Best Prophesying Poems
listen to the drum,
talking to the dance
listen to the elders,
whispering their chants
listen to the hooves, pounding on the plain
listen to the birds, prophesying rain
listen to the moon, time to plant the grain
listen to the tales, told around the fire
listen to the breeze, and the clouds conspire
listen for the buffalo, warn of dreadful days
listen, The Great Spirit speaks in many ways
listen for the eagle,
calling from the sky
listen
for the drum,
hear
a mournful sigh
"Prophecy"
The Bee sleeps Her secrets
In honey
She sleeps Her dreams
a honeycomb
of secret lives
gone wild
in a lost
forest of trees
metamorphosis
in mirrors' reflections
She scries
a prophesier
dreaming
prophecies
where She
fluttering REM
walks long roads home
wandering wondering
in the Amygdala Catacombs
for a little while
breathing in sleep drugged air
like Eternity
sealed in a
dark space
lit with light
of candle wax
dreaming of
his face,
following his phantom footprints
his Love tracks
She is royal jelly fed
prozac poems
She is put to bed
not heard nor seen for a while
eventually She emerges
wet and new
with freedom wings
made from gossamer of green
imprinted with neverending
shining eyes of blue
in warm honey
the Bee
sleeps her dreams
of secret lives
metamorphosized
prophesying
the Prophesier emerges
jubiliant
a Queen
with jaded
eyes
She discards
a past life and
leaves the
Bee Hive
defibrillating
two hearts
one Her’s
the other’s
held gently
in Her
mind’s eye
as She flies
upwards
towards
Her
never ending
Blue Sky
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
“To be successful, one has to be one of three bees -
the queen bee,
the hardest working bee,
or the bee that does not fit in.”
(Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun)
Branches spread Thy word,
Prophesying over stones:
Prophets of the wood.
Why are we sanitising gambling,
Why are we legitimising gangs,
Why are we legalising harmful drugs,
Why are we marginalising so many,
Why are we maximising profits,
Why are we criticising anybody and everybody.
Could we not do more prophesying instead.
Could we not do more minimising instead.
Could we not do more exercising instead.
Could we not do more rationalising instead.
And turn everything on its head.
They followed a star
As time and place has its solution for all,
those wise men knew, that a messiah will come to call.
Recognizing those celestial lights with their eyes,
that history and culture will change its destinies by surprise.
Traveling with the light so bright no doubt,
knowing the new born king is the paramount.
Speaking of love to the depth in eternal height,
when the soul can reach all when feeling out of sight.
For the ends of being and the ideal of grace,
showing compassion and forgiveness of every day’s.
The comet prophesying the revelation by tragic and fortune,
then other kings did already fear its spiritual procession.
Gold, frankincense and myrrh as protection brought,
then the magi knew the trouble in forethought.
They saw the child with mother Mary and worshiped him,
sensing the cosmic conclusion in the stable like a hymn.
The heavens declare the hands of God and the sky proclaims his work,
no speech or language or any voice are heard, but his word.
The answers are in the vortex of my son as gift of compassion,
for all shall know the true lovers revolution.
Banish listening, and teachings end.
Between "Yes!" and "No!"
How much spectral difference is there?
Between healthy "live" and "evil"
Is the difference not normally 50-50?
That which we fear
Is indeed to be feared;
That which we love
Is indeed to be beloved;
But, alas, distant, yet also at hand, is this dawn of awakening
toward loving to be loved as
fearlessly unafraid of Beloved Climax Community!
We merry-make today,
self-congratulate while sub-optimizing,
As if consistently absorbing redemptive nutrients,
As if playing Mountain Warrior in Springs redolent climax;
I alone am mildly wild with harvesting unemployment,
Like a new-born babe that cannot yet smile,
Unattached,
neither grasping at joy nor averting lost identity,
contention with dissonance is like one without a zero home.
History's prevailing culture has enough and to spare,
But I am like one left out,
behind marginal invisible boundary,
my heart and mind must be that of buttless comedy,
Being as muddled,
ambivalently equivalent,
nebulously coincident!
Left-brain dominator cultures are knowing, luminous,
strength self-fulfilling and prophesying futures;
I alone am dull, confused, equivalent.
Egocentric culture is clever, self-assured;
I alone, depressed, repressed, suppressed,
not impressed, pressed, pressing, birthing.
Patient as the sea,
Adrift, seemingly aimless tipping points.
We all have purposed meaning,
teleologized ecological faith;
I alone appear stubborn and irrelevantly uncouth.
I appear to differ from SuperEgo Culture,
In optimally valuing succulent sustenance from Mother Earth,
universal natural systemic polyculturing in/out-formation.
"Living love is better than prophesying love."
Quote by Poet.
Many people are confused with
the now situation of the World which
was caused by many bogus resolutions.
Peace could be reigning
all over the World by now.
Colonisation was said to end
but it is still existing publicly,
Apartheid was said to end
but it is still existing secretly,
Racism was said to end
but it is still existing publicly,
Slavery was said to end
but it is still existing secretly,
focus on Injustice operating
system in the world,
Yoh! This cruel world,
Yes! Cruel world,
Where majority oppressors
" bullies" always laugh at victims
of oppressions secretly and publicly.
August 26/2023
Thorns lament
The daunting face of a beggar
one that smiled at a child
understanding words through insight merits
You become the barb wired fences
where to the blind idiots holding guns
a man of understanding acquires skill
cursing the innocence for even breathing
there it becomes the victim of obsession
a word to the wise in their riddles
Torn asunder everything and the streets become a battleground
let us wantonly ambush the innocent
swallowing them alive like those who go down to the pit
Scarred are the children looking down one barrel
with a man holding the trigger
I hold back my feet from their path
The truth is the greatest nerve shot
as they make haste to shed blood
such are the ways of all who get gain by violence
To violate the rights of another
I am bitten by the by the sword of injustice
wisdom cries aloud speaking
where fools hated knowledge
God gave us the word and strength to use it wisely
good council has been ignored
The sweet talking sting of a scorpion
you will eat the fruit of your ways
What has ended will become better in the end…
every trumpet carries the truth inside it blasts
when panic strikes like a storm
Disfigured in the course of our minds
sated with their own devices
We all in the end are prophesying our way to peace
without dread of evil
Little man little problem
Confined in the box
Pleasure at his leisure
Quelling insatiable hunger
Gust of distrust
Intrusion of endless chatter
Never a dull moment
Yet the land is bad
The land is bad indeed
Day and night on wobbling legs
The hands stocked in pants
Lazily he slouches to bed
The day like a continuous train
Raining misery in cool temper
A trainer he stands to be
Prophesying the doom to come
What a mystery
Of what use was the boom
To his father without a certificate
The oil money is here
My children’s children would laugh
In absence of toil
In absence of work
Even Freetown would never
Give anything for free
There’s a price to pay
A challenge to conquer
Walking through the vile down the aisle
The sandpaper leaves you smooth and polished
Back to your dream
Absolute freedom polished
Unlike the little man’s.
I smelled rebirth as the petrichor emanated
from the ground, carpeted by grass
across the field. Termite mounds sharply rose
from the ground like tiny watchtowers,
waiting for the long, awaited rains to come.
Some birds sang tunes prophesying the coming
of the long, awaited rains, with only scattered clouds
as a sign of a slim-chance downpour.
Trees were still green, probably anticipating
the new life that would seep right into them.
Fish in the river sometimes poked their sharp
noses out of the waters' skin,
curious to feel how it felt like when a raindrop
hit them, after the skies cracked open.
My grandfather always told me the gods
emerged from the sun, in a ceremonious fashion,
to crack the clouds open to release rain. A long
time I gazed at the sun, waiting for someone
or something to come out of it....
My Lord...
I, the ill-fated, the scythe-bearing wind,
ask for forgiveness instead of death.
You do know that what I say is diurnal, don’t you?
Sibyl Herophile died prophesying their end
not mine.
I am hovering within your hands,
breathing from your own lungs.
I beg of you, forget the red prison house.
I fear, My Lord. Beckon me.
I no longer chant your hymns.
I have forgotten my childhood prayers.
Ramming in secular injustice
I seek my own sunrise.
In the affected I seek the authentic,
I cry to you, My Lord.
But then again, if you by judgment
find me dishonorable,
I beg of you, in secret bury me.
Kill me
by giving me the most unfavorable criticism.
Lay me to rest
in a huge mound of sun dust.
In you I trust,
My Lord.
Michael, archangel of the realm, instructed Gabriel and Raphael to be messengers of God's word to man. God in his love for man, stepped quietly back allowing men and angels their free will.
He said, "I'll wait and watch for each to find their way and when they're ready, I'll bring the home to me, if that is what they seek."
From that moment on, each was set free to forge their dreams, to build their empires, to love and live their lives.
On occasion, Michael left the earth to converse more closely with God. In those hours, Lucifer displayed his guile. When women and men felt alone and afraid in the desert, on the sea, in the great forests, Lucifer whispered in their ears and hearts of God's abandonment and therein birthed weakness, fear and doubt.
Then they were ensnared, and in their suffering, confusion, sickness, pain and dying, Lucifer poked and prodded their aching and they lost faith.
Rulers and kings, tyrants and dictators waged war despite the prayers of some. God heard their prayers, forgave them and loved them, promising a savior, a messiah who was yet to come. Mankind waited, longing and looking for a king to save them as the life, time and death passed them by.
Lucifer waited too, not as patiently, rising frequently from the depths, tempting both the women and the men.
Many took the bait he laid, breathing in the pleasure of discontent and embracing the temptation. Lucifer took hold over time, though his satisfaction waned. With pride and power, he was sure he proved God wrong.
The woman long ago was gone and there had been countless sons of man.
Living gods had rose and died and there were many more to come. Pharaohs and Caesars, Herods, Pilates and pharisees, and so many unnamed others would take power and wage war, depriving the lesser men of life and liberty.
Through the fearful darkness, the shadowed spectres and the light, hope still thrived and men and women waited, prophesying that a savior, a messiah might yet come and from the overwhelming darkness and despair, un-believed and un-accepted, there shone the light of hope and love and salvation.
Fields of gold meet a deep indigo sky
Specks of light an autistic bright palette
Vagabond dreams waft in nigh & nigh
Field of blue flowers and rising sunset
Prophesying the future of the fields
In walks her aura like a burning hush
Drinking in solitude, her body yields
Like the tree in the wind, soft swoosh
Armed in loaded moments post to post
Their love is like a rare flower after dark
Sitting on a fence the lover and the ghost
The platitudes of sing songs, from a lark
Mystic Rose
Blue flowers within the top breezy air
Near a barbed wire fence near the yellow field
The sky so blue is a stark contrast there
Great supply of plant life brings a great yield
Trees bend to the wind, seeming a storm comes
Near a barbed wire fence near the yellow field
The whole place here seems to be quite lonesome
The air seemingly goes and whips around
Trees bend to the wind, seeming a storm comes
Animals here don’t feel lost on the ground
The flowers move quietly in the wind
The air seemingly goes and whips around
Alone I walk in this field which I send
Aura of a storm from the field of hearts
The flowers move quietly in the wind
Love is with blue flowers that I impart
Blue flowers within the top breezy air
Aura of a storm from the field of hearts
The sky so blue is a stark contrast there
Russell Sivey
Form Terzanelle
This was a compilation from a picture we both viewed
I riff flecked about thee august
Autumn Equinox 2018,
this polymath learned why,
September Equinox
will be at 9:54 PM,
which spoiler alert thy
learned (courtesy Google),
when Or Sun Wells
crosses celestial equator
i.e. (imaginary line in sky
above Earth's Equator
from north to south), a quiet rye
hit moment occurs
Saturday September 22nd, 2018
(at 9:54 PM Eastern
Time) marks onset
of apple cider
and pumpkin pie
a distinct golden jacketed
matted palette well nigh
paints arboreal swath, sans
quiet riot of brilliant
color, that doth belie
rampant terrestrial, unreal,
and venal degradation aye
temporarily turning a (third)
blind eye apathetically, blithely,
and conveniently shunting aside
eyesore fissured gash - wide
cleft wound, where hide
ding away from
global abuse decried
as feeble effort
ignoring doth decide
fate i.e. as does wrecking,
where precious resources espied
snubbing, and thumbing nose
(figuratively) asper dead
serious portentous desperate
(falling on deaf ears) plea chide
dismissively mocking (bird
den some) prophesying,
whence creator cried
alarming, blaring, and clanging
sounding Doomsday Clock,
where ambivalence unheeded
scathing tragic miss guide
did exploitative testament,
where survival of fittest tried
to the max, viz (courtesy
of *****sapiens)
as Mother Nature dost allied
flora and fauna espied
comprising vibrant biosphere
each betrothed nsync, and guide
ding generic hominids shrugging
(Atlas sized fountain head)
off beholden hide
bound wedded bliss
to the other,
this observer awestruck,
sans whirled, wide webbed biota
adorns terra firmae analogous,
qua expectant wedded bride
named Gaia – resplendent
raiment adorned playfully chide,
when (dark and Stormy Dan
yells) Armageddon
legatee - time ran
out for *****sapiens meaning...
salvation to late for human
knit tee, cuz field day, sans
grim reaper will
glory in field day
whar cross bones
numb skull pay fealty.
Restless slumber disturbs the lady; swift thoughts float
Like yachts silently sailing by the grand keynote
After the short, hot night of summer's compact dreams
Active fluid inferior frontal gyrus streams
Unsettled speculation ends when sudden beams~
Dawn arises upon angel wings of soft white
Offers reflection of topics on which to write
Deep in grooves seeking spiritually nonfinite
Awaiting the rising of a bright fireball sun
Expressions imprinted released outward for fun
Or curtail humor get ready my son much done
That opens a new summer day to fulfill all
Spirit filled day open to wonder what might fall
Sweet angels surround, lift, caress, remove pitfalls
As the sun arises gold prophesying hope
Let hope radiate out full like a kaleidoscope
The language bring communion like a gyroscope
Angels guard precious souls 'til they arrive home
After the short, hot night of summer's compact dreams
Dawn arises upon angel wings of soft white
Awaiting the rising of a bright fireball sun
That opens a new summer day to fulfill all
The hot sun arises gold prophesying hope
Angels guard precious souls 'til they arrive home
finis'
Crown of Couplets contest sponsored by Catie Lindsey
Written: July 05, 2016