Long Allayed Poems
Long Allayed Poems. Below are the most popular long Allayed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Allayed poems by poem length and keyword.
The thuggery & skulduggery we must disable
The fable that we are all from another stable
Reliant on corporate giant bland brand label
We should be able to sit at the same table
Could grow our food in our neighbourhood
No creeds just deeds sow seeds that feeds
Heeds our needs not greeds edible weeds
Chairs of reeds in a row stood around wood
Two hands & one mouth the triangle of life
Spans across lands fans of no fork or knife
North to south eat together beat the strife
Allayed & swayed by Proustian rushes rife
Severe all ties with pain lies of Cain and Abel
Come together guys round table whenever
Wherever forever there is nowt comparable
Parable of arable reigns never been a fable
I may not live for a hundred years,
But a hundred of my poems will be there to allay your fears,
And soften your tears,
Enough to give voice to these hundred musings,
As I make my way upstairs,
To have my poems
Checked out by past Masters,
Who once stirred our souls,
And won our hearts,
With poems that allayed our fears,
And softened our tears,
As we too took up our pens,
Aiming to be half as good as those poets,
Who we hoped made it up the stairs,
And not down into the pits.
But if I should make it to a hundred and can hold back the tears,
After a couple of beers,
I will assert one of my copyrights,
And you can recite the ninety-nine others,
While I look forward to more poem filled years,
Before I take that final trip up the stairs,
To reside among my peers.
It was hidden below her hairline, across her nape of neck, for her to know that it was there, but no one else just yet.
Younger sister Sophie snuck through her bedroom window. And no one knew that she had gone to party and to dance, to greet, to meet, to drink with friends in Haute Sauverne in France.
Sophie had wisely second thought of riding with the fire chief son, but school friends had allayed concern, all piling in, and not alone, fifteen year old could soon be home, when dance and fun was done.
The night was cold, the heater on, and and tired young man drove off the road, hard crashing with his precious load. Dear Sophie was the only one, with belt forgot, which was undone. Friend sat beside while they both cried and friend held fast her trembling hand, held hand while Sophie cried, held hands while Sophie died.
Four sisters now are three. There's Jen and Natalie, and then the youngest of them all is known only as Mimi.They lost their sparkle lively one, their dearest sister Sophie.They lost their dearest lively one. Four sisters, though not now alone, four sisters now are three.
And so, some time since shock subsides, though sadness never gone, I glanced those words beneath her hair, those words discretely hid, that parents would forbid if they had shown, if they had known that they were there.
But older sister was compelled to get for Sophie sister gone, those words always remembered yet, in tattoo script on nape of neck, her pleading words to not forget, and which said, secret 'neath her hair, and yet cut deep forever there:
'wake her up and tell her',
yes, 'tell her that I love her.'
With empty capacious containers
the living entities
arrive arrogant
and depart desolate,
in between turn into
greed slaves to snatch
the unearned fortune,
getting sucked spellbound
within abyss of temptation.
In the inferno of
corporeal passion temporal,
the frenetic flare
laced by luring lust
debases the fervent feeling
of platonic pining,
but in blooming love
it can sparkle sublime
with the patina of penchant.
The chase of mirage
in the deceptive ego desert
etches the fragile footprints
of delusive dominance
with sandstorm trajectory,
but the squall of strife
over the dune of dwindled life
subsides in the inner space
of latent love configured
in the conceded cauldron
of self-less surrender.
In the blazing realm
of connived conflict
sane senses of sobriety
turn into cinder,
flaming the fiber of prudence,
but the shower of sagacity,
spurting from love fountain
with divine flamboyance
douses the fire of disdain
and
with the allayed ashes
fabricates the framework
of cordially congruent
epitome of existence.
With empty capacious cauldrons
the living entities arrive arrogant,
and depart organically desolate.
In between they turn into
instinctive greed slaves to snatch
the unearned fortunes,
getting sucked spellbound
within the abyss of cravings.
In the innate inferno of
corporeal passion temporal,
the frenetic flare laced by luring lust
debases the fervent feeling
of platonic pining dormant,
but in the blooming garden of love
it can sparkle sublime with elegance,
emitting the patina of penchant.
The chase of the migrating mirage
in the desert of deceptive ego,
etches the fragile footprints
of delusive dominance transient,
trails the sandstorm trajectory,
but the surging squall of strife
over the dunes of dwindling life
subsides in the inner space
of divine latent love configured
with the lattice of self-aware surrender.
In the blazing realm of connived conflict
the sane senses of sobriety
turn into consuming cinder,
flaming the fiber of prudence,
but the shower of sagacity,
spurting from the fountain of love
with divine flamboyance,
douses the fire of disdain,
and with the allayed ashes
fabricates the framework
of cordially congruent fabric
of blissful epitome of existence.
As the pristine petals of conscience buds
of my serene soul unfurl
in the subsided swells of stimulus,
and bloom the divine lotus of bliss,
I’m overwhelmed by the shower
of His graceful gift benevolent
of hope and contentment bestowed on me.
The beauty of idyllic life I then perceive,
blessed by the bequest of the supreme,
suffused with the ecstasy of salvation.
I may not be plagued by vices,
I may not be inundated with foibles,
I have my disparate troubles,
I have my recalcitrant midnight.
I have sought a way through the woods,
A way out of the tempest that trails me,
It’s been an uphill task,
For this, a plethora of questions I ask.
Have I been yoked with my incessant turmoil?
Have we entwined like a woven fabric?
I fight the monsters that walk into my day,
Yesterday’s conquest hasn't allayed them.
My mind is a valley of turbulent streams,
It’s a waterfall of thunderous claps,
I'm encompassed by the untold,
As dawn awakens they unfold.
Some things are beyond us,
Some things are unknown,
They give us a different view,
They sculpt us for the dark days.
May 4, 2023.
I’m alone and scared lying in my bed
with a cold wet sweat running down my head
In heart pounding fear I will soon be fed
To a big hairy creature of my dread
A green ugly monster with long sharp claws
Yellow spotted teeth and powerful jaws
a long pointed tail and twelve massive paws
Who takes away children that break Mom’s laws
Then Mom comes in with a tuck and a kiss
Switches on the night lamp and fears dismiss
I peek 'neath the bed and find to my bliss
No monster lurks around, nothing's amiss
Now I can go to sleep, all fears allayed
Towards dreamland, I soar, no more dismayed
But I know this giant will not be swayed
And come back if I ever disobeyed.
(10 syllables)
27th March 2023
One jinn butterfly flew on his wings three wishes lay.
One wish was for true beauty to grace forms caste of clay.
For though all things are beautiful, their mind doeth say neigh
And discord comes when envy vies and jealousy doest play.
And once man’s reached reality as to truth he’s reborn
The butterfly in me would wish true kindness would form.
Kindness, so that none would hurt another and fear be allayed,
kindness for each and every day, so anger and hatred are kept at bay.
The third and final wish my jinn butterfly would carry
Would be forgiveness when in weakness good men do tarry.
Each of us like the butterfly feel trapped ‘tween the glass
Praying to fly free before our glory days have passed.
**In Arabic, a genie (also jinn, jinni, djinni, from Arabic jinni) is a supernatural creature which occupies a parallel world to that of mankind
Shabbos Table True Fable
Our family "Heimish" setting,
Replete with 2 lighted candles letting,
Blessings, my wife's "Emunah" truly abetting.
6 days' worries & scurries set aside, allayed,
2 lights cleansing in noble "Dr. Suess" style displayed,
Candlesticks' "Curved Art", due to years of use arrayed.
Bluma Yehudis's beautiful voice, her simple innocence,
Capturing a crystalline semblance,
Of each of our spiritual en-trance.
2 "Challah Bagels" offered gratefully to "Hashem",
Each one a symbol, "Remembering" & "Guarding" them,
The 24 hours of rest, from creative labors, not physical ones, we stem.
"When wine goes in, truth comes out",
Liquid sunshine savored in moderation, no gout,
And to boot, enhances melodious singing aloud.
Other Yidden heard through our window, grace the night,
Melodies heard so clear, listening is like eyesight,
Each "Niggun" inspiring, not the least bit trite.
Shabbos graces us each with an extra "Neshama",
Meaning Soul, from "Breath", exhaled into each "Guf" by "HaRachaman"
Gifting "Bina", or understanding, & appetite for my wife's "Manna".
In Bina we listen to each other, to Torah "Tools & Dies",
Attending to Hashem's word, true hearing with eyes,
Conversing, not the least, with your loved's ties.
Singing "Shir HaMa'Alos" in unison,
Brings us together as each other's & His chosen ones,
Bonding warmly, embracing each other by voices' tones.
Afternoon naps, enjoying playing Bananagrams,
Invigorating, rejuvenating, noncompetitive lambs,
Sharing dreams, emotions, wits & words, ignoring weekday scrams.
"Davening", or praying, to Hashem for ours & others' welfare,
Ending domestic disputes among us, pointless warfare,
Huge blessings & tiny like "Shalom", health and carfare.
All this in our Shabbos? I barely skimmed...
" There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy!"
Only those you love can really hurt you;
For those you do not love can't reach your heart,
So when they say or do things that can cut you,
The pain can pierce your heart just like a dart.
Things like this aren't easily forgotten.
When remembered wounds seem fresh again,
Apologies sincere are like a bandage,
That helps to heal the wound, assuage the pain.
When we attack someone in heat of anger,
And say things that we really shouldn't say,
"I'm sorry", is the order of the day then,
So hard feelings that will staycan be allayed.
Even if you think that you've done nothing,
That you should feel ashamed or sorry for,
If in your righteousness you find you've hurt them,
A simple word can halt a closing door.
Why sit back and say,"Let them get o'er it.'
'I will not crawl to them on bended knee."
If you've hurt someone who loves you, you should forfeit,
The pride that keeps your stubborn cruelty.