Long Synagogues Poems
Long Synagogues Poems. Below are the most popular long Synagogues by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Synagogues poems by poem length and keyword.
Went to go shopping but the little stores were all closed.
Only the giant,big barn stores were open, I felt I has been
truly hosed.
But of course, nobody gets Covid in a big barn store?
Covid only lives only in synagogues or churches and those tiny
boutique stores!
The so-called wise men, in my state, decided you cannot
get a haircut!
But strip joints are open and essential, where you can see
far more than buttt!
Schools must be closed as they are havens of the virus.
But you better wear a mask...don't want anyone to simile at us.
Merry Virus to you, don't let anyone hug you, you may die?
Orders from W.H.O, those devils we admire on high?
What a sad Christmas..I'll get a hamburger and drive around
alone in my Ford.
Thank God for a great Christian upbringing.
I am not here to serve the government, but Jesus Christ, the Lord!
***Merry Christmas***
12/19/2020
The raven and the dove
Noah sent one, then the other
to check the seas and the skies above
Ravens are cruel, known
to abandon their young
While doves are loyal
to their mates for so long
At first Noah thought he'd better be tough
to rebuild the world destroyed by the Flood
Then he changed his mind, opted for 'tender'
to build a world of kindness, of a heavenly gender
Tough is the raven, tender the dove ~
leading the way back to peace and to love
_________________________________________
Note: This Sabbath Jews read the story of
Noah in synagogues the world over.
Beautiful, yet so utterly vile!
Congress shut down, hiding, plotting.
The destruction of this country and its President.
Under the glitzy costume of a Virus you came.
Unabashedly shredding the Bill of Rights.
Joyfully, slamming churches and synagogues tight.
You vampires on the Hill~
Destroying the Republic, the lives of its people.
To the great god, Socialism, you plan a building
with a shining gold steeple.
We cannot shake someone's hand?
Yet you unabashedly, tax us cruelly to beat the band!
Some of us not your slaves, not now nor ever will
be.
While you track our movements and words with
unconstitutional, unlawful glee.
April 12, 2020
10pm PST
Born in that historical and eventful year
when changes were sweeping this country,
peace songs were heard in the scary, tumultuous air...
not realizing the dear cost for the quest of liberty
when soldiers would have gone to a foreign land so far,
to defend what others thought was sheer folly!
And their blood was shed in jungles and on dusty roads,
never feeling selfish pride by carrying the heaviest loads.
And from those sad and tragic memories,
my lyrics were written and sung to myself
with the hope of revealing them with teary eyes...
remembering what took for them to face pain without relief
and whenever letters were delayed in the mail mothers
began to fear the worst, if not a horrible death...
many went to churches and synagogues to ask God for mercy,
and yes He heard their pleas, but war had no clemency.
Many of those soldiers were given Purple Hearts
for their remarkable courage to have confronted danger without surrendering to the enemy,
others were forgotten in wheelchairs without legs and arms,
and they wept with no one offering comfort, warmth and sympathy...
but on those heart so proud of their Motherland they wore American flags,
unable to forget their commitment when they were asked to fight for their beloved country.
O brave soldiers, if no medals or honors were given you...let me reward you for your fright:
by erasing all the atrocity of bloody scenes that still are troubling your longest, coldest night.
I rarely go to temple,
Though when New Year comes around,
I do not feel complete until
I hear the shofar’s sound.
Some synagogues stream services;
I listened for a while,
But the rabbi’s talk went on and on
And wasn’t quite my style.
I turned it off and went to sleep,
Yet while I calmly drowsed,
A noise disturbed my slumber
So I suddenly was roused.
It was a shofar from the street
And it was being blown
In the familiar rhythms
That, since, childhood, I have known.
My husband woke up also
To the blasts, both loud and clear,
Which, from right below our window,
Wished the world a sweet new year.
*This is my poem from October 3,
when PoetrySoup was down
We know the heart of the stranger
for 190 years, slaves unto Pharaoh in Egypt
backbreaking labor, spirit-sapping, 24/7
Within us beat loud the heart of the stranger
We take him with us, for all time, to the farthest reaches of the globe
a sacred bond between us and the Almighty
As He protects the stranger, so do we
As He promotes him, so must we
For what does God ask of us other than
to emulate Him
to walk in His ways
to do justice
___________________________________________________
Based on Deuteronomy, Chapter 26, esp. v. 11,
read in synagogues throughout the world Sat-
urday morning, August 29, 2026. The poem also
references other Biblical chapters as well as com-
mentaries thereto. ~ gw
Doctor of heart heals* by His love’s power
Easing afflictions thru blessings’ shower
Fortifying humankind's health welfare
Guarding soul midst merciful concern’s care
Hoisting spirit toward service-tower.
Illness inflicted by sins He can cure
Jesus is His name, my Lord and Saviour
King of Kings, Physician almighty great
Life-Giver of heaven’s excellent rate
My life He does nourish and nurture.
*Matthew 4:23 And Jesus went about all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, and preaching the gospel of the kingdom, and healing all manner of sickness and all manner of disease among the people.
January 16, 2019
Edited on September 3, 2022
6th place, "Doctor Strange Spells" Poetry Writing Premiere Contest
Sponsored by Robert James Liguori; judged on 9/3/2022.
I took umbrage over a comment in a current blog, in part stating that poetry, "... is a battlefield..." No. There should be no gauntlets thrown, no darts hurled, and no negative words hurled as if Poetry Soup is a battlefield. I was motivated to write...
Over and over again, blogs become a wallowing hole
where ugliness brews contempt and always takes a toll
on those who are trying to make a simple observation.
Someone takes offense and that provokes confrontation
by a tadpole who'll be a frog and not Prince Charming.
Ya know... the narcissistic type who think it's alarming
that they're ideas are not accepted by others on the site.
Then, it's "Katie, bar the door" and get ready for a fight!
Pollywogs keep swimming in rippling waters of the Soup,
where they take a dump, but don't think of it as 'Poop.'
Blogs are sandboxes where nasty words become litter.
Catty remarks are made by the arrogant and the bitter.
Not surprising, the same ones cut up with their mocking.
It's the same MO they use when they come a knocking...
knocking on new blog doors and causing a ruckus inside.
That's crossing a line that no one should ever take in stride.
Some abuse blogs, as if they're churches or synagogues.
If any part of Poetry Soup should go, it should be the Blogs.
Not as some redundantly claim, should be poetry contests...
Objected to by rallying sponsors and poets in fervid protests.
Blogs serve as playgrounds but break all schoolyard rules
when some can't stop themselves from acting like fools.
There's fighting and tugs of war... never for a good cause.
Gettin' tough over trivial stuff puts a pinch in their drawers.
For gosh sake, act like adults instead of flakes and nuts.
There's never and excuse for acting like a rattlepated putz.
Arabic: (Alam) meaning "world" or "universe"
A character of a madman has a role in the play.
Henceforth, the casting was done,
Alam, the madman, to mentor in the acting,
the wanderer in the graveyard area
his folded sleeves hold the world, in fullest.
Throughout days, one might notice
his gesture, in talking, in walking, in waving
The way he solves all those problems in this lowly world
Within just a blink of an eye.
A face, covered with beard and mustache reminds often
The magnificent Karl Marx.
One might wonder if Karl Marx was himself a mad person, or not!
An absent-minded thought like this brings me smile
Through ages, men, way ahead than their time,
Preachers, revolutionists for a greater change
Falsified in their cults of blames of being “mad”,
more or less.
In midst of all this, a pair of fatigued, absent-minded eyes
Wander beyond the sky
faded songs of tragedies, lives.
Turbulent river waves ensure overflowing hypes
Ebb tides,
And Alam , one madman.
With him, I also reach my predestined tears, bursting ones
A drag of memorable gems!
Some of those days, graveyard walls Index finger, boasting higher,
All that loudness in noisy speeches, acted up, yet no lies
Alas! Utterance of these intrepid, bold truth, yet
Abandonment for ages!
Tonu, Muniya, Sundarbans, Black money, Tears of Mountains
How all those synagogues and worship places
are burning into ashes for race and class
Cities are burning down,
Neighborhoods, Maps, Palestine, Brussels, Paris
Angry fire of greed is burning down countries
Alleys and unknown cities.
Men are getting killed in broad daylight
With his proud civilization.
A saddened soul, I, return to my window
The tree branch, on the other side of windowpanes
greets my forehead, with its shadow, gently
And I simply wonder,
Everyone is acting quite fine these days
except
the one and only, Alam , the madman.
October 14, 2022
Tribute: This is an effort of a translation of a poem of poet Ehsan Nazim
Closing in by land, the Egyptians on the attack
From the other side, the deep sea at their backs
Had the newly liberated Hebrew slaves
just dug themselves watery graves
Prayer may be the Jewish weapon of choice
but this time one man found a different voice
From the tribe of Yehuda, Nachshon, its prince
taking steadfast steps into the sea, convinced
The G-d of Israel to command Moses, "Your staff, now raise!
Split the sea!" The courage of Nachshon of Yehuda forever praise!
_______________________________________________________
The Torah portion in synagogues around the world this week is Exo-
dus 13:12 - 17:16. It includes the courageous act of Nachshon, son
of Aminadav (as he is named in the Torah), the miraculous Splitting
of the Red Sea, and two famous songs of gratitude and praise after-
ward: the first, that of Moses and the men; the second, that of Mir-
iam and the women.