Long Gala Poems
Long Gala Poems. Below are the most popular long Gala by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gala poems by poem length and keyword.
As is said, we are He, who we seek
Today, let’s find out together
Love beckons, we try to take a sneak peek
But fears and desires tether
Veiled remains The Divine Mother
Knowing not the way, we stop flow of thought
Resting in pristine stillness
Joy currents within rise, both cold and hot
Heightening our awareness
Kundalini consciousness
Sublime serpent at root begins to stir
Divine feminine awake
Energy centers in subtle body whir
Our spine does the shake-shake-shake
Trust us; our sanity’s at stake
Pathways three; Sushumna, Ida and Pingala
Snake divine makes up its mind
Upon path of least resistance, has a gala
Unless ego borne fears bind
Charmed by our heart, it’s touch is kind
Oh worthy lama, go beyond all opposites
Serpent’s Holy Spirit in disguise
Be bemused not by myriad composites
Now, ceasing to weigh and size
Allow divinity to rise
02-January-2022
The Snake Charmer Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
Notes: A short overview of our energy (pranic) life force field
Kundalini is Shakti - the divine feminine, coiled like a serpent at the base of our spine. It is the kinetic aspect of God’s energy. The potential aspect is Shiva, at the crown chakra, correspondent to our fontanel on the top of head. Shakti yearns to reunite with Shiva and so rises at the optimal time, when mind-body vessel is purified. The energisation is felt as living magnetism within.
Ida is the cool channel, correspondent to left nostril. Pingala is the hot channel, related to our right nostril. Both these paths are serpentine, intersecting at the sacral, navel, heart, throat and third eye (between eyebrows), merging there to connect to the crown.
Sushumna is a three layered cylindrical conduit in the geometric centre of our body, joining the root chakra to the crown chakra. It is referred to as the energy expressway, rod of initiation or staff of power in different scriptures.
Later that night, Ike and the others arrived
for a gala they held every first of June.
To be filled with dancing, feasting, and fun
with a full band to play people tunes,
inviting every respectable person they knew.
But before the part, to Prent Ike came,
Saying,”Now brother, we must hide your shame.”
Prent raised an eyebrow, truly confused.
“Now what every can you mean brother”
Ike said,”You know full well what I mean.
That little girl with the savage mother.
We don’t want good folk to discover—”
But before he could say another word more
Prent knocked his brother flat onto the floor.
His siblings came running to see the fuss,
and stared on quite incredulously.
Prent said,”Now, it’s all coming back,
all the reasons I decided to leave.
I see what father would have made of me!
I came here worried about my daughter’s fate,
but bringing her here was my greatest mistake!”
Annabeth gasped, and began to argue,
but Prent shot her his best death glare.
“I’ve had enough disdain to last a lifetime,
so dear sister, you’d better not dare.”
He kept her pinned there with his stare.
“But of you gala, you need have no fear,
tomorrow we’re going far away from here.”
Sure enough they were back on a train,
he in skins and her in traveling clothes,
Prent took great pleasure in seeing Nell smile,
her little face still pressed to the window,
riding back west to their home, Colorado.
Knowing fully that this was the end,
he’d never see any of his family again.
III.
When the stage reached town Prent took Nell
down the road towards Sally’s Café.
He’d had a whole ride to think of the words
that he desperately wanted to say.
Course talking never was really his way.
How he’d ask her, he didn’t right know,
they walked in and Sally went pale as a ghost.
She turned quickly from all her customers
and scooped up sweet Nell in an embrace
The girl smiled and hugged her tight,
showering kisses on Sally’s face.
Prent knew then that this was his place.
He said,”Sally, I think you were in the know.
back when you told me of good women right close.”
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
A deserted old house stood off the county road a little way.
To keep apace of living I rushed by it almost every day.
For years I'd wanted to visit there to see what secrets it held,
And perhaps find out about the folks who in it had once dwelled.
Towering oaks stood erectly as if to guard the old place.
Clinging vines held weathered clapboards in precarious embrace.
I mused as I opened the latch on the sagging garden gate,
"Why was it forsaken and left in such a forlorn state?"
Floors squeaked and mice skittered as I sauntered down the hall.
Abruptly, something caught my eye on the faded papered wall.
'Twas a grim, unsmiling portrait of a Victorian family of eight.
I wondered who they were and I pondered about their fate.
Off the hall was the parlor where stood a brick-lined fireplace.
I could fancy the cheery flames glowing upon each happy face,
As they celebrated gala affairs or gathered for family prayers.
Alas, the old folks passed on - their children seeking other affairs.
What had been a vibrant, loving home was now a house in shambles,
Almost overtaken by massive oaks, shrubs and tangled brambles.
But my downcast mood was uplifted despite the engulfing gloom,
As I saw roses planted so very long ago now in magnificent bloom!
6 a.m
It is time to wake-
After being bludgeoned by sleep.
A quick brush
And a quick wash
Off to the bus-stop in a quick rush.
It’s another day
To work for a pay
Loose soap lather-
Sticking senselessly by the tip of the ear
And white Vaseline still to sink in the hair.
This life is a rush
Get late and get fired
No one cares if you are tired
Or couldn’t spare the time for a notch.
Brown suit,
Black trouser
Loosened zipper
Man! You are a walking sleeper.
We all filed-up
Looking like men heading for the concentration camp,
Yawning helplessly from an unfinished sleep.
This city life,
Is just a life of strife.
We hop on the bus,
So eager to seek solace in its confines.
Heads hanging loosely,
Snoring trumpets at its crescendo.
11 p.m
Free from the day’s toil
But held captive by Lagos traffic.
Sweating and panting from heat,
Squeezed like a crumpled note at the back seat.
Dinner on third-mainland Bridge,
A stick of gala and Asala*
With a bottle of water to quench the hunger.
It’s business time for the street urchins
From Iyana-oworo to the bridge that links Alapere,
They disguise as beggars-
Or hide in the shade of dark like scavengers
Watching out for victims to prey on.
The day weans itself away;
Broken down vehicles,
Long tankers stealing the lanes,
Pedestrians ignoring the bridge,
Hawkers shouting their wares,
Tanker horns blaring like hooting train.
Six to Eleven of our lives
Stolen by the struggle to survive.
Office pressure and less leisure,
Street madness and no cure.
Traffic Thieves,
Problematic Passengers,
Howling Hawkers,
And Lazy-ing LASMA**
All add to this insanity.
* A Yoruba dialect for Walnut
** LASMA reference to Traffic Officials of Lagos State
© Ayinla Muyideen Adeleke
Accidental Words
Whispers I should not have heard.
Things "said"
that have gone way wrong.
It was just a party.
It began with, "I don't want to go..."
and ended with, "I am sorry I went..."
Christmas Gala at work,
New Years Cheer looming,
where people need to get along.
My ears, my terrible ears.
Giving me everything...
and nothing of value.
"They" will not stop...
I wish they would quit
screaming...
so loud.
Listening,
at the water cooler,
attending at the bar,
open far too long...
for most that attend.
The bathroom,
the stalls,
the walls...
thin like paper.
Someone is cheating,
someone will soon,
someone has already made the rounds.
Someone is leaving,
someone is being hired,
while you, me, we, will be let go...
after the show,
tomorrow.
Hoping for a bonus,
ending up with no job at all.
What in the world happened,
you might ask...?
A tie,
a label,
a drink
a smoke
two people,
that should never have met,
got married,
battled,
lied,
and deceived
each other,
into believing...
a single moment dressed up in fineness',
does not replace the reality of every hidden fact,
be who you are,
and no one will ever regret,
having heard the truth,
about you.
In the dire moments of constant fear,
anyone can sense danger from all sides...
wondering if this is our final chapter,
or the continuation of more absurd lies!
I sold my gold to pay off some hefty bills:
a bracelet and a chain I wore at gala parties;
I agreed to a lesser price and feel at peace...
kicking off many worries to the lowest degree!
I asked the bearded guy behind the glass window,
how much they were worth trying to make a deal;
he looked at me and with a raspy voice not so genteel,
" To be honest they aren't worth much, poor fellow! "
He handed me two hundred dollars
enough to survive a few miserable days;
I walked away unhappily, I was ripped off...
yesterday it felt good being an admired toff!
I sold my gold feeling deprived of excessive pride,
it served a purpose but it left much emptiness inside;
greed is not the rule we must live by: gold is a wealth
well-earned, but it can't save us from destined death!
The sound could be heard all over the grounds
Coordinated chanting and drumming sounds
Spectators tapped their feet to the beat
This day’s attraction was very neat
The annual state fair was packed
People moving forward and back
Colorful feathered dancers were awaken
Standing room was even taken
The echoes drifted through the air
Ladies, children and elders moved with flair
Majestic colors were displayed
At this gala sight many stayed
Kids licking on their tasty ice cream
Adults eating buttered popcorn just gleamed
Spirituality they represent
It was the spectacular annual Pow-wow event
F lames glimmered when our eyes first met
O ver coffee, pies, for a casual date,
R eveling at the gala of stars where
E very gaze, a turn, kept us in brewed delight .
V ibrantly, more fond moments unfurled,
E nchanting this budding ember of love to
R eel, to savor gaiety I never knew before.
I n my heart, I became free of thought
N estled in your safe arms , that oh gently
Y earning for days quenched my hunger as
O utpour of affection warmed all nights because
U nder grey of clouds, I was softly cradled
R efreshed by laughter …even in heavy rain,
E bbing on kisses beneath trees …how I pondered;
Y es, when you sipped that coffee with relish, such
E ndearment of this day was destiny fulfilled, as my
S oul climbed into your breath and lingered there. Ever.
A John Hamilton Contest: Forever in your eyes
7..23..2016
Everybody has this silly notion
that life is not as precious as gold:
have they exchanged it for devotion:
to grab it faster than they could?
I agree, nothing exceeds the value of a ruby,
if they can't smile: how can they love intensely?
Roses bloom only once and they last two lovely seasons,
some are snatched from their stems for courting reasons!
Everybody thinks that diamonds charm eyes
and should be given to spark their passion;
they're ideal for attracting someone's attention:
what would they care about misleading smiles?
If spring invites lovers to dance,
where's a mystical ballerina
doing twirls on her ballet shoes...
for that tenor who sings an allegretto aria?
Isn't her desire more evident in her moves?
Has she noticed me and my stance?
Appreciate who gives you flowers, not jewels
that adorn your dress on a gala night;
it's his humble gift worth many treasures:
when love sparkles in his eyes, it's a delight!
Flitting in a distant flash,
a fleeting glimpse, seen far off for a second
is all it takes to shutter a flutter in memory banks.
To trigger recall, perhaps a deja vu replay brief.
Our mind constantly trawls
for associations in the swirls of a crystal ball
in every scene and furtive glance we see.
Nothing is a new release, a gala opening night.
All we see are shorts and replays,
snippets of this scene linked with that,
bits of past mixed up with present,
left-overs mixed with anti pasta.
How nice it would be to have
memories wiped clean like as hard disk crash
to see everything new again, untainted by recall.
To be able to switch memories off and on at will.
To choose what and when we want to be reminded.
To choose when we simply want to sip up the new with a straw.
To taste the scene devoid of context,
immune from concomitance.