Long Staffs Poems
Long Staffs Poems. Below are the most popular long Staffs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Staffs poems by poem length and keyword.
Adorned with jewels, embroidered silks and golden staffs
Richly garbed shepherds strut in their ornate robes.
Cynical, stuffy and pretentious, these popinjays are
Holdovers of regal times, a tradition ingrained into the
Bureaucracy of the church, selling salvation like a reality show.
In today's world, there is no place for such extravagant
Superfluous displays of pompous ceremony.
Heads of the church, Archbishops need to drop the image
Of anointed Lords over their flocks, and with humility, tend to the
Poor troubled souls Jesus entrusted to their care.
(Acrostic)
02/10/2020
Archbishop Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
I didn’t see Alhaji Sule, the big contractor
Though he is a sponsor with a huge stake in government.
I didn’t see Chief Ade the financial banker
Though he is well-versed on political palavers.
I didn’t see Mazi Eze the business mogul
He’s engrossed in his profits of sales and remains apolitical.
I didn’t see Sir Osahon the civil servant
I wonder, but guess he knows he’ll always have his pay.
I’ve hardly seen his Excellency, not any of his children
But I can see all his servants and some of his relatives.
I see market women, okada riders, menial labourers
Poor farmers, job seekers and beggars, superintend by
Ad-hoc staffs, police, army, party agents, observers
Thugs, cultists, pickpockets and party chiefs, all…
All under the biting sun from sunrise to sunset.
From the tussling crowd I hear and see unending
Wails of distress, curses, cracking of limbs and crimson
Muffled by fugacious shouts of political victories
When from behind the curtain five dollars less swaps for a vote.
Stale politicians and their eating party chiefs preside over
The poverty, ignorance and despair of the masses who shall
Again be left in the cyclic vortexes of socio-economic woes.
In the coming years, they’ll, in public, keep licking their wounds
While the politicians, in private, will have and eat their cakes!
(This poem is political satire;
don't read if you think you may
be offended. No truth in any of it,
considered by many to be
tasteless -- Not meant to be taken
factually nor literally -- Sincerely, Joe)
New strain of Virus detected
just a minute ago! Predominately
in Democrat run cities and states:
Seems to be 3 trillion times more
infective. CDC is calling it the,
S.T.U.P.I.D. Variant. University Staffs
hard-hit! Early signs, loss of Sense-
of-Smell, Gullibility, and increased
fetish for Designer Masks. Best
detected by examination of Cancel
Cultures -- microscopes prohibited
per Fauci. The most vulnerable group
seems to be those who have already
had 4 doses and 2 boosters. To treat
Fauci recommends, 4 doses and 2 boosters
for everyone, preferably administered
as young as the womb to developing
fetuses by his personally trained
omnipotent physicians at Unplanning
Parenthood -- Biden and Pelosi
say, God Bless America!
Imagine DNA as architectural color design,
regenerative blueprint,
but written in fugue fractal songs,
no two exactly identical
except for twins.
Each species shows some shared architectural greyscale function
like staffs holding up a linear musical score
for counting eighth and sixteenth notes
in 4-dimensional realtime.
Each hue and cry species
shares it's own seasoned key
and basic rhythmic nurturing structure
and range of song-scaled nutritional sound.
Animals sing in absorbing hues and cries of red and blue
and hibernate through ultra-violet greyscale early memories
both secular and more deeply sacred
convexly wondrous and concavely awesome
but also at risk of future terror,
WinLose cost cast as predative until mortal prey,
bully until un-organic victimized remains
dreaming in nightmare red inside
without blueprint memories of outside.
Meanwhile, smaller plants and microbes,
flora and brawny dream in green tree shade
and yellow sunlight
pushing out new deep learning roots,
sensitive to which humane divine songs
would favor and flavor us both sacred and secular beauty,
both spirit and nature true animal dynamism,
Nondual ZeroZone dynamics
of blue ahead
and red behind
green in-between
ultra-violet wisdom
of sacred secular animals,
EarthTribe cooperative lovers
reforesting economic and political health justice
both natural and spiritual,
ecological and theological
and sufficiently day/night BigNonBang
everyday DNA romantic revolutions
within dualdark polypathically logical
color-blind dream memories
in ultra-violet sound and green sight
taste and feel
unitarian smell and universally hear
windy redesigns and wintry ocean tides,
red skies dawning blueprints
for well-sung childhood songs.
Imaging DNA
designing color red
generating blueprint
for free fugue fractal songs,
no two green identical
except for dipolar newborn muses.
When you see me
Covered and bare
With septic soot -
Sores that began
With Satan’s hoofs.
The ones that trounced
Upon our graves
With subtle lies,
Agenda craze.
Bring all your poor
Through open doors.
Let’s not keep score.
We adore them…
We hid our scales
And common sense.
We filled our streets
With tents and tense.
Fires on wood streets,
Kids with needles
Between their toes.
But aren’t we nice?
We hand them phones.
You’re not alone…
A lullaby -
We rock their bones,
We sell their souls
Along with ours.
We teach them sooths
With candy staffs.
Nevermind rules
Their cruel…object.
Don’t mind hammer
Overhead. Don’t
Look around you.
Keep your eyes fixed
Away from sand,
Afghanistan,
And all good plans.
Enjoy the ride
While water’s cool
Before the boil,
The hooven spoil.
Watch earth’s recoil
When it’s too late.
Miss heaven’s gate.
Enjoy hell’s hate.
8/16/2021
A planet of dream
the world is made
up of a system
some places it bitter
some places is better
yet we all live with
a deferent desire
in a world of challenge's
and fear
A planet of dreams
our world today
is full
of event and trial
rather trial and error
we are faced always
with responsibilities
that break a lot down
to depression when
sustainable source
is a failure
we are in a mean world
so human don't feel too much
nowadays is all about
just competition
sadly on this competition
lies too many dreams
A planet of dreams
as long as we hope
we dream
as long as we dream
we fight
as long as we fight
we struggle
as long as we struggle
we bleed
as long as we bleed
we either loss nor gain
in a world of illusion
A planet of dreams
the wise dream
the fool dream
the strong dream
the weak dream
the leader dream
the people dreams
the priest dream
the commoner's dream
the boss dream
the staffs dream
the doctors dream
the patients dream
we are all dreamer
in a world of illusion
I wish all our only good
dreams come true
cos as much as
the Good man dreams
the bad guy dreams too
all in this world
so is obvious in chase
of life
and in our
quest of survivals
to get to our destiny's
we all have
turn the world to
A planet of dreams
I am coming to see you dear, I have no time to spear, I am coming out of the shadows of doubt to find out what this thing is about, I want to experience a brand new tomorrow and leave the darkness behind me as I journey towards the pinnacle of hope to fulfill my destined journey.
The sun has dried the moisture out of the clouds and summer is on the run, the birds are going east, west, north and south and the wilderness with its forward premonition is lock with time near the ocean of the divine, while autumn waits patiently under the bush for the perfect time to cook.
The guests are pouring into the town and there is preparation all around, the kitchen staffs are running in and out with trays loaded with fresh baked cakes and bread, they arrange them neatly on tables in the halls and hungry people are getting ready for a ball.
It’s is more than a treat for the hungry people roaming the street; there is lots of food around so excises some manners before you go inside, don’t eat more than you can manage and don’t be a glutton you will have more the next day and what is there is just for today.
I am coming out of this town and shake the entire demon to the ground. I have broken the ropes and chain and flush the portion down the drain.
I have pulled up the whist from around the plants and prepare the land to make a brand-new start, the bad energy is exorcised from the property and the bitterness they throw into the gate is sent running down the lane.
The bad men have left the town and summer is walking around. The heat is rising and the country girls are singing, they are getting ready for a brand new beginning.
I am locked up in a strange place and I am sandwich between the walls and the gate, the brazen sun is approaching the hill and my heart is singing a strange rhythm and I want you to listen in.
My heart is connected to the ground listening to the melody of a familiar sound but time continues to move around to defeat the origin of that dreadful sound.
I have evolved.
You see it in the old movies,
when Indians come into play,
somebody calls them,”savages,”
and it seems to fry people’s brains.
They flip out, demand censorship,
know nothing of real history,
can’t empathize with either side,
to see how that all came to be.
It’s obvious that most regret
how things happened in these past times,
and they’re not wrong to regret that,
it isn’t that hard to go find
broken treaties and agreements,
politicians playing their games,
most wish that things had gone better,
but history never can change.
Yet this does not change stubborn fact,
and looking back it is well seen
that some things the Indians did
were barbarous to the extreme.
Ritual torture was practiced
on captives by most of the tribes,
and done long before Columbus
ever had the new world in sight.
Like burning people at the stake,
or things that were much more foul,
like tying intestines to trees,
forcing souls to self-disembowel.
Making people run the gauntlet,
to be beaten by hard-swung staffs,
make it through and you might be safe,
if you didn’t…well, that was that.
Now by any modern standards
this is savage, that much is fact,
but honestly, were they alone
when you take the time to look back?
Europe had its iron maidens,
and the rack in medieval days,
and the Turks once were infamous
for leaving many captives flayed.
The Japanese in World War II
treated captives like they were trash,
Britain used to ‘blow out the guns,’
for your sake, please, don’t look up that.
Islamists rape and mutilate
in ways that would leave you disturbed,
and savage Chinese socialists
do awful things to the Uighurs.
But somehow, in this PC age,
we give the Indians a pass,
try to forget what they once did,
this really does strike me as bad.
No people should be above sin,
we see our mistakes from our scars,
to stay at peace none can forget,
must understand all that we are.
It’s important the we know this,
noble savage myths do no good,
especially since we’d forget
if there was a way that we could.
This evil lurks in all mankind,
and it should leave us all non-plussed,
Were the Indians savages? Yes…
but no more than the rest of us.
Aprilcity was the theme a ridiculous jesture
A smile to say it was witty
A jesture to say it was clever
A lighthouse ajurned to a castle
In the middle of the desert
Might the mermaids sing to me
Might the prayers of sea merchants
Sound above the rocks
Might the winds howl in such agreement
The staffs of respected people
To treat visitors as there equal
From all ends of every nation
To marvel in such creation
Menu to menu
Event to event
Might the travelers who seek
A respective Venue
Speak us as such a retreat
To level the muzzling
the blurred eye to the blind
the most physical among us
To the sweet and unkind
Travelers in lodging
To which respects
A doctrine up holds
Might we stand staffed
To be host to visitor
Our needed like there's unopposed
Hospitality
Hospitality
Hospitality
The needs of many people
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