Short Clerical Poems
Short Clerical Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Clerical by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Clerical by length and keyword.
oh god is this choice
~
taking a huge leap of faith
only to abstain
By
David Kavanagh
It's the morning dew
a tender friend...
In the clerical dawns
or hell, always
cries with me...
It's the morning dew
a significant friend...
in the clerical dawns
or infernal, always
cries with me...
Patrick, an old country Pastor
Who's parish was getting hard to master
He performed christenings galore.
Last month forty-four.
He wished the women ran faster.
John Donne, English poet innovator and scholar
finished life wearing a clerical collar.
Most famous for sermons and love poetry,
a wife and twelve children also had he.
Evidently Error
Evidently Error ended up being clerical;
No one laughed or became hysterical;
More notes took;
Wrote a book;
Thoughts were horizontal and vertical.
Jim Horn
HAIKU MAXIMS FOR EVERYDAY OFFICE AND FIELD WORKS
Clerical errors
Must be on the part of clerk
Unless you’re the boss
Hastiness leads to
Unproductiveness of work
Thus, leads to disgrace
Never say “I can’t”
For doing it is your call
Thoughtless man says it
I return parted clerical error to a hall
In justice no frame
Nor corrective temp
Time as half
The titled days conveigning
That's my Monday morning appearance
This shall never be spoken freely
A civil right to act
Fine liberty
Next date, poor
Still due process
In accurate measure of published
— Untitled —
Defining, refining, and timing the rhyming
And hours of thought to perfect the fine line-ing
Clerical, lyrical, sometimes, a miracle
To get a line right could feel a bit spiritual
Hoping, not doping, and a lot oh “oh nope-ing!”
But when you are through, there will be no more moping
~J.D. Cromwell
Form:
The Stumble and Rise Poetry Contest
Back in my military days I was at chapel one Sunday morning and the Chaplain was really getting into his sermon, true story.
THE SERMON
The preacher preached with such passion,
his words he just didn't ration,
he exclaimed that's no s***,
upon realizing it,
recovered in clerical fashion!
Sunny is the day for the miracle
History's type set of it just clerical
The current lack of faith hysterical
My bonds with love given are symmetrical
May Grace's light shine even and identical
From the Atheist to Evangelical
Accepted were faithless and pontifical
For the Risen cared not, nor was asymmetrical
The life given for all, forever spherical
Directly Drafting Article in Daylight
As a result, neither side is willing to give an inch in the standoff, now the fifth-longest shutdown in the country's history
A single edit and we exist.
Clerical pennies.
Regression lines the mold
First articulate article in origin of Congress
To congressional act
Currency becomes framers opening
You first?
You'll regret this summer
As children's bodies hang from branches
Childkill meets all too popular now
Teenage girls kiss their friends and say
I'm going to die/hell now
The mincers are out in clubs
And hell on earth
Seems the clerical assumation
Last I heard they're organising
Murder squads to kill worthless people
Like me.
Come on over sometime.
This is England now.
He works alone
in cavernous stockrooms,
or as a night watchman
guarding unwanted things.
He is never behind the counter.
He is the man
who has the social skills
to fill racks.
Occasionally he is found
as a clerical error,
still at work in a defunct depot
long since depleted
of function.
A yellowing Rolodex
may yet yield a contact number
like a mythical footprint.
Someone may need to call him,
but what shall we call him?
He works alone
in cavernous stockrooms,
or as a night watchman
guarding unwanted things.
He is never behind the counter.
He is the man
who has the social skills
to fill racks.
Occasionally he is found
as a clerical error,
still at work in a defunct depot
long since depleted
of function.
A yellowing Rolodex
may yet yield a contact number
like a mythical footprint.
Someone may need to call him,
but what shall we call him?
The Body of Christ has been mutilated,
Placed on scale balances for bidders,
His blood used yet still in profanity-
Drunk by freemasons and the guilty.
The devil has seized it, in it he bathes and laughs!
Why not? why not?
Our Holy Lord has been desecrated
By clerical cupidity and nominal indiferences.
Look ahead son, look over there!
beneath that roof where congregates
menfolk and clerics
The Body of Christ
is being weighed for the buyers.
The quacksalver’s quicksilver cure--
slathering a salt salve or quaffing mercury--
might sound like quatsch, a bad wine
of qually quality, but remember a time
when faith aligned with alchemy,
before the querical became the enemy
of the clerical, the quisquous nature
of faith mirrored that viscous commodity;
when quiddities were not quisby oddities
and to quop and quob before mysteries
did not portend holy querimony
but recognition of the quintessence divine.
What a dream
it was that done
in silk or organdy
as light as the wind ...
What a shower of poetry
had you to rain,
when you inebriated
in clerical verses ...
when you painted the
soul of the pages in
white and pallor
borrowed from the moon...?
Why didn't you come in
in my world with
the ethereal clothing that
I gave you ...?
Not linen or voile,
but dream silk ...
didn't you realize
who loved you?
oh! I still love you
girl ... how do you
I still love ...!