Long St thomas Poems
Long St thomas Poems. Below are the most popular long St thomas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long St thomas poems by poem length and keyword.
When the sun looks into darkness
upside down cowboy's lend a hand to chaos
deserters of faith rejecting lawful behaviour
Persuading bodies believing something good is created from lies
deceit has no value with an opinion against the truth
a human right has been violated by treachery
When the freedom of speech has been tampered with manipulating senses
an unjust law is no law at all, words of St Thomas Aquina's
not a single word defends the innocent today
When judges support blood sacrifice
crime is their legal reality and argument
putting your hands out to help someone in dire need
Condemns them guilty of a crime how is this just
hate has taken over justice to speak properly directed
their convictions are the evidence unto the fact detailed
To what authority do they stand to plea
in the case that is put before them unless ordained otherwise
lending an ear to the wise in the Spirit of listening
How one learns from life's lessons
I am only a beggar like everyone else pleading for His Mercy
the evils of mankind not wishing to upset a single soul
Recently, I awoke
from a very specific dream--
In which I expressed
my getting-a-B.A. scheme
A long-time ambition
I've put on the back-burner
Delayed because I'm not
much of a wage-earner
It'd be easier to succeed
with a B.A. under my belt?
Hard to get there
with low self-esteem (as I've felt)
Plus it'd make my outlook on life
more well-rounded
Even if all that online study
makes me feel grounded
But as for a potential professional job
without a degree
I'm looking into Indexing --
might be just right for me!
Then if I can support my education
financially that way
I hopefully will join the ranks
of B.A. grads someday...
Whether or not I go after
this accomplishment, I will age
The question is, by that time,
do I wish to be more sage?
But I tend to get discouraged
and distracted; so no promise
Perhaps I can enlist
the smarty-pants prayers of St. Thomas
Canterbury
So long ago, St Martyrs Field Road was there my home
There is the huge Martyrs monument of witch burning, oh
Forty-three names on the stone, mine will be the new one
I am the forty-fourth, yes, very famous my life of witchcraft
So many times I watched from my room’s window this monument
I had an ominous feeling, always, very often and it happened
Canterbury a beautiful city, historian, part of world heritage
High street, churches, the cathedral, old houses and buildings
Parks, rivers, everything, traditions, old culture, time traveling
St Thomas catholic church was there my favorite place to contemplate
Sixteen years ago. Time is gone. Life goes on and on, Past far on
I never forget the beautiful tall blonde English lady’s coffee. I loved her.
A time I will visit again this city in Kent
Kent, picturesque landscapes, fantastic
Garden of England, says the saying
I will visit again Canterbury
Secretly, like incognito
I hope we will meet
Oh, amazing heart
Incomprehensible are the
Petty landmarks that linger in a person's life
It happened so long ago
That I'm surprised I still remember.
In St. Thomas' parochial school
When Sister Elizabeth held a ruler
In her pale white hands
Any signs of mercy
Mysteriously vanished from her blue eyes
Religion was her weapon
Corporal punishment it's end
Fueled by frustration
She held the class
In fear.
Every school day
Was a grey morning
Of my longing to be somewhere else
Standing by the door
In a robe
Of darkest wool
Sister Elizabeth counted us in
One by one
As we walked in silence
Hair combed
Little backs held straight.
From her glance
The message was clear
Grade school was not about deep thoughts
Or clever ideas
Originality was not in vogue
It was about small things
That grown-ups winked at
And often ignored
Issues, important as the color of beige.
One dull morning
I whispered to a classmate
When I shouldn't have
Called to the front by Sister Elizabeth
I was given the ultimate punishment
The ruler and then some
In her capable hands my palms were lacerated
When I cried out
She turned my hands over
Until my knuckles bled
Darkening the cuffs of my white shirt.
That evening my mother cried at my bruises
And my father uttered a string of curses
Long into the night
True
Sister's time was not easy
Teaching mindless brats
Such as myself
Only added to her
Disappointment.
Over the years
Attitudes changed
Commitments weakened
And Sister, childless and alone, realized
Much too late
That her days of sacrifice and Catholicism
Chastity and prayer
Had been a life against nature.
Even now my hands cringe
To a fist
When someone holds a ruler
For the wounds are marked deep
In memory.
“This circus is falling…”
It’s circa 1997; I’m in Charlotte, NC
It’s a 13-week consulting gig, my longest ever
I come home every few weeks
Long days at the customer site
A hostile environment;
they don’t really want us there
A server vendor is trying to make inroads at a bank
I’m there working for the vendor
After a long day, a swing by Harris Teeter:
pre-packaged dinner and beer
“The big top is crumbling down”
And so is my life
Evenings are spent
hunched over a laptop
in a dark 1 bedroom efficiency
Programming late into the night
Until the eyes are too tired
And the beer has run out
Music is a constant companion,
most of it, soulful, sorrowful, some upbeat.
Counting Crows, Matchbox 20, Sting
“These train conversations”
Are truly passing me by
No coworkers here.
No family here
No interactions with anyone outside of work
Just a call home early enough in the evening
that the words aren’t slurring too badly yet
“And I don’t have nothing to say”
Just ache
I want to be home
I miss my wife
I miss my kids
I miss my dog
“You get what you pay for”
They are paying me well
I’m getting all the overtime I want.
I am piling away the money for a nice trip to St. Thomas
For all of us
When I get home
And I don’t care; I just want out
“But I just had no intention of living this way”
Warp forward to today
Life could not be any more different
Life is wonderful, life is good
I have purpose
I have meaning
I have family
I have love
I know and am known by God
I’m working out in the barn
I’ve hooked up the old stereo
I see the “August and Everything After” CD and I fire it up
I set it on “Raining in Baltimore”
“I need a phone call, I need a plane ride
I need a sunburn, I need a raincoat”
And for a brief flash,
I am back at that dinette table
Alone, in the dark
And terribly lonely
When it is uplifting, music causes our spirits to soar
But it can put you right back
in a particular place
In a particular time
And that’s not always a good thing
“But what would you change if you could?”
Uh, August and Everything After…
click.
————
Quotes are from “Raining in Baltimore” off the
“August and Everything After” album by Counting Crows
stupendous silhouette of castle
piercing through hazy fog
reminds me of your shadow
as you come to meet me at twilight
mixed hues of spectral sky
reflected in dreamy water
in furrowed thick impasto
of amber and sandstone
are glowing ember
of your undying love.
Notes: Claude Monet painted a series of impressionist oil paintings of the Palace of Westminster, home of the British Parliament, in the autumn of 1899 and the early months of 1900 and 1901 during stays in London. All of the series' paintings share the same viewpoint from Monet's window or a terrace at St Thomas' Hospital overlooking the Thames and the approximate canvas size of 81 cm × 92 cm (32 in × 36 3/8 in).They were, however, painted during different times of the day and weather conditions. This one was during sunset. ( Photo and reference credits to Wikipedia).
20 May 2021
For "All Yours ( May 20) Poetry Contest"
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place
He's the classic busiest bummed bee,
Work members close enough not to swallow,
Some business pursues far from his body,
Their thoughts cease, naught his, she always, follow.
She soar the skies as her duty's promise,
Perpetuity o'er her trusting beau,
White feathers sure faith like St. Thomas,
Stinger pleased tradeoff for wings, ... love to ... grow.
Since their first meet, a love story is told,
Distant and flighty, not really quite so,
Sweetest start, bitter end, somber bells tolled,
Never dare edit just best left to glow.
Romantic readers love its status quo,
Shakespeare best, “Juliet and Romeo.”