Long Chanting Poems
Long Chanting Poems. Below are the most popular long Chanting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chanting poems by poem length and keyword.
"Puzzle Stomped"
Pieces scattered
placed on a table
with boundaries
between
the incarcerated margins
there are strict conditions
Time drips
its wet connection
each piece a stair fitted
imperfectly
perfect
towards upwards
new mirror reflection
a cracked heart piercing
the tear with savage dedication
behind her veil
the known Morpheus assails
her compromised senses
holding her captured
behind the external view
eyes blindfolded
the blue sashes now let loose
opening green windows to
free the redressed vicissitudes
to undress the crisp breeze of her
monk chanting wake
a new phantom arrives caressing secrets
gambled on a fresh Delius
composing his unfinished symphony
he’s looking for her singular notes
Somewhere,
he stands behind her
sharp as a needle,
cutting tall poppy
each step she takes
towards her freedom gate
In his hands he cups
the hidden
missing piece
The sewing of pages
she continues to bind
in her sleep
along a strong spine
turning and folding stories
uncommon ne'er sublime
their spelt magic
grows majestically spoilt
seeded from a sweet perfume
conducting intoxicating notes
stories flying black-winged
off all the slippery knaves
and wax-sealed pages
like ebony feathers
mummerating starlings
turn into suffocating
dream stealing
king crows smiling maces
She the Smythsewer
laying tenuous imprints
for a new road home
He the myth Beyond
shakes the game board
peace in pieces, a long forgotten song
the chance card thrown
the blanket of romance
thundering over a stormy mind grows
patch worked with glassed-in
jarred ghost bees, the old
puzzle of a story stomped on
He places his feet
firmly between hers
closing in on time
Beyond takes her hand
And sensually whispers
along all her fairest fears
sweeping all pieces off her
tattered story board
fallen irretrievable
forgotten
left lacking
on the harsh floor
Cum dederit
dilectis suis somnum,
Ecce haereditas
to the tune of fate
there is so much more
the words are sewn and sung
the child in time fled
long gone, as if all was pure fantasy
destiny arrives supernaturally too soon
Time for a new story
He says darkly
and swiftly closes
Past’s door.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Far off the beaten track and trail
on quest for music’s Holy Grail
led pilgrims on biblical scale
more than can be counted.
With midsummer sun on our cheek
in tents to shelter we did seek
and pitched them at its highest peak
on a hilltop mounted
As we climbed the lean of the hill
my beer I would try not to spill
and sat with the great unwashed till
olé and adios.
It was I, El Skeet, amigo,
in my poncho and sombrero
half-cut like a loco gringo
who waved “vaya con dios!”
We lit yet another hash bong
all up in smoke like Cheech & Chong
and passed it to each one along
under the cop radars.
Till late as wasted brain cells flag
with every mind trip headfu-ck drag
I tucked in to my sleeping bag
on the hill ‘neath the stars
As music and mayhem did rage
back in next summer’s youthful age
we camped closer to the big stage
by a shallow hollow.
I’d sit and watch the crowds go by
in the hot sun and dust and dry
under a big Waikato sky
from our camp on tent row
And as I ripped in with the guys
to our grog trailer of supplies
we made a hanging chain of ties
with every pull tab rent.
Waiting for Cold Chisel that night
with a superdoob glowing bright
I was fuc-kin’ high as a kite
and lurched back to my tent
The next day I woke in a daze
and walked off my drunken malaise
when I heard singing songs of praise
in some weird sh-it I saw.
Tambourine hippies, punks and geeks
and chanting Hari Krishna freaks
burnt incense in clay painted cheeks
so I got high some more
Yet in a hot wet and wild hour
stoned in the unisex shower
I gazed many a sweet flower
in their naked splendour.
We bathed too in waters that flowed
down where the lazy river bowed
lest my head spontaneous explode
on my three day bender
That night by the stars we were led
as above a smoky sky bled
when out The Enz rocked “I See Red”
and fired a burning flare.
In the spirit of Sweetwaters
we lived among at close quarters
sons of Bacchus and his daughters
and I so revelled there
Written: November 2009
Sweetwaters was an annual three
day music festival back in 1980s.
Mosque cowed covenant I keep Putin off...
and withheld broadcasting
the following communication
tucked away these many years,
when president number forty five
donned, jump/kick started, and tweeted
thru his musky, albeit flabby mantle,
a rallying cry forewarning onset of Mag(m)a
bubbling, gurgling, lobbing, and spewing lava
against backdrop of his trumpeting vitriolic
political preservation, salvation,
and veneration, though with hold
ding temptation tomb mike -
(make) pence sieve lee clear,
the immoral majority mold
toot hoods, (those bajillion
Americans unanimously polled)
did want me to broadcast, communicate,
and declare, sans incendiary fold
drawl (folderol) feigning migrant accent,
(no matter I'm getting older than Methuselah),
nonetheless Ivana trumpet from Taj Mahal
straight to Mar-A-Lago) all told,
plus thank Republicans
(past or present), who extolled,
an invisible grandiose fire walled
barricade (donning, enclosing,
and fortifying) against Carl mauled
din lookalike hackers,
despite one sporting "FAKE"
hook nosed, hunchbacked
adorned, donned with (Turin) shawled,
shrouded, and disguised vagrant, indigent,
double chinned agent - bald
(except for being bewigged),
viz flowing locks of "FAKE" gold
in toe with Amazon heavily funded
unbridled trailing retinue
chanting appellation Matthew
Scott Harris alias Oswald),
no matter said faux
renegade twittering lobbyists
to flock (like lemmings) within his fold,
and will laughably petrify
any vigilantes dead cold,
what with his bugs
bunny eyed (What's up Doc)
intent reader rabbit stare,
that doth playfully scold
any Bare Ladies scantily
linkedin, NOT nsync
with netiquette politesse mold
gobbledygook communication, (asper
my pork chopped message
higglety pigglety divulged)
obeying tacit gold
din rule to hoodwink public, nonetheless
lemme exemplify, how I plan to hold
world web electronically hostage
by secret Ransomware sold,
thru dark wide whirled web
cryptocurrency bitcoin blockchain trolled
under auspices, sans
omnipotent NON GMO
gluten free CRISPR rolled
oat sized INTEL nanobots,
no bigger than mold
spores heavily monitoring
meant to fortify electronic threads
woven into a virtual tapestry
likened to Dickensian chain e-mail
intent to foment pandemonium
at expense to captcha totalitarianism,
whereby democracy imperiled.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bengali, words confluence in lyrical verse
O glory be! I envision thee in inner me
I caress thee in remotest pristine Bangla waterfalls.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bengali, words confluence in lyrical verse
O glory be! I envision thee in inner me
I caress thee in remotest pristine Bangla waterfalls.
Chanting vibes in Bangla, I sing
Bangla, words confluence in lyrical verse
I vision in Bengali, as my melody flows in her
Affection cradles me, while roaming this far.
Bengali speaks in Subtle poems, Jibanananda resonates in soul within
My yearning is quenched in thirst, as your face solace reason.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times.
I speak in my Bangla,
I speak for my Bangla
Submerged in Bangla,
I smile. Weave in verse,
and verse reflects in sense.
I speak in my Bangla,
I speak for my Bangla
Submerged in Bangla,
I smile. Weave in verse,
and verse reflects in sense.
I rejoice in Bengali. With all my exclamations
I mourn for the fallen, along the way, forgotten.
I cringe in silent cry, mourn as Bangla surges
Intellect fosters, too much helpless a situation.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
Bangla is my resilient oath,
The sharpest aim in arrows in flights.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
Bangla is my resilient oath,
The sharpest aim in arrows in flights.
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times.
I love thee. My verses, Bangla, an eloquent evocation
I love along my Bangla , one silent simpering resonance
Bangla. O my utterance in my truest may!
I hold thy grace, with my earnest hands,
and boldly tell the world, say!
I love thee. My verses, Bangla, eloquent evocation
I love along my Bangla , one silent simpering resonance
Bangla. O my utterance in my truest may!
I hold thy grace, with my earnest hands,
and boldly tell the world, say!
I greeted her, on a generous moment
with grace and courage. Humility.
Where the Seven Oceans and merging rivers
churns in the ballads of the Ganges and the ever-enchanting Padma.
Bangla quenches my inner thirst
The boldest droplet that lasts for long,
I ponder once in her tranquil face
I ponder there for incessant times
And cherish for my evergreen murmurs of a Bangla song.
The train, halted under the shade of sacred hill
They flowed out, and, wandered here and there
holding big, small, colorful, old and new packs of belongings
To, find comfortable chests and knees
some carelessly slept on un-desiring places,
but many there stood still
to face the misty, white clouded sky beyond the ridge,
Perceived their feet had reached
the starting point of adventurous tramp
Men, women, young and old with little ones
crept forward Just like a bunchy row of ants
filled with amazement; some stood, and watched
the vivid green forest canopy and flowering ferns
swinging in the frosty breeze!!
The minds filled with compassion, harmony
and respect each other
By murmurous chanting, that oozed into their veins
in the morning twilight
Tenderness of beams brighten the white dresses
of devotees
Time passed slowly
And the far valley down, a string of people moving upwards
on the zigzagged narrow path
Surrounded by thick green vegetation which
being the habitat of bees, birds, butterflies and
variety of big and small animals
Oozy willows dropping pearl like cold water drops
But few of moving people put a glance
at the phenomenon!
What a peregrination, having a cool gust thrill
which each body and its soul begird
The strenuous walk will bring to a halt at the noble foot print
Some managed to reach the desired end
but some could not attain the will
they stopped hopelessly, stepped down
with forsaken aspiration
those who topped the hill, huddle together
engaged customary rituals,
The eco of the ringing bell spread over the chilled atmosphere
through hill tops, forest, and the moving folks
Excitement broke out
Devotees squeezed catch a glimpse of sunshine!
The sun appeared slowly with a trembling smile
through the glistening horizon
Sunshine! Miraculously radiated across the mountain range,
forest canopy and everything
open to tender beams of light
What a huge strength,
Noble hopes and wishes
fulfilled the pilgrimage!
J.Weerakkody
(This poem is about pilgrims who climb the summit of breezy sacred mountain of Sripada, the holy mountain of Sri Lanka, where suppose to be emblematized the footprint of Lord Buddha. After worshiping the sacred footprints the devotees anxiously watch the panoramic maiden sun rise over the sacred mountain. The poem is vividly realized descriptions of nature.)
This is the house built “right”.
This is the greed bred in the seed
of the foundation of the house built “right”.
This is the arrogant and pervasively resonant
that's born of the greed bred in the seed
of the foundation of the house built “right”.
This is supremacy abiding acceptably
that stinks of the arrogant and pervasively resonant
that's born of the greed bred in the seed
of the foundation of the house built “right”.
This is the racism staining the light prism
casting a blight in its favor of white
that shines with supremacy abiding acceptably
that stinks of the arrogant and pervasively resonant
that's born of the greed bred in the seed
of the foundation of the house built “right”.
This is the ignorance piping the dissonance
and chanting the tune of the morally immune
that fosters the racism staining the light prism
casting a blight in its favor of white
that shines with supremacy abiding acceptably
that stinks of the arrogant and pervasively resonant
that's born of the greed bred in the seed
of the foundation of the house built “right”.
This is the lie as diseased as a fly
that's spreading the ignorance piping the dissonance
and chanting the tune of the morally immune
that fosters the racism staining the light prism
casting a blight in its favor of white
that shines with supremacy abiding acceptably
that stinks of the arrogant and pervasively resonant
that's born of the greed bred in the seed
of the foundation of the house built “right”.
This is the consequence empowered incompetence
brings as a penance we serve as our sentence
for trusting the lie as diseased as a fly
that's spreading the ignorance piping the dissonance
and chanting the tune of the morally immune
that fosters the racism staining the light prism
casting a blight in its favor of white
that shines with supremacy abiding acceptably
that stinks of the arrogant and pervasively resonant
that's born of the greed bred in the seed
of the foundation of the house built “right”.
The oh so "right" have bullyjacked our American Dignity!
WE HAVE THE CURE TO THIS CANCER, THIS HOUSE SHOULD BE CONDEMNED!
-Everyone "left" whom cares enough to speak out against the greatest threat democracy has ever faced and are increasingly aware of the dangerous trajectory America is hurling towards.
not in the heart again
for chrissakes it's like Swiss cheese
decoffinated please I'm a yet ambulatory zombie
off his medication as usual
alternatives to logic 101 with Prof. Spike
far too much work for a dead end
saw his only ally the embalmers needle
left his innards spilled in the sand
history in its entirety mocked his comprehension
had the nation in tears and then nausea
several dueling scars graced his genitals
if our perceptions already lie
why shouldn't we
I had to laugh
it was all I could do to keep from smiling
even after a thousand years of AI research
the electronic government was helpless
my Microsoft forehead radiator
absolutely charmingly couldn't get any focus
but the Royal Society of Blind Philosophers
helped me with my little problem
a miracle of recipe repair
because our endorphin soup is a bit thin
the quicksilver cooks ate first and fell asleep
having thrown away their brains long before
in the field kitchen of the gods
after the air raid sirens of postmodernity
can there be too much truth
for an army of blood diamond merchants
now a bit more about para electrics
if only I were at liberty to discuss it
yes imprecision can carry signal
but the place is crawling with dilettantes
wearing their secret butt plugs
it's a guessing game as you can see
petitioning for a visually diagrammatic idiom
although it's a devilish seesaw but let us restart
The Oblivion Ride was the big theme park attraction
my extended family was in the sideshow
justifiably taken for a pack of fools
then the sun went down and never came up again
and we stepped into the stone circle
chanting evidence is preferable
to the moonlit tombstone
good luck with that in your airwaves
broadcast on radio Sarajevo
signal drifting drifting drifting
with minds great and small
and smaller and smaller
the Internet is the yearned for Messiah
there it's done and out and not to be unseen
you wrestle with it while I proceed
dashing among startled commuters
mesmerizing the fact finding committee
their dictatorship of x-ray leeches
tossed him out of several monasteries
apparently the production quotas were relaxed
in a kaleidoscope of normalcy
the style crazed mannerist martinets
howdy do nail in my shoe
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Cursed With These Black Midnights And That Sinister Call
Past midnight, gloomy sky and red flailing moon begged to fall
A dark figure stared upward chanting curses at my home
No sleep tonight for great evil sought my desperate soul
I that had settled here in Castle Rouge, never again to roam,
was cursed with these black mid-nights and that sinister call
Soon that black soul would invade this sanctuary of my weary mind
utterly shatter yet again my long aching heart's brief rest
Waiting for the anguished moans and nail scratching sounds
I sought courage to survive tonight this demonic test
and before dawn dear magnificent sleep my soul thus find
Moaning and chain rattling echoes arrived at my bedroom door
My thoughts turned to her and why she still cursed me so
Had not I gave her my true love and my cherished all
Only to see her in blood-soaked dress out the door go
Yes, my loves had always wept and demanded too much more
In a bright flash through the bedroom door she flew
Willing moonlight shining upon her long , dagger-like nails
I stepped back, again I yielded to regret and abject fear
odors of rotting meat and stingers in her three tails
Pierced my side as scorching hot pain in my mind grew
Nay, never again would I allow her these great strikes back
And smile of victory her new black heart so dearly sought
For in my hand, was the dagger of my stone cold truth
with the ring of relief my blood had previously bought
Stabbing in deep, dagger stopped her in her evil track
With that anguished and screeching cry she flew away
giving rise to the glory of sunrise and newborn hope
Today I recall - that evil beaming from her cold dead eyes
and her death- the night I hung her with a new rope
For darkness in my burning soul had always held its sway
Past midnight, gloomy sky and flailing red moon begged to fall
A dark figure stared upward chanting curses at my home
No sleep tonight for great evil sought my desperate soul
I that had settled here in Castle Rouge, never again to roam,
was cursed with these black midnights and that sinister call
Robert J. Lindley, 8-15-2016
Written with Poe in mind and based upon his presentation of seeing through dark glass and finding light dimly fading.
Fading with just enough glow to stir man's imagination, seeking spirit and need to solve mysteries in life.
Courage
Beyond the still of the night
The unsettling air remains a breath of calm
From eyes enclose, welcoming the blinded sight
What more be life shall offer to come?
Time always travel unseen
Days simply vanishes away
Voices chanting, did I remember my illusive dream?
Or is my life a weightless feather, ready to sway?
No visions to visualize still
Dreams engifted perhaps, bears certain to be forgotten
Though much too close, much too surreal
I shall believe not to the extent to fathom
And I awaited for the night to pass
The deepest of isolation I can only surrender to
Out of love, out of loneliness I’m to outcast
This moment to miss her and to remain still a fool
Studying the figure in the mirror
I’m no doubt torn with an unfounded courage I lack
Should I be in riddance of this endeavor?
Must one recover and practice no longer the false pretentious act
Unnaturally, silence seems to whisper about
The room is more sinister and darker even
There is a soft chanting yet becomingly loud
And fear is all, accompanying this moment’s instant
{Blackness paints what once was before
I could see nothing yet blinded not to all
Those hungry eyes, bloodshot and dancing playfully
Them who chant the verses, strange but beautifully
They were the voices of children who sang among
Till almost deathening when came was then a complete calm
It was a mere moment, yet a moment was enough
Green and haunting, a pair of poison iris onto me he cast
And he spoke his voice I can only vividly remember
It was the voice from my dream that had kept me in bewilderment wonder
Just before I might strain to see the mystery beyond
The enigmatic encounter simply chooses to diminish along}
With the blacken fog cleared
I stand once more within my room
Entranced and crucified by fear
Am I ever to obtain tranquility all too soon?
It can only feel too evil
It wasn’t how tranquility can venture deep
Was it a calling perhaps from a befallen angel?
An angel to only the devil might seek
Disturbing and much too unbecoming
When struck me further was that the language I understand
Not only was it not just simply a dream
For what it said from its tongue, I knew what it meant
“Fear is a fire…
to temper courage and resolve
Be it desire
to quench the thirst for one’s unfounded lost”
………………………………………….
Eulogy
Sing eulogy, O wind,
Crying out the sorrow,
Howling deep within your zephyr,
For branches where you once entwined
Your restless fingers
Into a joyful melody of rustling boughs
In lyric song;
Hear now, as you pass, only memories
Floating on the air in search of forest arms
Where once the lullaby of giants
Spread like peace at eventide
Over every creature who daily felt
The vibrant, primal heartbeat
At the mystic center sustaining life.
Sing eulogy, O wind,
When you rush across the empty mountainside,
Where once the titans of the century welcomed you
With lofty grace as you orchestrated
Their symphony of seasons come,
Your searching swell frantically seeks for
Playmates of a thousand years;
Your cannot reach out with your arms
To lift the sparrows and the robins,
Nesting in their wombs,
Upon your wings
Nor cool the squirrels hiding beneath their skirts
Of rough, red bark;
The hillsides where you sang with grandeur
Lay as hushed and as chilled as marble tombs
That decorate man’s passing;
Death walked upon these paths
Leaving in deep chilling footprints barren hills to raise their
Voices in a wailing rage
Of mournful sighs on desolated plains and mountain slopes.
Sing eulogy, O wind,
Look upon the sun warmed earth,
Your friends with whom you shared the secret words
Of your song,
Who whispered with your every murmur
By lifting up their giant faces
In gratitude for the winter’s gift of sleep
And summer’s rain,
Lie still;
Your shout of mourning unheard,
Death closes up their ears to all
But it’s eternal dirge
And though you long to caress
Their lifeless forms,
They cannot feel your loving hands
Upon their brows
In a final gesture of farewell
Before they leave their forest arbor
Still abounding with their perfume -
The myrrh of burial for guardians
Whose life protected life
Where shadows intermingled.
Sing eulogy, O wind,
Then weep,
No resurrection for companions
Until the earth revolves
A thousand times
Around the sun
When they repeat refrains of joy
In creation’s pristine voice
With you –
With woodland peers –
Their voices silenced here to ears
That heard their chanting
And now must carry in the silence
Of their souls
A seed of memory
To tell the future’s child
A fable tale of giants
Passing now away.
Old growth redwoods now gone.