Long Apparition Poems
Long Apparition Poems. Below are the most popular long Apparition by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Apparition poems by poem length and keyword.
The boy, the padre and the abbess.
The padre hung in the bell fry the boy didn’t know
at the time, the padre was his father; this once proud man
reduced to a pathetic shadow of himself.
The old woman, he didn’t call her mother, told him before
she died of a tragic love story.
When the abbess was young, she was swiftly sent away
when returning, she was pale and drawn and spent her life
in prayers and meditation, asking God’s forgiveness.
She had sinned, but the truth had to be a hidden mystery.
With the help of her God, her sin was seen as an apparition
A dream she once had.
For the padre who had lost his faith, it was cumbersome
he was a man of flesh and blood and with nothing
to hold on to took to drank, sitting in his sacristy drinking
late in the night towards dawn.
He used to go and watch the boy play in the garden
and thought of taking the boy away drive to another
town get a job; looking at his white hands, asked
who wants to employ a former priest, and anyway
he lacked the strength of resolve.
He stopped walking past where the boy lived
the old woman stopped him, thought people might
see and draw the wrong conclusion.
When the boy knew this, he was 19 years old with
a dead father and a mother hid in the holy
spirit of the catholic faith, he sold the old woman’s
house, left the town to seek the meaning of his life.
Deep within our cosmic fabric hides
The magical, mystical thought that carves the world into waves.
The scarf of the evening pulls over the flight of winds,
Like the celestial dawn that envelopes deserts and holy monasteries.
The air of trams that snake among the stars,
The sun, a cosmic blacksmith, molds with the palms of its rays the threads,
Sparrows that dress caresses in cloaks of flight,
Untamed wilderness of streams, leaping through dreams like time's benchmarks.
And when silence descends, where echoes spread
Over the last glacier, cracking thinly under the weight of early autumn,
And ducks in prophetic choirs claim in a quartet
Above the sound of perfection, where the ice begins to curse and to sing.
And children, guardians of unknown sweetness, in vain
Cry upon the altar of youth, choking in the bitter,
For them, the world is still fragrance and song, the sweetness of days that have been sprinkled,
And they choke in the awkward light, lamenting in the meanders of a shared fate.
Beneath the starry vault, where new worlds are born through the suckling of stars,
In lunar laughter illusions shatter, turning into shining dust,
And a silk tights, magically torn at the knee,
Warm themselves in the sun, becoming in themselves a royal jewel sailing towards forgotten mornings.
For there is resin embracing revered trunks,
And there is me, the heretic who redeemed himself in deceitful thoughts,
Who placed the locks of error over my endless heart,
Only to find out that, no, it is not an epilogue - but a horrifyingly beautiful prologue.
You - have stepped in the gentle shade, a smooth apparition
Into the very pages of my chronicle, at the fateful moment,
And with your smile, you uprooted my roots
From the deep pits of remembrance, as if plucking me from a living crypt.
Now, gravity in the garb of a saraband wraps me,
And I, a creature reborn from the flickering of the painted wheel,
Choose to leave for a sacred sign of life,
The entire paper tapestry of the past - a fabric gently torn from the clasp of light.
I wish to breathe in ~
lose myself, as my head tilts back
and I fill with fragrance
be lost upon lost, flowing, fleeing
invisibly within layers, locked in
bound to perfumed memories
that I return to unaccompanied
a ghost within their harmless essence
you are one deep inhalation away
I stop before my lungs are full
still able to tell dreams from reality
I hold three thoughts
three notes that detail my existence
I am the rose, delphinium blue & lily white
evaporative unless curated
an apparition, unheld, unholdable
recalled only to mind
redolent and intoxicated
by lingering base notes
unforgettable
but distinguished by the fact
you remain
the unforgiven
Inspired by The Three Perfumes by Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh
She was haunting the wilderness of Night
With the darkness over her damned Essence.
Suddenly, a roving mortal caught her sight;
She had dark grimace on her countenance.
She ambled towards the forlorn young man,
She stopped as if someone grabbed her hand.
On the man’s head, there was a flashy crown;
He must be a Prince from some distant-land.
Once, she too was a Princess on this earth
Until someone bewitched her with a curse
That She will live within the life-in-death.
Will God still bestow her any reimburse?
Bewitched, she never had the time to love.
Now this new Love has bewitched her again,
Her rotten heart was fluttering like Dove.
Her misery reminded her of the utmost pain.
She prayed to God for a divine miracle
In a slight hope that she was still hanging
Between life and death, with a debacle
That befell on her without her longing.
Finally, God took pity on her ill provision
And bestowed her gifts of Love, Eternal.
Her dead skins freshened with apparition
Of Existence, once bewitched, infernal.
The Princess then met her despondent Prince,
Who too fell in love at the very first sight of her.
Their two hearts were blessed with inner peace
Though they were bewitched in love, forever.
[WRITTEN BY Osman Gani]
Night time rituals, that little space of time,
Cathartic relief, along with sweat and grime,
Tribulations of the day wash away, too,
Pool down the sink hole, tomorrow starts brand new.
Night time rituals, bring with them repose:
Weary souls long their weary eyes to close.
Strange to remember, I once felt that way,
Now pain too hard to overcome must still be kept at bay.
So, from night time rituals and sleeping I abstain,
Wild is the gallop of a mind that's slipped its reins.
Sleep is when it gets me, I run for my life,
Run from myself, dreams twisting like a knife.
Drumroll in my ears
Signal danger nears:
Like an arrow I am off,
No spluttering nor cough,
Scaling each fence,
I revel in my strength,
But the faster I go
More obstacles grow.
Hidden in tall grass,
Bold as brass,
I'll rip him asunder
The hunted now the hunter.
Exhilarating chase across a ravaged mind
Preyed upon so long, soon now I shall find...
A bench so familiar, leers into view,
"A wooden resting bench" but now there’re quite a few,
Important, sure, to someone, but that person is not me,
Misfiring neuron in my psyche
I wake up happy, I love to push my body,
Even in dreams, I'm proud of my dexterity.
Doubts creep in, so stealthily at first,
Recalcitrant swimmer who slowly must immerse
In waters so freezing she could die from shock
Can't bear it any longer, I'm diving off the block.
First hits dread
Limbs made of lead
Wasted muscles
Unsteady shuffles
Rasping breath
I'd rather death
Than be pushed around
Wheelchair bound.
Cruel apparition
Subconscious admission
That from my dream those benches
In reality, are trenches,
Where bloodied I fall
No further steps at all,
Scrambling up a battle
My body just will not tackle.
But my own will grown so strong
I'm toldl I’m hearing wrong,
That I won't mend
I cannot, will not, comprehend.
The soaring sinews of morning sunrise,
Ascend like attacking phantoms with flailing spears;
They rise thinking of fond amusements in the foggy darkness;
They appear as an apparition appears through an old curtain,
As a suffering ghost lurking, groaning in the back room there,
In the old back mansion
Amidst the dark tuft of beckoning willows,
Out back, hidden and forbidden, their erotic shadows.
Then we stand close together,
I have my fingers on Cape Hatterus,
Gently and firmly, as ripe apples in the wind
Topple, I guided you breathlessly amongst the doilies.
I let my masticating mind fixate visions of contorting sweat.
I, as a force of destiny,
Spiraled straight into boneless sockets.
Don't move female person, you, with wafts of perfume strong,
Stare into me female person, stare into my eyes,
There is no other river to cross,
The boa constrictors have put on blinders.
They don't see you. They don't care.
But I do. As a lone bloom on a strong myrtle branch,
I see you over there,
As much as the sky sees our rising voices,
But now my brain hears your voice,
Yet you are silent.
—On the Sight That Waited for You—
Did I love then? My sight had learn’d to lie,
and clothed each apparition in borrowed light;
I kiss’d the dawn and watch’d the western sky,
and deem’d the numinous in mortal sight.
I call’d the rain’s pale argent fall divine,
made vanishing a sacrament of flame;
and made each fugitive splendour a shrine,
and gave the passing world an endless name.
Till thou didst enter—and the very air
seem’d suddenly vacat’d of what it feign’d;
the rain still silver’d every waiting stair,
yet through each interstice the dark remain’d.
I kiss’d thy hand—and all my heavens knew
their light had only been rehearsing you.
The creek was the color
of weak tea, a bronze brew
that filtered light to bathe
the bottom in the soft glow
of an autumn morning.
Even after a long summer,
the water was still high
up the tufted banks
with deep pools plummeting
to a dark mystery under
the overhang of trees.
At first glance I thought it was
a rat that set a wake
upon the still. But it was
too big with a tail as thick
as a hand, paddle feet
and a head wearing
a shiny bill. A platypus !
I mouthed in a silent yell,
as its unmistakable shape
made course across
the water only to dive
and drag its wake down
into a bubble trail
towards some hidden hole
and out of sight.
To glimpse it in the wild
was like seeing an apparition
of the sacred,
something made and forged
in the distant dreamtime
of this ancient land - strange,
almost alien, surfacing
to draw breath in the now
before sinking back
into the timeless burrow
of its own myth.
Platypus - Background Information.
The platypus is a shy, unique semi aquatic, egg laying mammal inhabiting streams and rivers in eastern Australia.
It has many distinct features, the most striking being a duck-like bill, broad tail and webbed feet. An iconic Australian animal, it has deep significance to First Nation people and is an important part of their mythology and culture.
Orphan - Outcast
Orphan – outcast –
Cast out on a cold night
Looks through crystal windows
At a gala –
Shut out with a
Stamp of banish
Crimson mark
Pizzicatos of dishonor
Dancing in stains
From
Music’s lyrics
Waltz rhythms
Tangos tintinnabulations;
Now a phantom – but a clarion –
Haunting footprints of inspiration
To slip past spirits – an apparition –
Shadow wraith, always known,
Till midnight’s magic carillon
Summons back orphan ghost,
Still living,
Join this ball –
Samba, tango, rock and roll -
Hand of invitation
Join again royal rollicking.
7-26 -20
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Contest - Lipogram No _'s
…Jesus spoke…”I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.
JOHN 8:12
TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL
touched by an angel, an angel
of light
representation of the artist’s inner
heart
most patrons gather ‘round the
familiar
but i see a verse - my spouse and i
we are drawn away from the water
to the light
the apparition, in the artist’s mind -
strong
ethereal
now
we are connected to the artist’s bond
with the Almighty
united in spirit - with him
and his wife
and Jesus Christ
along with the fluorescent green
illumined yellow
my feet
almost nearly touch the ground
7/10/2022
Cooke’s FLight Three poetry Contest