Long Saint peter Poems
Long Saint peter Poems. Below are the most popular long Saint peter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Saint peter poems by poem length and keyword.
The fragrance of roses always in bloom
The softness of a summer's eve in June
Colors not known by the human eye
Clearest of blue is the Heaven sky
Fields of clover with four leafs of all
Trees of every color with leafs that never fall
Flowers that cover a million rolling hills
From the lazy daisy to the laughing daffodil
Berries and fruits so sweet and delicious
Veggies and herbs tasty and nutritious
With crystal clear streams emptying into a sea of dreams
And a sunny radiance from His Glorious Being
Velvelt grass for bare feet to walk upon
Dazzling birds fill the air with song
Every animal in contempt and peace
The lamb fears the lion not in the least
The morning dew washes all with drink
The happy old elm welcomes one to sit and think
Bushes and shrubs of every shape and size
Lushes foliage for cherubim to seek and hide
A place to relax on the Day of Rest
Angels and saved souls enjoy it's bliss
Lemons that are sweet and sunny
It is a land flowing of milk and honey
Once Saint Peter lets you through Heaven's Gate
The brilliance of Paradise has but one place to escape
I'm not complaining so I beg your pardon
But a day of Bliss is spent in Heaven's Garden
Soiled sinners lecturing on the art of being pristine.
Innocents retreat to black pits and darkish seams.
God tucked away the red lantern and ivory ring.
Very few are rescued from the darkness within.
The good sheep are mixing gospel and fear.
Charlatans and sharks are circling in with shears.
Talking heads are in it for ratings and attention.
Town criers' race-baiting for a vote once again.
Millions gorging on fish and blue-collar greens.
Very few are sowing; they're just takers of the seed.
The horizon is deeply rouged and roughened.
Nobody cares enough to balm it up or buff it.
Bloated children are crying out once again.
Cupboard and pantry are running very thin.
The lullaby and nursery rhymes are dulled.
So, one day they decided just to snuff them.
Black crows preening atop a thorny crown.
The curtain of humanity came crashing down.
Somewhere deep in the soul of a dead-end night.
Heaven was nailed to a neon, no vacancy sign.
Saint Peter packed it in without even saying goodbye.
One day at the Pearly Gates
An Atheist appeared
Slightly stunned at what he saw
He looked a little scared
Filled with doubt he slowly moved
Now seemingly annoyed
Where was the numbing silence?
And hollow empty void?
With glaring trepidation
He moved towards the light
Cautious now he paced himself
And tried to look contrite
Saint Peter had been watching him
With patience from the gate
The Atheist’s had come before
Each one was worth the wait
The Atheist stood before him
Now in the luminous glow
With downcast eyes, apologized
And gasped “I didn’t know!”
Saint Peter’s words came slowly
He seemed somewhat aloof
“I would like to believe you sir,
But there simply is no proof!”
When I saw the Grim Reaper
pull out his peeper and pee on the patio,
I yelled, "Hey Jack!
Can't you use the facilities out back?
That's what normal people do, you know.
I always said I wasn't afraid of death,
till one night, Death tried to rob me of my breath.
And as I was gasping for air,
he said with a cold, penetrating stare,
"Next time they ask if you're afraid of death,
just say 'Yesth.'"
I came to this hospice to die.
I see Mister Death standing by.
He's consulting a note.
I thought he did everything by rote.
What’s with that quizzical look in his eye?
When Mister Death had me firmly in his grip,
I pleaded, "Sir, can we please make this a round trip?"
He said, "I'm sorry to say,
this trip is only one way.
But we do serve drinks, and chicken wings,
with a delectable ranch dip."
When it got to be close to seven,
we were still a half-light year away from heaven.
I said, "Mister death, one question more.
When will we get to heaven's door?"
"Oh, not till tomorrow morning, Sir,
about a quarter past eleven.
When I reach the pearly gates with the grim reaper as my guide,
I hope the question of whether I get heaven or hell is only for Jesus to decide.
Because if Peter is allowed his opinion, and then that apostle Paul,
I don't think I stand much of a chance at all.
When we got to heaven, Saint Peter said,
“Hurry in, quick, so I can shut the door ~
you were being closely followed by the Babylonian whore.
And if she were to get in,
God only knows what trouble I'd be in.
Heaven would never again be the same as before.”
To folks staring at a screen in a brightly lit room,
I said, "I have arrived in heaven, right, I presume?"
"Yes, yes," they replied, my soon-to-be heavenly friends.
“But until this gosh darn epidemic ends,
there's no other way to do heaven but by Zoom.”
Heaven is not at all what I expected.
It’s hell to be stuck in a place with the boring elected.
They do nothing but this goody-goody-two-shoe stuff!
Believe me, after half an eon, I’ve had just about enough.
Oh, where’s the escape button? I wanna be ejected.
The end
(3/7/12)
There were days in my life that I recall
When there was no hope left - no hope at all.
Then my thoughts wandered to CHRIST
And I felt that I was in paradise.
SAINT PETER was there to meet me at
Those pearly gates
And I knew I was there because I never lost faith
there were angels on both sides that lined
The path to his throne.
My family and friends were there, so I wasn’t alone.
The choir of angels singing all in tune
And I knew my life didn’t end too soon.
The path was filled with the brightest of lights
My oh my such a beautiful sight.
And the trumpets blared with the most beautiful sound
As the angels all gathered around.
I walked up the path as if I was floating on air
Because I left behind any worries and cares.
Although I felt a slight pain in my heart
Because I had left so many behind
But I knew that they would be fine.
The transition from being a mortal man
To being a guiding light , had made
My heart jump as it took to flight.
I could now help others more than ever before
For my lord had opened those doors.
Our souls become like lightning bugs that light up the sky
That’s what we become you and I.
We light up the path for all others to see
As we greet friends and family.© L .Rams
" Many, many years ago our Parish Priest told this story, and I have never forgotten it. The moral being that God helps those that helps themselves. It was a pleasure to put that story to rhyme, and tell it in my own way" The Poet
The dam wall breaking had caused the floods and water flooded the town.
The deluge swept up cars, animals fleeing to high land, so they did not drown.
One man stood on his veranda watching the flood waters rise.
A four- wheel-drive vehicle came. The driver called “hop in“ sounding wise.
No thanks said the man, God will save me, go help some other guys.
The flood water rose, and the man took safety up on his second story.
From the window he saw a motorboat. I don’t need help. I trust God’s glory.
Water nearly submerged his house. On the roof he turned a helicopter away.
Calling to them "I don't need help I have faith that God will save the day."
The torrential flood swept him off the roof, he just couldn't hold on any longer.
He tried to swim, the torrent of water made a current that was much stronger.
The horrific floods took a terrible toll. After the floods finally did subside
Saint Peter opened what he called the flood gates, to all those that had died.
The faithful man said, drowned and bewildered, to God “why'd you let me die?”
God replied, “You refused the 4WD I sent, the boat and helicopter That’s why!”
Road To Hell
A blind neglect
imbues our sleep
Where idle hides
a wound cut deep
The apathetic
coward reigns
when good intention
— rhymes with pain
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Charlie’s Hand
"And when we meet in joy again
an Angel's welcome to befriend
As Heaven's Gate swings open wide
Saint Peter waiting just inside
With Charlie reaching out his hand
— to take us to the Promised Land"
(The First Book Of Prayers: March, 2026)
Piercing The Veil
The tip of your pen
its inkwell unleashed
to vanquish the darkness
where liars will sleep
The point of your spear
finds the darkest heart
To kill and impugn
— where depravity starts
(The New Room: March, 2026)
Wasteland
Staying a stranger
defines who you are
Living in darkness
— alone and afar
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
Walking The Line
An unfortunate truth ...
a fortuitous lie
The first calls you inward
— the second to die
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
St. George May not be English
By Bob Moore(c) 2016
St. George may not be English
but he’s England’s Patron Saint
St. Patrick is Saint of Ireland
but an Irishman he ain’t
St David was a Welshman
but St Andrew, not a Scot
the brother of Saint Peter
so Scottish he was not
St. Denis, Patron Saint of France
an Italian was born,
and Spain has the Virgin Mary
we celebrate that special mom
Most patron saints have helped the country
where they are now revered
to rid the population
of the things they have most feared
Legend says St Patrick
chased the snakes into the sea
whether this is true or not
remains a mystery
And did St George slay all the Dragons?
in England’s pleasant land
or is this just a story
passed down from hand to hand
These legends and these stories
are lost in myth, and history
but there are no snakes in Ireland
and in England, no dragons there be.
Genghis is my little me me dog
for attention he is a little hog
Wanting to be first through the door
he knocks down Kublai to the floor
Always growling and yapping to get his way
even steals Kublai's toys when Kublai plays
If you pet Kublai on the head
Genghis pushes forward so your petting him instead
Me me it has to be me
a spoiled little doggy how could it be
But Genghis is loyal and guards proud
his warning bark is very loud
He love me more than everything
he is so jealous it brings him pain
Genghis shadows me and lets me know
it's time to sit on my lap or to be hold
When I leave he's yapping don't go
he sits inside by the door to know
The moment I'm home so he can explode
crying and dancing begging to be hold
So he can kiss me on my face
and wag his tail all over the place
When it's time to go to the vet
he screams and howls an awful fit
Fearing I may abandon him
He won't settle till where home again
When we relax outside
Genghis yaps at me till I hold him high
He turns his head to see
everything that possibly could be
His large ears perk right up
like radar he listens to all the stuff
My me me dog is silly and fun
I wouldn't replace him with anyone
Genghis and Kublai are getting old
it won't be long to Paradise they go
And when I myself go to my reward
my little doggies sitting inside Heaven's door
After Saint Peter lets me through the Gate
Genghis yapping for making him wait
He'll knock down Kublai to the floor
being first to welcome me running out the door
When I was young I was eager and free,
believing in something came quite naturally.
Found new things to conquer and new hills to climb,
worked hard for perfection most all of the time.
Dug through information piled high as the sun
to find threads of truth I could weave into one.
I opened my heart and my mind to the sky,
wrapped all things together and understood why.
Dug deep to find purpose and when I was through,
had moments of clarity wherein I knew -
what my life was about, who I am, why I’m here,
then set out to change the world into a sphere.
For I learned how to change the flat plane we are on
into a fine circle of balance and song,
with flowers in the trees bearing fruit on each limb,
a world so much better than what we live in.
So I worked t’ward perfection in shaping the plane,
was told many times that I’m probably insane.
Pulled swords out of stone and defied gravity,
walked on the water but got lost at sea
where just like Saint Peter I sank into doubt,
and gasping for air I did not figure out
that the hand of the Lord was extended to save,
so I sank like a rock to a watery grave.
Now here at the bottom I lie in the cold,
crushed by the weight of a mass overload.
No light can reach me, my striving is through,
no hills to climb and no grand things to do.
No more do I conquer so eager and free.
Pity and doubt are what come naturally,
and the only thing anymore that I perfect...
this long list of everything that I regret.