Long Devi Poems
Long Devi Poems. Below are the most popular long Devi by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Devi poems by poem length and keyword.
Inspired By Connie Marcum Wong's Poem "Dreams Of India"
Dreams of India
Her music haunts me
in such a knowing way
it makes me weep
and causes my heart to ache.
I become homesick for her
scents, her sounds, her food,
her enchanting dance
which spawns dreams
of her romance.
I know in my heart
I have lived there,
I know, I have loved there.
Her poetry transcends
my spirit to encompass
a wholeness that is
so familiar to me.
I dream of the Ganges ,
and her gentle cleansing flow,
of reflections on its surface
when the moon is hanging low.
Of crickets singing nightly
to serenade me to sleep.
I dream of colors of the saris,
the beauty that they keep...
Of garlands placed with care,
a gajra in a maiden's hair
and the hues of floral leis.
I hold a reverence for Hindu
Devata and Devi.
I aspire to learn the sacredness
of varmala in the seeds of
past lifetimes I have shared.
A passion grows for those
whose love glows through their
auras to welcome strangers.
I'd love to share a cup of chai
to chat with friends in open air.
I long to return home, though
I have never been there.
Notes: *a gajra: flowers which females use as a decoration
for their hair.
*Varmala: is a tradition from ancient times where a beautiful garland of flowers symbolizes a proposal of marriage. In the tradition of Swayamvar. A female would choose her life partner from a group of suitors by placing a flower garland around the neck of her chosen man. Once the girl had made her choice, a marriage ceremony would be held right away.
MY TRIBUTE TO CONNIE MARCUM WONG
Connie never went to India, but she thought
she should have been born there…a mythical, mystical, sacred land of her
dreams ~ a Princess wearing
a Banarasi saree, a gajra on her hair…stunningly beautiful!
In my mind, she is there holding, for her beloved, a Varmala!
September 24, 2022
Short Connie Tributes - How Did Connie Marcum Wong Inspire You Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
3.
Or down yet another city street,
This Way down that grand Hiway,
That Third Eye opened:
Random patches of dandelion manifest,
Climbing the overgrown commons by the road;
Disappearing out of sight -
By the cracked, sun-blanched sidewalk;
Golden and deep emerald green dandelion
Over the smog-choked horizon.
Humanity on the brink,
Sliding down that proverbial 'slippery slope" -
To the proverbial abyss of our insouciance, to
Our bourgeois folly, infernal cruelty fed by witless greed,
The more mundane, mere surface of all things, as they may be.
But again, surely, this can't be all that is: So mean, so toxic.
Refreshed, one looks again, looks with eyes wide open with
New Saving Knowledge.
Now the patches of dandelion seem even more startlingly
Alive and vibrant.
They seem, somehow, almost "more real than real".
Illumined, they appear hyper-real, dazzlingly brilliant,
Appear preternatural, mesmerisingly coronal, and
Opulent, yet as though man-made, like ethereal origami,
Like the sun itself, another Saving "Point of Navigation" to
the Hidden Infinite Divine Source behind all things mundane.
*****
"Jesus said [to Judas Iscariot], 'Come and I will teach you ...
about a great realm and a boundlessness whose measure no angelic
race has comprehended. In it is the great Invisible Spirit ...'"
--- The Gospel of Judas 10: 1 - 5
"God is one's very 'own'. It is the eternal relationship. One realizes Him in
direct proportion to the intensity of one's feelings for Him. Don't be afraid.
Always remember that somebody is protecting you."
"He who is really anxious to cross the ocean of the material world will somehow break his bonds. No one can entangle him."
--- The Holy Mother, Sri Saradamani Devi, the divine consort of
Sri Ramakrishna
"Mary [Magdalene] said [to Jesus Christ], 'Lord, is there a place which [lacks truth]? The Lord said, "The place where I am not!'"
--- From the Dialogue of the Savior
"God is a dyer. As the good dyes, which are called 'true', dissolve with
the things dyed in them, so it is with those whom God has dyed. Since his dyes are immortal, they are immortal by means of his colors."
--- From the Gospel of Philip
In the realm of words, where knowledge thrives,
Teachers guide with wisdom, where the ink arrives.
Enhancing writing, a guiding light they bear,
To elevate students, their written tales to share.
They mould the process, each stage they steer,
Prewriting, revising, the path to steer.
Through drafting and editing, teachers impart,
Crafting brilliance, each writer's art.
Authentic tasks, connections profound,
Teachers weave worlds where ideas abound.
Persuasive essays, stories untold,
Students' passions and dreams unfold.
Scaffolded support, in steps, they lead,
From outlines to drafts, a writer to feed.
Graphic organisers, sentences to start,
Building confidence, nurturing the heart.
In workshops, they foster, a haven to shine,
Students explore, and their voices align.
Feedback, revisions, in a collaborative spree,
A nurturing space where all can be free.
Technology's embrace, a modern song,
Grammar checks and feedback are strong.
Digital platforms that students employ,
Enhancing skills, fostering writing joy.
Each learner has unique, a different needs,
Teachers cater, their pace to heed.
Customised guidance, pathways clear,
In growth and learning, they're always near.
In the circle of teaching, a quest they trace,
Crafting writers in each child's space.
With dedication, and evolving practice they glean,
For every student, a writer's dream.
In the pen's dance, in the writer's hand,
Teachers kindle flames in this wondrous land.
Inspiring, guiding, with hearts aglow,
They shape writers, making talents grow.
So teachers, brimming with inspiration's light,
Forge pathways for students, in their writing flight.
In the tapestry of learning, in wisdom's domain,
They foster brilliance, a writer's gain.
In memory of Ms. Devi Devavaram,
My headmistress with a writing charm.
Teaching the art with a graceful hand,
Guiding us through language's wondrous strand.
Dreams of India
Her music haunts me
in such a knowing way
it makes me weep
and causes my heart to ache.
I become homesick for her
scents, her sounds, her food,
her enchanting dance
which spawns dreams
of her romance.
I know in my heart
I have lived there,
I know, I have loved there.
Her poetry transcends
my spirit to encompass
a wholeness that is
so familiar to me.
I dream of the Ganges ,
and her gentle cleansing flow,
of reflections on its surface
when the moon is hanging low.
Of crickets singing nightly
to serenade me to sleep.
I dream of colors of the saris,
the beauty that they keep...
Of garlands placed with care,
a gajra in a maiden's hair
and the hues of floral leis.
I hold a reverence for Hindu
Devata and Devi.
I aspire to learn the sacredness
of varmala in the seeds of
past lifetimes I have shared.
A passion grows for those
whose love glows through their
auras to welcome strangers.
I'd love to share a cup of chai
to chat with friends in open air.
I long to return home, though
I have never been there.
1-2-19
*a gajra: flowers which females use as a decoration
for their hair.
*Varmala: is a tradition from ancient times where a beautiful garland of flowers symbolizes a proposal of marriage. In the tradition of Swayamvar. A female would choose her life partner from a group of suitors by placing a flower garland around the neck of her chosen man. Once the girl had made her choice, a marriage ceremony would be held gright away.
~Poem of the Day January 4, 2019~
~1st Place~
A BRIAN STRAND 1092
Brian Strand: Judged 2022 March 20
~9th Place Premiere Contest~
Your Best Free Verse That You Wrote Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
'I Got a Darn NA Again' Contest
Sponsor Luloo
Free Verse Style Only Poetry Contest~N/A~
Bushan Singh Chib hails from the picturesque town of Ramban, nestled within the enchanting Chib Valley in the northern region of Jammu and Kashmir, India. He emerges as a rising star in the realm of Indian poetry, captivating hearts with his profound verses. Born into a middle-class family, Bushan's roots lie deep in the soil of his homeland.
His father, Shri Barfu Ram, is a dedicated farmer, toiling under the sun to nurture the land that sustains their family. His mother, Smt. Hukmu Devi, is a loving and devoted housewife who keeps the hearth warm with her care. Bushan is not alone in this journey; he has the support and companionship of two siblings - an elder brother and a younger one, as well as a sister, adding warmth and camaraderie to their household.
Educationally, Bushan embarked on his academic journey by completing his 12th-grade education with a focus on Arts at HSS Topneel. Determined to further his knowledge and broaden his horizons, he pursued his graduation at GDC Doda, where he delved deeper into his passion for literature and poetry.
In this age of technological advancement, Bushan also recognized the importance of digital literacy and added another feather to his cap by completing a Diploma in Computer Applications (DCA), enhancing his skills and adaptability in an ever-changing world.
With his roots firmly grounded in the rural landscapes of Ramban, Bushan Singh Chib is not just a poet but a symbol of resilience, representing the aspirations of countless middle-class families in India. His journey, though just beginning, is already marked by dedication, hard work, and a profound love for literature and poetry. As he continues to grow and evolve, his words will undoubtedly continue to inspire and resonate with those who have the privilege of reading them.
I hope one day we can be the
people we really are. No more hiding
from each other no matter from
where we come or even how far.
A human being is a human no matter
where you look. A human being is real
and can't be gotten in the pages of a
book. When you were in your mother's
womb, there was a voice in there too,
giving instructions and telling your
body what to hear and do.
If not, we could come out with feet as
a head, or eyes as a toes in a shoe. We could
have become different colors, like green
purple or blue. As soon as we come out
of our mother's wombs, they slap us on our
ass. That's when our voice disappears and hides
and becomes the past.
That's the time when mommy's and daddy's
voices come in. At first, it sounds happy,
like your old friend. But they really become
your dictators who bring that brings your voice to an
end.
They teach you their religion and your culture
too. They have schools where other people
tell you what to do. Sometimes, the voice
inside you starts chatting, but the message
from the world is voices no longer matter.
Finally, the programing of your mind is complete.
You learned how to do what you are told, get a job,
make money and eat. You have become another
piece of human meat.
But wait! That voice you heard in your
mother's womb will always be there from
birth to the tomb. When you close your eyes
and listen well, you can hear that voice
say 'help' from that darkest Hell.
There is a way to get it back, make it louder,
make it a fact. Get a chair and sit and wait;
it will come back if you learn to meditate.
It opens your mind, to the voice of the divine.
Edited by rams devi
Master Raj: (Frowning slightly) Ms. Devi, this quote about books by Hesse is a bit confusing. It says they can't bring happiness, but then talks about a path to the heart.
Ms. Devi: (Chuckles) A good observation, Master Raj. Here's where the idea of heteroglossia comes in. The quote uses multiple voices, even seeming to contradict itself.
Master Raj: Heteroglossia? Sounds fancy.
Ms. Devi: It just means different voices or viewpoints within one text. Here, one voice warns books aren't the answer, while another suggests they guide you on a journey.
Master Raj: So, the first voice is like a cynic, doubting happiness comes from reading?
Ms. Devi: (Nods) Perhaps. But the second voice, more poetic, suggests books help you find the answers within yourself.
Master Raj: It's not about the books themselves, but what they awaken in you? Like a spark?
Ms. Devi: Precisely! The quote says, "What you need is in you," like the sun and stars. Books act as a compass, helping you navigate to that inner light.
Master Raj: Interesting. A history tome might not make you happy, but it could ignite your curiosity about a specific era.
Ms. Devi: Indeed! Or a sad novel might not bring joy, but it could lead you to a deeper understanding of your emotions.
Master Raj: So, books are conversation starters? They make you think about what's already inside you?
Ms. Devi: A wonderful way to view it, Master Raj. They create a dialogue between the text, your ideas, and even other readers sharing their interpretations.
Master Raj: Wow, I never considered books like that before. Thank you, Ms. Devi!
Ms Devi: My pleasure, Master Raj. Remember, the most valuable books challenge your notions and set you thinking.
Sky looks, at this eventide, like an ocean of rainbows.
Has the almighty sprinkled his bright-dark contract of his sum aggregation of the entirety of everything and caboodle of his wholeness thickly on this evening canvas?
Birds fly beneath the skies like black jets with red-moon shine.
Are dust and broken pieces of the heavenly rainbows spread over hills and valleys? Grass clusters and meadows of multiple bouquet blossoms seem to say amen to the almighty moving and dwelling within the gentle breeze that carries him over mountains, seas, and oceans.
Herders walk their herds back to their byres and feed them with fodder and quench their thirst with feed-mixed tonic water.
Cocks and hens have entered their coops and have started closing their eyes as though in Zen meditation.
Hustles and bustles of the huts and corteges rise and fall like low and high pitches of harmonious concerts and slowly come to an end as kids start dosing their eyes and stop crying.
With my close-knit small family, I relish and nourish the simple supper prepared by million hands from the east, west, north, and south of my nation and brought to my table by the agape-filled affection of my family bond.
My heart enters in its inner shrines of conscience and consciousness and gently unites with the eternal spirit dwelling therein and lay on the laps of lady night with a loving lullaby of Pasithea, Huina, Nyx, and Nidra Devi, the goddesses of sleep.
cherubim movements
spirits, saints, and angels sail
peace in pinnacle
An elderly man I knew ,
( who had no issue)
about fifty years ago
was well known among the local
and neighbouring residents
for his knowledge of the native pantheon,
evil spirits, and ghosts .
Often he conducted rituals
to ward off the ghosts and evil spirits
from the homes and
individuals possessed by them
and to cure people of the illnesses
primarily attributed to sacrilege.
One day, his wife fell ill;
yet, he did not call doctors,
but performed traditional rituals,,
sought guidance from the deities
in his somber dreams.
Of no avail ,
she died after prolonged illness.
But he did not grieve for long.
"What can we the humans do
if God already destined her fate ? “
he asked.
The old man lived a long life,
cared for by a close relative.
He never consulted a doctor
nor took pharmaceutical drugs,
as he did not have faith
in their medical efficacy or sanctity.
(The poem dramatised under the title FAITH, PAIN( Latter rechristened as Thajabagi Cheina) by People's Arts and Dramatic Association ,and directed by Laishram Randhoni Devi was the Second Best play in the Creative Directors' Short Play Competition 2022 organised by THEATER CENTER under the aegis of SANGEET NATAK ACADEMY,NEW DELHI.In all the play won seven different awards.Among the notable awards are Best,Director,Best Actor,Best Actress and Best Script etc.)
You are the earth and you are the mother
You are my Durga - you can multi-tusk
Of your children, let me be the father
You work really hard, from dawn to dusk
You are my Durga - you can multi-tusk
You play so many roles - in daily chore
You work really hard, from dawn to dusk
Raising children, doing your job and more
You play so many roles - in daily chore
Mother, teacher, daughter, friend, wife and all
Raising children, doing your job and more
You are present - at every beck and call
Mother, teacher, daughter, friend, wife and all
You are perfect in each role you perform
You are present - at every beck and call
Let's worship Durgas and make it a norm
You are perfect in each role you perform
Of your children, let me be the father
Let's worship Durgas and make it a norm
You are the earth and you are the mother
08.03.16
Durga is the principal form of the Goddess, also known as Devi and Shakti in Hinduism. Durga the mahashakti, the form and formless, is the root cause of creation, preservation and annihilation.
My dedication on International Women's Day.
(10 syllables per line)