Long Krishna Poems
Long Krishna Poems. Below are the most popular long Krishna by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Krishna poems by poem length and keyword.
Migrating to America
In the age of Aquarius
Envisioning the best from the
Land of opportunity where it’s been said
Streets are paved in gold
Everyone has a white picket fence and
A Chevrolet too
The corner hop served burgers and fries
Soda fountains and milkshakes at the Five and Dime
Teens danced the twist and the mash potato
On American Bandstand
And kids played under open fire hydrants in the city
Black is beautiful…
Short afros large afros and James Brown
Tell the people “Say it loud, I’m black
And I’m proud” Bill Withers on the radio
Singing ‘Lean on Me’ and
Shaft is a ‘Bad mo fo… watch your mouth’
Watts turned into ash driven by black rage combustion
Fed up with police brutality still fresh on everyone’s minds
Jesus Christ is a superstar on Broadway
Harry Krishna and the Moonies in orange
Garbs and shaven heads trying to transcend souls
With their tambourines
Flower children preaching peace and love
Pot is something you smoke
Hot pants are short shorts
Worn with boots made for walking
And Uncle Sam wants you
He’s giving a free round trip ticket to Vietnam
While young men dodge the draft
Welcome to a new dawning in the age of Aquarius
Migrating settling in a new land
Leaving behind adolescence and easy island living
For a future to fulfill dreams in a concrete jungle
On migrating to America.
Sleeping, sinking REM deep,
I discerned a hidden cloud break, an ethereal window
nestled among towering, billowing nebulae.
There, spread a vibrancy, a resonance, a resplendence.
Everything shimmered, emitting and reflecting
a golden layered bliss of light.
Was this Christian Heaven, Muslim Jannah, Greek Elysium,
or Buddhist luminous mind, I could not say.
Somehow, my life force, my Yin and Yang, connected,
floating freely, I entered winding, harmonic corridors,
echoing mantras, melding with Gregorian chants.
Soon, I drifted into an immense sanctuary,
a glowing temple, both synagogue and cathedral,
both mosque and mandir, both vihara and guan.
Here, I sensed a great conversation,
a deep exchange of converging consciousness.
Here is where Jesus met Buddha,
Where Moses met Muhhamad,
Where Krishna met Lao Tsu,
Where Carl Jung met Sri Aurobindo.
Here I watched Ramdas with Thoreau,
Tagore with Whitman,
Mother Teresa and Kahlil Gibran,
Mahatma Gandhi and Dorothy Day.
This was holy clarity and sacred, tranquil love.
A sumptuous showering, a gleaming joy,
the Quaker’s inward light of the Biblical,
the Sufis’ luminous vision of the Quranic,
the Hindu Moksha from the ancient Vedas.
But I was just a paltry apprentice,
A novice soul of experience - with unfinished karma.
Yet, in a rhapsody, I awakened
to a wondrous unity of being!
1.
Material life in the Material World:
Duality in every direction:
As Heaven above is,
So, the earth below:
With every delicate, red, mysterious rose,
A proverbial, wounding thorn ...
2.
Suburban splendor:
A life of "quiet desperation";
Holy apparition, manifestation,
Suburban confession:
One fine, fine house;
Five exquisite rooms inside;
But not one friend
In any one of them.
One calls through the door of each:
There's no reply; nothing; nada;
Just the sound of the proverbial "crickets chirping".
But unlike the stand up comic, struggling on stage for
A laugh, facing the blank, staring faces of the audience,
One knows there's no one "out there",
Knows one can't "hear them breathing".
There's only solitude,
Only the sound of one's own heart beating,
Finally coming back to one's senses.
3.
Chance, chaotic and mistaken:
Father and child suddenly, unexpectedly -
Trade mutually alienated, hostile glances,
Father versus child, the father the fool -
In an existential fog:
Another small, quiet death,
Saving beauty lost,
A moral universe crashed and burned,
For now ...
4.
Endless summer:
The Ides of August
[Ancient Roman feast day for the slaves]
Sunday, August 13
Summer vacation at the shoreline;
Somehow, girlish and laughing,
Diana in tow, eyes alive;
And there, some way thriving:
Every mother, every daughter,
Every child: Loving, fervent prayers to the Goddess.
And a night like a dream:
Dreams dreamed asleep,
And ones dreamed awake;
The flower of the day time
And the flower of the night.
With gentle whispering, a sigh,
Ghostly pale, water lilies stir -
On a slowly, softly brightening shore -
Awaking, enraptured, basking
In a full moon's timeless glow.
[Above poem in honor of
Edgar Allan Poe, American poet; writer; editor;
literary critic extraordinaire (1809 - 1849);
And of Fernando Pessoa, renowned Portuguese poet;
writer; literary critic (1888 - 1935);
And of George Harrison, of course, phenomenally influential Beatle;
singer/songwriter/musician; producer; Hare Krishna devotee (1943 - 2001);
Haribol!]
WAITING FOR THE NIRVANA
Physical world runs on the mandate of physics
Controls the levers of life’s complex dynamics,
Every action has equal and opposite reaction.
Don’t follow the axiom, you become your relics.
Spread love if you don’t want to be hated,
See beauty in everything God has created,
Empathy will flow unlimited from your heart,
Your karma will give you inner bliss unabated.
On the pages of Geeta preached thus Lord Krishna:
Act unattached on the dictate of ordained karma
You’ll face life unruffled equally in joy and sorrow,
For you’re only an actor in the creator’s drama.
Captive soul unliberated, you come again and again,
Tolerate in repeated lives the agony and the pain.
Glow your karmic existence in the spiritual light,
You won’t wait long for the eternal nirvana to attain.
April 27, 2018.
Some years ago there was a man in heaven and he gave gifts unto men,
I listen to the sound of Christmas all around me,
Glistening snow reminds me of loved ones in heave,
My daughter sings of silent nights alone with God,
There is no sacrifice great enough to thank him for his submission,
Sometimes we must stand alone, because that is what he asks of us,
But we are never alone,
The sound of Christmas envelopes us and says, “I see you.”
It whispers to us, “I love you.”
It caresses us with my daughter’s winter chilled cheeks,
Some years ago, there was a man in heaven and he gave gifts unto men,
And these tears I cry, are not tears of sorrow, or merely joy, but a sound.
A ringing of gratitude, that gently chimes with the gracious bells of salvation army reps.
A ringing of brotherhood, throughout the stores and slushy streets.
Yes, it’s true there is much sorrow in this world.
There is much pain,
There is much darkness,
Yes, there is much for us to learn,
And this sound, this wondrous coo of an incarnate God who loved me enough to sell his soul
on my behalf.
Who loved me enough to sell himself to sorrow.
There is no better melody.
I am enraptured by flowing snow that tell me sister that she is entwined in a beautiful
fabric,
My father in law shot himself, but the coo of my incarnate Krishna, of my child Savior
whispers to me that he is at peace.
There is much sorrow to this world,
And my soul is often heavy,
And there is this sound, this sound of brotherhood that assures me, that my sister will
stop cutting herself and men will live in harmony.
This sound of Chrismas.
I tell you there is no greater glory than to know that he chose us,
He chose us for this moment, to know that Christmas is risen,
And it gives gifts unto men,
With the sound of a babies coo,
And a man’s sacrifice.
Phonetically that’s what my name
means in Japanese, I’ve been told.
My name has a synonym.
My name is in the Bible.
Maybe one day, folks will say,
“Holy Ben!”
My mentor also has my name.
He’s on the $100 dollar bill.
We are both very electrifying
and I like having him in my pocket
even though I'm not gay.
My favorite car company is Mercedes.
I owned one once
that had turbo and a diesel engine.
Just like me, our exhaust stinks and is visible.
I stand out in a crowd
with my voice and bamboo flute.
I play in parking garages and down back-alley ways.
Good acoustics.
Playing Jethro Tull and Calypso
puts me in a trance.
Makes it hard to sit still when all I want to do is dance.
So, I usually dance and prance like Pan.
I was probably Krishna in another lifetime.
But not now. I eat meat with my vegetables.
When I play the Star Wars theme,
it sends me out to Space.
When I play ‘In the Jungle,’
it sets the Beastie in me wild and free.
When I play ‘Amazing Grace,’
my spirit soars and flies.
I like getting the Thumbs Up
from the Band, and not just the crowd.
I have stage fright, so I need a helping
hand to make it up on stage.
But once I’m up,
I rage!
I have this recurring dream
with me in the spotlight
high up on a platform.
I’m sitting on my porcelain thrown
and there's a huge crowd below.
I have horns and a halo.
I sometimes grunt
when playing flute or singing songs.
I’m not ashamed to be a poet.
Even though I don’t know It.
Or grow It or pretend to flow It.
I prefer to freelance out loud in song
but the silent pen can’t be wrong.
I am the Ben!
Dozing on a hammock
strung between two towering palms
with the sky above-
color washed in turquoise blue
and the waters below
reflecting that heavenly hue,
you came to me causing ripples
of joy, sailing in a whimsical dream
like the strains of a symphony
churning out endless vibrations
in my solitary heart
you showed up
all too sudden
like a rainbow on my vacant sky
after a cloud burst of cloistered grief
to blaze it with iridescent shades
Your smile
embalmed my bruised spirit
with the coolness of a summer drizzle
falling, like manna
over starved Israelites
in their arduous odyssey
through blistering sands
Your passionate breath,
spewed on my face
bore the scent of opening buds
in the mazy tangle of wild creepers
growing dense in nearby woods.
Your amorous whispers
fell in my ears
with the sweetness of the melody
from *Krishna’s flute
with Radha near ,love sick
her lips curled in an immaculate smile.
Your soft footsteps
like the jingle of a court dancer
echoed in the silence of my soul
with a hundred evocations
As the jingles
came nearer in synchronizing rhythm
I held out my arms
to clasp you in tight embrace
and reel you in frenzied jig
But you vanished,
vanished,
with the swiftness
of bubbles rising and breaking
in a beer glass,
leaving me to my desolate zone
The sky overhead had changed
into another shade
Still I lay in mid air,
with my eyes sealed tight
to re-live that whimsical dream
once again!
*According to Hindu Scriptures, Radha and Krishna were so devoted to each other that their romance remains a love legend of all times. Radha would fly into a state of ecstasy with the songs flowing through Krishna's flute…..
'W' New Poems Poetry Contest- Whimsical
Sponsor- Constance La France
Important Note: The reason for writing this wonderful story is the fact the gradually the traditional singers (boys and girls) of Tesu, who used to come once in a year with the earthen pot and a light in it on their heads, while singing the songs of Tesu have almost disappeared. This year on Dewali no Tesu was seen by me. I hope that those who have an open heart for other cultures and their beliefs and traditions would welcome this series and would find wonderful love story worth enjoying. Love and best wishes…..
Tesu A Folk Love Story of India 7
The problem was acute and the war was inevitable
Lord Krishna was pondering to find a solution
The only way left was to take a word from Tesu
Who was known for adhering to his given words. 18
Although Krishna heard about him, as a warrior of that era
And that Tesu would be firm to his beliefs, faith and words
Still, he wanted to have a test of his flawless marksmanship
And decided to meet him, in disguise of a Brahman*. 19
Krishna decided to meet Tesu, while he was returning
After meeting his lovely beautiful beloved Jhonjhi
Tesu was too happy that day, after meeting his beloved
As they had spent many sweet and lovely hours together. 20
Ravindra
Kanpur India 10th December 2012 to continue
Protected under the copy write provisions of Poetry Soup as per US laws. Copying this story without the permission of the writer is strictly prohibited and would be subject to legal remedies taken by the writer.
Clarifications - *Brahman- The one who knows the creator or a person having profound knowledge and wisdom was called a Brahman. In later ages this became a caste in India and who so ever born in this family began to be known as Brahman.
Prince: Being in a place of unrest is rather confounding to the nature of the location when others describe the environment. For our person of the scholar’s cloth there lies the stone of fire and the pillars of the traveler.
Krishna: Pillar one teaches the person how they should live. This becomes a journey of looking into different states (beliefs) and applying them as living principles.
Prince: The dropbox of common dogma for one is not needed for the other. The dogma is detrimental as it denies the words of the Son. The dogma states about networking but destruction is the key to understanding when they apply their beliefs. They have been the classical, and modern Moral Orel’s in society.
Krishna: Pillar two is about standing for knowledge and learning to see people from the Locke perspective with the understanding of Maslow, Adler, Freud, Erikson, Spinuzzi, Bacon, Copernicus, Galileo, Pratarelli, Weber, Mohammad, Yeshua.
Prince: The knowledge pillar is the most critical to finding the answers to everything that is a problem of conformity, social disruption and foolishness. Maslow spoke about the hierarchy of needs in humanity. Siddhartha Gutama knew about this and called it Nirvana. Adler believed in holism as an understanding of the people. Tony Cassidy would write about this in 1997 from an environmental perspective. Everyone else would use the mind and universe to answer questions about our place and actions in the grand tapestry.
Krishna: Pillar three is about the knowing of the Self and not relying on others for the interpretation of the Self. Hearing the words of others should only be heard and not a full rewrite of the person. Not everyone will like the speaker as they choose to live in their excrement.
Krishna: The stone of fire is the love, dedication that helps them endure everything. It is the embodiment of Odin’s eye, the blood of the divine, the tears of those that can never be quenched by only one person. The stone is the testament to those that have been part of the journey. It tells of those that have betrayed the scholar.
Prince: All of this was learned at a place called Easy Place, where everything was a central hub that nearly overtook its name to becoming the ‘Forgotten Valor of the Soul.’
Krishna: The other pillars are of a different time for the traveler and of other statuses.
As I woke on Xmas morn, all was quite still,
my breath on the window, crystallized in the chill.
With the Soldiers so far away, many did feel,
the distance had made the war seem surreal.
The war they are fighting, I fear may have no end,
the fanatics that feed it, do not understand.
The Human race is meant to be free,
to make choices and have dreams, for others to see.
Their warped sense of values is not in the Qu ran,
Muhammad's (PBUH) teachings are not kill, then run.
He had many wives whom he honored quite freely,
the love he felt for them all was as Thaira (pure), as a lily.
The fight he tried to teach, this war of Jihad,
is the fight of the good, versus the bad.
Is, meant to be fought inside of each man.
Within his head, not in a desert, in a far off land.
My prayer for this Christmas for all to join hands,
No matter the religion, no matter the clans.
May the peace we all want be within our grasp,
may this fight on terror, and within be won at last.
Thank You God, Yahweh, Buddha, Allah, I say this with reverence,
Call Him Jesus or Krishna, whatever your preference.
Amen