Best Continence Poems
The old King took to the battle
and leapt into the fencers fray.
“Noblesse oblige” his cronies cry.
“Our King will save the day!”
He was a bull to their gazelle
nae a fair fight, nae by half;
he'd fight just to see the thralls fall
he ‘d pierce those peacocks for a laugh!
His continence was so fearsome.
His two burly arms a rare threat.
Some would nae fight His Majesty
nor fight of his knightly get.
“How is this fair?” the Lord’s lament.
How well met can these odd match be?
“Unless, of course, ‘twas nae ‘bout fair
this was nae called noblesse oblige!
In heavy plate with blade and pole
with broadsword, He’d bested the field;
so, as the fencers broached this game
the wiser lads all chose to yield.
They would nae raise a blade to him
nor would they save for him a dance;
many a brave man whispered there
and the bolder looked on askance.
“Let Him have the day! We’ll nae play
Noblesse oblige, my fine backsides!”
And, so the fancy fencers fell
like pretty harp seals on the tide.
There are many a way to win
and sure, many a way to loose.
Yet ‘tis the metal of the man
shows in the way that he chooses.
XIII. Ethos
Despite that of which is rise.
In the face of what has fallen rise.
Despite those that are rise.
Celebrate that you have risen.
Despite the incongruous rise.
Now that you have believe that you will.
Dream not for they are fleeting.
Upon thy continence be joy.
© veritatem voluntatem 2015
Lost in garnet glow, within crimson shadows,
eyes in you see continence, bold, unerring;
where, in truth, ingenuous virtue harbors.
I see you sleeping.
Yet, unbidden innocent thoughts turn rancid,
craving hunger, withering dreams of honor.
Cold in lust are fantasies born from sorrow,
driveling sorrow.
Ice envelops spurious hearts when love wilts.
Passion's roses, petalless, lie infertile,
endless waiting, hopelessly, always waiting
love to now answer.
Dream in gentle slumber of sweetened ardor;
for, in you is virtuous faithful rapture.
Sentimental visions of love remains, as
virginal hearts throb.
06/28/2020
Intoxicating Poison
Host: Edward Ibeh
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas - Poetry Contest
It is true, I’ve been so delusional
Straying away from reality
Desperation clouds my mind, and so does the lust
It is evident I refuse to let go
My attraction for you will not let it
I need to search for the words and try again
To free my tainted heart
To escape the void of love that is aching
If possible can I be given something new
I’m tired of standing motionless
Being caught in a parade of devoted inner-torture
Why can’t I see out of this tunnel vison
I want her, please her
I’m thinking too much
I’m fantasying too much
I’m hurting too much
All because I want to gaze at her beauty
Hold her
Be with her
This must burn, let the ashes of this love scatter
So I may leave with a clear continence
.
Yogi. Arts
Aesthetics
There were
Times such
Disciplined
One trained
Disciples to
Ever Desist
Temptation
Gold & Girl
Lust & Love
Men trained
To overcome
Carnal quests
A sensuous body
Is but a leather bag
A celibate to discriminate
The monk stays unmoved stoic detached
In every woman young or old treat her as Mom
Breasts you suckled your mother’s as an infant
Real men do no seek carnal worldly enjoyments
Covet not temporal beauty that will fade in time.
Yogi seeks immortality
steadfast on the path of wisdom.
the celestial nymphs may cavort before
Temptations wordly. Consider them a test
Gold and Girl. rest you eyes
are delusions. on inner core
you overcome. body beatific
Cessation. is corpse
of impulse. Stillness
nerves o steel. is cultivated
to be attained. Is the secret
in all learnings. and constant
Sacrifice temptations. Yogi has a mission.
sacred thread, mudras and mantras
steadfast Self in discrimination
The Yogi Practices
Brahmacharya or continence to the extent extreme
Religion says- Marriage is fundamental to Dharma
Tantra says - The creative energy is the root cause
Yoga says - Bhramacharya is the essential bedrock
The Gyanis say that true Brahmachaya is not forced
Brahmacahrya is- Staying with Brahma- in whatever
No point in physical abstinence, if mind is wandering
Various thoughts different ways to overcome to grow
O my dearest heart, thou hast shed a tear,
casting melancholy shadows within.
Your continence has brought my soul so near,
‘tis liken to a concert violin.
The burdens of many, loom in your heart
and you forgot my pain in crescendo.
I beg you dearest; set my strings apart,
hear me, without callus innuendo.
At the concerts’ end, silence fills the hall.
You pick me up, caress my finished wood.
Feel the trust, in an instrument so small
and finely tuned with love that’s understood.
So dear, see my stratovarious heart;
regain my trust and n’er tear it apart.
Building your space,
you were dying daily
invading the acoustics.
How the continence
was going to help-
living with scars of explosions ?
Mutating into a full-fledged
saintliners, an inner conflict
becomes a profile.
Crawling to a stone
a crayon draws a cell
without incendiary rhetoric ?
Decoding an icon
becomes a daily ritual. From
where will come the write ?
Satish Verma
Asphyxiated by curled hands.
Punishment for tainted moon,
it has floated down to
darker side of continence.
You push the body in wall,
Coal burns in the eyes.
The shadow at last, leaves the body.
The high priest, goes for the copyright
and nerves explode in the books for
annular bulge of pride.
A simile was needed for a grain of sand
by cutting your wrists
and pouring the blood on the knives.
SATISH VERMA
My continence is sad because of the things we go through;
Seems no one understands, not a soul to talk to;
As we wrestle to cope with life every day;
We pause and wonder if we're here to stay;
We are content when things are going fine;
But when we get into trouble we want to resign;
No matter how often we want to give up;
We sometimes still feel in this life we're stuck;
I understand the feeling seems the pain never ends;
But it's just temporary and a new life begins;
So try not to worry because you're never alone;
The world where we live is surely not our home.
Soul travels the abyss
On its continence visible is
Supernatural bliss
As beautiful as midnight kiss
The neural flame form base is far
More distant than from earth to any star
When base is the soul results are bizarre
It grows in wisdom and power like an avatar
The end of the rise is collapse of time
And collapse of every echo of time
What makes it sublime?
It is stressing omega at that time
Watching her I enjoy
When she cries tears of joy
This I build for me but after all
I can share it with hers’ blissful soul
The vector never changing and absolute
It is the measure of love’s magnitude
The omega point is the centerpiece
And like it her body, mind, spirit are masterpiece
A SPIRITUAL SAINT'S STRENGTH AMIDST STRIFE
Fortitude for half a century, giving God all the glory,
The Foundress of Holy Family lived a humble, godly life,
St. Mariam Thresia - a stigmatic saint's story
Filled with many troubles, temptations and strife,
From Puthenchira, an Indian Syro-Malabar Catholic
Consecrated herself to the Lord at eight or nine years,
Modest and meek, serving the poor and the sick,
She was disciplined, obedient and different from her peers,
With childlike simplicity, charismatic charity and Christian chastity,
Fastidiously following Father Vithayathil's fine footsteps,
The "virgin of pains" was for Family Apostolate, the model entity,
Nursing the sick and dying by visiting them at their doorsteps,
Burning with intense love for God, she was a mystic soul,
"Whose Heart was aglow with fire and whose feet were winged",
Enduring her sufferings for the sake of Christ was her goal,
Her patient, divine spirit was with radiant sweetness tinged,
She had fervent trust in God's immense providence,
Her spiritual ecstasy was hours of prayer and meditation,
The "Apostle of suffering", she strived for her continence,
Wiping the tears of the broken hearted was her consolation,
Her gracious gift of goodness guides us all in giving
Care, concern and compassion to the comfortless at all cost,
Her lasting legacy left behind still leads the living
To show His love, shine His Light and shelter the lost.
Form: Rhyme (abab)
10.23.19
{This poem is about St. Mariam Thresia, who was canonised on 16th October, 2019 by Pope Francis in Rome. She is the Foundress of the Congregation of Holy Family, Puthenchira, Kerala.}
America, in this modern age
Population so proud
On their ancestors heritage
But in the annuls of time
Not that long ago
To a new world they came
Immigrants so
They travelled far and wide
Some further than most
Open invitation from their American host
Many reasons
As they left their homes
Some directly
While many roamed
To America's shores
In their many ports
Protection by, their military forts
To the land of plenty
And the home of the free
Where many immigrants settled
New future, families
The Scots Americans
Now American Scots
Left their shores
From a country so fraught
To sail the Atlantic
And escape the wrath
To hone in on their freedom path
To wear their plaid
A tartan true
America, has pulled us through
" Blàr Chùil Lodair - The Battle Of Culloden "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland.php
Love’s Innocence
If eyes could only look one time on love’s clear continence
By humble brook of babbles waters
By moss covered morning rocks
To watch you seated on the moist surface
And pass your hand across the moving water’s grain
To see you and all your purity designed by God
And as for me with my precious luck
Enough to pass this spot by chance
To witness such beauty to exist like this
And with all of nature to explore the glory of such innocence
A moment captured in eternal bliss
Love’s mystery
Created on 5/11/15 for “When Love Was Innocent”- Poetry Contest - Sponsored by: Justin Bordner
Asphyxiated by curled hands.
Punishment for tainted moon,
it has floated down to
darker side of continence.
You push the body in wall,
Coal burns in the eyes.
The shadow at last, leaves the body.
The high priest, goes for the copyright
and nerves explode in the books for
annular bulge of pride.
A simile was needed for a grain of sand
by cutting your wrists
and pouring the blood on the knives.
SATISH VERMA
If men tell, carefully
all that men,shall one day have to tell
who then shall heed men voices
without giggling, complaining
of solitary voice like sad beggars.
who indeed with godly heart heed
to them without laughter.
If men cry out of our torments,
that evenly increased from yonder miles,
which eyes will then watch, without pointing,
mocking, gossiping and teasing.
yet if men tells of truth, which mouth will patience,
and heed to men tales.
the mouth in hungry soars,shape in
big wounds by large kids.
how many eyes will watch in glad
what heart will listen to large rage
of clamor?
who will hear to men pity continence?
who will accept men as a brother of
one soul?
that grows like a tumor,
to just thy deaf ears of men,
that will cry gently in endless time
of all which ear will listen
to men sobbing heart.