Best For The Purpose Poems
Can it be, into this world we are dropped
from heavenly streams that have never stopped?
With sweet hope gifted to our souls delight,
oceans of love and its fiery desires;
ladies so fair, we thank our keen eyesight
and leap into romance hottest fires.
Can it be, wonderment is our reward
given for living in a world so hard?
With love's soulmate waiting a heart to touch,
deepest seas of hot sexual pleasures;
daring to embrace and love very much
this bountiful store, of life's great treasures.
Can it be, that in life's short duration
we go beyond mere infatuation?
With deeper dreams that bless spirits in need,
grant romantic nights of sweetest relief;
birth greatest pleasures of harvested seeds
fruited in soul's spiritual beliefs.
Your questions asked with pulsing energy
of lovers’ wonderland of synergy..
Gifts do flow from fountain to foundations
of souls inspiring minds to understand;
seductive passion’s yearning flirtations
of red embers roused to lusty flames fanned.
In awe you long to know love’s mysteries,
untangling threads in tender reveries..
Of all the gold offered in sun’s rich rays
Sol would be poor in the worth of our love;
for never could there be more wealth of praise
than for ambrosial taste from gods above.
During this life as our lustrous hearts’ beat
we can transcend mundane with love’s white heat..
Our physical plane of mortal being
is heightened with intimate unity;
body and soul in tantra foreseeing
weaving love’s strands into eternity.
Robert J. Lindley and Susan Ashley
(a collaboration)
July 31, 2018
*For the purpose of this collaboration, tantra represents the weaving of strands into a unified whole and liberation of energy and expansion of consciousness*
The Amorous Mystique
Can it be, into this world we are dropped
from heavenly streams that have never stopped?
With sweet hope gifted to our souls delight,
oceans of love and its fiery desires;
ladies so fair, we thank our keen eyesight
and leap into romance hottest fires.
Can it be, wonderment is our reward
given for living in a world so hard?
With love's soulmate waiting a heart to touch,
deepest seas of hot sexual pleasures;
daring to embrace and love very much
this bountiful store, of life's great treasures.
Can it be, that in life's short duration
we go beyond mere infatuation?
With deeper dreams that bless spirits in need,
grant romantic nights of sweetest relief;
birth greatest pleasures of harvested seeds
fruited in soul's spiritual beliefs.
Your questions asked with pulsing energy
of lovers’ wonderland of synergy..
Gifts do flow from fountain to foundations
of souls inspiring minds to understand;
seductive passion’s yearning flirtations
of red embers roused to lusty flames fanned.
In awe you long to know love’s mysteries,
untangling threads in tender reveries..
Of all the gold offered in sun’s rich rays
Sol would be poor in the worth of our love;
for never could there be more wealth of praise
than for ambrosial taste from gods above.
During this life as our lustrous hearts’ beat
we can transcend mundane with love’s white heat..
Our physical plane of mortal being
is heightened with intimate unity;
body and soul in tantra foreseeing
weaving love’s strands into eternity.
Robert J. Lindley and Susan Ashley
(a collaboration)
July 31, 2018
______________________________
*For the purpose of this collaboration, tantra represents the weaving of strands into a unified whole and liberation of energy and expansion of consciousness*
An ancient twilight tree now stands alone
with weakened cries of olden creak and groan;
winter’s rattling winds do rise and shake it -
in stark silhouette shriveled and reaching
wizened limbs thirst for Mercy beseeching;
prides the deep roots he laid down that did knit -
Nature bemoans as old oak's overblown.
Susan Ashley
November 29, 2018
~ Second Place ~
Contest: The Last
Sponsor: Silent One
*Overblown: to blow over, away, or across. Late 15c., blown over, passed away. For the purpose of this poem, ‘overblown’ means to fall over by force of the wind.. ‘overblown’ can also be defined as ‘passed away’, which in the context of this poem means ‘the death of’
*Rhyme scheme: AA B CC B A*
Written: September 24, 2023
_________________________________________________________
I care, I search, for the spark of divinity,
That resides within every soul's vicinity.
In the eyes of a child, so innocent and pure,
I descry the answer, as simple and sure.
In the embrace of a loved one gentle and warm,
I find the solace that can weather any storm.
In the laughter of friends, so joyful and bright,
I decry the link that bestows everything right.
I care, I search, for the meaning of life,
For the purpose that transcends all strife.
In the depths of my heart, a quest unveiled,
To grasp mysteries that have long prevailed.
Through mountains high and valleys low,
I journey on, letting my curiosity grow.
If my life flashed before my eyes…
There would be a moment of sadness
Yet, there would be more joy and gladness
There would be a smile of recollection
With the melody of tender affection
There would be assurance and contentment
Without the whisper of pain or resentment
There would be a light to illuminate the heart
With peace and love that you’d never take apart
There would be inspiration beyond words
With originality expressed in the afterwards
There would be imagination glowing silently
On a breath of rich kindness, never violently
There would be memories of compassion and caring
Hope and faith that are beyond our comparing
There would be honesty and integrity brought to life
Relieving all worry, sorrow and even the strife
There would be miracles performed through prayer
Promises of God’s gifts so we will never despair
There would be pictures of the ones I’ve cherished
Guaranteeing my heart that they haven’t perished
There would be sights and sounds and amazing grace
Tenderness that comes from knowing His embrace
There would be peace like none I’ve ever known
Reassuring my soul that I won’t ever be alone
There would be an inner feeling of absolute wonder
More vibrant than lightening and louder than thunder
There would be the warmth of knowing God is here
There is no doubt I’m loved and have nothing to fear
There would be the love that brings hearts to pledge
Their lives for the purpose of sharpening truth’s edge
There would be the praise that fills up my soul
With worship and singing as His love does console
My Bros.' & Sister's the [Book] tell us that we are made in the image of God, made
in the likeness of him. So why is the World suffering much to much idiosyncricie's whe-
ther you're fat or slim ? Do you know!! Do Ya!!... long and many year's ago, Noah
is assign an important task, that being! to build a ship (the Ark) for the purpose that
(GOD) seen the supplication of his creation. He is sadden that sin enter into evil thought's
of mankind, and the collaboration of their choices brings no satisfaction to the reasonable
reason for Noah being choosen to finished the Ark {no satisfaction}.... My guess is
that Noah prayer's was like, "Show Me the Way Home", Lord, thou reason that the rain
shall come, makes a consorted effort to save a generation, I am so along. "Show me the
way Home". This-thiss generation ignore's the preaching for a 120-years, now water is
around their necks and the door is (slam!!) shut. "Slam-Shut". My Brothers ' Sister's
do you wonder why the likeness is impossible to live up too. We choose to live to do
our own thing - our own way. That's O'K from a selfish standpoint. But for a spiritual
analyzationable lovepoint, sometimes the seperation is somewhat confrontationable.
So-so my brother, the long way home is a fight that the "Anti-Christ commit to the
principalitie's warfare against the conscience of your mind and you become blind and
you heed to the warning and now he see's (The Anti-Christ) that you are not strong:
(I'm so all along) Now my sisters that implie's to you also, your fight is a battle the ene-
my approaches from your blindside, and if you're not carefull, "you will believe in all the
lie's. (Be Strong)
"Show Me the Way Home", LORD-show me. Me and the tall and short one's and the cre-
ated of all children's whether large or small. When we have fought against the file's of
the enemy, and we all are along. Before the gap get wider (and ?) "Show Me the
Way Home".
P.S....This Poem is the first of a two-part initative in God's awsume plan to regenerate a
society of any culture, that we as his children must ask him to "Show me the way Home".
One ready for pictures
Always in a pose,
Photogenically prepared
Stands The Rose
With the depthening and bolden
Color of red,
Appear it’s strong petals
Without the despairing thought of shed
...The association of love
Under any weather,
Only for the purpose
Of making her day better
...So perfect and so steady
Is the Rose that you see,
But what some don’t recognize
Is the mess it used to be...
With beauty comes time
With time comes love,
And with love comes patience
And that patience has sprung.
Barefoot on the paving slab chill, concrete
feet feel frostbite emanations in their callused souls;
rooftop mystique clamours silent slate triangles,
perched the stray cat observers, red-eyes smoking coals.
Down to the river's edge where swaying reeds
feed mongrel contemplations with moist whispered words;
rusty oil-slicked surfaces lick the muddy banks,
karma sutra assassins are the predatory birds.
Fixated upon a frozen traffic system, bolt-locked,
dumb-shocked by electric one way streets to dead ends;
barstool poets weep sleep-sozzled cabbage tears
for the closing-time tragedy of long-time absent friends.
Drunkards shamble on beer-stained coliseum floors, grumble,
mumble incomprehensible diatribes into thin air;
the memorial park benches flake skin and rot within,
white spirits rape the dreams that anyone should care.
Deserted boardwalks spool a crooked travel,
unravel with myopic glint and blink, cat's eyes dying, died,
and the desolated song from night's deflated lung
hums doggerel consolation with no meaning left inside.
Illegitimate offspring of fatherless daughters and sons,
buns in sceptic ovens, burnt baked black offerings;
sacrifices on toilet stall altars, to lie in state
no more than ether, aborted ghosts, empty superfluous things.
Saviours ride no pale horses, immaculate white stallions,
galleons never sail to where the sun pristinely sets,
for the purpose of this life resides in its conclusion,
deserve has nothing to do with it and nothing is all it begets
"What is our life but a succession of preludes to
an unknown song whose first word is surrender."
Quote by _Constance
My life has been one of high cliffs and deep dark pits,
oh, the map of my journey is unfathomable;
so often I have fallen from a high rocky precipice,
and with courage climbed from pits of sorrow and grief !
But, somehow on this doomed voyage I found strength,
and have an inner courage to take a step within the unknown;
I can now face the puzzle of my strange life,
can explore unfamiliar and uncharted winding paths !
Oh, sure there are days I dangle from a lofty crag,
with a sheer drop into angry blue surging ocean waves;
and there are days I walk in beauty untold,
a foreign visitor in a mysterious forest on an adventure !
I have no fear of climbing vertical walls to find my bliss,
immense peril will not stop my quest for the purpose of my life;
I love finding the obscure- the secrets in the beyond,
and enjoy the view from a mountain overhang !
"And though scars are the roadmap of my life,
I drink from the deep blue cup of sky."
Quote by - Constance
______________________
January 27, 2022
Poetry/Verse/The Precipice of The Unknown
Copyright Protected, ID 01-1424-917-27
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Pick-A-Title, Vol 28
sponsor, Edward Ibeh, Judged 02/13/2022
Second Place
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Stop right there for crying out loud
Plagiarism is not allowed
You'll be lynched by the P.S. crowd.
Okay, to be or not to be
Now come on you're being silly
They'll complain and they'll be suing
Ask you what it is you're doing.
Start again and think real hard
Don't be stealing from the bard
I'm struggling, need some inspiration
To create a rhyme sensation.
Grey brick upon brick, I'm on my way
That sounds good what do you say
I think I've heard that one before
But don't stop now do give us more.
Problem is my muse has flown
She's left me struggling all alone
I've placed an advert in the Times
For a muse who's good at rhymes.
If one replies and answers back
I'll be on fire, back on track
But until then I'll have a rest
Then I'll be up there with the best.
For the purpose of this rhyme I've used three lines from three famous poets listed below.
William Wordsworth
William Shakespeare
and Louis MacNiece.
Written on 13th August for Nina Parmenters Rattling Rhyme contest.
??Wisdom of Solomon 13:11 KJVAAE??
[11] Now a carpenter that felleth timber, after he hath sawn down a tree meet for the purpose, and taken off all the bark skilfully round about, and hath wrought it handsomely, and made a vessel thereof fit for the service of man's life;
??Ecclesiasticus 38:27 KJVAAE??
[27] So every carpenter and workmaster, that laboreth night and day: and they that cut and grave seals, and are diligent to make great variety, and give themselves to counterfeit imagery, and watch to finish a work:
??Isaiah 41:7 KJVAAE??
[7] So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he that smootheth with the hammer him that smote the anvil, saying, It is ready for the soldering: and he fastened it with nails, that it should not be moved.
??Isaiah 44:13 KJVAAE??
[13] The carpenter stretcheth out his rule; he marketh it out with a line; he fitteth it with planes, and he marketh it out with the compass, and maketh it after the figure of a man, according to the beauty of a man; that it may remain in the house.
??Matthew 13:55 KJVAAE??
[55] Is not this the carpenter's son? is not his mother called Mary? and his brethren, James, and Joses, and Simon, and Judas?
??Colossians 2:14-15 KJVAAE??
[14] blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross; [15] and having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a show of them openly, triumphing over them in it.
God in eternity past decided to save
a people of His own blessed choice
in His son, Jesus Christ came on earth
for the purpose of God the father to rejoice
Jesus came to be our living saviour
taking all our sins on Calvary's cross
there He paid for our full salvation
shedding His blood was His true cost
Consider all that Jesus has done
paying in full the perfect sacrifice for sin
He took it all showing perfect love
there on the tree our redemption to win
Jesus deserves all the praise and glory
that we can give to our blessed saviour
being our substitute dying in our place
showing all of His unmerited grace
On the cross, Jesus showed a special love
reserved for His very own dear elect
this requires a real spirit of thankfulness
for He alone is God in all that's perfect
(I have written this poem to give glory and praise to our Beloved Saviour for all his mercy and grace.)
In the shadows, harpies linger as agents provocateur,
for the Fallen Watchers, for pecking order.
Prostitute mercenaries,
addicted to mercury and disorder.
Their claws sharp, their cries a shiver,
their motive insanity from hell's hateful quiver.
They pluck you from the light of day,
leave you in the flames to barter the fray,
to drown in the sea of faith no more.
Till nightfall,
where they tend the fires of a black wind,
poking signal lures,
preying for entropic thunder,
and romantic moon,
lyres to ascend your spirit
for the purpose of dropping you again
in despairs pit and swoon.
Denoting your abandonment and seclusion,
shoeing the fit,
wild horses couldn't drag them away.
Hoping to find you behind chaos's fire-line,
enemy mine,
a broken rhyme-
not asKing for a new day;
a soul adrift, in a sea of doubt,
no compass, no sails, no wind,
no faith, "tag you're it, hide your eyes and don't count."
on being saved from the fade to black
from grey lack of faith.
Give me some LSD, Baby
I need this fix
I need that high
Let's give it a try
Psychedelic sight and sound
Taking off...off the ground
Only feeling...feeling...feeling
Reeling...reeling...reeling....
brought on by YOUR LSD
Love's Sexy Desire
Only you can give it to me
You....my "drug" dealer
My pain healer
my fantasy feeder
my euphoria reaper
my ecstasy peaker
Tonight, baby, tonight!!
Withdrawal symptoms are killing me
Give me your LSD
Love's Sexy Desire
Give it to me, Baby
Multiple trips
With your firm grip
Licking my lips
Making me strip
gliding on hips
honey drips...drips
Oh, baby, B A B Y Y Y Y
I'm flying high!!
You grunt and I sigh
We're painting the sky
LSD, telling this world bye bye
Love's Sexy Desire
Shoot it up me now
Baby, you know how
now Now NOW
Oh...oh...WOW
W~O~W
!!!WOW!!!
W~*~*~O~*~*~W
Eileen
I was just playing with words here. Please feel free to comment. If you find the content offensive...please let me know, and I'll remove the poem. I know drug addiction is NOT something to taken lightly. I know what addiction is. Please give me feedback. Hugs to one and all...My daughter informed me that LSD is not something you shoot up! Ahem....well, for the purpose of THIS poem, it is! ;)
[Disclaimer: The poem does not intend to hurt anybody’s religious sentiments. It is purely for the purpose of entertainment, art and awareness.]
[Note : - If you don’t know who is Draupadi, follow the link given below the poem to find out]
You are not a s**t.
You are not a w**re.
You are not what people think.
You don’t deserve the abhor.
You didn’t choose polyandry,
It was a nonsensical fate.
A man’s sly desire,
But you get all the hate.
We hail Karn’s sacrifices.
We all feel his pain.
He is held like a hero.
Your go in vain.
When the rules of a game
Became bigger than your honour.
The respected men, shame,
Pushed humanity to a corner.
Turned a deaf ear to your screams
As you were disrobed to their gaze.
The honourable men errant extremes
But dirt is shoved in your face.
A symbol of rape victim
S**t shamed by the society.
A fodder of the chauvinists,
A pacifier of their insecurity.
But you don’t need our sympathy,
You are fire in disguise.
The sexism,however, is thriving
So I incessantly despise.
You are not a s**t.
You are not a w**re.
You are not what people think.
You don’t deserve the abhor.
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Thank You
PS - I hope you understand the reason why two cuss words have been used in the poem. They are not for the purpose of spreading profanity but instead to slap the words back on the face of the sexists who call those names to Draupadi. I meant to use those words without asterisk for better effect, but I will abide by the rules and let the poem's effect depreciate a bit.