Long Gyrate Poems
Long Gyrate Poems. Below are the most popular long Gyrate by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gyrate poems by poem length and keyword.
Bliss elation within, so intimate
Felt vividly, as purring ignition
Rapture divine, that never does abate
Plunging us in all time meditation
There is no mistaking the sensation
All nodes in form, to the rhythm gyrate
In stillness we imbibe the transmission
Bliss elation within, so intimate
Love in love for love alone, needs no bait
This mind body, becomes a play station
Ecstasy handed to us on a plate
Felt vividly, as throbbing ignition
Ego recedes, life a celebration
Our childlike innocence, then opens all gates
Our bliss trance thus, in continuation
Rapture divine, that never does abate
Purity of being, with our heart chaste
We dwell in vibrant void of cessation
Thoughts rested, ends all lower mind debates
Plunging us in all time meditation
Know hermit, our soul yearns for ascension
Let us be still, though we can co-create
Until ceases, ego agitation
We abide then, in tranquil calm sedate
Bliss elation
27-February-2021
SALVATION ACCORDING TO FAITH
“Help, help!”, I shout out loud, in fear.
‘HELP, HELP!’, echoes of my voice I hear.
Over and over, impinge in my mind
Closer and closer, it gets so near.
Louder and louder my cries, my plea
Further and further they go from me…
……they’re gone.
Silence now reigns, it deafens me
Panic has broken and overtakes me
Faster and faster my pulse is raised
Harder and harder the pounding, the beat.
Tighter and tighter I clutch my head
Greater and greater, the feeling of dread.
……I’m lost.
“Why? Why?” I asked the mirthless grass
“Speak, speak!” I bark at mirrored glass
Angrier and angrier, my voice phonate
Wilder and wilder, my eyes gyrate
Darker and darker my thoughts evoke
Uglier and uglier my moods provoke
…..I weep.
'Non Compos Mentis' is my best state of mind
'Caveat Emptor'!! …as I cannot be kind
Nastier and nastier I’m down in the dumps?
Lower and lower I’m in the doldrums?
Crazier and crazier, I spit at my shadow
Weaker and weaker, …my life is so shallow!
….I pray!
“Come, come”, to only You I turn.
“Come, come”, my life is so forlorn.
Dearer and dearer my love for God
Stronger and stronger, my body, my soul
Forever and ever my faith shall hold
Redeemer, redeeming, The Lord God of old.
….I’m saved.
(The Fg 81.5.8)
Form:
She stood there and stopped
Then she turned her head
That look in her eye
No words were said
She relayed her thoughts
As i absorbed from her mind
The wants of our bodies
To sexually grind
Her long dark hair
Cascade of flow
As i stand there looking
A part of me grows
Under the gentle rain
We move real close
On this clammy night
Our adrenalin flows
Our movement together
Orchestral in sound
As our bodies gyrate
On natures moist ground
As our hands grip
Our pleasure's erupt
Internal lava
Explosion abrupt
We spill on the earth
Our heavenly spoils
Our scent of scents
Gracing natures soils
As we rise from her grounds
My hand in her hand
And cherish the day
We lay on the land
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
There is bold grace in jazz music,
Sure pulse floods space with touch magic.
Watch the free flow of sonic vibes,
Your soul just knows how zest abides.
Feel how pain moves the inner pulse,
Gyrate with grooves of deep impulse.
Just like the breeze, jazz grips truly,
Snatch a sure squeeze with steps briskly.
There is sleek swing in jazzy spills,
Sync with sheer flings that fest now thrills.
The buzz of life exceeds mere norms,
Glaze beyond strife what surprise forms.
Jazz strides the maze to trace good stuff,
Touch of fond craze harps sure enough.
Piano and string and trumpet sounds,
Jazz music sings plain underground.
Leon Enriquez
26 March 2016
Singapore
We feel within, magnetic heat,
gripping us in meditation
and as rapture within us grows,
false identity falls away,
whence we reclaim our inner light,
here and now, in the waking state.
No doubt at first, fear forms yet bait
but with head bowed low at God’s feet,
we imbibe wisdom, byte by byte,
speeding soul’s acceleration
and now that bliss is here to stay,
third eye pulsates between eyebrows.
Holder of the flame alone knows,
what it feels like at heavens gate,
which once we grant love right of way,
finds us head to toe bliss replete,
feeling one with God’s creation,
awakened to spherical sight.
Love drenched thus by day and by night,
presence repays debts our soul owes,
immersed in endless flirtation
with bliss without a goal to state,
so fellow souls we meet and greet,
treating flow of life as mere play.
For pure of heart, there’s no delay,
in reaching heaven’s zenith height,
for with bliss keeping heart upbeat,
essence of presence freely flows,
being worthy, joyous and chaste,
God alone soul’s aspiration.
Bliss thus forms soul growth foundation,
with mindfulness as our mainstay
and as nodes within us gyrate,
we dwell at all times in delight,
borne by grace God Himself bestows,
ascent from which there’s no retreat.
Pulse of love continues to tweet,
gripping us in blissful repose,
till we see light of Self bright white.
Her birth was never trumpeted,
Nor caught any media headlines.
Born to Joachim in very ordinary settings,
Virgin Mary, the simplest of the simple,
Was specially chosen to perform a task divine.
As she grew up, she pledged to keep her body and soul,
Free of all blemish and stains of fleshly desires.
But in her teens, she was betrothed to Joseph,
Perhaps, part of a divine plan.
Did dreams come to nab her sleep, no one knows!
She found joy in prayer and absolute surrender to God.
Once when in silent communion with God,
Hearing the flap of wings overhead, she looked up.
Seeing the flash of blinding light in her dim lit room
She stood in dazzled astonishment,
Not knowing what was about to happen.
Before her, appeared a winged seraph.
A radiant silhouette with such gentleness n’ grace
Its hands raised in benediction,
Saluted Mary and said,
“Blessed art thou amongst women…
……………………………………
The rest she heard in a trance.
Unable to digest what was said,
The girl looked up nonplussed.
Again, it said, “The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee,
And a son shall be born of thee,
Whom you shall call Jesus.”
“How can this be”,
The question lingered but didn’t ask.
In that nanosecond of a new revelation
Did Mary’s world shatter like glassware?
Or did her virgin womb thrill with new life?
Did she swim in the waters of joyful tidings?
Or gyrate in the sweeping swirl of tidal waves?
For a girl already espoused to a man
In whose dreams his comely form had begun
Flitting in and out,
Was it a moment of silent ravishment?
Or of stupefied bewilderment
Did a dagger cut through her heart?
Or did her soul take wing in flight???
Without questioning,
She surrendered to the will of God,
Thereafter, never wavered nor bemused,
But readied herself for the great task.
Forever she remains a symbol of mercy and love.
Her immaculate grace is reflected on her radiant face.
Her lovely visage having greater beauty than any flower,
Emits sweet fragrance that perfumes our souls.
Remaining ever so pure with no trace of sin,
She is acclaimed by Christians all over the world,
As a symbol of unassailable purity and godly grace!
If I were really rich, I would live in beautiful Bermuda,
Sipping rum swizzles and fishing for wily barracuda!
I'd buy a fancy sports car in which to cruise unbound,
And join the Mid-Ocean Club to play a daily golfing round!
I'd own a sailing yacht on which to entertain my friends,
Sailing 'neath moonlit skies as around the isle she wends!
I'd buy a splendid cottage on The Cut in Olde St George's town,
From there to savor dramatic sunsets watching olde Sol go down!
I'd dine on fish and chips at my favorite pub, The White Horse Inn,
Listening to quaint calypso music by the Talbot Brothers therein!
On balmy evenings I'd stroll Old Maids Lane and Shinbone Alley,
And watch the Gombey dancers gyrate as I leisurely dally!
If I were rich I would move there in a trice,
To loll on the pink sandy beaches of that island paradise!
Entry for Mystic Rose's "If You Were Rich Contest"
(11 November 2015)
Friday the thirteenth, (September
tooth house hind nineteen)
dark shadows winessed scads of bats
(base sic cully lobbing soupy Matzo balls)
eyeing yours truly as seldom seen
human sacrificial cuisine,
which dime a dozen story true story
red within tabloid National Enquirer 'zine.
Minus blood sucking mammals more averse
than bill collectors or insurance companies
bared fangs greeted yours truly courtesy
of bloodthirsty nurse
triggering instantaneous qualm
ordinarily, I dune hot feel averse
nor nain availing one arm or the other,
wherein needle tip doth stick
prominent vein, yet an idling hearse
unwittingly induced heightened alarm,
on flip Wilson side... sense and sensibility
awoke regarding no impact upon purse
anyway death could never as worse
compared to hand to mouth
dirty deeds done... dirt poor curse.
A deep inhalation induced relaxed state
courtesy ujjayi breath
filled lungs to alleviate
(yea right slim/fat chance analogous
to one sniveling, mutering, groveling...
writer wannabe called upon to curate)
quirky rhyming scribblings
attempting to pass muster
easily, joyfully, worthily...
declared poet laureate
hence hastily erected castle
in the sky fate
meeting divine heavenly lorded
tailor tete a tete
gradually alleviated helter skelter
mental condition within pate
experienced sudden calm
displaced initial panic, thus great
ecstasy donned "FAKE" trumpeting guise
knowing within short shrift
death would assimilate
me, while providing fancy feast
where Desmodontinae
would undulate
this vampire weekend,
aware I prevaricate
and horrible anecdote purely
meant to demonstrate
how believability easily
wrought to fascinate
(ha) captive audience,
he/she exhibiting skeptical trait
might doubt claim (mine), who as inmate
within human zoo forced to risk death
defying daredevil metier height
figurative tightrope walker I gyrate
balanced on iambic foot in toto
all the while able to coordinate
vaguely flowing continuity
eventually metaphorical
erythrocytes coagulate.
On synthetic derelict stage of deception domain,
I gyrate the split mind, ensnared by bipolarity chain.
Under illusive limelight of ostentatious time,
I’m entangled in machinated invasive paradox prime.
In make-belief life’s drama I act with no compunction,
I face fabricated faces flocking redundant in conjunction.
Identity lost in conglomerate of counterfeit facades,
I don’t perform by heart's prudent prompt if it pervades.
In masquerading faces reflected in warped mirror,
I see concealed the contorted contours of rancid rancor.
With their phony pretense a conciliation role I tactfully play,
my misshapen face of spite, the actor in me doesn't portray.
Finding a fake place to subsist in pretend archival spaces,
I’m a configured antique in the museum of masked faces.
Around…around…around they go;
plastic spinners in a row.
Day and night, they spin away;
little dervishes at play.
Children spin them constantly;
like little tops, so happily.
As planes spinning out in space;
they put a smile upon the face.
Colored chakras spinning free;
activating energy.
Ecstatic, super-charged rings;
spinning, whirling hyper-beings.
As they gyrate; help one grow;
we will learn, they create flow.
Electric generators wake the snakes;
they rise to dance as one is graced.
The spirit heals; bestows, uplifts;
levitating brings one bliss.
Colors brighten; bring the light;
to weary souls each day and night.
No fidgeting is needed here;
one releases all their fears.
Dharma opens many doors;
walk on through; the power’s yours!