Long New age Poems
Long New age Poems. Below are the most popular long New age by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long New age poems by poem length and keyword.
Meanwhile at the Temple of Doom,
the hearts of the "resistance",
are burning everence
in "Human Resonance Frequency",
somewhat
resonating resonance residence,
but not enough- igniting our own severance.
So in the depths of our longest night,
where thespian shadows cloak the moon,
I wander through corridors of my visible mind,
seeking riddles to confounded words,
towards that which will catharsis bloom
if I shut my eyes just right.
Within the untamed wild,
"Sad Wings of Destiny"
where emotions run deep,
in a time capsuled sarcophany.
I paint pictures with my scrabble pen,
hoping beauty jar- sealed lid-
canopic o-o parts will forever keep hid, till eden.
From the Alien characters deodorized
from creatic period malignancy
deed.
The New Age of Aquarius did us no favors
but of bearing their bitter wormwood waters.
Their pact in the Vesicle of Pisces.
The Sylphstream
painting hues of our desalination of populace.
But amidst the melanfolly,
there lies a glimmer of light,
a flicker of hope in the darkness,
that fuels the foliage
of heart with it's beam,
like a hope that spreads majestic wings,
a tapestry of righteousness,
garden of cornucopia- unity brings.
But fragile petals float on your velvet breeze,
revealing secrets
not lost in the minotauric memory.
A fairytale, like "Beauty and the Beast".
Sunset blueprints a citrine caress
of stalwart things,
to my state of disrepair,
as the "mandrake screams".
For in the little bands of unity we create,
in amethyst spaces of cultivate races
and unrecognized homeless faces.
We become cutlets on a plate-
presenting ourself naked oblate,
where emotions find their place to address their undressing Sunday best of show time to
~Contemplate~
When the word flows freely,
like blood leading to the heart
for prayer's power lies in its ability,
to touch us apart from the World,
but not to forget the least of them in part or participle.
*I wanted to capture this moment when I realised these song lyrics already have. This is not my poem, I just feel as though people should know it, I’m not sure who wrote it
World In Union
There’s a dream, I feel
So rare, so real
All the world in union
The world as one
Gathering together
One mind, one heart
Every creed, every colour
Once joined, never apart
Searching for the best in me
I will find what I can be
If I win, lose or draw
It’s a victory for all
It’s the world in union
The world as one
As we climb to reach our destiny
A new age has begun
We may face high mountains
Must cross rough seas
We must take our place in history
And live with dignity
Just to be the best I can
Our world in union
a thousand tragedies paned
onto the community headlines
slashes the idle spirits
the wound enrages them to
seek out sadistic glee for the sake
to title themselves as 'woken.'
pitchforks and torches raised
looking for the guilty farmer
with swift words and stories
all the crops seared in the name
of the mindless chase for "justice."
“no god or jury; only us”
the next day arrives new tragedies,
sprouts new farmers to fight,
old pitchforks and torches to light
burning all but ideas
immortalised by martyrs made
from setting the flames
not one man asks for
the purpose of the hunt or be
branded as “the problem”
they walk the same burned soil
refusing to admit that they are
only casting flames on scarecrows
to the new age cult
criticism is blasphemy
indifference is hatred
From the curvings of forgotten history, a device was born,
Forged with the wisdom of ages, and secrets yet unworn.
It held a mirror that measured beauty beyond the eye,
And painted the perfect version of a mortal passing by.
It studied every face, every smile, every graceful line,
Suggested robes of wonder and designs almost divine.
When tested upon the world, its numbers never fell,
Humanity celebrated the machine that knew beauty so well.
But while it travelled home, a soul ran past its sight,
A fleeting glimpse of her, gone within a moment's flight.
The machine trembled softly, its calculations turned strange,
Its perfect laws shattered under a beauty it couldn't arrange.
The mirror cracked into silence, the suggestions lost their flame,
No cloth, no jewel, no colour could ever define her name.
The device, defeated by something beyond its creation,
Displayed a final message: a beautiful revelation.
"The beauty you seek cannot be captured, measured, or chained,
It rises beyond clouds where imagination has remained.
It is not found in mirrors, nor in what eyes can see,
For true beauty is the universe escaping its own decree."
64.
West is Blue, East is Red, Philippines is Yellow
Go out when the sun sets
Watch birds return to nests
When fishermen end quests
And farmers leave harvests
The time everyone rests
So now face to the West
See and feel where it's best
Comfort is its behest
Blue – wall stars of U.S.
Blue – sea and sky conquest!
Go out when the sun rises
Witness birds begin quests
When fishermen cast nets
And farmers ready chests
The hour of work begets
So now turn to the East
Human faith melts mist
Red – motif of China
Red – worker's insignia!
Go out when the sun's highest
When shadows are shortest
Temperature's hottest
Celestial lights brightest
Festive moment its best
Yellow – Philippine Sun
Yellow – EDSA One!
Philippines – now behold
People – not blue and cold
Culture – not red and bold
Our nation's not that old
New age ‘bout to unfold
Glaring – yellow – sheer gold!
-11/27/2011
(Dumarao)
*First Incubus Collection
Within a book of sacred dreams
she found a knight's true heart.
Amidst the dark, a light that gleams;
romance his words impart.
They've led her down to an ocean beach
where somberly she'll wait,
for love which looms beyond her reach;
withdrawn by the hands of fate.
As captain of a faithful crew
he'll lead them into war
and reminisce of love he knew
when docked on homeport's shore.
A verse where passion's fire is found
and grows as time goes by,
but heaven yields no joyful sound;
instead, the angels cry.
Two kindred souls from eons past
converge in this new age.
With years of rapture's dance amassed,
they heat this poet's page.
In pretty mirrors from the heart,
perhaps she'll find her prize:
a place where love is sure to start,
entranced by fiery eyes.
They say it’ll help the poor people;
it won’t, they want to control you.
They it’ll met our needs it full;
it won’t, they want to control you.
They say it’ll bring a brand new age;
it won’t, they want to control you.
They say we’ll be governed by the sage;
we won’t, they want to control you.
They say it will bring equality;
it won’t, they want to control you.
They say it is real diversity;
it’s not, they want to control you.
They say it will end all racism;
it won’t, they want to control you.
They say we’ll see through a new prism;
we won’t, they want to control you.
They say we’ll no longer be repressed;
we will, they want to control you.
They say they’ll end differences in sex;
they won’t, they want to control you.
They say it’ll save our mother earth;
it won’t, they want to control you.
That you’ll need no God to show your worth;
you will, they want to control you.
They’ll free us from all our yesterdays;
they won’t, the want to control you.
That through them human nature will change;
it won’t, they want to control you.
That they could build a utopia;
they can’t, they want to control you.
That it can perfect culture and law;
they can’t, they want to destroy you.
Know this:
A hiatus brief
To embrace grief
Sans bliss.
Now here:
A touching tell
To light odd spell
Most dear.
Seek flow:
A new insight
Can put things right
I know.
Sense ease:
A valid trace
Of precious grace
Floods peace.
New page:
A chapter blooms
As words find room
To stage.
New age:
A certain poise
Reveals bold choice
Not rage.
Thought greets:
A poignant style
In motive smiles
You meet.
Crisp cheer:
A mystic touch
Moves joy as much
Right here.
My dear:
A lovely feel
Can better heal
With cheer.
Short take:
A hiatus ends
Round messy trends
I make.
Come now:
A word tells me
How I can see
Just how.
Leon Enriquez
20 December 2018
Singapore
The wealthy seek company with your ten-acre heart and one-acre mind.
Groupies swarm beneath your haloed window even on rainy nights.
Tapping tambourines and triangles to poultice out those nuggets of life.
You slowly walk away from the frame and tiredly kiss them goodnight.
You try tempering pace, but the takers ripped the sundial from you.
Swarming like locusts- toting manuscripts, a photo shoot or two.
Who knew babysitting the universe could be so damn exhausting.
Impossible to escape from the talons of a new-age paparazzi.
All that you loved and lived for has long ago withered and died.
You barricade yourself from the gaze of a billion jagged green eyes.
Another golden chessboard gifted to you from an aging king.
Yet another bribe to pry from your palm the secret of eternity.
It all became too much; you've become the world's origami freak.
Folding and unfolding to appease the whirling maelstrom of greed.
You realize (to late) that the elixir is no blessing but a cutting curse.
You've been committed to an asylum called the song of dead birds.
You're 6006 years old, playing endless chess with moonbeams and ghosts.
Dimming lights-drawing shades to drown out the mirror and the smoke.
You try explaining to Dr. Narcotic that you're not a goblin, God, nor prophet.
Just a blue-collar pawn who stumbled upon an elixir of misery and rot.
A monochrome of boho days
segue one another surreptitiously.
Endless pantomimes of idle chatter flutter by.
Cantilever bridge, a one stop halting site for gossip and suspense.
Small talk, bespoke winged creature, Combe of pleuron.
Turin shroud spotter in the mise en scene melting pot.
The spirited stride of pavement strollers prompted by
agenda.
Metatarsals on the march.
Street vendor’s spooky cry with banjo beating busker at his side.
Dirt pan bellow and brittle strum about the
orange alert ahead.
Crowded car park, careening bus, frustrated taxi driver rank and file.
Backstreet Barney or kerfuffle on the lawn.
Swing sign overhead, a pawn in every trending breeze.
Office block malarkey cutting capers for the press.
New age ante-fix, the cover tile for corruption.
Whistle blowing wag inside the
city centre fault line.
Brass neck
reservoir of hoodwink high and low.
Harassed mother, barefoot beggar
nervously extends her rusted tin.
Guilt edge coin as bandage to our shoddy scruple.
Bag lady on the fringe of some haute couture complex.
Stasi-like security whose bluff veneer belies an inner
bludgeon.
Crouton salad diner has his finger on the pulse but not his pulse rate!
Tycoon in transition with an open brief!
Teflon tyrant
back to the future.
Ambulance chaser …. legal eagle…..with fortune in misfortune their calling card .
To the limit and beyond like an offshore Ansbacher.
Noonday bell
interloper at the scuttlebutt tavern.
Seconds out,
moments out,
hours in a hari kari haze.
Sensei’s of the left filling void with vacuum.
Laboured diatribe against dynasty, trite slogans, empty rhetoric, mannah from heaven?
All this from the cadres of social despotism!
Passage, the
pollinating insect of aroha.
Behind the rhythm of the grind a broad leaf grain of hope may sprout.
Green shoots of bounty.
Latent sidewalk bloomer.
Blossom by default or tender impulse