Long Embodies Poems
Long Embodies Poems. Below are the most popular long Embodies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Embodies poems by poem length and keyword.
According to Chinese medicine, each of the 5 elements
wood, fire, earth, metal, and water, have a corresponding season.
We are a living, breathing, embodiment of nature & the world around us,
Intimately tied to the seasons and their influences.
Aside from spring, summer, fall, & winter, we have the 5th season.
The hidden 5th season doesn’t split the year into 5 equal parts,
it is a season within a season.
The mysterious 5th season of Chinese medicine is late summer,
or the last 6 weeks of summer, from about August 5th to September 21st
By early August, the intense whirlwind of summer is fading, time to put our feet back on the ground and reorient a bit to the practicalities of life.
The crops have grown all spring & summer and time seems to stand still for a bit while we enjoy the fruits of our labor over the last two seasons.
The late summer season corresponds to earth element that embodies this grounded, stable time.
Knowing about the 5th season is a great way to connect with nature and ourselves, this time of year.
November 2, 2022
Is it more insane
to long to grow away from prisons
than to feel we still belong imprisoned?
Are we already prisoners,
lacking images for liberties
and co-arising responsibilities,
of a re-embodied god?
Are we divine authorities
to remake humanity
in our own god and goddess incarnations
free of body limiting imaginations?
Could we imagine
a YHWH who embodies Earth,
cosmologically evolving through spacetime,
revolving
spiraling dense and complex octaves
of color as resonant scales of sound,
fragrance within redundant seasons
of FatherSpace suns and black star-caves
passing through MotherTime valleys and waves?
Imagine we are stardust
coming to see ourselves
as we might bust
hard thrust
know lust
grow trust
blow truth
speak sooth,
unfortunately rust,
imaging ourselves
through redefining us
across healthing regenerations.
Are we less insane
longing our way from prison
belonging free
without cancerously capital-investing cells?
Punishment spells?
BigDaddy will swell
if we tell
I am
where we are;
We are
where we belong.
I can't cower
if you think that's wrong
I can only sing
how god wrote my song.
And I can only dance
where Allah could best prance strong.
And we can only breathe
what TaoTime finds notnot
too double-binding long.
I think I would be wrong
to imprison what longs
to virally throng.
Aren't we more insane
stuck in retribution's prison
when god cries out for peace
restoring Earth's freedom
from FalsePatriotic lies,
paternalism fried,
too many species
and future generations
of sacred Time's regeneration
already died.
If only we had tried
a little less LeftBrain secular crazy
and a lot less RightBrain sacred lazy
Is it less insane
to long to stay in prison
than to know we don't belong
imprisoned
or enslaved
to insanity ourselves?
Just as light moves through darkness,
Not the other way around,
So health moves through my mind
Into every region of my body.
Just as blood reaches my limbs,
Nourishing and refreshing tissues,
So enlightened thought travels
Into every molecule of my self.
Just as dawn arrives each morning,
Not because I travel to it,
But because the earth I inhabit
Has turned beneath me while I slept,
So freedom comes rising in my limbs,
Lifting cell by cell the power of life
Into the full shining radiance of love
Given to me again each morning.
Just as the universe of dark emptiness
embodies regions where light travels
Undeterred, so among the atoms
Of my body freedom flows,
Releasing energies unimaginable to me
But ever-present in the makeup
Of my boundless mind ... itself
Made up of universes undiscovered.
Now I see what never occurred to me,
Fields of light effortlessly reaching
Everywhere I have feelings, everywhere
I can consider who I am.
Now the morning rises in my body
And my self: my mind yields up
The light and wisdom that I give
To myself and every creature.
I am not the slave of feelings,
Nor the instrument of pain:
Divinity plays all my stops and strings
With melodies heard everywhere I go.
I am not suffering. Suffering is itself,
A thing apart, a dream, however real it seem,
Still a dream from which I waken,
Because I am the new morning
Of my every upspringing thought,
Upsurging yet serene, to which darkness
Must yield, before which, pain must fly,
Leaving me untouched, unconfused, unfazed,
Remembering only who I always was:
The image and the likeness of that light
That brought me here so that everyone might
Clearly see what and who they always are.
Christopher M. Swan 2009
The dry stems of lonesome grape vines of vivacity,
painfully curled and rooted frozen,
entwining the desiccated verdant veins,
sway chilled in the winter wind of desolation.
As the winter departs on the wings of northern winds,
in the harsh whisper of the frozen air
the frost-fastened vines hear,
“wait, you’ll listen the sweet music soon,
don’t despair, the serenading southern breeze
will embrace you with mauve melody”.
The ingrained violet lattice morphs in spring
into a mystical mirror of veracity
with the ingrained sheen of actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of the hued spirit,
rinsed with the suppressed velvet shine
of the distinctive spectral disposition it embodies.
The branches flutter with the emerald wings,
nascent boughs look up with budding fruits to the sun,
draping them with the patina of violet verve.
On the cadenced flow of the joyous zephyr
the lilac luster finds the chromatic course,
trailed by the beguiled butterflies,
flittering on the rhythmic waves of violet rhapsody
in the vineyard of succulent yearning
where the scarlet sky once splashed on you
the elfin hues of longing you‘ve lost.
As your ivory fingers tenderly pluck the grapes
you feel the essence of the violet shadows
you envelop secretly within your purple dreams.
Black Sea of Hate**
I find myself unwilling to immerse myself in your vast and tumultuous black sea of hate.
It’s essential to recognize that nobody enters this world with a broken soul; rather, we gradually acquire our scars and wounds as we journey through life. You emerged into this existence seemingly unblemished, free from wrongdoing, carrying all the innocence and purity that childhood embodies.
I refuse to take a seat at your opulent table, elegantly adorned with linens that gleam as white as the untouched blanket of snow that covers Monsanto Lake in winter.
I will not take part in your extravagant offerings!
Your gleaming Gorham silverware, beautifully crafted, hangs like clusters of luscious grapes on a mountain vine. Still, I find no desire to swim in your murky waters or dine at your table filled with animosity.
The children raised beside the Black Sea are being indoctrinated to despise those who guide them, including the priests who should inspire compassion.
Meanwhile, in distant northern streets, children’s blood stains the pavement, a tragic reminder of violence, while politicians indulge in their lavish lifestyles, enjoying dinners that cost as much as $2,000 a plate, devoid of any awareness of the suffering around them.
The question looms: who is truly guarding the gates of hell? The world of politics is indeed a chaotic and savage arena, where the innocent often pay the price for the games that power plays with their lives.
Zest expresses definitions beyond our own understanding
If we could validate the word passcode we would acsend to Heaven
Forever embodies the suggestion that the cruel suffer more in Enternity
Lowered from The Roof in a Wheel chair by younger men
A man full off sorrow saw he was recovered and restored to his sanity
The man who saw this was was called His first born
Concerning a forgeiner we all on forgein land if we are sent from Heaven
Sorgeining upon this forsaken land the Force we carry is is of The Mighty One
Polluting no mans grave but looking forward to his resurrection
The source of the unfortunates ones disgrace and desitution
Jahova is The Glorious One now Suddenly we prepare ourselves for another battle
The portion He gives to us all is according to His Mercy
More does one suffer when he is overtooken
AS best as we can we must depend on His Mercy
As so be it when one is left for dead who can ever save you
The thorn is the crown Of HIS Head you would do well if you never try to strike it
This country is torn apart by war for it is the one who disdained Him
Understanding is often gaven to those who seek Virtue
Questioned but not overlooked is a man who gains his lost possessions
Vengences belongs to Him so I remain a trusted servant
Wasteing no time blessing all of His other servants
Wise all you are if you have heard me
A scarlet sun silently sinks from sight,
as sullied clouds morph into a pink shroud.
Shadows and silhouettes are still allowed,
barely discernible in the moonlight.
And as a liquid moon pools in the night,
Luna peeks through layers of misty cloud.
And the sound of chirping crickets grows loud,
till they are hushed by the absence of light.
Hanging under a chandelier of stars,
Luna embodies elegance and grace:
a wizened sprite, smiling down from above.
And dreamers try catching moonbeams in jars
as fantasies and wishes interlace;
fueled by feelings of being in love.
Fred Astaire was king of tap
Biggie Smalls was huge in rap
Carson (Johnny)ruled TV
Dylan’s songs are poetry
Elvis made the girls all swoon
Frank Sinatra loved to croon
Greta Garbo hid from sight
Hitchcock gave us all a fright
Isaac Hayes’ voice dips low
Johnny Depp steals every show
Kenny G can blow that sax
Larry David can’t relax
Michael Jackson changed his face
Norah Jones embodies grace
Oscar Wilde wrote books and plays
Peter Falk had piercing gaze
Quincy Jones finds music stars
Raitt (That's Bonnie) rocks guitars
Sally Field lights up the screen
Tony Kushner nails each scene
Uma Thurman makes men drool
Viggo’s talented and cool
William Shatner’s still around
Xin Xin Xiong in films is found
Yoko Ono married John
Zach Braff’s big on Amazon
All this talent, A to Z
Keeps us entertained, agree?
for Cyndi MacMillan's ABC Couplet contest
Only sound, early in the morn is the keyboard
The quiet opens my brain and body
To the awareness to all that it can afford
Any sound like the ringing in my ears that embodies
My every waking thought and is irritating
It would be nice if it would just go away.
Nature, cooking, listening to music keeps it from grating
Sometimes I wish it would leave forever and stay
Life, though, is not always that easy
Wishes most of the time don't get answered
Problems mostly are not solved breezy
And wishes go unanswered.
God knows, hears our prayers and He always answers
Sometimes it is with a yes, sometimes a no, sometimes maybe and sometimes it is wait
I close my eyes
to the sweet serenity of rain's passage;
bare my face to the heavens
as the wispy travelers of the sky
unleash their torrents upon me.
The wind the storm brings with it,
tailored to sweep me away;
to bless me with those
drops of water sent to earth –
baptise me in the nectar of the firmament.
No finer dream could I ask for,
than one as ephemeral and as majestic
as the reality of laughing in the rain –
no truer testament to my soul
might I ever find.
I search, evermore, for the pairing;
for that one who will stride with me
through sheets of driving rain,
and want simply to dance –
for whoever she may be, she embodies heaven.
But even should I never find her,
may I also never despair –
for I have already met my maiden fair.
She draws breath from the clouds
and greets me with a smile on my face.