Long Staff of life Poems
Long Staff of life Poems. Below are the most popular long Staff of life by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Staff of life poems by poem length and keyword.
"Our father which art in heaven, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is on
Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our
Debts as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into
Temptation, but deliver us from evil. For yours is the
Kingdom, and the power and the glory. Forever. A-Men."
Jesus disciples asked him to teach them how to pray.
As John the Baptist taught his disciples how to.
And Jesus answered and taught them his special
Prayer.
Commentary by Roxanne Lea Dubarry
"Our father which art in heaven."
Simply means acknowledgement our heavenly father is
residing in heaven.
"Hallowed by your name."
It means God's name is holy and worthy
Of worshipful honor and praise. How would we like it if people
Used our name for a curse or a swear word? How would we
like it if people blasphemed our name? Of course not and
God does not appreciate it either!
"Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven."
God's will is being perfectly done in heaven,
And will be on earth. When the sinful nature
Of man is no longer in question. God's perfect
Will be accomphlished by him.
"Give this day our daily bread."
Bread is the staff of life and part of our daily provisions.
It also means our daily wants, needs, and desires.
And to be thankful for his provisions.
"And to forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors."
When we are willing to forgive others, God will forgive us.
"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
God can deliver us from temptation created by the devil.
"For yours is the kingdom, and the power and the glory forever."
God's kingdom is on heaven and earth. He alone is worthy of
power and glory forever. A-Men. Amen means completion and agereement.
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
June 26, 2020
Author's note: After recently reading Elizabeth McCann's piece "Life and Everything", I was reminded of this piece that I put together some years ago. These are some "catchphrases" that I have encountered on my journey to "another place". Maybe some of you dear readers can/will come up with more to add to the list.
High life, low life, the good life,
The life of the party, life after death,
Married life, the single life,
One life to live, a lifetime, lifeline,
Lifeless, full of life, lifelike,
Nightlife, alien lifeform, Herbalife,
Miller High Life, life skills, life's work,
Life span, "For Once In My Life",
Life on the edge, life insurance,
The gift of life, the spice of life,
Signs of life, "This Is Your Life",
The story of my life, "It's a Wonderful Life",
Life goes on, lifeboat, Lifesaver,
Living life to the fullest, love life,
"It's a Hard Knock Life", life's rich tapestry,
Human life, life on earth, the staff of life,
Life sentence, the rest of my life,
Breath of life, the book of life,
Wildlife, academic life, life of Riley,
Spiritual life, clinging to life, city life,
"The Life of Brian", a former life,
Still life, "Imitation of Life", life jacket,
Life raft, life partner, life expectancy,
Lifestyle, way of life, "Give Me the Simple Life",
Life of crime, monastic life, slice of life,
If I had my life to live over, MetLife,
A matter of life or death, the facts of life,
Spark of life, "I regret that I have but one life…",
"It's not the men in my life, it's the life in my men…"(Mae West),
A hell of a thing to happen to a person,
That's life!
Addendum:
1. Always look on the bright side of life (David Kavanagh)
Hosed Again!
By Tom
8/1/2006
The water flows quickly through my 5/8’s hose
Seeking passage as raindrops or even fine spray.
Till it gets to the nozzle which I quickly close
For I control the output, same as every other day.
Having now made room for maybe just a drip
(And I promise that tomorrow I’ll change my hose.)
Past a slightly worn gasket that’s lost it’s grip
But promises are like piecrust, so the saying goes.
Perhaps tomorrow I’ll select a hose that will ooze
My power of reasoning is preoccupied I’ve found.
But being the boss it’ll be something that I choose,
Water’s purpose is not just to wet things aground.
It would like nothing better than make me its slave
That in brushing my teeth just to let the thing run,
And use a few more gallons each time that I shave,
That showering twice a day is refreshing and fun.
Then when I’m hot and thirsty and need a quick drink
Its dream is unification with a stream or some river.
While pressing me daily, eight glasses you think?
It sees itself in some lake evaporating back to its giver.
I guess in this matter I should turn it my cheek
For I do have all this water doing its best to get out;
But I refuse to let it run though I might let it leak
While my stubbornness prevails Plants do without,
So I try to conserve and with myself have a truce
And while it’s the staff of life I will cut it no slack.
For the first of each month comes a bill for its use
It’s because of its cost I let things die from its lack.
Thank You for the Music - Coda
Companion on my journey
Abided with me
In the anthems of delicate dawn -
Mornings of mauve and lilac light,
Octaves of afternoons in amber reflection,
Serenades of slumber’s silver reveries -
The melody embraced me
Asking only breath
For clefs of choruses –
Sung like new paeans or a psalm –
Scales of rhythms and in rhymes -
Written with the staff of life;
Remembering the reason
In slowly marching meter
The verses of this vocal symphony
Healing, then renewing,
My ballad of blues,
That gathered together
Quivering questions –
Why?!
Reverberating into Heaven’s waiting echoes
When my lopsided spinning world
Crawled all over itself
Losing its pitch
Then bounced off walls
In dark descending atonal discord;
Turning – then re-tuning -
Shouting in the cadence of celebration
A wounded gift restored – a carillon of blessing ascending -
A marvelous thing –no toy – winking at me -
Welcomed back my heart
To beat in time - to sing with one voice
My theme song never stilled
When vocal nodes
Stilled my song to a whisper;
Gratitude, my refrain, for this music -
Surrounded me -
Life giving as caressing rains,
Ocean waves or cricket concerts -
A chant in crescendo harmony, con brio,
With the eternal fire of melody again.
In gratitude to Abba for their song - Thank You for the Music – My theme song that carried me through two vocal node surgeries when I thought I might never sing again
Thank You for the Music
Companions on my journey
Surround me in anthems -
When the dawn rises up,
In afternoons of reflection,
In slumber’s reveries -
Melodies
Always embracing me
Asking only breath
In canticles and choruses –
Paeans and in psalms –
Rhythms and in rhymes -
Written on the staff of life
Remembering remorse
In slowly marching meter
Uplifting shame
In the verses of vocal symphonies
Healing regret
In ballads of blues
Shouting celebration
In cadence of joyful jubilees;
A wondrous gift – a blessing evolving -
A marvelous thing –no toy -
That gathers together
Wandering questions
Shouted into Heaven’s ears
When the spinning world would
Crawl all over itself
Losing its pitch
Or bounce off walls
In atonal discord;
Welcoming back hearts
To beat as one in time;
My theme song never stilled
When vocal nodes
Stilled my song to a whisper;
Gratitude, my refrain,
For music,
Life giving as caressing rains,
To chant, once more, in harmony
With the vital flame of melody again.
In gratitude to Abba for their song - Thank You for the Music – My theme song that carried me through two vocal node surgeries when I thought I might never sing again.
How strange life is. It circles round, stands end on end
Distorts the view, then plays the music back again
I remember how he would tiptoe in, from a warm and downy bed
He would wink at me, and beckon me, while the moon and stars peeked in
By kitchen light, we would eat a bite..., a “midnight snack”, he said
He would lift me up, and from the counter top, I'd watch him tear the bread
The staff of life, a simple thing, these two small bowls of wheat
My Dad and I, the broken bread, with milk on top, or cream instead
A bit of sugar or honey dripped, to make it slightly sweet
Such a little thing, so comforting, and it helped us both to sleep….
***
While… in my care, his final years…especially at the end
He was fading then, no appetite, few foods that he might try
Soft bread I’d make, with milk poured in, …….and we would talk of then
And through the night the hours stretched, until the morning light
I’d sit upon his bed and talk, and help him spoon a bite to eat
The things in life turn inside out, somehow come back again
_________________________
For the Contest sponsored by Regina Riddle
"Intimate Relationship"
`
How strangely life will turn around, reverse, then come again
I remember how he would tiptoe in, from a warm and downy bed
He’d wink at me, then beckon me, while twinkling stars peeked in
In kitchen light, a bite to eat, a midnight snack, he said
I would pour the milk, and he would smile, then carefully tear the bread
The staff of life, a simple thing, these two small bowls of wheat
My Dad and I, the broken bread, with milk on top, or cream instead
A bit of sugar or honey dripped, to make it slightly sweet
Such a little thing, so comforting, and helped us both to sleep
And in my care, his dwindling years…especially at the end
He was fading then, no appetite, few foods that he could eat
Soft bread I’d make, with milk poured in, would help us think of then
I’d sit upon his bed and talk, and help him spoon some in
The things in life turn inside out, somehow come back again
-------------------------------------------------------------
For the Contest: Sponsored By Regina Riddle "Intimate Relationships"
I sprinkled dry yeast in warm water
And watched it bubble up,
Then cracked open a fresh laid egg
On the edge of a measuring cup.
I dumped in a helping of all-purpose flour,
A little oil, a pinch of salt.
Then I stiffened it up in a mixing bowl
Like a mugger committing assault.
I rolled it all out on a cutting board
Well-dusted with whole grain unbleached.
My hands went to work massaging the mass
As appropriate texture was reached.
I then let it sit till it doubled in size,
Set the oven to furnace degrees.
Then I fashioned a riddle and baked it inside,
Left the kitten to do as she please.
Twenty minutes later…
I opened the oven with fireproof mitts,
And fetched out my fresh staff of life.
I brushed it with butter, then set it aside,
Left to cool, while I sharpened my knife.
Ten minutes later…
The time finally came,
I was hot on my game,
And I cut me a taste-tempting slice.
But it was only half-baked,
Insufficiently toasted.
It had to go back in the oven.
I surveyed the scene,
Took a couple more tokes,
And baked up a morning worth lovin’.
Fare waits upon the table— hard and fluid kind:
three glasses filled with golden liquid, shards of ice;
another two- the amber-colored flow, defined
and clear, no ice, their smooth opacity concise.
Supported are four slices—lightly toasted bread
that stand on end, grouped, dry without a hint of spread.
Oh, such a wondrous setting—bread, the staff of life,
the basic need that fed all men since long ago,
life-giving manna all across the world, where strife
engulfs and threatens those of humankind that know
without the staff of life, their days come to an end—
without their daily bread, grim death will soon attend.
And, there along with bread, the liquid stands beside
to quench the thirst, provide as a life-sustaining mate.
Without this sacred flow to balance and subside
the dryness in the throat from bread—this would negate
the need for food—for fluid is our liquid gold,
and mixed with bread, the staff of life becomes two-fold.
April 14, 2014
How amazing that
The merest scent
Wafting through the air
Can transport
Through time and space
To places remembered,
And allow
For the re-creation
Of poignant moments.
The smell of
Fresh baked bread
Takes me to my
Mother’s kitchen table,
Surrounded by siblings
And neighbor kids
All partaking in the
Sacrament of this
Homemade staff of life,
With butter.
The odor of
Burning sweet grass
Transports me
To a darkened sky
And a dirt path
In the jungle of
Guatemala.
The fireflies hovered
‘Til I felt I walked
Among the stars.
Ahhh…roses,
They smell like Grandma,
And wood smoke
Is my Grandpa.
My daughter smells like
Sunshine,
And my son
Like fresh turned
Soil.
My wife is vanilla.
Today I added
A new favorite –
You, my dearest friend, are
Hazelnut coffee!
The smallest scent
And I’m with you,
Laughing and singing
And knowing pure joy.
If I could
Combine them all
Into one
Scratch and Sniff,
I would label it
LOVE!!!