Long Densely Poems
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I live in a faraway densely forested habitable moon,
orbiting in the central Alpha Centauri star system.
I am a blue-skinned sapient humanoid,
and a pride of Omaticaya clan in paradise of Pandora.
I own the beauty of precious gem, a diamonds that glow.
Glistens like a crystal water softly flowing in a stream.
I love to ride in a back of Toruk, my flying dragon friend,
While embracing the love of the man, my avatar king.
The nature is where my heart beats...
I love the scent of flowers bloom in the field.
And enthralled my emotion with the song of birds.
Then make love with the avatar in the midst of forest.
In the land of Pandora, I cherish the love that I've found.
The gift of goddess Eywa, our life has sustained.
Value every single tears that these eyes held,
Then give all my strength to defend the beauty of our place.
This is where I found the man who changed my world.
I treasure every moment that our eyes met.
With his hands I feel secured,his touch made me stronger .
His lips I surrendered all the love I can share.
Nature and love , an eternal power from within.
This world has a lot of precious things to offer.
Come to me, let us dance in the psalm of breeze.
And cherish this divine freedom from within.
Inspired by fictitious character of "Neytiri"
from the movie "AVATAR"
Aiyah_025
Epic
Stared at the ashes of burned bridges
Blank and free, stripped of emotion
Densely piled through the ages
Obscured from memory, no recollection
The scorching fire came not from inside
Unaware even that a tether exists
A consciousness bound in receding tides
Resembles a sun to an evening mist
Wasted by life’s strange concoction
Dampened hopes, dimmed sight
In a cobweb of confused emotions
Wildly spun, tangled tight
Lost while traveling the selfless road
Regret revealed what truly matters
Reached the isle of pain—cold and broad
Relief, now, found behind closed shutters
Solitude, a consolation offered
To an existence where others once lived
A need for what remains to be spared
When value, in the absence, is perceived
“But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
And torture a confession out of it.”
[Billy Collins: Introduction to Poetry]
I was headed to take a walk,
The weather was charming, quite a day!
I had the key, left the phone at home
And I decided for a little escape to nature.
I saw a vehicle stopped there, a face, unknown to me
She was asking, “Do you know where the salvation army is?”
I did not know, so many things are unknown to me.
She asked again, and I apologized for my repeated answer.
I knew not the word salvation, and I was never sure that much.
But I looked it up on the dictionary, it is a synonym for rescue.
And yet I was unsure, and it felt so inadequate, so inadequate to me!
The word salvation and the meaning of salvation altogether!
I recalled life in fragmented pieces, in laughter, and pain
Too much densely knitted at times, yet, nothing in vain!
In my memory, there are silhouettes of darker souls, suffering
Unknowingly induce the pain in the form of heartache, incurable.
And In the shadow, the souls still dance in dreams; in tears and smile!
As I solicitously walk the busy streets of the densely peopled city,
My eyes dart in a restless fashion as I survey the urban surrounds –
Shaking the hands of the occasional acquaintance or classmate,
Maybe some neighbor from home in the city to do official rounds.
Yet my mind cannot be occupied by the buzzing activity all around.
I can’t help thinking of Suzie and the graces she brings to my arid heart,
The smile she has brought to this solemn face that had dismissed love
As a cheap frivolity, and sought refuge in the satisfactions of superior art.
Suzie’s honest love has ruled my thoughts and chained my mind
To the rare sweet memories that so tightly tie, and so blindly bind.
As the orange sun dives
below the horizon
The bushman long back
from daily hunt
and rested
Now tells the clan the
legend of the ancient
noon:
'The earth', he says, 'was
not mostly flooded
The earth, indeed, was
once densely wooded
The earth was a beauty,
sublime and quiet
Till man became god and the
earth his diet.
Man built great caves from
rocks, sand and
water
He became a great bird and
flew the clouds
Became a fish and roamed
every ocean
His whispers could go
anywhere all times.
Man became a long snake
that spat out
soot
That ate vast forests and
plucked hills from root
Then air became strangled
with smoke and
died
And soil became poison and
flowers dried.
In anger man turned a ball
of fire
Consumed himself and
unlocked the oceans
This island was once the
highest mount top
The ancient ruins lie
beneath these waters.'
His tale, though old, still has
its cold venom
As all lament over man's
lost kingdom.
After the fog cleared, I could see.
In roughly a few steps from me
Exclusive land that reaches the sea
Praise God who made it utterly!
A long, densely planted tree spree
The mood must be darker, mostly.
it's a puzzle on cool prairie
Praise God who made it utterly!
Mystery in the cold, moist air.
The houses waited for the snare.
The ocean was lost in his angry.
Praise God who made it utterly!
Old man sits under a pine tree.
Tulip tree near shadow's alley.
His beard nudges with the calm sea.
Praise God who made it utterly!
Cross-section of a staunch landscape.
Veins like the wind's traces undrape.
As seen from drumlin topped species;
Praise God who made it utterly!
River has kids whirling on ice.
Over drift pile green water-scarves.
one where hungry ravens can glee
Praise God who made it utterly!
Being landscape, shedding snow-light.
After a snowfall, keep the peace.
after a snowfall, keep the Ecstasy
Praise God who made it utterly!
Syllables count: HMS.COM
Written: September 15, 2021
''L'' Contest New or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
When tongue is silent, but muse is chanting - that's poetry.
When we write what the heart has been asking - that's poetry.
As dawn's hues glisten golden rays, in blue, bronze, orange skies,
musings mirror daydreams, so enchanting - that's poetry.
Butterflies smooch cosmos, as bees sip on dahlias nectar.
Scents of deep red roses start enhancing - that's poetry.
Clement air pleasantly overwhelms with pleasures of love,
muse becomes a bard lost in romancing - that's poetry.
Mentality turns dark when clouds spread densely like ash smoke.
Scarlet ink screams tears to stop storms advancing - that's poetry.
In shades of loneliness, thoughts reach out to our loyal moon,
beneath her moonlight we sojourn, standing - that's poetry.
A heart is healed by spoken words composed with compassion.
Poets smile when they see sad lips laughing - that's poetry.
As sands of sorrow pause, soul glows like a million fireflies.
Nature's metaphors leave our pens dancing - that's poetry.
Stale ink dehydrates and thoughts become segments of cement,
mind is a machine, where words keep jamming - that's poetry.
Daylight or night, bed, bath or driving, lyricists inspired
by sunshine, snow or when rain is lashing - that's poetry.
Word weavers scribbling sonnets, free verse and poetic prose,
forming imagery instead of ranting - that's poetry
Silent One, writes to honour Rumi, Shakespeare and Wordsworth,
In hope my words will be everlasting - that's poetry.
The Silent One
29 August 2020
An example for the Ghazal contest.
This Ghazal has a two worded refrain. Slightly different in format to previous ghazal, I posted, called 'Only the moon understands.'
This one has 14 syllables each line.
There are different definitions for a Ghazal, and different interpretations of the from.
Ghazal poetry is poetry of longing. Traditionally, the ghazal tended to focus on unattainable love, often illicit, or sometimes on metaphysical questions. But, today, the ghazal has broadened to touch many types of longing and loss.
The ghazal is a form poem that uses the art of rhyme and repetition. As it is originally a Persian form and the Indian subcontinent, the refrain and rhyme can be lost when translated to English, as is the meter.
Darkness of night,
introduce me to what lurks
underneath your enchanting moonbeams.
I know that I should stay away,
yet, I am drawn to these silent things
that could easily end me.
I am not afraid of the supernatural.
I am spellbound, enraptured, mystified
by these psychotic creature's requiem dance,
that captures my soul
as it's own possession.
Darkness of night,
take me into your underworld,
where the arms of roaming specters
can totally envelope me,
like a densely tangled spider-web,
with no intention to ever let go.
Allow them to take me away,
to a deep place where, peacefully,
my dying soul can finally rest.
Darkness of night,
tell the devil only this....
he can have all of me,
to punish in any befitting manner.
I have already been through torture,
known pain, lived with loneliness,
and seen hell on earth.
The devil may care to try,
but he cannot hurt me any more.
Darkness of night,
say goodbye for me.
Shout high up to the heavens
and tell the sun it needs to shine
no longer on me.
Dark Poetry Contest
1. Facing life courageously with eyes downcast
happiness and peace not part of the forecast
amidst proud siblings, the only one timid
uncertainty in the air, densely humid
fine drink for all but taking a thimbleful
for true protection, the gods get my handful
glued to excuses and flaws of temperaments
leaving the ungodly to make side comments.
Chorus
I run to the highest hills
I hide in the deepest caves
I put my trust on strong men
I breath the words of great kings
When I stumble and fall down
Jesus alone gives His hand
[Repeat]
2. Powers of men become diversionary
many unreal strengths, claiming to tonify
following masked demons to drop in centers
to acquire, to hold but nowhere rustic
drinks all to suffer spiritual dysentery
from a castle, jumping to a rotunda
to the things of God, becoming a rascal
a walking tapir in the midst of Tigers.
Chorus
I run to the highest hills
I hide in the deepest caves
I put my trust on strong men
I breath the words of great kinds
When I stumble and fall down
Jesus alone gives His hand
[Repeat]
3. He has suffered it all in his first coming
can come of age his glorious second coming
it is never too late by his reckoning
now is the time to have a rite of passage
men can brag and make you have a reverie
other gods can fight to seem in rivalry
but run to him for the clear and blameless dress
for when its time, his glow no one can repress.
Chorus
I run to the highest hills
I hide in the deepest caves
I put my trust on strong men
I breath the words of great kinds
When I stumble and fall down
Jesus alone gives His hand
[Repeat]
“Look carefully and see if there could possibly be pain like my pain, like the one bestowed by You upon me.” – Lamentations 1:12
I walk the width of 2000 pound bomb crater in the densely populated refugee camp, searching centimeter by centimeter for the pieces of inhumanity littering the ground, reminding me of the legionnaires of the fascist air force bombing Guernica brutally, wondering how Picasso would paint this tragedy?
Gaza, now the biggest open graveyard in the world, with the bombs breaking the record in Guinness book of record, guttering hospitals, bakeries, schools, and convoys of war refugees, after decades of oppression.
There are cries of the wounded under the rubble, with no way to reach them,
and the stench of death spreading to the distant shores, to the throne of God.
Into Gaza I go, to find hell and retrieve my conscience.
But, you hear the voices? They don't stop singing, over the abyss of war,
Palestine will be free.