Long Showers Poems
Long Showers Poems. Below are the most popular long Showers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Showers poems by poem length and keyword.
The song of my soul, sounds like light
fading shadows in notes of joy
serenity unfolding on the hearts of glory
where He lives – in the dewlike tears,
overwhelming sense of grace
pouring over the bruised seas, skies
flooded by prayers and praise….
The stories of God – His amazing
the tones of our praise
on the rhythms of soundless nights
skies pouring out hope, joy
blessings arising in the heat of summer
while gentling melodies, rich with light
fall like noon’s showers,
on the heavy hearts, the souls
who know He is the reason for each season
He is the love that rises from the mists,
in every soul, He is the promise, the hope
the moment we can know
love is in control…
the music, in notes of purity
rare songs who remember to hold on,
love like this is the light for every man,
love like this is beyond words
it is the plan, brought to hearts
long before the world began,
love like this is the reason I breathe
the story of a man who heard God’s plan
and came to earth, through a virgin birth,
restored each of us – by His death,
rising again, fulfilling that plan…
we can seek Him in the flowers
we can seek Him in the trees
we can seek Him in the sunlight,
on the trembling seas,
we can seek Him on the twilight
on the stars and in the moon
we can seek Him in each spring,
each summer and each autumn, too,
we can seek Him…
yet we will not find Him
without a heart that is assured
He is the way to heaven
He is the light, the way and truth
He is the life of every believer
He is the love that guides us through
He is the answer to every need
He is the prayer prayed
and the assurance believed
He is a tipping balance
who offers us His never ending peace!
Cling to Him when you feel lonely
Cling when you feel like you can’t
Cling when the way is dark with shadows
Cling when you know that you’ve failed
Cling when sins seem to haunt you
Cling when the journey is steep
Cling when all seems lost to you
Cling and just believe – He is a tipping balance
With Him, you will find the purpose of this life
With Him, you will know what it is to be free
With Him, you will be saved from outer darkness
With Him, you will be changed so you can…
let go and let God, who is only a prayer away
seek Him and let Him bless your life with His grace
let Him restore you to a place where you know love is the only way!
My new husband was a farm boy
who didn't like to roam.
It always took a lot of nagging
to get him to leave home.
But we were newly married,
I hadn't learned all of his dislikes.
I imagined us as travelers
who'd be going on big hikes.
So I was unaware of his sacrifice,
when he asked if I'd like to go
to the Exposition in Vancouver.
He probably hoped I would say no.
But I was more than willing
to go on a short vacation,
and it was more appealing since
we'd be in another nation.
We left early Saturday morning
to drive the one hundred miles.
When I thought of all the fun to come,
I could not hold back the smiles.
The closer we got to Vancouver
and our final destination,
my husband got more nervous
about the thick traffic congestion.
He drove right to the fairgrounds,
and didn't stop at our hotel.
I thought he did it to please me
and perhaps it was just as well.
There were so many great attractions,
we didn't know what to visit first,
and we ate so many exotic foods
I thought we would truly burst.
In the late part of the afternoon,
I said, "If you don't mind,
I'd like to go to our hotel now."
"You're right," my man opined.
They'll probably be filling soon.
we better go and lasso one."
I knew he must be joshing me,
just trying to have some fun.
He kept driving by the nice hotels
with signs "No Vacancy".
He drove on and on and on until
it really frightened me.
"You didn't make a reservation?
I can't believe that's really true.
We'll have no bed to sleep in.
What ever will we do?"
He kept on driving quietly.
Motel rooms had all been filled.
Although it had been a hot day,
I now was feeling chilled.
We were in a dingy part of the city
and were starting to turn around
when he saw a sign that promised
a vacancy would be found.
The registration desk was manned
by a man in an undershirt.
"Money first", he said before showing the room.
I felt like a piece of dirt.
"I think it's a flop house," my husband said.
I didn't like that term.
I though of rats and bed bugs and
it really made me squirm.
There was no way I'd get in that bed.
I chose a big leather chair.
With little to say, my husband laid down.
He was too tired to care.
I knew not what occurred in other rooms,
I heard footsteps and showers.
But you won't be surprised I know to hear,
nothing at all would happen in ours.
at the beginning earth was a place uninhabitable
to any living thing, it was nothing but a furiously
burning wandering fireball in an immeasurable open space
while wandering in space,
however, hit by the meteoric showers, bumped into planetoids,
and from its own gravity the earth gradually lost its surface heat
and became a gigantic piece of rock covered with the great many wrinkles
in order to survive,
the living thing cannot afford to lose time any more in this darkness of unknown beginning or inconceivable end, it must find a place to settle and bring new life
into the world,
came and clung to the surface of the rock and struggled to hold onto it
one day, when a cry of pitiable life tore the standstill time into pieces
because it was unable to bear the time that is infinitely quiescent any longer,
it echoed in the space and returned to earth as a dim light
in that light the sighs of the living thing heaped up high
and became air, in that gleam the tears of the animated thing
came together and became waters
when water swelled to overflow it became lakes, rivers and seas
and when air became heavier it raised itself to a wind,
and when wind passed through the surface of earth
it turned into vales, hills and clouds
life began with great struggles and confirmed by quickening
in the darkness and echoing heartrending cry, though grew while calling the sea
a mother and the mountain a father, and conceived meaning of lots of phenomena:
why the rivers flow and clouds drift, dews on the grasses
change into fogs and finally dissipate,
the stars come to visit the lakes
and kiss to form ripples at night
the seed of arrogance grew in the heart of this creature
spreading rapidly among the creatures living in the surface of the earth
and when his arrogance reached to the heaven, the creatures threw stones
in the seas, set fires on mountains, while boasting with those words:
“we conquered world, the world is under our feet”
hence the earth surged by a raging water,
and the windstorm rose to shake the rocks in the mountains violently
nonetheless, the creature did not introspect
his own detestable deeds but continuously acted
in a lordly manner throwing his chest out as before,
though enjoying saying this favorite phrase:
“this age is a corrupted age! this age is a degenerate age!”
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
All the simple inhabitants of our villages, towns and cities
Are waiting for you with tears in their eyes
Come O rain come, throw your showers sublime
On fields, soil, animals, trees and birds flying
Even the trees and birds, animals and herds, Human and insects
All are gloomy and sad, with rankles on foreheads
With worries on their faces, as their hopes are getting buried
Without a shower to wipe their rolling tears from eyes
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
I know, why you are offended and not listening our prayer
But the animals and birds, our simple villagers, animal herds
Even fields drying up in excessive heat do not know
Why you are offended and not listening their prayers
Oh pardon them as they do not know
The misdeeds of those, who are spreading cities
And are cutting trees, forest and are eliminating fields
In the name of modern living
They go on spreading cities after cities
And industries after industries
These less blessed species of humans, do not want to know
The priceless value of mother earth
And the value of each drop of water and rain
Which comes due to green mountains and glaciers
Trees and plants, fields and ponds,
Lakes and rivers, they all are the
Darling children of the God of Rains.
To appease you O God of Rains
We are making our prayers with folded hands
You are and you were always our dearest
O God of Rains, on you we have offered our prayers
And have offered since ages our songs and lyrics
And even our heart and souls
Come O rain come, throw your showers
On this part of earth and do not run
The soil of earth and air also is boiling with heat
The birds and animals and all living creatures
Are waiting with their tired eyes on sky
To search a piece of clouds, which can extinguish their fire
With showers on their fields, plants and trees
Bless them O God of Rains, with your sublime drops of rains
Ravindra
Written on 24th June 09 originally in Hindi as a prayer Song
When draught like conditions were seen in a part of my state.
Translated in English with changes and some additions on 5th Dec.09
Incidentally God heard the prayer of someone and
From June end onwards God of Rains blessed us with good Rains.
Kanpur India 5th December 2009
I stand on the highway of hope getting ready for the train to go on a trip to the mountain sphere, the passengers are pouring in, the seats are filling up, and everyone is in a mad rush. What on earth is going on? The passengers have been here before the break of dawn and excitement is all over the lawn. The cities and towns are flooded with lights and everyone has made an early sacrifice, smiles and laughter are everywhere and the people have nothing to fear. The highway of hope is taking me to the show, you can get an all-inclusive ticket wherever you go; you have a ticket for the train ride, the theatre, restaurant, cinema, the football games or just to go jogging up the lane. You have tickets to go shopping or to work out at the gym; there is a bus and a train for everything and there is one reserved only for music, singing and dancing. You can ride the bus or train any time of the day and your mornings and evening will never waste away, every ticket you buy will contribute to the blue sky and your donations will not die. Meet me at the highway of hope and I will show you where to go, the mood has change and joy is spreading everywhere. If you have nothing to do, put some snack in a bag and join the picnic train, and view all the terrain. The goal is to make a million in an hour and leave the sorrows in the showers. You will have something formidable to look forward to at the end of the day and your burdens and stress will surely roll away. Come with me to the highway of hope and join, the campaign fundraising train .Every ticket you buy will raise my ambition; every train you ride will elevate you to the sky, the numbers are growing and the passengers are swelling and my life has just begun. I have five-dollar tickets, ten-dollar ticket, a thousand- dollar tickets and any money tickets. There is a bus and train for every price and someone to show you how to roll the dice. If you don’t want to ride the train, the bus will do the same; a hundred bus and a hundred train is parked up on the highway of hope in every state so buy your tickets and join the masquerade. The goal is to make a hundred and fifty million dollars a day in the all inclusive bus and train ride on the highway of hope in all the fifty states so join the fundraising effort before it's too late.
Meet me on the highway of hope anytime of the day and don't delay.
Have you ever felt such a silken mist? A shower of rain that can cleanse the soul? Have you ever reached up to touch God on the face and He converted your heart instantly? Have you ever wondered what heaven was all about and was drawn to it more than ever now? Showers of love pour out from the heart of our Creator.
The Latter Rain is a supernatural rain. It is the outpouring of the love of God. The Latter Rain is a mist of affection, a last minute call upon the hearts of His divine creation. Yes, this rain shower, this shower of his affection, is just for you. It was planned this way since the beginning of time, and here we are standing side by side soaking up the wondrous presence of God. He is all around us as He blankets us with His mighty love.
Have you ever wanted to tell someone how much you love them and yet you couldn't find the words to speak? You always became tongue-tied over praying with others, but somehow your prayers come more easily? This is the outpouring of the mist of the essence of God. This is the Latter Rain.
Put your umbrellas away and dance through the rain. Dance as though you don't care who is watching. Let your face get moistened first and then your hair. Run through the streets professing your love for God. He is the maker of rain! He is the maker of your heart too! This is the Festival of the Latter Rain!
The Lord has chosen Kenya to be the first country to receive the outpouring of this rain, although the mist began several weeks ago all across this planet... It has been experienced by many of the end time's workers as jolts of Holy Spirit electricity that have come down from the throne room of God. It is in every city upon this planet. It will drench every person that reaches up to experience God during these latter days. Pray for the lost. Pray for those who do not care for the things of God. Perhaps the Latter Rain will be their last chance to receive the wonderful love of our Creator. Once the rapture of the bride of Christ has occurred, the Latter Rain will go away. It will be like a cool mist that has also evacuated the earth. A glorious fog that will dissipate.
Reach up to God and allow His Holy Presence to touch you and your loved ones. Experience the Latter Rains today! Ask Him to show you and He will!
Joel 2:23, Zechariah 10:1, James 5:7
Written by Gwendolen Rix
2-7-15
Of first embrace and broken glass
I cherish that first spark
New light upon our forest' dark.
Do you recall that northern wind?
It came at first so swift
Perhaps our growing light enraged
Poor Hopelessness', her whims denied
Inspired shadows from retreat
Those having once left us in our light.
"There's hope for you!” her battle cries
“Forwards; towards the glowing night
Attack! The lion will not bite
I promise he will turn blind eyes
Go back! I will cover your eyes!”
“Follow storms winds descent
True path through forests dense
Enter hence.
Rip, tear, rent!
From low to high
Head to toes
Even to above
Where dark forest glows
Churn even these shades
Whites and grays
Yellows arrayed,
Where once were dulled
"My children do not stop there!"
She would say,
"You must inscribe them full
Lest unseen hopes, occupy as slivers
As pretending tones, they have been known to hide
Shimmers upon the edge of shades
We must leave them emptied, lost whims, denied
Their ways left as waste to ruins
Despairs do not relent with dooms
Leaving chance to sparks in time
Per chancing kindles from hearts that loom.”
“Descend, my raging opaque!
The dense itself engrave
Teach young love old lessons
That she may now know at such young age
The heart of this forest lessened.”
“Now go' my shadowed tails delight
Slice sharp paths without care
Cause those within their ears too bear
The roaring of fresh leaves…
Torn from their rightful place
Before the given time”
“Dying screams let them endure
Let them feel your shadows
….Purge!”
The cold so swift
We were so sure This was spring
........residues
Your body’s naked form, lovely
Dropping, encircling our flame
Dying breath
Woman’s instinct
Nurturing
Disregarding winds intent
Then came the rains' extinguishing
Saving coals
Your hands were warm
My feet were cold
I shiver at this memory.
…Rains cold intensity
The downpour overcoming
Me
I'm sorry I could not see
My circle enclosed circles now
Circling
I knew the dark complete
As our smoke heavenward arose
To late this pittance; ash offerings
Ashes on the ground
Then came the rivers rage
Cutting its path through the heart
Forever too leave
Forever leaving its mark
Upon our forest dark
Meandering on; its choosing path
And I with it beside; belonged
For a chosen time
My love again I say
For a chosen time
Do you understand?
I chose the time of days
My shame
Clarity, clarity, surely clarity is the most beautiful thing in the world, A limited, limiting clarity I have not and never did have any motive of poetry But to achieve clarity.
George Oppen
If it wasn't for poetry,
how would we portray stars of clarity?
Moon would appear silently ordinary,
how would we express that which is contrary?
Verses without stardust shimmer would be horrid,
no metrical composition would sound torrid.
No sapphire skies nor turquoise tides.
No ivory shores nor firefly guides.
No magic of butterflies dancing under moonlight.
A travesty of no lullabies to ease before midnight.
Horizons would appear blank, dismal and dark -
your muted muse would forfeit their spark.
If a poet's conscience suffers a premature death,
how would you honour their quill's last breath?
How would you express that painful goodbye?
No legacy for our words to poetically beautify.
Unable to honour memories of the deceased -
an unwritten elegy cannot praise a masterpiece.
Autumn would just be a modified season.
Spring slowly blossom without a reason.
Summer would bring no wonder in flowers.
Winter would be grey with freezing showers.
Would music suffer from atrocious lyrics,
unmetered songs only lead to hysterics.
Would poetic love exist?
Would our lips have ever kissed?
No expressions to defeat hate.
No epodic justice to fate.
No sweet sonnets to revere.
Shakespeare's world would disappear.
Romeo would not woo Juliet.
Literature students would forget
bards who bled ballads before us -
what would lovers have to discuss?
No angst or alliterations.
No 3am damnations.
No syllable creations.
No lustful flirtations.
An end to narrations.
All lost translations.
If there were only ugly words,
would it be the end of singing birds?
No emancipation of the oppressed.
No catharsis for the depressed.
Hearts would repress and suppress.
Demons would stress and digress.
If it wasn't for poetry,
I would still be a mystery.
I would not speak in rhymes,
there would be nothing to define.
My soul a misunderstood metaphor,
drowning in an inkless reservoir.
Life would become a burden,
as petals die in my poetic garden
and after everything has been said and done,
there would be no Poetic One.
The big, bad wolf wears a suit of gray with a snide smile.
Standing upright, he believes himself to be debonaire
as he takes his comb from his breast pocket and slicks back his hair.
Why does he flash his pearly white fangs
and file his claws 'til they're razor sharp?
He smells the fear of docile creatures; he taunts the weak,
stalking his prey while vultures circle overhead in waiting.
The face of evil in a fairy tale with girls wearing red cloaks
and shepherd boys watching their flocks on hillsides.
Flames like daggers from his yellow eyes pierce the pastoral images.
Clear skies become dark by his phantom-like shadows.
He walks tall in black boots of Italian leather
towering higher than treetops in their eyes
beyond the echoes of his menacing laughter.
The woodland creatures cower in their hiding places,
yet hope for a glimpse of the beautiful princess
in her dazzling horse-drawn carriage crossing the forest.
Through the darkness, the ancient land shines like an emerald
with fragrant flowers in bloom; the petals strewn her path
in a storybook from a child's shelf between rainbow bookends.
Surely, heavenly showers shall rain down on the land
and good shall overcome evil with rainbows coloring the pages
as an enchanted princess in a shimmering gown rights all wrongs,
though her strength is not immediately evident.
Melodious birds fly on the outskirts of the tale,
orbiting the forest without fear, searching for the light.
The princess, oblivious to danger, dances amongst the trees
calling the shy creatures from their hiding places.
She ignores the wolf's hideous laughter in a dream-state.
Looking for her prince, she kisses a frog to no avail
then spies three little pigs with curly tails and fearful eyes.
They know the wolf too well. His gray suit coats the dreams
of their happily ever afters. Our heroine, the princess, wipes their tears,
rolls up her sleeves, and builds a brick fortress.
She bravely changes history to her story not giving in to fear.
Fear only fuels her adrenalin rush 'til the job is done.
The wolf huffs and puffs, bites and claws unable to infiltrate.
He eventually sulks off on all fours with his tail between his legs
and is never heard from again. At least, not in this storyland.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Fairy Tails contest (Debbie Guzzi)
*the wolf is personified
"Fragments and crumbs of life, all the little pieces"
John Ruskin, 1853
It has been there for ages,
perhaps older than anybody alive.
Radiating dignified peace, it stands
enveloping everything under it in a cocoon
of soothing shade. A patient listener whom I
consider my companion. On lazy noon, I'd weave
uncharted territories on paper to bury in parched trunk.
With numerous thoughts I couldn't share with others,
I had bubbles of exuberant stories to be narrated. It
swayed lush green branches and dropped a few leaves in
appreciation. A young thinker humming to serene tunes
of cooing wind on starry nights would teleport me to
a sphere of leaves sparkling with coloured dreams.
Over the years, the pile of buried pages from my
memories, fears, experiences, years simmered
into the roots of that old tree. It stayed
patient witnessing my journey, shedding
agony with withered leaves in autumn,
buried under layers of winter snow,
reborn every spring.
From crumbles of
my old struggles,
figments of my
journey, drops
of patience
nurtured it
to my essence.
The tree now
lives as my
legend, hope
rising from
legacy of
showers
that drench spirit
in soaring ecstasy. The
leaves fly afar, spreading
through blue rivulets, blooming
orchards and sing of a lonely tree
that grew in a barren land with courage,
turning struggles into elixir for leaves,
a newfound freedom for memories to live on.
August 30, 2020
All The Little Pieces Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France