Long Interiors Poems
Long Interiors Poems. Below are the most popular long Interiors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Interiors poems by poem length and keyword.
I had seen - her calm, cool, composed - like a soft soothing breeze,
Though she could turn tempest or tornado or weakly wheeze;
Like a formless cherub in an endless garden of love,
She covered the earth while racing on cloud-Morgan above…!
Lovely you are! I said to her, Love's living conqueror!
Aren't you, yet, noisy nomad, gypsy, or mere wanderer?
I am vagrant sure, she said, and a tireless traveler,
I have jailed you, yet, in my sachet, like a prisoner…!
It was when I moved much away from the maddening crowd,
And when pondered over her bewildering words aloud;
Enlightenment dawned in me like the wisdom of Buddha,
Many great truths got revealed slowly like Brahma Chakra...!
True as very truth is my brief existence in the breath,
Who on this earth exists, devoid of her, from birth to death?
She murmurs, whispers, commands, demands, like Divine Spirit,
She creates! Destroys! Takes to zeniths! Grants highest merit…!
Soft, serene like nectar secreting in a rose flower,
She sleeps in; grows glows like a flower on a green bower;
Consciously conscious! Unconsciously unconscious! Solace!
Plows through the interiors, like Yacht through water, flawless…!
Shifting my state of mind, working like a leaven within,
Sleep, wake - like my mother - in feasting and fasting she's in;
She is the beginning! End! Center! Whole! Totality!
She is the starting and ends of the whole humanity…!
What an engulfing like a fiery inferno and smoke,
What an empowering and overpowering soul-stroke!
What a change, like unique bloom! Great is the life-giving breath!
What Calm! Peace! Tranquility! Bliss! Awesomely saving meth…!
With her, no stress! No strain! No phobia! No mania!
Her free-blow within free from frightening insomnia;
Abandoned to her eternally evolving Spirit,
Body and soul reach zenith beyond the mundane limit…!
Growing high, I gladly come to the realization,
That I'm part of the classic universal cognition;
Wherein my inner unity freely fondly extends,
And to the external eternal harmony, it tends...!
Knowingly? Unknowingly? Willingly? Unwillingly?
Breath has adopted me - calmly, cutely, and cautiously!
Has made me a flute, lute, melodious rhythmic consort,
I play on! I am played on! Till I reach restful retreat…!!!
16 September 2021
On the anvil that’s the dorp
The noon-day sun beats down.
So between twelve and two
Life in the place is suspended.
Doors to the stores are ‘toe’
And in their dusty windows cheap
Mannequins sleep with open eyes.
The air is still and heavy.
So in the sparse foliage
Of small pepper trees
Feathered creatures perch,
With beaks agape,
And wings spread wide,
Trying to beat the heat.
At the door to the bar
Of the ‘Royal’ Hotel,
In a sliver of shade,
A mastiff lies panting.
Inside the trade is slow.
Manne on barstools
Nurse brandy-and-coke.
House windows are closed.
In the darkened interiors,
Hidden from sight by
Slatted wooden shutters,
People flop on chairs,
Avoid all movement, in
Attempts to beat the heat.
At two a slight sputter of life.
It is ‘government’ employees
Returning to work.
The magistrate and two clerks
Dawdle back to the court.
The post-master and staff
Re-enter the GPO.
It’s still quiet at the ‘Royal’ Hotel.
With no shoppers the doors
Of the stores remain closed.
Under the shade of pepper trees,
Outside the shuttered Co-op,
And alongside the ‘Prokureur’s,
A bakkie and tractor are parked.
The ‘garage’ is deserted
Save for its two Caltex pumps.
From all sun-baked surfaces.
Hot, dry, and dusty air rises.
So every now and then
The wind-pump in my yard
Creaks as it turns a little.
In school classrooms
Pupils slump on desks.
Teachers no longer teach;
“Lees jul voorgeskrewe boek.”
Two-thirty! At last!
The school-day’s over
And also the worst of the heat.
Now en masse
Pupils scurry out,
Head for home, then
After something to eat
It’s back for athletics
On a grass-free track, or
Tennis on concrete courts.
Eventually the glowering sun
Sends streaks of colour
Across the western sky
As it slowly dips out of sight.
Then when twilight is over
The moon is bright and bathes
The town in silvery hues.
By nine o’clock
It’s cool and still
Save for the flutter of moths
Around the outside lights.
And I lie on a bed
Outside on the stoep
With my dog at my feet.
Seeking and finding my own self has been my constant quest,
Like a traveler in the desert, my thirst has no rest;
Digging deep, my strength gets drenched, leaving me pitiable,
Wells within seem empty and void as though lamentable!
A name I have, for namesake, though so preciously given,
Life-cart, though with rough and tough movements, often self-driven;
Possessions, some given some earned, all seeming so silly,
Something for far above often my depths calls me deeply!
Knowledge, strength, power and wealth seem boringly tiring me,
Eating and drinking and sleeping and waking have no glee;
In my smiles, laughs, cries, and weeps… my quest, like the full moon, glows,
In care, share, love, loss - like a swelling stream - quest overflows!
Why am I born? Why do I exist? What is my great goal?
What is my physic? What is my psyche? What's the sole soul?
What should I think? What should I speak? How should I act and react?
Why should I admire? Why should I abhor? Is quest my pact?
The sea I see do not wake waves in response to my quest,
The forests and deserts cover all treasures at my zest;
The earth and cosmos cloak their secrets like history-scrolls,
Heavenly wonders too keep answers hidden in their souls!
In hills and vales and caves and mountains I search my being,
Before saints and sages seeking my true self, I'm kneeling;
Arrays of archives, books, and almanacs give no answer,
My quest seems to eat my interiors like blood cancer!
In this quest for existence, span spent is whole life and more,
Some little grains; more of chaff; the rest have no proper score;
The question - what's life? - remains, yet, like an unsolved puzzle,
I drink from my wells, yet, never quenched, find me still guzzle!
Inner yearning to know me wholly ablaze like wildfire,
Will this be calm and the truth comes to stay when I retire?
This quest was, in me, inborn before my birth in the womb;
Will I be able to quench it before I reach my tomb?
30 September 2021
''Q'' Contest, NEW ONLY Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
How devastating it is, how devastating
when closeness fades, when the connection is trapped
within the walls of our Material
Relationships: bits of affection emerging
seldom, many-guarded; bits of vulnerability
worrying they've been shut out—
I almost ache to see the bond later
that's left its trust in the corner, I mean
the trust that's left its bond, recalling too
that interpersonal nightmare, Estrangement,
in which each heart must scurry
to rejoin the plush interiors of its other,
pushing through, opening indiscriminately
because Love won't take what's only half:
one soul blurring forever
into another's distance.
If we can't know the boundaries between our souls
in life, what will they be in solitude,
corrupted steadily by fear,
pride, or indifference, by intimacy
that depends on courage to survive?
People should keep their walls to themselves
for the remainder of their days: who needs
some stranger's vulnerabilities, wounds,
or insecurities? Darling,
what I cherish in you I pray will always stay
the hell close to me.
But how beautiful it is, how beautiful
when closeness blooms, when connection's free
within the warmth of our Emotional
Bonds: bits of affection emerging
often, many-cherished; bits of vulnerability
thriving, unafraid—
I delight to see the bond later
that's kept its trust in the center, I mean
the trust that's kept its bond, recalling too
that interpersonal dream, Intimacy,
in which each heart must soar
to join the plush interiors of its other,
pushing through, opening indiscriminately
because Love will take the whole:
one soul blending forever
into another's embrace.
If we can't know the boundaries between our souls
in life, what will they be in unity,
nurtured steadily by trust,
courage, and devotion, through intimacy
Does that depend on sharing to thrive?
People should keep their walls to themselves
for the remainder of their days: who needs
some stranger's vulnerabilities, wounds,
or insecurities? Darling,
what I cherish in you I pray will always stay
the hell close to me.
Line of inquiry:
“Yes, I affirm, I have seen God
But He appeared and then disappeared
This knowing that transcends mind, left me awed
But until what’s imbibed is assimilated, by fears I’m seared”
Once I felt the power of God
It seeped into me like lightning,
Illumining the track it traversed
It settled somewhere down,
Within the vibrations of light and sound.
In my heart a delectable music swelled.
My life was deluged with song.
His guiding light led me through devious paths.
When was it that I lost connection with that power?
It happened gradually without my knowing
In course of time, it got veiled and eclipsed,
By the darkness of worldly desires.
I was caught in life’s swift current.
Wishing to stay afloat, l drifted,
Into the midst of peripheral comforts,
Like one chasing the deceiving mirage of the desert
My ego bloated like a balloon
I walked on stilts that I forgot the feel of my feet
I felt the stream of love narrowing into a trickle
And then drying out completely.
I was busy making money
In my mad rush after power and pelf,
I threw my values to the wind
Soon storms began raging into my life.
I was befriending gnawing anxieties and strangulating fears.
My dreams shattered like glassware
My world lost its rhythm and I lost my calm.
Life seemed to go on, leaving me behind
Never more I could endure the desolation
That hovered over my me like a dark shroud
Like a mother's despondency at the loss of her child,
An emptiness enveloped my spirit and being.
I knew it was not too late,
To recover all that I lost.
I decided to trace my steps backward,
And travel in reverse gear.
In all earnestness, I turned my downcast eyes heavenward
Soon I started breathing with greater ease
I began getting healed in love’s gentleness
Binding me to God through an unshakable bond
Like sunlight arching through the dark
Once more He came into my life to light my interiors
Now he resides within me, not at the periphery as earlier,
But deep down as a living power, changeless and timeless!
My little child was like a butterfly.
She was fond of butterflies as well.
This was why I called her: butterfly.
She ran to me commanding me to tell her stories.
I obeyed as she had been the apple of my eye.
‘Tell me stories’, this was how she commanded me once..
‘What?’
‘Tell me stories'.
I felt it was as though asking Bheeshma Pitamaha at his deathbed of nails to utter the 'Gita'!
He could. Could I?
Flesh mine was, of course, weak.
Spirit- Was mine strong?
I was drowning in cancer.
Well, I asked her then:
‘Stories on what?’
‘On butterflies.’
I was absolutely perplexed.
I thought then: was it, in actual fact, a coincidence?
Was it not my dream, once, to talk about butterflies?
'I should speak out', I thought.
I felt in the interiors of my heart that it was a call of the time, or, rather, a demand of the time.
Hence, I decided to put a temporary halt to my grand finale: Death.
Amidst unbearable pain, I did make words from my throat to hail.
To all those who were on the watch of my health, my words sounded as though the last song of a dying nightingale.
I started my story.
Indeed, I did not know then that it was she who was a better storyteller and poet, and philosopher than me.
‘Once upon a time, there was a butterfly…’'
Then I saw her 'flying after' a beautiful butterfly that rushed therein and dazzled away like a dazzling of lightning.
She came back after a while, panting, puffing.
She asked me, ‘what had happened to that butterfly?’
Might be due to the annoyance of her disrupting the very outset of my story, yet, of course, not out of malice or contempt, I told her abruptly, ’she's no more.’
She was shocked! Cheerless!
She seemed as though feeling absolutely sorry for the creature.
It was hence she exclaimed:
‘Butterflies have a comparatively shorter life span. Why don't you tell me stories of butterflies that have longer lives? Or, why don't you give longer life to butterflies in your stories, at least?’
I fell silent.
30 January 2023
“Empathy is emotionally connecting oneself with another in his hardship and pain, showing compassion and loving concern” ~ by Poet
Through the country paths, I lazily loitered
Watching Nature in its changing hue
Straying farther into the interiors
Sundry and sublime vistas came into view
It was almost the end of verdant spring
Summer’s sun stood behind my head
Bleat of lambs was heard from far
"Good day to you"….. Someone said.
There stood on the plain, a boy around thirteen
Obviously, he was of tribal breed
With a beaming smile, he greeted me
But on walking to him, he ran like a steed
I saw him disappear behind the trees
And enter into a hut tiny as a nest
He lived in the lap of Mother Nature
Far from the city and its sooty dust
Being coaxed, he hesitantly came out
My tone of assurance and pleasing smile
Seemed to have won his confidence
As to a friend, he shared his eventful tale
Pointing to the sheep grazing in the slope
He said, he earned a living caring the flock
He stayed in the woods all day long
Feeding and tending his master’s sheep
From dawn to dusk, through woods and meads
He leads his sheep, calling them by their name
Un vexed, with simple pleasures he is content
And with a nomad’s life, he seems to be tame
He said at home he has his invalid mother
Bringing her back to health is his mission in life
On referring to his mother, I watched his eyes glitter
Nothing other than her illness posed to him a strife
From every utterance, I could sense his filial love
Even in abundance while shadows line many faces
On his visage, hope lingered as a dancing flame
To me he seemed above many, rich in other graces
While parting, I handed him some money
Pausing unbelievingly with moist eyes
He accepted it when a breeze passed caressing us
As if over the show of empathy, nature seemed to rejoice!
Feb.13.2023
~ Placed Second~
Writing Challenge- E Word Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Constance La France
Therapeutic thoughts have feelings
of resonance and dissonance
as healing behaviors have internal beliefs
motivating
inspiring spirited resilience
and passions for love
surpassing anger,
compassion
conquering all dispassions,
positive attraction
reconnecting past negative distractions.
Feelings have internal colors
compassionate green health environments
and narcissistic snarky red hot interiors
and radiant blue light
and absorbing yellow warmth,
and many multiculturing other hues
and cries for resonant ultra-violet peace
with black and white and brown restoring justice
not so much grey-scaled punishments
for too liberally
compassionately coloring outside
proper eco-political WinLose lines,
social walls of propriety
against impropriety of full-scale wildly imaginative colors.
When I heard Caillou's white-speak mother
inform her son,
Red is the correct Valentine's color of love,
I knew this could not be my whole virtuous enculturing story
because red is also the color of bloody fraternity
and viciously escalating anger,
Healthy passioned red
or short-flaring diseased fear
of overpowering betrayal,
losing power to overcome
threats to green therapeutic self-portrayal,
regenerative esteem
virtuously red-blooded,
Surrounded and benignly invaded
by green nature,
yellow absorbing internal blue heedfulness,
caution,
discerning nurtured feelings
attributed by more dissonant color relationships
said and sung in virtuously harmonious major,
and viciously dissonant minor, keys,
round co-relational octaves of color
revolving rhythmic qualities fueling flow,
Morally affluent yang prescriptions
with ethically effluent yin descriptors
of exterior green sanctuary natures
with interior red-blooded
DNA ultra-violet
communicating nonultra-violent
recycling nurture wheels
of resiliently felt therapeutic thoughts.
raindrops fall in my hair,
but there is no rain
in my head,
to convince me that the driest spot is the place I just was.
in the first,
hardly remembered moment where you wake,
i step through the door, and lock it closed behind me,
i can still see the lights that predict closed eyes, to protect from the blinding,
and nights that should’ve been wasted, were spent in the early mornings,
where talk was exhausted until the sun crawled its way back up
you watched as my eyes wandered to anything but your eyes,
and in the most important of moments,
you watched me lose myself to the split, splendor of recognition
of
the wonder of the number of people witnessing what is right in front of me,
much of what I have seen has lead me back to you.
to have someone waiting besides the red strings wrapping around us,
to the most trivial times,
where being, is stuck in the slide of the strings pooled,
and a flash of words or the sweater that does not belong to me is able to pull,
and push the fate
that had never been able to be moved.
there is a sense of proving existence to yourself,
in a way you would’ve never thought.
where you are living to prove the movies in your head aren’t invented,
to be glad to be gone when the strings do win,
even though you know they weren’t there at the start,
dripping and dripping,
until all sense of time is lost.
until you come back, and realize exactly how much time was spent,
looking into the past, where your body was already gone,
the moment you lost sight.
in another universe, where we aren’t created by the elements
formed from the interiors of the universe,
we wouldn’t exist in the consciousness of individuals,
there is one world only, the one which we gave ourselves to
and the loss of meaning,
Unfolds with you.
It’s like all the sudden something said "OK Ingrid, now it is time to write again"
So here we are… we two
….you and I swimming amongst these circles and squares...these dashes,darts and dots
jumps...stoppings and startings...periods and lack there of
...of course
So...It begins now
but then that is ridiculous
It began a long time ago in a land so far from me now I have to stop to recall it, as one would stop to recall a book they once read…the plot, the characters all so familiar and on the tip of mind and tongue but then of course not
and one is found floundering and searching …all the while wearing the most preposterous expression
It is impossible to search ones memory and have even the semblance of a sophisticated knowing expression on one's face
It is just part of the human condition
the great equalizer …the rich and the poor, the philosophically advanced and the dumb as dirt
ALL must flounder on memories forgotten and ever relentlessly forgetting shores.
We are not lemmings we are fish
Forgive my pun and weak humor… it is all I have got to try to amuse you while pondering and musing away the time ahead of us about the likes of….
Brown paper bags
Bags….ENORMOUS bags of candy: They MUST have weighed at least 5 lbs
but for a penny a piece =a quarter could make you
Queen of the gum ball and Sorceress of the jaw breaker for at least an entire day.
It is A wonder of nature we are not all dying of diabetes …..and very bad parenting
or are we?
But that is not our real subject…our real subject is the lay of the land
The dot dot dot of it…the slicing of any apple…the creating of a word...a letter …a phrase …any! and all! expression of the depthful interiors of the artistic vase with in
that est perfectum
not because it works and is perfect
but because it exists
at all
in mind and in daring
in ink