Long Nascence Poems
Long Nascence Poems. Below are the most popular long Nascence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nascence poems by poem length and keyword.
Long ago in the short-time lively spring
In the grassy plains of a small island
Came from nonexistence a young sapling
Nurtured by the love of her mother’s hand
The world accepted her newfound nascence
Fueling her a love for joyfulness
Beaming out from the depths of her bright heart
A Happiness no being could contest.
With the blessings from the sapient world,
She quickly discovered a lifelong friend.
His solicitude for her unbounded,
They were surely a match made in heaven
They always walked together as one,
Carrying each other through life’s sojourn
Truly did the love between them abound
But all good times must arrive at an end
Her childhood soon sped by before her eyes
The novelty of memorable times
Fading into the dark depths of her mind
Pleasant memories like leaves in the wind
Her transition into adulthood near,
Deep concern for her friend’s future life flare
Taking no heed of her own life troubles,
She does what she can to help him succeed
At the zenith of springtime season’s bloom
She invited her dear friend to a club
A group of three girls all connected by
Their adoration of books and poems
It pleased her heart greatly to see her friend
Forming and bonding with new companions
Yet, unknown feelings of jealousy formed
As her indulgent desire for him grew
Like the swirling typhoons of the oceans,
The tsunamis that wash away cities,
Doubt flooded into her mentality
Confusing thoughts fogged rationality
She bottled up her true feelings tightly
Suppressed the complex emotions duly
Only ever showing her happy side
Wishing to see no concern from her friend
Each passing moment spent in the classroom
Watching his relationships with others
Deepening, evolving, and ascending
Left loneliness to consume her insides
For three days she tried hiding her sorrow
No longer could she veil her emotions
Despite her friend’s kind attempts to console
He only shatters her heart into shards
The following day, lying in her bed,
She looks up at her room’s ceiling and thinks
“Why get out of bed? Why am I still here?”
She recalls her friend, breaking into tears
That day, Sayori never came to school
Leaving her friend worried and bewildered.
In his concern, he traveled to her house
Only to find her hanging by the noose
Far from the madding crowd
I treasure the myths you gone through
Once I walk down the streets of legends
Even the weeping dusts reminds me of
Bloods, who immolated their lives to you.
Oh Calcutta! You live with a pride
For ages you are loved
They valued glory above life itself
When they speak of valiance
And guns are still fired in the air
Withal due respect of those souls
Who deserved their nascence
In the realm of your freedom.
Oh Calcutta! You live with an honesty
Not because of the madding crowd
Because you are blessed with eternity
As she flows with her gentle ripples
That streams the ambit of almighty purity
When I voyage down the river
I breathe the air of immortality.
Far from the madding crowd
I travel down the busy streets of the city,
The antique edifices still provides me with
The evidence of such superiority,
Walls still fends against the political conspiracy.
Oh Calcutta! You live with prosperity
Though affected by the madding political crowd
Once you were ruled by the dwellers
Now your sanity being destroyed immensely
By your own posterity
Living in the land of divinity
Of goddesses Durga and Kali
And they still feigned that they are native.
Oh Calcutta! You live with heritages
Not beacuse of the busy primal edifices
But you have the world known aged cantilever bridge
And over a century living the tramways.
Your marbles are still gloried by the dwellers
And they still wonder the hand pulled rickshaws
And admire for the age old alleys.
Far from the madding crowd
I still come across the pavements by the busy roads
Coins dropping with bimetallic sounds in the beggar's bowl
The vendors hallooing with prices on a rhythmical prose
And as I step ahead, I find my foot stuck in the crud mid of the road.
Oh Calcutta! You still live with diversity
Not beacuse of the poor and rich
But you still have few people left helping you in needs
You still have one culture you were born with
Hindu-Muslims celebrating together both Id and Autumn fests
Joining their hands with the christians when December ends.
Oh Calcutta! You still live with your beauty
Not only beacuse you have the beautiful bengali adorned brides
But you still have the chapters of noetic minds
You still exist with love and peace
Only when I find you far from the madding crowded streets.
Writing my first Sonnet was like a pregnancy.
I knew I wanted to give birth to one
and took on the parental responsibility
knowing it wouldn't... or shouldn't take nine months.
There'd been no morning sickness nausea
but there were times when I wanted to change my mind.
"Too bad, kiddo," I thought. "You gotta see this through.
because you can't put Humpty Dumpty back inside his egg
once the shell has cracked and broken."
Determined not to have yet another unfinished poem
take up space in a notebook, I persevered
spoiling myself with ice cream, chocolate fudge slivers,
a few cherries, and a liberal squirt of caramel sauce.
I indulged myself with a reward after the first verse.
I've never liked dill pickles, so when I couldn't find
the right rhyming word for verse two, I didn't eat those.
Pregnancy or not, I wasn't going to suffer puckered lips
because my muse refused to be pregnant with me.
She'd have made a useless midwife anyway.
Said she'd be back when she got a birth announcement.
I suffered alone and pushed this baby out
with the same force a laborious woman uses to birth a child.
No epidural in the spine, although I did partake
in a bottle of wine during the entire nascence process.
"LOOK," I screamed. "After fourteen hours of labor
it's an eight-pound boy."
Actually, it was more like eight hours of labor
to deliver a fourteen-line Sonnet, and lots of anxiety.
I took comfort knowing this baby wouldn't need breast feeding.
Now that it's here, it will be reread a time or ten...
a line edited here or a tweak somewhere.
It will be mollycoddled, burped, and pampered
but not with the naked butt baby kind.
I'll sing it to sleep when I'm the one needing a lullaby,
and I'll be glad it doesn't cry for a two am bottle.
I won't worry about it getting sick or growing up too quickly
because ten years from now it'll still be my baby.
Birthing a child is difficult work but we both survived the labor.
and my firstborn is not crumpled in a basket, lying on the floor.
The silent implosion of an unwanted notion,
that chisels the surface of a mind still in growth.
the dormant progress of life still in motion
will mold the clad fist that grabs at your throat
the illusion of silver at the crease of a spoon
will drip over flames in remote solitude.
thrash at the door that holds you enslaved
and reach for the hand, rattling keys to this cage.
breath the corruption through cracks in the door
as the keepers pace by to torment and ignore
the boards of a surface that reek of yourself
the surface of grief, with no grounds for remorse.
deng boro we teki, sa no mek gie 'u sref.
na presiri mo shie, in a einde 'fa dey.
dragged to the edge of a pending disaster
spawns the urge for survival,
and regrettable actions
drink of the blood, that yielded your life.
and find your own refuge, in an imbrued fight
line the new stones, on the path of your stride.
and forge your devotion, scratching vile delight.
The aversion will fade, as demands will be met
martinets will cower under blankets of spit
through the guising of schemes, and hidden agendas
they feed off the weak, and blend with the pious
come the evil we loathe, and unjustified splendor
to this we will toast, thus falls the creator
splendor in waves, and layers of vengeance
to break down the walls, that harbor our nascence
to stand for the fallen, who wear their boot prints
and have taken the bullet of their malevolence.
aim for the king, and the army will flee.
to leave thrones abandoned, and the world in wanting.
As a young avid reader
I always read the Introduction or Prologue,
when offered,
to see if this treatise overture
would take me some place I cared to wade through.
As an old avid reader
I always begin with the last chapter
because I may not otherwise have time to get there
and because its always offered, eventually,
and here I listen to learn if it might transport me
to some place I care about and believe in
and might even faithfully hope for;
a place I have not yet been
promising a pause in wonder
about where I might be now
had I only visited earlier.
Biographies are especially telling
as the end where history has brought each writer
to remember what these assembled lives and thoughts have become together
and are now replete unfolded
for all to see and rediscover
how extremes of final stages
like shared nascence of embryonic birth and infant interests
seem to land as we began
withdrawn from adolescent and middle-aging fuss and blunder,
both respectability and revolutionary thunder,
so good in our coming to, and escape from, ripe time
now echoing warnings
to start and end each new narrative's last chapter first.
I might not have time to invest
in earlier stages of this story's redevelopment,
especially if the last chapter doesn't sound
at least as healthy wealthy as my own
last day and night so far,
which I probably should plan
to finish writing soon.
Upon the broad open prairies of possibilities
each compass degree direction calls to freedom
every nascence in the hope of dreams lingers
predicting natures ever present connections
No need to ponder an ideals rejection
unencumbered by expectation
footsteps lost in the faith of random
find their destiny the way of the soul
Take the narrow way
burden between the fences begin
searching for alive while living
grasping at life and unsatisfied meaning
Walk alone amidst the throng
tramping to the beat of so many other feet
take the one way
a single unequivocal end awaits
The drudgery of obeisance heads
in quiet sadness forget the sun in the nation of stars
and predetermine the voice of the heart
to speak the only conviction of
How the narrow way is taken
its sign post struck to anvil and stone
turnstile for the future payment to come
gloating and goading to the illusions of freedom
But there, there upon the grasslands
each compass point of so many dreams
the random footsteps find their faith to destiny
lift their eyes to the sun in her nation of stars
Ever free to follow
wander on the whims of unfettered hearts
lay aside those burdensome of mere existance deceptions
and take alive to the soul of life
The world sings Your praise
Says You were born in a stable
To where a bright star showed the way
To wanderers of the desert
They sing carols and make new ones
Year after year every Christmas
All that is nice and sweet to hear
But Lord I have another reason
To sing out aloud
The greatness of Yours
I am no Christian by birth
Neither have I lent my ears
To missionaries who preach
And invite the world to their feuding folds
My country had a leader
Whom Your life influenced
And he put what he knew of You into practice
To free us from perilous bondage
Made us truly recognize
How You chimed with our ancient nascence
He is the Father Of Our Nation
None else in the world I think
Had the strong conviction he had
That Your teachings can be PRACTISED
My country therefore owes a lot
To You, Jesus Christ,
And to You we truly belong
Oh, guide us Divine Light
And illumine the world
Let us celebrate Christmas
To usher in an era of peace
In which the whole creation can rejoice
Unbound, without fetters and barriers
In the bosom of true Christ Consciousness
Undifferentiated Oneness
Solvent light diminishes metaphorical seconds,
wiping them with a blur–a stroke–a motion,
challenging the wings of emotion to pulse and live,
To etch and carve something in a flight of furor,
in a whirlwind haze of hapless thoughts in apropos.
A sound made in arresting touches of flesh on plastic
and in the vestige of fifty-five words per minute
I listen to the swift, cool rush of bodiless thoughts;
formed, reformed; given unto the cerulean glow,
like an offering of the internal to the exponential.
Ripped from juxtaposition and highlighted in blue,
a shadow morphs into absently coruscated fog,
crystalized in the act of inciting jubilant ruminations.
A cackle amidst a gaggle of jabbering voices,
and jovial extractions alight succulent glows of nascence.
He is born.
My twin sired with the conscious decision to smile whilst I type
and in the glow, he is pressed–animated–on the wall,
like a moving hypothesis for the enigmatic muse.
Dancing like figments in the light of imagination,
he sits as I do; enfolded in the cerulean glow that refreshes and renews.
Round and round I go
Unfolding my spirit of envy and gold
The nascence of a new stone
Hazel room, vibrant lilac sky,
Deep orange haze in a tender place
Arms of sapphire and cornflower blue
Fuchsia beauty drips, covering my ruby lips
All colors drift
On the first day, we met
Visions of dark slate-gray fade away
Firing up the new-age gem
Turning and creating different stars
Magic mint skies
White antique petals follow the current of air
Opal dreams, clouds embedded with impurity
My heartbeat produces flashing colors
The palest amethyst bluebonnet forever fields
Flawless tear-drop streams
Diamond shaped love
Ruby Red promises to keep
Flowing into the deep
Every color spins new
The day I fell in love with you
Peridot lime green tint
A love as old and gray
Olive brownish sun
Honeydew skin
Our future, deeper than aquamarine
Every day you turn fresh new seasons in me
Changing the sequence in my colors and effect
Kaleidoscope Eyes
Reflect by the mirrors of you
Crystallizing everything
When I chance to meet the lifeless streets
The darkness brightens my individuality,
With the weeping breeze that passes over
The onliness ceases my verity.
I come to know myself as a shipwrecked survivor
The illusionism forebodes my ingenuity,
Being with the eluded moonlit that hide behind
The secrecy revives my divinity.
Thence I ensure the crowd in the celestial sky
The brightness condemns my dignity,
With the drifting clouds pouring out
The anomy confines my integrity.
I see myself as a blamed mortal
The paradisal itinerary fated my sole entity,
Being with the pursuit of quiescence
The holy trinity pursued my purity.
Now when I chance to meet the crowded street
The resurgence evinced my immortality,
Being with the gracing rays of the day
The nascence bestowed my inhumanity.
Thence I ensure the lifeless streets in tartarean land
The grievance demoed my tolerability,
Being with the inherent demesne
The eternity unveiled my anxiety.