Long Bodiless Poems
Long Bodiless Poems. Below are the most popular long Bodiless by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bodiless poems by poem length and keyword.
The powers that be, undefined, ruthless, opaque authority
Shapeless, bodiless, upstanding folk, coercing the majority
Overseeing applications, supplications, ensuring conformity
Specialists in quagmires, minefields, esoteric bureaucracy.
The powers that be, model citizens, high ranking royalty
Peerless above the law, protected from a droned society
Scratching each other’s back, freeloaders, freemasonry
Funny hand shakes, codes, wink wink nudge nudge faculty.
The powers that be, puppet masters, answering to nobody
Church going pagans, planted within god fearing laities
Penchants for young hookers, high class swinging orgies
Masters of the universe, demigods, self serving deities.
The powers that be, off the radar, shirking accountability
Magnates, judges, ministers, businessmen, your attorneys
The A listed, elite, endemic, prevalent, shrouded in mystery
Wrong side of these people, you’ll disappear no conspiracy
The powers that be, yet another victim, where’s Khashoggi,
Are his killers really in prison, more likely given new identity
Some ask too many questions, Maltese journalist Daphne,
Blown up in a car, getting too close, unsettling the fraternity
The powers that be, its not possible I’m losing it completely
Because I believe a certain ilk, walk amongst us with impunity
Live behind walled estates, big donations for political parties
In return, yes sir three bags full sir, here’s to your anonymity.
By
David kavanagh
Right before dark in the middle of June,
Between the setting sun and the rise of the moon
I feel an eerie vapor, damp and dim,
Exhale from a distance fence and over its rim
It steals like magic over grass and field,
A motion in sunder, my eyes reveal
Dare, I stand there wide awake,
Dare, I stay for pretty words sake
The strangest presents from a silent tree top,
Through a lattice of limbs a bodiless drops
So, fearful above and close to my wall,
My chest like shadows rise and fall
I say to myself, “have no fear,
Why or what are you dreaming here?”
Shaking from nerves from unopened eyes,
I stand and feel the ghost go by
Does he sleep just over that fence,
What kind of a danger does a ghost present?
Does his tomb have a sounding door,
Do you hear that echo or more?
Your brown eyes speak
bright laughter has etched your fair face
Your brown eyes speak
their bright allure is your mystique
with hands which hold such solemn grace
Oh I still long for your embrace
Your brown eyes speak
We breath in awe
for our journey's just begun now
We breathe in awe
for each distilled memory's raw
each ripe thought rewound, an old vow
hand in hand our beliefs avowed
We breath in awe
New Beginnings
for souls with eyes of brown and gray
New Beginnings
bodiless and ever singing
rise unbound, released, of earth's cliche
a higher calling to convey
New Beginnings
*Form a Rondelet string.
poet: Debbie Guzzi
Why does my consciousness get swiftly corroded?
Why my conscience finds itself in contradiction?
Why with strange thoughts, words, and actions mind get loaded?
Why betwixt likes and dislikes there's constant friction...?
Soul soft, as a gentle tender breeze gets soon swayed,
The spirit within, by cares and worries, is hauled;
Cracks in the axle of awareness make verve jade,
My senses, like birds and beasts, in slavery, stalled...!
This is, hence, I have decided to cleanse myself,
All that is making me drown in the sea of dread,
Should be shed and the soul should become a fresh shelf,
Wherein humanness should its motherly wings spread...!
In a bodiless, celestial space now I swim,
All that entrapped me, like a hunter's net, are gone;
Desires defeated heart and mind possess no whim,
Cleansed of all pitch dark clouds I see a dazzling dawn...!
Renunciation and detachment have been born,
And have started dwelling in me, making me light;
Indifferences, like dust in the gale, are blown,
My bond with each being has become rightly tight...!!!
The Chief creatures of God are men and angels
Angles are bodiless spirits created to adore and enjoy God in heaven
The first man and woman are Adam and Eve
Adam and Eve are innocent and holy when they came from the hand of God
Adam and Eve did not remain faithful to God
Broke God’s command by eating the forbidden fruit
Adam and Eve on account of their sin lost innocence and holiness and are doomed to misery and death
Through the disobedience of our first parents we all inherit their sin and punishment
We should have shared in their happiness if they have remained faithful
The Sin which we inherit from our first parents is called Original sin
The Blessed Virgin Mother Mary, through the merit of her Divine Son was preserved free from original sin and this privilege is called the Immaculate Conception
Yes, the full bloom is pretty
all that culmination just short of perfection,
that opening,
a hasp and harbor for light and warmth
a wide-eyed blossoming
raised up in a blind glory
of transient dominion.
Yet the withering is more lovely to me,
less beautiful,
more graceful than appearance.
The grace arrives just beyond the apogee
as when a high wave reaches its crest
then grace rides ahead of that decline
ahead of any loss or sorrow
it looks not to what was
nor does it seek a tomorrow.
That soft hollowing into the brittle arms
of bodiless ghosts
is a prayer for the ages
but not cut flowers in a vase, no
they die in a fetid wallow
and it is our love of beauty,
our grasping at that splendor
that curses their death.
Ah, Divine influence, it has come to many, so they say,
as to their nameless or named God’s they do pray.
The light came to Carroll, he said he could see,
for raised by a Vicar at Christ church was he.
Dodgson was his surname an apt moniker
for he veers of from his father, made math his liqueur
Lewis was Charles tongue in cheek, he wore hats
and from his birth place, he transformed Cheshire cats.
Lewis Carroll wrote “Alice” sure, he was also Charles Dodgson
but who wrote the marrow, now that’s where the God comes!
Now, many men wrote the Bible or so we surmise
and the pages they garnered came in random sizes.
Yes they picked, they plucked, these men were right scary
and what do you know, left out the Book of Mary!
Now you modern readers just might take a note
the resemblance twixt Alice and Mary's no anecdote.
Dogdson, yes Carroll, knew Mary so it seems
yet, Alice sweet Alice is who came in his dreams.
Carroll clothed Alice and it's no surprise
that in Chapter 3:21, her dress he seeks dried!
For Alice, dear Alice, did not wish to die!
“She would catch a bad cold if she could not get dry.”
Carroll being the kind creator, he would
had the mouse read to Alice the driest of books.
Again and again, his benevolence is shown
when he sends Alice a rabbit to soon lead her home.
So, we are lead on in most delightful detail
to Chapter 4:15 where her flight is curtailed.
As Cain slew Abel, so the Queen beheaded prates.
Yet, she’d no power at all, over bodiless cats!
Now, Chapter 12 is truly my favorite, as you may surmise
Lewis Carroll has dreamed much of caterpillar size..
He dreamed a whole world full of goodness and villainy.
As anyone can see, men will see what they see,
and the Looking Glass has as much meaning to me
as the Bible may have to the Christians, let be.
Why Bother Dying
Instead...
Revisit the child within
Ask if Van Gogh hadn't experienced the sunflower
Would we know yellow and ochre as intimate friends
Would music's rapture remain alive without
Pavarotti's high C
Coltrane's "Sheets of Sound"
A Shostakovich 1905 Russia
Could scented memories remain permanent
Were ocean salt mere granules in darkness
Pine needle sap but sorrow of nature's longing
Darfur's wafts of boiled rice simply yesterdays past
And what of touch
Given freely by a baby's hand
A mother's lips
A feline's paw
Is this not of permanent storage
To be accessed anytime
From the attic of our minds
Forever willing to give
Receive
Can taste ever be forgotten from
Virgin mountain streams
Warm milk from mothers infinitum
Brackish tears of joy
Such as it is
Aging asks to be but temporary
Committing not to gravity
Tissue disintegration
Or synaptic malaise
Relying rather on our embracing Time
Allowing wisdom to nurture cyclic preparation
Life's pigments layered upon a limitless canvas
Give Time its due
Colors will dry
Purity of vision will appear
Absolute and bodiless as horizons awaiting tomorrow's sunrise
Awaiting another edge ever-changing
For some
Only denial
For others
The journey proceeds
A perpetual hourglass
Remaining in motion
Generating new arrangements
The cosmic sand expanding its window
Giving reflection back to the sun
Renewing fire
Generating passion
Fostering endless vibrations
So
Why bother dying
Inside the water
where they float or sway in their rusting roots
are horse tackle,
buggies,
unhinged parts of eighteen wheelers,
a girl on a tricycle, her bones still cycling in the drifting meld
circle squirrel and possum pelts,
The sludge of a dredging flow
tows bodiless pockets of former times.
No one can tell what is missing, what is still surfacing,
what is now lathered into womb-bearing suds.
A wake nibbles banks, it heaps up
headless pomades,
a filigree of funnel cake,
cotton candy,
half drunken sups of rum,
antedeluvian arrow heads,
the painted missing parts of the once and will be.
A momentous loss drifts by, is found by stooping gulls,
their screams almost musical
on a carousel wind.
Under the brittle reeds late summer copulates with
eddy,
churn
and jism.
There are corroding blooms between spent shotshells,
condoms colonize cattails,
belt buckles beckon
to forsaken underwear
that blossom now like pale squid.
The river slops together every wind-plowed recipe,
blends the newly-unearthed
with the long abandoned.
A backwash seeps moon-spills,
or drives a John Deere deeper into boggy entrails,
while barges slowly push each muddy footprint
toward empty shoes,
sunken slippers,
pumps,
loafers and boots
dropped somewhere between Pittsburg and the Mississippi
yet still moving along.
In the labyrinth of thoughts, where the soul and mind intertwine like the vine,
A dance of shadows and light, where memories whisper like the wind through leaves,
There lies an abyss, deep and wide, like an unexplored ocean,
A realm where reason and emotion collide like falling stars.
The heart and intellect, in an unending ballet, like two twin spirits,
Each step a testament to the battles of yesterday, the storms within us,
Some lose their minds, yielding to the embrace of the soul, like a butterfly in flight,
Drifting into madness, a sanctuary, a sacred place like a forgotten temple.
Others forsake their soul, clinging to the vast domain of the mind like a castaway to a raft,
Becoming incarnate intellect, in the cold, unyielding reign of logic like an ice fortress,
But in this realm of reason, where feelings are kept at bay like ghosts,
They find themselves lost, in a world of endless gray, like a dream without color.
There are those who lose both, in the struggle to be whole, like a leaf in the wind,
Accepted by the world, but fragmented in their soul, like a broken mirror,
They walk the earth in shadows, neither here nor there, like bodiless shades,
Lost in the interval, in a state of quiet despair, like a lost echo.
And then, the few, who never taste the madness of the heart, like unyielding rocks,
Who live their lives in balance, each part a separate art, like a self-contained painting,
What dreadful existence must they lead, devoid of ecstasy and pain, like a field without flowers,
A life untouched by chaos, in a banal world, like a story without beginning or end.
Oh, to be mad, to feel the depths of every tear, like a rain of stars,
To dance with joy, to tremble with every fear, like a leaf in the wind's breath,
For in the madness of the soul, true freedom lies, like a sky without limits,
A journey through the cosmos, under the infinite heavens, like a dream without end.
Thus, let us cherish the madness, the eternal quest of the mind, like a sacred pilgrimage,
For in this dance of shadows, our souls are truly blessed, like hidden treasures,
Let us lose ourselves and in losing, find our way, like a river finding its sea,
In the beautiful chaos, where both heart and mind stray, like two wandering stars.