Long Setting up Poems

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Holy Passion

ALERT: A carpenter's son is loose in the Temple
Birds flutter, animals hustle, merchants scream.
The zeal for Jesus' Father's house consumes Him
As the place for foreigners to pray had become a zoo.
 
ALERT: A prophet is setting up for a Baal battle.
Baal's priests even cut themselves yet no fire.
After taunting, Elijah fills his altar with water.
Calling on God, fire consumes and people bow.
 
ALERT: An old man is building a huge boat ship.
Without a cloud in the sky and only son's to help.
When finished the animals come on call to board.
Rain starts, doors close – 8 saved by holy passion.
 
ALERT: Jesus is telling a tax collector he'll join him for dinner.
Heedless of the Pharisees despising and the crowd's surprise.
Zacchaeus totally changes – offering to multiply stolen money.
A single sinner saved multiplies even more this holy passion.
 
ALERT: Peter plus are preaching in the Temple again.
After being imprisoned for just that, now rearrested.
Whipped by the authorities, the disciples rejoice -
For they've been counted worthy to suffer with Christ.

ALERT: Daniel's praying openly even after it's become illegal.
The royal advisers gleefully have the king throw him to the lions.
Strangely they don't seem hungry till after Daniel is pulled out.
So the king openly praises Daniel's God for this amazing miracle.
 
DOUBLE ALERT: Jesus is talking to a Samaritan woman!!!!
Breaking cultural barriers to share the message of salvation
To her who has been married 5 times and is living with the 6th.
She believes he's the Messiah and brings the town to Christ!
 
ALERT: Paul's going back into the same town that stoned him.
He's preaching again after shipwreck, jail, beatings, and such.
Persecution seems to encourage Paul that he's doing the right.
Passionately following the Savior who turned Him 180 degrees.
 
ALERT: Bible translators burned at the stake for God's Word.
Missionaries avoid death and disease long enough to share life.
Stirring Holy Passion in receptive people who repeat the cycle.
Changing cultures in bondage into those sharing Jesus' love.
 
ALERT: What passion has the Lord put on your heart? Mine?
Can we pray to see His will find its way in our everyday lives
So the lost shall see, hear, find Christ and grow to share Him?
Eternity is forever, this life is not. Fill us Lord with holy passion.


Haunting the Ghost

I’ve been haunting this old gothic
since nineteen eighty,
when I died from a brain tumor
at the age of sixty-three.

I cannot leave this antique home,
I am well-bound within,
must haunt it for one hundred years,
punishment for my sins.

See this is true purgatory,
how souls suffer for crimes,
not able to ascend upwards,
’till we’ve served out our time.

It is quite a strange sensation
to both be here and not,
in this world but not of it,
plays hell with the thoughts.

But it would be manageable,
’cause Heaven does await,
except that when I first got here
I made a dumb mistake.

Often when we first coalesce
we feel sorrow and pain,
death and intangibility
run havoc in our brain.

And in that supreme confusion
we can lash out in fear,
this is just what I did to all
people who came here.

Most of them ran off screaming,
what else can you expect?
But soon the word was spreading wife,
setting up what came next.

Tourists started to arrive here
to seek a glimpse of me,
and they always seem to get one
because, good folks, you see

that when a ghost touches the flesh
it gives us a hit of life,
drags us out of silent watching
into visible light.

That’s when the people can see us,
wispy shapes and glowing orbs,
the problem for us ghosties is
we’re always wanting more.

Like an addict of lifelong drunk,
the urge burns out-of-control,
a moment of what we have lost,
of what cold death has stole,

Feels better than the greatest high,
it beats out even sex,
instead of waiting here in peace,
we’re just left a jonsing wreck.

Maybe that’s part of our penance,
or maybe Satan’s sway,
all I know is I truly wish
I did not feel this way.

I wish people did not come here,
their presence tormenting,
we were once told death brought rest,
but I’ve felt no such thing.

Worse yet are the ghost-hunters
trying to record it,
a man’s afterlife should be more
than a way to turn profit.

If never did people come here
I would not have this strife,
I’d be at peace to think about
my family and wife.

I could focus on forever,
when I’d see them again,
not always be pulled back into
the lives of living men.

I’ve sixty-two more years of this
and it may cost me my mind,
I wish the living wouldn’t haunt me,
just let me do my time…
Form: Narrative

Something About the Month of May

Something about the month of May
Through early dawn unto the day
From dusk to night's twinkling play
Of all nature's beauty on display
The Star's own star shines on so bright
Like the sparkle in her eyes alight
I chance to catch her downcast sight
That sets me lost in love's delight
The day brings colors atop the trees
Magnificent blossoms sway in the breeze
With flaming crimson and fiery red
That fall to form a flowery bed
And upon this path together we tread
I'd pick a flower as on we walk ahead
Put it gently upon her ear to stand
Then carry on walking hand in hand
Across the petaled floral land
her presence lets the flowers look grand
Maybe it might attract some bees?
Who dance around and buzz and tease
I'd hold her tight in a protective squeeze
Even long after the creature flees
Short lived lilies bloom on the side
Blue bell creepers gape with awing pride
Pink blossoms deck the tree like a bride
All I wish is to have my angel beside
The scents tickle my senses astray
How I delve deeper each passing day
Dearest dream lets run away
When the sun streaks its final ray
When squirrels have long finished their play
The birds sing farewells melodious and gay
And the blossoms along with us shall sway!
We'll waltz till our worries wither unto nay
Silhouetted against the twilight sun's delay
The nights are as warm as your touch
The moon up high is just too much
Your smile makes the heart stop as such
The soul deep love can't loosen its clutch
Of all the beauty that graces Spring
Of all the treasures this month does bring
Of the only reason the birds could sing
Was merely me and mother nature conspiring
For setting up your dimpled smile
To listen to your soothing voice a while
As you calmly sing a nostalgic tune
Pleasant as a warm sun on a winter noon
The song softens and your eyes close soon
And a few chestnut locks lie bestrewn
Tickling my neck as you ease a place
Upon my shoulder in a dreamy daze
I look askance to catch your gaze
As I glance upon your cherubic face
To meet your loveliest eyes that steal
The words and thoughts I don't  reveal
They hold me with their magical appeal
As our souls swim into love surreal
We close our eyes and like a feather
Float gently into dreams together.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Chapter 122-- Damian Delilah Mallory: Our Children Our Strangers

Date:  March  2049

The day starts well. Molly is in the 
Backyard preparing the garden for 
Summer. Dolly is in the kitchen 
Setting up meal time. Damian was 
In the front yard watering the lawn.
Chino made 15 years old in February
He was walking with CJ and the
Other children they  were now all adopted.
 All Hakim kids growing up together.
CJ was father to ten kids now, including 
Damali and his 4 adopted Children 
Hiliah Horn, Felix Aboni, Techiah Rose
And brother Till Rose. Heliah and 
Felix were the oldest. The children 
Argued running behind CJ.  12 years old 
Tekiah Rose poked CJ, "Dad, is it
True we all have the Hakim name 
Now and which one of us is your
Favorite?"  Felix jumped up in front
It's me!" CJ laughed with loving
Emotion, "Haha Hey you are all my
Kids all Hakim man! I love you the 
Same. Got that." The kids responded 
"Sure Dad." They pounded onto 
Damians front porch of the mansion 
CJ rang the Intercom. Damian said,
"Yo! CJ I'll be there!" Damian Bounded
Down the steps in minutes. 
Across the way, the older children 
Were planning a visit to the main 
House just before they surged
Out into town. Amadeus with his
Wife Amani and their baby son, Damian 
Amadeus Junior Aka DAJ. 

DJ and his wife Sashi with their two
Children plus
And Damali Desharah and Sedanah 
With their growing gang Sedanah 
Had one child she was 2 months
Pregnant Desharah had the twins 
She was now, 5 months pregnant. The
Older adults saw their approaching
Mob, and began speculation, 
Molly came out to find Damian.
Dolly followed, "Now. What is this."
Molly Pondered. They
All converged onto The opposite 
Side of the street with their children
These young people planned the
Popular plan among them which was
Preposterous. This is the way it played.
The older parents watched the younger 
Ones form a small circle with a 
Secret short discussion. They turned 
To the porch parents saying, "Ma
Dad, auntie we are going some place
So we want yall to watch the kids
Okay. Bye!"  They began walking away.
Dolly tried to protest but the kids
We're already out of range. But
Dolly was upset so they had no 
Options. Damian Dolly Saderi and
Molly scooped up the 5 abandoned 
infants and took them inside.

The Infamous Rascal

Under your twisted lips, runs a wooden tongue called time, you have drained the city of all that is divine,and your tongue is rolling over into your head as if you are getting ready to expose the dead. You went on a shooting spree, committing murder in the first degree, mashing up sauce and pans while you infiltrate the substance all over the land. 

You bear the mark of the Antichrist in your stomach and the beast curled up in your back side while the guitar is strumming silently in your head as if music is your only gift and sardines, are your only dish. 

Retrace your steps and look in the hole and you will see how far the tunnel has gone into the river bed and what about the clock above the wall? It’s time for you to get out of bed and take a long cold shower. 

Your wildest dream is buried in your heart and it has been with you from the very start, walk up the road and turn around  the bend and you will see the lion  occupied  its den, you can tame it from outside but don’t make the mistake and  go inside, your wildest dream is full of pride. 

The morning is looking for you and the afternoon has its wing all over you, the evening and nights are filled with delight but the dragons are active after midnight but the firefly will lead you into the light.  

I have seen you wailing on that road with Illusion covering your face and reality leading you to a woeful embrace. The train is speeding and you must recuse yourself from the track before you get hit in your back. 

Setting up late at nights to roll the infamous dice has set off a new course of action with marinated duck clucking in the oven and sauté beef frozen on ice watching the curry chicken dancing on top of the plate. 

They set up all night waiting for you to try on a brand-new pair of shoes; I don’t think it will fit because deception is stuff in its sole. It’s too small for your feet and I can feel the Cinderella heartbeat spreading the heat. 

This is more than fifteen-year-old inquiry of a man and a woman on a reckless and deceptive journey and the schemes that they use to obtain the price came at a horrendous sacrifice both man and woman fell into the ditch leaving a painful bridge behind and we finally got them off the pitch.
Form: Narrative


Craziest Time At College

Acquiring a new pair of wings I flew into a reputative college to pursue my studies..
focussed on gaining knowledge 
to become an independent girl I thrived, 
Forming fresh set of friend circle sought to explore~ participating in extra- curricular activities.
Walking hurriedly on the loafers lane to reach college on time,planning group discussion's on subject topics, feeling nervous to present project's, Sneaking to canteen but not eating only chatting we did,hanging around in the campus enjoyed the exquisite infrastructure, bargaining with our stationery man while purchasing books and pens was fun,
chose staircase rather than escalator to reach our classes,
Clicking random photos on ethnic days,keeping a copy with each other to treasure our memories,
sharing dirty talks during lunch time we giggled,
admiring the beauty of our lectures we envied,
short time spent at libraries ~exchanged feelings than reading,glancing at our answer sheets we recounted our marks,learnt working together on assignments, having fun at practical classes,filling pages in record, sitting under trees and examining flowers & insects ,clinging to each others arms we walked all time,being proud volunteer in fests,Setting up stalls to earn marks,
extra credit courses that we chose was mind refreshing ,
sitting at bus stop ~were commenting crazily at our class girls who bunked and enjoyed with their boyfriend's, 
crazy night fire camp dance,
playing badminton,relaxing in swimming pool,rain dancing at resort ~our last industrial trip that was, 
sitting behind my best friend enjoying bike ride, fresh air hitting my face was fun.,
Working on internships on every Saturday's, travelling in train for short while to reach our destination~teaching school children,conducting exhilarating activities we enjoyed.
Successfully completing our graduation
we hopped on our career paths.
Meeting once in a while on holidays we reminisce about our crazy times that happened five years ago.!

Aug 7, 2020

Note:Craziest time at ..Poetry Contest.
Picked Choice one: Craziest time At...
Word count: 299
Sponsored by Caren Crutsinger.
© V. Deepa  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member The Priceless Tea Drinker

*"A tribute to "Pops" (Joe), (04/23/31-01/20/24) though what pans below mirrored life in the States for me, not Pops, but for two years at The Home before he passed, I'd drank tea cause he's unable to have strong or spicy etc. Once a month, though the last few months I drank alone. It was something that he shared, for you Pops." ... by Poet

          'Twas a relatively crispiness in the clambering yawn,
          a consortium of sorts setting up right across the lawn,
          as duskiness drew up her covers relinquishing the day,
          embossed intricately recently polished grace silver tray,
          atop bears a quaint setting of Old Country Royal Alberts,

ah, yes, tea cups, dually statured and ushering desserts,
if you would please pour just a cup for me, for as you can see,
my 'friend's asleep at the wheel, engine's off, eve doesn't agree,

          a host to vividness terms of circumstance circulated,
          guesswork nature that entertains the uncoordinated,
          the fumbling hands placed to the left or right be it a catchphrase,
          a righteous smile of approval amicably gifts it weighs,

astir Pekoe, instants an intrusive bay fronts pleasantries,
prompts us of our intimacy adds value to home's sea breeze,
a nose full of redolent tea defines memories of us,
of times he drove us to school, then to doctors, still drives the bus,

          a nodding gesture non flirtatious enthusiasm rises,
          occasions an exceeding specialized intrigue comprises,

be a tea for two, Broadway Avenue, a smothered venue,
food cart with mixed tarts, lined signs of sweet kinds, beseeches of you,
I and my friend, who sleeps now and then, had two cups of Pekoe,
tea for my friend, it's not Pekoe, health-bot boy, it's Almond Joy,
'tis a pleasure, airs like a loon, trends sans measure, depth crescent moon,
he won't mind, he's sleeping--are you sure, yes, we're having friends soon,
they're here, ambulance? send them here--no rush, their skills aren't needed.

He felt his life poor--driving, "Pops, we made it--you succeeded."
© Hilo Poet  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Cascade Adventures --- Pt 2

The day would pass in blissful brightness, with our brains on auto-pilot. The stories we'd tell and the memories we'd conjure up from years past, one couldn't help but think we were all running on about four pots of coffee each with the energy that was pumping through our veins. From jokes about serial killers in the woods, wondering if we were ever gonna find the lake, to the constant face-palms of: Why-didn't-we-do-this-sooner? and We-should-do-this-more-often! It was an indefinable mix of regret at having not done this earlier, and joy at the prospect of more to come.

To this day I can still recall the feeling of sitting by the shore of Hidden Lake, watching the sun set behind the tall mountain peaks that threatened to shatter the sky, knowing full well what would happen if I didn't gather wood for the fire soon. The darkness would encroach, and the temperature would drop to such that even the leaves themselves might shiver. The sun took his role once more as the proverbial clock, and the moon, his mistress, would instill within us that feeling of yearning long buried beneath decade's worth of city distractions.

Joel would be chopping sticks and logs, and Monica would prepare the sausages for the fire, while the rest of the gang (Jonathan, Brandon and I) struggled with setting up tents. Deeply knit eyebrows, tongue stuck out in deep concentration, as if anticipating future interstellar flight. It came to me shortly after, once the pegs were pegged, flaps were zipped, that if by some miracle Buzz Aldrin stepped into the woods on that fine snowy evening, he'd happily affirm my suspicions: it's not rocket science, folks.

The mirror of the lake would turn into molasses when the sun finally set. The flashlights would be drawn, cutting into the night like light-sabers or futuristic cyclops if headlamp is more your style. The rest of the crew were all huddled around a crackling fire, and I'd be changing into my skivvies not 10 feet away. Why?

Because I could.

coals smolder
a spark cleaves
to the sky
Form: Haibun

Ghosts of the High Rockies, Part I

Eamon heard the rocks skitter away,
scree tumbling down with his every step,
descending from towering Mount Gilborne,
to a lake below where he could rest.

He knew a spot to set up his new tent,
where the conifers came down to the shore,
vibrant blue waters, the peak high above,
a nature-lover could not ask for more.

After setting up camp he went to the lake
to get water to boil for his food,
when he happened upon a man setting traps
in the water wearing clothing quite rude.

His shirt and pants all seemed to be deer-hide,
right down to the old western type fringe,
he wore a fur hat and long moccasins
that ran all the way up past his shins.

Standing in the shallows, he set his trap,
then he looked up and jumped back two feet,
shouted,”You fool, you could’ve been shot!
What’s the idea sneaking up on me!”

Said Eamon,“I didn’t mean to scare you,
and I see there that you’ve got beaver traps,
I like cosplay as much as anyone,
but I must ask, have you a permit for that?”

The man just gave him a peculiar look,
“Now just what’re you talkin’ about, man?
I came out here to this cold frontier,
ain’t need no permit to be on this land.”

Said Eamon,”I get you are playing a part,
and I don’t work for the Forest service,
but I want to keep the wilderness wild,
so I’m going to have to report this.”

“You’ll ride all the way back to St. Louis
to accuse a man committing no crime?”
The man just gawked and shook his shaggy head,
“Good luck then, you’ll have one hell of a time!

“I holed up here to avoid the Blackfeet,
they’ve been rampaging ’round without care,
you try to go now, I’ll bet you twenty plews,
you won’t escape these peaks with you hair!”

Said Eamon,”I get that you like history,
but I don’t really care who you are,
you can’t just go and trap any old thing,
that is taking this bit much too far!”

With that he turned to his bulging frame pack,
and dug out from it his satellite phone,
he typed in a number, and then turned back,
but the strangely dressed man was long gone…

 *  *  *
Form: Narrative

Nick Knock

I was in between jobs at the time and running short of cash,
so without a need to now explain my future don’t look flash.
I tramped from door to door to plead my unemployment case
in a hope that sympathetic souls would be my saving grace.

Clearing drains or mowing lawns may seem as tedious to some,
and pruning trees or mending fences, too might appear humdrum,
but they’d been compensated when I’d hinted with suspicion,
a kid who lurked along the street, and upon a mission.

It took me back to those old days when I was just a teenage kid;
to reminisce for old times sake about some silly things we did.
I mean we never really hurt no one apart from denting pride
after setting up some silly joke, and then running off to hide.

Small towns would often breed small minds, so my Mother often said,
once the gossipers at Wellings store would raise their ugly head,
and whisper rumours true or false about the hooligans at night
who terrorized their neighbourhood, and bemoaned it wasn’t right.

These hooligans they spoke of were only us kids having fun
and letting off a bit of steam with no damage being done.
It was meant as teenage bonding and to have a laugh or two,
where in little country towns there’s really nothing much to do.

But we had a lot of fun by gee with purses tied to fishing line;
putting wet bags over chimneys; or twist around a street sign.
These gags would inconvenience to enhance our silly game,
so experience had told me, that kid’s are up to just the same.

So while I was pulling weeds I watched the kid creep in next door.
Father Hanley aided with a walking stick, just like me he saw
the little tyke jump up and down, and attempt to reach the bell,
and Father Hanley smiled at me “the lad’s not coping very well.”

So I leant on the shovel, to watch the Priest walk in next door,
and assist that little bugger without knowing what he’s there for.
Father Hanley pushed the lad aside and when he pressed the bell,
the little bugger sprinting yelled - “quick! Now run like bloody hell!”
Form: Rhyme

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