Long Cauldron Poems
Long Cauldron Poems. Below are the most popular long Cauldron by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cauldron poems by poem length and keyword.
Everybody’s looking for Christ
Everybody wants salvation
And everybody pays a price
For the bigger situation
Everybody tries to conceive
Of a Paradise somewhere –
It’s at the end of history –
Or it’s way up high in the air
For some, the Kingdom is near
For some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
Some envision it beyond the stars
Everybody wants to end pain
Everybody wants to rejoice
A plan, reasonable and inhumane
That speaks to the inner voice
Everybody yearns to believe
That everybody’s equal and free –
The diversity of the leaves –
The solidarity of the tree
For some, the Kingdom is near
Everybody would rebel
Against a prison after birth
Be it the cauldron of Hell
Or the rusted factory of Earth
Everybody craves to receive
The body and the blood of man
Either dished out by a priest
Or exacted by a politician
‘Cause for some, the Kingdom is near
While for some, the City is far
Some want their banquet right here
And some envision it beyond the stars.
dislodged deranged
from
unhinged anchorage
errant mind
isolated obdurate
intuitively
from
righteous roots
of
inviolability
resolute
by
dislodging drive
of
deriding desires
feral
intuits frustrated
insolent instincts
shrouds senses
in
disdain chasm
under frailty
of
sensitivity surface
perceptible
of
corporeal conscience
transparent
fleeting thoughts
tangential
imprint internally
transitory template
profoundly prudent
of
intrinsic images
on
evanescent screen
of
avid awareness
emergent
within
unique quintessence
of
supreme reality
acuity surge
through
inner window
on
psychic panorama
enlightened
lets inside
intuition sunshine
of
new dawn
where
impetuous actuality
configures impulse
notional
of
awakened essence
refined
enhancing strength
of
cathartic spirit
soul contained
covertly
in
formless cauldron
of
engulfing vacuity
finds freedom
as
devout lotus
immanent
unfurls petals
of
divine bliss
within
sincerity space
ingrained
in the mouth of desire, inverted spires
lean toward the grots of Hell.
tongues forked, skewered with sapphires
in the mouth of desire, inverted spires.
Adam's apple burning cores, as moths for martyrdom's fires.
on the path to perdition: many had attended well.
in the mouth of desire, manipulation stirs.
the crone fanning her cauldron
a hot vat of ruin, Wiccan shrieks and whirs.
in the mouth of desire, manipulation stirs -
a warlock's cherished heart of burrs,
tears of crocodiles, his every gentleness abandoned.
in the mouth of desire, sirens sweet, curses
lure purple wearers and weavers, beasts with saints,
low_down to the broad gates, gilt black, swinging purses.
in the mouth of desire, sirens' sweet curses
but wisdom's rare jewels, bereft in their verses.
for want of wisdom, man's sovereign will faints.
I was flying beguiled in my seamless sapphire sky,
surging storm of agony from nowhere slashed me down.
No one ever cared for the injured beleaguered bird
that I hided within me clasping the broken heart.
Rhapsody of rainbow morphed into morose mélange,
bled baroque colors bleached from the twilight cloud.
Rainstorm spread spoilt debris of the splintered spirit,
the sordid shades of grey painted the frayed linen of love.
The requiem of roses resonated in melancholic medley,
the petals pined with dripping tear drops of morose dew.
Desiccated in somber sunshine within the deserted mind,
the faded flowers made the posy of passing passion.
In dissonance encapsulated in the cauldron of mute melody,
disordered symphony got dismantled in the discord waves.
Strained smiles sneered the scarred scenario of split lone life,
songs turned into convoluted noise echoed by the sliced soul.
The lattice of life seen through the languid cynic lens,
magnified into crooked contortion of deformed essence,
forcing me to get disoriented in the waste of wreckage,
as the ruins of strained emotion dissipated building tension.
rainbow rhapsody
morphs momentarily
into
morose mélange
of
shredded exuberance
bleeding colors
from
chromatic clouds
of
twilight zone
embroidered ephemerally
by
sunset spectrum
permeates profoundly
as
ingrained insignia
of
cobalt lattice
of
broken heart
painting blue
love linen
f r a y e d....
receding requiem
of
remote roses
resonates melody
in
tragic concerto
of
melancholic medley
as
petals wilt
with
forlorn feelings
while
dripping teardrops
of
mourning dew
on
floral luster
fading
desiccates desolate
in
somber sunshine
of
marooned mind
flagging flowers
make motif
of
withered wreath
for
decedent passion
o b s c u r e....
convergent cacophony
accrues dissonance
relentless
in
entropy cauldron
of
disharmonic music
as
snarled symphony
of
dismantled tune
incoherent
on
refrain ripples
discordant
configured contorted
in
strained smile
sneers sense
inane
of
lonely life
where
sanguinity songs
transform deplorably
into
nonsensical noise
echoed errantly
by
reflective soul
a r c a n e....
life’s leitmotif
listless
seen skeptically
through
cynic lens
indolent
of
distorted essence
magnifies manifold
into
crooked contortion
of
convoluted consciousness
a b e r r a n t....
Kindness is a redeemer that reaches us from heaven whenever needed
through human compassion or through all the helping things around
us created on earth by God. One such act of kindness touched me, filled
the cauldron of my heart when around Lyderhorn, a sleepy village lodged
on the banks of Norwegian Loddefjord I was on a field work, looking at the
Caledonian rocks. There a gracious old lady, named Julia Aasen, rented me a
room with a kitchen for she needed money as her husband, a fisherman, had
died a year before. My work was going on well until one rainy day while crossinga mossy rock ledge I lost balance and slipped a good ten feet, my backpack disappeared in a creek, an arm of the deep blue fjord below. I lost my wallet, money and cards, and with these my poise. I couldn’t pay the weekly rent nor could I buy the provisions. Finding me, a stranger, in dire need of help, Julia said I needn’t pay the room rent for a week and be her non-paying guest, give her company, although I knew how badly she needed the money I gave. Supported by her benevolent hospitality I could finish my work in time and return to Bergen, the bus ticket she purchased for me. Julia no longer lives in the hamlet by the fjord, but wherever she is now I know it can’t be but heaven, for she made me realize random kindness doesn’t come from an arbitrary source, it flows from the angelic heart of the chosen as the precious gift of God.
in dark distress dense
god’s messengers light for us
candle of kindness
August 14, 2021
Contest : Kindness
Sponsor : Regina McIntosh
I dived into the cauldron of magic potion and transformed into the person who I was.ME !
The Me that was missing pieces that felt so deeply about things.
The Me that had that innocence of a child ,who looked at everything in life with amazement and marveled at the wonders of life.
The Me who lived with the Magic that life is to be savored and lived for each moment.
The ME who appreciated the little things in life and believed that the world is a beautiful place full of wonders and so much possibilities.
Before I dived into that Magic potion I was in a dark place.
I felt dead inside ,the Magic was gone
It seize to exist. My heart stopped beating
I was numb,I could feel anymore
I dived into the cauldron of magic potion to be "Reborn"
To become Me
Bearded
like a snail
jealous of
his big manly voice
Turning again
with noses
on spectacles
We seek
exits from the theater
sans teeth
sans eyes
sans everything
To die
to fly
That is the infant
mewling
with spectacles
on nose and beard of
the thousand
natural shocks
sans shocks
sans everything
Then
the cauldron
boils
and the native
hue of strange eventful history
is childish oblivion
sans oblivion
sans everything
To die
to sleep
the traveller returns
puzzles the charmed pot
double, double toil and mere
oblivion
Ay there's the rub
sans rubs
sans everything
The Toads
take arms
against
the fairies
full of death
what dreams may come
When we know
not of?
Thus conscience
does make
cowards of dogs
sans dogs
sans everything
To grunt
at mere oblivion
To be
or not of?
Thus conscience does make
spectacles on nose
and sweat under a
snake
and arrows of
outrageous fortune
sans fortune
sans everything
Or to
be
under
a weary
life while
the cauldron
bubbles
and the Fool
tickles The King
sans head
sans everything
To be
that is
the poison'd
entrails throw
We end
What is
the question?
sans questions
In sun and in rain,
Toils of broken soles and blistered palms.
And the journey, tedious, ends in the dank
Leaves of a breathless forest; so rancid the undergrowth,
Hissing signals of danger in the darkest foliage of mankind.
I cringed alone.
So unkempt this unholy place, where the sun is
Mocked; so ungraceful, yet so glorious.
So cautious these woods, where the panthers,
At noon, watch with the keenest of eyes, silent.
Cadaverous each leaning wood, and misleading,
Every thorny path and track . . .
I have journeyed,
And so precious my journey that I seek life among
The living, and have thus toiled until I gathered and
Garnered the speckled pages of the apothecary’s creed.
Now the leaves in the cauldron boil, squeezed!
The content stored for squirting life into the living.
The due date approaches; the deadline looms
Irritation's in the air; annoyance fumes
A cauldron boils in every newsroom
The tension's palpable; nerves are frayed
Editors hit the ceiling
At mistakes never made
Ill winds are blowing of mounting desperation
Cooler heads giving way to righteous indignation
Utter frustration in the act of creation
Now the boss' out his mind; he's gone off the deep end
Taken it out on someone; flown right off the handle
Only to land himself head first in a scandal...
So remember, all you newsies, stay under control
Not blowing up's your primary goal
Meet your deadline; don't forfeit your soul