Long Attachment Poems
Long Attachment Poems. Below are the most popular long Attachment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Attachment poems by poem length and keyword.
The energy path is direct
Unmistakable
There being no room for error
Fickle thought rested
It all begins with a yearning
To be one with God
Anahata then all aflame
Seeks satisfaction
Magnetic pull thus created
Awakens Shakti
Energy rises rapidly
Through any channel
Path being of least resistance
Central optimal
Attachment to form a blockage
May delay ascent
Prayerful surrender the practice
Rise a certainty
Shakti uniting with Shiva
Merging at the crown
Polarities next do balance
Becoming equal
Shiva and Shakti then descend
To the heart centre
Lovers unite bliss the climax
Rapture without end
Sushumna throbs in pure delight
Igniting our form
Kundalini movement ceases
We be to become
Subject object merge all is one
Bliss alone remains
21-September-2020
A SCRAPING OF SHOVELS--
A duel of occupations;
Farming or construction;
2 metal clad tools of uncovering';
Clang N clang, touch rub N bang;
Scape-scape, dig-dig on dirt, sand, gravel and rocks;
A scraping of shovels;
Excavation in construction;
Mechanization via steam shovels;
And later hydraulic equipment;
Hand shoveling dirt onto metal covers;
A scraping of shovels;
Connection tween shoulder blades and digging blades;
That the words also means spatula and spade;
Touch me, touch me metal or bones rocks and gravel;
Rubbing together like a scraping of shovels;
Spades lack triangular points;
But are fairly narrow rub and touch;
Dirt and metal, sand rock and gravel;
"spade" and "scoop” a doop dig a hole;
Coal shovel scooping a scraping of shovels
A snow shovel shoveling snow, a scraping of shovels;
A wide aluminum blade that is attachment;
With a short hardwood handle with "D" top;
A shovel called a barn or grain shovel;
Used for grain" spade" and "scoop” grab and hold;
Rubbing together like a scraping of shovels;
3/3/19
A SCRAPING OF SHOVELS Poetry Contest
Sponsored by:John lawless
I want to be fully unwrapped
within the arms of your heart ~
the effervescent efflorescence
effortlessly cultivating our truth,
with your heat as my clothing,
your throb as my psalm,
your love as soft thunder,
soothing in silence
my mind’s mayhem, malevolence…
But to be your chosen heirloom,
must I turn fears
into flowers of resilience,
mask insecurities with interstellar lies,
pretend to be prepared
for the poisoned persistence,
as if ink trembles not at the
thought of losing the light
that found me ~
weeping on the edge of nothingness?
O lion’s mane huntsman,
my warrior scavenging
through storms and starlight,
come sail with me
to the distant dunes
of deepened devotion.
Succumb to this surreal seclusion,
cloaked in captivating colors
of branching attachment,
where you and I will
face the nefarious unnamed
like Persephone,
strolling between thistles
and abyssal dawn,
oblivious to what blooms above,
the labyrinth of love-starvation,
finding clarity through static panic,
returning to your dream,
where cacophonous control
calms the inner conscience
clawed to the catastrophic
currents of craving.
I am the midnight wanderer
intoxicated on pomegranate’s
forbidden ecstasy,
euphoric amidst the orchid
haze of Hades.
For what is happiness
in the absence
of fulfillment or contentment?
I have long learned
the adjectives to accentuate
peace through pain,
serenading serenity
beneath skies adorned
with doomed diamonds.
So let me stay alive in
the lines of allure,
find lucidity through distortion ~
hope through helplessness,
rise again to a spring
that pulses
for piercingly perfumed passion ...
This internal conflict
Holding all my secrets inside
Is affecting the way I am externally seen
Reacting to unknown insecurities in secret
Because uneducated people
Stigmatize everything
I gotta hide all the parts of me
They deemed as socially unacceptable
To the standards of
An unaccepting society
But I'd be a misfit and
labeled psychotic
If I opened the door up
to all the parts of me
It's hiding
It's quite the dilemma
Inside of me I'm trying to write it on the wall
So it's obvious for others to see
Maybe outline opinions
That were once outside, with breath now inside me
Opinionated, alive
Death has fallen upon them
Due to judgment from everyone else about how I am supposed to be inside and
I guess I can mark down opinions as the cause of death
On the autopsy:
"Young woman detached from any attachment to this society".
I love to be alone,
even if the nature is out of tone.
But why do you want to be alone??
By dint of the problems,you created on your own.
Some great personalities have said-
"Theories you believe are facts and facts we disbelieve are theories"
It was my ostentatious attitude that got me trapped,
I am neither puissant nor stoical,thats why i got slapped!!
I was asked to cultivate detachment,
coz' it will affect the natural flow of my life.
But why its me everytime??
Its the charge of my felony and crime!!
Sometimes I feel like bitter and twisted
when the clouds of happiness just gets drifted.
How can you forget a person with whom you are so attached,
so its difficult to cultivate detachment,being attached.
Form:
I refuse to think of these days as melancholy.
The “s” has been missing on my keyboard for about a year now,
and in that year I have felt great pleasure, surmounted
great obstacles, and have wrangled
and tormented over false outcomes;
the delusory greener grass.
Yet these are the days I am to discover all of this.
I am to walk out of the cage and stand back, turning around to gaze
at the various compartments of my Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box:
The hinges, pulleys, ropes, splices,
bevels, strapping, horns, buzzers, clocks, and radios
that have encumbered and ran its chaotic push towards
A function built and conceived by man.
I am outside of it now
And I dare threaten to call these days
melancholy just because I miss all my meaningless gauges.
At yet I still stand at the doorstep,
in the silent light where Luminosity begins,
the saddest place of all. It's here
that I find attainment in one direction and attachment in the other.
My Blue Ribbon Wrangle Box haloes
from the white glow of a hidden crescent moon.
Wems Henry Temmy Psalm 85
For Ridwan Kilani Tobiloba
I know no rhythm can shake Your body
But please upon him You are embody
Like peace unto the night before morning
Driving away sleep and forcing yawning
That Ridwan couldn't wait the dawn
To have his day of the year's super fun
I know no one can bribe Your stand
Nor even wishes can grant our demand
But in the true care for today being lovely
Wishes train breaths in joyful heart quantitatively
Bring alive the forgone dreams of his
To light brightly the foes who love to hiss
I know nothing can stop Your set standard
But of our take, senses meandered
Our ways like river flowing to remain unstoppable
Forcing the way to heal the ones so abominable
Which set up within the flash of forgiveness
Trying to lure dews raining in its aloofness
I know no offering can bind our requests
Nor sermons can hospitalize us-- guests
Unless You are in each before pronounced
Then we shall remain new to be bounced
Off and on till bitten by thee our lord
For no reason reasoning can whole word
I know no plead can cancel my punishment
His own too be for only freedom attachment
To issue the divine gifts for today
And lay low the big cross on his way
As planned for celebration and laughter
Let other side distractions flow like water
I know no heart can know his time
Grant him days, months, years to his prime
That define him graciously blessed of age
And not just the barrier to be free inside cage
But of strength, peace and joy reigning on high
And not the fearless prank of suspended tie
I wonder why
this perennial topic of death
does not interest me
Even my own
evokes cold detachment
rather than invoking warm
heated attachment to denial
anger
disappointment
body betrayal.
Death cast in dull shadow
by my fascination with my own mortal
double-boundaried life
Which came from lives
not mine
and returns,
fades
disperses? perhaps,
explodes?
implodes?
re-unmembers
this individuated Ego
Born and reborn
from and of
Earth's eco-centered
co-gravitation with Sun and Moon
light and dual-dark
double negatives equating positives,
regenerate Energy's great democracy
ergodically dynamic
experiential math and con-science
rather than entropically stuck
stale death
From win/win beginnings,
Alpha waves
through death's atomic
whole ego-embodied system
leftbrain autonomous identity
back through brain systemic holistic individuation
Easing back into this great Climate Sea
of re-emergent win/win becoming,
sacred right mystery and profane left history,
dual-dark enlightenment,
dark images and bright win/win memory
universal-unitarian
future already past interdependent
yang-yintegrity
Energy CoPresent
So much more curious
courageous
dynamic
regenerative
healthy
and interesting
than lack thereof.
In the midst of time and space are we at all of who we are
Drifting in the cosmos vaguely conscious within our soul
Aimlessly pointed we go
Weightless in space our former self with all of life’s unpleasantries still weighing us down
To shed all of that like a super nova
Releasing life’s torments I will explode
Life
To create in any shape or form
The foundation that is there home
It determines their path in all of our worldly trails
Love and relationship can flourish beyond the boundaries of space to all eternity
Love, secure
Secure
Taught from examples of love
Distinctive path that if missed placed can be learned
My passion is the silent attachment
Granted with each enchantment
On that day my soul grew thrilled
My heart love and blood do spilled
In a kingdom full of lovers
Once upon a midnight amorous
And the binding never hating
My spirit, soul, and mind debating
The addition brought such sorrow
'It's that coupling,' I muttered
The empowerment brought such sorrow
But in the fact that it was clucking
As the noose around my neck unbuckling
My passion is the silent attachment
I crave the accessory, affective appendix
Much I marveled this gone romance
Never more shalt we dance
Involvement - involvement - involvement! Ne’er a second chance
to more the committed charm chatting
to the constant debauches and the battling
So sure,
Still yet to be warn me about the amour…
Love of
7/27/2021
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2021©