Long Needing Poems
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Dear Guardian Angel
O dear guardian angel,
Why do you pick these wee night hours
For your dances of invisible radiance?
Aren’t you to be leaning over
In cradling protection while I sleep?
Instead, your cape of praises gleans
From my soul an aura so rich
That I think I, too, must rise
To join into an embroidered minuet.
Why not join instead
In some hours of respite?
Aren’t you worn from my day of birth
To seven decades of caring for me?
From nursing me through long hours
Of anguished inquiries? And doesn’t
It try you to watch my feet
Stutter across floors with you, thus,
Saving me from too numerous falls?
My walking must sound to your ears
Like the pianist’s tinkling the keys
Along from mid to high C.
I read, years ago, that the great
Artist Titian admitted he hadn’t really
Seen the way to his true
Creating process until he was 90.
I wonder now, O dear angel, how long
You will continue to dance past my bed,
Aligning with inspiration,
Since this aging poet has only recently
Discovered a trove of interior scrolls
Needing to be shared?
Why not surround us both in the veil
Of your unfolded wings, putting
3 A.M. voices to rest in the darkness
Of closed eyelids? Let us dance
Our praises to God in Eden’s lullaby.
******************************************.
(C) sally young eslinger 2020
All thanks be to Gd
Language is writing your program,
Amplifying the thought system,
So you will get lost within them,
Wondering where they stem from,
Underestimating some,
They come in like a wrecking ball,
Calling on you to fall,
Stalling the ambition engine,
Hiding your intuition,
Within the constant flow,
Throwing you off balance,
Dancing with emotions,
Advancing into a commotion,
An ocean of questions arise,
Improvising life on the fly,
Thoughts will try to divide you,
And some will guide you through,
All of them are not true,
Language has defined your view,
A stew of thought will keep you distraught,
Because you were taught to read,
Needing to feed you their greed,
A seed planted deep in your core,
Before your old enough to implore,
The need to acquire more,
Don't explore the reason why,
Just try to fit in and sit down,
Thoughts staring down nouns,
Students pronounce sounds,
On their training grounds.
Divine Mother of whom we
speak, empowers us to see
that we’re soul encased in form.
It’s Her love that keeps us warm.
She’s the kinetic aspect
of God’s energy, love flecked,
who enables us to feel
in fullness, bliss beats appeal.
By Mother’s grace, we see God,
no sooner blossoms soul’s pod.
God or Father’s living light,
known when we garner clear sight.
Call Mother by any name,
for pure hearts it’s all the same.
Hermit, etch these words in stone:
She responds to love alone.
Mother takes us to heaven
through body chakras seven,
for souls whose heart is steady,
signalling that they’re ready.
The whole world is Mother’s womb
where soul dons body costume,
propelled on a wingless flight,
needing Her grace day and night.
From God there is no distance,
when ends ego’s resistance
and to this end, Mother’s touch
holds us erect, sans thought crutch.
To Mother, we write this ode,
for we live in Her abode,
so aboard Mother’s bliss bus,
we will go, where She takes us.
20-March-2023
____________
Writing Challenge - 'M' Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
HMS, Rhymezone, PS Grammar
By your side I choose to travel
Yet this trip I do solo
To the depths of a secret pool
I dive and must explore alone
Such depths far from barren
Things recovered are hard to explain
Like living pearls from the sea
Preciously brought back
Barely seedlings needing care
Please understand when I tell you
I nurture them in my heart
Till they take root and
Slowly grow as flowers in a garden
It’s still early spring but
I look forward to the day
You will notice it beyond the fence
And want to be invited
To walk through my inner garden
As you trod along your own journey
AP: 3rd place 2020
Some people flip out.
Do they end up like a pancake?
Do they topple onto their head?
Some people have breakdowns.
Do they wake up needing fixing
in some asylum’s bed?.
Some people just go crazy,
but they “go” in different ways.
They might go nuts or go bananas.
Are they in a monkey phase?
I’ve heard of going ape,
so it makes sense to say
to go nuts or bananas,
apes might eat those foods all day!
I’ve heard that apes and monkeys
eat coconuts as well.
They only have to find a rock
and break through the hard shell.
I say let’s go coconuts.
First rocks we’ll need to find
to crack those babies open.
Then we can feel free to lose our mind!
*** Another response to the shooting in Colorado... as I try to make some kind of sense of it. Which is futile... I know... but I still have to try. ***
There's darkness all around me.
I need to find a way to gain some balance...
in this insane world...
I need to listen to some Blues.
I'm so tired of all the tragedies.
If I don't get away they're going to overwhelm me.
I feel my spirit yearning to be free...
what I need is Reggae music.
Some people have known pain
beyond my comprehension
but have found a way to live
that hate cannot destroy.
I need to hear the voices
of those who've known oppression
but who still stand up
to express their living joy.
In Boulder Colorado
a madman with a gun
for some crazy reason
left 10 people dead or bleeding.
Voices of real people
speaking plain and clear
that's what I want now...
that's what I am needing.
Some people have known pain
beyond my comprehension
but have found a way to live
that hate cannot destroy.
I need to hear the voices
of those who've known oppression
but who still stand up
to express their living joy.
There's darkness all around me.
I need to find a way to gain some balance...
in this insane world...
I need to listen to some Blues.
Semester finals are next week.
The ultimate study groove requires a certain ambience, like a cafe.
Nothing fancy, any shop that’ll let me grift, at a table unbothered, for six hours - with the rain tip-tapping the window, like a pulse needing auscultation - will do.
I’m on the no-sleep bus and there’s no coasting
luckily, my hippocampus flourishes in café's light.
I’m trading sleep for synapses
with drills on repeat - if I rest, I forget, if I keep thinking, I fray
but exhaustion can buy me two more rounds of flashcards
I’m pumping espresso blood
wearing half-ironed looks
Have you ever noticed how the Paris metro-map resembles a somatic nerve? On the metro, between Porte de Saint-Ouen and École Militaire - as Paris slides by - I practice diagramming the scapula on my iPad Pro. Blurry Paris, blurry neon, blurry anatomy.
And I’m starting to think in Latin - ‘os talus coniungitur..’
If I’m not memorizing something,
it’s because my mind’s been scraped raw
and I’m on autopilot - more often than not,
Peter (my bf) drags me to bed @ 2am
But salvation comes - next Saturday - in the form of Noel school break.
.
.
A Christmas playlist for this: =]
daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_18.mp3
.
.
os talus coniungitur = nursery rhyme “the ankle bone’s connected to..”
auscultation = examination
I would like to listen to the sound of bonfire sticks crackling as he chucks one on and the second he throws to a dithering dog-or the waves lapping on the shore steadily, a toddler’s toes dipping in that sea and then he screams and runs right away to his parents who are devouring literature upon the shore. They loyally guard his sandcastle then chide him for pushing his sister who had stumbled and fallen on that work of art. I’d like to watch the tide go in as picnic baskets are cleared away and the last of the suncream is lathered thick on children’s skin. I’d like to taste the locals' ice cream letting bristles of my hair stick to my face and needing a second as the first melted right away sullying my beach wear. I’d like to smell sausages almost charcoaled on the grill as children are as speedy as rockets with plastic plates at the ready. A summer living by the coast would be sure to enliven my spirit and cater for my senses.
Grant me my wish
Grant me your love
Love me divinely
Love me so true
True and tender
True and strong
Strong and steadfast
Strong and fierce
Fierce like fire
Fierce like flames
Flames that devour us
Flames that are leaping
Leaping my heart goes
Leaping with desire
Desire overwhelms me
Desire is aching
Aching to see you
Aching to touch you
You consume me
You whom I’m wanting
Wanting and longing for
Wanting and needing
Needing you with me
Needing you here
Here I am waiting
Here I will be
Be my Valentine
Be my sweet Darling
Darling, don’t delay
Darling, come soon
Soon you will know
Soon you will feel
Feel as I’m feeling
Feel my embrace
Embrace me with passion
Embrace me all night
Night brings moonlight
Night brings romance
Romance so enchanting
Romance like dreaming
Dreaming I’m with you
Dreaming you’ll give
Give me your heart
Give me your everything
Everything wonderful
Everything sweet
Sweet like your kisses
Sweet like candy
Sweet
Kisses
Feb. 17, 2017 for Dave Will's Valentine's Blitz Poetry Contest
I coil in bed as twilight swirls in dim of hours
Raking this womb , pained by angst --
While I transcend earth’s noise , I am alone
In gilded light of an evening so restless--
Hushing mild whiffs, bleak and intolerable :
Then, led back to soiled pillows
While dusk bathes a soul without sweet quiet;
As floats of sobs wail for some comfort
That my wails reach heaven... yet not one cares
For a lone soul needing a warm embrace
On this day, our tenth year of togetherness.
How the chill pierces the marrow
When all that this moment needs is a voice,
A human link, just this time... but then, no one cares
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3/23/2017
Phillip Garcia's Tale of the Best
~ Inspiration from
https://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/voice_in_hiding_538339
100 words