Long Commingle Poems
Long Commingle Poems. Below are the most popular long Commingle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Commingle poems by poem length and keyword.
“The aforesaid five objects, which are the negative attributes of the five electricities, being combined produce the idea of gross matter in its five forms: Ki, solids; Ap, liquids; Tejas, fire; Marut, gaseous substances; and Akasa, ether.
These five forms of gross matter and aforesaid fifteen attributes, together with Manas, Mind, sense consciousness; Buddhi, discriminative Intelligence; Chitta, the Heart or power of feeling; and Ahamkara, the Ego, constitute the twenty-four basic principles of creation.”
~ extract from ‘The Holy Science’
In the realm of heaven, our eye is single
but with no adversities to overcome,
so the one becomes two and then they jingle
propelled by the power of the cosmic hum
and in the five elements they commingle,
ego distanced from heart, though soul is welcome.
Poised thus in subject-object relationship,
we discover God when love is our flagship.
Our soul invoked a divine scent,
the wafting breeze, it came and went,
renewing at will, love’s bliss tease,
which when faded, made heart lament.
We wish this rapture does not cease
but angels dance as they do please,
caging us in the after-burn,
longing from which there’s no release.
Here now within mind-body urn,
toroidal currents make nodes churn
and as pheromones so mingle,
touch of grace is the boon we earn.
Oh hermit, making eye single,
each cell of form feels this tingle,
fragrance of fairies, here on earth,
as God and soul, so commingle.
If this magnetism we’d unearth,
each breath must usher soul’s rebirth,
free from fetters of lower mind,
whence heaven reveals our true worth.
One with oneness, loving and kind,
with divine pulsations aligned,
doing nothing, save being still,
one day this secret we shall find.
Yours truly never heard, seen, no lies
particularly when alone
facing my (pushing up daisies) demise,
without pretense nor guise,
he honestly decries
smelled, tasted, nor touched, any size,
and essentially knew nothing besides
ancient fruit grown in Japan
for past 1,000 years as Earth flies
thru space, now more about loquats,
plethora of details to exercise
memory bank, though
this poetaster still tries
to appear learned, no matter
me no expert, I reckon eyes
aforementioned small yellow size
egg-shaped acidic fruit
great breakfast, lunch,
or dinner sup prize
for dessert never knew the evergreen
eastern Asian tree of rose family,
in Thorndale residents
at somber occasions,
or holidays edibly feast
as modus operandi to eulogize.
If ever opportunity
finds agriculturally cocksure
and propensity doth arise to venture
to savor succulent juice of Loquat,
savoir faire mine mean
mien to one epicure
this wordsmith, whatever
his wordsworth as whitman,
he will need to remove lower denture
minor inconvenient truth (er tooth),
where jaws comprise juncture
and/or chop delectable treats
into byte size morsels.
Perhaps before I lay
me down to sleep
forever and a day
launched into death
be not proud, aye
will strive to appease
culinary yen oy vey
searching high and
low unexpectedly axed
about diddly squat (a spot,
pimple, or sty) seated
please and lemme
introduce myself, cuz
thar thou looking
for specific monsignor okay
thy my quest, I wilt thus assay
to indulge me secrete,
and rejoice hip... hip... hooray
if thee will allow any which way,
yours truly to supplicate,
perhaps magic discovery
after I pay obeisance and pray
to Mother Nature
my hunger, she will allay.
If ambition to satiate loquat all naught
please scatter cremated ashes,
upon bed of loquat sought
but ne'er found,
cuz earnestness to secure
coveted desire fraught,
not necessarily in vain if I got
repurposed to commingle,
viz this pauper devoid of haute
cuz thrift stores find me
where clothes get bought.
"Humans delight in the comfort of friends.
If not, the joy of commingling ends."
__by Poet
My neighbor, next door, remains single-
It seems she knew not how to mingle.
She refused to join in
And would not let us win-
Just stayed in her human-proof dingle.
One day, we created a jingle
Hoping it would send her a tingle!
“Joining groups, so much fun
You'll be pleased when it's done!”
She hung her “do not disturb" shingle!
She never did quite intermingle-
Strong neighbor support soon did dwindle.
So she missed the delight
Of her God-given right-
To share in the joys to commingle.
An old boardwalk on the beach
offers a sensory treat,
early on a Summer's morn.
And Nature's artistic brush
encapsulates this hallmark
moment: where beauty excels.
Pastel panels of color,
like cobbled bricks of sunlight
ink the boards, in abstract art.
Orange and blue commingle:
as a mix of sun and sea
collaborate on each hue.
And familiarity,
warrants a much closer look:
drawing you into the scene.
Canopies of skittish leaves
cast fickle freckles of shade:
between beams of dancing light.
Nostalgia finds pleasantries
that you thought long forgotten:
restoring their enchantment.
And placidity's achieved:
amidst ubiquitous smiles
and sounds of children's laughter.
Morning knocks on us
As I commingle with him,
My mentor ,with dread of poetic locks
With God, not of them became parts
For my thoughts still shrouded of secrecy.
Of no count are them
Drinking from the calabash of ignorance
Ascribing artificial misery of man to God
Dreaming of it a time of His ascendence . . . throne
To the abysmal of our own earth of gloominess
For a case already settled in Paradise
Heaven knows that God has given water freely
But they tag price on poor pure satchet for us
Our land speak of bountiful crops
Yet our mouth chew bountiful hunger,
NO! No!! No!!! not a case with God again
It is a case of them the ruling vampires.
The dreamers must stop dreaming
Time for the ignorants to join us
To bring down the vampire's empire
Our case is with them, not with Him up above.
Alayande Stephen.T
16th, August, 2006
2.35am
IN THE ARK OF GOD
Chicanery dancing to the rhythm of praise
Treachery preaching to the lost souls
Betrayal ringing bell of service
Deceit clapping hands to the most high
Insidious schemes shouting Hallelujah
Cupidity for offering speaks in tongues.
Yet, our holy priests in the reverend pulpit
Speak of sanctimonious stained holiness
Even when in their loneliness
Fornication reigns along abortion
As they commingle and devour
Mother and daughter in the upper room
In their foolish quest for signs on wonders
All in the same Ark of God.
Still, in the Ark of the most high
They dupe and lure millions off members
Articulating wonders and prosperity
While they sprinkle water of Austerity
On many who surrender their tithes
To the Levites whose other name are thieves.
Voodoo they added to His Name
To take the Ark to the next level
Or how do we appraise arson committed
On members by the Priest called the King?
Burning congregation for repentance from sins?
Then, Lord Jesus would have burnt all in His sojourn.
Alayande Stephen T.
31st September 2006
11.45am
Got inspired to dot it in Apete.
Packaged to x-ray the crime going on in the
Church of God today, using Reverend King
Arson and criminal activities as a case study.
I loved you from the very first day
Amidst the noise of dish and tray
And the people that attached to them
For I was caught up in this hymn-
A song written solely of brown
And I began to cherish the sound
'Cause your eyes were as notes of changing tune
As high and as low as an evening moon
Yet, always to commingle free
And provide the sweetest melody
Your skin and hair would then combine
To produce a soft and wavy rhyme
Each verse would touch the heart and soul
Trouncing my heart with its gentle loll-
The birds of song that come in Spring
Envy the song of brown you sing
And I have never felt so fine
Your song is in this heart of mine
As the dusk beacons
And the night commingle with the day
Confusion rented the air
It was an un-endless arrival of him we await
He it the one, King Solomon
Solomon’s Eve unlock her feelings
She wept and we waited,
For the King of the house who left
His throne to no destination
This King had little of Solomon’s wisdom
But shared more of his adultery
With his cup of wine always full to a fault
Drunkard was his middle name
All his fellow drunkard Kings
Had no clue of him
Yet, the night twinkle away
The In-law with the baby in her arms hissed
Two hours went pass the midnight
Still, it was a house full of darkness
His Eve unbolt more of her to me
As she sobs her way to sleep
“He his dead drunk again”
Shall we all sleep, less we loose our night
King Solomon is alive with no live
But drunk in the arms of a concubine”
Darkness exit, as the cockcrows.
Alayande Stephen T.
21st of June 2007
10.15am
In Iba, conceptualized for the scene at my friend’s place OSB.
You suppress sexual feelings
you've hidden deep within your heart.
And yet, you dream of fantasies
where lust plays an integral part.
Lust and love tend to commingle,
often blending in silhouette.
And though they're opposing shadows,
only one's: immune to regret.
Though both can fill hearts with desire;
lust is not love: it has no twin.
And yet lust mimics love so well
that you can't be sure: which will win.
When smoldering embers ignite,
you indulge in sexual thoughts.
And if it's sex you're pining for,
lust is likely calling the shots.
Love imbues legitimacy
to emotions aroused by lust.
And though they seem comparable,
only love is tethered to trust.