Long Sheba Poems
Long Sheba Poems. Below are the most popular long Sheba by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sheba poems by poem length and keyword.
Noah survived the flood with sons Japheth, Ham, and Shem.
Along with the animals of the earth, God spared them.
With floods, He vowed never again to do such a thing.
God made a covenant with Noah and his offspring:
“You and your sons shall populate the world as you go.
Look up into the clouds and you shall see My rainbow.
This is a sign the covenant is everlasting.
All creatures shall thrive, along with each human being.”
Noah’s grandson, firstborn of Ham, Canaan was his name.
He had to serve Shem and Japheth because he brought shame.
Ham also gave birth to Cush; who in turn brought Raamah.
Raamah extended the line with Dedan and Sheba.
Shem was fruitful producing many generations.
Arphaxad and Aram’s progeny would lead nations.
Among Japheth’s seven sons were Gomer and Javan
Their descendents also had produced many children.
Among Ham’s descendents was a king who defied God.
A mighty hunter and warrior, he was Nimrod.
His kingdom had contained land from Babylonia.
Moreover, it stretched as far south as Assyria.
His great cities included Calah and Nineveh.
They lived on land between the Euphrates and Tigris.
His people united and strong were making progress.
Nimrod proclaimed, “We have one language and great power.
Let us assemble and raise a very tall tower.
This ziggurat will provide a stairway to a star.
We are an ambitious people, and we can go far!”
A new great city appeared on the plain of Shinar.
With formidable walls constructed with bricks and tar.
God realized these persons were filling with contempt,
He wished to halt their foolhardy fallacious attempt.
Perplexing their language among them caused confusion.
They stopped construction and divided with diffusion.
God’s almighty power can never be defeated.
Therefore, the Tower Of Babel was not completed.
A ziggurat is a temple of Babylonian architecture resembling a pyramid. It begins
with either a square or a rectangular base. Additional stories with smaller floor
space create a terrace effect on each level.
Genesis Chapters 8-11
.
Wriggled in her arms.
Lost in an adventure of romance, moving far afield.
Though I have no weakness for writing,
my story got underway.
Wallowing in the admiralty of her beauty
Adorned with beautiful antique ornament
Adulterated with the laudable attribute of nature
Epitomizing the 6th day work,
and the adroit molding of the creator.
Ensconced on her chest for an aeon of time.
Only my hands left to keep the memory of time.
Touching the acme of her chest,
Pointing like that of Sheba.
Turning it to a piccolo, without an acoustic.
Acknowledging the season between her legs,
warming the cold in my hands.
Letting my hand becoming an ace,
and my phalanges adept in describing her.
My eyes falling over itself
to keep the facsimile of her body,
and my skin falling in with my eyes,
as two spent swimmers that do cling together.
Feeling her permed hair,
blowing like a frond tree by the river.
Her eyes shining like a cat
which has never been afeared
Her skin like flowers that never fade in autumn
and less of acne in winter.
I wish our spirit is adjoined forever
Like fifes and drum that make a good sound,
Keeping myself in the light of your love
praying it never fade.
I wish I wake up in my trance
Wishing I say all these to your face
And see it received.
Sheba was a woman whose laugh scared alley people.
It preceded her from every corner of a fish market.
She loved being loud and boisterous, loved attention.
We always had followers when she was about.
That she had long skinny legs and a heart face helped.
Her eyes were cat’s eye green, and she had blonde hair.
“Men date blondes, but they don’t marry them,” Mother said.
Sheba did not know this. By twenty-six she had been married thrice.
She did not have to keep a job long, or at all.
The men she went after wore suits and drove expensive cars.
She demanded they produce their bank statements on the second date.
If they declined, there was not a third date. She was decisive.
She was not great at computers, but she could make a date on one.
She did and often; I imagine she had six or eight dates a week.
It's how she paid her rent, and bought groceries; she liked these things.
She may have made the wrong date.
She disappeared eight months ago.
Or maybe she asked the wrong guy for his bank statement.
I have been unfaithful,
under a curtain of night
even as you laid
a fingers breath from my hem,
he stole my affection
in sheared moments of Ecstasy
~~~
We came together
an eclectic mix,
liquid methane and fire,
once we had merged
our passion ignited
after the flames died down,
I took out a staff of creation
combining oceans of words
with waves baring
the muniments to love,
in a age of stars
nestled in black petals
and in the prayer rolls of galaxies,
my letters of adoration
shimmer
you can use a finger
and trace the path of my desires
through night
mouths of dark and light
kissed,
soft and gentle,
to a fevered fumbling
making poems slide out
between a tongue of your breath
and my lips,
I create my own beginnings,
until the end is whispers
I ask for no Taj Mahal
or crown of Sheba,
what use have I for a thousand ships
hulls busting agape with ardor,
I only yearn to taste the first syllable
that flows from the tip of your tongue
my lust twirls dream-catchers
and yet I crave the rush of methane,
my lust sparks to mark the darkness
with shooting streams of love
~~~
Neruda whispers to me of scents loosed
on the float of lemon flowers,
his rest begun
in a the soft valley
of my heart, and
he knew not how,
or when or from where
but from the other side
he found a way to my heart
timing the tide,
his words now rest under my tongue
and are savored with passion,
I am reduced, again and again
all this?
is only in my mind
Sheba was thrilled with her new tennis bracelet gift.
What a man I have! She told everyone at the party.
He was quite the man.
We saw that as he traveled from woman to woman.
He spoke to all of them except her.
He is prince charming indeed, I thought.
I wanted an engagement ring, she told us.
Maybe next time.
Next time did not happen.
Prince died of a stroke two weeks later.
His daughter called Sheba to ask her to write his obituary.
He is still married to my mother, she told her.
I was sworn to secrecy while he was still alive.
Please spell her name right.
I will text it to you.
She be like the Queen of Sheba,
the most beautiful beauty I’ve ever seen.
She walks this world with a majestic gleam,
shining bright as angels beam.
I just want to protect her from all that’s mean,
the men, the pain that she has seen,
making sure it stays a has been.
Make her feel the one and only,
grow old with her so she’s not lonely.
She'll be my best friend while her best friends a girl,
spend my life trying to give her the world.
If she lacks confidence I’ll still believe,
as I sit with her and impart belief,
if she fails I’ve hugs to relieve,
but she’ll always be a winner to me.
I’ll be her joker when she feels down,
and if that doesn’t work I’ll put arms around,
let her know it’s always us two,
not alone whatever life puts her through.
Always support her without a thought,
let her be the one for which I fought,
perfection found in perfect flaws.
You’ll never hear an insult,
if you want me I’m yours,
be together but you’re never her in doors,
if you don’t that’s cool but a kick in the balls,
I know I can be the fool of fools,
with many flaws, to make a few if yours.
I’ll give you a massage when you’re sore,
kiss your neck maybe do some more,
but if you’re tired I’ll let you snore,
a personality that will never bore.
I’ll keep you warm when life gets cold,
separate beds when we’re smelly and old.
And every morning I’ll tell you you’re beautiful,
until you’re fed up with it cus it’s the usual.
And if you’re face was permanently scarred,
I’d still love you, it wouldn’t be hard.
I know it's late, but consider this your valentines card.
Sheba was a bird brain – a dumb bunny for sure.
She had no idea she was a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe.
Not the blonde, over-glamorized, sensationalized Marilyn,
but rather the young, darling, innocent-looking Marilyn
the one who did not expect to be noticed. The woman
she was before she was knee deep
into publicity photos, glamour shots.
The Marilyn who wore ordinary Hush Puppies
and did ordinary wife stuff.
The Marilyn who had a knick-knack shelf.
How did I know that Sheba
did not know she was a dead ringer for young Marilyn? She was married to my husband’s riff raff brother, Sly, wasn’t she? Young Marilyn could have done better.
Sheba was a basket case, a nut bucket, a bit off the end of a short bus, but I still
felt I had a duty to tell her. My husband told me to “zip it” in the car on the way to their house.
He did not think she could “handle it”.
But I could handle him telling me what to say and what to not say?
Good grief, this man had a lot of re-learning to do.
I was the wife to help him.
His mother obviously missed the boat with this one.
And him being an only child too.
I decided to save my wrath until after we had eaten dinner
and had the dessert.
Sheba may have been two dendrites short of an oxcart handle, but her desserts were legendary.
You cannot imagine my wrath toward my husband after
that birdbrain served us a piece of store bought pie from Huckleberries.
I could have run over there and bought that myself any day.
My husband was really going to get it when we got in the car.
“Do you know who you look exactly like?” I asked Sheba.
My husband gave me a warning look.
“Marilyn Monroe.”
Sly fell off the couch laughing.
I guess two husbands are getting schooled tonight.
AMALINA: THE QUEEN OF SHEBA
To the Queen of Sheba.
Unraveling of your thesis and your folklore
To devour your whole body in form of study
Zipping the raw facts in the mind's lobby
Trying to digest them, stew over them
As I reach for my wine glass stem
So I let them simmer on the back-burner,
The knowledge of you is never in conclusions
The whole of you: regurgitate all in discussions
Diverse shades of you cooked up in explanations
Hoping they do not seem half-baked from head to toe
Your eyes were glittering jewels that seized my soul,
Take me to Sheba and witness my ecstatic reign
And your dry ground be wet with heavy rain
To wash away your clumsiness and depression
And give your life sense of homeliness and expression
Sail with the westwind to blow you ashore
Right at the lake of rough diamonds,
The kingdom of King Vick the Solomon
To drink from the ocean of wisdom
And bask in the affectionate comfort of Cupid
Having being shot afar in the Queen City,
The Grenfell Tower couldn't shield you from these arrows of love
Emanating from the base of Lagos City,
The City that never sleeps and never seek pity.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 29th Aug. 2017.
(Apropos Of Our Virtuous Queens)
Sitting here in the beauty
of the blackness of night
my mind and its spirit
are spiritually
and geo-physically drawn
up into the reflections
of the full moon
and companion constellations
all surrounded by beautiful black
holes filled with the light of eternity.
Collecting myself
and returning terrestrially,
my focus returns to earth’s
grounded hued beauty—
resurrecting the illumination
of your own hued beauty—
a hued beauty that is almost
beyond mere words.
For yours is beyond
the perceptions of
Cleopatra; beyond
the subjective/objective
beholder’s eyes;
indeed, your beauty rivals
even that of Nefertiti’s: physical,
spiritual, and given wisdom.
Your beauty my queen is
not merely of the eye but is
seen by the heart and integrity
of the spirit; pregnant with joy,
happiness, and inspirational love;
yes, your beauty is as that of she
known in certain circles as
“The Queen of the South;
a beauty that is scripturally penned
by Sheba, herself: “I am black…[and]…
comely…O ye daughters of…
checks…comely with rows of jewels…
neck…of gold.”
Oh how blessed
we are brethren, with
mothers, “grands”, wives,
daughters, and beautiful
extended-family, vitreous
black-hued women; indeed,
to God be the glory
for the beautiful jewels
bestowed upon the souls
of the blessed you and me.
Sire she's been sighted
two miles south of Sinai,
our sentinels say she has brought a river,
her baggage train stretches into the ancient sands,
the envoys of her retinue spoke of marvelous gifts,
beasts and creatures of the Orient
gems that glitter like the eyes of children
summer baskets of gold bullion
and satchels of spice from Siam,
our men said they could smell the barrels of balsam Sire...
To travel with such unmistakable wealth
the Queen must have brought a war machine along,
have desert brigands been spotted near the route...
No my King, no raider encampments have been observed,
just the regular rabble and agape villagers,
it's been confirmed that her associates
are passing to the people pouches of cinnamon...
I don't trust the Egyptians,
they may try to incite the Bedouins to foolhardy thievery,
our Nation's honor demands
that not even the dust of the devil's danger
deign to dry upon the clothes of her most distant servants,
if the House of Zion can secure a partnership
with the trading powerhouse of Sheba
our supremacy over the Babylonians will be indomitable...
I pledge my life, and that of my family's
to her caravan's safety Sire...
So mote it be General,
your loyalty is my blessing,
may it be as strong as the staff of Moses,
dispatch 333 of the Lion's Legion
to reinforce the Queen's guard
and send a circuit of 15 water wagons...
What does a Queen dream of
in the calm desert nights...
I dream of roses melting
into snake bitten hearts,
I've dreamt of citadels broken
by the grips of greed,
I've seen a child walking out of a tomb,
what does a King dream of
in the shadow of paradise...
I dream of thorned stars,
the division of labor and wages,
of priests and Judges
whom wish to rule quietly without blame...
Do you know what thrilled me the most
about the Court reception...
Tell me, my cinnamon Queen...
The seduction of your Servants' silence
as I entered your meticulous throne room...
I understood their awe,
you moved so gracefully,
your body like an ancient lust
your face a flame of royalty...
I think I fell in love with your eyes,
there is something rough about you Solomon,
but your eyes and lips
relay a sweet mercy to me...
Mercy is never free Veronica...
I will pay the price...
We will pay the love cost together...
J.A.B.