Long Chalices Poems
Long Chalices Poems. Below are the most popular long Chalices by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chalices poems by poem length and keyword.
LEAST WE FORGET THE GIRLS’ KILLING CRY
(Apropos The Boko Haram Girls)
I no longer hear
the screams of the young girls
nor the whimpering
of their little brothers—
only the echoes of falling tears
of grieving widowed mothers
and the muffled shhees
to new born babes—
How much longer
must I awake
to another morning
I wish I never lived to see?
A horizon whose plains
are dotted with earthen keloids
of humpbacked graves
in makeshift cemeteries
where food crops once grew;
horizons reminiscent of
the scared skins
of the weary backs of slaves.
Another damn day deranged
brothers roaming, ravaging, raping
their sisters and slitting mothers’ throats—
Driven by a demonized illusion
of the Nile goddess of fertility,
and further intoxicating themselves
with chalices of their families’ blood.
Brainwashed and mind warped
as if by a crazed neocolonial
good luck fetish—
are these who’ve lost the free
in freedom like those who sold the in
in independence—lackeys
to and of ancient slave masters
who’ve learn well
the western ways of deception.
Unmoved and no longer
grievously concerned,
the world mesmerizes itself
with a deceived sacrilege image
of a revered Nile goddess—
Meanwhile, no longer news worthy
wretched of the earth sisters
continue to suffer ethnocentric
rape and “gendercide”
from their hoodwinked brethren.
In the temple of silence where you mourn your absence,
The walls dance in shadows of bitterness,
Chalices of dreams shatter with resistance,
In search of the eternal flame of the altar.
Not even pearls are revived,
They whisper not, nor do the bowed gardens baptize,
Living in the hourglass with intertwined moments,
On stairs made of blue and broken words.
I barely penetrate the curtain of unspoken words,
Glittering longings ignited in the nirvana between us,
In the labyrinth of thought, perfect and imprecise,
I wrap sadness in silk cocoons, wrestling with the cold void.
I dream you nimble among clovers and stars,
Wishing to share the half of melancholy,
So that the heart is no longer a battlefield, but a foundation
And laughter may sprout again under a mastless sky.
The inner temple, eye-hollowed, is a scaffold of silence,
When there don’t smile the soulmate pair,
With whom to paint mornings and centuries in succession,
Each unwritten in the book of life, be it ancient.
Clusters of pain congregate under the veil of the moon,
Touches of fate engraved in cedar peaks,
And beyond celestial chants and pale promises,
In the crypt of the soul, winter lays its throne.
You are the poem of love that I tear with trepidation,
The dawn of day will one day bring the news of my gentle extinguishing,
And you will wander in the unclear, faded maps of love,
Unraveling only with half a soul the thickets of lost dreams.
Sometimes, we expect
the sun to rise and smile,
through hazy hellish clouds
carrying vindictive
verdicts of venomous vultures,
surmising hues of
ink to pierce through
pores of this bleeding pen,
imagining rainbows
will unravel colors,
in violent violets and
intricate indigo streaks,
refusing to walk around
streets with
hailing stones of storms.
But what if the skies
unfold mysteries of yesterday,
would tales of truth need
translated transcripts?
oblivious to the weight
of every thorn I sustain
within these words I weave.
Whilst daggers
on my spine
still remain rusted with
runes of revelations,
as I’ve felt claws sharper
than twisted tongues,
so those feculent fingers
pointing at abstracts
across fields of
fruitful flowers,
adorned with
smokey quartz
jewels of life,
is nothing but
mere artless blades,
that burn bridges
from blunt blindness.
Let the bare brokenness
of your rags be
the conqueror of your
own demise,
I’ve seen too many
ghosts turn into
steel hearted devils with
tasteless plans.
Yet these cracks
won’t grow wider
from misconstrued
conclusions,
from barely noticeable
turbulence within a
psychological warfare.
I am more than your
definition of sharpened
needles and knives,
as I’ve been nurtured
in fearless forests with
herds of faceless wolves,
this warrior spirit
is unmovable,
by a million mountains
engraved with
lifeless blood and
bones of your kind,
so take your little
quilt of cowardly questions,
wrap them around your
fragile little ego,
perhaps, sleep too
can reveal
rosier dreams
in your doomed
nights filled with terrors,
for I refuse to
drink from chalices
of emptiness
concocted from
bitter ingredients.
“Just because you are soft doesn't mean you are not a force. Honey and wildfire are both the colour gold.” ~Victoria Erickson
Tonight the moon sanctioned
her golden halo
to unfurl butterfly wings
rinsed with honey
and champagne ribbons,
as feathers of lunar crust rise,
to embellish the sky
with silver sequins,
drizzling second chances
upon fickle hearted dragonflies,
gifted as weapons of
deception to the sweltering breeze,
that wrapped my weakened knees.
I’ve always known trusting
is a losing game with no winners,
but why do I always feel
like an intruder sinking deep
into the depths of spiteful seas~
where planktons and stinging marine
nettles prick my untouched skin?
Yet I am still searching for
a singing star that wouldn’t
need written renderings of
how my black tinted glass
heart was left to drown.
Who would have thought,
there’d be more to the
onyx glittered
ripples that stream,
in teal blue waves?
If only they’d hear
every unspoken tale
of shipwrecked ruins
resting amongst graphite
motions of frozen intuitions,
forgotten through forsaken
lagoons amidst
fleeting monsoons,
left as memoirs along
soft coral mists swiftly
passing through patch
reefs in abandoned atolls.
So let me take my splintered
spheres to a realm of no return,
forgiving sinful anthems
that lured me to believe
that friends were more
than enemies in sweet disguise.
I am soft, not fragile,
neither am I a
shrunken blossom.
I am a tiger lily,
fragrant yet fierce,
ready to face whatever~
hypocritical fangs of fate
may serve in merlot wine chalices.
If tormented truth is
the taste of her fire,
injecting her blood
with poisoned rain
in golden chalices,
what is the color of
eclipsed spheres
where there’s a
desolated darkness
that dwells through
devious spirits
to rise higher?
Maybe there’s no
heaven nor hell in
the onyx fields of
soulless stars,
where obsidian roses
bloom as signs of
the devil’s immortality,
crooning doomed
hymns to the
honeycomb hues
of raven's irises,
which reflect every
bitter dream painted
in strokes of thunder.
But when dusk
bleeds seas of deception,
sins stream through
sinister shadows,
slowly pulling innocence
to a chamber of pitiless
pins and heinous knives.
So watch her ascend
as the metaphorical mistress
of death and beyond,
she is no longer your
heretic queen
that serves you light,
that once breathed
and walked through
storms of toxic typhoons
cloaked in
summer serenades,
taming every hurricane
with her crystal wings
that never tethered
to an evil king of serpents.
I am a poet
I sprinkle hearts
With verses, flowers
Rhymes and kisses
In front of this mute
Beauty
Which moves away
And that I ogle
Oh! Woman
Madam
God has opened up the Heaven
To meet and greet us
Two chalices of honey
Are near the oasis
You and I are going for a swim
In the middle of summer
And afterwards, on the beautiful pavement
We will go for a walk
What an evening of beauty
Of love, of peace
Of joy and gaiety
In front of the bay!
Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Je Suis Un Poète
Je suis un poète
J’arrose les cœurs
De vers, de fleurs
De rimes et de baisers
En face de cette beauté
Muette
Qui s’éloigne
Et que je lorgne
Oh ! Femme
Madame
Dieu a ouvert le ciel
Pour nous recevoir
Deux calices de miel
Sont près du réservoir
Toi et moi nous allons baigner
En pleine saison de l’été
Et après, sur le beau pavé
Nous irons nous promener
Quelle soirée de beauté
D’amour, de paix
De joie et de gaîté
En face de la baie !
Copyright © Octobre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l’auteur de nombreux recueils de poésie.
Soy Un Poeta
Soy un poeta
Salpico corazones
De versos, de flores
De rimas y de besos
Frente a esta muda
Belleza
Que se aleja
Y que yo miro con los ojos
¡Oh! Mujer
Señora
Dios ha abierto el cielo
Para encontrarnos y saludarnos
Dos cálices de miel
Están cerca del oasis
Tú y yo vamos a nadar
En pleno verano
Y después, sobre la hermosa acera
Daremos un paseo
iQué tarde de belleza
De amor, de paz
De alegría y de júbilo
Frente a la bahía!
Copyright © Octubre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de numerosos poemarios.
Come with me.
I’m telling you child,
In midsummer along the canal,
Industrial waters run still.
Tread softly and you may just hear
A hammering on tiny anvils -
A guild of workshops cut in miniature,
The secret unseen labour of the woodland jewellery quarter.
Child! Here, wrought iron branches of the hawthorn
Line the towpaths with clasps, hooks, and buckles,
Burnished by the soot-black beak of the raven.
Come child! Go peek under the bramble -
Seek the woodlouse in his apron of gunmetal leather
Polishing a cluster of cabochon blackberries
With his apprentice, the buff-tailed bumble.
Come with me, child!
See field mice fashion acorn cups into chalices,
Plated and silvered by moonlit splashes.
Hunched, eye huge through his jeweller’s loupe,
The toad crafts and cuts knots of amethyst lavender,
Heavy in the scent of summer.
Come child, come further along!
A short-clawed otter is panning for gold,
Glimmered reflections of the melting sun
To be passed to the badger for smelting,
And forging signet rings for the kings of old.
Child, be dazzled as the glazier dragonfly flashes by!
She snips fragments of light,
Soldering them into stained-glass windows for fairy cathedrals.
Come look, child!
Below in the hollow of a stump -
A loveliness of ladybirds enamel tin boxes
To hold trinkets of hope, and lockets for treasured memories.
Now listen, child,
For the frogs in their pearl-buttoned waistcoats,
Record a precision of pocket watch orders,
Fragile timepieces of dandelion clocks,
Worked by the blind mole in his escapement under the soil.
Child, I’m telling ya,
Here there are neither tickets nor tabs.
For in this workshop of this tiny world,
Everything is priceless.
I guess I’ll cry~
a million origami stars,
watch them form
an endless sea of unwritten poems,
of how, once upon a sunrise,
you broke my igloo heart,
left me bleeding
rustic rhymes,
oblivious to the moon that
breathes within….
Sometimes there is
not enough time,
to write all these disappointments,
when life is a constant battle
between light and dark,
while I remain the
empress of the sun,
still standing my ground,
amidst the bullet-powdered dreams,
and pentacle
of seven swords,
unfolding reversed cards of
learned deception.
Yet I still hope for rising
morning jewels,
kissed with raining jasmines,
to wipe away these onyx tears,
for I’ve long been fighting
dishonest thoughts
clouding my hollow skies,
with greyest of fogs,
merged in the blackest of storms…
These woes I scribble
in zig-zag,
wishing someday, maybe,
someone would see beyond
these hazy words,
the paper-cut pain between
eclipsed metaphors.
Maybe when swirling
sapphires crack,
and twirling topaz breaks,
this aching soul shall sing,
create my own constellations,
design a cave of chalices filled
with undying chemistry.
"COMMUNION"
You speak to me in tongues
I hear you with my heart
I feel you with my mind
Like a Spring bloom, I am slowly unfurling
Like a ripe plum, you taste me in my rhymes
You touch me black ink injected drug potent
Red Poppies between lines
I sense you in your dreams
They are swelling next to mine
Like a drunk, I swallow all your delicious words
You turn into endless Golden Chalices of Altar Wine
I see you through your mirrors
COMMUNION
You see me, walking now through mine.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2018)
EASTER
John 19 NIV
communion
noun
1.
the sharing or exchanging of intimate thoughts and feelings, especially on a mental or spiritual level.
"in this churchyard communion with the dead was almost palpable"
2.
the service of Christian worship at which bread and wine are consecrated and shared.
synonyms: Eucharist, Holy Communion, Lord's Supper, Mass
"he believed in Christ's presence among the faithful at Communion"
3. The Spirit, The Blood and The Water
To my enemies,
cloaked in t w i n k l i n g topaz~
I’ve become immune
to your illusive m a n t r a s,
recited in roseate refrains.
I’ve learned to see
the vermilion
f l o a t i n g
between venomous
pigments of
psychedelic sunsets
For life is a whirlpool
of uncertainties
slithering through
l o o p h o l e s of adversities
We waltz through
h i g h s and l o w s
while masked foes
orchestrate a
a circus embellished
in emerald s p r i n g s
Yet, I f o r g i v e
your i g n o r a n t skies,
unable to grasp
the vision of loyalty
You’ve long been
preaching in
verses of lyrical lies,
soaring above
catastrophic canopies~
draped with my
sentimental s i g h s
this conscience remains
constantly crippled
by the ecstasy of
poisonous promises~
served from
diamond chalices
once upon
a blood m o o n
There’s still
a pearlescent
shore for faithless
footprints in the
island of h e a l i n g
in the marine bed
of softness
that f l o w s
beneath seething seas,
there I’ll sculpt a
lagoon of
p r a y e r s across
fire corals that
f l i c k e r
in tints of
lethal lime green
As I allow aquatic
pearl ruffles to ripple
through weary waves,
they become the
sacred v e s s e l
that unveils
hyacinth stars,
when your heart is
as dark as the
eclipsed moonflowers
Tonight, I’ll rewrite
the poems I’ve woven
from golden arrows
that assassinated
the alliterative tranquility
in sinister silence
within my inner psyche
In the journey of revival
I’ve mastered the art
of wearing pain
like a crown of
thistles and thorns
I’ll forgive you
amidst unspoken apologies,
and e r a s e the
a c h i n g colors
within greying rainbows,
behind your
soulless eyes.
For, I can feel the
insecurities r u s h i n g
through those veins~
longing for an empathetic
empire that
serves you
k i n d n e s s
So take these metaphors,
make them yours,
ink them across
your s u n l e s s canvas,
and r i s e beyond the
demons that lurk
as shadows within
your a r t l e s s heart.
May the light of twilight,
correct your insincere intentions.