Long Inhabits Poems
Long Inhabits Poems. Below are the most popular long Inhabits by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inhabits poems by poem length and keyword.
Colors dance on the canvass of my life
In an intricate interplay of hues
Intensifying and weakening at different stages
Fluid colors in constant motion
As I age, different colors take precedence
While others slowly recede
Still present, yet less visible
Some colors are all time favorites
Ever strong, ever making their presence seen
The color of Beauty forever captivates me
I immerse myself in this hue
Letting its brilliance ravish my thoughts
Beautifying my life in every way
Truth is another color that graces this canvas
For without it, I cannot live
I need to see broad strokes of this hue
For it revives my heart
The brilliance of the color of Compassion
Pulsating with emotions of oneness...
With the world, with all that inhabits it
It ever moves me to reach, to feel, to belong
Hope, the color of dreams
For my dreams are saturated
In this vivid color
That makes the canvass spring to life
Hope, for a masterpiece to be
Passion, the most prominent color
Seen splashed everywhere on my canvass
The color deepening, ever deepening
Dark and rich, drawing the observing eye
To the wet colors that never dry
Always freshly painted
Bold, brash, audacious, alluring
Pronounced color overpowering every other shade
Passion, shows off her true self
Confident that she is the artist's most loved color
And then there is the color of Love
Capricious
Flitting
Transient
Erratic
Inconstant
Gracing the canvass now and then
Lightly splaying itself across the painting
Bright splashes of rich Gold
I try to focus my eyes on this hue
Wanting it to be evident
In every single image
In every single stroke
A tinge of gold
And yet I know
I know
The color of gold
Is “the hardest hue to hold”
I know this to be true
For my eyes brimming with tears have seen
The “dawn...[of love go]...down to day.”
On this canvass of my life
This truth is clearly displayed....
“Nothing gold can stay.”
Eileen Manassian Ghali
A variation on the poem by Robert Frost, Nothing Gold can Stay
Does the Sea
Suffuse...
Does the Sea
Perfuse...
the sponge?
Slipping, sidling
in:
the Great Outbreath
of the far forgot shore;
so small now as to be
Unimaginable,
upwells in swells the
Entirety of this sea -
and heaves these easy seas
from shore to shore
as
sure as the moon’s dim
light is gasped over
when its wax is over -
when full; when only moonlight
lights the matte blacknight.
Does the Sea,
enter, entirely,
the sponge
and, in doing
so
forget itself?
Does the Sea,
in its Perfusion
forget itself?
Does the Sea believe itself to be
a sponge?
Or does the see,
take up a demonym?
Or does the Sea remain the Sea
no matter no matter
no matter how
fully
it inhabits, it saturates, it permeates
the Sponge?
For that matter,
does the sponge,
in being infilled wholly by
the Sea, believe itself to be
The Sea?
Be it a tiny butterfly flutters near wild flowers
Or big fat flying foxes hanging off the lofty trees
Be it a family of bulbuls relishing showers
Or a mischievous monkey devours fruits, smiling with glee
Be it a single purple heron awaiting the dawn
Or the nonchalant coots floating in the tranquil pool
Be it a herd of deer inhabits the engrossing lawn
Or the picturesque peahens thrash out to frame novel rules
Migrant birds' air trails while enduring perilous journey
Gymnastics of endemic egrets in the evening sky
Wonderful wild flowers glisten amidst the shrubs ferny
And the serene water birds in lake, the feast for the eyes
Intermingled with animals out there in forest wild
Every little birds and mammals make our earth revive
Mar -03-2022
The God Behind the Curtain
By Mark D. Stucky
Curtains sometimes keep apart things that need connecting
and conceal things that, in their time, need uncovering.
“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain,”
the hiding humbug Wizard of Oz implored in vain
when discovered by Dorothy, her dog, and companions,
revealing the true presence of the mysterious Oz.
Millenia earlier, once every year, on the Day of Atonement,
a high priest entered behind the curtain of the Holy of Holies,
where the mysterious metaphysical presence of God resided,
veiled, hidden, and isolated from the people outside the temple.
This separation and glances at glory continued for centuries,
but the moment Christ died on the cross, the earth quaked,
and that concealing temple curtain ripped wide open,
removing that separation between us and God.
Now…do pay attention to the God who was behind the curtain,
the one who inhabits Holies of Holies inside human hearts.
(First published in Agape Review, 8 Aug. 2022. See also my poems “Darkest Night, Morning Lights” and "Gilded Crosses?")
(Cropped image created originally by Gerd Altmann on Pixabay.com.)
Cruising along horizons unseen
Where scent of greenery lingers,
The plaza curves in a labyrinth
Of footprints memorizing vignettes
Past old churches and warm townsfolk;
And I stop, amazed. My spirit
Inhabits another culture,
Different in its quaint artwork
That a soul tastes the delicacy
On to paths where new souvenirs
Await. Somehow, these wanderings
Free the senses to open life’s doors,
Engulfed by fired, thrilled abandon.
Once more, the roads of adventure
Meander through discoveries,
Searching for memories to keep.
Wanderlust Contest for nette onclaud
From Gabby Sabre Aug 11, 2014
16 Lines
Great is our Lord
Who is our gift
He came to the world to save us
He righted what was once wrong
He invites us in His goodness
He graces us with His presence
He will great things for our good
We know good from evil
Because of Him
We know right from wrong
Because He graciously shows us
We know insights and wisdom
Because He shares upon us
Great is our Lord
Who came to the world one day
And forever we are indebted to Him
We feverously grace His love
To one and to all
We honor His keeping
We graciously welcome His presence
We come to know Him
With grace and contrite heart
With our opened yieldedness
With our love and affection
With arrayed wildness
He tames us
He loves us
He offers us a great governing
He graces us with deeds
He inhabits in us
And makes His gracious presence known
He is good – so good
We can be
We can have
We can find
We can give
We can go
We can do
We can all win
Because of Him
Jesus -
King of the world
Anything can be a weapon if you just put your mind to it
Some would call this creativity, others fear inducing
Even the mundane can be forged into an enemy of peace
Violence exists without need for movement
Weapons can be born from neutrality
Even the elements can be turned into an enemy
Used to cover up a dark history
Neutrality became a tool to the racist
Using power and narrative to manipulate -
The normality of a mundane situation
Using the simplicity of neutral existence to work in their favour
Using the innocence of nature to cover up their discriminatory behaviour
They talk of the beauty of the ocean, as if it inhabits peace -
When in reality it's filled with the enslaved bodies
Who chose death over being your 'keep'
How you glaze over the history of plantations with its 'idyllic scenery'
It was never about the beauty of the world it was just about covering up black history
And all the bodies you killed, kept hidden for centuries
A lick of paint can make a room look new and fresh
But those attempts to hide the damage, won't fix the cracks you try to suppress
The truth will always see the light of day and just like the 'cracks' in the wall it will not be oppressed
The last embers of a sunset
sink below a dark horizon
almost mirroring a Rothko
painting in its somber
and weighted tones.
A sadness has found
a place to settle
for the evening
and is absorbed
by the water and sky.
It seems weary, unable
to take form in a thought
and be given a name,
but is more a shade
as that which inhabits
the internal landscape
of a haiku when something
fragile and exquisitely beautiful
is caught briefly in its passing
and let go.
It is a sadness that feels
soul deep, reverberates
in the ear beyond
any audible note
from a place that echoes
an emptiness,
the absence of what perhaps
first gave it breath
and let its fragile existence
float free and alone
to wash up on the shores
of this gentle evening
and utter a sigh.
She holds his hand
In support she takes his stand
She holds his fears
Inside her tears
When she cries for her man
Who inhabits a spiritual land.
She winces at his pain
When flesh and blood fail him
Again and again
And the critical arctic blasts
That bring a coldness in his soul
Try to freeze his bones until they cannot move.
The headlights flow into each other
Heading home after locking the late night door
He stares down the headlights
Then looks into the future
Across the centre, she holds his tired hand again
Knowing the highway will never end.
The curtains light up again
She puts a brew at the side of his bed
He turns the page and refreshes his spirit
And drinks in some heavenly wisdom
Spirit to spirit, Man to man, Deep unto deep
Here he goes again, so here she goes again too.
Refreshed, refocused, reassured
Their bones thaw
Their spirits are full
They embrace their source
But she'll keep an eye
On the one whom she shares with the world and heaven.
Years pass by the thousands
We reveal ourselves, creating worlds of death
spilling blood over the land like rivers
in a constant struggle with desire for power
and it's brother compassion
This need to conquer born in the darker realms
of our soul
stands in contrast to our empathy that too
inhabits our soul
Are we nothing more than Nature's desire
to see itself, both the sun and the storm?
We are the sparrow,
we are the wolf
We find joy in sunsets and find joy
with blood on the edge of our sword
We are free to decide which joy touches our heart more
We are the voice in the wilderness
that cries at the death of birth
We are the anger that rages
over a love lost
We are confusion trapped in a shell
seeing the world through the eyes of insecurity,
knowing our life has a finite amount of breaths
We are joy trapped in this same shell
exploring the universe in awe
seeking to understand our purpose
in a life filled with its passing
We are both
4/11/17
contest Be- Didactic