Long Sidle Poems
Long Sidle Poems. Below are the most popular long Sidle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sidle poems by poem length and keyword.
under the lych-gate shall I pass
before the wait in holding hands
for the robed man of God to steer
me to my resting days
and shall I then be added to
the sanded brick of grotesque face
that stares across the standing stones
to look beyond the yew
and those who sidle in the rain
with shoulders loaded down with strife
will keep their head and eye to ground
and unaware of mine
then as I learn such higher ways
and freedom casts me from its stone
so will I then bargain forth
and leave the world behind
now in the realm I find myself
among ancestral light and warmth
the pain and heaviness has gone
and I begin to shine
then glow do I a little more
in understanding what has been
while bathed in voice of honey tone
and stole for my return
Your smile was one of innocence before you looked away.
Was that a bit of fear in your eyes as you looked away?
For a month you served me breakfast every morning,
but tawny eyes never meet mine again; they turn away.
Cinnamon blush painted your cheeks as if by artist's brush.
I saw your hands tremble before you quickly moved away.
What I would give to see you smile as you did the first time.
No price too dear, for it hurts my heart when you sidle away.
The sun shines when I see you. Is there something I could do
that would sway you to talk with me instead of stepping away?
I'm not one to offer a sweet cliche' that's used too often.
I'm afraid you'd just bow your head and keep walking away.
I don't know your name but I heard someone call you, Brooke.
If you would once more look at me, I couldn't be pried away.
I'll show respect for your demeanor by avoiding your eyes.
Forgive me if I make you feel uncomfortable. I will stay away.
The Spear of Destiny
pierced Jesus’ side for you and me
It was thrust in
to make sure that Jesus died for our sin
Did it help Charlemagne garner number forty-seven?
Did it help (in battle) all who called upon it to win?
All men claim to be turned into gods
But Jesus’ claim is that He became Man
Something unique in HIStory
So take the Galileans' hand
The Buddha's tooth is like the Evolutionary pig tooth
That has sunk its teeth into bad theories
In today’s world you must be careful
Into what you look and call queries
If Eve would not have eaten the fruit
Because it would ruin her fig’r
Would it still be sin?
Yes, because in both cases it’s a trig’r:
To get you to doubt what God has said
To get you to fall for a play on words instead
God said “If you eat of that tree, you shall surely die”
Satan said “don’t swallow that lie”
Satan said this to get your ears,
and play on every fear
So, call out to God
while He is yet near
Jesus doesn't sidle
So you can make Him into an idol
But will bridle
the idle that idle
But teaches His philosophy
To release our minds in bondage
from besetting sin to thinking free
"I will choose freewill" [1]
Don't fall for that tautology
The very essence of this mindset
Is that no choosing in necessary
Don’t make any graven images of Me
Or (of and in) the earth, the sky or the sea
All holy relics are forged, but don’t comport
In place of the place, we worship The LORD
Why God allowed His Image to be sullied by the masses
Is a mystery to me, an enigma (as He speaks through asses)
And if He did not speak rocks would cry out
Whenever the Second Coming is, that day will be loud [2]
The world is woven in such different ways
Struts the vertical, the flat below
Oh God who weaves me shall by me be praised
Oh, shall the mystic reach what she may crave
When all the strings release and she falls low
The world is woven in its different ways
Timed by ritual Lady Lazarus rose
And all the eyes that gazed were burning slow
Yes, God who weaves me shall by me be praised
There is a hollow only Ariel knows
As horse and rider as one being flow
The world is sensed in wholly different ways
The body ,home of mind, will run astray
Oh, what seams of evidence forego
Fallen God who unacknowledged knows
Beneath the sea of green the undertow,
Spirits sidle deep like melting snow
The world is woven in such different ways
That God who weaves me shall by me be praised
Robert browning and Me (2)
Where was I with that book on Artemisia?
No Internet or Amazon back then,
So I got busy trudging round – then busier.
No joy. “American? We’ll call you when …”
“Import it from the States, you say? (sigh) “Sorry …”
That book to me was life-blood. From dry fact,
I knew I could carve angels. It was packed
with pure potential. It would be my quarry,
I, Michelangelo. But Florence called
(the city, not the girl). My summer break.
I’d soon be very happily installed
in Art’s sweet Heart. That book would have to take
a rain check. There were Browning things to see,
check out the places that the poet knew,
and stand where he stood (absolutely true!)
the day he found the Yellow Book. For me,
this part would be the climax. One fine day
in June of eighteen-sixty, Browning strolled
(the gods of poetry pointing out the way)
the Square of San Lorenzo – and struck gold!
He found a worn old book, and made the sale.
The record of a legal case with pleas,
submissions – this could be his masterpiece!
(A bit like mine, but on a vaster scale.)
So, there I was in San Lorenzo. If
my Artemisia project was on stall,
at least now I could breathe vicarious whiff
of Browning’s triumph. Oh, I was enthralled!
He read the lawyer’s brief as he walked home.
I traced his steps – down Giglio, Panzani, then
across the Arno at the bridge again –
(I caught a glimpse of Brunelleschi’s Dome)
and then it happened. Those poetic gods!
A bookstore on the Tornabuoni. (Time allows.
But what of Browning? Even Homer nods!
What harm, if I just sidle in and browse …?)
The book on Artemisia! Divine!
How many thousand lire? Hey, who cares?
So, I and Browning had our talents (tares?)
He used his well enough. Now I’ll try mine!
The Unholy Trinity
The evil trinity of me, myself and I
And I myself and me
Is the all insufficient trinity
It's the nebbish and pusillanimous
And ept actions of the god
I have created in me
Being as one of three in wit
The brothers half, dim and nit
Don't be E-gypped
Out of all that you've been equipped
Bow your heart and mind
Not from a heart desperately wicked
Or a land that is wicked continually
But have hope in The Hope
Our eternal surety and security
And don't sing in the cacophony
Of the impersonal Allah or Brahman
But sing in the symphony
Of our God Who was, is and will always be
The Holy Trinity
Blessed be the equality of the Trinity
The first, middle and last Name
The Name that is complete
The God of perfect community
And is introducing us to each other
So that we may meet in our congregations
And in the Narthex of Eternity
So don't be idle with your idol
Walk with Jesus Who will sidle
The Deuteronomic Lord is One
The Father, Spirit and Son
From One John Five and Seven
The Shema hear it from Heaven
These Three Omnipotent agree in One
From Heaven to earth as it should be
Hear by Jove The Love
And the condescending Dove
One God in Three Persons The Trinity
The Unity, The Diversity in The Thrice
In the Ancient Trinity we have faith we believe
That faith, hope and love is what we receive
From Our God a God of every reprieve
It's not a tripod that can describe our God
It's not a tricycle called a bike
Or the yolk, the shell or the white
Even try as we might, there is nothing likened to God
God is unique, it is the this God of which we speak
There is enigma and mystery and wonder
As we see lightening, hear rain and the voice of Thunder
Love falls like rain
God's commands and compassion
Are His reign
Don't attempt to prevent
The Holy Spirit's irresistible strain
His efforts will not be deign
It is inescapable Grace
As we stand Coram Deo (before God's Face)
Let us worship "pro ton theon"
The Living God (Three in One)
The warmth no longer comes
it seems to only leave.
The furry ones, all
caught in hypnotic disbelief:
hardening ground's
taken root
where once
gardening grounds
(forsaken, mute)
were once and again
makin' fruit.
Each beast, shaking
like a leaf
(though, truth be told
I've only ever
seen 'em dance)
as if to compel
the sun to
sidle up
'n stay a bit.
The butterflies are all turned
to windblown, drying leaves.
The biting clouds of gnats
are now
the biting cold of early flakes.
All hatched and reared
(the secret thrush, the ungainly, splashtering loon,
the burly snakes)
as evening hurries home
to be home for the night.
It's so early, so late.
The fatted robin's gone
just as the field mice hid
from barn-now-lapcat.
This constellation of crows,
a raucous perch, tried
that hiding ploy: their clotted knotted
silhouetted faux-leaf blackening hide out
where the leaves’d lived but crows are not
meant to blot the low sun as they’d plotted...
And so it was as so its been since Oh, so ever since -
a bird of prey, answered their
plaintive caws with painted claws -
a fracturous startle from above
a crash! a cry! a scattering!
one down, one murder
still.
Nothing softens, nothing greens.
No flowering as Southern urges
force flocks into making V-lines.
Each nest left: all break routines.
Summer is souring, as frost emerges
and last-one-picked, the pines -
lefties left in left field;
icing soon, their needles their shield
and, the coach never intervenes...
The light more slow to show
more tugged and bent to slant.
The sunshafts seem to push
the cold ahead as snow by plows.
And for our part we too as well
well, we turn away, turn indoors.
We turn our dreams to
make-it-through this.
We turn our collars up,
and too, our eyes to floors.
We turn our (each seems to)
thoughts inside this shell
not towards Inner but
rather, of course, truly from-
far and away from the
Cold & Falling, closing crisp.
How unlike the Scholar's Cup!
Our husks indoors,
our thoughts follow
but burrow deeper still.
Don't blame the light
for not keeping company
so deep where hides
a fearful, frigid 'you.'
It's Autumn
all turns on
one point.
It's Autumn
Fall burns on.
It's Autumn
sun burns on
one point
(of light.)
I have never felled so alive
as now.
PROLOGUE
Umpteen billion years
Big Bang, supernova, gas
Brief eclipse of time
Gases swirling, fall
Sun and planets, water, goo
Brief eclipse of time
Another billion
life, amoeba, fishes swim
Brief eclipse of time
Movement, change and flux
slither, crawl, climb, walk and talk
Brief eclipse of time
Ra, Sol, Helios,
Mithra and the Mighty Eye
Brief eclipse of time
Life begins and ends
birth, joy, laugh, cry, death, and dust
Brief eclipse of time
Waves cleave seas, shores, skies
forever folding, pulsing
Brief eclipse of time
CHRONICLE
The Mighty Eye begins to slip and slowly sink,
(unfocused, stained, diffuse)
while frizzled waves imbibe her searing tears,
with salted languid lips.
The Mighty Eye, now weary, thin,
is gazing through the frozen cracks,
as sundry straying clouds,
bloated,
sidle feebly by
and wax their billowed tracks
upon the heated sky,
and cool the rush of rolling waves
beneath the blotted sky.
The waves
(impaled on time and space inside me),
gently tumbling aging pebbles
and lifeless shells across the shifting sands,
seem unaware
as they once again arise
to greet the Mighty Eye,
to close the Mighty Eye,
to snuff the Mighty Eye.
But then again,
perhaps the waves are well aware indeed,
yet simply unconcerned
and feel no need to care.
For, as the frazzled froth is rushing forward
madly towards the sandy shores beyond,
before retreating slowly,
then careening brashly forth ahead again,
eternally,
it matters little if the Mighty Eye will cast
her blazing glance from high above,
or else retire for the night,
kissed sweetly by the liquid lips
of distant faithless waves
in a brief eclipse of time.
Continued in Part 2
Form:
I can hear your demons screaming
And I know you're hearing mine
Times changed you just a little
Now your beauty's more sublime
Sat here waiting for a reason
To be sitting here at all
Just about to leave
I smell your perfume in the hall
It's that old familiar feeling
From a time, when times were leaner
That Ruby dress to hug you tight
To show your cool demeanour
You sidle up beside me
Like things have never changed
Your image in the mirror
Hints a Faustian exchange
"The usual!", whispered softly
Your breath invades my space
"Whiskey, on the Rocks!" I call
A smile lights up your face
The ether closes 'round us
The world can guess our goal
Your high it matches mine
Its impression on our souls
I smell your scent, above your perfume
I know that you've been rushing
A meeting made in haste
Your Devils must be blushing
I didn't want to come here
But I never needed more
Your burning eyes upon my soul
Your heat upon my core
The heart is easily winning
It's like time itself, stands still
Our heads so lost and spinning
It's a jagged little pill
A fuse to light the night
A spark to light the flame
So lost in loves illusion
With you whispering my name
The way you wear your hair for me
It's made my perfect day
The secrets of the universe
Are but fingertips away
The waiting's but a passage
Worth its weight, for what we've earned
A passion running higher
Than the light of darkness burned
This moment's been a lifetime coming
All in this world is right
Sleeping's not an option
If our time elapsed tonight
We teeter on the brink
Of the open universe
To get it wrong, then right again
We'll endlessly rehearse
Our union made eternal
Our memory is shared
Your every passion magnified
Your soul laid raw and bare
I feel you, where I've seen before
My visions been replaced
A 'knowing' you, replaces it
My drink of you's been laced
A gust of icy air blasts
the cold into my bones,
tugging at my knees with
hollow, aspirating groans,
making numb my cheeks,
whirling 'round my waist;
pulling at me thither-ward
down cobbled streets in haste.
Thick snowflakes lightly flurry
soft upon my lashes,
squinting hard, I blink away
the blinding, frozen ashes.
Presently, I chance upon
a steepled, stony schloss,
whence I knew myself beyond
the bounds of Hotzestrasse.
All around me, strangers rush
to unfamiliar places;
swiftly stepping, spinning past
with stern, impatient faces.
I sidle down a sleepy street,
apart the harried crowd,
into the quiet entrance
of a quaint café I bowed.
A corner cuckoo ticks away
the time with listless ease,
whiling away the morning;
an anxious spirit to appease.
Rich and steamy mochas
warm away the frosty chill
of this melancholy trav'ler
reflecting on the wintry still.