Long Inscribes Poems
Long Inscribes Poems. Below are the most popular long Inscribes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inscribes poems by poem length and keyword.
Cancer carves fear on the soul
Marking the life in black grief, dread
Words like hope, the cancer stole
But we’re holding onto Him by a thread
Cancer inscribes a panic into life,
Distress, so anxious and apprehensive
Words like faith, might end each strife
Oh, this disease puts me on the defensive
Cancer writes worry through each dream
Darkening the spirit with heartbreak
It feels so terrifying – I could just scream!
God surely knows all that is at stake
Cancer engraves tears into the believer
Silencing the prayers so softly spoken
God will soon destroy this dark deceiver
And quiet the heart who has been broken!
Cancer pens heartbreak in my prayer
While I reach for the light in the shadows
Knowing, deep down, He is always there
While I can’t understand, He always knows
Cancer marks the heart with tears
Pouring salt into the wounds – such grief
But God blesses away all the fears
With His gentle spirit, oh such sweet relief
In time arrow’s one way course the winds of change blow,
wafting from the fading end to an unknown another new,
the thrust of transformation they get from the power
the spurt of history gives that goes on increasing ever.
The direction toward the world order received from
the compass of current events can’t ever be altered,
the intent it inscribes on the social landscape page,
the crafty world leaders design, is difficult to change.
Mankind strives to shed the unwanted old grimes,
like the autumn dry leaves the wind sweeps away,
bury under the sand layers of senile forgotten time,
but they rise in new forms in authoritarian regimes.
Indomitable spirit emerges from the debris of history,
new generations of belief and value emanate strong,
like escalating momentum of human rights paradigm
that’ll succeed if ever it can defy the vested interests.
,
The time arrow strikes hard with manipulated wrath,
transforms fast and invariably the vulnerable core
of the traditional society proud of integrity and unity,
imperceptibly into one of intolerance and hostility.
The conventional concept of herd living in free world
changes to isolationism with disintegrated families,
evolving into self-destructive fragile breed, collapsing
under psychic stress of changing times of uncertainty.
If the maneuvered course of post-cold war geopolitics
demolishes the critical balance of power and authority,
weaker nations will turn into mute and powerless pawns
in the game of chess, its rule devised by new world order.
___________________
April 20, 2022
Contest : New World Order
Sponsored by : Robert James Liguori
WHEN I STRUGGLE TO WRITE
I sat down to write a poem one day,
But try as I did, no words came my way,
I thought and thought, but to no avail,
Used up my mind just to miserably fail,
Lost memories of pain came back in a flash,
But when I tried again, my memory had a crash,
Exhausted after sometime, I gave up the fight,
Closed my eyes and prayed, "Lord, help me to write."
God opened my eyes and I switched off my mind,
In His world, in His Word, what treasures I could find!
So many things to dig into, what would I choose?
As I let God guide me, my cares I began to lose,
His ink flows through me, I'm just His humble pen,
When God inscribes His words, it's never a burden,
Looking down at the page where I had thought to write,
I saw that it was filled with words beyond my might,
That day, I had only wanted to write a poem,
But God in His grace, showed me how unworthy I am,
Without God in my heart, I couldn't even think,
But now He helps me to write and I spill ink...
-----------------------------
29th March, 2016
Beneath the diaphanous vault where shadow and humanity dissolve,
The fabric of nature unravels into an inscrutable residue of secrets,
Far from the world’s gaze, in the salt of the wilderness, a different essence is born,
Even bare sterility embraces the enigma that deceives and soothes us.
From the illusion of light-years, a whiff of earth mixed with saffron,
Nature caught in the dance of an eternal flame, inscribes upon the planes of existence,
Odes to the wind, where meadows bow to reveal a hidden-lost utopia,
The delicate sign of the sky bears ethereal symbols, home of the precious wild clover.
Deep down, at the root, where the echo of initiation throbs and writhes,
The whispers of a partial eclipse weave a complicit veil over myrrh footprints,
Nestled in the maple leaf, the wave of blood becomes intimately red,
Rustle of life in our spread, a solitary armchair beneath blue draperies.
Thus, I begin to merge with the threshold of mystery of beginning and end,
To immerse myself in the enigma of the opulent soul, the scent of ash and quake,
Outrunning the saintly stride, seeking the heart as a celestial sanctuary,
Stepping into the labyrinth called love, a portal to the heart named eternal.
—Where Love Rewrites Distance—
I petitioned not solely for the blade, but tears—
for eyes which, having endured grief’s iron law,
still husband in their depths those ancient waters
by which the living heart maintains its blood;
and even those who rise against me, let
them come of houses tempered to honour war.
For I had dried my eyes beyond all speech;
yet from their saltless chambers blood arose
and crossed my face with such grave insistence
that grief itself seemed startled by its red;
then, past the frontier of what eyes could see,
the sea leaned towards the shore and whispered: Thirst.
The sun kept vigil; the moon withheld its sleep;
the stars remained within their ancient courts—
until your hand entered mine, and suddenly
the distances between their fires drew close,
without catastrophe, as though the dark
had waited all this while to witness it.
I am no leaf the bough may cast away
when autumn comes to prosecute its claim.
Let the wind rage; it has mistaken force
for sovereignty, and noise for rightful power.
There are roots whose subterranean allegiance
runs so deep the earth itself must break
before they learn the ancient word, release.
I have seen blood remember that it was water;
I have heard the ocean confess its thirst;
I have watched the heavens alter nothing
and yet become entirely other; and I know
that what the hand once inscribes upon the heart
survives the jurisdiction of time and distance.
So let the gale unsheathe its nameless sword;
let night discharge its black artillery; let stars
go blind above the earth, and every compass
forfeit the north to which it once submitted.
The hand withdrew; the universe resumed its ancient art—
yet found one law forever altered in the grammar of the heart.
language — the threshold of the universe
tracing hidden membranes
each word, ganglion
where starlight settles into semantic scaffolding.
we are nerve-endings
where it shivers into tongue
quickening drum of chest.
white space exhales corona-fire
self expands, exoplanetary —
each firing a solar flare
reaching stellar drift
where rift becomes gift.
body tessellates —
flesh dreaming treillage sleep
deep in dendrite-forest
the universe yore-wakens
never separate.
intimacy resurfaces —
lowercase, unannounced
sharp as transistor-click
the universe leans closer —
a soft swirl into wrist and star.
the last synapse
burns backward through fuse
recognition in wristwire
recognition in starlace.
the universe
inscribes first
hieroglyphic axiom.
Ascending above sanctum of horizon, a dawn inflames the effulgent rays,
Enlightening daybreak as embers of light set the scarlet morning ablaze
Projecting golden beams on hushed venues, in beatific style, not seen in a while,
Glittering on grass in vivid dewdrops, glinting ornamental autumnal smile.
Riding the path of shortened days, marigold passions eloquently evoke
Enchanting colors of resplendent meadows--sensuous vibes tenderly stoke
When traversing upon a vibrant blue-arc, solar-noon invokes seasons warm
Where cumulus clouds stroll the meridian, amid nary a sign of rainy storm.
Seeking affinity of ruby dusk, a spectrum inscribes on gilded evening skies
Iridescent emotions in colors of romance, pleasing desires of amorous eyes
As falling leaves waltz, in leisurely dance, attuned to song of sunset breeze
Descending slowly with vanishing sun, in forlorn shudders of barren trees.
October 28, 2019
Poem of the day on October 30, 2019
Placed 3rd: Strand special 2 by Brian Strand
She left me enlightened
With her “Heart’s Imagination”
Taught me about love
In the ink of “Melting Point”
She gave me a whisper of insight
Within the breath of “O April”
And sang to my soul and spirit
On the wings of “Germination”
She colored my heart in hues
Of lavender with her psalms
Who spoke to me of hope and love
Joy birthed in “My Iridescent Garden”
She illuminated my soul’s faith
With “Soulful Journey of Shooting Stars”
And breathed pain into my nostrils
On the tone of “Heartbreak Hill”
She graced my thoughts with light
When she penned “The Virtue of Motion and Life”
I felt the waves of her pensiveness
In the words of “Mirror of a Son’s Eyes”
She left my heart in bright adoration
With “Rebirth of the Third Angel”
And encouraged me to listen to silence
On the reflections of “Wire Walker”
She delights, enlightens, flavors my thoughts
In amber, scarlet, sapphire and emerald
All the colors of inspiration and sensitivity
Inviting me to listen to the hopes within me
She inscribes a bit of enchantment through me
With her vivid portrayals of imaginations
So loving and graceful, like psalms that grant me
A light to guide – a hope to ignite my faith
She is a writer who has left me with appreciation
For the empty pages that draw her in
And bring me such beauty, light and laughter
Love that points me to a heart that is perceptive
A woman of grace and beauty and wonder
Polishes her poems with flavors of amazement
Inspirations so thrilling, so revealing, they take me
Through the poem into places I’ve only dreamed of
Her poetry holds a trace of stardust, a flame
Of expectation, a promise of illumination
Fulfillment and pleasure, satisfaction with words
That brightens lives and leaves elegance wherever it flows
In her poetry… there is hope for words!
Title Wave Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Richard Lamoureux
May 19, 2021
For a wonderful poetess, Susan Ashley
Titles of Susan’s Poems are in BOLD
The river floats, carrying me
away from nights, out to the sky,
where leaves are tossed, as whispers grow…
retracing hours, when memoirs beckon.
And sparrows fling above me now
my breathing grace enshrined in stone…
among the lanes and endless roads
this calling mild, so warmly dear.
I touch the flame of quiet stars ,
and long for all that's safe and warm
from what I know is mine to keep;
with four seasons bringing me home
to drift, drift on with every heave…
O knowing not when time will end
upon my faith my thoughts relieved…
the drink of music, a love complete
Graceful the crest of my new land,
unto its bed , new morns will speak
about all my wild and gentle dreams…
till the moon inscribes my name, while
all but a soul is laid to rest.
Any Poem written in August
NOT for a contest
Sponsor:Broken Wings
8/30/2015
The meticulous melody of my musings is she.
Quietly my quill inscribes intrinsic ink upon the paths she walks.
Profoundly postulated in poems I've portrayed her in -
she's inspired ingenious imagery of beaucoup beauty.
I ponder without her what my life would be like?
With determiners of this, that, these and those, she is the
one who guides like an orchestra of street lights at night.
In times of silence I wonder what she is thinking of
when gazing at blue horizons that appear cloudless,
as her exotic eyes always crave for calming climes.
There is no measure in the pleasure of her treasure and
her artistry on a blank canvas turns stanzas radiantly starry,
so I croon a tune hoping to be the moon under her serene skies.
Yet not all lullabies of lovers can ease a melancholic mind and
sometimes it's difficult to write lyrics making sense of it all.
Not all verses compliment strings with an instrumental that's
an emotionally unbalanced mix of tones not seen as the best
remedy in episodes of rage - so I wonder what becomes of
tranquillity when her tempest temper turns her thoughts dark.
I regret those forgotten promises lost in broken symphonies and
until sanity soothes with words of softness, I'll hold onto all that is bright.
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Lord Byron – She Walks in Beauty