Long Origins Poems
Long Origins Poems. Below are the most popular long Origins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Origins poems by poem length and keyword.
In the depths of our being, where thoughts intertwine with uncertain dreams,
there lies an error born from the womb of time, like an echo of origins,
the belief that we exist solely to embrace happiness as a cloak of light,
but as long as we persist in this illusion that dances on the edge of the abyss,
and even allow ourselves to be convinced by optimistic dogmas promising clear skies,
the world appears to us full of contradictions, like a labyrinth of deceptive mirrors,
where the shadows of truth break into distorted and ephemeral reflections,
for in the pursuit of happiness we overlook the depth of cosmic silences,
where each moment of clarity is a gift from the universe whispering secrets,
yet we, thirsty for the absolute, chase illusions like children thirsty for stories,
while life flows like a silent river in the valley of time, without waiting for us,
and thus, we learn to look beyond the thin veil of fleeting expectations,
seeking hidden meanings in every whisper of the wind that blows among the stars,
and in every shadow that dances on the walls of our hearts, longing for peace.
If we could look back to those neolithic times,
When early man would walk and roam.
There was a need for some kind of leadership
Or hierarchy, whether away or at home.
My guess is that they looked to the biggest or
Strongest, not necessarily the wisest of men.
As they hunted and forged for survival,
While their numbers would grow in the den.
This growth would soon become too much for
One leader, no matter how strong.
So this hierarchy developed new branches,
Giving powers to others, right or wrong.
As this expansion would eventually reach millions,
The demands on leadership was put to the test.
And many became corrupted by their power,
Yielding to no one beneath on a quest.
While this power has manifest differently,
Generally God or great wealth were at the core.
Leaving the barbaric that were of novel faith,
To the masses and silent poor.
For those that would cling to their power,
History may provide answers to lend.
Since rebellion is often what looks forward,
Targeting the powerful they no longer defend.
This is where hope must be held upon wisdom,
To lessen the greed that surrounds mankind.
Because power requires equal responsibility,
Where it's not horded, leaving others behind.
Twelve days of Christmas
Girls and boys meet and blush
Origins of known and unknown class
Species and genus of mystical plush
Hopeful of existence in various regions
Joyful in resilience, remnants of temperate legions
Twelve days of mingling and bantering
Herbs and plants of healthy living
Each day of Christmas displayed and waving
Twelve days while smiling, sold for healing
Boys and girls named strangely
Titled or dubbed scientifically
Kale, Rosemary, Chives, Cloves, Chard, Cilantro
Basil, Sage, Thyme, Balm, Lettuce, Oregano
What other names have you known or met?
Write them down and stay connected whether you are dry or wet!
YOU ARE MY STYLUS
MY BLUEPRINT EMBEDDED
WRITTEN IN THE SMALLEST PARTS OF ME
YOU DREW ME FORTH
AND MY DESIGN
WAS TO CARRY OUT YOUR INSTRUCTIONS
YOU TRACED OUT MY FRAMEWORK
FILLED IN MY OUTLINE
YOU DIVIDED MY FORM
CONSTRUCTED MY MOLECULES
AND EVERY CELL WITHIN THEM
INLAID WITH THE VAST ARRAY OF POSSIBILITIES
YOUR GLORY THEREIN IS DECLARED
THE VESTIBULE OF MY FABRICATION
MY SHAPING AND TRANSLATION
THE PERFORMANCE OF YOUR OWN
DIRECTION
THE AUTHOR OF MY ORIGINS
YOUR MEDIUM NURTURED ME
IN THE WOMB OF LIFE
BROUGHT FORTH MY BEING
AND CLOTHED ME
MASTERFULLY
WITH EVERY DESIRABLE ELEMENT
YOU COULD GIVE
YOUR HANDIWORK AMONGST
ALL THAT YOU HAVE CRAFTED
YOU HAVE WRAPPED ME
WITH YOUR OWN ELOQUENCE
DRESSED ME WITH THE FABRIC
OF YOUR OWN MAKING
THE SETTING OF YOUR OWN TREASURIES
HAVE BECOME MY GEMS
THEY ARE A PRAISE THAT EXALTS
THE WORKS OF YOUR OWN HANDS
YOUR BLESSINGS ARE WITHOUT NUMBER
AND YOUR RICHES ARE TO VAST TO COUNT
FOR MY DESIRE IS SUBJECT
TO ALL THAT YOU HAVE LAID
BEFORE ME
YOUR OWN WORKMANSHIP HAS
ADORNED
ALL THAT IS TO BE TREASURED
YOUR OWN PENCIL HAS LEAD ME
TO THE DRAWING OF LIFE
THE PATTERN LAID OUT BY YOUR
ONLY BEGOTTEN SON
AND WE ARE THE WORK OF HIS HANDS
Poetry of Providence
All rights reserved 2015
Ps 119:73 Ecc 11:5 Is 29:16 43.:1 44:24 Jer 1:5
As children, we admired our Guy:
An effigy of Guido Fawkes*
(A scarecrow destined for the flames).
‘A penny for the Guy,’ we pleaded.
An effigy of Guido Fawkes,
The Guy was burnt on top the fire.
‘A penny for the Guy,’ we pleaded,
As kindly people dropped some change.
The Guy was burnt on top the fire,
With fireworks the pennies bought
(As kindly people dropped some change -
A small sacrifice for Bonfire Night).
With fireworks the pennies bought,
A scarecrow’s destined for the flames:
A small sacrifice for Bonfire Night.
As children, we admired our Guy…
*a 17th century man executed for his part in the Gun-Powder Plot. Despite the grim origins, Bonfire Night is now just a fun event for kids on November 5th.
For Rhonda’s and Cyndi’s Penny Pantoum contest
Rarely did the family speak
of secrets and knowledge weak and indiscreet
but as we all know, shared laughter and tears wept
draw out our secrets uncontained, never kept.
For years, my aunts were mysterious
talking of our origins quite serious,
deciphering was impossible unless you knew
a few words to interpret better as you grew.
Little ears often strained
to know what grownups held hidden in their domain;
listening for the words more easily understood
and in that revelation of not what happened but could.
Aunt and uncles, cousins too, disliked aunt Jean most intense
and distanced themselves from the family name in their defense
of the stories never to be told except in quiet retrospect;
Aunt Jean, you see, was wild, restless, behaving most incorrect.
She danced in bar room halls
discarding her clothes for all
as drunken men leered upon her naked form
she was that way from the very day she was born.
She was a free spirit, bipolar, un-diagnosed back then
freely taken in and loved by many men
the black sheep shunned by our family
looked down upon because of her own sense of sanity.
Why? The children never really knew
except to follow the elders set cue,
but as I look back over time
sanity may be found wanting in the selfless climb.
*Image of Loving One More by NS.
A Second Please
Aesthete equip upkeep spade, trowel, and watering pail,
Balters out freely, gagging unwantable, grit travail,
Chrysalism advents the righteous eyes and elaborates,
Dulcet forgivings a moment's lapse and recuperates,
Euphoria occasions the receptive hearts embrace,
Felicity's steadies champion the winner's showcase,
Gossamer delicate filter fuses genteel gazes,
Harmonize the Gospel's prophetic parallel phrases,
Iridescence spellbinds above looks and lost impressions,
Justifiable step courses the upright's discretions,
Kindheartedness inherently effectuates the blest,
Lissomeness affects the civilized privileged expressed,
Mellifluous genteel everflowing enterprises,
Nascent origins destined promise epitomizes,
Opportunity avails the well-intent fruition,
Pristine presents its presence post sadden sky emission,
Quintessential innates encryption of a paragon,
Resplendence fashionably enriches the noumenon,
Serendipity ventures impulsive ones they're future,
Tendril's tenacious virility thriving to assure,
Ubiquitously an omnipresence or internet,
Vagary ideals grant causality silhouette,
Woolgathering mulls the lowly, awakes the enlightened,
Xenodochy's hotel's hospitality meets heightened,
Yesteryear traces memories, remembrance reverses,
Zenith's a second, in Abecedarian verses.
2022 August 28
*HMS; 14 syllables per 26 lines.
"You can't shout. You can't even cry.
The 7 Gentlemen are coming by.
Looking in windows. Knocking on doors.
They need to take seven and they might take yours.
You can't call to Mom. You can't say a word.
You're going to die screaming but you won't be heard."
The above is supposedly from some ancient fairy tale.
I've tried researching its origins but to no avail.
Has anyone heard the fairy tale titled The 7 Gentlemen?
If you have, I'd appreciate any information my friend.
PS
The "7 of what they need to take that might be yours" are human hearts.
As the story goes, supposedly 7 Gentlemen arrive in the dead of night in some rural out of
the way town. They open up a magic box that steals the voices of everyone in the
community while they sleep. For the 7 days thereafter the 7 Gentlemen search for victims.
When they find one, they surgically remove their heart while the victim is still alive. The
victim can't scream or call for help because the victim's voice is locked in the magic box
along with the others. After the Gentlemen have collected 7 hearts, well, to be honest I don't
know what the hell happens next or why in the bloody hell they need to harvest these darn
hearts for in the first place. Which is why I now find myself obsessively researching this
ancient fairy tale which may or may not actually exist.
Why this is my tale
Of my family tree and roots
The what and where
My Gaelic Celtic
Surname origins came
Straight out of my Liverpool home
Retracing my heritage right back to
The emerald island of Eire
Galway Bay
And the Wild Atlantic Way
Which paved the way
Where the
Ferocious O'Flaherty
Clan initially began and surname came
To Aughnanure Castle
On the shores of the Drimneen river
Where I myself have never previously been
Which I aim to put right and address
Because as they say and it's said
In order to know where you are going
You need at 1st to know
There fom whence you came
If no other reason
Apart from maybe just incase
In death you may well be returned
Indexed alphabetically under ones surname
Mine begining with the letter
" F '"
Moto and Meaning
Fortune Favors the Brave
Bright Rulers
Ferocious in both
Spirit and namesake
When we lose access
to our most primal Other,
our EarthMother experience
dreamily following DNA's developmental scripts,
original sacred scripture
of external habitats
becoming internal identities,
We lose not only our spiritual sense of security
but also our natural taste for liberty,
independence,
Freedom to go out from our well-conserved womb
and subsequent multiculturing habitats,
home-base to liberally spread seeds of compassion
as we have always known our purposed meaning,
natural-spirited DNA
unfolding and infolding identity.
When personal identity loses access
to natural sight
we can still hear internal spirit memories.
When we lose access
to natural taste
we can still feel ancient spirits in our starving stomachs,
in our insecure and unfree
and too secure and unliberated
and right enlightened integrating
creolizing
co-acclimating guts.
When we lose capacity
to touch organic nature
we can still feel internal integral spirits,
most without self-conscious voices,
perhaps a few with cries for liberty
and security
or death.
We can smell nature
to know which unseeable spirited winds
waft from which directions,
up and down
left and right
north and south
past and future generations
of light's actively encultured hope, secure
and unfreedom in despair.
What we naturally lose
we organically incarnate DNA-integrity
gained so far
as individuals,
as species,
as multicultural becoming fragments
extending DNA-latticed families
tribes
living multi-generational laced-web systems,
Sometimes playing external nature with internal spirit Win to Win
for liberating compassion,
and sometimes playing sinister nature v spirit
secular outside v sacred inside detached win/lose
no longer actively securing and freeing enlightened restoration
of communal Truth and Beauty integrity;
DNA's future health/wealth
timeless nurturing
original wombs and integral webs
co-revolving health-wealth thrival.
When we retain conscious attachment
to our primal Other,
and Her primal Others,
our EarthMother experience
originates sacred re-scriptures
speaking through nature
and listening through secure and freeing spirits
of cooperative DNA health development
ego/eco-identity.