Long Conceit Poems
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What if you were an inhabitant of a world
Where there's no hate, greed, jealousy, envy, and pride;
And one is not enraged by the prosperity of another?
What if conceit and enmity are erased from the course of history,
And malignity is perpetually swallowed in the deepest of pits,
Sinking to rise no more?
What if your subconscious ideate a world
Filled with love, peace, and harmony?
What if Seven Billion human beings could live together under one canopy,
Tending to and upholding high esteem for one another
As benevolence becomes the ultimate act,
That reigns over all timelines?
What if we put aside the destructive comparisons and competitions,
And every individual follows his or her own path
While uplifting all others at the same time?
What if the promotion of individuality and self productivity,
Was the niche of every human —one to another—
And every gift and talent was equally consequential to society?
What if there was no lust for power
And political leaders as well as government officials,
Assume offices not to seek their own selfish interests
By misappropriating public funds, and embezzling state owned belongings to enrich themselves?
What if they had the sincere dedication
To ensure the welfare and security of the state and its citizens?
What if this world was a sanctuary of peace with the nonexistence of violence,
Where nations were aimed at building, rather than destroying one another?
What if unity becomes a compelling force
That binds the Earth to its core,
And compassion remains the lifelong element
That keeps the Universe in motion?
What if the globe was entirely void
of racism, prejudice, discrimination, and partiality;
Where each and every human was afforded equally the same opportunity
Regardless of their race, sex, ethnicity, culture or nationality?
What if we could finally dwell in a word once dreamed of by Martin Luther King Jr.,
Where "humans will no longer be judged based on the color of their skin, but by the contents of their character"?
There is an extreme power in these questions!
But what if they were a reality, can you imagine what we could all achieve?
What if you allow that imagination to create pictures of transformations?
What if you act stepwise from these unceasing questions,
And give it a chance to become a momentous action,
To make this Planet a better Creation?
Riding a roller coaster
Propelled by life’s velocity
Governed by instincts and thought
Driven by an urge to emerge victorious
Sentience deadened to conscience
Flitting thus from desire to desire
We built an imaginary script
Of narrow ego identity
Some conquests won
We saw not unshed tears
Of mute weaker souls wasted
Owing to our callous, feral savagery
Likewise, we encountered defeat
Whereupon we steadied heart
Resolving to rise once again
Imagining ego as the doer
Our face in the mirror
Reflected pride and conceit
Beggars too began looking away
Recognising our cold, hard countenance
So it chanced to pass that by grace
One day we chose to look within
Shocked to see soul shrivelled
Lonely in our bleeding heart
We stopped the flow of time
Frozen for what seemed eternity
Crying out silently into the vast void
Wishing to be healed and feel complete
A divine voice instantly responded
Asking if our resolve was strong
To walk the talk as affirmed
In thought, word and deed
The path simple and direct
Liken it to a hop-on hop-off bus
We hop off the ego bus and choose love
Shifting consciousness from head to heart
Voice of conscience grew stronger
We dwelt not on material gain
Shifting into mindfulness
A stillness continuum
Yet love that is imbibed
Takes time for assimilation
But what matters time any more
To the one who has since vaporised
In timeless time ensconced in bliss
Empowered by a magnetic pulse
Which we may give any name
Kundalini or The Holy Spirit
Baptised in the stream
Twice born, we yet lived on
Our soul within, one with oneness
Seeing now earth life as but a lucid dream
Wherein we are being breathed by God
As He does for all sentient life forms
To fulfil our soul’s smallest wish
Now aligned with love alone
Now we do honestly confess
We know not what scriptures say
All we affirm from our life experience
Is that once we align with God’s love impulse
For each step we take, He leaps forward
Gathering us in His warm embrace
Lighting the lamp of love within
Darkness then is no more
20-January-2022
Repent and Believe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Poem inspired by the contest prompt: 1 John 1:9 KJV - If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
“The Big Blues and Baptismal Alice”
In the land of the dirty politician
Steely resolve was borne bidding
farewell to thinly veiled conceit and division
that particular brand of milk had long in the tooth turned sour
in her red-hot mamma kitchen
A racing Greyhound on the Going Nowhere Road
forever chasing the White Rabbit named Godot
counts time from its pocketful of ticking time bomb clocks
watching Pterodactyl hormones fly in formation
eating low lying ducks in a row
while the young Velociraptor sitting in her room drawing blood viper tongue fast,
has gone all Poe
The Greyhound turns tales around
and heads back towards Emerald City
flying fast away from a plague of Bubonic Black Crows
She says adieu to those dealing cards that were never real pretty
sitting at the Tea Party Table pulling Voodoo dreams
out of the Lyrebird’s duplicity
Departure
New journey
Two tokens
One kept aside for the Love
that’s steadfast and outspoken
the other for Bee Queen standing stellar
left-field not broken
The Buzzer claims the Chance Card
and moves way out past “GO”,
The Usurper Spell is now fully broken and blown
There on the open road destiny is cumulus now known
Face turned towards Big Blue Sky and Sunshine
a new life tapestry is sewn
Mystery mist whispering over Mountains of Blue
where angels set secret prayers
on the wings of swans who only speak home truth
soaring high upon Heaven’s stairs
singing loud and clear
new dreams do bloom
through cool clean white cotton clouds
face to the sun
feet on the ground
a new day has arrived
strong magic is found
Black ink words swallowed
charcoal spits out a burnt offering
through bitterful and twisted blisters
A New journey forward -
Home is calling her to the
Forest of the Three Sisters
There ensconced in her bucolic benevolent black heath of a palace
Born again in the Big Blues sings the bushfire burning in Baptismal Alice
(Lovejoy-Burton, August 2018)
"She's Leaving Home" / The Beatles
https://youtu.be/VaBPY78D88g
"Sky Above the Clouds", Georgia O'Keeffe 1962
Influences of Magritte, Bosch
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_(chess)
There are two kinds of people: those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says, 'All right, then, have it your way.' - C. S. Lewis
When my breath comes in gasps
And all my heart feels like it’s beyond repair,
Breaking like a fragment of glass,
Instead of the muscle that is more potent,
than any other force I have ever known…
Breathless from the climb up,
Across the leaf strewn trails and paths,
Puffing and wheezing and making believe
That I might have the strength, the power,
To risk all my hopes, my dreams, my believing,
For those precious moments of grace,
Those blessings that penetrate the very air,
Soothing away all my pride and conceit,
Causing me to imagine that I, yes – even I,
Have the depth, the reason, to reach beyond
The doubts, the fears and tears…
Into myself, where there is this heart,
A heart bound by hope and wired with light,
Light from the gentling of a love, a love so alive
It feels like a flame burning up my inner fears,
Singing grace through the darkest dreads,
Erasing the sorrows and risking the silence where…
My heart meets the One who breaks through my thoughts,
Embraces my soul with a love that sings hope,
A love that sways my dreams, abides like the joy it brings…
When I let it see through me, into that heart who believes,
The heart who needs to meet the One who feeds my very soul,
With love and light and tenderest hope, faith that knows,
Just knows…
When I seek shelter, it is Jesus – He is where I go,
The light that sends my heart assurance,
My soul a promise and a strength that abides…
His peace is the hint of reality that I need when I bleed…
Tears of doubt, tears of dread, tears so dark
They feel like they will leave me without a prayer,
Without a hope…
When I seek shelter, though, it is then that I surely know…
He is the love that is in control,
He is the hope that makes me whole,
He is the light where I’ll always go… when I need shelter…
From the sorrow, the storm, the eruption of mourning
Who leads me into a panic who doesn’t comprehend…
The love that forgives each and every sin,
The love that is Jesus, my heart’s best friend,
The love that has always been… the place where I go…
When I seek shelter from the raging wind.
Spelling, syllable count, vanity, too simple, Simon! Be prolific, cruel, smart, up to par, above the bar, fit for the stage. Tap, tap, tap…
—by poet
The Prismatic Self
See the wooden stage, markers for my feet, bright lights, great expectations, critical analysis. Curtains will open any minute as my words make an entrance. Will my opening lyrics draw a crowd? Who will be in attendance? The theater’s not likely sold out.
Backstage, the sponsors, who are they? ATTENTION! As if a teacher wields a pointer, tapping at my feet. Will the audience throw erasers?
On the palm of my hand, the rules - perhaps strict, but I’m not in fear of a stickler. Trained by the nuns in love and hate knuckles.*
Lots of rules, I might have to practice the act for quite a bit longer. I practice in my dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit - those flouncy forms or something simple and succinct.
Am I a people pleaser? Do I perform at the pleasure of the King or Queen? Or am I my own worst critic?
Yes! Yes! Yes! No!
I desire to be seen but I will yield. There is something more important than being the lead. Still, I must confess, I must run back to my little box, mime my tears, dread my limitations, take a breath and when I am ready - take a bow.
At the onset, I must build my own backdrop, backstory, be vague and understood. I run my lines quickly, slowly, go over them again and again, even as I recite them freely, as a monoku or Shakespearian sonnet; or get even more elaborate.
I labor over each word, its placement, its meaning. I don’t care! I do care! I must feel it practically perfect; though I will let it go. Eventually, it will be a comedy of errors, erroneously erupting past the stage, in the rubber hands of cause and effect. The sponsor’s Marlboro ashes fall on it, without understanding my heartfelt meaning; my wings clipped as I await the list…the dreaded and dreadful list. Most surprised when I am the cream, alone - floating at the top.
**Fastbreast, blushing, aghast, euphoric. That sponsor is exact. I do not grow prideful. I do glow. The tip of the iceberg shows, all other words sunken, below. In leotards, the ships pass by, having a look - one clips itself.
*conceit
**Fastbreast - heart beating rapidly (Neologism)
Mind, intellect ego, nor echoes they spell,
Nor sense of hearing, speech, nor of smell,
Nor am I earth, fire, air, nor yet space,
I’m Shiva, awareness and bliss.
Nor vital Life-force, nor five breath fields,
Seven essences, nor five body shields,
No limbs of action make what me is,
I’m Shiva, awareness and bliss.
Likes nor dislikes, I’ve greed, nor fantasy,
Pride nor conceit, envy nor jealousy,
Nor any pursuits of life do I miss,
I’m Shiva, awareness and bliss.
Happiness nor sorrows, virtue nor vice,
Chants, pilgrimage, Vedas nor sacrifice,
Food nor fondness, nor one that relishes,
I’m Shiva, awareness and bliss.
I’ve Death nor doubt, nor faith in wombs of worth,
Father nor mother nor I’ve any birth,
Kin, friend, guru nor disciples on earth,
I’m Shiva, awareness and bliss.
One alone, shape nor size, nor form any,
Pervasive, rife everywhere, in senses,
I’ve freedom, nor bondage, peace, poise is me,
I’m Shiva, awareness and bliss.
__________________________________________________
From aatma shatakam or nirvaana shatakam, six verses on atman, written by Shankaracharya of 8th century CE. Transliteration of the Sanskrit text is given here:
manah-buddhi-ahamkara-chittani na aham,
na cha kshotra-jihve na cha ghrana-netre |
na cha vyoma bhumih na teja vayuh
chit-ananada rupah shivah aham shivah aham ||1 ||
na cha prana-sanjnyah na vai pancha-vayuh,
na va sapta-dhatuh na va pancha-koshah |
na vak pani-padau na cha upastha-payu
chit-ananada rupah shivah aham shivah aham ||2 ||
na me dvesha-ragau na me lobha-mohau,
madah na eva me na eva matsarya bhavah |
na dharmah na cha arthah na kamah na mokshah,
chit-ananada rupah shivah aham shivah aham ||3 ||
na punyam na papam na saukhyam na duhkham,
na mantrah na tirtham na vedah na yajnyah |
aham bhojanam na eva bhojyam na bhoktah
chit-ananada rupah shivah aham shivah aham ||4 ||
na me mrtyu-shanka na me jati bhedah,
pita na eva me na eva mata na janma |
na bandhuh na mitram guruh na eva shishyah
chit-ananada rupah shivah aham shivah aham ||5 ||
aham nir-vikalpah nir-akara-rupah,
vibhuh vyapya sarvatra sarva indriyanam |
sada me samatvam na muktih na bandhah,
chit-ananada rupah shivah aham shivah aham ||6 ||
Translations |05.08.2021|
Sound of a song softly sung rose in the air and through windows
Barred to let air and light in and little else.
A lament sung in Gaelic tongue foreign to ears used to French,
But its meaning understood bringing tears .
Longingly she peered through the bars over the countryside and trees,
Fine they looked in their fresh green coats.
White cloud scarse in the azure blue of afternoon sunlight,
Her heart broken in myriad pieces.
In this old castle surrounded by water was this to be her fate,
To die in a stony room of shadows.
Her resolve it grew and plans were formed to escape this place,
Meeting a friend of old named Douglas.
One dark night a boy crept close holding a key for the wooden door,
Disguised as a woman of servitude she escapes.
In a small boat on the dark waters of the loch oars slashing ,
Taking her away inch by inch .
Fearful of pursuit by her captors hearing the oars dipping,
Hoping the dark night would cloak .
Was it a failed marriage that brought her here trickery abound,
Perhaps because I am a woman bold.
A queen she was of royal descent staunch in her beliefs
Castigated by a bitter old man .
Tricked and used by men of power abuses beyond her ken,
Unable in accepting a Queen especially o a different faith
Gaiety an sobriety wurnae fur them.
Allus dressed in black lukin like giant craws
Strutting aboot as if they themsells were yon creaturs o the Earth,
Using their Holy Buik tae tell ithers whit tae dae,
Nae room fur forgiveness frae them big craws.
They plotted oan weys tae rid themsells o this decadent Queen,
Ne,er mind that she wus Queen o their laund
Rather be under Eglish Liz she wis a protestant efter aa.
How foolish ur the plans o men who hae a conceit o themsells.
Who wid use ithers tae dae the durty work
Aa tae keep therr ain hauns clean an free o blud,
But a budy kens who they wur especially therr Goad abune
Lookin doon oan those who plot tae kill,
Tae further therr oan station an fortune.
Gawin agin whit the Guid buk seys deceived intae
Daein the work o the deil.
Shame o these guid men o Scotlands past,
Shame oan therr deceitful weys
An tae thie dey their descendents dae the same,
Selling an betraying therr kintrey for profit an gain.
Andy McIntyre 16/05/2021.
I've said the same things in my head about 24 times in the last minute but every time it meant something different.
These words might not make sense
BUT I'm still typing to fill some void I feel
I am unfulfilled
Pitted to my core
When I reach deep down I can't feel anymore
-I am about to be trapped-
I'm on the brink of it
I've been on the brink for a while now
Maybe this is where i live
So the excitement/fear touches and it's an adrenaline rush
Danger close
I'm not feeling much
I'm not chasing anything
Not even girls anymore
If I end up with the wrong one next time I'll be using them and leave them crushed
I gave up the game a while ago
Now I reversed it and let it come to me
Perhaps that just means defeat
Or conceit
Maybe it was better when sc girls didn't give me the time of day and didn't give me time to settle into any ways
I'm too slick for my own good and I know I got it
It's a blessing but a major curse because I don't know how to use it right
Or I'm always doing a comparison with better niggas like a line up side by side
In a line up no nigga is better
We're just all to blame
-We just hope to feel better once it's over-
The craziest part is that nothing will change when I'm done. (It never does)
With this or my life
I'm a freckle at my best
The grand scheme can discard me and fill my speck with another and then put them to the test
Ya boi is basic but my thoughts won't stop racin
and I forgot where I was going but it doesn't matter because I know I can just GO to sleep and I'll be me there
You should be there too so my thoughts won't just echo in my tomb
"Racism, classism, perpetuating hate." These are just a few things I hate.
No one pays attention to captions even tho everyone is crying for help too bad no one is strong enough to help themself
Or maybe I'm just projecting
I wonder what I'll dream tonight.
Maybe I'll dream of one day moving out of flight and instead being able to fight
Maybe I'll dream...
Maybe it will all be forgotten upon the first thought of the real world in the morning just like they always do
Maybe it'll just be black like my bathroom mirror view
****... I forgot to turn the lights on (let me fix that)
.
.
.
Nothing changed
I still feel the void
hear the phrase all of the time,
‘It doesn’t fit the narrative,’
used in news, academia,
and in political missives,
a phrase that I find curious
since so many do seem to yell
that the narrative they’ve chosen
outweighs even the world itself.
Like Marx’s view on history,
and the old ‘progress’ fallacy,
this thought that we must have stages,
advance through them relentlessly,
but history won’t hold them up,
it doesn’t go by what they say,
there is no path man is bound to,
just crazy lurchings everyday.
Did not 2016 prove this?
The narrative was she would win,
but things didn’t turn out that way,
and folks went nuts, thought it a sin.
Screamed about it for four years,
it wasn’t supposed to happen, no!
Despite the fact, scanning the past,
that this is how things often go.
I think, perhaps, the first mistake
you see in the narrative crowd,
is simple overreduction,
to pair all human beings down.
We saw this in Collectivists,
and their misplaced faith in ‘the group,’
but others do this trick as well,
simplification hides the truth.
Humans are a chaos system,
even taken one at time,
sure, we do have our old routines,
but every so often you’ll find
we do something that makes no sense,
that no other man could predict,
that unseen burst of randomness,
is so often what makes us tick.
Expand that to the whole species,
and you see chaos written large,
chaos actors interacting,
I think that it's a stretch too far
for any human mind to grasp,
to think you could is a conceit,
too many factors change too fast
to be forseen reliably.
Add to that the physical world
is a chaos system as well,
and we’re all stuck living with it,
this makes it really hard to tell
what causes this, or changes that,
to our mind it seems randomness,
it’s plain to see that narrative
cannot encompass all of this.
Our brain simply can’t organize
or relate to something that vast,
we simplify to understand,
and there’s a great danger in that.
Some start to think the narrative
is objective reality,
and act as if denying that
is a troubling perfidy.
But when has the world ever cared
about the thoughts we apes create?
The world is not a narrative,
that is a fact we can’t escape...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Old servile sleep descends on heavy wings
From laden summits wrapped in icy clouds
When, glassy-eyed, the owl cold midnight rings
And snowy mist the starry light enshrouds.
Atop the ancient firs, the birds lie still
And cling to life as sucklings to their womb
In crypt-like valleys, where the frozen rill
Many a trout encased in quick and early tomb.
What moves in yonder cave beside the lake?
A gaunt and shapeless specter lurks beneath
The mantle of the earth, whose embers quake
And melt the lurid winter’s spiny teeth.
How delicate is all that grows above
The burning bosom of our earthen sphere,
Encased in Gaia’s moist and gentle glove,
Whose sap refreshes nature year by year!
Though constancy may seem to reign
O’er things which grow and bear the fruits of joy,
Much more these need than light and earth and rain
And more indeed than nature can deploy.
What comforts does Life have? Its subtle strength
Is but a leaf blown over by the winds,
Distraught by death, and cruelly plagued at length
By patient dæmons and by wakeful fiends.
Upon the vaulted panoply of stars,
Our humble globe drifts sluggishly, well seen
By mighty stars whose glutton longing mars
The will of Life and her fugacious sheen.
The splendid titans of the evening sky
Shine blindingly, far stronger than our Sun
And, though afar their blazing course may lie,
A clash may chance before our star is gone.
What then of Earth, its valleys and its peaks,
Of summer love, of countless birds, of Life,
Who all her aims in solitude oft seeks,
Away from lightless grave or astral strife?
Dark mysteries to man these riddles are,
For our dim sight such views cannot contain:
We were not born to dream and plan too far,
No matter how much ruse and wit we feign.
Though we should know that Life might die in pain,
We cannot help but live within our shell,
For all attempts to dodge divine conceit are vain,
And thoughts too deep sheer madness could foretell.
Sprung of low birth upon an orb of clay,
Man’s musings may well take him far indeed,
Though powerless is he to fathom, nay,
To change Life’s fate, though dire may be her need.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com