Long Loftiest Poems
Long Loftiest Poems. Below are the most popular long Loftiest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loftiest poems by poem length and keyword.
Written: March 11, 2025
***********************
Desert dazzling daisy,
Enchanted by the delicate dance of the wind,
swayed gently under the warm sun.
Its vibrant petals caught the light,
creating a mesmerizing display that drew
the attention of passing travelers, the light of dawn,
At dusk, it fades akin to fireworks.
Brilliant blooms of
dandelions, born from
a bounty of love,
are bettor than barren
baubles of diamonds,
which emerge from a heart of stone.
Fantastic flair fills
hearts with fervor,
as fleeting fragments fade
such dewdrops dancing
delicately on dainty petals.
An ethereal essence elevates,
joyfully bouncing in the
the atmosphere as dew emerges.
Roaring rivers of red rage
in a realm buried
beneath darkness,
holding treasures,
tattered threads,
tossed at the threshold,
gently cloaking love,
longing and light.
In a blazing embrace,
spitting at soaring ships,
smoldering swifter,
Togetherness and love soar to the loftiest heights.
mirroring a midget mirth,
As a mantis mercilessly mauls its mate,
Carefree, courageous, captivating,
this scene is filled with frolic and fun,
then they could scream
the fury of forgotten freedom,
fervently flaring.
Leap into the loving arms.
of a waiting parent—
Truly treasured is trust.
There is joy in returning that love
love is not a ledger;
It doesn't tally totals.
But for the parents,
Who do they leap into?
Trusting love will be met.
with festive feasts
and fine wine.
Progenitor of all progenitors,
to whom the past is pinned,
in whose hands the future flourishes,
famed for nurturing the finest—
for joy and wellness,
seeds sown and reaped,
life rekindled,
form of finesse and fortitude.
To heed His harmonious hints,
with serene Sunday pauses,
to ponder and perceive
how one might overlook a signal
and shift into reverse,
to regain the path
and reach a radiant resolution.
A paradise of playful,
peaceful pauses,
and who in truth
can truly doubt,
Gazing at the humbly honored
His everlasting love for us,
His cherished children
for whom He chose to die?
Vasava –
An untold story 14/Many
Udiyan knew what his friend King Suyodhan, had briefed him about Vasava
That she would not compromise, on her determinations with anyone
Even if she is offered, the temptation of a kingdom,
It was enough an indication for Udiyan, that she would not succumb
To his rising passions and ever increasing charms and lust for her
Because of Vasava’s determinations, not to get involved
In physical relations, passions and body lusts, which may make her weak
And may become the main cause of her skill deterioration,
Of her long cherished and preserved Music, Art, Dance or other devotions
She therefore decided to put a restriction, on all such alluring temptations
Her opinion that her self control, on the rising waves of passions and lust
Can only take her to those extra ordinary heights, where skills becomes perfections
As she has yet to attain the loftiest height of her skills
And her goal was far, far away from where she was standing
In spite of holding a rare prime position in the kingdom of Magadh**
She therefore had started loving her music and art
More than anything in the world, and got herself so much involved,
In attaining the perfection in her dance and singing arts,
That an inner beauty began to grow, glow and shine in her
With the shining of her dancing steps and her enchanting singing arts
The enthralling image of Vasava, was hovering on the mind of Udiyan
Removing every other image, for the time being from his mind and heart
Udiyan could not close his eyes, even for a moment
And passed his entire night sleeplessly in weaving his future with Vasava
As he was feeling that without her, life had no charms and meaning for him
Even the kingdom of Ujjain, appears to be of no attraction for him
Without Vasava being the queen, of his heart and his kingdom
Every thing seems to be a hallow or vacant like a void,
Even his own life, appeared to be not of his own,
Without, the sweet presence of his dream likes reality Vasava
Ravindra to continue in 15
Kanpur India 20th April 2010
center
The shrinking horizons of human mind
Ever since Corona has confined us in our dwellings
It has changed our nature and human behaviour
In many fields of life
Not only, has it changed human nature
In a considerable way leaving few expectations
But it has changed unknowingly our thinking and attitude too
On social platforms, social media, TV and
At different other organisational level
Of public and private bodies world over.
.
Often we see, different restrictions and bindings are imposed,
Directly and sometimes indirectly
Only because of the shrinking horizons of human mind and
attitude. 02
.
It is happening only because
We are no longer to free to move anywhere
Where earlier, we were moving and enjoying
Expressing ourselves and part taking in social gatherings
As per our will love and likes. 03
.
We used to see Cinema in picture halls,
Used to take part in music gatherings, dramas, games and
Other outer events and restaurants and
Often many of us used to enjoy out most lovely foods and joy rides
We were free to enjoy even out lovely sports in our city state of
Even anywhere in the world and
All these things used to relieve us
From the weights of different pressures and problems
Which are no longer available
to take part in them as vibrant spectators,
in a comfortable manner, as were habitual of
And such thing used to enchants us often
Only few months and weeks ago. 04
Young lovers, husband and wife
Who used to enjoy the togetherness of their partners
Like the chattering pairs of loving birds
Are no longer getting those lofty moments
As many things have changed in everyone's life
Everywhere in the world. 05
But, the day is not very far off
When old days would once again be with us
Although many of us may miss
Some of our loftiest friends and dear ones
As those vanished people
Would then be waving their hands
From a very far off distance
Where the Sun spreads its golden beams
With a sound of music
Which flows freely on each one of us. 06
Ravindra K Kapooor
Raipur India 28th June 2020
In the hall destined for silence, where no word incarnates into awakening,
A desolate abode, where the heart rests free and in falling.
Torn tears flow, rivers of troubled and sluggish melancholy,
Thoughts that hunt me, that follow me relentlessly, merciless, fierce, potent.
Memories, tapestries of time we used to weave together,
Now just specters that slither in the shadow, haunting me incessantly.
We drift apart, farther and farther, into shadows of non-meeting,
How could I halt the decline of my heart, this star falling quietly into dimming?
The silence of the evening screams too forcefully, a bell that echoes through all my rifts,
A vibration that envelops me in a pain that leaves a cold pride, wood too hard and rotten.
The pain persists, a steadfast comrade, a caress with a trail of chill,
A pain that does not bend, a string of bitterness that does not end and refuses any sought solace.
In moments when my soul sours, I call you in my silence,
A silent cry, an invocation for the solace of a new reality, for the renaissance of an azure sea.
I desire you back whole, in my pulse, in the rustle of a living heart,
To sew the ancient rupture, to stretch your light over my fragments, to heal me, to make me whole.
Ah, I know well that my plea is like a swarm of pale butterflies,
And I do not seek your sympathy to trickle slowly, to moisten my brow weighed down by thought.
The fibers of my heart frayed under the veil of a pale moon and incomprehensible murmur,
Look at me, our great love now buried under the waves of a wild ocean, a realm that seems boundless.
Clinging to the sweet-bitter memory, a shadow once full of enchantment,
I hope that one day, my being will bloom anew, under the palms of recharged hope,
And even if it will not happen, even if it will remain in its feeble emptiness, I will know it was the loftiest fate.
For even in strife, I will serenely embrace the charm of an elusive world, a fairy tale of the cosmos that does not forgive.
Leave a man to him and his words
and telescopic terrains will open,
as splendid as the midwinter constellations
sprayed in a barbarous sublimity across the sky,
with the serene orb of Jupiter hanging unflickering over the land.
They tell us language is but a cruel game,
an endless warren of pinball deflectors
fit for Ariadne but not the sensibilities of mortals.
But it is only when we realize that the greatest Catharsis
is that which exists in the fecund abyss of solitude,
the paradise found in the stamp on our souls,
that we can wrestle and mold our words like primal clay,
Craft cosmos from chaos in the folding mirror of our consciences.
All our words are symbols; pregnant indicators of some untouchable abstraction,
ideas too deep for the anchors of voyagers
and too high for the staffs of mountain climbers;
Let us conquer the earth to salvage the truth;
let us try and snatch it from the sight of God.
Even so, that actual essence which we have always sensed,
which we try to reach through the quest
for the thrice-blessed stylus to write indelible code
upon the chalky slate of our hearts,
is unattainable when we act rather than receive.
True aloneness is openness to purification;
to infusion of the symbol with alabaster plate.
The lighthouse is a greater relief to the wave-whipped sailor
when the shore glistens with freshly-fallen showers,
Throwing the glare into wide-open pupils:
So it is when we allow the loftiest and earthiest of truths
To immerse our thoughts and their verbal accidens
In the baptismal font of infinite regeneration.
God’s Message to Man 1/2
Man, O Man,
What you have given to me, O Man
I gave you the wonderful Earth, Sun, Moon and Stars
The wonders of the world and even gave the entire Universe.
I gave you day and night, dreams and imaginations
I gave you the most precious and the loftiest,
The feelings, emotions and the rare gift of dialogues
A gift by which you can always win a heart
I gave you the most beautiful and loveliest among all
The gift of love to share with your soul mate
Above all the gift of beauty in the form of woman
Which has no parallel, in the entire Universe
I gave you the power of vision, to express yourself,
Through the splendid and most beautiful gift of words,
To write, to listen and to reveal your heart
And above all to sing songs and dance in fabulous ways
I gave you the smell of flowers to enjoy and to look,
The beauty of dawn and sunsets on the horizons,
I gave you the gift of clouds and raindrops,
To wash away the dirt, spreading on earth
To make your life, full of happiness and pleasures,
I gave you the blessings of seasons, climates, winds and dew droops,
To make your life cool and beautiful, I gave you the snowfall,
With a touch of thunder, storms, haze and rainfalls.
I gave you the mist, breeze, wind and the beautiful fog,
So that you can make out a poem or may sing a song,
To know yourself and you position in the world,
I gave you the gift of North Star.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 20th April 2010 concluded in 2/2
Bloody, bloody Ezra Pound
I never got my head around
his magnum opus: The Cantos
I’ve tried so hard but goodness knows
he didn’t intend it to be easy
for me or his mate Mussolini.
Perhaps obscurantism was his policy
or perhaps it was not the meaning but the sound.
Whatever it was I went to ground
thinking: “Is this poetry or prose?”
Mascagni would never have him write librettos
not for all the tea in Chinee.
I carried his Cantos everywhere with me
and read them aloud to anybody
who happened to be around.
Who may have liked the sound
and would have, maybe, tapped their toes
to some missed arpeggios.
Perhaps if I had a (Roman) nose
for this formidable prosody
it would be so much clearer to me.
I could tell my friends that I have found
more meaning than the pints I had downed
before the barman called a close.
I’ve read the L=A=N=G=U=A=G=E poets and I propose
the these cantos are harder than any of those
scribes who spend their lives de-meaning poetry
so it is devoid of mystery
(though it still is likely to confound
the loftiest don of an Oxbridge mound).
I’m sure they were written to astound –
filled with tales of forgotten heroes
(Americans, Chinese and some Latinos).
And The Cantos made way for ‘A’ by Zukofsky
(a much better poet as far as I can see).
Now there nothing more for me to expound.
Except to tell you that my hound,
whose taste improves much as he grows,
has now eaten up my sole copy.
I
Proudest of graves as get grey mass of moss,
Where goats greedily browse young sprouts still green,
The graves as get grey that had grandeur seen,
Tallest of fames fade fainter with dull gloss.
The seeds of fame sown ere as fail to flower,
As heads of footstones sink in, lose its prime,
As red brickwork darkens with passing time,
Wanton weeds of ill fame inch by inch tower.
As dog-eared pages of proudest of tomes
Fated are to get sold as cast-off waste,
Once yellowed get, get ditched from hoary homes,
Get recycled, melted to pulpy paste,
Once more to be a blank paper again,
Where’s that poet’s song, where his sweet refrain?
II
Nor is poet there, nor his sweet refrain,
All get washed clean— lofty, lyrical words,
To home as return all migrating birds,
Blank sheets look prime for new poetic pain.
So too biggest names die, dies all the fame,
Bravest deeds get dull at a rising rate,
Grey lichens as leech on tomb-stone's nameplate,
And loftiest life turns to dust the same.
A star is not known for its size nor light,
But warmth and life it renders to planet,
We on Earth care not how much our sun’s bright,
But how well it bestows a lifetime’s debt.
Yet, everything gets frayed to suffer loss,
The proudest of fames in time lose their gloss.
__________________________________________
Crown of Sonnets |06.08.2011|
Remembering the life partner
On this day, when she came to bless my life
Three decades ago
To share and to give
The most beautiful company and ways
And to inspire me to live this life
Without the quarrels
And difference
In the most peaceful and loving manner
Like a beautiful marriage couple. 01
.
We hardly had any differences
On any issues of our day today life
Which was the loftiest gift
From my dear wife Shashi
And it became a source of strength
And confidence for me
In shaping me as a small poet and writer
A thinker and a human being
If nothing else is taken into considerations. 02
.
In the entire period
Of my marriage life
I was blessed by her wonderful sweet company
And trust,
Her love, understanding and confidence
Which always accompanied me
In every situation good, bad or worst
Like the true friend
And a partner
Of a wonderful companionship. 03
.
Enjoying lots of tea
By both of us
Were our common everyday craze
And common simple food habits
Were our main everyday joys,
Which we loved, shared and enjoyed
Like others relish
The delicious royal tasty meals. 04
.
Of course, watching a good movie
In a cinema house
Was her favorite hobby
If not regular one
But as and when any good movie comes
Were our joint attractions. 05
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur 20th Jan. 2018
* More on her some other day.
He lived always close to the possibility of women.
In his heyday, they would beg him
to f... money out of them.
Facts are facts, and we cannot sugar coat
what was, in his own naively miscreant way,
sweet enough to have been his peculiar
style of love poetry.
Never, never, never would he have
coerced financiers or sharks for the milk of his heart.
Only the femina could fuel his desires,
cash became an enshrined contract
between the wine-drinker, the vine and the fruit.
In his wayfaring ways he was a mystic
sworn to worship the fount and its largess
which, as he always claimed, was not the dollar amount,
but the amount moved from account to account,
a spiritual currency that kept them dancing
over moonlit agreements cosigned
by their eager bodies.
Truth is (a truth beyond the ken
of more reticent men), they prayed together,
prayers that were asomatous transaction
coequally entered into as a ‘give and take affair.’
Nothing lasts forever, beware of diminishing returns,
the interruptus of even the loftiest of ideals.
He was always the lover though, and they wrote to him,
and he to them. Everlasting love letters
dipped in the commercial ink of enterprises
once taken.