Long Gulfs Poems
Long Gulfs Poems. Below are the most popular long Gulfs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gulfs poems by poem length and keyword.
—A Cosmography of Wound—
How deep the scar, where starry measures cease,
And sable gulfs unhouse their hoarded fire;
Where suns attenuate, bereft of peace,
And bleed through night the embers of desire;
Each constellation sheds its given name,
And argent heavens fracture into me;
The Milky Way unthreads its vestal flame,
Till blood becomes its dark infinity.
Then bends the Sun, drawn inward through my scar,
Its aureate empire yielding to the night;
Whilst Time lets fall its centuries afar,
And deathless darkness drinks the last of light.
Yet one red pulse persists beneath the scar:
I am the wound by which they learn how far.
I consumed it once, to avoid my loneliness.
I felt—wow—euphoric! Was I walking on air?
Was it a celestially blessed coziness?
Wasn't it like being in nature's divine care?
I saw crores of rainbows surrounding my being;
I was sailing silently on a sea of peace.
On clouds of endless ages of time, I was skiing—
Gulfs between deaths and resurrections seemed to cease.
How long will all these last? I did not know. I slept.
What did I find except darkness when I woke up?
Like a child born only to die, I bleakly wept;
There were only slips of lips on my broken cup.
Why chase a ghost and mock your inner need?
Must not the soul break through its binding weed?
It appears that September is all wrapped up,
tied tight, and intertwined throughout my blood.
I say this because inspiration for September has
never been so fluid, so gushing, and invigorating.
Like presently, I'm feeling the need for a bridge
to take my beloved country and my adopted state
across troubling waters. I need more that a temporary
seasonal bridge that operates between elections, only
to be proven worthless after two and four year intervals.
I need something and someone like September who's going
to stand by me, stand up for me, stand with me during the hard times.
Someone who's never going to give up until the sounding of the bell.
Someone who's going to restore common sense to politics and the
American way. Someone who's going to calm the agenda-driven winds of
'the great divide'. Yes, it would be great if we could cross this great expanse by 'walking on water', but only the Christ can do that. That is why I am
praying for a bridge on which to cross. I'm praying for something and someone so designated by The Almighty to get us across the great gulfs
so overheated as to stir up hurricane force cultural and social wars so
presently prevalent in our nation. O September, I have been anticipating
you, and now that you have arrived, I cannot thank you enough, because I see you as a bridge of confidence and hope. You are the warrior of peace
and poise. I know that you have been observing with great concern the grave doubts and fears. It's you, September, whom they and I have been waiting
for. We believe that you have a Divine appointment, and your calming presence is the hallmark of God's hand upon your life and season.
091421PS
From here to the edge of everything,
From there back to an unknowable beginning,
All things are in intimate contact.
No island isolate,
Though the sea be infinite.
Superimposed, we ride the light
Stretching throug gulfs all around
We touch and move through one another
Caught up in the swarming particle dance.
Self extends to other Selves
Aloneness made illusion in the end.
The lines of lives and loves entwine,
Reshaping the past, rebirthing the future.
We pass through one another
Coming out of nowhere
Going towards nowhere
Yet always together in a strange Everpresent
Drawn into one another's wakes,
Themselves a part of the floor of fields that makes the Now
In all directions,
Sometimes, by design of chance,
Two living forces will entangle;
Once done, they live the Unity,
They are One, even if the whole breadth of the Universe
Should come to stand between.
When entanglement is welcomed,
Isn't that what love is?
When the sum exceeds its parts,
Isn't that what love is?
When two are born to share time,
To shape it to the perfection of their balance,
Isn't that what love is?
When one can't tell where one leaves off
And another begins,
And both find that the way things were meant to be,
Isn't that what love is?
And if it is,
Then perhaps, some moment in some eternity,
When all the forces have entangled properly,
Love will be everything, everywhere
The Ineffable that has patiently waited for this
Will smile itself to sleep
To begin a new and brighter dream.
Pureness, peace, compassion, bliss, Power, and Wisdom,
That links my reason-spirit body-soul system;
Tells me that my physique is a temple of God,
Though my day-to-day existence is flighty odd...!
Sufferings and pains wreck my delicate physique,
The feasibility of survival is bleak;
Jabs and tingles and stings and burns, and fleshly aches,
Sake my body; break it; leave it like mere sweepstakes...!
Do, yet, though wings get clipped, birds ever fail to sing?
Don't, midst caste, color, and creed gulfs wedding bells ring?
Physique, though a bundle of flesh, blood, veins, and bones,
Aren't there, within, caves of metaphysical zones...?
Joy is within, as fragrance within the flower,
Isn't the spirit, more than flesh, give me power?
Physical aches can't imprison the psychic zings,
This is why though bones ache my heart cheerfully sings...!!!
18 June 2023
Bones ache yet heart sings Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Strange, yet a reality none the less:
the oppressed destroying themselves
for the sake of the oppressor.
The battle of creatures of the sea
has now become that of the humanity
of the conquered land. A bizarre misguided
catharsis born out of guided mind bending
of victims killing selves for the sake
of molded daily bread of the oppressor.
The dehumanizing of common human bond
etched into souls by Middle Passage bondage
and stitched into long landed psyche, has
yet to be extricated from psychological slave mentality.
Its debasing scraping—like the depths of the sea—continues
to run deep and wide as the long ago Passage.
The sea that spat upon the shores of a strange land,
swallowed the anchors of satanic ships laden
with remnants of the booty of their sooty cargo;
a sooty cargo whose songs made no sense in a strange land.
Shackles may be broken and fall clanging from their physical
grasping; but minds may remain invisibly chained—unaware.
In nature, the causes of demise often remain unseen—veiled.
And liberation becomes a misconceived deception; seasoned
by the salt of the sea—rather than burning with freedom’s fire!
America, a deception in disguise, has revealed herself in reality;
but like Iago’s ego, the true self remains among the unknown.
Yet she rings the bell of justice till it cracks—stilling its silent tongue;
and in veiled blindness hang scales to seek their own balance.
They stripped the heaven-ward pole of its clothing;
but the colors remain in altered stripes and stars—
flushing a noose-like wave in smoke filled skies reeking
with the murderous smell of spiraling gun powder residue
lingering in air as they echo purity while simultaneously
orating mass hued skin perdition.
Though we are of the same seed of our brother, Othello,
we shall not let this adopted land ‘…roast in sulphur…’
nor be washed ‘…in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire.’
Nay. We are of the soul of the phoenix—
rising black doves roosting—plucking feathers of injustice
from the bleeding breast of a forgiven nation.
To The Sable Side Of An Iago-American Mirror
Strange, yet, a reality nonetheless:
The oppressed, destroying themselves
For the sake of the oppressor:-
The battle of creatures of the sea
Has now become that of humanity;
A bizarre, misguided catharsis
Born out of guided mind bending
Of victims killing themselves for the sake
Of molded daily bread of their oppressors:-
The dehumanizing of common human bondage,
Etched into souls by Middle Passage bondage,
And stitched into the long land psyche, has yet
To be extricated from psychological slave mentality:-
Its debasing scraping—like the depths of the sea—continues
To run as deep and wide as did the long ago, Middle Passage:-
The sea that spat upon the shores of strange conquered lands,
Swallowed the anchors of Satanic ships laden with remnants
Of the booty of their stolen, sooty, ebonic, human cargoed souls:
Sooty cargo, whose songs made no sense in the strange lands:-
While shackles may be broken, clanging from their physical grasping,
Unchained minds may still remain, invisibly chained—unaware:-
And in nature, the causes of demise often remain unseen—veiled;
And liberation becomes a misconceived, well-seasoned deception,
Of the salt of the sea, as opposed to being blazing with freedom’s fire!
America today, a deception in disguise, has revealed herself in reality;
But like Iago’s ego, the true self, remains among the unknown reality:-
Yes, it rings the bell of justice until it cracks—stilling its silent tongue;
And in veiled silence, hangs scales to seek their own living balance:-
Though in many ways, we may be of the same seed of Othello,
We must not let this sacred land “...roast in sulphur…” and be
Washed “...in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire:-”
No, let us be as the souls of the Phoenix: rising black doves
Roosting, and plucking feathers of injustice from bleeding
Breast of a discombobulated nation in need of forgiveness:-
A nation, pleading to be great again, in its own eyes,
As opposed to being in the greatness of God’s eyes:-
5/19/17
Things considered occult
Near and far from kids, teens and adults
Working with mulch
Above a gulch
Had to turn into the Hulk
And catapult
Toward successful results
Then howl at the moon like a wolf
While in and out of gulfs
No good in being in poor form
Or disordered
Got to keep pushing forward
Above and below floorboards
Considered that there will always be more storms
Whether or not it is cold or warm
I just can't spend time in forlorn
Got to take care of business, night or morn
Ready to fight for what I believe is right, with the skills of a warlord
Regardless of if it is what I was born for
Close and beyond traces of lanthanum
I'm coming through with an effective stratagem
Show you something truly masculine
Going full throttle pushing to the maximum
Among pathogens
And antigens
As well as vehicles with headlights that are halogen
When I see an animal or human struggling, I'll lend a hand and not abandon them
By: Dalton Ogletree
Below earth, streams release the arteries
of the undersea teeming with precious
abalone, granite and shells,
as a roulette of lotus defies gravity
soaking on the chlorine of a wind
only piles of sand can bestow…
and gentle the wavelets murmuring
hymns of serenity , somewhat delicate
as ocean mouth is to fish lips in the moist pulse
of swelling spaces for wooden fleets
to beckon the blue.
Like so, guardian of water observes the cruise
of a ship rustling a masthead…
intrusive vessels are aliens
to the underworld: greedy eyes, black hands
that rake mothers of pearl and babes of dolphins.
Fierce dugongs roll along, shaking the basement
of hunters’ boats on inlets
to pound doors of Neptune’s bed,
reflecting mirrors of an island scented
with coconut and tresses of women
bathing along coasts of such innocent gulfs.
Below earth, a divide between friends and foes
is honored; that beyond words,
a sea keeper rises to acknowledge
the kindness of strangers,
if they are kind enough to respect the gift of privacy.
10/2/2015
Chase Trevi's Contest:
Open Sea - Sailing, Creatures, Treasures
Whatever holds us together is threatened
by forces rending us apart:
Disparity of wealth and poverty
increase the emptiness of belly or soul.
Migrants displaced, overwhelm
our sense of identity, security.
Extremes of weather surge and
pull at our foundations; the edge of chaos.
The media of instant communication
should make us instantly at one,
but expose our privacy, vulnerability.
The news makes us voyeurs
of misery and achievement
fostering both guilt and envy.
Even as we shut if off, we isolate
ourselves from the human story
that would hold us as one.
Our prayers for unity that we may be
one in Christ, are frustrated by the walls
of our heritage, our governance
forming boundaries that enlarge the effort
it takes to come together.
Ignorance of the faith of the other
breeds intolerance of cherished beliefs.
The very enthusiasms we espouse
to overcome the gulfs of isolation
underline our difference.
Even the sexuality of others
is seen not as an intimate union but
a promiscuous corruption of relating
that was meant to bring new life.
The bond of humanity is threatened
by forces that would put us asunder.
The phone rings, interrupts my isolation:
I am pulled from fragments into now.
My neighbour so other, recovered,
I can after all take to her Church
in this octave of Unity.
There
I am welcome in the communion
of hymns, held, with Wesleyan warmth.