Long Meditation Poems
Long Meditation Poems. Below are the most popular long Meditation by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Meditation poems by poem length and keyword.
(This is only my opinion, only written to promote calm discussion or debate. I know nothing, am not an expert on anything. If you are easily Religiously riled, spiritually offended, do not read this. Period.)
The Devil is smart, subtle; he can control one without the controlled being remotely aware. He can appear beautiful and angelic like, surrounded by dazzling light. He is content with making some simply complacent, not believing in his existence. Complacency means that you will not consciously, prayerfully battle negative influences in the world. He doesn’t need a lot of active foot soldiers. He can make you financially secure, a weekend content church goer, as he does many, when it prevents you from deeper scrutiny and higher spiritual growth. Complacency helps him indirectly perpetuate evil influence in the world. Pop Culture: meditation is good...but meditation should not be approached and practiced as a touchy-feelgood, New-age fad. Without knowledgeable instructional understanding of mind, body, and spirit, meditation can lead to demonic possession. When one puts his mind and body into trance, if not protected properly, if not first being in the presence of God (the importance of understanding shallow meditation vs deeper meditation~ Omnipresence) one opens himself up to demonic possession. Possessed often do not know it. It’s very seldom like the movies. Psychic powers, psychic centers of the Cosmic Form, should not be stimulated unless one is totally prepared to become a priest of God, totally committed to selfless service of humanity 24/7. One should not mess with Mysticism as though it were another hobby, or simply an occasional pastime. Two scoop day or one. Subjects like Kundalini, spiritual fire for purification and transformation, should not be attempted without proper groundwork, without spiritual training – dedication involving total, complete surrender to Christ Principal (Son of God), otherwise it is tantamount to giving a 4 year old a loaded gun to play with. Am I suggesting then, that one should not Meditate? Absolutely not. And everyone starts as a novice. Psalm 19 verse 14: Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer.” All meditation, whether done by novice or otherwise, should begin and end in God’s presence.
Embarkation upon meditation...
Believe me you upon manifestation
regarding Das godaddy bing linkedin
with avast cosmic consciousness
self induced light hypnotic trance
I become enthralled
unless wife disrupts intent concentration
calling out "Matt...Matt...Matt"
bajillion times Googleplex
(slight hyperbole for literary effect),
subsequently courtesy
disembodied voices
deliver poetic inspiration
without forcefully summoned,
rather gently coax (zeal lust lee)
amidst Smokey and Bandits spiritus mundi
plethora of discordant
indistinct jabbering murmurs
requiring exacting golong strategy
kickstarting coalescence regarding
faintest hint analogously harboring
shipping news a boat
reeling in catch of the day
thus, fingers snakishly
slither skitter, sidle
at greased lightning pace
across Macbook Pro laptop keyboard
feverishly unleashing
unexpected brainstorming tsunami
recalling steely apothegm
strike while the iron iz hot,
thus such epiphany occurred
moments ago - in case
ye heard "Eureka" shouted
loud, free and clear
without moment to lose
yours truly brooked
stream of consciousness
ignoring flash flood warnings
slapped down one after another
figurative pontoon bridge
all the while skirting
eddies, whirlpools, fierce whitecaps
fortunately hauling unexpected
magnificent linkedin kindled
sense and sensibility
yours truly rendered speechless
(most time non verbal when writing),
additionally hodgepodge mashup
offers no rhyme nor reason,
yet burst of pooled
imponderable gushing silent spring
(courtesy ghost of Rachel Carson)
currently did flickr
demanding immediate typing
though poetic license expired
please don't tell commission,
nor chief word den
these unpredictable eruptions
(most likely indistinguishable
turkey in the straw gobbledygook
to the untrained eye),
rather good n plenti
camouflaged indecipherable creativity
(nope, not even practiced experts
keen on esoteric etymological arts)
stymied to understand)
mine swiftly styled harry tailored
gibberish oh baying avant
(to assign long sentence
upon Matthew Scott),
which "FAKE" premature ejaculation
incorporating poppycock mishmash
screened for your viewing discomfort
unbelievably came to this homeless tramp,
while he plodded across no man's land
with hud door hubble mojo risin.
I
Yesterday, I began to share a deep anguish I have as to how some churches use the Holy Spirit as a magician, almost as if they control this THIRD PERSON of the Holy Trinity and Godhead. The verses from Scripture that guides me is Romans 8, John 14-17, and Ephesians, especially chapter 4: 30
II
BIBLE SAYS, New Living Translation:
"The Spirit of God, who raised Jesus from the dead, lives in you. And just as God raised Christ Jesus from the dead, he will give life to your mortal bodies by this same Spirit living within you." Romans 8:11
This MUST mean we have ALL of the Holy Spirits presence and power inside of us, when we accepted Jesus as our Savior and LORD. Spirit of God is a Person, and cannot be chopped in pieces or slices. He is not a pizza or a pie!
III
No man can give you or me THE HOLY SPIRIT. He dwells inside a believer who - at the moment accepts Jesus - does not abandon Jesus as LORD and Savior.
In summary:
1. You as a believer have all God's Spirit and Power. U don't need apostles or pastors to bless you (but ask biblical pastors to intercede for you in prayer)
2. The Holy Spirit can be grieved (Ephesians 4:30) by poor lifestyle choices believers may make; He does not STOP DWELLING in your heart until and unless you abandon faith in Jesus as LORD
3. If you fall when a "man of god" prays or touches you, that so-called CHRISTIAN is using dark power, not Holy Spirit power. Because no one can USE God's Spirit as Aladdin used his magic lamp and genie. The Spirit raised Jesus from the grave; He is not someone's toy or genie. It is a lie. Most emotionally-weak people faint at bad news, or get too excited, or self-delude even by expecting "to be slain in the spirit." We humans will be swayed ...
We need to pray to the THREE PERSONS of the Trinity only, for HELP to honor God and Jesus. The HOLY SPIRIT never wants your worship. He has no need.
4. The Holy Spirit never wants attention or worship: He points us to Jesus. In fact the TRINITY is self-sufficient, and is a mutual admiration society. Jesus, on earth, pointed to the FATHER as SOURCE! Rarely did Jesus seek worship while on earth. That is a lesson. Mere men & fake pastors seek self-glory! Shalom shalom and amen. Be blessed but read the Bible yourself (at least a verse, daily for meditation. It will RENEW your mind, & please God's Spirit)
The rain keeps coming,
Masking tears of despair, and rivers of agony
Seem in no hurry to crest
In this orb that is my world, I stand in frozen animation
As I listen to the venom of tangled tongues and crooked lips
Then hear the critique of the man in the street
I stop to analyze and find that nothing is said, just a horde
Of ghastly lies
My heart grows heavy, and my chest tightens.
As anger builds, my lungs feel the fire of the now forsaking
Breath, the pain is real,
And I contemplate my fate
In this world of mine
The sun is sad and the moon weeps,
And the walls inch closer.
As my neck plays a melody of twisting knots, my shoulders
Feel as if stomped by the passion of a flamenco dance.
As my temples lament the torment of this harrowing crescendo.
From a place called malice and rage, hate and contempt
Send bouquets,
But in the glory of this floral splendor, lies deceit,
The bewitching fragrance of the day.
And serpents of a human Ilk, their minds filled with disdain and
Spite, come to feed upon my life,
As their minions nibble,
I question my sanity
In this world of mine
Is the theatre of suffering,
Where shadows of rage cloak, a dominion of corruption,
And evil keeps a watchful eye,
And vultures with hearts bitter and cold, stalk,
As if waiting for a carrion to be born, that a feast may begin.
And in this presence of immorality,
Void is the integrity of soul.
As I listen to the wind, I hear the voice of purpose,
And in the verses of the night, Is the message of the day
And the lessons taught,
Are real
In this world of mine
As this deluge of decadence baths a candid soul,
I strive to be freed, from the afflictions
Of being.
And amid the craving for contentment, I beg,
For deliverance,
And rest my fate at the foot of the mountain, for there
Lies truth.
In my meditation, eager I am to see behind the light
And reconnect with the presence within,
For it is there that I hear the sunshine in your voice,
And see the laughter in your eyes.
It is there that courage is present, and I am fraught with the
Effervescence of your smile,
And your face is vibrant
And passion enriches me,
And I, am reborn
In this world of mine
Earl S. Jackson
July 2014
Copyright © 2014 Earl S. Jackson, all rights reserved.
Eldest daughter – I Praise
Twenty two years ago
December twenty second,
two thousand eighteen
"star student" born
this papa (and most
likely thee birth mother)
initially felt ecstatic,
dramatic (yes frenetic),
and careworn
as freshly minted parents,
but gifted with a daughter,
whose existence far
more precious
than any Earthborn
rare widgets, gewgaws,
gems, et cetera, despite
evoking unsolicited,
unpleasant, and
unmanageable forlorn
communication "dirt poor"
living (at least ten years
of wretchedness at 1148
Greentree Lane) unable
to toot your horn,
cuz unbearable, undesirable,
unforgettable, et cetera,
and manifold challenged ,
when beloved Shana
Punim evinced inborn
developmental delay,
(which severe electric
koolaid acid test
patience of this father),
much more difficult
than playing krummhorn,
now after tendering the trials
and tribulations, an
amalgamation of
poignant affects,
whereat your
permanent presence...
(must never NOT precede mine),
cuz..., I would definitely mourn,
your absence, thus felt the timely
opportunity to dash off
a birthday poem to you
in tandem with sharing,
(while comfortably numb
and figuratively licking war
torn psychological wombs) - torn
and ripped, queued,
peppered natty psyche
pockmarked with scorn
from self, (and those lives,
this dada immediately
impacted) particularly
your person roar'n
with cumulative anger toward
this insightful fellow,
(who claims to know
what thee feel toward me),
especially when ****
hours of valuable
time, now caught
(say, eh...approximately, fraught
upon the half life of rare Earth
element Eden), not
just strictly naught
heard thru the grapevine,
but forcing Math (hew)
analysis, via meditation, poetry
writing therapy, et cetera.
Hence...I apologize,
asper unasked for pain wrought
thee, sans being unemployed,
demeaning "mother Abby,"
bumbling, horrid house
keeper (Hagrid himself,
would turn down invitation),
plus Facebook fiasco,
imbroglio, and locomotive -
complicit in behavior
comparable to pedophile,
yet please let me conclude
by admitting total lack
of wherewithal.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR DAUGHTER!
Inspired by the song, The Book of Souls
by Iron Maiden
Below is my version.
__________________
Instrumental Intro
On a journey to find the book of souls
the way is very long and quite dangerous
in a meditation ... I am falling into the darkness
down, down, down ... oh where will it end
Finally, I stop falling and I am in a strange place
where fires are burning and winds are howling
alert and aware of a man rising from the ashes
I will be your guide he whispers
Distracted by his beauty for a moment
I failed to see the monsters in this hellish place
as imagined in Dante's Inferno ... horrible creatures
and I cringe as a huge two-headed snake slithers by
I swallow my fear and speak to my guide
telling him that I am seeking the Book of Souls
why he whispers ... and I tell him that I would like
to see if my name is in it or not
For in a fortelling
in a dream vision
in a revelation, was told
seek the Book of Souls
Seek the truth
beyond the sun and moon
and in the depths of hell
seek the book of souls
I tell him that I have been taught on earth
the importance of the cycles and phases
of planets and and stars swirling above us
of the fear of hell that beckons below
of a list that Satan keeps in a book
Satan watches the cities growing on earth
the high rise buildings reaching heavenward
and the weakness of humans and the strength of some
he whispers, you are strong to journey here my dear
perhaps the book you seek is a book of lies
I ask my guide, why are your here
you seem like you do not belong in hell
he laughs and the sound gives me shivers
as his beauty fades away to reveal Satan
For in a fortelling
in a dream vision
in a revelation, I was told
seek the Book of Souls
Seek the truth
beyond the sun and moon
and in the depths of hell
seek the book of souls
Instrumental Break
And I realize that he is Satan, the invader of earth
the trickster who can take any image to lure
he is the destroyer of humans, the collector of souls
and he is holding the book of souls
Death is a journey we all must take
will we fall into the darkness, down and down
or will we fly heavenward above the clouds
but still I wonder is my name in the book of souls
The book of souls ...
then, I am back
~
The-
start of a
new freedom-
is the simple vision
of Hope for all, of God. The
one prudence born, of the fruitful meditation
of His soul, softly, and simply, spoken. The tender
desire, found through the weary eyes ... the one
sweet emotion awaiting the humbled soul that has
been made certain, and is willing, and ready to remain,
now and forever open. For the willing heart lays open to
what struggle and strife this life, may bring, for the willing
are patient and aware of the awesome blessings that will come,
in this certain time of opportunity. For freedom for all is granted by
God and given the eyes to see the great passion of His Heart, rising and
forever evolving in the emotion of this Grace, and is brought through Gods
Hope to rise to this position, all through a life lived openly for all, and for the
one, and is seen to be one love sown in peace. The one condition of His that
is sown openly for all the soul, through the standard and goodness of Jesus'
peaceful words of mercy, found in the steady advance and revealed moreover,
in the nature of this, His devotion for all, shown through the perfection of His love
in faith ... and so, freedom is found, and does rest in measure, solely upon
the given surrender, the complete abandon to be found within the open
heart of the broken ... will ... so it is a willing devotion ... given the very
sight this season to see ... and the mind to dream. To take a jaunt upon
the merry winds of this gracious opportunity. For the peaceful pardon
and certain reasoning for this season ... is the one blessing given and
given for all ... of the Fathers foremost desire, seen by me now to be
the perfect love offered here to me as well, moving through the spirit
of His wayward hopes emotion. The tender grace ... born of His chance,
and granted for all, and so it is intended to be, a simple adaptation, alive
and well and abundantly thriving, within the heart of a new born child. To
be alone, picked up by Him and swept away, alive and wandering free.
Tossed about and around within the hands of the many winds of peace,
and so away goes the gentle chipper leaf, sent adrift, and amid the fall,
apart from the day of the perfect warmth shown to him in the beauty
and simpler days of his youth.
Gitanjali 11
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Leave this vain chanting and singing and counting of beads:
what Entity do you seek in this lonely dark temple corner with all the doors shut?
Open your eyes and see God is not here!
He is there where the tiller tills the hard ground and the paver breaks stones.
He is with them in sun and shower; his garments are filthy with dust.
Shed your immaculate mantle and like him embrace the dust!
Deliverance? Where is this "deliverance" to be found?
Our master himself has joyfully embraced the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all forever!
Cease your meditations, abandon your petals and incense!
What harm is there if your clothes become stained rags?
Meet him in the toil and the sweat of his brow!
These are modern English translations of poems by the great Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), who has been called the "Bard of Bengal" and "the Bengali Shelley." In 1913 Tagore became the first non-European to win the Nobel Prize in Literature. Tagore was also a notable artist, musician and polymath.
Gitanjali 35
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been divided by narrow domestic walls;
Where words emerge from the depths of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not been lost amid the dreary desert sands of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward into ever-widening thought and action;
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Keywords/Tags: Translation, Tagore, Bengali, God, Religion, Prayer, Chanting, Singing, Counting, Beads, Dark, Temple, Doors, Shut, Tiller, Ground, Paver, Stones, Sun, Shower, Garments, Clothes, Mantle, Dust, Deliverance, Master, Creation, Unity, Meditation, Petals, Flowers, Incense, Rags, Toil, Sweat, Brow, Work, Labor, Hindi, vain, worship, entity, God, temple, chanting, singing, counting, beads, petals, incense, meditations, tiller, paver, dust, rags, sweat, toil, mrburdu, Tagore, Rabindranath Tagore, India, Indian, poet, Bengali, sea, seashore, children, mother, dog, love, lover, patience, curtain, death
We are the home of the braves. The land of the free.
But America isn’t what it seems to be.
We are also way more fortunate than a third world country
But when we look around our people are hungry.
We are quick to find peace but yet we’re still at war.
We are so oblivious to what goes on around us but can tell what’s the super bowl score.
We are so busy telling them they’re wrong but we’re killing our selves.
Like a book shelf this American constant contradiction keeps adding on shelves.
We are promoting drugs to children and taking their lives
Our ghettoes are killing their dreams and taking their strives
We sometimes privilege the rich and punish the poor.
Then our public figures expose children to the illegal stuff leaving them w/o hope for more.
We show them alcohol but then restrict their age.
Then we beg them not to put the car in gage.
Then our government is quick to lock them up and throw away the key.
But then they want us to help them and be all that we can be.
The media only portrays the bad and rarely gives us the good.
If we can’t take ourselves seriously then who else should.
If together we stand and divided we fall.
That’s why we hunch our back and never stand tall.
If we’re big brother then what happened to our mom and dad.
Whose to tell us right from wrong and let us know that’s bad.
This country was birthed from fighting ourselves but we didn’t learn.
Its like our ship is sinking and we’re hanging on to the stern.
We try so hard to be everyone’s friend that we made an enemy.
Then we rub them the wrong way, but its really bad chemistry.
It’s this constant back and forth or up and down.
It’s the outside happiness or the sunk in frown.
It’s this American contradiction that keeps us blind.
It’s the same contradiction that doesn’t want us to expand our mind.
Its like we’re confused but we don’t care to explain.
It’s like we act on impulse and don’t even try to refrain.
We are so helpful but yet helpless.
We don’t know where to move but this is our game of chess.
We blame one man for all our problems.
Then we turn around and expect him to solve em.
We forget what hard work is and education.
We so focused on the time and meditation.
We do one thing and say something different
We need to change this contradiction in an instant.
NIQUEL MCRAE
Musicianship
(3 May 2014; For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)
Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?
Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.
What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,
And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.
And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.
Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian,
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)
Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.
It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.
All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.
But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.
To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.