Long Bliss Poems
Long Bliss Poems. Below are the most popular long Bliss by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bliss poems by poem length and keyword.
Life going by for most
In vacuity like a ghost
Unable to vitalise
The divine within to rise
The oft felt inner stirring
Needing tender attending
Yet our wilful neglect
Inability to stand erect
In mind-heart alignment
Blocks bliss contentment
Whilst by simply being still
Our cup of joy overspills
Automatically
Enigmatically
As layer by layer
Discarding fear we uncover
Magnetic electricity
Elixir of divine connectivity
As this nectar we imbibe
Bliss words cannot describe
Pulsates within in renewal
Rapture in ignition continual
Consciousness bliss shift
Leaves all else save love adrift
Mind-body thus in resonation
With pulse of the Ohm vibration
Ohm the quietus
Leaving no hiatus
Within
On Nativity Night
On Nativity night
Of the Lord`s Only Son
Let bells of piety
Chime for divine reasons
As marks of pure gaiety;
On Nativity night
Let bells ring in churches
As signs of unity
To honour His Son`s birth
In sublime purity;
On Nativity night
Let `s sing His divine hymns
To spread His love afar
Right over space and time
Like the bright Northern star;
On Nativity night
Let us convey His peace
With wreaths of purity
That man may feel His bliss
In warm fraternity.
Good Morning Soul…
Good morning soul.
Today I’m gone to write
a poem that simply suggested
its self to me last night.
It will be a poem of joyous tears
for the two sons I dearly miss--
sons that gave my life so much bliss.
Oh I wish this poem
would flood its self
with their many loving words
and charming acts---
that all the world could see
why God so dearly wanted them back.
But let me not push
this poem to any type of limitation,
for it’s not a wailing, pitiful lamentation
of a heart painful and sad---
rather, it’s a praise poem to the Giver
for granting us all the crazy fun we had.
Good morning soul.
This poem could never cover
all those wonderful short years---years,
filling this old heart with such joy and laughter
and flooding these old orbs with grateful tears.
Yeah, tha Lawd giveth; and tha Lawd taketh away.
Blessed be tha Name of tha Lawd each and evah day!
Favorite Artist,
A romantic,
A dreamer.
Choice for a favorite artist,
that would be,
Me.
~
I grew up in a family of seven children.
As the oldest I found myself entranced and driven.
Then, other times in a pensive mood
to be alone, in a quiet place, bliss of solitude.
I would sneak away and hide in different places.
No, sound or faces; leave no traces
just my chalks, pencils, and drawing pads
drawing traces of faces among them mom and dads.
As I grew older, I used my talent
to earn a living, every day was a brand-new challenge
discovering new things about me.
Excited and amazed of my talents, I started teaching
reaching for those that had talent, but lacking
self-esteem and making their dreams come true.
Then again, another phase of my life, I pursued
finding myself as a poet, a healing of my soul,
a journey to the depths,
food for substance that made me whole.
~
Being an artist has let me see and feel into my human self
with more meaning and understanding to life.
11/11/2019
Having experienced the Almighty’s goodness
to our dear Motherland ---
I envision her as constantly enjoying freedom bliss
vis-à-vis accountable responsibility-exercise
among people diligently led by government officials
exemplifying servant-leadership
as they earnestly seek the Sovereign’s guidance
in their endeavour with faith and practice
to fulfill our Constitution preamble*
with daily thanksgiving gesture.
In partnership with the authorities
I entrust to God …
… myself and fellow citizens
for the prioritization of family nurture
nourished with loving responsibility
strengthening home buttress
along virtue values’ pillars
promoting accountable parenthood
along children holistic development program
simultaneous with pedagogical endowments.
Beholding functional geriatric welfare at work
midst relevant andragogy advancements
I view my country with adults and grandparents
basking in their senior years, glowing
still met by physical, mental, emotional care
welcomed with psycho-social health accessibility
as everyone is braced upon hygiene
of sanitation anchor, exhorting cleanliness
recognizing ecological preservation
cognizant of next generations and their future.
With unity’s cord tied by blesed righteousness**
I cling to the Supreme Commander
for the prevalence of peace and order
midst imposition of lawful justice system
balancing truth with mercy
while reaching-out to the less fortunate
toward wholesome lifestyle betterment
vanquishing power-abuse
combating parasitic dependence-mentality
through the fruition of “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”
*PREAMBLE
We, the sovereign Filipino people, imploring the aid of Almighty God, in order to build a just and humane society, and establish a Government that shall embody our ideals and aspirations, promote the common good, conserve and develop our patrimony, and secure to ourselves and our posterity, the blessings of independence and democracy under the rule of law and a regime of truth, justice, freedom, love, equality, and peace, do ordain and promulgate this Constitution.
**Proverbs 14:34 Righteousness exalteth a nation: but sin is a reproach to any people.”
March 23, 2021
2nd place, "What You Really Want" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux; judged on 4/24/2021.
I feel yellow and orange and swirls begin
Prancing and dancing, smiling with mirth
What about pops of white? My muse asks.
I shush her, because I am in a swirly mode.
Hot pink drops into my dendrite field.
She is all about herself, living her best life.
I have no choice, so I add her to my soul.
Friday has never felt so dazzling!
Silver? Gold? Purple? The majestic colors.
Would solid be appropriate? Layers upon layers of bliss.
My muse dares not speak, wondering where I am going.
I am all about checks now. They are always red and black.
Unsure why, but suspect it is due to my grandmother’s afghan.
My mother completed it a week before grandma died.
It was a crocheted beauty, which stimulates red and black.
I begin to paint in this memory, not recognizing the significance.
Glittery, happy, joyful dashes and drops
Complete my exuberance today.
I feel myself easily.
Living subconscious patterns.
Maybe for you I will become a better believer.
Maybe for you I will become your favourite lover.
Maybe for you I will show all I learned from love.
Maybe for you I will show a love sent from above.
Maybe for you we can do almost whatever.
Maybe for you we can try to be together.
Maybe for you we can play by all the rules.
Maybe for you we can also remain happy fools.
Maybe for you I can play by ear a new tune.
Maybe for you I can give reasons to see me soon.
Maybe for you I can follow all the way through.
Maybe for you I can teach how to love me too.
Maybe for you we will go further about this.
Maybe for you we will end up finding such bliss.
Maybe for you we will try our very best.
Maybe for you we will find some mutual rest.
What makes us sentient
To what we call emptiness
Is it not ego sentiment
Measuring silence & stillness
As layer by layer
We discard ferality
We slowly uncover
Hidden reality
Yet that which manifests
As a revelation
Is yet ego that persists
As auto suggestion
Emptiness not a vacuum
Or anything in contraction
Our magnetised sensorium
Throbs unendingly in elation
Not renunciation but alignment
Polarity rotation exiting stagnation
Feeling within heightened excitement
In tranquil spacial meditation
Thus not sedated but bliss elated
Flowing in joyous exuberance
Urgings of lower mind decimated
We bubble in joyful innocence
15-October-2020
Here the sun shines soft and warm—
Caressing all in vales and on hill—
It gives a glow to every inherent form—
And reveals for every eye a thrill.
Of here they never get their fill—
For this is Bliss, an endless treasure—
Where our dream is the Lord’s will—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The garden is a lush, green platform—
Big blooms with the fluffiness of chenille—
Songbirds’ music raise a storm—
Their feathered robes fill the bill.
Wings spread they fly away at freewill—
Along the curvy course of the river—
They seek the Lord’s grace with skill—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The dream cottage, fancy for the norm—
With a stone paved path to the doorsill—
A neat little shelter from the storm—
Has a spice garden for basil and dill.
And there’s a gazebo for time to kill--
For when gardenwork calls for leisure—
Or even for the blessing of a drizzle—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
To some this vision may instill—
A yearning for the bliss in nature—
But the Lord is sovereign still—
And God rules by His divine pleasure.
The Accoutrements of Knowledge
The accoutrements of knowledge
had crept into his life, overtaking it.
No more did he sit and think,
idly allowing nuance to shade gray
the black and white of learning’s
playful inconsistencies. Old books,
manuals, manuscripts, texts,
subscribed to journals, cluttered
his encroaching space. Old thoughts,
ideas, dreams, brainstorms and brain-farts,
waited – holding numbers – lost in
the labyrinth of slumbering genius.
The need to learn, the drive to succeed,
had seduced him, lured him into the
netherworld of concrete minds,
set in their ways, confident of
their credos. This hell of blindly
accepted dictates emanating from
a “think” tank, this babbling of banal
benediction, this forced worship
of the mindless by the thoughtless
had dimmed the beauty of the sunrise,
muted the music of the spheres,
closed the eyes of the seekers,
pulling the wool of doubt over them.
So he left the trappings of the pedagogues,
fled the archways of academia,
sought a clear and simple thought -
An endeavor not unlike the search
for an honest man. His goal was not
to think but to experience thought,
not to memorize the dance steps
but to experience dancing.
They said that he had “burnt out”,
lost his focus, succumbed to the stress.
Now free of the encumbrance of the
accoutrements of knowledge, he was
free again to seek, to follow, to be
conscious of the sound of his heartbeat,
the rhythmic surge of his pulse,
the shimmering glow of a dappled sunrise.
He would learn from all about him,
study the art of the mud daubers,
the construction of the beavers,
listen to the songs of the lark and sparrow,
answer the call of the coyotes,
taste the bliss of the bee hive honey.
He learned – no books can teach you
the scent of dew damp grass at dawn,
nor recreate the harrumphing solo
of the lead bullfrog. Nor could they
explain how the dragonflies dance
varies from the butterflies ballet.
And so he thought. How and why
had he constructed a barrier of
knowledge that frustrated his
search for anything else?
1/24/2015
submitted to – Any Poem Written in the Year 2015
sponsor – Laura Loo