Long Outpouring Poems
Long Outpouring Poems. Below are the most popular long Outpouring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outpouring poems by poem length and keyword.
Look at all the opportunities life presents itself
During the Christmas season are you the Grinch or do you turn into one of Santa's elves
The season is generally a happy time for us to enjoy
For some military families even more meaning as some members soon to deploy
Without their service to the country, what would are lives turn out to be
Let,s all raise a glass this holiday season to the men and women who keep our country glorious and free
The joy of giving should take center stage at this time of year
An elderly neigbour whose driveway is buried in snow, a shovel is waiting ready to clear
The greatest gift anyone can give is an outpouring of love easy to wrap and takes up no space under the tree
Best of all it, it's easy on the pocketbook and shipping is free
It's never too late to make Santa's nice list, reach out, and lend a hand to someone in need
As the old saying goes peace on earth and for all armed forces to succeed
the soul
The verb soul often appears in literature
and has its outpouring in religious thinking
But is there a soul independent of the body
if so, who does it belong to?
when we of an older generation went to school
bible-classes were important
our teacher said when we did something
we should not,
it was the soul telling us we were wrong
This was tricky and had to do with respect
for teachers and authority and was clearly
meant for us to behave the way the adults
thought was sensible
The easy way for many is to say there is not
such a thing as a soul
if so, is consciousness a thing only humans
have, while animals live by instinct?
When we read books, we find, in literature
many references to religions
We can't escape its influence, but is it right
or another propaganda ploy by those
who want us to see the world their way
If body and soul are two different entities
what happens to the soul?
do the souls free of our bodies float in
the great, infinity in a meaningless forever
Yet, within us, there is consciousness, we
know when we make an error of judgment
this is our mind talking to us
for those who do not feel guilt, we call
psychopaths, ergo, being without a soul.
Fingers tremble,
like an alcoholic without a bottle.
His pen is graceful in its slumber,
but imprisoned ink desires to be free -
intoxicated by his poetry.
Lips are forever silent,
in the absence of inspiration.
Isolated in the boredom of blankness -
congested to think enough,
struggling to feel enough.
Fault is not in the poet,
but in his absent mind -
which is a metaphorical candle.
Each drip creating pools of dusty wax,
as ebony wick struggles to keep flame alight.
Monsters of the mind
keep musings locked away,
so he turns to poets from the past -
but even Rumi cannot rekindle his desires.
Eyes gaze among petals for stimulation,
but their dormant fragrance offers no solution -
he is blinded by loss of concentration.
He wonder if his mind has become a flower,
out of season, but refusing to die.
He reflects upon love and lovers,
past, present and future,
but it does not liberate his ink -
maybe romance is out of fashion.
As his tongue tastes autumn's crispy air,
gloomy horizons summon birds south -
their songs of joy soften into muteness.
He feel for their empty nests,
now visible through naked trees.
Yet no outpouring of poetic observations,
overcome him -
have birds taken his muse?
Maybe the fault is in the birds,
maybe the fault is in the question...
Fear of future, regrets of past
Both have roots in our lower mind
Dwelling in the eternal now
Sparks bliss that may not be defined
Vaporised presence gentles touch
Entwined with the vast universe
There remains then nothing to seek
Humming a melodious verse
Labyrinths of speculation
Orbits needs of organic form
But for awareness void centric
Each breath manifests a bliss storm
Resting mind’s memory recall
Employing consciousness of soul
Throb of aliveness heart’s worship
Feeling joyous, blissful and whole
Outcomes never speculated
Delighting in life’s dance sublime
Transcending both if’s and maybe’s
Endlessly renews, God’s love chime
Mist of bliss poses no question
Effervescence stagnates nowhere
Love is a ceaseless outpouring
Pristine awareness, self-aware
Emerging from ego’s cocoon
Upon becoming the answer
To gong of Om, behold soul swoon
Akin to a cosmic dancer
NORA
Carefree-spirited, wild at heart she sped down the steep streets of San Fransisco
Racing heart torn to pieces pounding from her chest, even after a bottle of Cisco
Wiping copious tears, but the dam burst, the outpouring she won’t control
Deep was their love, despair had broken her and stolen her spirited-soul
No stopping the storms of thoughts, she cries out to the sky, we were a pair
The night you didn’t see her, but she saw you with her, was too much to bear
Off to her lover’s concert gig that night at the club, numb to the world
No need for a ticket stub, she’s cool, Nora is the guy in the band’s girl
She parks her motorcycle and removes something from the saddle bag
In a hurry to carry out her goal, tonight is the night, there’s no time to lag
Distraught, destroyed, defeated, and numb she strolls on through a crowd
Pushes her way to the stage, edging closer in front of him, the music is loud
Left hand reaches into jacket pocket, she places gun to head
My beautiful cousin, at only nineteen she fell to the floor dead
At my age it was so painful, I kept it inside, nowhere to run, hiding my strife
I didn’t want to burden my mother over a broken heart, so I took my own life.
They took a leisurely stroll amidst the gardens of the Ferndale Park
Nora’s auburn braided hair resembled the clustering of cedar tree bark.
With their smooth silky lustering texture, flickering golden highlights.
As sunlight filtered through the branches, twigs and leaves, it ignites.
Aunt Olivia and Nora walked away hand in hand up the busy dirt trail.
It’s not the last time I’d see Nora, but this memory makes me wail.
I'm oblivious to the chatter
cascading from
unknown streams
Soon enough themes evaporate
like steam
& are gone with the
wind like hot air from tea pots
Misguided missiles aimed harm
those within earshot
but I hear not nor care to listen
to rumors of war
I lean more toward better things
choosing to be swayed
by them
instead of misinterpreting the
misgivings & chirping
of angry birds
I'm in a place bordering on the
absurd so forgive me
if I'm flying too high
for them to be heard
I won't speak on things I see from
the sky as offering
a reply would imply that
I care
I only supply paper with ink & words
of a meaningful
nature
without being shy about
what I share
No, I'm not talking to you or
anyone else reading looking
for drama
This outpouring came from a
well on the back
of a llama
in the dryest of deserts
I'm not thirsty for nor do I seek
the attention of
those that present a mirage
This is just a spill of the subconscious
not an arid facade
There are no mistakes; all unfolds in time
As we softly imbibe the love fragrance
In alignment with the divine sublime
No doing need be done in this parlance
Save aspect allowing and acceptant
Knowing direct, through inner sentience
Pristine awareness, childlike innocent
Breathes in grace, in the void of cessation
Vibrant thus, in the divine bliss current
Each moment of life, a celebration
Ever open to embracing surprise
Unshackled presence, free from stagnation
As magnetic rapture within does rise
Mindless of all happenings external
Transfixed in bliss, we cease to weigh and size
Over time, our cognition spherical
Embracing all, judging not their stature
Outpouring love in space ethereal
When throb of love, in our each breath features
Behold, oh hermit, how our soul matures
22-January-2021
(syllabic Terza Rima)
Love most speak of is lust
Dependent upon reciprocation
But pure love is a fragrance sublime
Entwining our soul with all of God’s creation
Gods in human form: they walked among us
Mother Teresa and Gladys Staines
Living examples of agape love
To free us from chains
Mother gave herself fully
Devoted in service of mankind
When a mob burnt her children alive
Staines said, ‘forgive them for they’re blind’
Scriptures are replete with such illustrations
Of unconditional love so demonstrated
Love effervescence is an outpouring
Light that cannot be truncated
Take the crucifixion of Jesus
He could, had He wished, escape
Yet to demonstrate resurrection, He died
That our lives likewise we too may so shape
To become as such, love enabled is our goal
Looking not at outer form but God within
For He dwells as breath in each form
Known when heart’s free from sin
Written: November 03, 2023
________________________________________
Ambrosia-colored slants shine and gaze within.
With delight, watch the white embers spin.
Sifting through waves of serenity and quiet.
That rustling across the heavens is reliant.
In this outpouring of glorious radiance,
I believe we all require authentic shadiness.
A place where the soul may rest in peace.
We pray every night; carnage must cease.
This unchanging mood is shared by nature.
Greeting everything with eager prayer
Holding every bit of grass, heating each stone.
With a dazzling embrace and a beaming tone.
The velocity of the world ceased to blur.
Whispers of eager voices rustle and spur
Drafts of leading vitality reach the soul.
The era we are in currently is rich and full.
Dreams drift in the air akin to wisps of wind.
The depths of inner reach are being blind.
Silent cries blend with an aesthetic melody.
As rising goals meet broad esoteric parody.
In the sheltered shadows of dreams,
boundaries and limitations are nonexistent.
Imagination liquefies the ebony of space,
while thoughts swim amongst the stars.
And immersed in a sea of quietude,
silence suppresses sound;
amplifying the murmurs of silent thoughts.
And your restless pen leaks ink, leaving a trail
of dribbles down the face of time
somewhere in your subconscious mind.
Dodging distractions,
while avoiding the perils of indifference:
feelings, untethered from reality, are allowed to roam free.
And a plethora of poetic musings
morph into verses and stanzas;
as vowels and consonants stand shoulder to shoulder
culminating in groupings of witty words.
And upon awakening, an outpouring
of creativity and talent
gleaned from your heart and soul;
bleeds onto the page, and a poem takes form.