Long Sermon Poems
Long Sermon Poems. Below are the most popular long Sermon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sermon poems by poem length and keyword.
Before the mid night,
Under the elms beside my cottage
I stood still wet by the gentle falling rain, watching it drenching the nature reserves.
Where the gentle breeze from the cold touching my eyes lovely, closing in the mild feeling of the open heaven.
Then i dreamt, in my dead i dreamt
In my dream i saw, a waiver bird
Laying egg on a sycamore tree. I moved nearer to wish her well
Tis was a frightened call i heard ,in a feminine voice i heard
I knew she call my name , in a language i knew not
She spokes into my head.
I woke up in a cold sweat
My staggering self saw nothing but a dancing flame blowing away my cold
While it rain still yet the flame dancing without a trace of its heat.
Frightens! i move sideward for exit, then i heard a song : a soft and sounding song of a songbird
Singing a preach of a sermon of divination
Telling nations the need to repent
Ringing loud unto every ears that hear.
In the crepuscular halcyon sunset, bells tolled urging
the desultory audience to attend the sermon of the new pastor.
Despite their cynical sentiments, they dared not absent themselves.
The look of visceral satisfaction on the pastor’s face
was unmistakable. Outside light became penumbra,
Still, men and women trudged towards the chapel
as the dirge-like bells faded into silence. His audience was silent too.
He spoke in a sonorous voice, in an opulent resonant poetic vein,
an exuberant style which was to be his familiar characteristic:
Unbridled jealousy is a sin, he intoned, so speak no evil, my friends.
The interpretation of the listeners is FICTION. Still the advice is correct.
Heaven offers tickets to any citizen
Adhering to good behaviour, as Richard
Sin washed virtuous shines richeous
Permitted exclusive afterlife purchase
Richard prided himself on his neat appearance
Inside out Bible marked imbibed coherence
Nourised by 7am museli, leaving home soon after
Publisher for Eternal week days, on Sunday a pastor
Sermon prepared carefully, time consumed him
Pinnacle of Lord days pointed to duty resuming
Shared redemption message with congregation
Ensured wavering faith was infiltrated by elation
Devoted volunteer, full schedule proportionate
Monthly soup kitchen duty served less fortunate
Ten pm delivery of left over to his Mother's house
Widow nearing ninety, not readily able to get out
Forsaken God fearer one fateful day struck down
by hooligan during dawn walk in neighbourhood renowned
for echoing homes, high hedge edges hide pedestrians
Tyre tattooed road kill, dislodged by reckless heathan
Bedside machines duly beeped his fragile existence
Sacrifice of admired man to stagnant predicament!
Moral loyalty, immaculately ironed, full dedication
Could it be God had ordered his early eradication?
Flatlined screen, pulse serene denotes one way entry
To harp plucking, angel hosted, cloud palace heavenly
Proclaimed as reward, rule abiders' final destination
For the followers of God's word, a deserved salvation
Picket fence of precious metal keeps the sinners out
White ground expanse supports people equally touted
As pray-ers, obeyers, having delayed gratification
Burying bad tendancies for kingdom of imagination
Cloud haven loungers hear filtered sound of festivity
Scantily clad wilful tribal fire-side dancers devilish
Grins closed only to kiss ridiculous Mother marijuana
Eternity unconfirmed, turmultous tenure harnessed
27th June
Satire Saturday
Tongue in cheek contraversy needs no translation
Manic imaginings account for all inclinations!
Wending my way down a country road in my air-conditioned car,
In yon vale a weathered church steeple beckoned me from afar.
'Twas Sunday morning and the clarion peal of its bell caught my ear.
There stood a simple House of God with a graveyard in the rear.
My faithfulness in matters religious had never been that good,
Since attending Church and Sunday School in my childhood.
But something ethereal drew me to that bucolic setting so serene;
I craved deliverance from my stressful and very hectic routine.
I unobtrusively entered the sanctuary and sat in the very last pew.
An elderly pastor ministered to his flock, who numbered a scanty few.
The ancient hymns they sang evoked fond memories as a lad;
My eyes grew misty as I recalled singing them with Mom and Dad.
The pastor preached a simple sermon based on John Three-sixteen,
That would have stirred the soul of a reigning king or queen!
I left that modest but sacred place with renewed hope in my heart,
Inspired by those timeless truths that old pastor did impart.
I've heard profound oratory in majestic cathedrals o'er this sphere,
But never a more soul-searching sermon will I ever hear,
Than from that humble pastor imparting that message of old,
For the ears and souls of his faithful, God-fearing fold.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
It's not a prerequisite, of course, but if a piece of writing is any good, chances are it's probably offensive to someone. (Paraphrasing John Irving-A Widow for One Year) So, writer beware...
Words are a writer's stock in trade,
To ply it well requires a versatile,
Not volatile, vocabulary.
With words a writer's claim to fame is made,
But words can have broad repercussions.
So when he writes
He should select them well,
Not just to sell,
But so they don't arouse the scrutiny
Of those guys who comprise Homeland Security
And become the subject of discussions
Of the FBI, the CIA,
The DAR, the DMV,
The IRS, the IRA,
USPS, the EPA,
The PTA, SPCA,
AARP or AAA,
Twitter, NAACP,
The NFL, the MLB,
The LGBTQ community,
The NRA, the PGA,
NASA or the BBB,
Ellen, Oprah, Dr. Phil,
An ad hoc Sunday sermon bill,
Or his city, county, state constabulary.
Walls breathe insistent hunger,
red as the inside of a split pomegranate,
richer still where the tallow has melted,
slick as the fat from a burnt offering.
Scarpia does not eat.
He savors—sounds of gristle
snapping in the next room—
—low, wet gasps—
body writhing beneath unseen hands,
a melody of muscle breaking.
Tosca stands, spine locked,
as he drinks from a goblet brimming with the color
of a mouth left too long in the sun.
He watches her throat move,
slow, careful, like a deer
scenting iron in the air.
A scream glissandos through the walls.
Scarpia wipes his lips.
His fingers, thick as butcher’s twine,
gesture toward the door—
an invitation, a demand—
a sermon delivered without breath.
Tosca does not kneel.
Not yet.
But the feast has begun,
and the host holds the fermata.
(note: this poem was inspired by a scene from the opera Tosca by Giacomo Puccini)
Written: July 28, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
*************
The poem is inspired by the sonnet “That time of year thou mayst in me behold” by William Shakespeare
This variation on Sonnet XL1 illustrates what Kuhlmann intended.
Kuhlmann is a verse poem of two phrases interspersed with three related syllabic stem- words(nouns, adjectives )with an integral title. The label and form are derived from the baroque poet Quirinus Kuhlmann's 50 sonnet form Love-kiss XLI.
**************
Through flame: volatile, heat, light:
the metamorphosis
by night: stygian, cimmerian, peaceful:
near oblivion
by season: perennial, vernal, brief:
ochre haze
through heart: pulse, trust, will:
mystic confluence
from time: aeonian, transient, rigid:
euphony linger
through creed: esoteric, hollow, dogmatic:
undying spark
through age: golden, venerable:
filigree prison
through soul: immortal, eternal, cosmic:
oracular obelisk
by heaven: empyrean, elysian, celestial:
ethereal erasure
from perpetuity: ceaseless, fixed, static:
cenotaph sermon
through love: fervent, serene, poignant:
amber drape
from belief: devout, pragmatic, visceral:
inmost pulse.
Jumping into a pool
In spring
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into a thought
About love
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the sermon
At church
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the heart
Of a beloved
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the kindness
Of a stranger
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the warmth
Of a seat by the fire
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the air
From the hearth
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the work
With my best
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the moment
With a dream
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into the day
With sweet sunshine
Brings goosebumps
Jumping into love
Without fear
Brings goosebumps
November 4, 2019
Goosebumps Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Delilah Ventura
''Although only breath,words which I command are immortal''-Sappho, The Lover of Lesbos
The Lover's Lane Sermon. Uncensored Version
Klevahs jive with hollow echoes,streets glow like fake scenes,
Slaap Jans parade as greatness,hollow hearts clap along,
Pleasure devours the thoughtful,noise replaces silence-
We are caught flat-footed in limbo.
They worship nyaope,ignore the forge of truth,
Truth bending Influencers preach, Vloggers sermonize,
Top shayelas reigns and the meek pretend wisdom-
The Springbok sees the deceit.
Tomorrow will mock them,their children inherit shadows,
Malls,taxi ranks,hearts unsung,flames extinguished,
The music of courage lost,echoes fading in skyscrapers-
Regret will stalk their lives
I lament the death of song,ink drowned in apathy
Lover's letters lost in feeds,silenced,poems scrolled away
Wisdom left unread,memory hollowed by light-
The Secretary Bird mourns alone
Leaders smirk from gilded chairs,blind to justice,
Corruption glitters, where virtue once held sway,
Yet look to the ancients: Suzman,Blackman,Harmse
Mothers of wisdom guide the lost.
Return to fire,not fashion,return to song,not slogan
Seek beauty in duty,love as flame,not fleeting-
Let truth rise,let courage blaze anew,
Flames heal-if we risk the blaze.
Guide to The Uncensored Lover's Lane Sermon:
In your reading of this fragment be guided like this
Stanza 1- The Eternal Blaze
Stanza 2: The Falsehoods
Stanza 3: What moderns will regret
Stanza 4: What Sappho herself regrets
Stanza 5:Flawed leadership/Moral regeneration
Stanza 6: The solution to all of mankind's problems
Beautiful friends of Sappho:
Suzman: Helen Suzman
Blackman: Molly Blackman
Harmse:Hellena Susana Harmse
Click languages terms:
Kaas-The lokasie,the kasie,the location,the township.All places where black South African live
klevahs-the wise guys
Slaap Jan-A know-nothing
top shayelas-the high living
nyaope-drugs
tounship-township
There were warning signs proclaiming "DANGEROUS CURVE AHEAD!"
But no one paid much attention to them as on they recklessly sped!
On that treacherous stretch was a bend known as "Dead Man's Curve,"
Where many souls began their eternal bourne because they failed to swerve!
Other signs along that mountain road had more profound things to say,
That should have alerted folks to slow down ere there'd be a price to pay!
"PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD!" was erected by the Presbyterian Church,
But speeders ignored that sermon and met their doom for failing to lurch!
"ARE YOU PREPARED TO MEET JESUS?" admonished another sign.
This one was sponsored by the Baptist Church and was nailed to a pine.
But this homily went unheeded and many guys crashed through the railing,
Sailing o'er the thousand foot cliff, their auto, the desert floor impaling!
"THE WAGES OF SPEEDING IS DEATH!" read this creative message!
The Happy Valley Church of God had posted this not so subtle presage!
The Pentecostal Church's warning sign read "REPENT ERE 'TIS TOO LATE!"
'Twill ne'er be known how many ignored that hint, rushing to their fate!
The valley floor below was strewn with wrecked Buicks, Cadillacs and Fords,
Dodge pickup trucks, Happy Times motor homes and four Honda Accords!
On that winding stretch 'tis best to heed signs regarding "Dead Man's Curve"
Ere you join those hapless souls who met their doom 'cause they failed to swerve!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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