Best Mysticism Poems
In this wicked den of society, there will be no eradication
of meanness and ignorance.
With sore and bleeding evidence.
Mankind will endeavor to manage to violate
God's will with debauchery and licentious behavior.
For it is in the heart of the righteous that glorifies our Lord and Savior.
It is the heritage of God's spiritual creatures above
and below that will venture into the everlasting.
The love of God is not in the passing.
The righteous will be a spiritual mysticism (union with God).
A cultural Zionism.
copyright 2017 Looking At The Light From The Bottom Of The Lake.
Deep uninterrupted meditations
Thoughts and imaginations going way deep
Through galaxies and celestial habitations
Failing to make the slightest of sounds as they creep
Seeking acquaintance with an omniscient being
An unprecedented level of closeness
With a Father never seen
And a Creator of unthinkable mysteries
Year 1488
Daring to hide it in verses and score,
Mother Shipton predicted her scrolls would not be understood until years after her body’s release.
Read aloud by an educated nephew, almost five decades after they were protected by a family of peace.
She may have been burned at the stake for her predictions of America’s Civil War, simply for being a she.
Her prophesies included horseless carriages, and men’s future unfathomable plans to conquer both the sky and the sea.
Understanding that a metallic monster, would change education, and the menfolk from farms would flee.
Pictures that feel alive – computers, U-tube, I-pads, video and their predecessor – TV?
Mother predicted all this and more. Daring to hide it in verses and score,
Nostradamus had protection of patrons, medical background, sublime.
Mother Shipton knew her predictions she had best write down in decipherable rhyme.
England’s most famous prophetess, born in Norfolk, England in 1488, she dared not share her fire. Prophesized that women would cut their hair short, and wear trousers, practically three hundred years prior.
When I think of her brilliance at hiding her mystical savvy, hiding psychic self in her moods,
Her declaration that “men will live as hogs” makes me smile, predicting processed foods?
London fire seeing before the fact, she knew of the Catholic Church’s fall, the rise of Elizabeth,
Me thinks a comet is coming that will circle the earth for six days, six nights, causing us instant death.
A homely woman, she may have been, but her ideas were sound, as they came right in.
Daring to hide it in verses and score, Prophetess Mother Shipton, forevermore!
i will probably die before you know the truth
before something original ever passes through my lips
about how you’re a ripple in the space-time continuum
a montage of things that isn’t supposed to exist together
a bismuth crystal wrapped in tattered bags
you’re kitsch to me
is it selfish to say that how i see you
is the only sight of you that is true?
you are something unexpected
i entered the dark mine that’s been too feared for years
and discovered that there is something about how crystals are beautiful
that passes through the general atmosphere, unseen
they reflect the light of what is around them
and they bend it
wrapping around necks and wrists
and fingers
and even the rocks that surround them
you’re the reason the antimatter and matter doesn’t cancel out
because you are the embodiment of it
and i will live in you, discovering you, and creating with you
like you’re the Earth
but we will not stay here; we will find our home
somewhere out there
and shoot off this place
like a rocket; like a gun
and put a crater on a land that is as big as you matter to me
you are the sun like a filter over my view
but that’s okay, because you are the view
and you have layers to dissect and analyze
and you will shine bright, nurturing me
the only one who will do so
the only one of your kind in this system
because i’m a distant, dusty mask on a shelf
it is very rare for me to speak to someone and mean it
to float away and stop possessing that mask
and become the ghost that i’ve been
and say I love you
for the first time after my death
for the first time in this distant shape-shifting spying game
it’s not a game any longer
now pull out the tarot cards and let’s create our own
because we are real
and real is something i haven’t been in a while
Human beings are natural mystics.
And irrational characteristics
often lead us astray,
keeping logic at bay.
Satan tempts us with facts and statistics.
Mystical harp's music
Glides passionately
Across the green, rocky land
Near Tara's halls where
Mysteries of the past
Are felt like ghosts
Hovering and protecting the land
Of St. Patrick and St. Brigid.
I dreamed I was hanging out with Darroll near the train station. We entered a prison cafeteria and ate lunch. Then we looked in a junk store and I found two really cool vintage iron tools which I gave Darroll for his rusty iron tool collection (which, in my dream, he had). At some point a big book shelf fell over. We did some other stuff and then it was time for him to go so he revved up his shoes, leaned forward, and sped away to the sound of a pair of tiny lawnmowers.
PLEASE DON'T ASK ME FOR I DO NOT KNOW
I CAN'T TELL YOU WHAT MAKES THE ROSE GLOW
I KNOW SHE LOVES THE RAIN
AND THE THUNDER AND LIGHTENING SHE CAN'T EXPLAIN
ALL I KNOW IS I'LL NEVER GET CLOSE ENOUGH TO TOUCH HER PETALS SO SOFT
BUT WHEN I COMMUNICATE WITH HER MY HEART IS LIFTED ALOFT
THERE'S NOT MUCH MORE FOR ME TO SAY
EXCEPT TO TELL YOU THIS ROSE CAN BRIGHTEN ANYONE'S DAY
SHE SHARES THE GARDEN WITH GARDENIAS AND SUCH
AND I CAN LOOK BUT NEVER TOUCH
WHEN I'M DOWN AND OUT I LOOK TO THE PAST
AND ONLY KNOW THAT MY ADORATION IS SURE TO LAST
THIS ROSE KNOWS HOW MUCH I CHERISH THE GARDEN IN WHICH SHE GROWS
AND THE WAY SHE EASES ME BY BEING A MYSTIC ROSE
THIS BUD IS ALL TOO OFTEN MY SALVATION
AND I BLESS THE GARDEN FOR HER CREATION
(c) 2012...copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
please don't allow chicken little's prophecy to be correct, only you can do that
(C) 2012.....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
O
I found my love in granules,
In father of manuals,
On 13th of annual,
In teacher of Samuel.
I am drunk, still awake to drink his elixir of love.
I pass out, and return to life like flying dove.
In his literature, I am the best of the buff.
In lonely cold nights, I escape with his love as ****.
Kill my activity,
Stole my creativity,
Bury my selectivity,
Stop my festivity,
Even vanish my identity,
In your worst nightmares.
I will be peeping and cheeping “ALI”
When the first person sat,
Then another came to bat,
Third the mischievous rat.
Then he came,
The brother of personality,
The origin of principality,
The epitome of functionality,
Having 11 as plurality,
The servant of immortality.
Come do repeat Mesum,
I am obsessed with his rum,
Cut my tongue or make me dumb,
Till my last breath I will not succumb.
Suicide is against the law,
Come and kill me and make me saw.
My Goal, My Destiny, My Station “ALI”
My Insanity leads me to getting called mad,
I am overwhelmed instead of being pale and sad,
I am supreme, having him as my master and lad,
My treasure of heart is out of your capacity to add.
He is not God, I believe in his Lord,
He is Creator’s Instrument 2nd Chord,
He is almighty’s best accord,
Beware of the double-edged sword.
Oh Superior of the men,
Oh host of the then,
Oh authority of the when,
Oh pen of the pen.
If I see anyone from first to fourteenth,
I will say “ALI”
-Daniel Rizvi
Her inner knowing
kept her apart from the others
not that she was better
but she was hyper vigilant
more aware of their dangers
she sensed their meanness
being an empath
boded well
being a healer and an empath
was a double whammy
she felt more strongly than many others
She had to protect herself a bit
She was a life-long learner, inquisitive
enthusiastic about mysticism and spiritualism.
most of her relatives did not understand,
her mother thought she was odd.
her sister told her that she was crazy.
Daddy understood.
They often passed each other in their dreams
during astral travel.
Stonehenge sang to me.
Singing stone-age ancestors.
They chant in the stars.
Stipulations of mild stripy animals can be seen even in a misted monument. As money is a molestation and global percentages is often hazardous. Such jeopardy in high ranking offices. Wow. Penalisation of a queue of poor is a sour and act of radicalised clerics whose antics displease the wibble wobbling signature lines of many a balanced sky temple. So skit not a wild free grass skirted cat. For it us the beams of life that will induce freedom formations. When leaping over a hurdle of biscuits take care not to erode timeless meaninglessness chatter as boxes are utilised to contain essences so do not dare to argue with a rolling pin nor discuss dietary requirements with angelical mildew mops. Moving on. Zombified trolley dashing wisdom lacking duped. La la la.and I am laughing haha *** dramatically shimmering chimney stack in a tropical weave. Xxxx mysticism xxxx clip clop
Money protect Me, for i am of money
Power protect all your children who love You
may it be always, that we remain one
till’ all accounts settle, and we transform into none
passion for poem, wanton weakness in words
I am nothing
like anything
you think you have heard
chaos of rough draft
order adds on each edit
I give bread, and give breath, and you give me no credit
my father, my father, tell me why did you leave me?
the lust of a dust castle
seduced, she bereaved me
she robbed me of every singed hair, I remember
she left through the cold chimney late in December
I struggled to speak, in a world without ears
I sought long for weeping, but never found tears
I the day, I the night
I am time before years
I the moon
I the sun
I your most hopeful fear
Me is not I, unless words could deceive us
my bitterness feeds on the truth that you leave us
you leave and have left, and are leaving again
Me equals Us, and you leave us my friend
not leaving or coming, see
I’ve all come and left
I have no where to go, I have no where to nest
no bed and no pillow
no blanket or tree
you refuse to accept that my rest is with me
don’t tease me
or mock, with your promise of wages
you, the dumb-deaf demise of our weak-minded sages
you, insisting we work seven days of the week
you leave my hand empty and return me to the streets
it is for want of a road
you must sleep in the streets
I offer you rest, but you are always asleep
I ask you to walk
Your sun crumbled your feet
I ask you to walk
so you severed your wings
Cultural and Social Terms
Idol: In Persian poetry, often refers to the beloved, particularly one who is non-Muslim. The term carries complex connotations of forbidden desire and spiritual challenge.
Veil: Refers both to the physical head covering and the metaphysical veil between the material and spiritual worlds in Sufi thought.
Fate's Wheel: The wheel of fortune or destiny (charkh-e falak), a common motif in Persian literature representing the unpredictable nature of fate.
Character Names
Giti: A Persian name meaning "world" or "universe," suggesting the beloved encompasses all existence for the lover.
Saeed: An Arabic name meaning "happy" or "blessed," ironic given the character's suffering in love.
Poetic Devices and Concepts
Ghazal tradition: Though this is a masnavi, it draws heavily from the ghazal (lyric poem) tradition of Persian literature, with its emphasis on unrequited love and spiritual longing.
Tavern: In Sufi poetry, the tavern represents the place of spiritual gathering and divine intoxication, not literal alcohol consumption.
Cup and Wine: The cup represents the heart or soul, while wine represents divine love or spiritual knowledge.
Dawn: Often symbolizes spiritual awakening, hope, or the appearance of the beloved.
Mystical Concepts
Fana: The Sufi concept of self-annihilation or dissolution of the ego in divine love, reflected in the lovers' ultimate union where individual identity dissolves.
Ishq: Divine or passionate love that transcends ordinary human affection, central to Sufi thought and Persian poetry.
Longing (Hijr): The pain of separation from the beloved, considered a necessary stage in spiritual development.
Historical Context
Persian Literary Tradition: This work draws from the rich tradition of Persian mystical poetry, including works by Rumi, Hafez, Saadi, and others who used love poetry as a vehicle for spiritual expression.
Courtly Love: The formal, ritualized expression of love that characterized medieval Persian court culture, with its emphasis on patience, suffering, and devotion.
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Note: Many terms in Persian mystical poetry carry multiple layers of meaning - literal, romantic, and spiritual - simultaneously. This ambiguity is intentional and central to the tradition's power and enduring appeal.
Meer Bai (1498-1546) was a Hindu mystic, musician, poet, and saint. She was born to a royal house, but gave up all privilege to live as a beggar, singing of her true love Krishna along the byways and in the marketplace. I have adapted two of her poems, striving as best I might to capture my sense of her person and persona.
I.
I want you to have all that I can provide:
The beauty of my gaze upon you
The grace of my mouth that praises you
The splendor of my strength in your defense
The glory of the scent of musk that is my body
For do we not speak of divine love?
We do.
II.
Never let it be forgotten, my love,
That I will bring to you
All the madness you require
To unfurl yourself
Across this universe.