Best Monastic Poems
As I claim my own parcel of solitude
from yesterday's banging boom,
I see heaven expanding through you
in me: fireflies glow rare as Sunday’s bliss,
never mind if there is a call for patience
when holy hours rise upon the lines of your mouth;
resting on the ledge of a private oasis.
This I cannot enter... the night curfew drifts
gently and quietly yet full of love's spaces;
O the hush of your mouth tender as harp's rhythm
I want to kiss.
My parcel of quietude becomes yours
while we listen to the same monastic silence,
gazing at clouds alone and together
until we rest lovingly inside our gentle, holy world.
Into near midnight with eyes closed, we slumber and then...
John Hamilton's Your Best Free Verse Love Poem--2
2/19/2017
Categories:
monastic, day, peace, silence,
Form:
Free verse
A legendary tale of love I know
about two very brilliant people who
were soul mates living centuries ago.
They shared much hardship but their love stayed true.
Truth seeker Heloise sought Abelard.
Great teacher of philosophy was he.
But people’s thinking in that time was marred.
Then Heloise got pregnant, secretly
the couple wed, but Heloise was forced
to give her baby up, which broke her heart.
When Abelard was maimed; both were coerced
into monastic lives and lived apart.
Found letters prove their love could never die.
Together in a tomb in France they lie!
March 6, 2020
for Chantelle Anne Cooke's "Your Favorite Legend" Poetry Contest
I guess it's not 100% certain that they are together in that tomb because their remains got moved around. For sure, they are together in the afterlife!
Categories:
monastic, love,
Form:
Sonnet
My parcel of quietude becomes yours
while we listen to the same monastic silence,
gazing at clouds alone and together
until we rest lovingly inside our gentle, holy world.
..............
Gregory R. Barden's Liberum Divisa Contest
Posted 05/04/2019
......................
Excerpt from ' Anything Goes On A Sunday '
Originally written 12/29/2016
Categories:
monastic, silence, together,
Form:
Free verse
Continued from Part 1
The City’s blur? A sepulcher for Christians, Muslims, Jews –
Cathedrals, Temples, vacant now, enshrine their residues,
for churches, mosques and synagogues abide without a bruise.
No cantillation, belfry bells, monastic chants inspire
and Minarets, though standing yet, host neither voice nor crier -
abodes and buildings silhouette a muted spectral choir.
A church’s Gothic ceilings guard the empty pews below
and, all alone amongst the stones, a maiden’s blue jabot.
The Saints, in crypts, though nondescript, grace halos now aglow.
Stray footsteps swarm through church no more (apostates that profane)
though echoes in the nave still din and chalice cups retain
an altar wine that tastes of brine decaying in the rain.
Coiled candle sticks, with twisted wicks, no longer 'lume the cracks -
their dying flames revealed the shame, mid pendant pearls of wax,
when deference to innocence dissolved in molten tracks.
Six steeple towers, steel though now drab daggers in the sky!
Their hallowed halls no longer call when breezes wander by –
for, filled with dread to wake the dead, they've ceased to sough or sigh.
The chapel chimes? Their clapper rope (that tongue-tied confidante)
won’t writhe to ring the carillon, alone and lean and gaunt –
its flocks of jute, now fallen mute, adorn the holy font.
No saints will come with jagged tongues to sing a silent psalm
nor bless pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor pray for mercy, grace deferred, nor beg lethean balm.
Continued in Part 3
Categories:
monastic, angst, life, night, silver,
Form:
Rhyme
"Phenomonology"
time drips through
the lens of philosophy
phenomonology melts
the solid realisation;
was all that time
spent inconsequential,
the purpose of it all
bought abruptly,
for an expected cost
(for this annal
somewhere soft
and vaseline-lensed,
we anticipate, it is never
an unexpected cost,
we know the cost
of all things eventually),
fraught and contradictory
brought into alignment
with a loose end,
that’s a wrap
and nothing tied,
question mark;
semicolan, pause
avoid that full stop;
simply being before thought
yolk and white separate
cracked and measured
flaws in the reasoning
of existence,
there is no rational
explanation beyond
faith and belief,
monastic pantheists
flinch to the hymns
of science’s abrasive voice
it has its answers for
substance
through the gate racing
on the get-go
phyrronism
scorches everything;
Everything,
raises its hand
palm open – there’s that
measured full stop.
structures of consciousness
shakey foundations experienced
through a First person view
beggars belief
in trust,
yet nothing tangible;
we speak to ourselves
and our internal gods;
Spinoza confers with
some of us,
excommunicated,
we understand that,
in one way or another
and we are just like
the others
but different,
waiting for validation
and logical answers
to form on our tongues
like words we swallow
to speak into life.
in the beginning
there was the word
but before that,
the thoughts;
from the mind
sits Epoché’s nature
Ataraxia
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Categories:
monastic, muse,
Form:
Narrative
Some time ago
A late night supper
Was set for me
Steaming dishes
Plates
Glasses
Solitary salt and pepper
In silver trim
All waited for me
On white linen.
Finished
I sat back
Drink in hand
Remembering
Life takes many roads
Some twisted
Others narrow and endless
Signs
Glowing in the night
Dot the lonely highway
Pointing in different directions.
Take nothing for granted
Until it’s done
Take what you need
And need what you take
Compromise
Half of something is better than all of nothing
Keep your life simple
You need only one home
If you choose the monastic life
You need less than that
Pace yourself
Only a reckless fool lives like
They’ll die tomorrow
No one can go back
To start a new beginning
But everyone can start today
And make a new ending.
Keep your word
People work hard for their money
Count yours carefully
And spend it wisely
Love all
Trust few
Believe only God
An enemy can never betray you
Only a friend can.
Your family is all you have
Provide for them
And they will stay with you.
Every mistake tells a story
Be willing to learn
Experience is hard to come by
Book learning is good
But hard work and talent
Will unlock your dreams.
In the quiet of night
When the beating of your pulse
Is all you hear
Be honest
Know the difference of
Following your heart
And reading between the lines.
Categories:
monastic, lifework, work,
Form:
Narrative
Genuine love is loveless
Whereof the heart is beclouded
With mystic, monastic and metaphysical aura
Only minds as deep as the Congo river can contain.
'Tis when fair love subsist
That spiritual, ethical and philosophical
Transcend all mundane forms and allures
That are subject to the acid test of time and change.
'Tis to disdain honeycombs
To find relish in bitter herbs is rare
And have wants and longings lay in catacombs
Beside the sweet amusing bed of roses it is but to dare.
'Tis to know what it is
Love dwells in spirit and not physique
And its form is literal but not imaginative
And its essence not naive but rather philosophical!
Categories:
monastic, emotions, feelings, heart, inspiration,
Form:
Verse
Heavenly
Order
Monastic
Enterprise
Categories:
monastic, places
Form:
Acrostic
The time has come to write an epic
But I don't know the rules so it'll likely be desperate
The depth of my puddle is "cornflakes or nesquik?"
Adorn the morn with scorn forlorn except it
Sounds a bit forced.. generic, eclectic
Although benevolent with propensity for psychological pyrotechnics.
Too many beats in the verse 'less your mind's elastic
Clamber for rhymes but let's not get drastic
The fantastic monastic bombastic squid
Maneuvres his ink and shuts the laptop lid
Categories:
monastic, confusion,
Form:
Epic
Always holding fast loves muse; never distant from this seemingly
Knights-errant spirit; symmetrical mirrors reflecting such hues amid these
Revolving spectrums crossed....
Afore a galaxy of stars both near and afar ~
Scarlets vivid oarnge heart immersed in the pools of febrils
Passion soaked gravitations thus red; filling these eyes and burning inside
This Souls breezeway between the here and agains, taverned flames
Intangibles, searching nomad nights....
Transmogrifies columns forever shifting within the celestial skies
Although always returning unto these physio-monastic planes
Grasping tightly still this loves muse ~
Far beyond the illusions of but, a knights-errant spirit; such
Fervant gravitations towards scarlets vivid oarnge pools in, red....
Passion soaked truths burning so very deeply inside
Transitories breezeway between the here and agains, transmogrified Souls columns
Revolving spectrums crossing; this nomads searching tavernous night
Afore a galaxy of stars both near and afar, aneath, these tangible perceptions....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...."Augustine Galileo's Heart" *
Categories:
monastic, hope, life, love, stars,
Form:
I knew a man who always traveled,
he worked hard and was ever on the go.
He said that he would like to own property,
a Squire or Country Gentleman, as you may know.
I could not believe it,
as one day he came with cash in hand.
He said he wanted to get away to quiet,
but all he wanted was the land.
I thought it strange that he do this,
as he never liked staying in one place.
He said he still wanted to travel,
but would use this for his base.
I wondered why the big One-Eighty,
for he turned completely around.
He said it was just a change of direction,
one he had never before found.
I hoped that it would settle him,
because he was strange enough.
He said that if I did not want his money,
that he just leave and take all of his stuff.
I wanted him to know my feelings,
about how his life would change.
He said that I was not to worry,
he was not going to join a Monastic Grange.
I sold him the property he wanted,
and put the money in several banks.
He did not have very much to say,
but just gave me a word or two of thanks.
I wandered by there the other day,
not trying to raise any alarm.
The place was run down, unkempt, and shoddy,
apparently...he "bought the farm".
Categories:
monastic, farm, funny, humor, imagination,
Form:
Quatrain
Circa Holy Roman Empire
between ninth
and thirteenth century
after common era
(approximately 800 AD and 1200 AD)
benchmark year 780 bracketed
Benedictine monks
Of Corbie Abbey
devised cheeky guttural lingual rapartee
vis a vis European
calligraphic standard script inked lined
writ via extant Irish and English monastic
members nsync
strong influence of Irish literati
eased communication
popular Latin cognoscenti
common lingua franca
spawned Carolingian Renaissance
Codices, pagan and Christian text
plus educational material
written viz Carolingian minuscule
Emperor Charlemagne issued prescription
(hence named Carolingian)
boosted unified modus operandi
he advocated learning,
though somewhat illiterate
recognized value of education
predicated on singular
codified regional alphabet,
the then webbed wide world
linkedin, sans uniform symbolic shapes
uncontested salient advantage
offered up ease to master
clear distinct explicit letter formation
simple logic boosted
rapidly transmitted standardization,
especially with exceptional legible
readable characteristic
adequate spaces between words
Merovingian "chancery hand"
reserved to draft traditional charters
Gothic and Anglo Saxon
favored traditional local script
as opposed to Latin
learning latter involved less tricked out
embellished flourishes
or interconnected strokes
drawn by a scribe
allowing, enabling, and providing
greater popularity to teach masses,
latent etymological nuances apparent
centuries following implementation
quasi initial Carolingian letters
steadfast, where Carolingian
influence moats strong
adopted local stylistic signature flavor
divergence woke since proliferation
stoking diffuse prospects
decreeing entrenched footing,
where auspices boded prescient
until groundswell didst surcease
sub limb mated into modern patois.
Categories:
monastic, 11th grade, 12th grade,
Form:
Free verse
I love my solitary matins,
morning excursions and incursions
toward simply divine places,
reading to hear voices from my past
inside prophetic choices
occupy BeLoved Community futures.
In this sacred space
we sing full time health resolutions,
ego therapeutic gospel by day,
and dream Gaia's good-wealthy news
remixed by night
Regenerating each dawn's richly choired
multicultural anthem
climaxing just as SunGod
kisses EarthMother's rich-soiled face
of graceful embrace
for all Her co-invested Tribes.
I then love quiet endings
for this global namaste psalm,
when my monastic ego
re-enters Earth's deeply private sacred school
co-mentoring lessons
Yang proposes what we learned
from last night's dreamy discern,
and Yintegrity inductively disposes why
we saw and heard
contentiously dissonant stragglers
Offering a gentle decompositional reminder,
we must overcome traumatic karma, together,
preferably in four-harmonic
resonant polyphonic
therapy.
I love our not so solitary Earth-morning
CoPresence
breathing in Yang positive,
breathing out Yintegrity's double-negatives,
appositional dipolarities,
reverse co-relational analogies,
positive polycultural love
as not not negative angry fear of monocultural hate,
singing co-passionate dialectical raves
in resonant 4/4 octaves
Primal AnthroMe/GaianWe
deep dawning resilience,
smooth as brown-skinned silk.
Categories:
monastic, day, deep, dream, earth,
Form:
Parallelismus Membrorum
Here she comes like shaft of the sun, walking,
As sullen eyes and widened mouth feast –
Dubbed the slayer of love; the goddess of lust – all stalking
Libidinously like a fun starved beast
Beauty so hypnotic, enslaving whoever looked twice
Ensnared kings, drunks, gamblers and sorcerers
Ducked in her den as hankering pleasure floats itchy eyes –
Loyal lovers of lusts and murderer of murderers
Oh! That glance, that peep, that squinty stare
Stolen and tattooed in intrinsic view
They yearned and ogled the sorely rare
Beautiful seductress, damning all affluence in lieu
Of love; that cliché of emotional agony!
“Oh Madina! Come live in my gallery of thought”
All wooed – Could she be the protégé of Cleopatra’s progeny?
One kiss, one touch and one night they sought
Dressed in Roman negligee – escorted by colourful butterflies
Her footstep is melodious like sounds of hymns from David’s harp;
Distrait eyes unveils her body in pendulous sighs
Her covetous peers gathered careless ears - and would carp
Tales of her flirty beauty probing the voguish classic
Being, they burst the rumor bag! ‘Is it true she once killed death
With her breath - and her smile once deflowered a monastic’, -
Isn’t she the con-lover? Ah, her kinds are dearth!
Madina! Madina!! Madina!!! Watch out…
They awed as her poised step made a blooper
And fell off lurching zigzag the stairs – a feeble shout
That revealed her mask of beauty broke the order
Gleeful mockeries basked the puzzled spectators…
Her long hair had eclipsed herself from a polished glass
And toed face-down overwhelmingly at the feet of waiting fornicators
Broken bones and bruises dissolved her beauty; - all snubbed the lass
Categories:
monastic, beauty, celebrity, lust,
Form:
Narrative
III
Return
Patrick had to deter the robbers
And thieves he met along the road,
Ward off viscious creatures,
Yet steadily he strode
Until, at last, he came upon
A landmark he well knew
And saw that he had triumphed over
Obstacles not a few.
He made it back to his family,
Into the arms of his mom and dad
(No tongue can express the emotion
The three of them then had),
"I made it through great hardship
And I only have to say:
The Lord who freely giveth
Doth also take away."
Patrick stayed in Britain,
But his heart started to burn
Not after adventure,
But for greater things he yearned.
One night his mission came to him
As he sat in meditative trance:
He was called to monastic studies,
To study with the church in France,
But something was not settled,
Nor was his conscience still,
He felt that there was some obligation
Yet to be fulfilled.
But then he knew for certain
His duty burned brightly as a flame-
He must return to his former master
And pay the ransome on his name.
Patrick wandered back to Ireland
To pay his freedom's fare
And on his journey, travelers he met
Going to and from there,
Confused with tribal teachings
And pagan rite belief;
Though this was their religion
They had but small relief.
When, at last, Patrick arrived
On his old master's land
He was met by men on horseback,
-A formidable band-
They knew, at once who Patrick was
And using undue force,
They beat and bound the runaway
And set him on a horse.
He was brought to his old master,
The men seeking a reward,
"And now it comes that you must die!"
He said, drawing his sword.
"I have come to buy my freedom!"
Patrick, from his own neck, tore
A sack of gold, his life's ransome
And threw it on the floor.
Patrick was loosed from what bonds
Of debt he felt he owed
And to his former master,
Duty and right he showed.
Patrick stayed a week or so
Teaching Christianity
And before Patrick left for home,
The men could clearer see.
Categories:
monastic, god, history, ireland,
Form: