Long Linkage Poems
Long Linkage Poems. Below are the most popular long Linkage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Linkage poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh, my dear wandering wayfarer, You're roaming here and there, I can't underestimate your goal as an error, And your trip is featured in a travelogue's fair. Oh,my dear wonderful wayfarer , If you travel in a southerly direction , You will visit my village which bears her , And look my lovable mother's affection. Oh,my dear watchful wayfarer, My mother is awaiting my arrival, at the door of my hut like a sufferer, with loneliness and patience of survival. Oh,my dear wearisome wayfarer, Inform mother about my critical condition, I shall be waiting for a sea voyage, May better, And your words console her like a mission . Oh , my dear well -known wayfarer, If you convey my urgent message, I shall be grateful to you like an offerer, May God, bless the wanderer and his linkage.
Life is the embodiment of the unique existence,
the construct of universal elements nature chose
to manifest distinctively with the divine essence
in the unparallel trinity of body, mind and soul.
Beneath the surface of perceptive mortal senses
the mind builds all the dreams it desires to see.
Haunted by unreal apparitions in fear it invents
suffering the superstitious spell of surreal spirits.
Under the convolute layers of the transient mind
at the tranquil depth resides the enlightened soul,
imperishable, it sends the beacon of eternal truth,
builds subconscious holy linkage with the absolute.
Travelling on the undulating topography of life
an inward journey on the path of spiritualism
takes us to the ultimate destination of nirvana,
we learn the meaning of the trinity of existence.
October 5, 2018
The Old Car
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016
Remember when we used to say
“I’ve got to trade this car”
it hard to start in the mornings
and it won’t go very far
The linkage to the gears all shot
the timing just don’t time
if I find someone silly enough
I’ll sell it for a dime
Just when you think your minds made up
and tomorrow it’s a trade
it seems as though it reads your thoughts
and steps it up a grade
It started great this morning
and the linkage worked just fine
I’ve driven quite a distance
and the timing seems in time
She seems to know what I’ve been thinking
and is trying to change my mind
and show, even if I go looking
a better car I just won’t find
I know she has done this before
the decision’s been prevented
and I have not shown her the door
like a fool I have relented
but this time she just has to go
she just cannot be trusted
she’ll start it all again I know
but this time, she’s been busted
With the rhythm of your passionate poetry,
rolled the silver-crested wave of romanticism,
inundating the shore of English literature,
where you emerged as the seminal figure.
The beauteous kaleidoscopic natural world
imparted didactic quality to your poems,
finding connection between nature and your soul,
and between the self and matchless imagination.
The color, fragrance and sounds of spring,
the shine of autumn sky, sparkle of sun-soaked water,
made lasting romantic impression in your mind,
influencing the growth of your poetic brilliance.
You had firm faith in the magnificence of nature
as the prime source of true happiness and joy,
that could enhance the scope of kindheartedness,
enlighten the spiritual awareness of individualism.
A worshipper of nature, you eulogized its charm,
when you felt you “wandered lonely as a cloud”,
merged with the flushing splendor of landscape,
to be aptly christened as the poet of nature.
You captured the cadenced whisper of nature
in the swaying golden daffodils and wandering clouds,
far away from the medley of lively crowd,
distant from the domain of emotions and dreams.
Your profound personal romantic linkage with nature
left no space for complexities of human experience.
If entwinned with the threads of human nature
your lyrical beauty could’ve adorned universal sensibility.
Oh God of Creation
Direct
My creativity and productivity
So I can fly out of this nation
Even with slow motion but no stagnation
Thriving and striving globally not locally
Without any commotion but jubilation.
Oh God of Creation
Remove every blockage
Or linkage
Hindering my expansion
Which is my growth
Putting me on expectations
Without getting where I want to be or what I want.
Oh God of creation
I know you will do it
I'm not sure of the timing
But it's certain
For you said in your laws
Ask and shall be given
Seek and you'll find
Knock and it shall be open
Guild me, so I don't fall into the wrong circle
Recycling all that I have outgrown, Amen!!!
Zerah was the twin brother of Perez whose mom and dad were Judah and Tamar. Perez was a direct ancestor of Jesus, but Zerah's name also appears in Jesus' genealogy. Zerah was not a direct ancestor of Jesus, but 'he also mattered'.
Tamar's actions are ill advised and unacceptable by standards even in her day; but she felt that she had been overlooked and forgotten. So pretending to be a prostitute, she did the unthinkable by tricking Judah her father-in-law into conceiving a child with her. In so during, she became a direct ancestor of Jesus. Though ignored and rejected, she asserted herself and convinced others that 'she also mattered'.
Rahab was a citizen of ill repute in Jericho, a city doomed for destruction. Acting upon historical information she had acquired, Rahab brokered a deal with the spies that saved her life and that of her family. She was a prostitute who later married into the Hebrew family and became a direct ancestor of Jesus. 'She also mattered'.
Ruth was a Moabite and an unlikely candidate for the Messianic linkage. She made personal choices that were of the 'outside of the box variety'. She was selfless and never realized where such choices would take her. Her life and name, her submissive and teachable spirit speak volumes. 'She also mattered', and so does every creature on the face of the earth.
12012017 PS *Matthew 1 NIV
I link my soul to the sea
and I beckon you to come and rescue thee
the waves are getting high
and there is no movement around the sea
just the sound of the waves calling out to me.
There is no one you can trust,
you give them your soul,
they look at you and smile with you
and then they throw you underneath the bus
Their words are empty and dry and
they drain all the moisture out of the sky
sometimes you fall down on your knees and pray
and other times you call it a day and pack up and go away.
There is a linkage in the sea
And it leads to the Sea of Galilee
I can trace the line beneath the earth
And I can see it when you dig up the dirt.
The river Jordan is getting dry
and there is no more tears left in the eyes
the young maidens are waiting by the sea
hoping that a sudden miracle would set them free
your words are too light and they are not
strong enough to turn the day into night
so why do you fight?
You play Indian and chief
like young boys roaming the street
with their manly voices barking
like dogs in the sun and makeshift
kites flying in the sky, and when night falls
you can hear the brawl,
gunshots cracking in the corner
forcing everyone to take cover.
We are all connected so be still
and listen to your heart’s rhythm;
would you rather a billion people die
before you give up the water way?
Or would you rather have it your own way?
We can do it another way
if the universe is ready to play
Not one gun will be drawn, not one missile
will shoot in the air.
You can take down those at the top
and the world would be happy about that
but you cannot do it alone,
you have to dress like a woman in gown
and be like a clown
saturate yourself in the breeze,
and in broad day like you take the island under seize
nobody goes in and nobody goes out.
You have got to move on to the next stage
to be the master of the game and when the is light
you will obtain the noble peace prize
not one drop of blood spilt, no weapon drawn
the linkage will wake you up before the break of dawn.
Do as you please!
time melts down in the death
obsession decays with death
death awakens me in the state of absolute tranquility,
tranquility not even bothered by the buzzing in my ears
I was thinking that death lives only in the heart of
one who wanted to keep cherished memories
but, alas; will diminish one day
like ripples carried by the water
however, on some occasions, death throws its shadow
becoming an uncontrollable passion, it bursts into flame
and flows in the wilderness as a stream of molten rock;
then comes together to become a mound of ashes
and scatters in the air blown by a gust to yield naught
which may be the linkage to never perishing another life
so what do you have to do with meeting death, it’s nothing
but the shadow of the moon that hanged on a limb of a tree;
what about dialogue with death,
it’s only a whisper you made to a star
actually, death is the resignation of self with closing eyes
in the dark that is darker than the darkest hour yonder horizon;
death is time ceased in an abysmal chasm where water
neither moves nor stands still but has petrified
and become gentle waves in the sea
over the edge of a mound of fossils
still and all,
when the dead one’s thoughts are floating on the quiet water
it becomes a raging billow higher than a mountain and swallows the sea
an irresistible yearning for the departed occurs in the heart of the living one,
if death is the four seasons that alive walk stepping on the time of oblivion
as the subsequence to a hatred, no one can torment death; no one can shake open death’s eyes
I wonder who said those clever things on death?
“how wonderful is death, …pale as yonder waning moon
with lips of lurid blue, ….”1
“sleep is lovely, death is better still, ….”2
as long as one is alive one can talk about death
death most beautiful; death would be beautiful forever
1. Shelley: Queen Mab 2. Quote from Heine
The first invisible hand I saw, was the hand that appeared
in the banquet hall of the Babylonian palace, inscribing
letters on the wall, with its fingertip,
the letters, written by the invisible visible hand, on the wall
may be an astonishing revelation, the inscription on the wall
is not as impressive as the visible invisible hands stretching
desperately on the canvas in ‘Guernica’.
By the time I learned of the existence of an invisible hand,
it’s an embarrassing situation but the invisible hand disappeared
from our surroundings, already; a crow flew away to the place unknown
carrying my poor soul.
Presently, however, every hand has
its own color and goes loose in the marketplace
the clean white hands called holy
dipped and pulled out from holy water;
the bluish hands dyed from bruised people treated cruelly;
the dictator’s red hands stained from the blood of innocent people;
other hands,
messy hands stained from oil spouting from the well;
the bright gold hands of the man who found a vein of gold.
Nonetheless, there still is, the invisible hand, out there,
this hand occasionally fumbles into my breast, pulls my heart out
and tattoos an unsightly tattoo which can’t be removed or cut out
and when becomes bored of tattooing my heart, the hand squeezes
into the brain, connects and disconnects the delicate linkage of my thoughts
and beclouds my judgment
it’s really annoying, but what can I do?
since it’s an invisible hand.
That’s the devil’s hand a dog plays with,
the dog tosses, chases and chews it in his mouth.
Beneath the surface of the perceptive mortal senses
the mind nestles the buds of dreams it desires to see bloom.
Allured by avid aspirations into insipid ignorance,
it suffers wandering in the wilderness of discontent.
Under the convoluted layers of the mangled mind
languishes the servile soul at the impervious inner depth,
until enlightenment dawns with the light of the eternal truth,
building with dedicated spirit the holy linkage with the absolute.
Travelling on the enlightened pathway of devout life,
an inward journey to the sacred sanctum of spirituality,
takes the soul to the ultimate destination of liberation,
where realization perceives the meaning of emotions.
The swirling currents of the vagrant mind
find the current course of intuitive introspection
through the layers of consciousness,
dissipate in the shade beneath the divine lamp
that illumines the swathe of the dark acuity.
The soul then shines in the heavenly glow,
reflecting the patina of the perception lotus,
as the self-searching comprehensive odyssey ends
at the sanctified altar of supreme mindfulness.
Distanced from the thought-swamped past
the merger configures awareness in the realm of now.
In the onyx night, the drizzle of argentine stardust,
symbolizing the sequins of sensual epithet
of the vibrant existential melodic essence,
adorns the pearl-laced waves of the rolling psychic sea,
that spreads seamlessly to the baroque emotive shore
though the bay of bliss of the musical mind,
echoing the tune of the soulful symphony.
The rain-washed sparkling sky of the new day,
enwrapped in the chromatic trellis of the rising sun,
spreads the spectrum of corporeal perception,
fabricated by the fascinating sense of the vibrato of life,
weaved as the tapestry of transient feelings
with the lattice of self-drawn imagery of kaleidoscopic now.
The congenial current of contemporary time,
defused in the miasma of the marooned mind,
turns the indented poignant impulses
into lyrical crescendo of consciousness concerto.
On its sonorous serenading wings,
the awakened awareness flies in the sky of sensual sonata
to the harmonic realm of euphoria,
realizes the nicety of the unequivocal notion
that life is a song to be sung in now continuum.