Long Contemplate Poems
Long Contemplate Poems. Below are the most popular long Contemplate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Contemplate poems by poem length and keyword.
symbol of contrast
like Noah's ark in harsh storm
captivation norm
endurance am I
alluring in mountains rest
winters embrace test
integrated light
across wild echoes stoic
exudes pure stillness
delicate yet tough
unassailable maiden
artists awed humming
alchemists delight
aligned with capricorn's might
pristine determined
raw unadorned self
expresses inner kingdom
nourishes itself
secrets in dark roots
poison perceptual moot
duality hoots
sacrifice and faith
face adversity with grace
revelation brace
with each unclasping
petals open mystical
surrender holding
scent nascent nadir
sacred self-preservation
authentic profound
quiet verdict holds
love is not parasitic
terrifying peace
contemplate christmas
quest each due ecstatic depth
silent witness bear
so do I exist
cold thorns after each snow dawn
god's love not forlorn
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Look, there's a white line, dead center of this empty road
Wow, that sun is hot out here...
and here I am sitting on the edge of this blacktop world
waiting for a tow .......crying out loud......why, Lord, why today?.....
Some shortcut huh? You might call it a back road error in judgement...
leaving me sitting in this no-man's land of desolate boredom....
a missed appointment, a frustrated friend waiting, while all I can do is
look at heat waves billowing up in the heat of Indian summer and watch the
peafowl grazing in the tall brown weeds behind me, ......hunting grasshoppers I suppose....
Territorial hens and cocks at their banquet
One patriarch, with his vast train, it seems he reigns aloof ..sitting there,
in the shade of a vagrant oak. At least there's one tree helping to shadow the place where I sit and oh yeah, that lone hen, wandering onto the white line, and looking at me, (with disdain, no less!)
I am an intruder, in a world I don't belong....she knows it.....should I apologize? "Okay, ....sorry you Chickadee!" "Whattaya expect me to do?"......
Hmmm..... that fading white line................
how do they get it dead center of the road, I wonder?
I have been sitting here for nearly an hour, sigh.............and that long, long, line.......
going to nowhere..........strange..........how you can be
mesmerized by a long white line that meanders into the distant horizon...
Wonder how long has it been since I've had such a moment
just a small moment to contemplate such a trifle...
a narrow white line in the center of an asphalt road
Who put it there? What sort of man? Who drives the machine, that paints this line?
Did he do this all day...draw these straight white painted stripes?
Does he give it much thought? This artist,...this Da'vinci of roadways?
Does he think of the life he might save....or the order this brings?
His touch of white on a blacktop world?
Does he do this all day.....day after day?
This artwork to pay for his wife's medicine?
Or for a son's braces, or a daughter's tuition?
Trivial contemplation, perhaps, crazy maybe to ponder by the side of a road.....
You say.....it is just a white line......so what??
To someone....even a trifle....a white line on asphalt....
might be important......
Did you hear about this wonderful place
It's an island, better, yes, much better than Greece
Much more enticing that Mauritius
Even more appealing than Cyprus
It's an island, where Pinocchio would be eager to go to
It's an island of fantasy, it does exist, yes true
It's an island of marvel
An island whose attributes I shall unravel
It is found in a secret hideout
Those who do wish to go there need to be made of dreams
Yes, for there does exists not any constraint
There, one does get to do, as long as does live, whatever one deems!
Why, it's an island where one can relax whole day
Yes, on the beach, on the golden sands, one can sit back or swim
Or just admire the beauty of the blue skies and say
Hey, is it for real or am I starring in a fictitious film?
There, one does get money to shop all day
Yes, the bank balances do keep on being full
Replenished without anybody's help
And the shops, of the most trendy clothes, do display
An island so beautiful that one can indulge in whatever one wants to
Without of course being scared of anything
See, whether one wants to be writing, reading, dancing, trekking
One is free to do as one wants to
Of course, crime is not present there
Yes, living, for everyone does be fair
For ruled it is, by the Queen of Arts
The one said to be soft and tender but who does have a broken heart
There, one does not only contemplate the Heavens
But one gets to visit this divine place many a times
Yes, a secret passage does be found there
And of course, everyone does get to have a few conversations with God!
The island of Fantasy does be mine own,
Found it is, somewhere hidden
But mind you, there, fun does always be in the air
Of course, an island it is, where humanity is given loads of care
An island known to me solely
An island kept all this time, in secrecy
But come, come, I shall lead you there, yes I shall
For I know that you do crave to be there as well!
Cristobal, so pink in your blue suit
Limbs flailing, condemned
You will grow so quick to learn
Vicarious loss and sorrow
The light is now in the ground
We weep and gnash for love taken
The children’s pain a thin veil of my own
A pox, a pox on all the world
But a savior
A mother without her children
Children without their mother
My God what a tentative brace
We pray ‘’ballast our keel’’
When I look at Helen
With that very special stride
It’s quickness
I wonder where she has been
What brutal weight she must carry
Daughters become mothers
Where is the chance for them
Oh Helen of the slippery gait
My own life is a ship
Laid on its beams end
Coming very slowly
Up to the wind
As I contemplate chains and pens
Listening to thumps and laughter
She slides through to say
And to brighten my day
''Without a close eye
The little lovelies will run wild
They just will''
With a bitter tear
I can but struggle
‘’Grasp the steer board’’
But none can guide our way
Save one
"Those who contemplate the beauty of the
earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts." Rachel Carson
Even a dead leaf caught up in bare branches
can seem beautiful to us
We take solace in the knowledge -
natures cycles are never ending.
Tender, new shoots reaching for light
inspire faith in all renewal
as surely as the beauty of
old trees gives hope in longevity.
It is all around us-
in the scents, sounds, colors, patterns
and miracles, ever repeating
that never cease.
We need to hear the birds, see the least little beetle
Revel in the scents of flowers, the fragility of their petals.
Take note of the serenity of dawn, give thanks
at days ending.
The moment we disconnect.
When our senses fail to notice anymore-
the shriveling and dying of our being begins.
Learn the wisdom nature teaches us-
to never take more than we give.
Dear LORD, I contemplate Your greatness
I am in awe of Your majesty
The exquisite detail in all things
To live in Your powerful harmony
As I walk in the November woods
Where tree limbs have become barren of leaves
And the ground crunches with ev'ry step--
There a mystery dwells, I perceive
One is surrounded by the darkness
Making the way unclear and risky
As paths lead up and down rocky hills
I dodge thin arms of wood all scratchy
Yet, I look upward to see color
Sunlight highlighting golden-red leaves
The blue sky contrasts the tree's silhouette
Revealing your dear love - I believe
Oh! The way may be dark and dreary
With scratches along rough hilly slopes
But there is beauty underfoot with
Light above to guide with peace and hope
-Evelyn Pearl Anderson
what is wrong with thee?
o, plenty.
The non verbal,
repetitor.
She listens to wandering
ghostly attempts at
remembering
the past
to perserve
her future
to maintain
a quo.
ta.
of whom she laid eyes on,
upon the day
when her heart spoke
the language
of the unknown monk
whom the captain watts
often quoted,
the bible.s
the jesuses.
the buddhas.
the alahs.
the gods of gods and gods.
the lonely man,
from a distant universe.
sat in the house, on a cliff,
looked out his window to the desolate rocky ocean.
he grayed over time.
over worries
over creations
over complications and simplicities.
he, like us, also laughed and weeped.
with a pen in his hand,
direction from which is irrelevant,
wrote the play of life.
took his time,
might i add.
detailed.
spotted.
dotted.
zags.
his wife never nagged.
he had none.
he wrote.
dramas. mysteries.
but mostly comedies.
once his plays came to act,
suddenly he felt no responsibility.
it was his creation.
his ejaculation.
his ****.
his piss.
it was his external provocation.
the grand master of them all.
as we *****out daily nutrients.
and contemplate the paths of desires and dreams.
question reality. non reality.
the non creative.
the non god.
the non art.
rain drops fall.
as if nothing happened.
or perhaps a response to whatever had happened.
she thinks.
she also worries.
how ever miniscule.
grandiose.
sub-turbulous the design.
a hike to the Himalayas and back.
not a journey for the weak hearted.
I still miss
The fragrance of dream
in your kiss
I wanted to express
what pulsated inside the gate
But I thought
the time was to come yet
The wishes remained unsaid
I still miss
the chocolate bliss
in your bird’s nest
I did contemplate
how to reach the higher branches
Every time I tried
Clouds would gather
from various skies
I hesitated
Sophisticated
using simile and metaphor
The desire remained unsaid
as before
I could see
How sometimes
you would set free
your handsome geese
towards my waters
For reciprocity
Still
From thoughts
that live in wood and hills
Some delicate tendrils
obstructed
that I wanted to say
Keeping it unsaid
Then one day
No smoke no fog no cloud
Sky in loud blue
I was resolved to be with you
and say
Those words
that waited in the wings of butterfly
that generated dreams in my eyes
that kindled orange flames inside
that invited hundred stimuli
But you had left
So those dreams remained unsaid
In the cleft
of dialectics of thought
Or the mind caught
in a whirlpool
to befool
my conscious mind
Tempest in my head
Since then almost every day
I regret
Why I left it unsaid
When the flower was torn
the sentence could not be completed
the evenings were robbed of their breeze
dreams made their decision to keep asleep
I couldn't help thinking of what was left unsaid
I have still been thinking
Of the bunch of tube rose I brought back
not given.
Replies
not listened
Reason
confined to dark prison
With the dissolving years
Many a grief
Many a bitter leaf
Many a thorn
have got erased
But the words unsaid
keeps me wearing out
Night and day
In light or shade
They keep coming back
Inside my head
Those words unsaid
Unshareable
Unbearable
Making me vulnerable
To my biggest regret
For the words unsaid
September 22, 2017
For the Contest
Form U - U Pick The Form
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
MY EPITAPH
AS I LOOK BACK AND I SEE MY LIFE PAST AND I
CLOSE MY EYES SO THAT I CANNOT SEE WHO IS
LAUGHING LAST
I CONTEMPLATE MY CHOICES; SO MISDIRECTED
CAN I STRAIGHTEN OUT THE SHIP BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE??
EACH AND EVERY DAY I THINK THE THOUGHT
THAT THIS MIGHT BE MY LAST REMEMBRANCE
AND WHAT DO I BRING TO THE EMPTY TABLE
FOR WHICH A SEAT FOR ME IS ALWAYS WAITING
EVERY DEED THAT IS DONE HAS DIED BEFORE THE DAY
HAS GONE
EVERY MOMENT OF PEACE CONQUERED BY INNER WAR
BROUGHT ON FROM OUTSIDE INFLUENCE
I CAN’T BLOCK OUT EVERY NEGATIVE
CANNOT FILTER THROUGH THE MIRE
I CAN’T FIND HOPE WITHIN THE POSITIVE
WHEN IT DIES LIKE MY DESIRE
THE FLAMES OF LIFE ARE FLICKERING
THE LIGHT IT BROUGHT NOW FADES
CONTEMPLATION OF THE END NOW
AS I'M BURIED IN THIS GRAVE, MY EPITAPH
WHAT CARVINGS ON MY STONE DEFINE ME
WHAT ACTIONS OR WORDS LEFT TO INSCRIBE
WHAT MEMORIES HAVE BEEN LEFT IN MY PLACE
AND ARE THEY ENOUGH TO KEEP ME ALIVE
IN YOUR HEART OR MIND
ANOTHER LINE, ANOTHER PAGE
ALL FEW AND FAR BETWEEN
INSPIRATION NOW FOUND ON AN UNKNOWN STAGE
BECAUSE IN THIS WORLD I’LL NEVER BE SEEN
I CAN’T BLOCK OUT EVERY NEGATIVE
CANNOT FILTER THROUGH THE MIRE
I CAN’T FIND HOPE WITHIN THE POSITIVE
WHEN IT DIES LIKE MY DESIRE
THE FLAMES OF LIFE ARE FLICKERING
I’M A SOUL THAT WON’T BE SAVED
CONTEMPLATION OF THE END NOW
AS I’M BURIED IN THIS GRAVE, MY EPITAPH
WHAT CARVINGS ON MY STONE DEFINE ME ?…..
CARTOON SATIRE
silent ways
so revealing
pursed by
the contemporary
back&forth
innovation
emerging
to interrogate
a validity
of the disparate
& discarded
exhibit
an interest
in the intense
contemplate
& consider
the inanimate
creating
the fanciful
reversing
the anchronostic
in
the incongurous symbols
indictive
of
connotation
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived