Long Intermingling Poems
Long Intermingling Poems. Below are the most popular long Intermingling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Intermingling poems by poem length and keyword.
So intimate is, spectrum of love hues sublime
Vivifying our body, through touch sensory
As we meld into ambedo trance every time
Rekindling thereby, our pristine divinity
Sensuality heightened, if we be present
Imbibing subtle nuances within our heart
Thought rested awareness, flowing with the current
At each instant, throb of bliss ignition restarts
So intimate is, our continual breath flow
Pranic energy, percolating within deep
Moment to moment, innate aliveness aglow
As the nectar divine, into our pores does seep
Mindful presence, equal both within and without
Radiating a mysterious magnetism
No desires remain, onto which ego may grout
Endearing eye, bridging narrow thought form chasms
So intimate is, touch of lovers holding hands
In silence, exchanging love electricity
Their auras intermingling, gently understand
Tranquil fulfilment, thus in continuity
A walk along the beach, waves lapping up the shore
Soft moonlight enlivening the play of delight
Love in love with love for love alone, yearns for more
Teasing caress divine, radiant day and night
So intimate is, the flow of our innocence
Flitting gently from sensation to sensation
Void and manifestation merged in this parlance
A seamless continuum of meditation
Our vaporised self, assigning no preference
All life coordinates having equal appeal
Sensual vibrancy of the divine dream dance
Renews afresh that bliss throbs we so fully feel
Oh hermit! Each touch intimate and sensual
Lived from our stillness fulcrum, as Gods miracle
31-January-2021
Organ donation
The heart goes to my lover in soul body and mind as we dance our tunes
in rhythm and rhyme on the moonlit mountains caressing passionate skin
Joined at our hips like twins separated at birth united again and conjoined
in tender embrace we carry our load on shoulders of emotion and reason
The atlas of the Universe mingles sensations as synapses rejoice twist on
axis and pivotal axes when your womb gives shelter to seminal growth
Standing tall the back bone of kindness compassion of sensual flow climbs
up and further up the snake and ladders the plexus of life intermingling
Hot lava arises transcends from tips and from tip toes from centre to
crowned chakras meanders vibrates our uncensored sensors' delight
Neurons transcribe tiny atomic blasts 'petite mortal' birth and ascension
when all organs donated received cherished and melted evolve into one
Treasure pleasure domes flood brain waves when our blood boils when
it fuses into one when the climax of symbiotic organs orgasms our peace
14th September 2016
Heart Skin Hips Shoulders Synapses Plexus Atlas Axis Backbone Womb Neurons Brain
Inspired by Friedrich Von Schiller’s poem,
The birth to a tumultuous...orchestral bliss.
The flicks of his wand was the rhythm he heard,
A call for dramatic attention...an extraordinary passage.
As he pulls...he demands...rejecting the three movements,
A dense prelude to what is to come softly emerges.
The lower strings of the orchestra sadly...grope,
And transcend into a new melody...a higher plateau.
Intermingling yet surprisingly...exploding into full orchestra,
The rhythm leaves his wand...to the choral of ode to joy.
A musical patriot with passionate poise...conducts in silence.
His soul’s final composition permeates from the gestures of his wand.
A deaf body with a mindful soul...fatigued and battered,
Deprived to listen to the thunderous applause...of his life’s magnum opus.
through lean years
in this thing called life
i’ve tended to my garden
erected walls with what i could
made a shelter called it mine
i filled each corner
in convoluted ways
with memories and fantasies
along the way weeds got the best of me
my garden looks more like a junkyard
a roadmap of regrets discarded
scruffy trails of abandoned rejects
milestone remnants of betrayals
sometimes i meander
thru the backlanes of my mind
both the garden and the junkyard
intermingling in a unique form of art
it’s messy but i claim it as my own
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~IN THE GARDEN OF MY FANTASY~ 2023
Read on air by invitation ~ January 16, 2022 'POETS HARBOUR'
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 5, 2019 for contest MY FAVORITE JUNKYARD sponsored by CRAIG CORNISH - RANKED 12TH
Life Is Like A Maypole.
In our spring, we are born;
our dance begins as inter-woven events
and experiences build our future.
Blood-red trauma,
wraps itself around our happiest moments…
it never wins.
Always uplifted by orange-joys,
winding ribbons, we heal a bit.
Intermingling emotions are etheric ribbons;
round and round, they twine.
Once we are completely enveloped;
developed by life’s dance;
the grey’s of middle-age decline,
begins to unravel;
reversing our celebration until,
death’s icy grip ads its finishing touch.
A soul is born; in growing,
learns and passes into another existence…
re-incarnating for another dance.
Entered contest: Life Is Like A Maypole
Sponsored by: Seren Roberts
1-19-15
As I drive away from the past, from my old life, I look into the rearview mirror and hear my conscience say “Don’t think twice”
But it hurts, because in the wreckage left behind, I see a life that I will never have, one that will never be mine
I see all the damage, the loss that has occurred all because of me, and as I look into that rearview mirror it’s there in your eyes staring back at me
All the pain, the wasted time, the bloodshed to my heart, the remains are left there in front of you like the pieces of a totaled car
And so, I keep on driving farther and farther away from the view, away from your haunting eyes that are telling me you did what you had to do
And through the tears obstructing my view I get it I do see, the reason why you made me go and took what was left of me
You had no other choice you had to stay, and I had to go, but couldn’t you have prepared me for the impact you caused, wasn’t I to know?
I never saw it coming and, in these situations, you rarely do, I was blind sighted caught in the aftermath of the destruction that was you
I want to turn around because I feel for you and for me, your tears are intermingling with the pieces of my heart on the ground that you caused to be
Can you feel it the calmness now after the collision is through? I might have walked away unscathed, but only on the outside, you can’t see the damage within you put me through
The internal bleeding, my body that is all twisted up inside, yes, I may look like I’m not dead but to be honest I’m barely alive
Could you not see it in my eyes? Did you not witness the pain? How could you just let me drive away knowing that you’re to blame?
And the sad part is you don’t even care enough to come after me, your content with the way things ended while the shock of it is killing me.
boy and girl intermingling
blood and veins overlapping
vulnerableness
a violet's caress
lavender kombucha
passion's persona
jasmine's megaphone
harmony's tone
music's movements
sincere sentiments
amethyst's kiss
hot and cold amiss
an artist's loaded brush
a starfish's bluish blush
a fairy dusting
mountain berry ice cream
jelly doughnut filling
ripened grapes distilling
regal drape twine
an eggplant's bloodline
royalty's manners
hung Lutheran banners
a swing-seated spiritual rest
creativity compressed
a poet's potential prose
a rare rose
a nose of lilac blooms
beauty's ballrooms
a pleasurable bruise
love's uncomfortable shoes
a plum's point of view
progeny of red and blue
evening sky's blending
a rainbow's favorite ending
from a distance, clouds gently float
like cotton candies of varied hues
from light pastels of lilac and cerulean
intermingling with silky azure skies
hazy colours mirrored on the sea
like the hues painted in your eyes
of your gentle glance
unaware of my presence~
like the sleepy shores
unaware, too of curling foams
halcyon hills in soft emerald
blended in ivory and juniper
reminds me of the green grass
where we used to run
barefooted and free~
unmindful of the seasons
1 March 2021
Notes:Beach in Pourville is a painting by French artist Claude Monet. It is one of an 1882 series of oil-on-canvas works by Monet in the small seaside resort of Pourville-sur-Mer, near Dieppe in northern France. (Photo and info credits to Wikipedia).
A long time passes and I am still here
Silently insulting, brutally weeping
But then I lift my head from the ground
To see him standing there
Towering over me in all endeavor of quietude
Was he there the entire time?
I feel his eyes but see only his stare
I am dreaming again
Has he returned to guide me?
To frighten me back into reality?
Who are you, entity of fear?
I know death draws me near—
But why, oh mystery, do you linger here?
He never answers me, though still I try
Why are you here?
Must you hate me too?
He pulls me up staring me down
His thin, sophisticated form makes me feel hollow
Empty features burning my vision
As he bends facing me
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I hide. . .
Why, I ask, my voice croaking
Tell me why. . .
He takes my hand as I cringe
Walking me to the edge, his head tilted my way
I shake like a dried leaf on the brink of autumn
A small, pathetic part of me wants to thank him
To believe all of this. . .is right
How though, can I trust his blank sincerity?
I am the only. . .the lonely
But there he is beside me
His long fingers intermingling in mine
The sense of fear and confusion
Sticking to me like grime
I am the Slender Man—I am—your friend
And for once I let him embrace me
I cannot bear to flee
He tenses and tightens his grip
Dreading I may slip away in panic
Please stay. . .please stay
Soon it will all just go away. . .
He is warm against me—alive
Breathing slowly, I feel the beating of his heart
Bashing my nerves—blurring my mind
Tingles shoot down my spine
As I stand there, so close to him
We watch a sagging sunset
As tears flow down my infected eyes
I have learned to fly. . .to embrace the lies
Squeezing my hand he holds me close
As the black sun wearily lifts its head one last time
Only to sink from its post
I never want to see your face again
See, that’s why I lie
Slender Man cradles me in his tendrils
Surrounding me like I am its sickly nourishment
Whispering comforting falsehood
I gaze beyond the wasteland
Beyond myself. . .
But there I find nothing
Hand in hand we walk over the edge
Heading yonder into the sheer, sweet
Nothingness
The demons watch us disappear
Grinning from ear to ear
I cannot see them now. . .
But I can smell their fear
-January 26, 2013-
The Wild Hunt
by Michael R. Burch
(King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table have been reported as ghostly hunters, near Devon, around Halloween.)
Near Devon, the hunters appear in the sky
with Artur and Bedwyr sounding the call;
and the others, laughing, go dashing by.
They only appear when the moon is full:
Valerin, the King of the Tangled Wood,
and Valynt, the goodly King of Wales,
Gawain and Owain and the hearty men
who live on in many minstrels’ tales.
They seek the white stag on a moonlit moor,
or Torc Triath, the fabled boar,
or Ysgithyrwyn, or Twrch Trwyth,
the other mighty boars of myth.
They appear, sometimes, on Halloween
to chase the moon across the green,
then fade into the shadowed hills
where memory alone prevails.
Published by Celtic Twilight, Celtic Lifestyles, Boston Poetry and Auldwicce. Few legends have inspired more poetry than those of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. These legends have their roots in a far older Celtic mythology than many realize. Here the names are ancient and compelling. Arthur becomes Artur or Artos, “the bear.” Bedivere becomes Bedwyr. Lancelot is Llenlleawc, Llwch Lleminiawg or Lluch Llauynnauc. Merlin is Myrddin. And there is an curious intermingling of Welsh and Irish names within these legends, indicating that some tales (and the names of the heroes and villains) were in all probability “borrowed” by one Celtic tribe from another. For instance, in the Welsh poem “Pa gur,” the Welsh Manawydan son of Llyr is clearly equivalent to the Irish Mannanan mac Lir. Keywords/Tags: King Arthur, wild hunt, hunting, Halloween, England, London, Artur, Bedwyr, Valerin, Valynt, Gawain, Owain, Devon, Wales , romance, romantic, myth, mythology, legend, legends, night, sky