Long Déjà Poems
Long Déjà Poems. Below are the most popular long Déjà by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Déjà poems by poem length and keyword.
Soul knowledge grown thru emotional searches
Eclipses vain ego perches attempts to take charge.
Living should be large from our soul’s core will,
Feeling joy thrill and pain spill, gilds soul’s sheaf.
Allow belief to trigger your spiritual agenda.
Cite déjà vu’s antenna as your eternal soul almanac
To map your experiences predetermined tract.
Ultimate feeling feedback pens your spiritual rondeau
And develops its flow to your truth knowledge area.
Live as the God of your criteria does to you reveal.
Increase your understanding, lest a dealing shanghai
Zealot such as fear, ego or greed tries to take your pizazz,
And stinking thinking unrhymes your soul’s stanza.
Take time to contemplate coolly and truly think about
Iambic thought perfection to sprout your spiritual illuminati.
Oblige the soul-memo heavenly angels constantly demo,
Nudging the human faithful to spirit freedom in Eden.
The sky is blue, clear, jovial and ethereal
To welcome with open heart spring which is
So beautiful, fresh, colorful, and at ease
Oh! It’s a reborn again time which is real.
Oh! Friends, it's the most wonderful season
Green lawns and shrubs return to the horizon
The birds resume their blissful refrains
Listen to the sound of the old fashioned trains.
Little children play on the unpaved avenue
Gorgeous ladies walk around almost nude
Where some amateurs fall into pleasant dreams.
The trees are already full of sweet sap and the streams
Are in good and superb shape for the season
Dear friends, naturally the harvest will be cornucopian.
Copyright © April 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Le Printemps Endimanché
Le ciel est bleu clair, blanc et éthéré
Pour accueillir à cœur le printemps
Si beau, frais, coloré, et endimanché
Oh ! C’est un jeune et nouveau temps.
Oh ! Les amis, c’est la plus superbe saison
Les gazons verts retournent à l’horizon
Les oiseaux reprennent leurs refrains
Écoutez passer les vénérables trains.
Les petits enfants jouent dans les rues
Maintes belles femmes se promènent presque nues
Où certains se plongent dans des agréables rêves.
Les arbres déjà bien remplis de douces sèves
Sont en bonne et superbe forme pour la saison
Chers amis, naturellement fructueuse sera la moisson.
Copyright © April 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poèmes.
Vanishing, always, I knew how to hide,
Like the moon that hides at dawn, silent at dusk.
Layers of riddles and puzzles wrap around me,
Each word a vow I cannot naturally keep.
Like a body forgotten by time, in a cold grave,
I passed through time, leaving only shadows on the paths.
Smoke from a fire put out by the sea, carried on a passing breeze,
That's how I scattered myself, with the folds of time, into a horizon.
Vanishing, I sailed on a ship of dreams,
Fast, unpredictable, like the sea upon the sand.
I left behind roads and places leading nowhere,
In the constant memory of a being that isn't me.
Like a déjà vu at night that stirs your mind with no connection,
You'll wonder, within these four walls, if I ever existed,
Or maybe I was only a story born in dreams,
An echo of a thought, in a scattered mind.
Vanishing, I have always chosen this road,
When you come to me, knocking at the gate,
The door will open on its own, at a gentle knock,
Empty houses have doors with no locks, in the night.
A simple hello will echo into a thousand goodbyes,
Because once again I have no choice but to leave, to let it all go.
I've found myself a new home, in an old cabin on the high hill.
God knows none of this is by my own will,
In my heart of encrypted thought.
And you, wandering through my fading memory,
Will feel the melancholy, like a dream disappearing.
Vanishing, I was, I am, and I will be,
An echo of the ephemeral, in a universe of memories.
Tension crawls into the pores of crashing contemplation
Why has it become so hard to breathe?
If only it was known what this dejected heart is saying
As she sobs poetic lines of wordless woe
She is cradled in the tempo tempest of this reflection
Pulsing in the unfeeling land beyond her bodily home
The blood pumping sweet iron grief spurts
The soles of the feet throb at the impact
As the grass cools only to recall the coldness of the present
The impact…
Of a tear falling to the floor
The droplet so gentle… in clear-watered, grounded rapture
The energy of the sorrow befallen is perilous
One with many roads leading to frail fantasy
Aggravated tear…so atrocious, envious
There is something more whirling in this déjà vu cycle
Being crushed many times
By lackadaisical, ever-traveling minds
It is too easy to be tossed to and fro
Between conscious leisure and provocative pressure
Sub-dominated by sumptuous conviction
That word—love—a furtive dagger
Driving a gaping hole of shame and unknowing
Straight into her
Wracking around in this meddle
Of emotion and reason—shooting up falsehood full throttle
Drifting there again
In a solitude almost consoled by the earthy coldness
Of his fowl glare…
Every unsaid word frazzling to the mind
Tearing me and lifting me high
One must wonder if you watch as the fragments fly
As they float for only a few seconds
Of your precious time
And fall back down below
At your very feet
Where the grass is warm, and hopes are high
Please don’t leave them on the floor with the tear
The tear that never quite gets absorbed
The tear that chillingly consoles that bleeding heart
Destroying me
As she thrashes in the maze of bones and matter
Each hollow pathway of the marrow leading to a dead end
Or an ever-winding way downwards
They say each body of water leads straight to the sea
Where will the tear I abhor…lead me?
Storyteller weaves his tales
throughout my mind and heart.
He alchemies my leaden days
into golden thoughts.
We soar above the shrinking earth
on word-filled wings at night,
glide on intellectual planes;
it’s Truth we seek to find.
Charting unknown territory
of heartlands, minds and brains,
we plumb the depths of mysteries
that rule cabbages and kings.
Like Capote penning portraits,
his stories glow so real.
Their 3-D essence touches me
in déjà vu surreal.
He’s captured me in tidy yarns,
with friendship for a knot.
Allowing him to nurture me,
he feeds my starving heart.
He takes me here, he whisks me there,
with legends of the fall.
But one place I can never trod
is deep inside his soul.
Soon I will be traveling
To the valley of the stars
And the shoreline of the Milky Way
Where near connects to far.
My senses fading rapidly
As darkness closes in
Like a fog bank over mountain tops
Void of sound or wind.
Bow and arrow-headed past Polaris
Beyond Orion’s belt –
Galaxies beyond galaxies
Or anything yet seen or felt.
Star-dust bound to that forever now
Eternally timeless life and death –
To the Maker of matter and anti-matter
And giver of life and breath.
Minstrel of music, Painter of skies
One for All and All in One –
Where old is new as morning dew
And darkness and light come from.
Where departures are deceptive and death reflective
Of times and places we’ve known –
Where déjà vu’ is nothing new
And oceans turn to snow.
Where once upon a mystery
In those early Christian miles –
I heard Jesus laughing and Buddha clapping
The day I learned to smile.
With Shiva dancing and Lipizzons prancing
In a wave-like, particle spin –
Where uncertainty turns to reality
And disappears like a by-gone wind.
Where stretching the bounds of life itself
Is a weirdly – wonderful ride –
Like falling from a roller coaster down below
And the bottom is nothing
but sky.
I’m going back there and everywhere
In the eye of the hurricane storm –
Into the realm of the looking glass
Where memories and dreams are born.
Where truth is a lie and fiction real
And proof is a playful thing –
Where telekinesis is more than a thesis
And the universe sparkles and sings.
And the warm Light of Transcendence and others in attendance
Wait where the river runs deep –
For another soul’s travel to try and unravel
How far we can go when we sleep.
Where yesterday lives with tomorrow today
And heaven is real as green grass –
For you, me and they and all who obey
In the laws of good nature that lasts.
Where consciousness resides love never dies
And home’s not a place but a thought –
Separation ended, hatred suspended
And nothing more needs to be sought.
Dark grey shapeless clouds win the sky.
They morph into illusions, untamed and free,
Casting endless shadows for all to see.
Over fields and meadows, they dance and sway,
Their presence altering the course of day.
As I, suspended in time, now sit and wait,
Tears flow like a river, an eternal space.
The night surrounds me, hushing my cries,
A solemn solitude beneath starlit skies.
The clouds, devouring the veiled midnight,
Engulf my world in a profound, hollow plight.
Loneliness echoes from its impregnable den,
Transcending all boundaries, where alone met again.
Falling deep into this abyss of despair,
My heartaches, yearning for love's tender care.
A sense of déjà vu whispers through my core,
If only we could start anew, just once more.
But alas, we cannot rewrite our regretful past,
No chance to undo the damage that amassed.
Like a roller coaster, emotions ride high,
It's time to disembark, bid you goodbye.
For your stony eyes, indifferent to truth's plea,
Never held the essence of love's decree.
Drifting amidst the intricate places of my mind,
A vision of my heart, elusive to find.
Seeking to transcend the boundaries of tomorrow,
I remain suspended, shrouded in sorrow.
Against these shadows that cling so tight,
In patience and hope, I await the light.
I awake to the beautiful plaintive strains
Of a violin - then realize it’s just in my head
Just a dream - a shame to find
I’m in the hospital - same room - same bed
The monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall
Time, an indefinite progress of my existence
Time for my pills, time to call the nurse
Time not on my side, breaking down my resistance
After lunch a quick nap
Then the visiting hour I dread most of all
Seeing pity in their eyes, they wish me back
To what I was before my withdrawal
The world of music - my life - my love
The fame and fortune that once was mine
Exhilarating - Intoxicating, a wife at my side
With children sharing the Glory Divine
I lived it - I breathed it
Plucked at its very soul
The core of its existence in my hands
Like a faithful servant it played its role
I look at the painting on the wall
A feeling of Déjà vu enters it seems
I’ve seen this glade of lush green plants
And these sparkling bubbling streams
I remember drawing back watching afar
An Angel who danced in its midst
Who danced with wild abandon
Her hair that the sun had kissed
I remember wishing I could dance with her
With this Angel from above
A hundred birds would sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
But it’s just a painting - There’s no girl there
And I’m just a sick old man
Wallowing in my grief and sadness
Existing however best I can
What’s this I’m suddenly in the glade?
A young strong man once more
She has come for me, my Angel love
I leap - I twirl - I soar
The world I’ve left behind
Unshackled my attachments of
A hundred birds do sing out loud
To watch us Dance to Love
We dance with wild abandon
We dance without a care
With sun kissed skin our arms entwined
Wild flowers in our hair
Footnote:
We do not know for sure if my Father – who was a great violinist and classical musician, had imagined this story when he was a young man, when he chanced on a young girl dancing in the glade. It’s a story he told us many times and we loved to believe it.
I like to imagine a fitting finale to the first story, when his time came and have pictured it in this poem.
This story begins in my Poem arrangement 'Dance to Love - Part 1'
It was a windy night in Dubai,
on the highest floor of Burj Khalifa,
the crown of glass piercing clouds.
I stood, a monk, silent and bound by vows,
awaiting my fall into sky—
when she appeared.
A Persian vision, tall as prophecy,
skin aglow like hammered gold,
hips curved as desert dunes,
eyes that held forgotten centuries.
She moved toward me,
and time itself bent to listen.
“Fatimah,” she said,
her hand trembling yet sure.
We smiled as strangers,
yet a current older than memory
ran between us.
“Are you the next to leap?”
Her voice quivered,
yet her spirit flared like flame.
“If you are brave enough,” I told her,
“we will face the heavens together.”
At 828 meters,
on the ledge of all existence,
we stood hand in hand.
The wind was a hymn,
the sky a cathedral without walls.
And when we jumped,
the earth fell away—
we were not falling,
we were returning.
In the air she whispered,
“Your presence has taken my fear.”
And it was déjà vu—
the kiss of a life we had lost
and found again.
We landed on the Palm Islands,
the sea catching our breath.
She clung to me;
I clung to her.
Her lips met mine,
and Mount Athos shattered in silence.
“I am a virgin,” she confessed.
“So am I,” I replied,
“perhaps it was always you.”
And our kiss burned like destiny,
like vows rewritten in fire.
Then the Elders’ voices thundered:
“You have eaten the Forbidden Fruit.”
But I knew their warning too late—
for the fruit was no sin,
the fruit was Fatimah.
And in that moment I understood:
it was not vow I had broken,
but the chain of lifetimes—
and she was the answer
to every question my soul had carried.
At last my secret's out – now I can sit and write a spell.
An author fashions means of flight for dormant clientele.
Away to lofty heights of thought...an album, shall I write,
an album crowded full of poems, senses to incite?
An aspiration presupposes gutsy derring-do
and any dreamer worth his charm will ponder déjà vu.
Ambition is the trying out of things that aren't the norm.
Adventure called my name but duty sounded its alarm.
Awaiting dreams for work at hand was not an easy climb;
appointed answer to my quest, retirement came with time.
Alas! small hope I do fulfill, yet even while I pen;
as adolescent dreams are met, I ask, what might have been?