Long Triumphal Poems
Long Triumphal Poems. Below are the most popular long Triumphal by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Triumphal poems by poem length and keyword.
"For over a thousand years Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honour of triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror holding a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning: that all glory is fleeting".
General George S Patton
*****
A great general returned home a triumphant hero ~ victorious.
His golden chariot drawn soaring through the sky
Entering the city 'neath the arch of a technicolor rainbow.
He, dressed in pure and untainted white robes,
Savoured the grand and tumultuous procession.
And he was honoured ~ he smiled.
Amid the fanfare announced by the bright trumpeters
And the cheering of the redeemed and grateful crowds
He condescended to a small wave of the hand.
Before him traipsed his captives, they dressed in chains,
Followed by titanic elephants ridden by mischievous monkeys
And he was happy ~ he laughed.
Yet no children came to greet him, to ride with him,
For they owned no white robes to wear on the day.
He rode alone, save for his slave bearing his golden crown.
No one rode the trace horses to welcome him home,
He the glorious, undefeated, returning conqueror.
And he was sad ~ he wept.
And when he awoke and the world became real once more
He found himself assigned to a different place,
Where the highway becomes the battlefield.
The trumpeters salute had been replaced by a motor horn
And, as an olive drab 'Jimmy' crossed his path, he knew it was true;
This time he had been defeated and he was beat ~ he submitted.
For this would be his finest hour,
The hour when all would be revealed.
And at that moment,
That final moment,
He could clearly see it was true
That all glory is fleeting.
Alan S Jeeves
(A Christmas Collage)
The sun has set and night is stealing
Softly o'er the silent land,
While snowflakes slowly down are falling,
Shaken from an unseen hand.
To the top of Thorburne Tower
Light from windows streams around;
The glow of twenty thousand tapers
Sparkles on the snowy ground.
High arching o'er the graceful altar,
Wintergreen and laurel sway;
And all about the pews of alder
People kneel and humbly pray.
The rosy cheeks and smiling faces,
Rising at the last amen,
Return to rhythmic rows of places
Raising songs of praise again.
Oh hear those olden carols going
O'er the tower to the skies;
Noel and joyful tidings flowing
From warm hearts and gleaming eyes.
So far above the frosty forest,
Father God and Jesus see
The flick'ring flame of faith fulfilling
What on earth was meant to be.
There below the boundless heavens
Beams the Spirit's blessing full;
Bestowing peace and tidings holy,
Bearing love that makes us whole.
Th' enchanting ev'ning passing onward,
Ev'ry street once empty filled;
Then all-enfolding light descending,
Endless eager voices stilled.
To those who trolled triunal praises,
Angels lit the topaz night;
Attuning to the trilling trumpets,
Sounding in triumphal might.
The harps and high harmonic voices
Hold a hope no man could give,
Enmeshing in enchanting fashion,
Showing how archangels live.
E'en later yet they light their lanterns,
Laugh around the firelight's heat;
The children look around and listen,
Laps all full of things to eat.
Even now the endless snowflakes
Eloquently, gently fall;
Adding to the festive feeling
Held alike by great and small.
The youngsters holding hands are happy,
Dancing 'neath the holly wreath,
While horses hauling sleighs and cutters
Jingle homeward on the heath.
The embers glow in evenings echo,
Shedding reddish light afar;
Expectant eyes reflect its sparkle,
Shining like the morning star.
They sing of Mary, blessed mother,
Meek and willing, pure and mild;
They magnify the great Messiah
Born as Mary's holy child.
[Look for the acrostic in the alliteration. There is one letter for each verse.]
By Isaiah Zerbst, November 16, 2013
Jesus was beginning His Jerusalem trip
now getting close to Bethphage village
He sent two disciples ahead to go there
giving them instructions for this early stage
They would find a colt tied never been ridden
untie it and bring it here to me as I've said
if someone asks why say the Lord needs it
but will afterwards send it back to its stead
So the disciples did as they were told
everything exactly to a tee even what was asked
when they answered Jesus they were let go
they returned to Jesus having done his task
As the disciples showed Jesus the colt
throwing their cloaks upon it for Jesus to sit
now as a real symbolic action of submission
they threw their cloaks on the road to be fit
Everyone now shouted Hosanna to the Messiah
as He entered Jerusalem hearing their acclaim
but a week later they would shout crucify Him
even here God's son they would cast the blame!
(The Triumphal Entry
Now when they drew near to Jerusalem, to Bethphage and Bethany, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately as you enter it you will find a colt tied, on which no one has ever sat. Untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ say, ‘The Lord has need of it and will send it back here immediately.’” And they went away and found a colt tied at a door outside in the street, and they untied it. And some of those standing there said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” And they told them what Jesus had said, and they let them go. And they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it, and he sat on it. And many spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut from the fields. And those who went before and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest!”
And he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple. And when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.)
Mark 11: 1-11(esv)
1.
My Valentine, how you do shine,
your kisses taste of love’s own wine,
you are the love on which I dine.
In eternal grace, a song is sung,
once again love’s bell has been rung,
by love’s stinger, I have been stung.
It comes from the lips of an angel,
the sweet kiss that loves can foretell,
stand before me, down in the dell.
Our song is love, the eternal dream,
within my mind, you are love’s theme,
you are ever my love supreme.
Our song is from a heart of gold,
the wondrous story that is told.
2.
The wondrous story that is told,
a passion that has come from old,
you are the heart that e’er runs gold.
It is your heart that shines so bright,
you are love’s dream throughout the night,
you take me to the highest height.
Your heart does sing triumphal praise,
you are beauty before my gaze,
in all my dreams, you do amaze.
Sing love’s song and my fire shall light,
forever, your star shall shine bright,
my beloved, sing in our night.
I take your hand, our story told,
it makes our hearts once more run gold
3.
It makes our hearts once more run gold,
our hearts weep joy, our story told,
for your sweetheart, my love is sold.
My soul fills with light when you sing,
what love, to my heart, you do bring,
now, you are my everything.
You are beauty, you are glory,
what joy within our love story,
you are ever love’s victory.
Eyes bright, full of love they do shine,
our love does sing, my Valentine,
in love’s desire, we both do dine,
In love’s endeavour, we are bold,
to you, my heart, I have sold.
4.
To you, my heart, I have sold,
in the joy of love, a heart beats bold,
my soul is light, glory foretold.
My love, Diane, your beauty sings,
your eyes shine bright, what joy love brings,
we two do fly on golden wings.
I fall into their depths, my love,
now, you shall ever be my dove,
our love is wonder, high above.
Share in my passion, my deep desire,
shine on, my love, light my heart’s fire,
I play for you, an angel’s lyre.
My beloved, take me to Mars,
as we hear love’s thousand guitars,
With John Wayne snarling at me
from the television screen,
I quickly glance at my watch;
five minutes to the end
of a year’s journey through
what the Psalmist would describe
as the Valley of Death,
and what Dante would describe
as a descent through hell.
The little small ball of white fur
whines at my feet,
his almond dark eyes
begging for the last bit of cheese
I have in my hand.
Take him out now
for his nocturnal constitutional,
Or wait until three in the morning?
It is not a difficult choice.
The puppy and I head for the door.
The puppy runs hither and yon
around the yard,
sniffing and searching
the frozen ground
for the perfect spot
to make his nocturnal emissions.
I reflect upon the arrival
of another year In Anno Domini,
with dread, or is it anticipation?
Another year of grace
is what they always say about
the turning of a new year.
Like the puppy running from
one frozen turd to another
in the yard, I, sniff and search
among the heap of promised
“grace-filled moments?”
from my past year.
The church bells begin
to peal out the old year
as the puppy stops and
stands poised upon a
strategically chosen location
to unleash the grace
contained within himself
upon the frozen ground.
I appreciate my puppy’s
brilliant metaphor of
crapping out the old year
to make room for the new year.
There are some years indeed,
in which grace is bestowed
in abundant quantity.
And, there are some years indeed,
in which one must sniff
and scratch to find the grace
hidden within the dung heap.
The church bells cease their tolling,
as the puppy, in a triumphal display
Of accomplishment,
kicks with his hind feet,
bits of ice, snow, and fecal matter
high into the air.
The puppy, head held high,
small tail wagging, and I,
retreat from the frozen yard
toward our house.
Warmth and a hope for new grace
greet us as we enter the house.
And, as I close the door,
I glance once more at the frozen yard.
I leave the old year
and its promise of grace,
lying in a heap
upon the frozen ground.
We witnessed a wedding
of Groomed BridePassion,
Yanged Yintegrity
Groomed co-enlightened strengths
in cooperative economic space
with Bridal co-empowering flow
through sacred inter-generational time
Throughout each organically wedded network
explodes summer's green emphatic climax,
ripe
hot
wet triumphal passions
Yet also witnessing Earth's impending
imploding winter dormancies,
EarthMother's cold
barren
dystopian Anthropocene.
We witness
Not this day,
but before
and after,
We wait
in darkening valleys of cooperative silence,
surrounded in this sacred place
by green-blue mountains
screaming grooms embriding restless slumber
to give a new rebirth
of organically permaculturing ecstasy
passion
co-passion
co-intelligent compassion
All this green
and transubstantiating sky-blue ecstasy
of deeply poetic license,
romantic licentiousness,
exotic pansexual deliciousness
Not groomed as a secondary backdrop
for this late summer's labored wedding
of co-invested GroomNature
and BrideSpirit
Here and Now
a primal foreground
conjoining Earth's Wholy Open
green systemic communion
Bride-groom
valley-mountain
yin-yang
wu-wei balance
after foreground
reverse foretelling
paradox fortuning
fortressing this reconceiving
of EarthTribe's wedded passions
Politically powerful
economically nutritional
socially nurturing ecological
transensory bicameral
brided-groom intelligence
About what co-passions remain sacredly possible
Including, of course,
green cooperative healthy values,
but also finding win/win opportunities
in diseased and wounded disvalues
as uneased Yang grooms,
midst this trembling mountainous Anthropocene,
rewed Yintegral brides
Timeless
indigenous
ecofeminist wisdom
surrounded by capitalized health risks
yet also restorative justice opportunities
green as Vermont's swelling
summer climax of fertile blessings
grace
doing Us cooperatively
our AnthropoScenic selves
Witnessing this co-passion play,
our naturally enspirited
EarthTribal Matrimony.
Brutust Iulius Trois Page 07
Brutus called his captains into conference
we are done with creeping along the shorelines
prepare now to sail out across the Aegean
the winds are with us and Troy awaits!
Imogen seeing Hesione, ceased weeping
Hesione, were you happy with your lot?
was Telamon a better fate than Neptune's dragon.
So you are returned home having reclaimed your veil
So Priam is again Podarces and the serpentine Cetus awaits.
With the dawn the Trojan fleet finally sailed out.
Guardian dolphins leaping alongside in sunrise
Sped on by Aeolus, the windy son of Neptune
For Neptune had been placated by Brutus
by his offerings and by his vows
happy to be headed homeward the Trojans sang
composing happy ballads about Brutus
his triumphal return of the Trojans to Troy
of the golden lives he was leading them to
so the sunny days of the crossing passed
The fleet of Brutus sailed past the foggy isle of Tenedos in the last hours of night.
gliding over Neptunes's golden palace, the Aegean glowing with Salacia's lights
raced they toward the ness, the headlands of the Helespont
Suddenly from the fog came, Alarms, cries, clamor, the clash of iron
Sol's opening eyes revealed a Thracian pirate attacking a Phoencian
Tossing bodies overboard feeding the lesser cetus the sharks of the sea.
With his own battle cry Brutus took what was to hand and threw it.
as Nauta the helmsman steered into the fight
Tossed like a weapon Hesoine's amphora burst upon the Thracians
spearing them with shards as her black ashes coated the sea
clogging the gills of the lesser cetus who dived deep
deep and away from all of the disturbance.
As the ships came together the Trojans boarded the Thracian trireme
swords slashing stabbing slicing as they bloodily slayed the pirates
Imogen left behind looked away looked down upon the water
only she saw Hesoine's ashes transform into a sea dog
a great grey seal that swam to the beach of Cynossema
finding shelter beneath the shadow of Hecuba's empty tomb.
See the procession. Yonder they come'
None plays a flute- no one beats a drum.
Just a small rag-tagged group of a dozen or so.
Who, for three years, have preached wherever they go.
They know this ministry will soon draw to a close.
What door God opens next, He only knows'
Yet there is an aura about this group of men.
Unlikely to be seen in Judea again.
Even the donkey, on which their Leader does ride,
At someone else's gate was so recently tied.
Hear the refrain which they commenced to sing;
"Glory' Hosanna' To the King of all Kings'"
Some throw their cloaks on the ground,
Others are laying palm branches down.
The High Priest inquires what this is about?
"If the people keep quiet, the rocks will cry out'"
All this accomplished words written long ago,
Every detail was fulfilled- and precisely so'
A Hero this day as He rides among men,
Though shortly these same ones will yell "Crucify Him."
Today- triumphal entry; but on Friday He dies'
Sunday is coming when He'll split the skies.
This is the story of Jesus our Lord,
Born, lived, and died; now alive evermore'
Coming to Jerusalem- a small band of men-
Jesus led captivity captive; a large procession then,
What has been building in the ensuing ages
As the History Books have been filled with numerous pages.
The Church has been built; mighty and strong,
For which Jesus will return before very long.
He'll claim His bride and carry her away.
Later with His saints beside Him, He'll return to stay.
The Procession expands each time it's in views.
How does this apply to me and you?
I've made my decision and taken my stand.
Are you willing to grasp His nailed scarred hand?
You know the words Jesus has said,
And you've heard how God raised Him from the dead.
Will you believe Him, trust Him, and be saved today?
Come join our precession: He's passing your way'
Art Ball (H.S.L.P.)
February 19. 2006
So, is this personification
of political systems?
asked the organic ecologist.
Or politicization
of intimately
yet transcendently
secular and sacred
personal economic-nutritional analysis
of health-wealth trends?
asked the macrosystemic economist,
in his rather too long projecting way
of exploring means
and medians
and in-betweens.
And both?
asked the theologian
after listening to each as Other,
DefaultNetworkAssociations (DNA)
betwixt enscriptured lines
of historical metaphonics.
Just because we do not reside together,
sharing identical labels,
need not mean we journey apart.
Just because my neighbor,
my enemy,
those I don't know,
those I fear,
former friends and family who have angered me
believe in a personal God
the Supreme Straight White Father theology
does not mean they,
like I,
can not also feel Earth's climate
like an interpersonal Gaian ecology
of healthy sacred regenerative emergence
into a win/win superlative
rapturous future life together
more healthy than residing degeneratively apart.
We all speak the same emotional language.
Humor and health, good and bad,
speaks and sings and dances and enacts
and dirges and reacts
a universal win/win,
win/lose,
lose/lose bilateral climate language;
eco-political heaven
and hell,
and all that lies more mundanely in-between
killing us climate softly.
Just as adolescent loss
of a lover to suicide
steps into an endless shaming/blaming toxic story
of depression,
ego-repression,
ecosystemic suppression
of positive affect,
of hope for healthy relationship,
of faith in wealthy resonant communication,
So too
it is not theologically
or ecologically
or ego-rationally insane
to fear,
and become angered by
genocide of our entire species
shamed by our own stubborn win/lose dissociation,
climate capital-pigheaded
stiff-necked degeneration,
rabid suicide ideation
through lack of Golden Rule Rapture,
win/win integrity,
theo-eco-ego triumphal integration.
When the sky shall cry soon,
your head shall be the dwelling place
of its tears of shame and lame.
I will help to sing this cracking song,
an unbelievable old fashioned tone,
a jazz tone of Fela Anikulapo,
Nigeria shall be the theme of my tone,
we will not clothe corruption again.
My poem, our poems shall stand
to unveil those political animals
with palms written with greed.
In the basket of illusion have they
deceived us and made us insane,
our eyes, a beach of salty pains,
tears comes to play randomly.
My poem, our poems shall have
hands to get this uneased land rest.
Poets are not myopic in nature!
Do not trade with our senses!
Whole Soyinka dreamed of conquering
but failed at his teething words.
For boys of tomorrow we taught
how to guide their tomorrow.
My brothers in arms and words,
My sisters in wordwar three,
be armed with your armours.
Freedom one day shall be ours!
From political imposition we'll rise,
Poetry a mightier weapon of warfare.
Man up men and women of words!
Man up sisters and brothers in wordwar!
A triumphal medal is in front!
Of womanhood, we'll journey,
Of manhood, we'll stand firm.
Advance towards corruption!
Man your words and kill!
War for human right
War for tomorrow,
War for freedom from bad leaders!
We are not cattle to be slaughtered,
let them know we have blood flowing,
a speaking blood than Abel's.
Tomorrow we shall not hang our towls
on the surface of the sea to dry quick.
We have a dream to rewrite Nigeria,
so, man up brothers and sisters of wordwar
let's save Nigeria and purge her sins away.
A saint is not without a sin, a saint
is one with a sin and knew he has a sin.
Man up let's save our fatherland.
Nigeria died yesterday when we stopped
sounding the drums with our mouths.
Nigeria is gone into abyss
we could take another route to
resurrect our land-
Man up brothers and sisters of words
tomorrow is in our hands.
©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration