Long Skillfully Poems
Long Skillfully Poems. Below are the most popular long Skillfully by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Skillfully poems by poem length and keyword.
I stand in the swamp by the riverbank
clutching a coin I have stolen
as my heart still beats within my breast
It is only my spirit
that has slipped away
to await the ferryman of Acheron
Charon who
skillfully pilots his skiff
from there to where it flows
into Styx
He arrives and I pay the price
He places the coin in his pocket
and grabs hold of the pole
pushing away from the shore
as I lay indolent with lament
in the bottom of the boat
the icy chill of the water
seeping through the wood
Shivering I stare at the stars
silently weeping
remembering the many wishes
I made on them that went unrealized
unheard
for the Gods must have
found me unworthy
Cerberus will step aside to admit me
heads snarling
as the snakes on his back writhe
Hades will welcome me
Or he may hand me over
to be judged by Aeacus
and plunged into the pit of Tartarus
for my many sins
to be tortured for eternity
starved and beaten
my liver eaten by birds
May he have mercy on me
this sorrowful lost soul
for all I ever wanted
was to dance
carefree and content
to the music of miracles
in the golden flower filled
Elysian Fields forever
with you
With contempt men gaze upon me,
disregarded, as a worm below their tread,
but You, O Lord have skillfully formed me
to be poured like wine, broken like bread.
This Carpenter's hands and sojourning feet
are nailed like objects upon a plank.
My back men scourged to appear as ground meat.
My face they spit upon; my beard they yank.
I am led as a sheep shorn with silence.
Anguish seethes like blood from my open chest
as I humbly absorb mankind's violence.
In You, My Comforter, I find no rest.
Once intimate, now Your face is turned
from the world's presence of sin I bear.
Your grace shown to strangers, from me is spurned,
showcasing your wrath while they scoff and stare.
These beasts charge at me with their forceful teeth,
just as bulls encompassing for the kill.
Demons taunt from above me and beneath,
thirsty for every drop of blood I spill.
Out of joint, I can count all of my bones.
My tender, pure heart melts downward like wax.
With no ease of relief in muffled groans,
my strength becomes dried like pottery cracks.
My tongue clings tightly to my jaws from thirst,
oh, Maker of love and eternity.
With my power laid down, men do their worst.
Why, oh why, God, have you forsaken me?!
My covering was torn and I am bare.
Men cast lots upon my stolen vesture.
Stripped of all but love, I reach out in prayer,
but receive not a comforting gesture.
In hateful tones men utter defiance
and I'm made to become a mockery.
Your past banner waves of deliverance.
Lord, will You not also deliver me?
Forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Change their hearts to receive forgiving peace.
For You have power to make all things new.
Let mankind's vileness by mercy cease.
Inspiration: Psalm 22
1/18/2021
~
Flour on her hands, and centuries on her elbow
Fingers balance a 'hand-me-down' dish,
Roosting deftly on finger-tips, high in mid-air
Lovingly she spins it, magician's hands twirling
Trimming the edges with flourish and flair
A bit like Da Vinci' ,…a small tool in hand
Skillfully carving, as a blade skims the rim
Pieces of pie dough, will soon drop away
She is shearing the excess, and trimming the dough
That turn into ribbons…wouldn't you know?
You must use every scrap,…meaning just that!..
Waste not, want not…each morsel a prize
Rolling them flat to large walnut size
~
Spread thick the butter…nothing is better
A sprinkle goes here, a sprinkle goes there
Cinnamon sugar, please don’t be spare
Baking till golden, toasting next to the pie
A preview of magic, a taste of delight
How does she know it, ... this magic voodoo?
Lessons in chemistry, from so long ago
She had watched this drama unfold in her dreams
Unfolding and playing on her memory's screen
This silent black magic, will play once again
Although the old soundtrack, worn of it's skill
The warmth of old memories, will never be stilled…
Don't bother to ask, for recipe pages
It is magic at best....., so priceless the task
So sprinkled with love, and has passed through the ages
He was turbulent, fearful, and a dipsomaniac. He was dead to the target, undeniable emulation of his father. So I've been told.
Equated with many of his uneducated and socially stigmatized peers, starting at an early age he worked menial jobs until he married and asserted himself to a position on a cargo ship as a Merchant Seaman. So I've been told.
He traveled the world and had many long tales to share. Tales when spread made him a hero of many causes, and these inflated tales rein the peninsula and many compared him with John Henry and Jack Johnson. So I've been told.
He was a tall sepia man with a handsome face that was divinely chiseled to the image of Hermes. So I've been told.
He was a courageous bull that suffered his demise at the hands of his enemy. So I've been told.
He was a vigorous bear with broad shoulders that expanded forever like the Baeke plateau and was a comforting pillow for my weary head.
His legs when stretched out from a sitting position was a nuisance, a tripping device for a young child whose vision was aimed high when walking by.
He smelled of stale tobacco and Old Spice.
His tatami cheeks pricked fingers to the touch with delightful pain.
His long fingers with soil underneath its horny protective covering could move swiftly over finger plates of a saxophone or skillfully up and down the fretted neck of a guitar if he, so willed. Yet he titillated my ribs, under my arms and the soles of my feet.
His voice vociferated like thunder at his adversaries and changed to an astonishing softer degree when he called my name. This I know and so you are now being told.
copyright Labyrinth of Life
The moments we share are a gift,
uniquely qualified.
A magnetic shift, of consciousness,
of honed homing sense equalized.
Through the protective layers it
sifts, like the hungry for a meal.
Moments weigh us in the balance
like a scale,
scaling what can be, and becoming fare.
Selling us there the fabrics
and colors possibilty wants to wear.
Window-shopping with depth charge,
buying as the damages can afford,
to live large.
Aloneness is shared and blotted out
in mosaic chemical.
Effervescent instant instance of oracle.
Willful in the persistence of time-
skillfully forged sign by sign.
A mystery of union encompasses
small in its spaces, compasses with string,
attachment, attaching all in its placement.
In heart chambers of containment.
For a moment is really not a moment,
it is continuum of continuity.
There is magic in relation to experience
and its mystery.
A convergence of paths intertwine,
encompasses our way back machine,
back to the place we
were conceived of the Divine.
A moment is an immortal stare.
A segway to Eternity, raw, rare.
The building block of here.
The moment you are there.
As faith faithfully undresses,
dresses doubts wound.
Vulnerability-confesses,
caresses- open, bare naked truth.
A moment.
Bares a question to mark,
what is the meaning-"to share" to spark.
It peels away the distance between us,
lightning from the dark.
The invisible doors of the soultiverse,
and its keeps and its moors.
They lead hand in hand to a place
more and more.
Love answers stark in a moment
and with no quarter taken.
In chemical equasion,
it is the answer, never to be forgotten by
the spirit professing the formula
for a tear.
Of joy ever partaken.
I addressed the young stranger sitting alone on a park bench:
"Hi, I'm Jason Bills." His handshake was firm, his smile uncertain
but warm.
"Hello, Jason. I--I don't know my name or where I am!"
And so began the odd but fulfilling relationship between the amnesiac
and my entire little sheltered Southern town. Enveloping him in
concern and love, we created "Jerry" and a life for him, making him
brother, son, friend to us all. We took pride in our--uh, invention--gladly
taking care of his needs and wants. He did odd jobs quite skillfully; we,
of course, paid him in cash.
At first, we asked few questions, since he so quickly became nervous.
Then, after a few weeks, the town's conscience reared its accusing head,
demanding that we make an all-out effort to awaken his past. Loved ones
surely were grieving and searching for him.
We weren't very subtle. We probed and prodded: "Any memories,
even vague ones, of family? Past surroundings? Profession? Hobbies?
Religious faith? Problems that might've traumatized . . . ?"
By then, "Jerry" was trembling, almost in tears. "I--I just don't
remember--ANYTHING. I'm sorry!"
We promised, "Okay, Jerry, no more interrogations! Some day soon,
maybe we can contact authorities to help us discover who you are.
Surely you, deep down, want to know."
Jerry's smile was gone. The next day, so was he.
April 13 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on 1Kings 5-7
Key Verse – 1Kings 5:4 But now the LORD my God hath given me rest on every side, so that there is neither adversary nor evil occurrent.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO GIVES US REST
Praise be to God for giving us rest:
Refreshing us with His optimistic peacefulness
Restrengthening us midst occurring problems
Reenergizing us against opportunistic plans
Relieving us along His offered provisions
Reinforcing us optimum persistence
1Kings 6:11-12 Praise be to the Lord Who
performs His Word with us:
Steadfastly along His might
Sturdily upon His moves
Spiritedly by His mercy
Scripturally midst His miracles
Skillfully through His magnificence
1Kings 7:51 Praise be to the Saviour for enabling us
to enjoy the treasures of His house, since we are His:
Dedicated servants
Diligent stewards
Determined soulwinners
Disciplined soldiers
Duty-bound salvation-seed sowers. Amen!
April 13, 2024
Mr McCheesy has large feet
wears size 40 shoes, no simple feat
plip! plop! thud! phud!
was all you could hear
miles before he would appear
Many would hide to hold themselves safe
not wanting his cheesy feet near their face
many scorned, poked fun, gave retreat
all ran and hide, but never to seek
Mr McCheesy felt alone in despair
for he truly felt no one did care
mock him, tease him, laugh did they
each time he passed anytime of the day
One darkened morning
a fierce storm came calling
torrential rain lashed heavily down
ground gurgling, mud pouring
all ran, found cover, all prayed
When all was calm was plain to see
the devastation they did not forsee
disbelief, shock an all forlorn
wheat and corn was all gone
sodden wet mud laid bare openly
mangled limbs from drowned trees
Roads now broken, buried in ground
how was they going to travel around?
stuck, cut off from outside life
they knew to be in heavy strife
In distance a familiar sound echoed flew
splish splosh splush vibrated through
Mr McCheesy the man with large feet
pounding down the ground skillfully neat
Creating a road solid and sound
for everyone to convey around
feet echoing sounds they once did fear
now welcomed with loud roaring cheers
Lone warrior working his large feet
In rhythms of phuds and splats
Mr McCheesy on hearing their claps
spurred on reclaim land to reap
Added cheers erupted, boomed loud and clear
"you've made the horror disappear
Mr McCheesy you've saved the day
hip! hip! hooray! hooray!"
From that day forward none laughed at him again
ashamed and guilty of their bullying and pain
for he was their hero he saved the day
a statue was erected in his grand name
We are all unique with qualities of difference
some dont see, only show of their ignorance
god gave to us for reasons unknown
were all different it is often shown
but the devil he teases and tempts with his sin
turns us into imbeciles and cruelty sets in
If ever your teased to having cheesy feet
remember the tale wrote above
cheesy feet who saved that day
gave so much and forever his love
26.08.20
Walking exhausted through the busy streets,
I kept drowning in the pool of thoughts.
Ignoring the dreadful sight of creeps,
Gazing at me addled in all sorts.
With tears streaming down my face,
And my heart weighing a ton.
Legs giving up even at the slowest pace,
I chose not to stop but to run.
While escaping from the dreadful truth,
I found myself drawn to the seashore.
With its ambience serene and smooth,
Hushing and calming down my core.
I slowly sat down on the sand,
Looking at the evening blues.
Feeling emotions surge within my hand,
Leaving me devoid of all clues.
When I closed my eyes to feel the breeze,
And forget my worries for a moment.
I woke up to the swaying of trees,
Keeping the atmosphere pleasant.
I laid down flat on the ground,
More comfortable, cosy and warm.
Under the spell of the tranquil sound,
And it's magnificent and alluring charm.
The sun shone faintly over my palms,
Greeting me with warmth and gentleness.
Assuring me I was free from all harms,
And could begin anew with faithfulness.
The waves quietly caressed my feet,
Bringing a sense of stillness within me.
Encouraging me to skillfully compete,
With hurdles in life; and live carefree.
The white and grey clouds gathered together,
And bent down to shower their magic upon me.
Cheering me to savour each moment ever,
And create a world where I am free.
The trees majestically danced with the wind,
Showing me their robustness and strength.
Teaching me to stay strong and bound,
Embracing all my life values profound.
As the night falls, comes the moon,
Showing me the brightness in the dark.
Telling me to start over soon,
Continuing with Happiness, and a hopeful spark.
Always in my toughest times,
All of them held me firm and tight.
Reassuring me of their support at all times,
And teaching me to stand strong and fight.
There she was sitting beneath a decaying
Magnolia tree,
Whistling the lamentations of the discontented,
Absent mindedly flicking empty beer bottles into a arsenic pool,
Hiding her soul from the pestilant sun
And the bitter hope of yet another false dawn,
I knelt beside her beneath the poc-marked
Black boughs.
And watched the ripples dying a painful death upon the stagnant water
So skillfully posioned by man's skeletal hand
I pleaded
" this is no place for one so young who has the privilege of time dancing at their feet.
These dung hills this poisoned land of wishful thinking and demented dreams
Is only for lost causes, disappointed truth seekers and the battle weary who fought the world,
Who spend their days taking obscure roads
To pointless destinations.
You must return to paths narrow and straight,
Where bitter words shrivel and wither beneath the radiance of a fulsome moon"
She wants to speak but I say,
"Please don't tell me your ills my wisdom is
As deep as that toxic pool.
There is no cure no hidden medicine upon
This parasitic breeze"
But she weeps,
"Why can't they leave me be to my rhyming
And my poetry,
I was obedient you see believed all the lies
They told me never realised they're reducing
My life to office cubicle mediocrity
And now they want more,
Body beautiful is what they say, a perfect life with white shiny teeth,"
I sigh " the world is what the world is they
Will never be satisfied "
I take her gently by the hand and lead her back
To the mist that poets and madmen cannot
Pass
I kiss her on the cheek and hand her a tattered copy of Yeats 'The land the Heart's
desires '
I whisper "your pasture will be greener
Your sky the deepest blue and you will bathe in crystal clear springs of the mind,
Your soul is for you alone"
As she vanishes into a haze I hope she gone forever and never returns to this empty God forsaken land.