Long Archetypes Poems
Long Archetypes Poems. Below are the most popular long Archetypes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Archetypes poems by poem length and keyword.
Dream schemes play across the screen
And third eye examines them,
Ever so closely; tonight,
Another etheric flight;
Will show me new horizons
And the beings that dwell there;
The archetypes and images.
Scenes play out in colors,
Shadows weave their magic;
I am inundated.
Visiting spirits came,
Just to bid me adieu;
My guides know what I need.
Somewhere the light starts,
To glow; a pinpoint,
Growing as it moves
Toward each scene, shines;
Revealing wisdom.
A dream is an
Education;
Dream and wisdom
Will come to you.
Dreaming mind,
Subconscious,
Library.
Dream long
And deep;
Dream.
What is that one purpose in life why am I here on this big blue spinning marble
Wherefore why for and what for am I a sentient being draped in consciousness
Quite possibly it will suffice to understand those questions prior to biting the dust
Before present turns bygones feeding worms from carbon one pastime remaining
Sex hugs rock and roll making hay while sun shines as long as causing no harm
Poetry scripting words emotions passionate meaning exploring reason and soul
Being a father husband friend lover and soulmate good virtuous ethically sound
Giving more than I will take leaving the planet a tad better than bad sad or dead
Maybe a role model with love kindness compassion boundaries care and advice
Yet this vison seems circular so Karma appears from the wheels of relevant living
No doubt Plato points to moving out from the shadows and meets up with Jung
Reflecting on merging opposites suggesting archetypes not unlike Tarot of cards
Nietzsche’s God has been killed will I have to revive him or her for that matter
Existentialists suggest existence before essence but what is essential foundation
Stones of wisdom golden mean spreading balance harmony a revolution perhaps
Return thirty silver pieces beg the Queen to give back stolen diamonds and gold
Actualize myself along the hierarchy of needs realize in the process that positive
Psychology understands that there are far fewer must haves than greedy wants
A porpoise can teach me that sometimes you swim on the surface yet will have
To submerge in an ocean of polluted destruction and with sharks in full view
From knowledge action may spring forward and thus I pin my hopes and dreams
On finding right questions searching for answers and that is my purpose in life
03rd June 2018
In an incandescent wood luminous poppies offer
guidance to travelers; tree limbs dance in
syncopation to universal rhythms.
Fireflies shed their phosphorescence
among the flora.
I walk here in radiant beams of enlightenment.
Gathering gemstones; dream time baubles
of esoterica for I am first, a spirit.
Hearts of lavender and rubies
sing out their wisdom in archetypes
of eternity’s cultivation.
I secret it all away in my backpack
and return with a smile to mortal reality.
I have heard the voice of the flowers,
smelled the sweet scent of the Universe
and danced to the refrains of cosmic elation.
Inspiration comes from unnamed realms
and rests upon the ethers...
grasp your share.
Each moment arrives
already threaded—
camels crossing through narrowed eyes,
yesterday's needles.
I see the burden in your face when I get here,
but it’s not your face;
rather a ripple of something older,
residue caught in the glass
nothing but an echo of now. Do you see that?
A life lived sideways,
pressed into the sand.
My bus driver is Atlas today,
holding a world hostage
until I meet his raised eyebrows
with an acknowledgment,
in addition to the usual fare.
The woman on the corner is Circe,
turning glances to granite,
spinning myths into tricks—
even the barista, bean-stained hands,
shifts like Persephone, balancing
her sweet against the darkness.
What is our world if not echoes
refracted, meals consumed after death?
What is real except an insurrection
of stories, clawing at the edges of us,
our susceptible flesh, infected with personality?
These vaunted archetypes,
they hide the hollows in our marrow,
make us no match
for the maps we mistake
for ourselves. You tilt your head,
you ask me what I see. I see, I say,
I have seen, the echoes came first—
shadows carved on walls long
before the names, long before the bodies.
Go ahead, laugh—step into the light.
But remember it moves faster than you
think, burns brighter than you see, and always
drags its shadow behind.
Archetypes flash straight from a pack of Tarot cards
anti-terror Jing Jang synthesis with neuro-spiritual precision
implants explosive animation from the deep unknown
like a taro rootstock growing wings to fly with found suspension
Stereotactic stereotypes archetypes semi-circling soothing storm clouds
thunderbolts and enlightening darkness are my enema of anxious anger critique
of the mono-morph collision of the scalpel shadow ‘Prozacian’ nemesis
neology of ‘animusity’ of ‘newfoundlandel’ comprehension
Dialectical complementation rises higher and higher culminates in
ethereal transcendence where collective personal unconscious
presents my animus in wishful thinking and projections as
soft and gentle revel rebel raising entropy in tender conservation to escape from
Dogma categorically demanding artificial classification replacing with dimension
flow and rivers stagnant pools of stream of consciousness evading
sexist fragmentation disenfranchising marginalisation assigning male
and female emasculated o-variation where seminal origin implantation
Precedes nurture socialised indoctrination assignment of celibate promiscuity
My animus refuses to accept in emotional rejection whether Jung and I read
symbols from the same page or not of masques façades and liberated self
where academic artistry split hairs and personality for the premise of debate
I am a rebel and claim no higher lower ground of superior distension
He or she who animates friendly animosity is right and incorrect whatever
common ground belies the provocation I propose but possibly my
presentation of what others mean in kindness is too neutral neuters psyche
While anima and animus illustrate conclude a symbiotic destination
the starting point of this and that left right up above and side by side
is far too circular an argument when we should start not end in union
Male and female are constructions of disparity of power and repression
Archetypes are not therefore I am
11th June 2016
Animus-Anima Part II—Animus – Poetry Contest
Sponsor Tom Quigley
New archetypes are rising, whispering among shadows and unspoken dreams,
You are not "too sensitive" or "too intense," you are simply remembering a nameless role,
A role that takes shape now, in this era of memory and rediscovery,
Where the frequencies of the soul rise, dancing in harmony with the universe.
The Timeline Weaver heals by braiding timelines, not bypassing them,
The past, present, and future respond to their conscious choices,
The Code Whisperer translates frequency into art, sound, and expression,
Creating works that awaken dormant memories in others, sparking new beginnings.
The Grid Tender feels the Earth like an old and dear friend,
Not only visiting sacred places but weeping with them,
Remembrance comes through reverence, through a deep connection with the soil,
The Soft Disruptor doesn't fight to be heard, but their existence destabilizes illusions.
The Shadow Synthesizer doesn't bypass darkness but dances with it,
Alchemizes pain into wisdom without shame, transforming everything,
The Veil Threader brings truth from thin places, where visions seem like déjà vu,
The Frequency Anchor doesn't preach or force, their presence alone changes reality.
The Mirror Guide reflects your truest self without judgment,
One conversation with them and you are never the same, you change profoundly,
You may not be all of them, but if one touches you deeply, it's because you are one,
Or you are becoming one in this New Age of Remembrance and self-discovery, in light.
Opposing standards is one of Tim’s favourite past times
Not for the sake of difference but to cherish critique
to brush away his take on ignorance searching for his truth
Internalized self-evident and for the sake of future revelation
Creating creativity is far too laborious its
stifling not impulsive enough and stale for it
resembles conscious attempts of spontaneity
Contorting to conformity defeats Tim’s objective
togetherness is fine and so is shaping the world
but pluralism beats boredom and to follow a crowd
Oxymorons in tautological proportions repeated again and
once more affirm vulnerable souls who never put a wrong step in
front of the other as they move happily backward just the same
Conforming consecrating concreting confirming the evens
win far too often when odds are on blowing the norm
Cremating corrupt cretinous crap creates cohesive credentials
Timessa interjects that once every one shapes novel ideas and
follows a different tune in perfect synchronous ‘harmony’ what then
and thereafter but paradigms shift and diversions re-enter the stage
Archetypes polar opposites contradictions disagreements
compliment complementation fashion intricate concoctions
inaugurate new designs and refuse to create devious disarray
Tim decides that Timessa has a linear point yet would rather be a
lonely clairvoyant in the desert than to drown in quick-sands of time
Still he asks his feminine namesake to take a holy vow of communion
Two lovers with their own points of convictions are a miraculous convention
When they come together its everyone’s guess what circumstance and their
genes may result in with the magic flow of a near perfect union bubbling with joy
29th October 2016
You were empowered by striving
for an ideal nature potential to another,
more intuitive, your inspired psyche.
A dualistic inner child.
A sister if you will,
or brother, of conscience.
The fragile critic of your ego
twinning being and discovery
wicker work woven into identity.
Jungian campfire archetypes
and coastal forest epiphany.
Dawns chorus, dew walkers
wise dumb, and moon guided.
Myth whisperers and sacred smoke diviners.
You have become one with the tribe of
Anthropologically informed Atheists.
Book readers and thought provocateurs,
engaged by the zeitgeist.
You don't want to play at the game?
You seek no comfort in their death cult.
For you the apocalypse is a shattered dream.
Reflecting their allegiance to delusional rapture,
while clutching self-fulfilling lists of disasters.
You are a threat to their device.
Enraging them by your very existence,
by networks of increasing number and influence.
An abuse they contend is their God's given to prevent.
Yet you persist? Offering humanitarian precepts
as the alternative for generations of:
genocide, war, and thought persecution.
Rebel defiance enforcing struggle and community.
Breaking through the concrete of their institutions.
Seeded in cracks of commitment and enlightenment.
Poet's words swept by love and dissent
across vast tracks of sterile pavement.
In the silence of the night, words roll like waves of time,
She sees her face in every letter, as in an ancient mirror,
I don't need to watch her read, I know she feels the call,
Somewhere deep inside, she feels the weight of every whispered thought.
But she keeps her silence, as if unaware of the enchantment,
As if she doesn't feel how each verse bends toward her,
How every word is sculpted with her hidden face in stone.
She won't speak, she won't step closer to the living flame.
She refuses to be the fuel for the sparks that dance,
She knows if she gives it air, this fire will be everything, but not gentle,
It will run through all we are, burning us to the core.
Every syllable is an incantation awakening old memories,
Esoteric symbols intertwine in the cosmic dance of whispers,
In the chaos of existence, we seek meaning in the abyss of knowledge,
Existential loneliness is just a shadow in the eternal light.
Ritual repetitions bind us to the invisible and vast universe,
In hypnotic musicality, we lose ourselves in the trance of poetry,
In mystical contemplation, we are one with cosmic nostalgia.
Archetypes dancing in the shadows of the mind, awakening the deep soul,
We dream of lost and found connections in the eternal night,
Each verse is a step in the journey toward the self, toward infinity.
In the depths of silence, when the moon sings its melancholy tune,
I lose myself in the whispers of the wind, seeking an ancient rune.
On the paths of night, my steps echo like falling stars in flight,
Through labyrinths of dreams, I delve in search of a call so right.
In the mirror of the sky, the wishes of a lost soul reflect,
Like a rudderless ship, on the sea of mute time, adrift and unchecked.
I listen to my thoughts, like incantations long forgotten and old,
In every silence, I uncover secrets of a world untold.
I repeat magical words, like a hypnotic nocturnal rite,
I lift my eyes to the stars, seeking an esoteric insight.
I am but a traveler through shadows, on a never-ending quest,
In cosmic solitude, I find myself and decompose into the vastness.
On the wings of the wind, I carry my desires like flags unfurled,
Old hopes intertwine with new in the song of the vague waves' world.
I am a poet of silence, writing verses on the starlit dome,
With my enchanted quill, calming the storm in a restless soul's home.
In search of eternal love, I lose myself among divine archetypes,
In every verse, I find a part of me, a part of you in these stripes.
And when the night ends and dawn unfolds its gentle wings,
I learn to love again, under the faithful stars' soft strings.
Through lunatic woods, my steps are songs of longing and silence rare,
Seeking that place where words become an eternal caress, aware.
In cosmic melancholy, I find answers to forgotten queries,
For in the soul's depth, true love never perishes nor wearies.
I am but a wandering soul, in search of an unfinished story's art,
A poet of endless nights, a dreamer of fearless stars' chart.
On unseen pages, I write the words only the moon can hear,
In its light I find peace, in its silence, eternity is near.