Long Occult Poems
Long Occult Poems. Below are the most popular long Occult by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Occult poems by poem length and keyword.
From zero to fresh focus:
No fads or "hocas-pocas,"
Occult tricks, nor superstitions,
Just go to Boot-Camp not institutions.
It's not about me.
It's to take a stand, you see,
A life if convictions;
Real-life risks, no fictions,
In live with Father-God and Jesus,
His Only Son that can free us,
Unaffected by criticisms, just in Love
With other and their dialogues; all the above
Seeing hearts heal brokenness and change
With no pretense, our focus rearrange,
Processing seriously but not redundant
With you in joy abundant!
Unseen injuries make it hard work
The fears lurk!
What is expected or appreciated,
Not just reactions with heart emaciated?
Bring closure and see a prologue
To nearing the goal, remove the "log,"
Rebound in faith, never be a snob,
Nor sarcastic or the Mob.
So keep your focus and the Power
Of the resurrected Christ in your tower.
Self-control is gain
Like waiting, it's a pain!
But keep your focus clear.
Hear God's music in your inner-ear.
Yes, we are all a-work-in-progress.
It's safe and fine to regress.
To vulnerability and keep involved.
Healing doesn't need all problems solved.
There's no natural-born leader.
In time we can also be a feeder.
So conquest the temporal and material.
Move in rebuilding the empire
Let Jesus' Way be your pick.
Don't be a lonely cynic
Give others the benefit of the doubt
Wear a smile, not a pout.
Banish the evil of a derailed life
The enemy tries to bring in strife
Like the striking snake it'll be too slow
For you fly high; it's too low!
So prepare for success.
Diligently sort the mess
All the way to the end.
Sign the Pledge not to bend;
To act, rebound, giving credit and devotion.
Like a sweet perfume or lovely lotion.
In prayer and fasting let negatives go
Study the Bible's fine print and know
That the challenge and the focus brings
Support, Light and salt-quality that sings!
Can you say what you feel?
In sincerity will your friendships seal?
We will find the common ground.
Honor and respect will be found.
If there's no logic nor gentle calm,
Will we feel the Spirit's balm?
Even pillow-fights will irritate,
The time move on with fate.
Surprises will loose their fun
With that Special Someone!
So, brace yourself, focus and move.
Soon your success you will prove
With All glory given to the Lord,
Never more to be bored.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.
Big trucks rolling down the market street
blowing their horn in the crowded street
Big trucks going around, I have no clue where they are bound, they swirl and turn rocking the people`s nerve, big horn, big man with little wisdom compiled in their head.The truck is bigger than the street and it swallow up everything that
it meets, competition is so sweet and it can drag you out in the middle of the street. It can back
you up into the corner,and it can make you listen
to a careless whisper, big trucks will make you linger.The street is narrow, the street is short but the big truck has swallow it all, a show of talent, a show of strength will make is rocking the street until it is bent.The fellow is hanging on the side of the truck, the driver is pressing the gas more and the people are mocking and jeer asking and asking for more. I sat at the garbage can observing the recklesness of man.The truck, the man, and the courage of the pennyless man walking around kitchen street begging a dollar to buy something to eat while big tucks without goods roaming aimlessly through the little town galivanting up and down.What is the purpose of this daily fleet going around in the street, to say who is working and who is giving the order,
what a waste of talent, what a waste of strength
the game is one again and they are going to play
it until they are dead.They know that their contracts are up and they are and they are all out
of luck.See them comming from all corners and the time is getting shorter,and their base gets smaller.They are giving up their loyality to take a chance with the royality, they will take a chance at something new and they have considered it through and through.The sun has dissapeared underneath the clouds on a new mission for the earth.It is comming closer to you and you must review in through and through and through.Big truck crawling like ant, big trucks waiting at the ports, big trucks loaded with dirt, big trucks in the showcase, make your choice before it is too late. Big trucks is waiting for you big trucks will cause misery for me and you overturn the red and white dump truck in the middle of the wasteland and get the occult people out of the land.Big trucks are on the detour road, big trucks are running out of gas, big trucks have lost their contracts, big trucks are struggling on the makeshift road.
Intelligent musical talent begins with this, to relearn the timing within our soul,
But other tactical psychological methods are busy swaying to and fro,
To an obvious yet nefarious covert Rhythmic tyranny of Mind Control,
Damaging trauma appears, disappears and reappears so often - irregardless whether anyone of us - really and actually know,
Although - know; you ought to, and know you must, if we're to avoid their evil demonic end goal, by economic slavery boom and bust,
Why have the masses flocked to what is essentially an obvious Lie..
The hitherto well understood well known treachery of bribery and trickery..to the ill-informed common eye?
Real answers lie within the Agendas of those,
With high unseen well hidden authority of tyranny.. now beginning to be exposed,
The blame so far as we can see for this all pervasive idiocy,
Fits squarely into Ancient Babylonian Occult vile Crypto Supremacy,
An unmentionable taboo for Society, though cleverly socially arranged,
Covertly hostile toward Humanity and our creative force..
By a certain inferiority complexed minority so deranged..
Ah yes - but of course!
A true Dictatorship and Tyranny
can and always will insist..
Upon those that have become uber-Liberal all accepting pacifists..
Those yet behind an otherwise obvious - facade of devious fallacy, don't want you to learn the reasons for the lie,
The mondane so often belies what is hidden within our words; within a sound,
The truth disguised as anything unprofound,
Explanation enough as to the premise of why..
The countless masses are now clearly and sadly being systematically psychologically, reduced to a pitiful state of abhorrent dependency,
We would certainly have to mention and be sure to say,
Please wake up a friend a colleague or a family member now, or at least today,
It is therefore clear that;
an in-depth searching root cause analysis, apparently can be,
Brought about and shared through some insightful poetry..
The written and the spoken word,
Do justice to those that cannot nor would never ever be heard,
So we might then listen in careful piety,
Or do not then be surprised to now find, that there are..
So Many Seduced by Rhythmic Pendulum of Trauma & Absurd Normalcy..
Kurt Hubbard-Beale
28th February 2023
Sweet dreams are fantastic and enchanting,
The golden wings of brightness are quite chanting,
The natural beauty of songbirds is like fairy dust,
In this dream, I broke down with joy and bust.
Oh, dream! The ominous curved shape was not scary,
Chimera! The vampire seemed merry,
Then the classic scary stigma of horror vampire,
Fear of satanic blasphemy grew as a damper.
Oh! I closed my eyes in horror at that terrible sight!
His hypnotic eyes stopped the trembling, awe-inspiring flight!
The Vampiric myth unsolved puzzle may be resolved tonight,
My heart raced as the ego chiseled my family's artistic heights.
There is tranquility and calmness in my head,
Trying to remember how beatific this time is ahead,
I am grateful to God for my golden vision,
which appears to be a wonderful envision.
A mysterious traveler from our odd planet,
At home, into the magical realm of sleep gamut,
In a dream, I filled out a waiver and escaped Vietnam,
And I joined the National Guard, my favorite aplomb.
My favorite subject at school was English Literature,
Dad said math and science were vital, not litterateur,
I focused on calculus and left grammar to my proclivity,
I learned to design technical visuals, not creatively.
We were labeled "baby boomers," but we were war babies,
It ensures the happiness of possible rivals abides,
Living in America exposed me to a touch of pioneer history,
Technology and industry drive us forward through mystery.
The dream ceased without falling for the intelligentsia,
She freed me from lethargy by having me fight inertia,
Without her, I could have abused booze and heroin,
It's simpler to surrender to laziness than to be a heroine.
I rode the conveyor to the consulting to provide luxury,
I wrote finance and tech books to show I hump Riff Poetry,
Now I am in search of mystical sights and cosmic vibes,
When the writing is over, I shall resume painting the jibes.
The most exciting dreams are abruptly interrupted,
When the sun's rays approached, rouse erupted,
Appealing experiences, from a need for sleep,
More people assumed occult esoteric creep.
1ST place contest winner
Written: September 15, 2022
The Mystical Dream Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
his last gasp was quite lengthy
trying to go out with a bang as usual
a rationalist manifesto covering his face
accompanied by a cotton field work song
his grip went slack under the torrent of images
fortunes have been lost in that snapshot parlor
shook the money from the pockets
of many a surviving Siamese twin
blessed with a rugged set of mouse buttons
he pitched head first into the theocratic miasma
since a rescue by wisdom eluded his pilgrimage
and its inner parade of flailing penitents
he died to a real slow slide whistle tango
from a regrettable strangulation of debate
and terminally transparent eyelids
at least the bastards left me to my fate he mused
just as a legion of parachutists
crashed and tumbled through the roof
it was an Exist-o-Gram from my dear mother
but first a word from our sponsor
Hi there Mel Linger owner of Mel's Futon Corral
so jump in the calaboose and come on down
for a steal of a deal and a big gold tooth smile
clear and sunny in the lowland swamps
now for some traffic from overhead
fully awake after the reservoirs of hell broke loose
his mathematician’s mind calculated
how long until earthly paradise
it was a delusion but a lot of them work
time to risk the entire skin layer he fielded
searching for the trail to civilization
he shinnied up his collective unconscious
an optico semiotician on a paranormal safari
and began to read mom's holy missive
son, your persistent mania for self dialog
requiring a frequent bath in statistics and terror
has left you under the juggernaut's wheels
for some fashionable occult mystery
humor him it's a mud fest in there
relaxed again and ready for
the ever enchanting silhouette of flames
he spread his wings and noticed
there were no wings too late
his nipples were erect with drama
moms lips floated above and spoke
the extraterrestrial rushed up at him
the Cherubs chirped and twittered
as he rowed over the spillway of oblivion
and stood before the ancient ones
boy were they ancient decrepit even
connected to bubbling jars by their sex organs
apparently this made them really smart
the one labeled mom bubbled and spoke
lose the kilt festooned with skulls son
later that day a marsh fire swept through heaven
and a humming bird took nectar from his ear
awake now!
Recite!
Write it down, letter by letter
the house of Holy is being built
brick by brick, letter by letter, gem by gem
my Spirit approached me by night
with a vision of gladness
a triumphant tiding
born on a warm and powerful wind in the dead of winter
Say, “It is finished”
Say, “The city has fallen!”
Say, “Come away with me, my love. Come away, and taste not of her poison delicacies”
as in a dream, I watched
while a mad-woman
a maenad
ran through every street and back alley
a lunatic
possessed by the moonlight
holding in her left hand
a magic wand that she had retrieved
from a children’s magic kit
a plastic wand
and everywhere she ran
she swung her wand
pointing at each and every thing
and shouting
HOLY! HOLY! HOLY! HOLY!
Holy, the cobblestones of the street! Shining in the moonlight!
Swinging her wand and pointing up
HOLY the dark clouds which move to block the moonlight
and move away again to reveal!
Swinging and shrieking and crying
HOLY! HOLY!
Pointing the wand at the gawking passerby
who stopped to stare, clutching their children tightly to guard them from her madness
HOLY the skeptics, the blind, and the deaf! For they shall see! They shall hear!
Holy your children, whom you shall not keep from me!
They will follow me through the streets, singing and dancing to my merry tunes!
Holy the children, for they believe in magic wands of plastic
Holy the plastic, no less than the gold with which you adorn your temples!
Holy the darkness, which falls over your land!
And with those words
the Lady flung her arm
pointing her wand at the moon itself
which turned red-black
like congealed blood over a wound
and darkness fell over the cobblestones in the streets
and panic fell in the hearts of the passerby
because the light was gone
and screaming terrified, they tried to drag their children with them back inside their homes
where the cold hum of electricity kept the incandescent status quo glowing from the ceilings
but the children would have none of it
the Lady had begun to dance under the darkened moon
through the black streets
singing a merry tune (holy holy holy)
and the children each broke free from the terrified death-grips of their parents
and danced behind Her
into the streets
Akin twin invisible presence coaxing...paranormal
Action across ouija board
herald Faustian bargain
as fingers of left hand appear to move
planchette of their own accord...
inexplicably, silently, and verily
along a barely traceable minuscule chord
dance, with some spatial force
from outer limits, perhaps dimension unexplored
twilight zone, (where spirit of Rod Serling dwells)
horizontally, linearly, and peculiarly unmoored
hashtagging, kickstarting, and zigzagging
while just barely hoovering
with maybe a hair breath of space to afford
between alien world and terrestrial
plain playing field, when oh my lord...
(this premature ejeculation from an atheist sword
like cross my heart and hope
to die a martyrs death), thee paranormal
shenanigans witness movement toward,
and away from death still participants mouths agape
with bated breath until last letter scored
which message... uh...ah...cannot be revealed
yeah...yeah...yeah...due to HIPAA laws...
...Without explanation,
there gets heard clangorous din
along with whooshes of ice cold air
brushing against my chin
analogous to some unseen
genie i.e. and/or jinn freed
from the lantern by Aladdin,
then,...how odd...
a deathlike stillness one could hear a pin
drop pervades painfully quiet
as if sound got vacuumed in
to a void of parallel universe...
...Though I don't dabble in black magic,
nor nothing linkedin with the occult,
yours truly titled poem
to "grab" attention fast as Usain Bolt,
he dashes off runners block
blinding earth shattering jolt
faster than speeding bullet,
a praiseworthy athlete
with no win tent to insult,
but merely chose his name out of thin air
(in accordance with abracadabra)
and flimsy rhyme that did result...
But, aye beg (bribe
with wealth of Midas)...please
believe me you, this rather cheese
zee poetic endeavor got
wrought eyes wide shut
(for all intents and purposes eyes closed),
where gentle force did cease
phalanges asthma southern paw
of righteous honest to dog
gone guy with pennywise
and pound foolish sixth cents sees
dead people as like miniature floaters
(in my eyes with ease)
poised and struck unbeknownst to me
computer laptop black keys!
I
As things do return home like a refrain,
On way back from a country tour were we,
A leisurely long trip—my kin and me,
And met a quaint character on the train,
As I recall, in his late life, nigh vain,
His dress and demeanour indicative,
And we at sea the way he seemed to talk,
His deportment and dialogue of proud cock,
Who discoursed on any a theme on earth,
A Muslim sure from far, not a native,
Listening to him was, not his tale’s worth,
Yea, something sure was there that was not sane.
The Goddess of Learning and Destiny
Seemed to have blessed him— of ports so many,
Who said, forces were at work in the world
Far too secretly, underground, unheard:
Russians, say, have advanced closer to us,
Brit policies have been inauspicious,
Feuds among our leaders have come to head,
Confused and suspicious who see things red.
And flourished our newly formed friend in train
With phony smile: What might cause further pain—
More things happen under and ‘pon this earth
Than reported are as the news of worth.
The home-bound birds like us that had not seen
The world he had, struck were dumb with wonder,
What with his quotes on science, his comments
On Vedas, verses of Persian poets.
Our young ears, untutored to this knowledge,
Caused our admiring bone to turn attuned,
Sure, a magnet, occult power, an astral
Body some sort doubtless has him inspired,
We listened to him with keenest of ears,
Devout mind, he’d our heart all enraptured.
The train reaching a railhead, we waited
In a retiring room, tired and jaded,
As change of train weighed when heavy on eyes.
‘Train's running late', when someone made us wise,
Our wise man then set out a tale to spin,
And our sleep said goodbye with a wry grin!
____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIII parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.