Long Astonished Poems
Long Astonished Poems. Below are the most popular long Astonished by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Astonished poems by poem length and keyword.
stirring
inside a rhombus,
springtime.
inside a triangle,
a blind
dog.
the rhombus and the triangle
keep
bumping
into each other
inside my twelve
by fifteen
rectangle.
there, on the clothesline,
sitting side by side,
chatting away,
are my wife's
sleeveless blouse,
my Bermuda shorts,
and my daughter's
ripped jeans.
by noon,
the triangle
slips inside
the blouse.
the rhombus
into the pocket
of my Bermudas.
and through the
rips and tears
of the jeans,
spring descends
into my twelve
by fifteen.
my wife's blouse,
my Bermuda shorts,
stare on it
astonished.
five sparrows
are playing
on the open terrace
of the morning.
Astonished by the continuance of deception
Amazed by my lack of awareness & perception
Forgiveness is only given if their is a correction
Seriously bleeding sick from the knife of intention
Shattered is all the everything I've become within
Preaching to the imperfect while lost in your sin
I will never be able to trust another soul ever again
What is the final count on all your other so called men
Happiness shall always be a word without definition
Forged by the blatant disrespect inside your decision
Unable to figure out whether it's prostitution or proposition
These feelings I would share but I know you will never listen
Hopefully someday you will feel regret for what you lost
It is only the rest of my life spent in misery that it cost...
bmdavey@03/10/18
As I began to speak, the Holy Spirit came on them as he had come on us at the beginning. Then I remembered what the Lord had said: ‘John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.’
Acts 11:15?-?16 NIV
May the promised spirit
That our Lord brought forth
Through His death
Resurrect within one who seeks
May what you are looking for in another
Manifest and make known unto you
This hope was closer than the skies.
In the midst of your bosom awaiting.
From an unknown source of a flowing fountain
As the wind blows the sound and effects are seen
May this wind stir one up within
With the effects of a new heart and mind.
The trumpet sounds and shakes the soul.
That this Jesus is alive .
On the tips of your tongue
One shouts and tells of this Jesus
That has been given this inexpressible joy
Peace, and love for all within.
To create, purify and mold one
Into a new creation
Refined through Christ
A branch in the pit
Snatched out the fire
To be engrafted in the living vine.
Praying for any that seeks
That you become full of peace,
Comfort, joy with a new love within.
To receive new guidance and vision
That this is a lost dying world around us.
Which needs this spirit within to create change.
May God bless, comfort, guide and fill you
With His peace, love, spirit and joy in abundance
The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astonished that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on Gentiles. “Surely no one can stand in the way of their being baptized with water. They have received the Holy Spirit just as we have.”
Acts 10:45?, ?47 NIV
be we in duality
or in singularity
essence of aliveness
requires a vibration
renewing itself within itself
or what we call consciousness
the screen of space-time
is the stage set for duality
of what is all that is manifest
as perishable phenomenon
within which we are containerised
in a decaying organic vessel
noumena of singularity is the bardo
no-thingness before the outpouring
self-existent light in ineffable peace
feeling complete in unending renewal
with full freedom but no urge to act
no adversity and therefore no learning
that the embryo of living light be enabled
with Christ consciousness awakened
namely, love, wisdom and power in fullness
entwined with self-existent will and creativity
these five fold aspects or limbs of beingness
may be likened to growth of the true Self
which though is inseparable from God
is as yet but a receptor, not a transmitter
so to learn and grow, living light descends
into this harsh earth realm with memory erased
that the trance like state enables It to bleed
upon attaining a certain level of maturity
the embryo begins to ask, ‘who am I?’
thus exiting both space and time in meditation
while in the waking state it connects with itself
astonished to behold Self resplendent with light
thus in truth nothing is attained when truth is known
all that happens is that false ego is instrumentalised
thoughts rested and employed only when needed
for the rest of the time Self dwells in bliss mists
bliss being the dualistic component of peace
wherein one that became two becomes one again
thus when asked: who am I
we answer: there is no one here
Bark entwines the branches of-
tall eucalyptus tree
Nest was placed with much haste
Now propped so hauntingly
Baby bird has disappeared
Egg shells-left other pinch
Though tweeting can be heard close by
Perhaps a baby finch.
Amazing such a special home
Has captured me to pause
Inspired by the work made from
Little beak and claws.
Empty nest-such a shame
For crafted loving care,
A new beginning for the bird
Left inhabitance vain bare.
The bird is labelled brainless
I voice Intelligent
To nurture young to have them sprung
To bring sheer sentiment
The aves continue cycle
Freedom, love to nest
Astonished by the workbirdzip
Animals at best.
Copyright © Paris-Maree Boreham 2020
the surgeon cut me open,
he took a step back, in awe, frozen
the surgeon mumbled with a astonished look
“wow…this is perfect, i mean…absolutely textbook”
the room filled with doctors nodded in agreement
my spirit watching from above felt seen,
as if it was some kind of achievement
that statement resonated with my soul
it stitched every broken part of me whole
it felt like the kind of love i’ve yearned for
as all eyes were on me like fine art hung carefully in a museum,
and i hovered above weightless filled with freedom,
i finally felt fulfilled, despite the source
all while looking at my half alive corpse
Once upon a time,
an ant who had long made his home at the root of a tree
asked to be assigned to work among the high leaves and branches.
Having been granted his wish,
the little ant was astonished by the great difference he found between the tree at its root and the tree at its branches,
as all that he knew were based on his experiences at the base of the tree.
Though overwhelming at first,
the steady routines of life in his new home began to set in,
and the little ant began to appreciate the view his new station provided him.
Until one day,
when the little ant overheard a group of ‘high-leaf’ ants
discussing the root of the tree:
“What I’d like to know,”
said one high-leaf ant to the others,
“is how the 'bottom-of-the-tree' ants put up with all of that swaying back and forth.”
This discussion deeply troubled the little ant,
for he knew very well that the root of the tree is as unmoving
as the great earth itself.
Before long the season passed,
and the little ant's time to work among the high leaves and branches
came to an end.
While preparing to make his way back to the base of the tree, though,
a rush of understanding flooded through the little ant,
and he knew what he must do.
He made his way
to the top of the tree
as fast as his little legs could carry him.
Once there,
the little ant did something that ants almost never do:
The little ant looked UP!
Were you to make your way to that very tree tomorrow (whether to the root or to the branches),
you would probably not find the little ant at home,
for he rarely has time to be in any one tree for very long.
You see,
having imagined what his tree,
and more, and more, and more trees might look like to the sun,
the little ant felt a great need to teach other ants to look not just from the root or from the branches,
for to do so is to ensure that the tree they see
is as they themselves are.
The little ant who looked Up! tells stories of life among all the different parts of a tree;
and one day, when the other ants are ready he will teach them to look Up! too, so that all of the ants might finally see the tree
as it is.
My soul fears it not. It languishes with all I’ve had…
Existence cares it not. You either lose it or add it
My body freezes not , around myself people passing by...
I’ve had this empty spot, easy to conquer, hard to apply..
So I dive inside my self to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
Then I dive into my nature, and I see a man bringing it to closure..
A path he never walked. He searched, and fought,
And at the end, he became a hurt creature in a world of hallow…
He became filled with emotions and people he could never forgive…
So I dive inside myself to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
Then I quiet down, I pray, I cry. I force myself to stand up
God! Where can find strength to stop the pain where I weak mostly?
What have I done to my dreamt dreams, which were so happily created, and now
so ghostly lived?
So I dive inside myself to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
Suddenly, I close my eyes. My hands tremble , my body stops…
I hear voices inside my head:
“ its your time and is now is too late, you journey is over, this is your faith! Its your
time and is now too late, your dream is over, there is no mate”
So I dive inside myself to find amusement and selfishness.
Why do I hang on to this bitter moment, when love is all that I couldn’t have?
At the end I am Stumbled. I am astonished by the feeling from within
All I have is emptiness. I had it all and never fought.. I saw it all, and never
caught…
I simply stood away, and let it pass by me…Amazingly and free.
I have chosen too much and have so little. I am all alone.
How does he forget the smell of your smile, the essence of your personality that drew him closer to you, it drew him closer to love.
He sits in his little corner trying to examine why he likes you so much, he sits and wonders if you’d ever accept him for who he is.
He grabs a piece of paper and a pen hoping that he will get the courage to tell you how he feels about you.
You stole his heart when you whispered sweet words into his ears. He looks at you and wonders how he will ever risk telling you how he feels about you.
He wonders if he should make the first move and hand you his heart. He is not sure if you already own someone's heart already.
He looks back at the day when he pretended to be someone else just so that he could get closer to you. He regrets not telling the truth about who he is.
He carries his heart and hopes and prays that you will someday open your heart and allow him to give you all of him.
He looks at you when you not looking and he is blown away by how humble you are. He is astonished by how you both are the same people.
I often visited the prittiest and kindest lady,
who lived by an abandoned, weedy cemetery...
and she told me tales that made me dream;
up that pine-scented and rugged hill, the Devil tripped many times and finally fell:
when her holiness set her gracious face aglow!
And she never cursed God, but continued her creed,
believing that she was put on earth to sanctify love;
and she planted many seeds in the moist garden...flowers that made her life livelier!
Exchanging her pure soul for money, never tempted her:
living happily and continuously blessing God's name;
if that's how one is blessed, many shouldn't need to wonder...
how she never asked anyone for anything...relying on Providence!
Every spring morning she tended to those roses and gardenias,
like mothers care for their adored children; and she sang
opera like a glamorous prima donna on the illuminated stage:
how astonished were the passersby hearing those lovely areas!
Giovanna, lovely prima donna, sing another beautiful area for me,
let me hear how a soprano can feel that divine harmony;
teach me all the lyrics and the tunes that embellish them:
I am a quick-learner and my passion goes beyond my talent!
Giovanna, lovely prima donna, you sought no honors or earthly glory,
and your visions were grander than those idolized singers,
who only asked for applauds and repeats from the cheering crowds;
you had none of these...only this aspiring-tenor-to-be!
I passed by her house yesterday, the shades were pulled down...her garden
without butterflies was arid and the pretty flowers fluctuated no more;
and the tall pines trees didn't offer their inebriating, sweet aroma,
but there was no sound of Giovanna's voice, the voice of the lovely prima donna:
canaries and bluebirds weren't frantically tapping on her closed window!
In a white laced dress, wearing red shoes and a green velvety hat:
she displayed her national pride, recalling the enchanted land of music and poetry,
where her unforgettable childhood was spent with an innocence so free!