Long Eagle Poems
Long Eagle Poems. Below are the most popular long Eagle by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Eagle poems by poem length and keyword.
I was once told that "THERE IS HOPE BEYOND EVERY STRUGGLE"
Sometimes, I doubt those words & I wonder
I've been struggling all these years
But I couldn't find hope anywhere here
Every time I approached her, she flapped her wings & flew so high
Arms stretched out - but..... I couldn't reach her because I was so shy
The talents I have, the opportunities, the potential in me
All gone down the drain because i was too timid
I kept all those in a little box waiting for a miracle
Without realizing that all along- Hope was standing on the sideline cheering me on with a high pitched whistle but
She's invisible
A little voice in my head says "You can do it" but when?
I just wanna give out all that I have
Poems after poems after poems all kept in a drawer
I was too narrow minded thinking that was my last straw
HOPE whispered again "you gotta have patience in order to reach me"
You won't lose me coz I'm buried deep within
HOPE !! I'm starting to give up !!
Don't you feel sorry for me? Or is is that my struggle isn't enough?
Now I'm feeling like an expectant mother waiting for delivery
The pain is just unbearable, I just can't take it
But somewhere in me deep down
I believe that you're around
So there comes a time when I gained my self possession
I took out that lil box and opened it with so much affection
This time - HOPE was right by my side
She gave me new wings to be able to fly high
Oh! my gosh- the view from up here is amazing
The feeling I have right now is just ecstatic
Hope made me hopeful enough to be able to hope again
I could no longer keep up the masquerade
I guess I've been imprisoned long enough in a world called the comfort zone
It trapped me so hard making me feel alone
Well, I don't wanna hang around there anymore
Coz the Eagle in me is now ready to soar.
There is a knowing without name
that rises with the wind
I have seen it in the eagle’s wings,
in the silence held within
the sky it does not question.
It rises through the open air,
on vast and patient wings,
held aloft by unseen currents
that only freedom brings.
It does not beg the sky for place
the sky already knows;
it parts the wind with quiet strength
where only courage goes.
It rests upon the highest limb,
unbowed, serene, aware,
its bearing neither loud nor forced,
but sovereign in the air.
Its head is held in ancient pride,
not born of boast or claim,
but of a lineage carried deep
a knowing without name.
Its eyes reflect the endless blue,
yet see beyond the seen;
they hold the memory of the earth,
of all that’s been between.
It is the eagle
keeper of the heights,
a silent witness to the land,
to days and restless nights.
It gathers all beneath its wings
not out of need, but grace;
a guardian not by conquest,
but by presence and by place.
It shows the pride of those who stand
with roots both strong and true,
who walk the ground with steady steps
yet hold a higher view.
The eagle does not speak of pride
it lives it, breath by breath;
in every rise, in every fall,
in life, in change, in death.
It sees what many turn from still,
what few will dare to face
the quiet truth of who we are
when stripped of time and place…
a knowing without name.
In the Druid tradition an inspired Bard was said to possess "bird's knowledge." Druid shamans would dress in cloaks of bird feathers to perform certain ceremonies, and divination would be practiced by observing the flight of birds. In trance, the Druid would enlist the aid of his bird spirit-ally to fly to other realms, or would transform himself into a bird on the inner planes to accomplish a certain task. Each type of bird represents different qualities, evokes different experiences, and has different gifts for the Druid: the eagle brings renewal, the wren humility, the swan grace, the raven initiation. The hawk, whether kite, harrier, merlin, goshawk, or sparrowhawk, can give nobility and stature, dignity and pride. I once heard that a Cherokee shaman had to turn into a hummingbird in order to find the lost tobacco seed, in their mythology, it was brought to them by the hummingbird.
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I entered paradise through the elaborate crevices in my mind
Meditation was the door to the place I had never visited before
I entered a forest and was overwhelmed by the jungle canopies.
The infinite sky was blurred by the overhanging leaves
There is beauty in your psyche
Silence blanketed any semblance of my emptiness
hyper vigilant to the wilderness
my ballet soled shoes touched upon the leafy cushioned path
I found myself kneeling with my finger tips cupped at a glistening pond
Experienced the one and only moment of inner peace
I looked over to my right, and saw a tiger drinking beside me in the moonlight
His wide eyes bore into mine as his sand paper tongue dipped into the surface like a quill to
ink
the droplets of liquid silver dripped from his cheeks
It was a moment of compassion, serenity, and harmony
Guardian of tranquility
I acknowledge the gift of insight my brain has concocted today
Shift on my yoga mat, prepare to get lost once again by the power of my thoughts
Inhale, and exhale..
Inhale and exhale
Until my breathing becomes a vehicle
Or rather a spaceship To that fantasy
I am the only adventurer
That has ever ventured to this place
My mission to find my spirit guide
Is my only purpose as my instructor states
Entering the dark entrance to a cave
I called upon my inner conscience asking it what it wants from me
I struggled to concoct the form of it’s shape
It twisted and contorted
From a rabbit to a snake
All the meanwhile the smokey spirals fought to embody imagery of my soul
To a dog, and an eagle
Finally it collapsed into a vaporous heap
And rose from the smoldering grave as a neon techni-colored fireless Phoenix mythical bird
It told me to love myself always
And I would be happy here on earth.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAwoxOpnN7g
Unceasing peace and calm arriving on the wings of twilight
brushed hymns quietly strung on golden harps by heaven's
mezzanine:
Plush dreams luxurious and velvety, such as the evening light
yielding and pliable, like your breath, breathing gauzy inhales
and exhales, on its own accord...
Interplanetary steps taken through the milky way
everyone is welcome here in this paradise of old, we are inlay
to the falling brooks and waterfall emotions , we are humans
soaring higher then the eye can see
Like the eagle and the hawk, we too can perch on new heights
lay down and caress the lofty mountains and the green green grass
We can fly like the butterfly nice and slow setting the skies aglow
We are amateurs of life, newborn souls babies in the milk of mother
regardless of our age, here we are eternally taken by the beauty
and the splendor that revives us, time and time again.
Begin your journey with one step and see where it takes you
my friend, Namaste !
Natives, Adivasi, however we identify them,
They were there before we came, and took over their land from them,
We used them, displaced them, put a dagger of pain in their hearts,
They only shed tear of grief, which were not even allowed to come out of their heart.
The aboriginal people from ancient jungle,
They danced in peacock feathers decorated attire,
They played flute and played drums on beat,
Men and women performed circle wave dances on the beat.
The nearby hills, they worshipped, made an ascent,
Taught the virtues of difficulties in life’s ascent,
The hill’s highest peaks, like ambitions in life, were over which only an eagle can fly,
Were dwarfed by the airplanes which now can fly.
They work as day labor, bare feet in scorching summer heat,
In the land rich with abundant minerals of all sort,
The putush flower and mango blossoms were abundant in past,
Now noise of cars, population have overtaken the beauty of past.
Now they have their own state, freedom for all, Adivasis and outsiders,
They still long for their beloved land, snatched and built to house others,
They got measly compensation, no one to shed a tear of grief,
A dagger of pain, a tear of grief.
Adivasi – the original people
All you have to do is swoop down in front of a grade school, grab up a kindergarten student, and fly off.
This will strike terror in everyone, my commander told me. He laughed at my surprised look.
It is Halloween, he told me. You can drop the child in a soft pile of hay or something.
Did you get your assignment? My mother asked. Yes, I say, and it beats dormitory nest cleanings.
Maybe it is a test my bunkmate cautioned me, as I confided in him, my qualms about it and everything.
Maybe if you do it, you will get recycled and have to re-start your entire training, he adds.
I get a follow up call at noon. Here is the name of the grade school, my commander tells me. Be there by three.
I am high in the sky when I see the little ones running out of the school toward mamas and papas in cars, and nasty-looking school bus drivers.
Some of these people look pretty intense. Those bus drivers might be armed. I have heard of this.
Hey, there is a little one the devil inside me says. She has broken off from the line, she might be easy to grab.
Pretty soon I am sitting on a high perch, looking at an empty school yard, a complete failure.
Mission incomplete.
Waiting to be recycled.
The call does not come.
I do not get a recommendation or a medal
I received my Eagle flying lesson completion mission yesterday.
Apparently as a final test, I was supposed to argue with a superior officer.
He gave me two chances, remember? Once in person, and once on the phone.
I was too scared to do it though.
If you have served, you will understand.
The streets of solitude is a place in the mind
where rippling water flows
and the wings of butterflies are painted with serenity
to float on mists of air
it's where music is felt in my soul
as I travel the terrestrial path
towards the twilight of tranquility
seeking the peaceful spaces
to free my mind from this world of confusion
it's the soft grass I chose to lay on
that line the rippling stream
allowing my eyes to touch the celestial body
as my imagination soars to the Eagle Nebula
where stars are formed from the pillars of creation
far from human foibles and follies
where I can release my soul to find isolation
from this spinning ball called Earth
it's where I can be alone in solitude
When i close my eyes
To follow Scotland's coast
I am so undecided
To which part i love the most
From the Shetland Isles
To the Borders so green
These vistas of miles
Really have to be seen
The Isle of Arran
And the Island of Mull
To the Minch of Lewis
I fly with the seagulls
When you go inland
Crystal waters run through the glens
Have seen the rise and fall
Of many, many men
As you walk round our cities
In history so steep
The tales of the past
Would make a grown man weep
Every so often
As i close my eyes
I soar with the eagle
Through our Scottish skies
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-2.php
Wild as ivy vines climbing up pines,
in the outskirts of nature
where mountain lions purr,
my lungs expand like the open land.
Breathing in peace, as rippling as a creek,
watching an eagle snatch up salmon,
I witness the cycle of life: unkind but providing.
Abiding upon a log bench, quenched
with dampened sun, dappled by branch shadows,
trickled with yesterday's torrential rain drench,
I bathe in thankfulness for abundance.
Smoked venison smothered with forged morels
satisfies my wild senses, with plenty to share.
Cares become lost in uncharted territory,
flung to the wild winds, blown like dust
settling upon lawn-like leaves
where fungi's forestry teeth eat them like treats.
3-21-2020
Wild Country Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward