Long Alchemists Poems
Long Alchemists Poems. Below are the most popular long Alchemists by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Alchemists poems by poem length and keyword.
symbol of contrast
like Noah's ark in harsh storm
captivation norm
endurance am I
alluring in mountains rest
winters embrace test
integrated light
across wild echoes stoic
exudes pure stillness
delicate yet tough
unassailable maiden
artists awed humming
alchemists delight
aligned with capricorn's might
pristine determined
raw unadorned self
expresses inner kingdom
nourishes itself
secrets in dark roots
poison perceptual moot
duality hoots
sacrifice and faith
face adversity with grace
revelation brace
with each unclasping
petals open mystical
surrender holding
scent nascent nadir
sacred self-preservation
authentic profound
quiet verdict holds
love is not parasitic
terrifying peace
contemplate christmas
quest each due ecstatic depth
silent witness bear
so do I exist
cold thorns after each snow dawn
god's love not forlorn
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Written: December 02, 2023
Quote "Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified." Alan Watts
________________________________________
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
I deploy discursive divine depiction as a guide.
A gateway to Genesis, where it takes its side.
Unbridled and untamed, my voice may rise.
I pursued knowledge out of pure surprise.
Low-frequency vibes induce a shift in shape.
Scarcity leads to transmutation, of spare scape.
Alchemists transmute leads to sacred gold.
Metal sheds its genius luster in the kiln hold.
I waltz freely with doom in the gloom.
I inhale oxygen to marvel at life's bloom.
I endure steps yet disappear in the dream.
Structure is unaffected by the skill stream.
Love is my soul—my reason for existence.
Living in lavish love is a lifelong vow of diligence.
A mind, weaved with such insight, was so warm.
I flaunt my firm frame in this fabulous form.
When you are feeling opulent and egotistical.
Those who are dominant were miscible.
Departure might induce an unfillable hole.
Descry a suitable way to purify your soul.
There are ecstatic and tragic days, love and hate.
No matter how tough we strive, this will be our fate.
Note how sporadic and fleeting life is; spot the stride.
Our days of tribulation bruised our noble pride!
Rather than succumbing to hatred and rage.
Turning negative into a rising trend of assuage
Let trust and troth tackle tricks and malicious
Such a restrained demeanor is truly auspicious.
Within, most consensus spans are wide.
It's all whim; scatter love and watch it glide.
Trust your scintilla—trek to the boundless sea.
We may all profit from sowing wisdom trees.
Conquered the most-dubbed landmass on Earth.
And yearning to discover raw levels of worth!
Death, then delirious with deceit, drove his life.
A wicked beast embedded himself in strife!
A susurrus sparkle to the shimmering love.
Enhances adieu strut below the moon above.
Breeze says, "Love on, my dear, and dance."
Across the trees, a gentle man's glance.
In the crucible of time, where the iron of human will is melted,
Lords of armies forge their crowns from flames that build mirages.
They invoke the spirit of the earth, but their thoughts leap over windmills,
In the sorcery of pride, chanting incantations that cast smoke in their eyes.
With siren's tongue, demagogues lull their people into a deceitful slumber,
Leading them to swim toward the maelstrom of war with arms of reliance.
Beneath a mask of patriotism embroidered with false gold, they become masters of illusion,
Building castles upon bones, under which lies only the sand of ephemerality.
They raise their speeches like obelisks toward the sky, but in their shadow lurk abysses,
Weeds of words grow toward the sun, stirring hearts with the wind of change.
They urge an exodus of souls to fields of stelar battle,
But they are shooting stars, covering the earth with craters of silence and oblivion.
They are alchemists seeking to turn the lead of fears into the gold of glory,
But in their flasks boil only delusions and their long, dark shadows.
Black magic they birth, in the name of a false rebirth,
Where white lemons of peace are promised, but autumn reaps only bitter citruses.
Oh, in this web of mirages, where each mirror is more deceiving than the last,
The hero becomes a lost shadow in the grand spectacle of power,
Playing the role assigned in this magical play of destiny,
Where the true enchantment is to see beyond the smoke curtain, to break the spell and be reborn before the end.
f o r g i v e n e s s
is the window
to unknot the twigs of tainted trees,
where cuffed anklets
around the star-struck skin of
seraphic silhouettes
feel the suppressed sighs
of the ice-moon,
while
cocooned in a nest
of clamorous clouds,
blanketing rivers of love
flowing within
the esoteric orb,
like the raining snowdrops,
designing a bed of purity and humility,
to rinse the remnants of
stinging sorrow,
pricking thin feathers of phoenix wings
in compassionate clemency,
sealed in envelopes
carrying inked veins of a
weeping violin...
and as the city lights
adorn the panoramic view
of this bleeding boulevard,
I search for a verb
that hides between verses,
woven from heartbeats
of you and I
from pools of poems
poignantly painted
within closed pores
of persimmon pages,
locked with glimpses and polaroids
of
unscripted
t o m o r r o w
that only the soul of swirling
comets
can decipher~
for this is a tale
of peacock butterflies,
mirroring blue-ringed topaz,
like hibernating eyes
that seek not
ephemeral effervescence
jinxed by the touch of
two-faced artists,
performing hypocrisy
in perfect tenor,
like alchemists
dressed
in neon fairy lights.
So take these words
as memoirs of m e r c y
this soul is the soil~
where chamomiles bloom
in the glass garden
of forget-me-nots,
as my mind is
a beloved heritage,
awaiting drizzling rays
condensed with contentment;
a tempest
sedated and subdued
in
ultraviolet grace…
The ancient alchemists truly had the right ideas,
With knowledge in science, philosophy and mysticism.
They pursued a recipe for a phenomenal universal elixir
Which would cure all our un-eases.
Or spiritual enlightenment for all.
But I think the most fascinating critical thinking
Is the idea that this chemist of sorts,
Could take a base metal like lead,
And somehow miraculously transform it to gold.
So, weird, surreal and remarkable, outside of the box!
Then time moves on and ideas that sounded
Ridiculous get recycled and rehashed.
Their misinformed unscientific theories,
Somehow, make it full circle.
Today we know they were on to something.
All they needed back then was to create a nuclear reaction
In a particle accelerator like the large Hadron Collider.
But although the idea is solid
The amount of energy it takes to create
The smallest little bit of unstable gold.
I think going forward our energy may be best spent.
Seeking their other endeavor
Spiritual Enlightenment!
On this gangrenous planet, where the sky bears the scars of time gone by,
we should refrain from weaving plans from threads of illusions and hopes,
yet we continue to craft them with an optimism that pulses deep within our veins,
like a reflex of the dying seeking light in the final darkness of the day.
We cling to dreams like pale stars barely shining,
in a universe that hides its future under a veil of uncertainty and silence,
but even in the face of a world decomposing under the weight of its own mistakes,
we dare to hope, to plan, to weave stories from the ashes of the present.
Perhaps this optimism is merely a flickering flame in the cold wind of reality,
but within it, we find the strength to dream, to rise from the ruins of a shattered past,
and in every plan we make, in every hope we keep alive,
we discover fragments of light, echoes of a possibility for rebirth.
And so, on this ailing planet, where time counts its heartbeats,
we build our future from fragments of optimism, like alchemists of the dream,
seeking magic amidst despair and sunrises in the midst of perpetual night,
for even on the edge of the abyss, we remain seekers of miracles and lights.
Intolerance weaves hatred in the fabric of our times,
innocent blood is shed in madness, civilizations clash,
tender hearts splinter into disposable debris uncared,
in the psychic grip of insolent stress relationships crash.
Before savage tides surge, let times change the essence,
war-tanks become pianos, guns form harmonic flutes,
nuclear arsenals turn harps, soldiers become violins,
performing in symphony of peace and brotherhood.
Before the hourglass breaks, let times change the form,
contempt turns to flower, hatred to branch of olive,
minds morph into alchemists, making golden threads
that will create the garlands of love for the despised.
If not, let the stubborn times go back to the stone age,
write a new hieroglyphic story on the erased plaque.
July 9, 2020
Contest : Strand Completely New (7), Any Theme Any Form
Sponsor : Brian Strand
light weight lamps outweigh surrounding darkness
float on wavy strings of lucid reason and emotion
translucent Christmas decorations are up to cheer
but ill-humoured disbelief has tripped the fuse box
remember there was a halo but just one single candle
close to the manger to minimize the risk of burning
the crowded inn sheltering hope and weary migrants
displaced marginalized and exhausted from pregnancy
Mary cast a passionate glimpse on her naked offspring
immaculate in her faith and her belief in human love
spreading like a wild fire into shadows of hardship
as the sun of politics and false religion already cast
the image of crucifixion at the cross roads of Jerusalem
and yet she nursed the baby in strong arms and mind
shepherds flocked around radiance of a guardian angel
scented spices took away the foul stench of the barn
cast away in safety of frankincense myrrh and gold
but alchemists already waited to secure a silver shilling
so heavy that it was difficult to turn the temple’s table
fixed upon the burden of dogma false shine and crusades
Joseph reminded doubters of glow and lustre to prevail
Mary took a thread from the loincloth of her baby boy
braided a bit of cotton into wicks and gave them freely
to those who knocked helplessly upon the stable door
the homeless often share more than those who can afford
but only give generous amounts of self-righteousness to
further their mercurial almost satanical inequitable quest
they fear that the little saviour undermined their wealth
some say the story is a historical myth and fabrication
with Christianity a deceiving invention to distract from
monopoly of market trading and the heavy price of shares
and bright light only resides in vaults while safe boxes are
the key to happiness and the miracle of being able to buy
one hundred chandeliers to illuminate opulent housing
but in my own heart I prefer the message of good will
07th December 2020
The Light Contest
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
GIT THEE BEHIND ME SATAN-
All my soul within me pitching
Git thee behind me Satan
All my soul within me ditching
Only this and a shepherdess
Much I not marveled the mystic exorcist
Git thee behind me Satan
My mind always strays to enchanters
Much I not marveled this splendid priestess
I discovered the alchemists
And its eyes have all the witching
Git thee behind me Satan
The whipsaw witchery whipsawing
And so I screamed, 'Is that a theologian?'
Enchantress - enchantress - enchantress!
Suddenly, I heard some magicking
God forbid
The occult smiled
God and I proclaim...Git thee behind me Satan
Demons cries and flees
Gods children and angels singing
Git thee behind me Satan
8/9/20
written word by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020 ©
In the twilight of my thoughts, I drift,
An inward journey, an endless quest,
Self-knowledge, an adventure, a hidden gift,
That carries me far, into the depths of my chest.
Through the corridors of my mind, I wander,
A stream of consciousness, a boundless sea,
Reflecting on shadows, both near and yonder,
In the labyrinth of self, where truths are free.
Comprehensive knowledge of the shadow, they say,
Can cast a veil, a profound darkness,
Personality problems arise, like a stormy bay,
Unimaginable struggles, silently found.
For this reason, the alchemists spoke,
Of nigredo, melancholia, a blacker than black,
A darkness so deep, it seems like a joke,
Yet within it, lies the path we lack.
In this shadowed realm, I find confusion,
Mental mazes, twisted and intricate,
Each step forward, a powerful illusion,
Of clarity gained, through the fires of yearning.
The shadow within me, a mirror so stark,
Reflects parts of me, unknown, unseen,
Into its depths, I embark,
On a journey through the unseen and in-between.
With each revelation, the darkness grows,
A blacker black, that swallows the light,
Yet in this void, understanding flows,
A beacon of truth, in the heart of night.
Self-knowledge, a profound adventure,
Carries me far, into the depths of my soul,
Through the shadows, where mysteries are found,
Toward a wholeness, a vision made whole.
In the flux of thoughts, I navigate,
The intricate dance of light and dark,
Embracing the shadow, my destined fate,
For within the black, lies the eternal spark.
And so, I wander, in this stream of being,
A mystical journey, deep and vast,
Through the shadow, I am seeing,
The true self, emerging at last.
For in the depths of the darkest night,
When shadows loom and fears ignite,
I find within, a hidden light,
Guiding me through the endless night.
With each step, the esoteric unfolds,
A tapestry of secrets, ancient and wise,
Revealing the mysteries the universe holds,
In the sacred dance of abysses and highs.
In silence, I hear the call,
Of ancient whispers, of cosmic lore,
An inward journey, where shadows fall,
To uncover the truth and much more.
Thus, I embrace the shadow's embrace,
A dance of darkness, a path of light,
For in this mystical, esoteric space,
I find my soul's deepest sight.