Long Incense Poems
Long Incense Poems. Below are the most popular long Incense by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Incense poems by poem length and keyword.
I don't want to be sad,
Because when I'm sad
There are clouds in the sky,
And clouds always bring rain.
Maybe not today.
Maybe today will be sunny,
And maybe tomorrow will too.
But eventually those pearly clouds
Will turn into treacherous tempests
That rain lightning, and flash floods,
And hail thunder that booms
Like cannons in my ears,
Until my ears hum songs
About sunken voyages
That met a watery tomb before
Land could be glimpsed
Upon the crows nest.
I'd rather be happy.
Happy as a clam
So that there are no clouds in the sky.
And if there are any, they'll whisk by
As wisps of cotton or incense
Only recognized by
The faint scent of metal it leaves
When it is somewhere else,
But not here.
If I should breathe the last breath would you come and choke me to death? If I should climb to the top of the tree would you come and rescue me? My bones and muscles are speaking to me and courage is resting on my knees and I can feel the other side crying out for me.
Whispers of hope are flying around and benevolence is nowhere to be found but with determination I am onward bound; a sudden enlightenment breaks out in the middle of the sky so I know that it is not yet time for me to die. I have cleaned up the entire street and dismantle the garbage heap and all the birds have migrated and a new administration is coming to town and the Grizzly bears are dancing around.
Somewhere in the village below, I can hear them calling out for help; while the bells are tolling and anxiety is growing and the smell of incense perfumed the atmosphere, something peculiar is drawing near and the feeling of death floods the street rumbling my heart .People start running around looking for a staff and a crown.
And in a little house not far square the little lying in her crib waiting on death, and wonders aimlessly what life would be like if she was given another chance to live and she hums a little hymn and ask God to forgive her of her sins and all of a sudden something touches the sky and the universe replies.
If I give you a piece of my heart would we live like heart to heart? If I give you a piece of my heart, would you be loyal from the start? I know that a piece of you is inside me, I breathe when you breathe and I sing when you sing and that is how I know that you are living.
I have given a piece of my heart to the little girl that plays the harp, I want her to live and sing and fill the globe with modern hymn; the petri dish is in the operating room and she lies still on the bed while the heavens watches over her head.
And the surgeon moves his hand up and down while destiny moves quietly around. When she opens her eye I could see a thankful smile and I could feel a piece of her beating inside me and the room suddenly burst in flame with surgeon, doctors and nurses giving praise and calling out her name.
Take a piece of my heart and live.
Most Beautiful Christmas Poem 11/25/22 Based on the Messianic Prophecies
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas Rose
The Christmas Rose bursts into bloom
As echoes of midnight’s final chimes resound –
Precious Bloom of Perfect Prophecy inhales a first breath
Of winnowing starlight foretold
The Prince of Heaven steps into our blemished creation
New lungs fill with aromatic fulfillment
With bursting refrains once heard in Eden.
Torrents of roaring grace
Smash narrow portals of garden betrayal
Eras, ages and eons of sneering dominion
Stumble sideways in vertigo
Temptation’s false victory turned upside down
Smug visages fade into imploding arrogance
The missing piece of the human heart
Vibrates again in unison of Emmanuel’s Eternal Beatitude
With the tenor of timeless oblations
Heaven’s trembling preparation of holy delight
Explodes in triumph with the New Genesis
Through the breathless comma of anticipation
Before defeated wraiths of wildness
Gorges shatter, valleys level
Avalanches of obliteration raze
Buttes, crumbling cliffs and ridges of desolation
Midnight’s last stroke of domination
Turns a beastly reign into a flailing whine
Gone the plaintive elegies of exile
Heralds of angels harvest flowers in the desert
Gates into everlasting broad highways open
First Born Mystery in swaddling clothes smiles
In desert blooms of sweet frankincense
With everlasting scents as joy blooms in Eternal Laughter!
Eden’s new age of Exuberant Truth strides into time
Writing beauty’s signature on mountaintops
Leaving incense where insolent decay
Abandons ashes of deluded victory
Sweet scented perfume of grace overpowers putrid
Baby conceived in Anointed Advent, gird in Gloria, arrives!
“to veil light we cloaked it in bliss
then intellect and lower mind
fused together as magnetism
in form where truth we seek to find”
~ Unseeking Seeker
You speak of rain’s voice as star-fire,
an invigorating zeal kissing our soul,
while I stroll the shore of love,
inhaling the incense of lucent sage ~
my heart stirs and pulse awakens,
transcribing the touch of timeless tides,
seeking the softness of the sun,
undressing stubborn haze, disrobing ego,
unbuttoning forgotten chakras,
to rise in hot-stone silence…
O divine beacon of infinite bliss,
I breathe the burn of intuitive ink,
engulfing my inner consciousness,
like magnetic metaphors,
flowing in sync with blue rose radiance,
rushing through the river of veins ~
from heart to toe, palm to crown,
revealing handwritten humility…
I yearn to thrive where petals purify,
forsaking the soil of pride,
planting faith in a realm of selfless bloom,
no longer a mindless marionette,
enticed by materialistic mantras ~
for in the form of fortitude
and in the cadence of clarity,
where we seek the strength of truth,
I have learned to trust and obey the breeze
above the fields of felicity,
illuminating the untouched psyche…
Potted Bios of William the Conqueror, William Rufus and William the Fourth
First a quick word on Robert the Devil,
whose turbulent life turned out quite a revel.
He fathered a child on a poor tanner's daughter
then dashed to repent in Jerusalem's quarter,
but on his return, sad to say, he died,
yet he set up his son, his only pride.
Though being dubbed "bastard" earned him rebuke
Son William became a very tough duke,
as shown by the fact he became England's king
on Christmas Day when the church bells did ring.
Poor England he ruled with a grim iron rod.
He harried the North like a merciless god.
To gauge England's wealth great pains he took,
which to prove I name the Doomsday Book.
Once his horse took fright in a fiery melee
and part of his saddle punctured his belly.
After this mishap he did not live long.
When his belly burst, oh what a pong!
The monks in Rouen cut his funeral short,
when incense galore no remedy brought.
Then his son William Rufus ascended the throne.
To wild fits and frenzy this redhead was prone.
He found city life somewhat too narrow.
Out riding one day, he was struck by an arrow.
William the Fourth died in his bed,
which somehow fitted the life he had led.
He had multiple children but not with his wife.
Exemplary no way was King William's life.
Listen to the words that flow from my lips.
Understand I plea for you.
Hear my voice as I confess,
for you are the one for me.
I chant, sing, wail
for you to appear to me.
I dance, clap, and cry
for you to get close to me.
What more do I need to do for you to
attend to me?
I am your servant, your confidant.
No one will separate us,
for I am loyal to you.
I burn the incense, light the candles,
open my book, fill up the cauldron.
In your praise and honor.
I'm giving myself to you.
So hear me when I call out your name,
and listen to what I have to say.
For its all for you and I am your queen.
In the midst of the angels arose
Smoke of incense from golden bowls
Scent of perfume so sweet
Drifting around the throne seat
Seat of the Lamb who was slain
Forgiving, loving
For His death
Who is not to be blamed
What is the meaning of the golden bowls
From which the sweet perfume of incense arose
The answer is written in Revelation 5:8
The prayers of the saints is what it states
Whether alive or met our fate
God hears, keeps our prayers
Pray, it is never too late
Pray for loved ones, enemies, leaders on earth
Even for those who have not yet seen birth
For God remembers prayers for they have worth
Prayers of praise, thanks, sadness, weeping
Prayers are forever in safe keeping
When death has come and taken us away
Our prayers in the golden bowls will stay
written June 16, 2017
Where the sky drifts into the sea,
an old shack lies in the distance.
An antique grandfather clock strikes midnight,
whilst I sit alone in an old leather chair.
Musky, burnt incense clouds the room,
as frankincense ash clings tightly to swaying curtains.
Beams of gloomy light stream through cracked windows,
creating prisms of iridescence across unforgiving floorboards.
Repentance came too late.
A metallic wax-sealed letter
rests upon a walnut desk.
Two raven-shaped candles are nearly burnt down to the wick.
Once the flames have extinguished,
fate comes to collect.
Running my burning fingertips across the wax seal
melts it away.
Unbound, the slip of tanned paper
unfurls in my hands.
Glowing orange words
spell out an ironclad contract.
The unmistakable scent of sulfur
rises through the air,
overpowering the senses.
Once-familiar pictures of loved ones distort into demonised figures.
The veil between worlds thins.
Flickering, the candles are snuffed out.
The curtains curl around the windows.
Absolute darkness ensues.
Hot breath raises goose pimples
on the back of my neck.
Claws dig deep into my ankles,
pulling me backward.
Inexorably,
death came.
Teotl is the shining gold light above everything
Wearing a mask of white and grey clouds
Teotl is the breath and wind of all seen and unseen
Greeting all who return to its arms
Split a piece of wood, hear a heart pulsating within
Lift a rock, smell fine incense burning
Open up a flower bud, see threads interlacing
Know the turquoise snake shedding its skin
Be reborn as a splendid tlamatini
Remaining on the straight narrow road
Be a passer-by on the slippery land of mud
Walking between maguey and thorns
Walking towards the golden light shining above clouds
Poem inspired by Saying 77 of the Gospel of Thomas combined with Aztec philosophy (especially the concept of "Teotl")
sincere reform with sensibility
given neutral
done with understanding:
curiousity whatrever
wherever
made with grace
&prudence
a metaphor of clarity
to delight
our time remains as history
in silence
unity&felicity assemles
an approaching elegy
servitude&approval
precede
preparation&practice
any benefit
of itself a coda
to the kindred
if it is
to be believed
absorbed acceptance
somewhere
novel questions
time&knowledge
a failed moral subject
an armada
of agony
terror
in an aging city
of the sober
downhearted
counting upon freedom
in a sudden memory
of paradise
somewhere
principles of benevolence
with sincerity
lie together
sealed
inside conformity
sunlight streams
awareness with incense
of manners bearing
a sign of exile
exhausted powers
heaviness
a harvest of foolishness
a nuance
of belief
rooted in the margins
of the fields
of humour
awaiting a sign
beloved heirs&subjects
flock
to the pasture
the undertone
of trespass changed
a memory of toil
is now a faint thing
time now
to sleep
hidden
til the dawn of the demure
&
living names
in valued peace