Long Adjoining Poems
Long Adjoining Poems. Below are the most popular long Adjoining by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Adjoining poems by poem length and keyword.
Your Elysian Killing Fields-
Your soul, my Love,
is the pristine gilded white,
that cascades down from Heaven's summit.
A river that fills me, a dry riverbed,
with your milk and honey.
Your current carrying me along,
to your eternity.
Eternally, flowing along,
your emotional streams,
towards your heart's tributary.
A maelstrom of passion,
pulling me down into your pools,
solitary actions.
In solitary enormity, destiny-adjoining.
You are my clandestine pulse-
that regulates my being,
with sacred verse.
You are the specter in my blood.
The scepter of my throne,
With you I can believe, in anything,
except for being alone.
Anything, everything you do.
Winds around me as a grapevine, entertwining.
The seduction to drink from your cup.
The ambrosial wine, your overflowing,
flowing into me.
Your passionate canvas calls to me,
to sculpt in its delicate flowering.
In hungered heaves,
when your rib cage expands.
Anticipating,
your Dove's-wanting to be freed.
Only, by my hand.
Free as the flame's flare,
the burning, consuming.
As I stare into you,
feeling your Crimson Fires, there.
Feeling as though, stalked prey.
In your Elysian Killing Fields.
Euphoria in sway,
atop your succubant meal.
My fate's threshold, crossed and sealed.
Helpless to your Impish ways.
I remain held, by your captivating allure.
The intoxicating poison of your capture.
Poison of your angelic tainting,
that runs through me,
clouding evermore.
The Conductor of the chemicals within me.
You entrench, your surrounding,
that abounds around me.
The Ballerina of the Little Death.
In sourcery, comes,
seduction's breath-The dance- of the seven veils.
Perpetual, into hunger's ballet,
which permeates, the skin,
burroughing its ethereal entrails.
You're always a puzzle,
a timeless wonder,
always to be.
The first of my needs.
If you turned to be the Devil's Daughter.
I fear he would have me, indeed.
My Love, the other part of me.
With this dream-
I pledge my Love to thee.
Yes, you are the ghost within my wings.
I am a phoenix rising from the sea.
Bring me out into your spring.
where I will drown,
in your farthest reaches.
Life to me, you will endlessly be instrumental in, as the Lords revival brings.
The Elite warrioress from Elysia to
Elate me, inflate me to Life from my dreams.
Dihing, adjoining borderline with Arunachal, on the foothills of mighty Patkai,
In the encircling mesas of terrestrial plains of high altitudes,
lies the Assam Valley's tropical wet evergreen forests,
Named after its thick density of trees and profuse diverse ecology,
the Amazon of the East, the Dehing- Patkai Wildlife Sanctuary.
An abode to the myriad of endangered species, copious floras and faunas, a hotspot, the zone of world's richest biodiversity.
As amazing as Amazon's tropical forests, dark and dense:
The country's lungs like last lowland the evergreen rainforest.
Where the tallest of the tall trees with creepers are competing
for the sunlight forming greenish lavish canopies.
There, the animal kingdom awakens, whoops;
When the light falls, fathoming the density, filters in
The floras with the exotic species: orchids, lianas, epiphytes, are sparse and unique,
The faunas endless, the sole quirky reserve in the country with its' lush evergreen ecological system.
Nestled amidst the most picturesque valleys and hills,
Is reclining the lungs of the congenial climate for survival, of the region
A celestial abode on earth of the rarest IUCN red listed, on the verge of extinct species,
TheDehing Patkai, the richest part of the Sub-Himalayan region, a major carbon sink ecosystem.
.
The Amazon of the East, with its sacred biodiversity hotspot,
is apprehensive of it's extinction
As the relentless injudicious mining and digging,
Has taken away the pulses of the oxygen feeding lush terrain,
Imagine a world devoid of rainforests, where we need to carry oxygen tanks, the most unfortunate substitution!
It's sending signals after signals not to play with its' immensely diverse tropical bio- canopy region;
To save the last remaining unparalleled foliage, affluent lowland from excision!
As no amount of wealth will be enough to save us from the impending outcomes of destruction,
Pivotal to rescue and redeem the Amazon of the East;
the tropical evergreen Dehing -Patkai reserve, the richest rainforest of the region!
I
The historical record shows many intimate connections between Arabs, Muslims, Hebrews and Jews, and Babylon. The nation we equate with Israel began as tribes in the deserts of Arabia. Some of them were allies, some opponents, of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). However, we know his Uncle-in-law was Jewish via Khadijah, and helped the Prophet reject the fear he was insane, for hearing Gabriel speak some of the Old Testament scriptures to him.
II
The synagogue system of worship was begun in Ira q (Babylon)
III
Tel Aviv was a famous Jewish city in Iraq, before it was "revived" in present - day Israel.
IV
Strictly-speaking "Jews" refer to Jesus' tribe, as He is the Lion of Judah; the other 11 tribes of ancient Israel (Hebrew tribes) are the ten tribes of old Israel then called Samaria, or Ephraim with Samaria as the capital. The remaining tribe of Benjamin - from which the great missionary Paul (Saul) descended - was located in JUDEA, or the Southern Kingdom (with Jerusalem as capital).
V
As i pointed out previously, the Samaritans have survived for millennia near Mount Gerizim (adjoining Nablus, in the Occupied West Bank - which some Israelis call SAMARIA even today). They were persecuted by Arabs and Jews as neither fish nor fowl, especially during the 1940s, and during intifadas. West_bank Samaritans remained neutral, declaring their connection with Abraham through Jacob (Yakov) son of Isaac, grandson of Abraham. In the parables, Jesus spent much time showing the Samaritans as "good" and worth saving. Samaritans were not allowed to buy land in Israel after 1948; an exception was made in 1950s near Tel Aviv. Recently UKRAINIAN women are recruited as brides for the dwindling Samaritan population (GOOGLE this). Thanks to Israeli scholars who proved the Samaritan story in the 1950s.
shalom, shalom. Yes, we have differences, but we have much in common!
NOTES:
1. Khadijah, the Prophet's first wife, was a business man, and likely a Christian. Her father, Khuwaylid Ibn Asad was also leader in Quresh tribe.
2. Her relative, Warak -al-Naufal (sometimes El-NORFIL) was a Christian and a minister. Of course he used the Bible in Arabic (as ME Christians still do).
Vasava
An untold story Part 03/Many
Description of the Vasava's Amazing Beauty - continues
Glimpse and shine of her thrilling bosoms,
Coming during her dance forms
Were revealing the beauty coming out
From the thinness of her beautiful tops
Her steps were adding more beauty
To her ever ravishing sprouting youth
Intoxicating the spectators to get lost,
For ever in that lustrous wine of her beauty
The twisting and movements,
Of her beautifully stretched arms
Were thrilling everyone on each steps,
She was taking in her dance
With each new step of dance,
She was taking out her spectator’s heart
And her songs were enchanting them,
Only to completely get lost
On her strong and beautifully shaped
Slender and pinkish legs
Her thin and delicate waist was thrilling
In joy, with joyous mirth of her youth
Her body’s movements were so free
And stress free, like an elastic
To form the enchanting dance poses,
She could have bend her body to any extent
When Vasava used to perform her dances
On the splendid wooden dancing floor
Her face began to glow in joy,
Like golden rays spreads around the beautiful Sun
And watching the shine of her lovely and
Ever glittering and shining face,
Even the Sun found it better to hide behind
The clouds or to glow low
Such was the exuberating beauty and charms
Of the wonder dancer Vasava
Who was the inhabitant of world’s most ancient
Palatial city of Patilputra*
The beautiful Vasava of the era of Buddha
Was the court dancer of the Kind of Magadh*
She was the most prestigious dweller
In the heart and minds of the people of Patilputra
Ravindra to continue in 4
Kanpur India 3rd March 2010
References
* Patilputra . The old name of Patna - a city of India in Bihar state
Patilputra was one the most ancient city of ancient
India situated near river Ganges.
* Magadh The Kingdom of Magadh was located current Bihar
And other adjoining states of India.
Looking through frosted glass of windows' sorrowed pain I who
Reflects upon the frozen condensation in the shelter of my mind
Delight that there are crystals on the panel which refract the joy
On the grace bestowed upon me by hindsight observation glare
I do not always have to see what takes place behind the screen of
Time and reason well beyond my grasp and am contained within
The wind brushes against the frame outside and yet holds firm
Its paint has flaked but still reveals the layers of abundant paint
Where coats of varnish cover ageing primers glossing over fissures
Hinges are in need of rust converter and some lubricant although
A bit of grinding jambs on closure reminds me that I hear the sound
That reaches feelings and emotions when my moods begin to jar
I marvel at the crack that gives a certain kind of resilient contours
Which shaped my seasoned soul and tested skills and renovation
So far eluded the need for triple glazing double vision and repair
A spider though renewed its work and spun a web from musky curtains
To shutters up and down and weaved a fragile net quite unperturbed
Flies have lost their battle and I am grateful that I have not been caught
There was temptation to wipe the slate and surface clean and polish
Instead I take crayons out of the box and scribble on adjoining walls
I watch the canvass unfold and listen to the sound of scripted passion
Very soon what is called graffiti or artistic pleasure gives an easy glimpse
Into my heart soul and innermost desires careful not to hold my breath
Keeps some distance though because my exhalation could disturb the scene
Dusk settles quickly and I pull up my socks and wrap up in a knitted blanket
Put another log on the fire to kindle warmth and thoughts among the cold
The candle on the mantlepiece flickers kindly and grants a soft glow evermore
Looking through a frosted glass enhances rather than obscures all of my senses
Gives me the precious freedom to decide which side I'm on when evening falls
Now I can smell the crispy touch and taste of verglas and look out for silence
31st March 2020
Navigating the immense void of night
The right ascension to a winter’s sky;
Coincides with the height from which I stood
Stars, interlinking crescendo’s so freely,
Imitate the centuries, as I presumed as much.
At least with one tuned in, to so many stars
The magnitude existence found, far large;
Appearing close to one another as a variable
Heralded each, a legend the Greeks had made.
(The Constellations)
Snoozing with the intention of inanimate usage
The head long bolster pillow, namely, ‘Hydra’,
Chose an encounter with Hercules as foe
Prolong impetuous, to each gradual hemisphere,
As one could sideways look, exclaim its’ breath
Pursuing each as on-lookers, chose that group!
Individually did it taper each ceaseless path.
Warily, with twisting motion, a scathing attack
Searching menageries from whence it came;
To the labyrinths where pulsars engage sense
Trails to adjoining torsos, and ten thousand heads,
Though be them stars or for the sheer hell of it
Combine as one, each with a will of its own;
As per chance, with the combined effort, sway
Euripides, a watercourse, with banks on each.
There, Centaurus takes grip of its south west tip
Uninspiring Sextans, via Alphard’s luminary
The heart to all there is, and everlasting life,
Immortality may be a reality or mere illusion.
Secondments trail to endearments out of view,
To Southern scopes from omnipotent fathers;
Godly endeavours that imaginations flame
Find these dreams for us, the Hydra dead,
To remain in searing portals to then regroup
Bestowed as thoughts to future centuries.
This modern social scene has overhung-
Encompassed by a twirl, one single snake
That twisted and turned where each was caught
By something that as groups could never see,
We as the stars ourselves imposing on each
Imposing one another, avoiding calm.
This meandering replacement deals with hope,
Extremely drawn out as the Hydra is;
To engulf every membrane of tale told so far,
Where mass of spatial existence seems blood
From which taking blame its life’s loss came,
And every impending story told so far,
Was simply a daydream to a night time sky.
When tons of doom filled nights fall upon your head,
embers glow fierce and fires burn unabated.
Recalling her last breath and wish you were dead
in poem's last line, you've been beat and castrated.
From the heavens, a voice thunders out dire threats
about loses and late breakfasts without eggs.
Fumbling about, looking to hedge your foolish bets,
you drink your cold coffee, down to bitter, burnt dregs.
On waking you find dawns hammer truly fell.
Last nights burns are reminders of your tortured life.
You stumble and look up from pits of dark raging hell,
recounting now the true reasons you lost your wife.
Your alarm clock chimes out vulgar curses at you
and your dark house bids you leave by peals at noon.
You think of the ancient, sad wicked dreams, too,
as night falls with it's huge wretched lucent moon.
Dreaming of hungry tigers eating your new boots.
your house perched atop two tall adjoining trees.
A hunter fires; it is not a tiger that he shoots.
Second angry wife cuts your legs off at the knees
Metaphor amputations are so savagely sever.
Your spirit cries out I must flee, tiger is near.
The tiger roars with laughter, I own all your pain.
Second lioness purrs with abject contempt and disdain
Your old slaughtered heart bleating faint cries out.
Memories tainted and dreams coercing a shout.
In abyss of regret the famished tiger dines.
You struggle to cope, tree sways breaking it's vines.
What of taunting lioness who's false words defame?
Half muted stutters quivering lips murmur blame.
Muttered niceties in deep with disgust feigned.
Tiger haunting your dreams, as King it truly reigns.
Will you take a stand your courage regained?
Can you bare the cost, can you bear the pain?
Be strong take back what your past gains.
Clean the slate wipe away the shameful stains.
Climb up from the depth of hells dark pits.
Replace dawns hammer with soft cotton mitts.
Let satisfied lioness purr, hunt the raging tiger.
Be happy, be proud of regaining your swagger.
WRITTEN WITH ONE OF THE BEST POETS I KNOW.
ROBERT LINDLEY FOR THE CHALLENGE ON HIS BLOG.
THANK YOU ROBERT FOR CHOOSING TO WORK WITH ME.
And sadness reigns
Though never ordained
from the simple truth
Billowing joy
Subverting bliss
Standards too ephemeral
To lobby the naked
wishes we hold
Desperately close
To our heart
And sadness reigns
Our heart
once whole
Sputter and mends
And beats eternally
No matter the blood
No blood the matter
It seeks, filters
and dispenses joy
From mechanoly cells
Pleading for regeneration
The familiar beg towards
Indiscriminate joys
Mean nothing but
To be left alone
Crystallized, for exhibition
to the many
Everyone partake
Seek a morsel for
Yourself
Because it's fleeting
And sadness reigns
Through our ears,
Acoustic lies flutter
Sincerely, vacant waves
Of love melodic,
It does its job,
Tainting sweetly our reality
While souls huddle close
For a deeper view
Our here and now
Climbs, repels
From sentimental summits
Vistas of pretty dreams
Fragrant, lauding over
The stench whispering
Towards the barren valley below
Then back to us
Hearing, humming
Exhuming
Chemical reactions
Singed
By recall
Broken or of whole
The music
Causing joy to
Drop by when we need it the most
And sadness reigns
We're startled,
As focus brings
The world into
Rarefied view
Intensive stare,
Colliding our senses
Interpreting their meanings
Elastic snowballs
Thundering into
Psychotic waves of
Lustful avalanches
that burn the retinas
With joy, inquisition,
Indelible glances
Hung up neatly
To wear when
Dreams demand them,
And there are peeks,
Boisterous looks
That tease your mind
And theirs
Visionary tales
Gross of dischord
And malfunction,
Though they serve
As guests,
Glee in a box,
Nibble, taste
Devour, done
And sadness reigns
Because you and I
All before us
And those to follow
And yet to come
Arrive, depart through
Unmarked swiveled doors
Betwixt adjoining suites
Cemented
Endlessly
By the mundane
we require
The horrific which we
Bring and run across
The zeal we grab
For ourselves and others
The aggression we
Wage and deflect
The resignation we extract
And authorize
And somehow
As sadness reigns
We defect
And elect
To be ruled
By something else.
(1/27/05)
timing is everything
pretty much anytime
anyhow anyplace
morning noon or evening
whatever the birth date
no matter the season
or how tight the G-string
victuals and drink
the chiefs of a good diet
this old woman could not be quiet
she wiped her clammy hands
on a mellow yellow chiffon dress
Circa 1959
timing is overdressed
always never again
maybe sometimes never thrice
the aging colors
of dusty dreams
invite us to frolic
but only briefly
now that it's technical
there are no more heroes
this old lady only waved
when she was yawning
where had her archives gone
into a lifetime of sea
timing is to blame
cooks faster than bacon
doesn't stop and carries a knife
hour after hour reaches out
blinds us to see
takes us half the way there
days tripping over rock stars
nothing is by accident
in adjoining rooms
that old lady never listened
had many years of unread messages
lost the keys to the Jeep
waited for the next available rep
timing held its breath
up-to-the-minute
it was no small matter
prior days posted
atop one another
stealing sunshine
never recoiling
yesterday at sundown
she crashed the ATV
this old lady lived to skål
joy rides at the speed of sound
backward and past the contrasts
always in a leopard pill-box hat
timing had meant everything
still in response to yesterday
it was no grand prize
a gray higgledy-piggledy shrub
below the tidal noise
standing in the doorway with poise
blocking the Entrance
that's what ^tiempo_ was
cowbells and castagnettes
this old lady kicked it
in an instant such as this
cursed by seasons of glare
life kissed her feet in recompense
timing and it's belongings
had paced past and present
and lasted but a moment
in the vestibule by the portal
there is a possessed clock
it stages lifetime shifts
every step you take up or down the staircase
days weeks months years decades
a life-span of keeping your eyes on it
When tons of doom filled nights fall on your head,
hot embers glow and fires burn unabated,
you recall her last breath and wish you were dead.
In a poem's sad lines you've been castrated.
From the heavens a voice thunders dire threats
about losses and breakfasts consumed without eggs.
Fumbling about, looking to hedge your bets,
you drink your cold coffee, down to burnt dregs.
On waking you find dawn's hard hammer fell
last night's burns are reminders of strife.
You stumble and look up from the pits of Hell,
recounting the reasons why you lost your wife.
Your clock chimes out vulgar curses at you
and your house bids you leave by peals at noon.
You think of the ancient, wicked dreams, too,
as night falls with its wretched lucent moon.
You dream of hungry tigers eating your boots.
Your house is perched atop two adjoining trees.
A hunter fires; but it's not a tiger he shoots.
Your second wife cuts off your legs at the knees.
With life's blood flowing from your severed veins
your heart bemoans that you married once more.
By morning you were free from nightmare's pains
but horrid memories linger behind closed doors.
What vast burdens you bear in fear of sleep
and hollows in your mind fill quickly with dread.
When your clock strikes twelve, I hear you weep,
" Odious anguish! I wish I were dead."
Shadows dance on your walls in candle light.
Dark images of her body pressed close to you,
waltzing in your arms on a moonlit night
but she vanishes when dawn's rays break through.
Which sort of dream scars your mind with more grief?
The ones in which you're butchered; burned by fire,
or when daylight steals her away like a furtive thief?
Will your penance release you from the leeching mire...
the terror you encounter each night as you lie abed?
Foolishly, you once thought love claimed your heart.
Therein lies the angst of what you most dread...
the vexing memories in dreams that tear you apart.
Co-Written with Robert Lindley based on the original
verses he offered in the open challenge on his blog.