Long Distil Poems
Long Distil Poems. Below are the most popular long Distil by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Distil poems by poem length and keyword.
Each cock that crows in the morning
mourns the death of dusk.
The silent sunrise reminds sages of the
reality of human mortality.
Thirsty, mother-earth drinks the teardrops
from the soiled skies;
ever hungry, the garden feasts on feeble leaves
from trees in autumn;s wake.
Each new moment dances with radiant rays,
only to be nailed on a nocturnal cross
when shadows betides.
Every being with blood and breath
entered a pact with vanity before birth;
Human existence is a sacred script
scribed with an invisible ink...
writing nothing on something.
The reality of yesterday
cannot rid today of its obscurity,
uncertainty sweetly sleeps in the
womb of... time to come,
time and chance melt into memories,
memories that roam in the human mind.
Years, months and days distil
into sweet and sorry stories.
Moments is what life offers us
on a platter of preference:
a time to live and a time to leave
this world of wealth and want;
seasons stop by to sigh--
weather whispers words of wisdom.
we are who we are; the earth
exists in spaces and stratas.
The sinking sand on which we stand
is willing and waiting,
it will take nothing from us
but that which we cannot afford:
Nothing but the dignified dust that we are.
I know two mindless weights
that make all things equal:
Twenty-four-hours-a-day and
six-feet under mother-earth.
Alas, there are two dates not
hidden from the lustful gaze of fate:
when the womb opens the
narrow gate to human existence
and when the tomb opens wide
the gate to extinction… afterlife.
There is going to be a word on the marble
that we will not live to write or read,
Yet it will be a concise piece of our deeds;
all what we wrote on life.
Time and chance will knock again
and again on the door of destiny;
So, cloister your memoir with courtesy
while you yet live in this frail field.
Only few men crave the den of darkness,
dust and ashes, but it is the truth is
that all men will run into it at a point in time;
There is a time to be born
and a time to bid life farewell,
Twain moments that sandwich the opportunity
...to live for humanity or live in mediocrity.
Adeleke Adeite © September, 2012.
Sponsor SKAT A
Contest Name free verse (old/new)
Contest Description
1 original, poem on the theme of ......free verse .......
Any form is acceptable.
Thoughts melt and distil under a green/blue flame,
Swirling down, separated out and mixed.
If you’ve seen it, it’s broken;
If you’ve heard it, it’s shredded;
If you’ve read it, it’s rewritten.
It's really quite unlikely to be fixed.
You’re cutting up holiday snaps
and pasting them onto card.
And you’re scrambling madly
to hide the mess on the floor
As your mum yells for cleanliness
From behind your bedroom door.
3001 puzzle pieces and you’re jamming them together,
No wonder your imagination is at the end of its tether.
You’ve got two pieces that are sun-kissed clouds
“What comes… what comes next?”
You’ve got two roots in the soil
“What comes… what comes next?”
Your mother is sitting in the hall
With a scarf tied round her neck,
Her back pressed up against the wall
As she deals the jigsaw deck.
3001 pieces in her hands,
Mixed with childhood drawings
And grains of sand.
She lays out seven in a line,
Which you place between the two and two.
“Oh, but that and that won’t rhyme!”
“Don’t you think that this one will just do?”
And your father’s disapproving in the kitchen,
“You don’t need no occult nonsense,
Or a system to order out your brain”
He just stands there “focussed”
Over a pot on a blue/green flame,
Subconsciously mumbling while stooped,
“Look here Son, look, I’m making poa-tery soup.”
But you would never tell him that,
Just like you’ll never be finished, ever.
No-one ever is
Even if they know they’re doing it or not.
My grandfather died last week,
The sourest stuck-in-a-rut-of-a-man
That you’re ever going to meet.
The diagnosing doctors were in for a treat.
They said that there was something wrong there,
Something wrong with his brain,
That there was something strange there
Fundamentally, main.
They said that he died - after scans - in a cubicle stall,
When his brain haemorrhaged and cracked open,
And jigsaw pieces piled up against the wall.
(Bal-e-Jibril-151) Javed Iqbal Ke Naam:
(On receiving first letter of Javed Iqbal(Late Son of Dr Allama Iqbal) in London)
https://youtu.be/jGv1lCDjHEk
Senior Justice Javed Iqbal (5 October 1924 – 3 October 2015) was a Pakistani philosopher and senior justice of the Supreme Court of Pakistan. He was internationally known for his acclaimed publications on philosophy of law and modern Islamic philosophy in international and national journals.
He was the son of the poet-philosopher Dr. Muhammad Allama Iqbal, who inspired the Pakistan Movement. Javed authored various books on Pakistan's nationalism movement and political ideology. Apart from philosophy, Javed had a prolific career in the Judiciary of Pakistan and was a former Chief Justice of the Lahore High Court before being elevated to the Supreme Court. He received the Hilal-i-Imtiaz Award in 2004.
1.Diyar-e-Ishq Mein Apna Maqam Paida Kar
Naya Zamana, Naye Subah-o-Sham Paida Kar
Build in love’s empire your hearth and your home;
Build Time a new, a new dawn, a new eve!
2.Khuda Agar Dil-e-Fitrat Shanas De Tujh Ko
Sakoot-e-Lala-o-Gul Se Kalaam Paida Kar
Your speech, if God give you the friendship of Nature,
From the rose and tulip’s long silence weave.
3.Utha Na Sheesha Garan-e-Farang Ke Ehsan
Sifal-e-Hind Se Meena-o-Jaam Paida Kar
No gifts of the Franks’ clever glass-bowers ask!
From India’s own clay mould your cup and your flask.
4.Main Shakh-e-Taak Hun, Meri Ghazal Hai Mera Samar
Mere Samar Se Mai-e-Lala Faam Paida Kar
My songs are the grapes on the spray of my vine;
Distil from their clusters the poppy-red wine!
5.Mera Tareeq Ameeri Nahin, Faqeeri Hai
Khudi Na Baich, Ghareebi Mein Naam Paida Kar!
The way of the hermit, not fortune, is mine;
Sell not your soul! In a beggar’s rags shine.
Kalam e Iqbal(Answer to First Letter of Son of Dr. Allama Iqbal By Himself).
Translated by Aliza Kashmala Kiran.
It takes a long time
To figure out if things went right
To find out if you did what was best
If you passed all those unknown test
An perfect life doesn't exist
Parenthood involves to many variables
Of which you cannot control
It is not easy raising a child
From preconception through to life
It is a hazardous journey
That is often thankless
With pitfalls everywhere
With no knowledge of how
Parent and child will interact
It is a game of trial and error
The books and classes you attend
Only generalize
The reality of birth upends
All perceived and expectant sureties
Navigating the pains of birth
The tantrums of toddler-hood
The blasé attitude of teenage
And the un-forgetfulness of adulthood
Is not a relaxing journey
Both sides will often end up worst for wear
Bundles of joy can become
Vessels that distil all unsure steps
A learning process involves
Souring minds exposed
To overpowering parenting
Or insufficient love
Nurturing the person who now hates
Can only make one sad
Time doesn’t play fair
It doesn’t allow a rethink
Or a reliving of the past
So wrongs can be made right
Life is tough when you raise the next generation
You expect happiness but reality
Never quite hits the target of perfection
Is it best to just love and hope
Things won’t destroy you
And the child that looks up you?
Good poetry is like an Old Master
Crafted with expert skill imbued with soul
No abstracted throwaway disaster
Or a bland undistinguished casserole
Of poor ingredients cooked up faster
And deposited in the toilet bowl
No, it should stimulate the appetite
And explode in the mind like dynamite
Good poetry should stand the test of time
Like great art it should make your spirit soar
Made memorable by structure and by rhyme
Utilizing simile, metaphor
Allegory and precise words that chime
Never should its contents the reader bore
Linking thoughts and ideas that one can quote
More than just a run-of-mill anecdote
Good poetry conveys thoughts in a way
That prose cannot - however full of wit
As a good photo brilliant in its way
Rarely reveals the person who took it
But a crafted poem - like a Monet
Should bear its creator’s mark and transmit
A recognition of the poet’s style
Whether it’s limited or versatile
Good poetry is like a single malt
Aged in a golden sherry cask of oak
With which a connoisseur can find no fault
Redolent of heather and peaty smoke
So, any poets worthy of their salt
Should let thoughts marinate, mature and soak
And distil them once, twice or even thrice
Before serving neat sans water or ice
I wished to ascend,
so I called a friend,
who knew of such things
and how to grow wings.
‘God’s abode’s within’,
he said, ‘so begin,
by simply choosing,
head and heart, fusing’.
‘Each impulse distil,
aligned with His will’.
So I set out thus,
aboard God’s love bus.
I reached heaven’s gate
and there chose to wait,
for the gate was locked,
so I stood there docked.
A voice then affirmed
that I’d have discerned,
the gate’s my ego,
which I must forgo.
Once there’s no blockage
and no desires rage,
cleansed of every sin,
I may then walk in.
I cowered in fear,
for my life was dear.
What’s left, if I die?
Is heaven, a lie?
Conscience egged me on,
ego shorn, reborn,
the false dropped away;
I saw then God’s play!
I was living light,
shining day and night.
The gate was but thought,
fears, ego begot.
The manifest world,
but intent unfurled,
to know all are one,
each being God’s son.
Life’s a lucid dream,
where thought forms do stream.
To exit this game,
simply take God’s name.
The rot’s sunk in deep.
How long will we sleep?
There’s no gate, dear friend.
Vaporise! Ascend!
23-June-2022
One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Syllables: HMS
“may refining consciousness layer by layer
be our pristine childlike heart’s, breath by breath prayer”
~ quote by poet
Caged in feeble form, our odyssey began,
with memory erased, enslaved by senses
and confused by mind, yet the soul said we can
live in the present and not in past tenses,
so slowing down thought flow, we started to scan
cause of angst, demolishing ego fences.
Looking within, our awareness self-aware,
we laid in the vast void, our childlike heart bare.
Befriending silence was no easy cakewalk,
since we were unable to keep our mind still,
with demons of fear continuing to stalk,
so maintaining vigil, we tried to distil
desires arising in heart, that seemed to block
descent of grace, needing surrendering will.
Upon recognising we’re not the doer,
we then relinquished delusions of grandeur.
Our shift into silence invoked magnetism,
felt vividly within as rapture of bliss,
known by touch, distanced from each and every ism,
which in simple words, is Divine Mother’s kiss,
igniting from head to toe, mind-body prism;
feeling of completeness, with nothing amiss.
This odyssey, a journey to merge with God,
reveals the light of Self, leaving presence awed.
Earth life struggle, soul choice made by free will
Facing turbid winds, inhospitable
Challenges shapen us, upon the anvil
Until love enabled, consciousness stable
With clear light veiled, in this form we stumble
Weary from suffering, that makes us ill
We seek joy and freedom but unable
Earth life struggle, soul choice made by free will
Fears deepen darkness, a cold, clammy chill
In despair, we look to old parables
Seeking an exit from this life downhill
Facing turbid winds, inhospitable
Look not to heavens, for a miracle
Desire the devil, stagnation evil
Flowing like the breeze, make this life simple
Challenges shapen us, upon the anvil
Oh hermit! Know that our heart, love instils
Abide in silence, not mind that babbles
With a mindful eye, each impulse distil
Until love enabled, consciousness stable
Dwelling in the void, ego disable
Delighting each moment, in joyful thrill
Life a play, not a puzzle to juggle
Cessation allows joy to overspill
Earth life struggle, soul choice
01-March-2021
Written for: Rondeau Redouble- Life's Struggles- Challenge - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
(10 syllables per line checked on PS; refrain 5 words, as specified)
Beyond midnight her tears distil,
burnishing the valley between
her height of hope and depth of pain;
till dusky waves awash her dawn.
From whence comes these soldiers?
pure grapes trodden under the feet of fate...
before her eyes the moon did melt,
and cloudy wind gave rise to warmth.
The whirlwind blew away her bole,
her fountain flows still for her child,
the looming death defaced all her calm hours
and spoiled the night, hotly, in haste.
Would God that she had immunized
her baby before the whirlwind roared.
The stars are speechless tonight,
the voice of the night lost its luster
the tears of her grief splashes like raindrops,
on the huts of ages long gone...without rooftops.
The spirits came knocking at the door;
the walls are broken, the keys are safe.
Her child like autumn leaves fell from its bole;
and swept away by the cold hands of candle-light.
O the beauty of vanity, the glory of mortality!
strength and faith fail the strong and mighty...
twilight trails the terrain of the tough and tender,
leaving the mark of pleasure, pain and passion;
unspoken, unheard yet seen in the sands of times.
He sits with his head upon his hands
His eyes are red
And water that glued the sands
Sun sucked, slithered from the sandy bed
His thoughts are the hourglass
Grains of meaning mincing away
His castle was the sheltered pass
Tomorrow in today decay.
The officer who came to the door
Polite as an exterior of class
Knocked his ego to the floor
Set his emotions to tinder like grass
Dry as the cinders of his life:
It was she who picked up the knife
She who wanted out as wife
So many things unspoken, so much rife
And he cannot own that argument again
He lost in the public sphere
While he was at the war enduring pain
Treason was a shift of change here.
The officer asked him if he had somewhere
To go ... leaving the house his hands built
He wandered through the cold night air
Racked by conscience alternating guilt.
Then here ... to sit and muse alone
Rejecting interventions of the court
To share what was his own
He relinguished property and support
Except from the sweet distil of fruit
And wanders between the staggering eye
Victim of an altered truth
Forgotten mortal under infallible sky.