Long Deep thought Poems
Long Deep thought Poems. Below are the most popular long Deep thought by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Deep thought poems by poem length and keyword.
Melodic music
depths me
in deep thought…
and as it is
with such thoughts
about our creator
what we think
and hope for
can’t be divorced
from place and time
in history
culture and ourstory…
Our reality here
is not of heaven
but of this
bi-polar earth
and our freedom
and liberation
must be sought
in this reality…
Check it out…
heaven is beyond time
and earth-bound stories
but as earthly beings
we are fixed here
in definite time
stories and culture
and we can not divorce
ourselves from such realities…
Just think about it…
our liberation has never
been nor should ever
be a mere fusing
of concepts
rather our liberation is
and has always been
a strategized perceived
process…
So just go and sit down
on the dock of time
and don’t worry
about a thing
for everything
is going to be
alright
for we are recipients
of an almighty healing
amazing grace
and it has our backs
in life’s “Trane-like” race…
He lives between two worlds.
One that an average, or sane person, finds him or herself living day to day,
and that of a fictional writer, who allows his creative side to pull him into the dark spaces of his mind filled with fantasies and mysteries.
Artist capture these visions in these inner journeys and put them to canvas,
Writers enter this illusionary world searching for a tale their creative side bangs out in millisecond bursts. He withdraws from the creative chamber only to scribe to paper his understanding of these flashing insane hallucinations.
In deep thought, he ponders, and molds words, and picks adjectives that best describes what this illusive world has flung at him. Sentence by sentence he works, and reworks and once satisfied he re-enters this dark chamber again to do battle with his mind's eye, beating it to death day after day, night after night, until the his imagination has run dry.
Exhausted, he now knows it is done, it is over, he can do no more.
But, he now wonders, did he interpret it right ? Does it make sense? Is it the best it can be?
He re-reads it time and time again. Will the reader understand what he tried to say?
Will they clinch their fist in anger at the right moment? Will they laugh or cry? Can their mind’s eye visualize what unfolded in his head?
So, what is left for this creative writer who has finished his work. Dose he stack it in a closet on top of so many others, or does he deal with the other world; the one he hates. The world of the common public that accepts their monochromatic existence.
He is not a salesman. He is not comfortable with this part, and would rather return to the chamber, and let others sell his works, but the more he returns, the more it seems these encounters are taking over his life. He’s now hearing voices, whispers, barely audible, but they are there. He begins to fluctuate between sleep, fever, delirium and reality. Till one day the chamber closes its escape hatch behind him and he is trapped there forever.
No one will hear him, for his cries bounce off the walls of this dark chamber echoing on top of his previous cries. He has found true hell. The hell that awaits all mystery writers who will allow themselves to find too much comfort with the voices within.
I saw you in the middle of the night
The most handsome creature in sight
All of a sudden we started to dance
It all started with just one glance
You are so intoxicating
And so mesmerizing
I never want to leave your loving arms
I can't resist your sensational charm
Next we took a walk on the beach
Then we kissed, you have so much to teach
As we headed toward the ocean
I felt so good, like I drank some love potion
While in deep thought I heard a sound
As it got clearer I started to frown
It was my alarm clock, it was just a dream
My heart sunk , nothing is what it seems
Alexis Y.
07-30-16
Inspired by the Romance At Night contest
AI poetry and aureate prose is quite often repulsive.
Bathetic prose relying on synonyms isn’t persuasive.
Content, more important than labels, that spins on looms
deep, thought-provoking poetry that eternally blooms.
Evocative language that hankers to an idyllic past;
finishing with a flourish leaving an impression that lasts.
Grammar rules adhered to and the spelling precise;
high-energy prose that wants me to read the poem twice.
Imagery well defined transporting me on a journey
juxtaposed with tantalising realms, but never corny.
Kicking over the traces and not flinching when
language treated as an art form with an aurum pen.
Metaphor must be transparent—never an enigma or obscure;
no ambiguities of puns that we as readers have to endure.
Originality—no plagiarism—goes without saying;
poetic licence, within limits, can be quite satisfying.
Quest for illumination on issues that are often moot.
Rhythm and sound have primacy over meaning to boot.
Sensitive treatment of the subject matter will always win.
Tautograms and alliteration mastered … overuse won’t win.
Unusual perspective on a topic, but not a lot of baloney.
Voice of the poet that clearly shines through cacophony—
winged inspiration that soars without fear or favour.
X-rated and risqué offerings would definitely not be devoured.
Yammering critics like an ostentation* of peacocks, while
zealotry that rankles leaves a bad taste—it’s no one’s style.
Journey Journal Page
POETRY
“Poetry is the language of
the soul — where deep emotions
cluster thought and feeling in
a poignant outburst of fond
rapture — and thus, words
sublimate in sacred ecstasy
as the vivid imagination conjures
the art of verse craft.”
— Leon Enriquez
~~~~~~~~~
Poise in crisp voice
Opt words that spill
Etch in strange choice
Touch that now thrills
Rich beyond noise
Yield deep thought fill
~~~~~~~~~
Pulse of feeling
Or thought design
Each word tilting
Till dance assigns
Ripe touch being
Yes curt align
~~~~~~~~~
Pace thus word thought
Old as dream sleep
End abrupt lot
Touch ever deep
Race forfeits plot
Yet soul mind peeps
~~~~~~~~~
Pure as touch knows
Of such dream shores
Each line now shows
Taste declares more
Reach grips swift flow
Yore within yore
~~~~~~~~~
Prime in life’s maze
Opt feisty feel
Each word piques haze
Taste brief goodwill
Rouse heart’s pure craze
Yield succinct still
~~~~~~~~~
Primal poise plots
Orbs of wave streams
Etch subtle slot
Toil harvests dream
Reap fragrant lot
Yore in rhyme scheme
~~~~~~~~~
Pique profound poise
Opt outcome ode
Exult word choice
Thought symbols code
Raw feel strings voice
Your lyric mode
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
05 October 2021
Singapore
(Postscript:
Read my Story #905:
“POETRY” for more inputs.)
question burning, cries
answer me before I cool
urgency insists
quickness passes for wisdom
deep thought waits outside the door
paper catches fire
while we search for the answer
ash erases words
haste thins what truth might have said
the quick answer lies ill-formed
the hotter questions
leave far less time to answer
asking feeds the fire
burning time on more questions
until doubt devours the clock
fire lights up the words
bright enough for us to read
while it eats the page
what fire destroys can still speak
through embers buried in ash
time is not the clock
for time itself is the flame
it burns while we ask
what became of our answer
left in ashes asking why
9-11, Twenty Years Later
Thoughts of Miracle Man
9-11-2021
Twenty years have passed,
and I sit in deep thought of where I was that day,
and what I was doing. I was home and recorded on eight track for three days
all the events of this day. Today, I think of all the lives lost as a result of 9-11,
and the many military and first responders taken from us.
I think of children who were forced to grow up without a parent,
and the children who were taken without experiencing life.
I feel the hurt of the young Afghanistan lives that
have awoken to a new way of life, and the freedom they know
that the Taliban is quickly taking from them. I think of those
left behind because of our poorly planned exit from Afghanistan.
The suffering isn’t over and remembering goes on,
and on this early morning, I sit, think, write, and weep,
and God bottles my tears.
Psalms 56:8 Context
5Every day they wrest my words: all their thoughts are against me for evil.
6They gather themselves together, they hide themselves, they mark my steps, when they wait for my soul.
7Shall they escape by iniquity? In thine anger cast down the people, O God.
8Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?
9When I cry unto thee, then shall mine enemies turn back: this I know; for God is for me.
10In God will I praise his word: in the LORD will I praise his word.
11In God have I put my trust: I will not be afraid what man can do unto me.
Reap in brisk show fond writes that touch,
Ink words that shape warm rhymes faith swings;
Choice helps lines flow with poise as such,
Hurl lasting drape true voice craft brings.
Work well deep thought that clusters dreams,
Rich mellow sounds can picture paint;
Impact fine plot with lots that stream,
Trust offers grounds with private taint;
Etch journey quest with happy cheer,
Sense feel now gain a classic flight.
Charm anchors zest in passage clear,
Invoke joy plain that inspires sight;
Taste of bright grace that shows the way,
End with kind face to live each day.
Leon Enriquez
02 October 2018
Singapore
Cheer funds sure poise when charm streams clear,
Hurl in a swing that fond warm feel;
Ask then for voice to spark thoughts dear,
Near or far fling a touch that heals;
Give feel sure space to come to terms,
Expect the will to fu d bold dates.
Change wears a face that fruits the germ,
Heed surge of feel that strings wise fate;
Align deep thought with happy fit,
Rise to the haste of lovely run;
Address true lot with simple wit,
Deed flavours taste in flashy pun;
Express the light in cast and flow,
See cheery sights that change now shows.
Leon Enriquez
25 November 2015
Singapore
Feel a deep thought that points the way,
Ink words that come where reason rhymes;
Reach for a lot that frames each day,
Etch a new psalm in profound chimes.
Calm in sure voice that cheer within,
Abide with grace with love that sculpts;
Note a firm poise with style unseen.
Intent fills space with grasp and gulp,
Nurture fond peace with charm that styles;
See that you see how love is all,
Plant sanguine ease as cheer lives miles;
Ink stains can be a soul's sure call,
Reap wealthy spring in warm attire,
Express and bring what you aspire.
Leon Enriquez
05 January 2016
Singapore