Long Loftiest Poems
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Written: March 11, 2025
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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?
If I had wings I'd outdo unfortunate Icarus
and soar up to the highest stratosphere.
Buoyant, I'd defy gravity and glide
over the loftiest snow tipped mountains,
or slide headfirst towards some deep vale
where iridescent meadows stretch into verdant pastures
where myriads of healthy cattle graze, placidly, alone.
If I had wings I'd play with high white clouds,
or scatter misty fluffy cumulus from over the fields
or cause precipitation to make our produce grow
in our windswept lush and fertile heartland.
Should I forget the poorer drought struck lands?
You know that I would not, not me.
If I had wings I would delight in competing
with all the various winds, and fly quiescent
savoring the multitudinous scents that emanate
from all the lovely flowers and all the well kept lakes.
But alas I have no wings and as I look up
and see the birds flying free, I feel it would have been
a better deal, if God had given me a pair of wings.
© 2010 (Jim Sularz)
I am neither man nor woman -
or naked flesh and blood.
I journey at the speed of compassionate thought -
without limitation or boundary.
I draw near only in peace and I will reshape the World -
like no great army ever could.
I am Christmas, 1914.
I am gentle and childlike -
a joyful melody in the hearts of young and old.
I am spirit without malice or hate -
a mother’s undying love, a father’s embrace.
I reign above the loftiest mountaintops –
dwell in the silent depths of blue oceans and seas.
I am Light eclipsing all other lights -
to heal and comfort those in need.
I am all-knowing and eternal -
the Universe, my heavenly abode.
And upon my Divine Mantelpiece,
I affix - All Things Beautiful.
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|
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.
Yesterday is an empty vessel
That has sailed; forever lost at sea.
While tomorrow is on it's way
Why not live today now?
Make the best of it. It's a day of renewal.
The sun is shining through marshmallow clouds!
A chorus of birds are singing in the trees!
Flowers of spring are colorfully blooming!
The world is beautifully dressed in green.
When you open up the window of tomorrow,
Today, you'll see the garden of possibilities.
You'll see it blooming before your eyes.K
When you wake up at dawn, shut the door
To yesterday. You'll feel inspired
To take chances over being smothered
By fear of failure, or the unknown
Today, give hostages to fortune,
Regardless of consequences. Start looking
For a blueprint to build the loftiest
Of dreams, and the ladder to climb it.
Date: 04/13/2020
Written and posted: 03/28/2018
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
Beneath the silver moon’s celestial glow,
A rose awakes where midnight breezes sigh,
Its crimson petals softly bend and bow,
Like whispered love beneath the weeping sky.
Each dewdrop gleams as if the stars had wept
Their diamonds on its velvet folds of flame,
While through the dark the dreaming forest kept
A hush that trembled at its secret name.
O gentle bloom, thou child of earth and light,
How dost thou mock the pride of sculptured stone,
For all man builds must perish in the night,
Yet beauty breathes where thou dost bloom alone.
I gaze on thee, and in thy fragrant grace
My restless heart forgets the wounds of time;
For nature writes upon thy tender face
A truth more pure than reason’s loftiest rhyme.
And though thy petals fade with morning’s breath,
And fall like crimson tears upon the sod,
Thy fleeting life proclaims through gentle death
The sacred hand of wonder—and of God.
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.
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.