Long Accumulations Poems
Long Accumulations Poems. Below are the most popular long Accumulations by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Accumulations poems by poem length and keyword.
Gaze into one's eyes..
You shall see one's truth
You shall feel one's truth..
The eyes contain depth..
There lies no deep dark secrets..
Secrets reside deep within..
Swims beneath one's ocean..
An ocean of which is inside all of us..
Inside one's ocean is years of pain..
Blades of a knife..
Cutting and taring away..
Accumulations are within your ocean.
At times they remain stagnant..
At times they arise..
Exposure occurs..
Realization of one's ocean within..
Had been submerged in dark murky waters
Had been swimming beneath your ocean ..
Inside..
Shark infested waters ..
Inside your ocean there is all of you..
Not only your pain..
There is your joy..
Your loving moments..
Memories creating nostalgic moments..
They swim along inside of you..
Within your ocean..
All had reached the top..
The surface of the ocean..
It shall always be your own truth..
Your beautiful eyes..
Is the surface of your ocean..
Gaze into one's eyes..
You shall see..
The surface of the ocean..
Connected to the window of the soul..
Your beautiful eyes don't lie..
We wait upon the rains to come our way,
and if I read the signs, it seems they might.
The sky is dark; the clouds have much to say.
The sun, it seems, has given up the fight.
Accumulations for the year are light;
my backup tanks are coming into play.
Predictions have been wrong more oft than right;
we wait upon the rains to come our way.
The clouds just might cooperate today;
A sprinkling would be a true delight
To keep the need for watering at bay,
and if I read the signs, it seems they might.
The chance for heavy rain is rather slight:
From black to white, a lighter shade of gray.
Although for me, the prospects are quite bright,
The sky is dark; the clouds have much to say.
The squirrels in trees have tucked themselves away;
The birds, aware, have taken off in flight.
The fawn and doe have gone inside to play;
The sun, it seems, has given up the fight.
I know that it all sounds a bit cliche,
though if the storms should pass by, it’s alright,
for He has met our needs through all our days.
Because we live by faith and not by sight,
we wait upon the rains…
And then the Props withdraw
And adequate, erect,
The House support itself
And cease to recollect
Emily Dickenson.
Queen of Heaven
Give me faith!
Ground me!
Tell me the sky will not fall in
the earth at my feet will
not give way- pray,
shelter us- mankind and me
from crazy predatory frenzy
Defend us from all destructive forces
Foster love of beauty, altruism-
generosity to our cores; a search
for grander possibilities
Teach us the solemn value of history
Keep us true to form, intuitive
imaginitive, instinctive
Attuned to the importance of
self- limiting responses
Not innocent in self delusion
Not virtuous for virtue's sake
Unique and irreplacable
Never notorious, false hearted
or didactic
No! not the sum of trivial
accumulations
Not the collection left behind,
of usesless irrevelancies;
objects beyond human memory
No! it must be us
Abiding echoes
of breath caught in wonder
Suzanne Delaney
Tomorrow’s another day, when
this present is dead and done
In reality one rotation, on
earths path around the sun
The position can be calculated,
but what lies in store unknown
Our planet’s measurable, not
unpredictable like skin and bone
And what happened in the past,
ripples on through today
Unnoticed in black space,
random events still come our way
Set forth in motion, from an
indivisible speck of creation
Seeded is life, seeded is death,
seeded by quantum vibration
Does evolution even matter,
is what we see, what we get
A generation tries find purpose,
then hands over to the next
Accumulations of knowledge,
with caveats of past mistakes
Our monkey business perhaps,
one condition we cannot shake
Are we simply apex animals,
who developed higher brains
Beasts of untold genius, primal
instinct runs through our veins
Intelligence driving us mad,
at odds with ethics and morals
A fixation on mortality, conflicts
of minds causing quarrels
What is consciousness, from
which dimension do we view
Electric signals in our heads,
or cosmic portals seeping through
Wherever this source comes from,
and nobody knows for sure
So many gods and theories,
small wonder life’s obscure
Cryptic forces build reality,
but not readily understood
Dark energy, Higgs fields,
the shape of Genomes in our blood
Crucified by curiosity, because
of our advanced minds
Is the price of being too clever,
really just making us blind
What brings manifestation,
should we look for reason at all
Why not sheer oblivion, how
come an infinite large and small
Born to die is simple, living
forever way too complex
Does truth lie in the medium,
where chosen ones intersect
Where are you Jesus
Where are you Muhammad
Where are you God
Where are you Buddha
Where are you Allah
I’m wide awake,
in this land of nod
By
David Kavanagh
in the book of Luke there's a reference that's mentioned
a disclosure of the boy named Jesus and His future intentions
He had been chosen to wear the Jewish crown upon His head
and attend to His Father business, a destiny spirit-led
the teenage boy Jesus, the Adolescent Christ
understood at an early age He had a true mission in life
born to the carpenter Joseph and the Virgin Mary
born in the city of Nazareth in abject poverty
an immaculate conception, born out of wed-lock
many could not perceive of the gift His parents had got
one day Jesus and His parents travelled out of town
but on the road back home, Jesus could not be found
His parents became frantic, they could not understand
that He would be in the temple fulfilling God's master plan
the Adolescent Christ was just trying to comprehend
His true purpose for being on earth among mere men
He was seeking the knowledge that which He needed to know
from whence He had came and where He was destined to go
He was appointed with a chosen destiny
and had a desire to know why He was given this activity
don't go about allowing society to put labels on you
don't allow anyone to tell you what you can not do
seek out your lineage and about your ancestors learn
then apply that knowledge to everything in life you need to discern
for you have been chosen just like the Adolescent Jesus Christ
remember God had a purpose for giving you life
as youths yourselves, you are in a precarious situation
not quite adults but needing your own sense of validation
walking a fine line between the young and the old
trying to be respectful with a desire to be bold
the Adolescent Christ, Jesus the boy king
determined to discover what His appointment did mean
and just like the teenagers of society today
searching, hoping and seeking to find their own way
with a craving to look beyond their own expectations
wanting to exceed their ancestors accumulations
just let the Lord God strengthen you and let Him be your guide
and like His son Jesus Christ, let the Holy Spirit in you reside
trust in Him, believe in Him and may your conduct be above board
discover your heritage and your destiny while doing the work of the Lord
Time passed away in the dark,
the bedside clock fell silent
it was never much of a talker.
Below the curtained window
snow had numbed the night,
ill at ease my body stretched
as if seeking a way out of its mind
a place it inhabits
when there is only one room,
to turn around in.
Did the clock
die on the tic or the toc?
These are the sort of questions
to struggle with when it's too early
to actually struggle.
Switched on the lamp -
the one in my head.
Accumulations of amputated dreams
wriggled back into the shadows.
I shake the clock
some residual moments
slipped limply through cold fingers.
When the light freezes,
when dawn breaks its brittle shell,
snow humps (so far unseen),
will resemble the many recumbent hours,
but of course there's no way
to measure those hours now.
It could be days
before the snow melts
or until eyes unstick themselves
from all this rumpled mess
of being.
Prana
Cloudy blue stretches itself with grey yellow beams
the faint moon in observation as it seems
salty fragrance by captured firmament
ocean of Prana in living breath of decadent
realms of light by conscious vision
timeless dreams condition
keeper of wishing surreal
affirmation towards joyous appeal
scoping from the holy nectar in advance
penetrating the subtle immune by dance
unchangeable seasons in eternal bound
testament of loving virtue found
significant in identification
precious model of relation
existence all beyond
invisible correspond
frequencies in tune
entities of soul in body to prune
particles of the divine all
personality so small
chained by fears of needs
accumulations of poor deeds
dharma prana karma
happenstance by reasons drama
melodies by heart solution
celestial light conclusion
blessings of evolution
With women the heart argues, not the mind.
MATTHEW ARNOLD, Merope
1. The stand of old growth Melalucas, graces the lowlands of our farm.
For over fifty years, accumulations of leaves have formed small soft islands.
“With selective clearing,” my husband says, "larger areas of grassland will grow.
More grazing for the cows and less hay we’d need to buy in Winter."
Inwardly, I lament, not wanting to lose the beauty of these trees
with branches that rise like huge broccoli bunches against bright blue skies.
My husband, much harder, by necessity, over-rules my sentiments.
2. Conveniently, earth-moving machines appear early on the first day
of the New Year. They cut a long swathe
but on the dam are left a large row, marked by me,
for sanctuary.
They cast reflections on the still water.
3. The felled trees are piled into rough heaps. Prophetically, the car
of the Inspector for Primary Industries appears.
“You must know, these are protected trees.”
He asks for permits (not granted) and orders a ‘cease and desist.’
His scowling looks are an indictment.
4. For months the operation was on hold
and, then the rains came and the floods—almost our undoing.
Flocks of water-birds occupied the flats, nesting on the islands
formed by the grassy hummocks. When these waters receded,
an overgrowth of young melalucas sprouted, where the old trees
had once stood. A network of roots underground had signaled
a catastrophe. New nodes erupted along all the root-ways.
Dumbly they announced their guardianship of the swampy land.
“Give us back to time,” they said , but the un-relenting slasher
leveled them again, so grass could grow.
5. I go back into my house now, secretly pleased the trees are speaking.
The topaz flames from the fireplace, warm my bones.
The hoary frosts have come. The envelope containing the D P I’s
decision waits on the mantel shelf, propped by a row of grazing, ceramic cows.
From the window I see our cows enter between the Melalucas.
They graze on the new growth pasture.
I warm my hands, as the flames lick firewood.
The scent from Melaluca smoke haunts me.
Suzanne Delaney
365 words
"On the ocean waves" of deep cobalt blue
Rides white foam spray that brushes rocky shore
Tickles their fantasy leaves in quick spew
After has caused such unusual roar
Rocky shore, rocky times life gives damp sprays
Coating everyone with uncertainties
Just as the rocks wear and age_ life assays
Each one to analyze the quantities
Of good_bad giving opportunities
To all to grow deeper like blue ocean
Deeper than surface waves _deep abilities
Just few minutes each day in devotion
"On the ocean waves" ride thoughts_emotions
Let them be deeper accumulations
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
Contest: "On The Ocean Waves"
The restoration properties
collected in each and
every grain of sand,
stimulates the aging
functions that affect
durations longing of
infinity that it now
possesses a
plunging pit,
beings owned
and detained in
accumulations of
senseless sands compiles,
in an attribute of time, there once
beheld inside a weightless wonder, the
consequential objective for an entire world
to be ... in that one speck of sand there was
a granule of subservient effervescence, indicative
of life granting necessities of being ... a finality of
reasoning that was encapsulated in fragments
made up of earthy embraces.
In the glasses
of yesterdays,
Everest's of
has-beens
and have-nots,
mushrooming of
chapters and episodes
of life as it was, and now
they are all ... nevermore.
And so there it is, life as it
WAS, piles on and on and on ...
In this exquisite-like spectrum of
simplicities and complications, all be
the gatherings of aplenty numberings
once-upon-a-timers, that fate cast into
whimsical beings of time, are all of those
remembrances trustworthy to the hereafter
that is at a wandering here and there about,
OR is it of a reluctancy of one that would take
a back seat and gawk at the whole of--what ifs
--exchanging a wandering to be THE wanderer,
afeared at the tips of tongues of a life once
lived ... lacking innocence, and therefore
in the eyes of justice, a lifetime of
ill regrets,
appropriate
sentencing to
be carried out
in the bottoms
of a glass bottle,
now and forever.