.
Hell,
the strangulation of fire, lava rolling
down the hill. Mocking, laughter -
the shivering of the old church rafters.
The reborn, new creation, settled
on roof-blowing praise. Nettled,
old Nick, the vampire king unsettled.
Mocking the dead,
making his own bed, jutting at jugulars,
darkening the atmosphere, drawing
congregants, unholy. But, someone holy
has his heels on the vampire’s head.
He’s been banished…dead heads’ rolling.
The glorious light of the lamb, consoling.
For Unseeker Seeker
Inner Conflict
Poetry Contest
13 / August / 2022
I instantaneously after reading this
thought this one has got my name
all over it and is just for mr
The best and only possible way I could
try to explain how my inner conflict
manifests itself to me is this
Imagine if you will my life as a out of
control runaway train with no driver
at the helm about to crash
Then I am the only passenger sat on
the roof in the best seat in the house
with a totally unobscured view strapped
firmly in
So I get a bird's eye view of the disaster
that is about to enfold
And all I can do is hope and pray it
comes quickly and puts an end to
the endless swirling butterflies and
sleepless night's
Of the conflict I toil with most of all
the possible damage I may be doing
and am inadvertently placing on other's
Wishing willing wanting only to help me
yet cannot help or are no help at all
The rain had started lightly as graceful drops on the windows. It was
peaceful and tranquil and it made me want to meditate and closing my
eyes I drifted away to a sweet place of relaxation. Fluttering on gossamer
wings. Tap, tap, tap on the windows and suddenly the wind was blowing
in the tangled trees with a loud whispering. Thunder roared somewhere
far off in the distance . . .
birds were twittering
unseen in the bending trees
then they were silent
Lightning began to illuminate the sky and the thunder moved closer. I
went to sit on the garden porch and I watched the rain cascading on the
foliage and flowers. I imagined their delight, so sweet it must have felt
on their leaves and blooms. They danced and swayed to the music of
the rain and wind. The steps into the garden were wet and beautiful
with dripping green. I just let myself float away . . .
soft and so gentle
rain weeping in the garden
the giver of life
It rained all the night, becoming a downpour. Sleep music on the roof
of my home as I lay in my bed, warm and cozy, listening until my eyes
drooped and closed. I awoke in the morning and the storm had passed
but the streets were flooded and rain was gushing from the storm runoffs.
I went out to the garden and it was so tranquil and still. It seemed happy,
and to me seemed a jungle rainforest . . .
a garden dripping
leaves heavy with the wetness
after the rainstorm
__________________________
September 13, 2015
Haibun
For the contest, My Favourite Forms, sponsor, Heather Ober
Fourth Place
The mad wind passed swiftly through the city showing mankind no pity, it captivate everything in its path, ripping up the cornfields, throwing down utility poles and opening up closed door. It circles around the creeks scaling sunlit mountains, mixing earth with stones and dressing the heavens with the gowns flying over the throne. It roots up the landfills, and settles beneath the foot of the hill circling, and twirling around for the eye that is set on the throne. It spews out a terrible sound reminding the people that destiny is around. It hisses and lashes, sending wooden planks over the bend and carrying the concrete a hundred meter down the lane.
The people run around the bend, looking for shelter underneath the altar but the mad wind drag them out and cause the entire town to jump and shout. It move ferociously around the pig pen and dances around the chicken coop, and drive the roosters from the roof, the ducks began to run too , wagging their bumpy tails and saying how do you do.
Zinc and pans, bucket and lamps crowd the street and debris flying in the air, landing in the bushes, and the middle of the streets, slowly erupting the town’s heart beat.The mad wind is moving towards the east, and I can finally get some peace. The sun is burning in the west, and I don’t have to fret, the fire is down to the wire and the vision is moving closer and some people are still looking for an answer.
I stand there breathlessly looking at the damages it left behind, overturned house fallen trees dug out road and overturned boats stalled cars in the middle of the street, and a temperature that lit up the street .Dead bodies floating in the rivers and screaming voices are heard from all places .People trapped onto of the roof and widow suck into the chimney with foot shaking up side down and head buried in the ground. The mad wind keeps moving leaving nothing unturned and the grey skies trembling in the sun leaving nothing undone and so the mad wind resides in the east.
I'm a forgotten home whispered the old house,
and I stopped walking down the street.
On my right was a decaying old Victorian home.
I heard her sigh and deeply breathe,
her former grandeur pale.
She had peeling paint and was covered with green moss,
as though nature was reclaiming her ~
she was crying, don't cry, I heard myself tell her.
I looked beyond her broken windows
and sagging porch.
Love your ornate cable trim, turret and wings,
such intricate architecture, I told her ~
Oh yes, once I was beautiful that is true,
once children played in my rooms,
many families have called me home,
until the last one passed ~
I can still hear happiness echoing.
Closing my eyes I imaged the interior,
of this home frozen in time.
And I am standing within ~
I could smell the rot and decay in each room,
dust and cobwebs, mold, and dripping water,
spiders, and shadows, holes in the floor and roof.
I weep for this forsaken, forgotten beauty,
her sorrow is seeping into my soul ~
reluctantly, I turn away . . .
What are you looking at baby?
I see the potato and pumpkin
rice making from grain
I see the proletariat
spending night in rockey plain.
I see dogs and the cows
too many in the field,
monkeys up on the tin roof
so many of games they yield.
I see the bottom of the water
There I see the frog and fish
When it rains, canals and banks sounds
ghangarghang ghangarghang, like this.
I see books and piles of notebooks
mom rebuke me each and every day,
the country where no pressure of lession,
where it is can you say?
I will go to that country
with the wheel and my kite,
I willl take the spinner and the rope
I would like to play there, alright!
Mystery Box
A gray morning made of concrete, bricks and clay
Where rain ceased, thin tributaries, stayed calm
Final elements of wet, evaporated in the thin streams
Faded into small crevasses on the street
Soundless on the emergent day
It was easy to see, above the road by the bridge
A faceless hard ground cracked by age
A green cube, sitting there, waiting
At the functional spot, at the center of attention
With singular precise proportions sealed, a box in angular perfection
Buildings looked up with windows closed, in disdain, in disbelief
Refrained from making roof top speculations about the thing
Rivers too looked away from this location
Moved babbling rapidly on
Hid under bridges, under rocks, with every drop concealed
Then ran like fugitives over brooks, overlooked and flooded
Avoided confrontation in the dark cornered waters
Hexahedrons could be contagious
So all things in nature moved away
Green box was out there all exposed in broad daylight
Made of metal or something else or so it seemed
There were no openings for that matter
Just six sides residing
No proofs that it was solid like a block
No facts laid out that it was empty like lost souls
Speculations indicated nothing but a box
Quiet fell around it like a hammer
Looking for a nail that was not there
Clearly, the cube that sat in plain view
Had nothing better to do
To bring this matter to conclusion
It was avoided at all cost
Box or not
This was its final stop
The thought of Parades, Fireworks, and everything in between from Macy’s Herald Square. It was the capturing moment of the heart by a Five Year Old boy being the writer. I was a member of the MMG team known as Macy’s Merchandising Group at the Corporate level at Penn 11 Plaza in New York City. It all started when my Aunt Elmira took me to Macy’s Herald Square, and we were walking around the store, and I was startled, and my attention was drawn by a marquee eyes pulsating moving back and forth with an array of school buses on display. The school buses in yellow and miniature toy students inside, and the roof was partially open. Unknowingly to my Aunt, I had picked up one of the buses, and held it tight in my tot hands for life. Once when my Aunt was ready to leave Macy’s. My Aunt noticed that picked up one of those school buses in my hand from the display. My Aunt told me to put the bus back, and I wouldn’t. Through my mind was shouldn’t. My Aunt even tried to take the bus out of my hand, but couldn’t. I had a strong grip for a little tot. As s tot, I was determined that the bus was going to be mine regardless. I even kicked my Aunt. My Aunt was forced to buy that bus at Macy’s. That ordeal led me to exposure to the bus industry in moving and observing.
This all led me to become a Bus Hobbyist in the preservation within the motor coach bus industry, and working for the hound being Greyhound Bus Lines, Inc. in my teenage years while I was going to college as a Package Express outside Account Executive. Macy’s opened the doors for me being the bus industry, and their headlights. An opportunity through the tunnel of intrigue. It was the open road with clear concise ideas, and the off ramp being my destination. It was the notion with presentation, and the buses in becoming my collecting structure. Who would have thought, Macy’s being my saga in becoming a bus enthusiast, and forming idealist. Thank you Macy’s for starting my first Bus Road Trip, and the chapter in stepping down memory lane and acknowledging the highway.