Long First light Poems
Long First light Poems. Below are the most popular long First light by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long First light poems by poem length and keyword.
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes.
there will be no more death or mourning or
crying or pain, for the old order of things has
passed away. Revelation 21: 4 (NIV Bible)
I AM IMMORTAL
Explode from mortal to immortal,
in one forgotten breath.
Intake of first light.
Born, through the tunnel of my despair.
First images in black and white.
Mind snaps new memories…
I’m nearly breathless, as he comes into view,
hand extended - the one pierced for my transgressions.
And funny, my heart is racing, I’m sweating…
Salty tears run down my cheeks onto my shoulders.
I’ve hit my knees, weeping, at his bare feet.
His gentle hand upon my head,
he says, “arise my child.”
I obey, and blink through torrent tears.
I don’t see, but I feel the softest cloth – like cashmere,
rub over my face, catching each tear -
not one is missed.
I hear the sound of tinkling water.
The snow white cloth, I see it now!
He wrings out the shroud, and continues to wipe away
my misery.
“Cry, my child. Let it all out.”
He speaks to me as my mother would, lilted words.
Afterward, he points to a bottle, takes out a permanent ink pen –
Oh yes, they have those in heaven!
Writes a name. I look up at him, with questioning eyes.
Someone’s name, an unknown to me has been written.
Jesus smiles.*
“I’ve named you my child.”
I instantly hear the pronunciation, and register the meaning,
which, I believe, will take me all of eternity to dissect.
How beautiful, my name rings coming from pure lips!
“Come,” he says, “come and meet your family.”
We walk together, inside open gates - pearly gates.
I feel as though I’ve entered oz!**
Vivid rainbow colors, and colors I’ve never seen before!
Happiness like chains falling off…
like heavy burdens laid aside…
like a fresh shower…
like a new found tropical waterfall…
And I see exuberant faces. I know each name,
even those I’ve never met before.
I’m treated like a bride, an assembly line that takes their time,
hugging me, kissing each cheek. You see,
I have eternity. I am immortal!
2/19/2017
*smallest verse in bible – Jesus wept (John 11:35). In eternity,
I’ve adapted mine to say, “Jesus smiles.”
**L. Frank Baum’s book Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Movie
starts out in black and white then turns to color as the
protagonist enters Oz.
In the silent corridors of the cosmos,
where whispers of ancient wisdom entwine with stardust,
lies a realm unseen by the mortal eye,
where truths, pure and untainted, float like ethereal whispers.
Literal thinking, a shadow upon the sacred light,
turns the divine into chains of superstition,
crystal-clear waters of wisdom, now murky and confined,
where once the spirit soared, now tethered and bereft.
In the twilight of understanding, where shadows breathe,
a journey begins, a river of consciousness unbound,
flowing through the valleys of forgotten lore,
where the heart's whispers are the compass true,
guiding the soul through labyrinths of light and dark.
In the dawn of creation, where the first light kissed the void,
truths whispered by the divine, gentle as morning dew,
were pure as the first breath of dawn, untainted by man's hand,
yet as they touched the soil of mortal minds,
they hardened into idols, rigid and cold,
sculpted by the chisel of literal thought.
Metaphors, the language of the soul,
once vibrant and alive, now dulled by concrete minds,
where the moon's gentle glow becomes a sterile sphere,
and the sun, no longer a celestial flame, but a mere star.
In the silent temple of the heart, where shadows and light dance,
a candle flickers, fed by the breath of the divine,
its flame a guide against the encroaching dark,
where superstition lurks, a specter in the mind.
The inspired truths are rivers, flowing free,
unbound by the dams of dogma's cold embrace,
seeking the vast ocean, the infinite expanse,
where the spirit merges with the cosmic dance,
and wisdom's light shines in every drop of time.
Oh, to break the chains of literal thought,
to see the world through the eyes of the soul,
where every leaf whispers the secrets of the cosmos,
and every star sings the songs of eternity.
In this sacred dance, where metaphor reigns supreme,
the heart finds its voice, the spirit its wings,
and the truths once perverted by the concrete mind,
become again the living breath of the divine.
So let us journey, with hearts unbound,
through the mystic realms where wisdom dwells,
and find in the dance of shadows and light,
the inspired truths that set the spirit free,
in the sacred whispers of the cosmos’s embrace,
where the eternal song of truth and love forever resounds.
Hour arrived,
Proclaiming first light,
As a shower of mellow sunbeams
Smiled on the foundation laid
For the structure of the man.
And he began to ascend.
Time fused together
An empirical patchwork,
Mirroring the passage of pain and joy,
And slowly and meticulously
Each part melded together,
As a solidarity formed,
And his very existence
Was tested,
As each piece of the puzzle
Fit into place.
And he stood invincible.
Highways ventured off
To ambiguous tributaries,
Triggering decisions to snap into place
And simultaneously causing consequences,
As he played the game of life.
Taking more risks,
He constantly hoped
All would be well,
But a shadow started to form in his mind.
And he wondered why.
The threshing of the merciless hammer
Sank to the bottomless pit of his heart,
And he postponed action for awhile,
As his shell showed the wear and tear
Of his sorrow.
Fine lines, weaker eyes, grayed hair
Landscaped his outward show,
Yet he still found laughter
In roundabout places.
And he pondered more.
Reality unhurriedly and deliberately crept in,
And the bitter truth hit him hard.
A barren emptiness pierced his structure.
Try as he may
To make it go away,
It stood its ground,
As a formidable foe,
Reigning in its scheming majesty,
As it devoured him whole.
And he trembled.
On auto drive,
Days and nights became one,
As a robotic sameness
Mocked and tormented him,
Engulfing his dreams and his hopes
For happiness and purpose.
He forgot about all the exciting possibilities
And relegated himself to a solitary confinement,
As the fissure widened.
And he suffered.
Out of the blue,
Fresh blueprints renovated his perception,
As reinforcement seemed inevitable-
Ready to strengthen his original splendor.
He liked the design
Because it reminded him of his original plan
Of magnitude
Of dignity
Of respect.
And he accepted the proposal.
Layers of veneer removed,
Revealing the beautiful pattern
Still buried within but not lifeless,
And the lights switched on,
As everyone saw who he truly was.
Admiration exceeded even his wildest imagination
As all who passed
Could not help but notice the change from within.
And he stood tall once again.
As everyone marveled
At the beautiful structure of the man
For Jennifer ( can't believe it's a year already)
Elegance and beauty, a caring heart and zest for life,
a loving mum and nanna, and of course, a perfect wife;
a very special sister, a treasured aunt and friend.
We recognised your need to rest as your days came to an end.
We shared with you such precious times, those memories will stay,
all we have to do is look, and you’ll not be far away.
Your radiance will start our day by way of dawn’s first light,
pushing back the sadness, replacing black of night.
We’ll see you in the morning dew that coats each waking leaf,
as you take away and purify all our tears of grief.
We’ll see you in the birth of spring, in blossom pink and white.
You’ll be the feisty wind that helps a child to fly his kite.
You’ll blow a little harder, to make him laugh and run,
then we’ll smile and say “she hasn’t lost her sense of fun”
You’ll cleanse us with your gentle rains to wash away our fears,
with the summer sun, you’ll warm our hearts and dry our tears.
The vibrant colours of your soul will be the woodland flowers,
you’ll be the fairy sugar plums that help us count the hours.
As autumn falls your hair will be the soft hue of the leaves,
we’ll hear your words of love as autumn breezes brush the trees.
As the depth of winter chills our fingers and our noses ,
we’ll see your fair complexion in the bloom of Christmas roses.
We’ll see you in the faces of your children as they smile,
we’ll hear you in the laughter of Chloe, Amber, Joe and Kyle;
in the lapping of the ocean waves upon the golden sand,
remembering the times you walked with Bernard, hand in hand.
We’ll see you when the evening brings the darkened skies,
each tiny diamond star lit by the sparkle of your eyes.
The soft and silver moonlight will be your gentle touch
to caress the weary faces of those you love so much.
You’ll breathe a silent lullaby that helps us all to sleep,
and as we drift into our dreams, thoughts of you are ours to keep.
*** 2 days before she died, following an unsuccessful bone marrow transplant, my beautiful
aunt asked me if I would write a poem and read it at her funeral. How could I refuse?? It
was an honour, but also one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. One year on, I miss
her so much and think of her daily.
Form:
The Hunter
(His identity and his prey)
Love is blind, deaf, dumb and stupid.
I blame it all on the imp called Cupid.
No warning shot did he let fly
Before his arrow struck the bulls eye.
The poisoned point of his little dart
Was the reason love grew inside my heart.
The toxin traveled within my veins
And held me with the strength of chains.
(The result of his hunt)
Love spread as quickly as a wildfire,
In heated flames of uncontrolled desire.
It left behind a heart that was torched,
Wounded by being burned and scorched.
I refuse to rhapsodize that love is grand
For it can disappear like words in sand.
Only a romantic fool will ever believe
Love brings only joy and no reason to grieve.
Of sad songs and tears, I've had my fill.
They've left me as cold as winter's chill.
I now sleep alone in my half empty bed.
It's the price to pay when love is dead.
No longer reason for me to linger.
He'd removed the ring from his finger.
Without hope that he'd put it back,
Our marriage was shrouded in funeral black.
From the precipice edge I began to fall,
As high as a towering castle wall.
In fear, I tumbled ever further down
And saved myself before I drowned.
Heart-wrenching, my decision to walk away,
But I could no longer risk my life to stay.
No words of sorrow would I have written
If by Cupid's arrow I'd not been smitten.
How different would be my private thoughts
If he'd not taken aim at my lonely heart.
No memories to keep me awake at night,
Or to recall upon morning's first light.
As bitter as these words may sound,
It's an honest attempt to be profound.
A reflective moment of bereaving.
A remembrance of love's deceiving.
Would I have wished I'd not been shot
And wounded by love? No, I think not.
Even though it has come to an end,
My seared heart has begun to mend.
What good is there to live with regret?
What point in wishing we'd never met?
What once was love is now in the past.
Cupid's potions don't always last.
Sometimes love brings too much pain
With more to lose than there is to gain.
Time has passed without a pause
And broken the hold of Cupid's cause.
I've taken away the hunter's quiver
Before another shot can be delivered.
Another love to tear me apart ~
Another arrow to pierce my heart.
In the twilight of our consciousness, where shadows intertwine with subtle grace,
I wander through endless corridors, seeking truths in this forsaken place.
This world, the sole reality, with all its terror and tender embrace,
Demands our love, lest we lose ourselves in imaginary space.
Through the labyrinth of thoughts, where dreams and fears entwine,
I glimpse the dismal utopias, where false hopes align.
The politicians' empty promises, like stars that cease to shine,
And the futile whispers of reward, which the misled call divine.
How can we live in a realm where terror and beauty blend,
And not surrender our hearts to this paradox without end?
For if we scorn this earthly tether, where shadows and light amend,
We fall into self-deceit, where illusions grow and bend.
In the deep valleys of our souls, where echoes of existence ring,
We must find the courage to embrace this world, its horror and its spring.
To love it in its entirety, in every tear and triumph, to cling,
For in this acceptance lies our freedom, where only truth can bring.
The utopias of the misguided are but mirages on the sand,
Promises that dissolve in time, slipping through our hand.
We must root ourselves in the present, in this tangible land,
Where terror and wonder coexist, a realm we must understand.
The religion of the future, a whisper of comforting lies,
Attempts to mask the terror, but leads to our demise.
The imaginary world, an echo that never satisfies,
Dispels the fragrant beauty that in the present flies.
In this sacred waltz of thoughts, where consciousness aligns,
I strive to love this world, with all its dark and bright designs.
To see the terror as part of life, where beauty too refines,
A place where dreams and reality, in perfect balance, combine.
Through the misty veils of day and night, where dawn's first light appears,
I walk the path of acceptance, embracing hopes and fears.
For only in loving this world, with all its pain and cheers,
Can we find our truest selves, beyond the false veneers.
So let us cherish the terror, and the beauty that it brings,
And love this world in its entirety, to the rhythm of its wings.
For in this dance of reality, where every shadow sings,
We find the essence of our being, the truth in all things.
The walls of the doctor's office
Are blue.
Blue is a color that's supposed to
Calm, to soothe.
The doctor and the nurse both have
Blue eyes.
They are telling me
About the magic pill
That will make
All of my problems
Go away...
The nurse asks,
"Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?"
I don't answer...
Not immediately.
I ask if I can answer
Next time I come back.
I'm still thinking
Of those words...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I hear-
If I hear lines in my head
Chasing eachother around
Like hallucinations,
Hear voices speaking poetry,
Is this what it means
To be schitzophrenic?
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I start speaking with a ryhthm then
To speak in iambic pantameter-
Is this like OCD behavior?-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
If I stay up all night-
Have you ever stayed up all night?
Have you ever gone outside
And sat in your backyard
At 3am and felt how... peaceful...
The darkness was- listened as
The wind whispered love songs
And watched the sky
Until the first light of dawn
Brushed the sky's cheek
With her fingers?
Did you look for words
To describe the first kiss
Of sunshine?
I've always loved
To write about
The sunrise...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry
In a month but
I still can't sleep-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I haven't written poetry
In two months, and
I don't know why-
I don't think I can,
I think-
Maybe my heart broke...
I don't care if I see
The sunrise...
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I slept for 15 hours straight
But I'm not quite sure,
It doesn't feel like I ever
Really woke up-
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I just want... to write.
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I wrote a poem today...
I wrote about the sunrise.
I've always loved to write
About the sunrise.
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
I know I probably seem
Tired at the moment;
People have been
Telling me that-
I haven't slept much
For a few days or so,
I've been writing too much
Poetry...
People keep telling me
I look so happy.
The doctor asked me
Don't you want to be
Like everyone else?
...No. I don't.
But I didn't say this.
I nodded like
They wanted,
And then wrote
It in a poem-
The one place
I never have to
Lie.
Not that you asked,
or ever would feel free to inquire,
yet perhaps you grow ready to listen
to a voice inviting exit
from your,
and our,
long loneliness,
self-contempt,
isolation so shelled-over,
so embedded,
you are sure we are each and all
unredeemably alone
In our envy of others,
the positive deviants
with apparently healthy organic
and resonant
and resilient relationships
While we remain powerless to conjure enough curiosity
to discover
and/or rediscover
our own win/win potentialities,
personal
and political,
economic
and ecologically regenerative.
Depression conjures
dark apartness messes
all your own too-competitive fault.
But, your depression,
emotional and/or economic,
political and/or environmental,
like my own,
is no more or less your fault
than is Donald Oompa Trumpa President
of all anti-ecological wisdom,
a new ungreen post-millennial oxymoron,
and Earth's algorithmic degeneration
into lose/lose fragility,
And privileged human SuperEgo's declention
disarray
dismay
despair into xenophobic rabidity
oligarchical madness
global depression
mutual suppression
liberally invested in every thing
but love,
curiosity
recovering win/win birth canal memory,
a magical moment of hope for Earth's warm light
of lifetime win/win recovery.
Your depression is your fault
only in this warm right-brain accompaniment sense
of feeling and knowing we are a fluid,
yet stuck, State
that is our shared win/lose fault
of left-brain dominating culture
parsing compassion stingily,
saving for glorious and
win/win right-brain interdependent
un-lonely Rapturous sacred end.
But, as every community organizer
and integral permaculture designer
and restorative justice advocator
knows from win/win v win/lose v loselose
retributive v restorative justice experience,
we cannot end a resilient health-building project
that will include
any and all multicultural win/win faith
if we did not embody already inside
as we began
pushing through our original organic tunnel
toward Earth love's first light
and unmuted sounds
of greeting,
warm accompaniment
universal co-present love,
Hope
faith in EarthMother's warm feeding breast
from whence we each compassion came
come
and go.
The Untold story of a Sitar 1 of 3
.
.
Few days back
I got hold of a strange gift
Of an old and slightly broken antique Sitar
It must be older than
Seven to eight decades
Or maybe it came to see the first light
On Earth
Around a century ago. 01
.
My heart was throbbing and almost jumping
To think and imagine
That I posses something
Of unprecedented beauty and melody
With an untold story
Still breathing
In its heart. 02
.
Thinking that I may get success
In adding again
A replacement of those
Strings and knobs
Which may bring back
All its missing tunes and music
Which the Sitar has lost
With the passing
Of many decades of time
When the Sitar got forlorn and neglected
And gradually
It lost some of its most essential
And dear body parts. 03
.
One day I was watching it minutely
To appreciate
The beauty of this antique Sitar
When I suddenly found
A name ‘Tan’ written
On one of its broken keys
And unknowingly
I began to anticipate
That with the perhaps
With the passing of time
The Sitar would have shifted
From the soft hands
Of its first owner
Whose name was perhaps ‘Tan’. 04
.
And surprisingly
This name ‘Tan’ was still
Faintly visible
Written on one of the broken knob
Of that antique Sitar
Which I happened to posses now. 05
.
I imagined and presumed
That perhaps
It’s unseen owner Tan
May had left that beauty mark
By writing her unique lovely
Name ‘Tan’
Which still appears to be
Singing silently and shining dimly
After many ignored decades
The untold love story of Tan. 06
.
That faintly written name
Appeared to me
As the last impression and effort
Of a beautiful skilled
Musician woman in love
To immortalize her name & musical lore’s
By mildly engraving that name
On one of the knob
Of this beautiful Sitar
Which for me was
No less precious
Then the Grecian Urn
Which was spreading the same
Beauty and stillness
With a difference
That the Sitar was still capable
To reproduce
The vibrations of all those sweet melodies
Which got lost on this unique
Musical instrument of the last century
With the passing and change of time. 07
Ravindra
Kanpur India 13th April 2016
I hear them often now…sometimes they’re deafening…I never know how long they’ll last…sometimes they come in whispers…these echoes of the past.
I hear them in the woods…voices from long ago…from people I cannot see
often in the quiet of my solitude is when these echoes speak to me.
I sometimes hear them in the early morning…usually at first light…
but most of the echoes…the loudest ones…come to me at night.
Most times the echoes are from family members who seek me out when I’m alone…
but lately I’ve been hearing echoes of people I’ve never known.
I hear echoes of Native Americans…their young and old ones who were slain…
ululations of their suffering…echoes of their pain.
I hear echoes of slaves being torn apart from their family
Echoes of their grief…their screams…echoes of their agony.
I hear echoes of women, Japanese Americans, LGBTQIA+…echoes oftentimes repeated…echoes of anyone no longer here who has been abused, oppressed…mistreated.
Echoes of disappointment, misery, frustration…echoes that cause my heart and soul to ache…Echoes with one message…please…please learn from your mistakes.
Echoes of babies, children, teenagers, young and old…women and men…
Echoes pleading don’t forget us…and never let this happen again.
And I wonder why am I hearing these echoes from people I don’t know and cannot see? Why of all the people in the world have these echoes chosen me?
And then I think perhaps these voices are always echoing…that I’ve always been close or near them…and for whatever reason it is only recently I have chosen to hear them.
Which means we all have the ability…knowing on the wind these voices are forever cast…to take the time…to stop and to listen to these echoes of the past.
It is up to us…to listen to the echoes…of people we did not know and cannot see
to make sure their echoes do not disappear into the forgotten shadows of history.
To understand what the echoes are telling us…
to be more accepting…more generous…more kind
to change the course of history by the echoes we leave behind.
And though we cannot change the past…
knowing the wounds of the dead can never be erased or cured…
perhaps they’ll rest a little easier….knowing their echoes have been heard.