Long Inscription Poems
Long Inscription Poems. Below are the most popular long Inscription by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Inscription poems by poem length and keyword.
I was gratefully listening
to a theologian musician
repeat a rabbinic tradition
of four levels of resonant soul:
individual (egosystemic),
communal (local),
social (cultural, national identity)
global (Earth,ecosystemic).
A mature musician,
like a wise theologian,
sees these four soul identities
as circular
double-binding octaves,
mutually informing up
and down,
in
and out.
As EarthMother's original staging womb
organically recreates
using the fractal language of DNA inscription,
prediction,
predication,
to recreate yet another individual soul,
as BrahmanEarth outside soul
is to AtmanEgo inside spirit
of dynamic resonance,
preferring regeneration as positive
as more power-indwelling
than degeneration as negative.
So, it was jarring
when this musical theologian
referred to human bodies
as machines,
rather than organisms.
Machines seem to be left-brain dominant
power reductions
as compared with
Left with Right-balancing organisms.
For robotic machines,
punishing or rewarding communities,
leviathan bureaucratic
autocratic societies,
lifeless planetary spheres,
power is either on or off,
energy is positive or negative.
For living organisms,
individual through holonically Earth-wombed,
power is both regenerative
and degenerative,
positive and negative;
Not digitally governed by our either/or switch
but analogically healed, developed
and wounded, decomposing
with both/and holistic interdependent consciousness.
Human nature
sounds like a robotic analogy
and hopelessly predictable,
dully rational
as a LeftBrain dominant machine.
Humane nature/spirits
feel organically metaphoric
polyphonic
polypathically rounded
theo/eco-logical music composed
and decomposed,
marvelously trans-rational
as left with right hemispheric balance,
rhythm, communal
pitch, cultural
resonance, EarthWomb global
Soul,
ZeroZone regenerative
more powerful than degenerative,
Yet organic cycles
and recycles,
purpose
and repurposes of life
decomposing death
require both
to recreate
recompose
recologize
recognize
theologize
musical soul
as powerful
resonant
both-thought/and-felt structure.
But, when we started singing together
I knew
for sure
he, as we,
feels more and better
as metaphoric musicians
than analogical machines.
Let me tell you a story …
Many pilgrims had passed this way before him
but had rarely stopped before trudging up the muddy path to the top of the hill
and then disappearing out of sight forever.
But he lingered at this shady spot at the bottom of the dip in the track.
The old stone tablet in the wall was overgrown with moss and ivy.
Rain droplets hung at the tip of every ivy leaf.
Catching the daylight, they twinkled like some distant constellation.
He pulled back the ivy, scraped off the moss to reveal the ancient writing.
By chance or maybe by some hidden force,
this place still belonged to the pilgrim’s way.
But the pseudo-pilgrims had no time to waste as celebrity beckoned.
Eyes fixed on the hill’s summit
they were oblivious of both this place and its significance.
The inscription read
If you look too hard you will not see
If you talk too much you will not hear
If you think too much you will not learn
If you walk too fast you will not arrive
If you are true to yourself you will be content
You will unlock the secret door
He reflected on what he had read but not too deeply and then smiled.
He had another 150 miles to walk which he could do in six long, arduous days
but now it would take him ten days of contemplation.
The climb up the hill was different from what had gone before.
It was exhilarating for the wonders of nature were all around to experience and enjoy.
Every step was stimulating.
The inscription filled his mind.
Slowly but surely the door opened.
The days passed and he realised the pilgrimage was of the mind not of the body.
Walking gave him space and time.
Ten days later he was uplifted and at peace
having stepped through the door of enlightenment
once secret and now so obvious.
He smiled at the pseudo-pilgrims there with him at the end.
He felt sadness for theirs was a superficial achievement
judged against each other with a materialistic prize.
They had been on a walk but not a pilgrimage.
He gave them one last glance,
turned and strolled into life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
25 April 2022
First Place Contest Name: Form N - Narrative - New Poems
Sponsor: Constance La France
Chosen Theme: #1 Journey
The Lord is our mighty God
He stands up for us against Satan
he is the arch-enemy of all time
but His angel is our mighty nation
Like Joshua, we've filthy garments
the Lord's angel looks at our tents
removes them in an instant
putting on new pure vestments
Joshua then received assurance
from the angel of the Lord
who stood by him there
such sweet peace to afford
Then Joshua was challenged
to keep charge of God's ways
for if he did, a branch would appear
so important to do what He says
The key lesson here to learn
God's ways are always best
no matter what we may think
trust and obey sealed on your nest
(Zechariah 3: 1-10 (ESV)
Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the Lord, and Satan standing at his right hand to accuse him. And the Lord said to Satan, “The Lord rebuke you, O Satan! The Lord who has chosen Jerusalem rebuke you! Is not this a brand plucked from the fire?” Now Joshua was standing before the angel, clothed with filthy garments. And the angel said to those who were standing before him, “Remove the filthy garments from him.” And to him he said, “Behold, I have taken your iniquity away from you, and I will clothe you with pure vestments.” And I said, “Let them put a clean turban on his head.” So they put a clean turban on his head and clothed him with garments. And the angel of the Lord was standing by.
And the angel of the Lord solemnly assured Joshua, “Thus says the Lord of hosts: If you will walk in my ways and keep my charge, then you shall rule my house and have charge of my courts, and I will give you the right of access among those who are standing here. Hear now, O Joshua the high priest, you and your friends who sit before you, for they are men who are a sign: behold, I will bring my servant the Branch. For behold, on the stone that I have set before Joshua, on a single stone with seven eyes, I will engrave its inscription, declares the Lord of hosts, and I will remove the iniquity of this land in a single day. In that day, declares the Lord of hosts, every one of you will invite his neighbor to come under his vine and under his fig tree.” )
Story of Afghanistan
The barren land of my birthplace
Green at times but screening a rocky face
Known for thousands of years for its warrior race
Let me tell you the truth,
No one really wanted this “space”.
Up until two lions began prying around
Initially, just fooling around
Afterwards, casting off their cannon sound
Resembling the 6th night of an infant’s fête
Building their castles, and so began the burial grounds.
The lions pledged to crush the other
With a master plan
Dividing the blood brothers
Such was the instruction of the queen mother
As the clans clashed and killed one another.
The chiefs were swallowed by the promise of gold
The mullahs were swapped for the hollow soul
The seniors by the fire recounted and foretold
The purpose for the lion’s vehemence
This story definitely in time will unfold.
The old grew timeworn
Waiting for their young ones to return home
The teenagers free born
Screamed out of their mosques’ domes
Come and join us in this struggle
Faced with the crusaders of the Church of Rome,
But little did they know,
No one will return but the maimed men to a funeral home.
The sturdier lion won the combat
But what has become of my Afghanistan
The wolf in a sheep’s disguise
Has spoiled my jade paradise
My heart denies it but I may have bombed my youthful chums,
This is now a global land-dwelling for bums and slums!
The lion wishes to be unveiled this time
So he promises to take the last dime
After all it pays to cooperate in war crimes!
He roars in a deafening cry
I bring Democracy to this land
With loads of cash in one hand
A whip in the back hand--forgetting the long years of perfidy
I now declare and demand
This is the new Promised Land.
A woman of this realm is exposed with a promise
She is liberated by democracy
Famous on national publications like the story of Pocahontas
She’s affirmed independent and agreed to arise out of the darkness
As the saga is read to the United States Congress
She exhales
And anticipates the lion’s hunger
Waiting for the day when she will be veiled, unveiled, and then veiled again
Not by ordinary men
But by inscription of law.
Thank you for sealing the decree!
You sit there year after year looking at me as if you don’t care, you sit there picking your nose and smelling your polished toes, time is on your hand and you have got to leave that man, the whole relationship was a scam and you already got what you want.
The sun is grinding in your face and the cicadas are running all over the place, listen! They are all around and are sitting on your kitchen table.
You sit there as if you don’t care, unconcerned of what is transpiring around you, see them crawling on the garage wall moving in a straight line, and are getting ready to start a brawl. The whole place is infested with them and they are scattered in your bed, they are everywhere, why you don’t try to get rid of them.
My heart is burden down with care and you are spying on me over here, my lips are dry and there is no color in the sky, it is time to make a move before the crickets start to sing, the cicadas and the crickets have nothing in common but you have to embrace that strange rhythm when it begins.
Look deep between the lines and you see what is mine; use a pointed tool and clean out the rust and blow away the dust and you will see the inscription with your eyes and you will learn how the magpie died.
It happened more than a century ago when mankind lost touch with the heart of human dignity and prey upon the human flesh and suffocate the young infant to death; thousand of them were lost in the storm when the boat sank in the Mediterranean and the relics float on top of the sea and the sun burns mankind’s dignity.
Summer is climbing up the trees with strong arms pitching their tents in the air as destiny draws near; a stagnant smell is coming from the pit and the birds are rolling in it and the breeze is spreading the scent abroad.
Why don’t you ever leave the house, it’s time to get up and go out, you have planted yourself in that place and you have caused confusion all over the place.
Look at the snake in the ceiling and the line that sits on the vine, your vineyard is loaded with grapes and the Egyptian cobra is crawling all over the place.
Move!
The Station was littered and in disrepair,
'Out Of Order' signs bore witness.
Discarded chewing gum and empty bottles,
and the smells emanating from untended
trash baskets... and in the midst
of all this dislocation there he was,
huddled in his wheelchair,
his tray of trinkets proudly perched
on a cardboard box, a makeshift table.
Always cheerful, greeting commuters
as they hurried past, but they never returned
the smile forever gracing his weathered face.
One day I stopped to say hello.
His eyes brightened as he said
"Good day to you, good sir!"
Can I interest you in any of my treasures?"
I noticed he was shoeless, sockless,
and made a mental note.
"Right now I have to catch a train,
but I'll return when I have more time,
you have my word."
"I'll be here, this is my world, you'll
always be most welcome!" he explained,
as I disappeared into the teeming crowd.
Foregoing my schedule I returned the next day,
anxious to peruse his wares, and continue
our conversation. It turned out he was a Veteran
who'd fallen on hard times. I sat and listened
while he told me his story. A man displaced
by a society who would forever be in his debt.
"I'll be right back," I said. I had a plan.
Returning from the store, armed with sneakers,
socks and a sponge, I cleaned his feet,
pulled on his socks and laced up his
brand new Nikes. He was overwhelmed,
and by way of payment gave me a pendant
bearing the inscription, 'Semper Fi.'
"This will bring you good fortune, my friend,
wear it, and your heart will be free of strife,
and your days will be filled with sunshine!
Remember me and treasure it, that is all I ask."
Next day, as I was crossing the concourse,
I saw he was no longer at his station,
my friend, his wheelchair, and his tray of trinkets
all were gone. I hoped that where he went
he was cared for and comforted, and if he had shuffled
off this mortal coil that he was in the arms of God.
Was he seen by anyone else but me?
I believed with all my heart he was an Angel.
The Station was littered and in disrepair,
'Out Of Order' signs bore witness.
Discarded chewing gum and empty bottles,
and the smells emanating from unemptied
trash baskets... and in the midst
of all this dislocation there he was,
huddled in his wheelchair,
his tray of trinkets proudly perched
on a cardboard box, a makeshift table.
Always cheerful, greeting commuters
as they hurried past, but they never returned
the smile forever gracing his weathered face.
One day I stopped to say hello.
His eyes brightened as he said
"Good day to you, good sir!"
Can I interest you in any of my treasures?"
I noticed he was shoeless, sockless,
and made a mental note.
"Right now I have to catch a train,
but I'll return when I have more time,
you have my word."
"I'll be here, this is my world, you'll
always be most welcome!" he explained,
as I disappeared into the teeming crowd.
Foregoing my schedule I returned the next day,
anxious to peruse his wares, and continue
our conversation. It turned out he was a Vet
who'd fallen on hard times. I sat and listened
while he told me his story. A man displaced
by a society who would forever be in his debt.
"I'll be right back," I said. I had a plan.
Returning from the store, armed with sneakers,
socks and a sponge, I cleaned his feet,
pulled on his socks and laced up his
brand new Nikes. He was overwhelmed,
and by way of payment gave me a pendant
bearing the inscription, 'Semper Fi.'
"This will bring you good fortune, my friend,
wear it, and your heart will be free of strife,
and your days will be filled with sunshine!
Remember me and treasure it, that is all I ask."
Next day, as I was crossing the concourse,
I saw he was no longer at his station,
my friend, his wheelchair, and his tray of trinkets
all were gone. I hoped that where he went
he was cared for and comforted, and if he had shuffled
off this mortal coil that he was in the arms of God.
Was he seen by anyone but me?
I believed with all my heart he was an Angel...
In the passage of 12 full moon, Princess Layla traveled along the forest hidden from sight, her only companion Lucy, the Great Black Steed. But as much as she loved her steed, she felt quite lonesome.. Fear gripped her heart with each passing day and now she was running out of money. To further complicate matters, her journey was leading her to the flat plains of Prydain. Now she would not be able to sleep in the forest which had become her cloak and blanket.
Princess Layla finally reached her destination, Prydain. It was said to be filled with celestial beings who could communicate with the gods, but as Princess Layla approached the town, it seemed desolate and abandoned. Yet in some strange form of the word, it was peaceful and calming. She looked around but could not see a single soul. Just when she had made the choice to explorer the run down, rutty houses, a figure in black standing by one of the houses pointed to something in the distance. Following the extended finger, Princess Layla spied something that resembled a house off in the distance. "What...", she tried to ask, but the words died on her lips because at that exact moment the owner of the finger slammed the door shut. The sudden outburst almost knocked the wind out of princess Layla and caused her to bite her tongue. "Maledizione! That was rude! sheesh." Deciding she looked ridiculous standing there yelling at nobody, Princess Layla set off to the house in the distance hoping against all hope the person she was looking for resided there.
The princess traveled for a good half-hour before coming to a grand temple with the inscription: Temple of heaven. An old woman came out and guided her to one of the rooms. Princess Layla was instructed to seat and served green tea. She took a sip of the tea, forcefully swallowing the bitter concoction. She could not afford to insult this woman who if Princess Layla played her cards right, might become her savior. "Princess Layla, daughter of King Philip the Great of Wells, what brings your kind to my humble abode?" Asked the old woman.
Mediocre moments coming
On the verge of a dance with illusions,
Memories bursting from their webs of doubt
Hallucinating in flames, burning – brush fires
Surrounded by a past promise, a melancholy
That vibrates with hope – trembling
Oozing away the standard gray, the average
The middle promises made by a stark
Cold darkness found only on a Wednesday
The day for hesitation to burst from its cloud
Hazy rays of confusion silencing the echoes
Dissuading the falling leaves, rustling
In the wind’s silky soothing – dreaming peace
Promises faded beneath the perplexity,
Digested by gastric acid – absorbed in the aching
Desert of a Wednesday heaviness, the moments
Passing leisurely – like black cleverly erases
Stardust and moonlight with the mystery of a reflection
Whose hope is in the impending truth – daybreak
Seeping through the night’s clasp on reality
Wednesday with all its median mass, solid
Like the urgency to whisper’s affluence
Into the upcoming moments, Thursday’s sturdy
Grasp on yesterday – then Friday with all its immensity,
It’s race toward a weekend which will leave this
Wednesday in the endorsement of its imprisonment,
The barren ache of a leaf pirouetting, fantasizing, making
Its way toward the ground where its demise
Is the sustenance for grace, the food that earth
Knows will last until spring brings it’s Wednesday
Blasting away the nurturing blessings of a past
Tuesday’s fingerprints, Monday’s inscription…
This is Wednesday – with all its ambitions
Still mediocre – still just the middle
Of a week filled with hope for Friday’s feelings,
A week ending in a vacation from being…
The lawyer, the doctor, the nurse, the waitress –
Any title who knows its revival
Comes on the mutiny of Monday’s first alarm, ringing
With the prompting for another promotion of this week’s
Inducing of Wednesday’s mirage – the impression
Glistening on the edge of midweek blessings
Wednesday is forever the medium for a week of life’s steady
Pace toward another engaging weekend’s embrace
The Station was littered and in disrepair,
'Out Of Order' signs bore witness.
Discarded chewing gum and empty bottles,
and the smells emanating from unemptied
trash baskets... and in the midst
of all this dislocation there he was,
huddled in his wheelchair,
his tray of trinkets proudly perched
on a cardboard box, a makeshift table.
Always cheerful, greeting commuters
as they hurried past, but they never returned
the smile forever gracing his weathered face.
One day I stopped to say hello.
His eyes brightened as he said
"Good day to you, good sir!"
Can I interest you in any of my treasures?"
I noticed he was shoeless, sockless,
and made a mental note.
"Right now I have to catch a train,
but I'll return when I have more time,
you have my word."
"I'll be here, this is my world, you'll
always be most welcome!" he explained,
as I disappeared into the teeming crowd.
Foregoing my schedule I returned the next day,
anxious to peruse his wares, and continue
our conversation. It turned out he was a Vet
who'd fallen on hard times. I sat and listened
while he told me his story. A man displaced
by a society who would forever be in his debt.
"I'll be right back," I said. I had a plan.
Returning from the store, armed with sneakers,
socks and a sponge, I cleaned his feet,
pulled on his socks and laced up his
brand new Nikes. He was overwhelmed,
and by way of payment gave me a pendant
bearing the inscription, 'Semper Fi.'
"This will bring you good fortune, my friend,
wear it, and your heart will be free of strife,
and your days will be filled with sunshine!
Remember me and treasure it, that is all I ask."
Next day, as I was crossing the concourse,
I saw he was no longer at his station,
my friend, his wheelchair, and his tray of trinkets
all were gone. I hoped that where he went
he was cared for and comforted, and if he had shuffled
off this mortal coil that he was in the arms of God.
Was he seen by anyone but me?
I believed with all my heart he was an Angel...