Long contemplation Poems
Long contemplation Poems. Below are the most popular long contemplation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long contemplation poems by poem length and keyword.
Observation
Of the situation
Requires contemplation
Of the devastation
Throughout the nation
It’s a sad realization
At our fascination
With mass retaliation
To satisfy the need for
Instant gratification
Of your mental castration
In histories evaluation
of your predication
to take a mental vacation
and force the eternal sedation
of those innocent to your revelation
that you are beyond condemnation
and your act was an abomination
drenched in trepidation
and beyond imagination
It is with genuine fascination
That I offer this validation
Of your dedication
To your insane fornication
Of this nation
I pray for Salvation
Eric (and sometimes not)
On wings of twilight her hopes flew away
As day eagerly swam into night
Simply had not been a wonderful day
Stars in the sky were a glorious sight
Filling ethereal heavens completely
Showing her optimism so sweetly
Feelings of pure love were in the air
Could she forgive herself? Would she dare?
Evil doubts within her soul began to ring.
Her emotions were not easy to share
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
She sat by river on the south side bay
Figuring out how to make angry thoughts right
Gentle ideas escaping for sighs far away
Glowing in her dendrites, bits but so bright.
Plugging in gaps ever so casual and neatly,
In a manner as to not defeat thee,
Yes she had been betrayed, flayed full bare.
Could she release this anger now? Could she dare?
She had been the victim of a masochist’s fling
This humiliation she was not ready to share.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Gathered sorrowful ideas in a unique new way.
Determined to obliterate the blight.
Exploded with truth, mighty pen had its say.
She wrote down sad feelings into the night.
Enjoying her perch down by the sea,
And shade of a tiny bonsai tree,
Self feelings smiled, she remembered to care.
She had been lured to an evil one’s lair.
Feelings of worthlessness began to sing.
Forgiveness of self is now parading in air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
Joined momentarily by a fat hopping blue jay,
She knew what she had penned was amazingly right.
She reveled in daylight sun’s prettiest ray.
Watching the jay ‘til he flew out of sight.
Feeling this instant she was at long last free.
Absolved of blame by God’s glorious sea.
As she wrote it down and began to share,
Her heart was lifted by daybreak’s hopeful air.
Doubts flung out by a David’s giant sling,
Writing was cathartic, easy to bear.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
With a hidey ho and a hey, hey, hey,
She followed her bliss with all of its might.
Her words of truth were now in full display.
She knew she would sleep better that night.
Feelings of relief had overcome thee.
She recovered her soul life down by the sea.
The rest of her life seemed more than a bit fair.
For herself, she again started to truly care.
Warm heart full of hope began to sing.
Possibility of true love now in the air.
Contemplation is a heartfelt thing.
when life’s path
was wide and long
our dreams and goals
were one and strong
we got engaged
and then we wed
and opened doors
that lay ahead
and when rules changed
in life’s great game
we changed our ways
but stayed the same
we ran down hills
and trudged up sands
to grasp the new world
in our hands
we brought a child up
to expect
those things in life
that we respect
we basked in fun
and swam through tears
and won and lost
between the years
all
these lines
upon this
page
tell of
times
and
tell
of
age
yet love's stayed strong
the whole way through
beyond that young land
we once knew.
Dwelling in the court
of the inner-sanctum
of contemplation,
sage mind of jurisprudence
charged my heart
with abject neglect;
not of cherished others,
but of myself:
collectively, me and I.
It is written that
we must love others
as we love ourselves;
furthermore, that we
should love each other
as the Author of love has.
Can the mind
be greater than
the heart?
Or am I forced to take
the fifth, lest I
self incriminate me;
subjecting the heart
to becoming a pawn
in the jury of mind.
For so long, in innocence,
I’ve been guilty
of backwards love
leaving self-love
collecting dust
of the shelf of self.
Me, myself, and I
have been for so long,
strangers to each other;
each giving unto others
that love God has sanctioned
that we should give our self.
To err is human; to forgive,
divine. Are not me, myself, and I
not worthy of earthly divinity?
Forgive me, self; forgive me…
little did I know…self love
needs no defence;
neither does self-love
needs acquittal
for being guilty of purpose:
Loving the who I am; loving
who I’ve always been; loving
who I’ll always be.
Welcome home, you;
me, myself, and I
have dearly missed you.
I've had many heated conversations with . . . myself
over how a circumstance, or life itself, should be perceived.
My best time for self-probing is late at night.
Even now (in my sixties), I lean toward idealism.
Reality--not killjoy, but counselor--reminds me of
my boundaries. Opportunities to balance realism and
idealism have proven successful, warding off pessimism.
Pursuance of goals is still fueled by fire, but the flames
don’t leap so high as when I was young and vigorous.
Effective self-examination can be time-consuming
and painful, sometimes revealing that challenging
changes are required of me. These growing pains, even--
or perhaps especially—at my age, are necessary,
for life is not yet through with me.
I classify myself as the basically satisfied, often joyful
by-product of late-night contemplation.
March 9, 2021
entered in Craig Cornish's Contemplation Poetry Contest
Cosmic dust of color, spread across the marble table,
where you, with sacred grace, draw esoteric circles,
watching me as I prepare the canvas for painting,
laughing softly, slipping your powdered finger into my ear,
like a secret sign of our mystical initiation.
Surprised, I was caught in the alchemy of creation,
gathering colors like precious relics,
unaware of my surroundings,
of your gesture approaching like a gentle incantation;
I laugh too, realizing the intimacy of your sacred dust-covered finger,
which seems uninterested in my art,
but I continue to mix the pigments in water,
watching the miracle of colors blossoming,
our senses tuning to the scent of earth and mystery.
Thus begins the cosmic tango of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salty taste, colors binding in an astral glide,
until inseparable unity is formed, profound warmth in union,
inevitable growth, pigmentation seeking release.
But not yet, oh no...
First, there must be a pause, a relaxation of thickened magic,
delayed contemplation, then the pressure of my hands,
pressing, shaping, pressing, forming the essence.
We sip our wine, speak softly, anticipating the inevitable drying,
saying to each other: "We are ready for the final phase:
the inspiration that binds, merges disparate colors,
ultimately yielding to the delicate, inevitable finish",
Later, as the canvas dries, as it must in the ritual,
we cannot resist nibbling bits of still-hot inspiration,
dipped in the melted butter of art, feeding each other,
transcending words, finding new ways to see
one another, in ritual light.
Before you I stand, just as I am,
Your gaze bore steeply within my soul.
From within your sight, my consciousness stems,
Beneath the brokenness of a gaping hole.
Our eyes are windows, so in your pupil I found
Words unspoken, yet said aloud.
The depth of soul cannot help but astound,
Faded only by your inner cloud.
I gazed and gazed, and still could not find,
The truth about who you are.
Am I looking too close, mesmerized by the details in your eyes,
or shall I search deeper within your heart?
I sought your visage to find answers,
To a question I do not know how to ask.
Will my seeking become a futile curse,
Since your eyes are hidden by an invisible mask?
Alas, I asked the dreaded question,
"Who are you that I see?"
You replied with no little hesitation,
"Well, who are you to me?"
Indeed our eyes are windows like they all say,
Yet you see your reflection in its glass the more you look.
So the images that I saw within that lay,
Were they images of myself that I mistook?
When I asked you who you are,
Am I really asking who I am?
Is looking at you a reflection of myself from afar,
Am I the answer, or am I the problem?
The name you told me of yourself,
Was it your name, or what you're known by?
The name that I knew for myself,
Was it my name, or simply an elaborate lie?
How I view you perhaps reveals more
About myself than it does about you.
For you are yourself in your inmost core,
But outside, we are known by what we do.
Do I see you as you come to be,
Or simply the way I want to?
Is this you, or is this me that I see,
What's false, what's true?
If my hand reaches out to you right now,
Would you become disappear as an ideal I made in my mind?
If I asked you to show me how,
Perhaps the answer I shall never find?
Gaze, o muse, into my eyes so deep,
Do you see the vision that I create?
Alas, o muse, put yourself to sleep,
For perhaps, you know yourself better than if awake.
We may know more about ourselves if we try,
Within each other than on our own.
We can't see our own eyes,
But we shall see each other's alone.
Go ahead!
Break me wide open
spread me out thin
Thin...as the dough beneath the well dusted rolling pin
Slender my edges and refine my rounded shape
push me away from you with each forceful roll
extend me
in our mutual exertion to define it
Yes...do straighten me slowly carefully gently lovingly...this time
as the white page spread beneath the 17th century palm in hopeful contemplation
Indeed serious intent born of the preciousness of the white page alone
Can you feel the writer catching his breath with which to begin
Yes I FEEL YOU catching yours just now
In brave... bravest planned intent
So... this time break me wide
But also.... then true
The confession after the lie that has lain between us for years in good stead
As the little perfect pale egg in your bowl on any given Saturday morning
with a single sudden tap
just a brisk strike
...spoken from bowed head and with averted eyes
that you will insist on bringing round to meet mine
Lest I find weakness in your delivery and once more deny you this
Go ahead...try to write out the final passages of this our tall and long tale
You may use an ink well if you wish and a quill
If it will add romance...ambiance
nuance
But first you will need to erase...the expression on your face when you last saw me for the first
Your face filled with the sudden sunlight of your own unencumbered sunrise breaking wide open
across your tired sky
at the first crest of my visage embrace
With pupils dilating and grin spread vista wide across yours only breathtaking gorgeous lined face
Go ahead mine truest love
Break me wide open for the sky
that I can love the world in perfection
Before I die
The early morning hours
A time of silent thought
In quiet contemplation
Your presence always sought
Alone here in the darkness
Your face though I can't see
Shines brighter than the sunrise
Perceived and sensed by me
Q: I ask, what would it look like
If I could have the chance
To love you like I want to?
A: A wide and vast expanse
Of flowing adoration
That's centered right on you
To make you see you're valued
Your knowing this my view
Yes, I think you're gorgeous
Desirable and all
But that is not the focus
It never was my goal
Q: If I should lose my eyesight
Would my love for you depart?
A: Absolutely not
This love is in my heart
Across the realms, the feelings I hold for the God who saved me, echo
Filling up every void, every space, every dark matter
And this shall continue for as long as I shall be on Earth
But when I shall move up the celestial ladders,
To enjoy a trip across the realms, going towards
The abode of my God,
I shall myself sing of each and every line of poetry
That flew from my heart while I lived as a human being
Enouncing of the depth of my devotion,
Which bid me to enjoy being in a state of freedom
Even if such required being faced with difficulties
At all levels of my journey!
Across the realms, the flowers that my God sows for me
Shall take their time to bloom
And when I shall walk all over the space
I shall enjoy plucking them, while inhaling their divine fragrance
Totally lost in a dreamy contemplation
Of how I lived as one misunderstood simply because
I happened to choose my own God as eternal companion!
Written on 29th April 2023
Pick-A-Title, Vol 36 - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh