Long Parallel Poems
Long Parallel Poems. Below are the most popular long Parallel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Parallel poems by poem length and keyword.
Avant Garde declarations of flawed misunderstanding
Ethereal hand's star cast thought's scattered materialised being
From under stones crept
To kindle fires of imagination's spawning grounds
Turned over in tumultuous caverns of repressed understanding
Unbound suddenly as spring leaves answer a sun's call from a hundred light years distant
Feeling crosses dread chasms with invisible bridges having no descriptive language to flaw their being
Under stars knowing by being under stars
Become my brothers outside of time's fantasy born gasp
My eyes know you over centuries in microseconds
Depth forgotten I reach out to hold you in my palms
And for a fleeting heartbeat's moment I hold a universe in my arms
Nails scratching a ceiling of light
The earth beneath me rises to a firmament's elemental haven
Drawn to sky alive
Laying inside the space between
Brink of countless worlds
Mirrored on grass by ancient paths
By fire cast by fire's hand
Kalimba tones underline music's word of finger etched peace
White flower in fields of midnight silver
Glowing through memory screaming parallel truths
Searching through countless lifetimes for bridges
A path to close the gap
I found it in the mirror's face
Dark lakes of highland dreams touching skin to a traveling gleam
Still pools on ancient roads holding timeless light
Reached out again for star's caress
Soul communication's shout
You are the bridges
Minds of walking life
Our transience quantified
By wandering stars
©David Nickle Read
2014
Did you flirt with Kant, perhaps Aristotle? While you scrutinized Metaphysics, Scholasticism, Augustinianism? Did you look into the constellation of Taurus as you studiously calculated a parallel universe? Did you walk in the theory of grace, to set the pace of ethical well being? Individualism of a laissez faire practice?
Were you an enlightenment thinker with a top hat, carrying a cane, while we drank our Apostelwein 1727 from the famous 12 Apostles cellar in Bremen? Did you teach or ask the questions? Did the students learn from you, did you learn from your students?
Perhaps that winding road of life encompasses a trail of awareness, while we search for the answers to the unknown. Circling back to God, asking him to lead the way on a dark winters day.
Diesel fumes soar through the air
Venturing from South towards the West
Riding the rails without fail
Around the mountainous bends
The valleys and rivers below
Maneuvering through trees of forest among the hiking trails
The Sun beacons in peeks of shades among the trees
The theme “GO WEST YOUNG MAN” being a mission follow through
Station after station
Taking the scenic route of America’s best
Intermittent views that parallel with the train windows
Endless miles into the destination to arrive
Splendid majestic mountains high
Open space as far as the eyes can see
Scenes of America’s landscape
Travel Pursue
Major cities and towns of America’s neighbors
Once upon still establishing in the present
The smell of Diesel flows through each passenger car
The sunset Limited has travelled far
Conversating passing the time to other fellow passengers aboard
Strangers at first then friends thereafter
The Sunset Limited fulfills its promise
Journeying on without delay
The thought of the west and how it was won
The Wild Wild West back in history
Reliving the train historical phases
When stagecoaches and Indians were the focus of western heritage
The sun beams and shines over the silver causing shadows
The night assures restful sleep
As one ventures, their souls to keep
The four days have awakened our eyes
Los Angeles, we have arrived
City of Hollywood full of entertainment
A week to view and tour
Sunset Limited was a follow through
In Los Angeles, there is lots to do.
Peering through crystals along the palm lined
Avenue of Angels, stretching endlessly
In a parallel universe serenaded by unheard
Choruses of lost newborns ripped from their
Mother's wombs through no fault of theirs,
Nor judgement of their mothers.
Resentment, anger or any form of avarice
Does not exist on this beautiful avenue.
Tho rain does fall on this particular evening,
Darkened skies glower; not yet willing to relinquish
The pitter-patter of little feet nor the innocent
Laughter of unborn children.
Our living exhibit (the slow dimension we inhabit)
Demonstrates immense capacity for
Estrangement from any compassion for these
Lost souls, even as Angels welcome them
With gifts of everlasting love upon entrance
To their glorious avenue; unaware of their
Own mortality that will someday
Beg forgiveness at this same aperture
To the
Avenue
Of
Angels
Palm Sunday Morning
3:30 am
03/29/15
Picture a blank chalkboard
Like the ones you see in schools
Then think of it as your life
On the day you were born
In your mind, take a piece of chalk
And start to draw a straight line
That line is the path of your life
Now think of your first remembered mistake
At that point your line must veer off course
From that point on, the rest of your life
Never follows that original line
Every choice we make will alter our direction
A poor choice will be a dramatic change
And take your farther away
Where as a good choice will take you closer
To the original line but never get you back to that straight line
We may travel parallel from time to time
But then you must consider the fact
That choices are made everyday
Meaning, with every choice our line will
Veer one way or the other
Each choice leads to another choice
Since none of us are perfect
We will all make our share of poor choices
Therefore, it is my opinion
That our worst mistake is our first mistake
Which leads us away from that straight line
When we make choices we do not always know
The immediate result, sometimes the true
Result may not show up for days, weeks or even years
Life is about the choices we make
They should never be taken lightly
As each choice is a turn to a different path
for contest July 1 2016
Like late eve of a slowly dying year,
Yellowing leaves await when falling down,
Soon to get trodden when dried to dull brown,
A few still hanging on, life lived in fear,
I too, on late life's tentative twilight—
The age awaiting the sunset of life
With forebodings of a long prowling night,
I too dream of no path sun’s bright-light rife,
But much rather that I see the amber
Of glowing fire that flickers in my heart,
See past the Fall followed by November,
All through till chilly weathers fully part…
If you, my love, can wait till Spring and more,
Let winter do her worse upon my door.
______________________
Sonnet |13.11.2008, revised March 2025| life, love, winter, old age
Note: Eve of a dying year alludes to autumn or fall of the year, its parallel being old age. Northern Path: According to Hindu belief the soul leaves mortal remains and proceeds on to Northern/Southern Path. North is the path of no-return (Liberation), and south for returning to earth. Of course this depends on karma.
My son was a kid in a room.
Tubs full of Star Wars figures;
Rancor Monster, Squid Head, Yak Face.
Admiral Akbar was a good guy
with a mother somewhere,
a fine woman though a bit of a trout no doubt.
but Snaggletooth with his blaster
was an irredeemable mother er.
Then, from a parallel universe,
Skeletor, Beast Man and Evil-lyn
drop from the outer rim of a boxed universe,
all arriving in a sullen haste to lay the room waste.
Evil-Lyn was hot. We kept her out of the carnage mostly,
but she was bad to the plastic bone.
My son tells me he has visions,
he sees leather-winged daemons.
I lie, tell him that there are no toy figures of those,
so they don’t exist.
On the floor, monsters are on a rampage
He-man is screwing up as usual.
For both of us
our only hope is in Optimus Prime.
In the midnight garden
Where the dweller's in-between parallel worlds
Hide
Within just another brief mystery of time
Like written in the first book of Adam and Eve
Or maybe even Lilith
We ran wildly and carefree like Huckleberry Fin
Into that old world's beautiful Sin
But now
Angels don’t play Harps
Where I now lay
As I both laugh and cry
Night and day
For like in the
APOCALYPSE OF MOSIS
I no longer breathe
For in the end
Everyone loses
Lost beyond the light barrier
Lost between two ages
I now stand in front of these great
White Gates
Of the Master of all Hidden Places
I still whisper your secretive name
You know
Phanuel
Praying inwardly it carries
My silent words to you
Wherever you go
As I alone
Walk the lone trail
To the Last Circle
Using my worn bible
As my guide
Since my love still
Lives
There can be no magic without tears
Some say
No love without experiencing
Tragedy
For are we all but masquerading as angels
Goodness and light
For all to see
But in our deep inner core
Those who can see
Know the deepest of
Such truths
And it’s why I still search
These Great Lands
To find just
Thee
It may be a new murder by
Rejection
As I now knock
The long deep knock
On these great white gates
Lullabied as I wait
By the hidden chords of time
Remembering when You were just mine
But like all the dark mysteries
Connected with the Holy Grail
Maybe this time around
I won't just fall on my knees
Buckle under and fail
Maybe you'll appear
And open up these great gates and lead me away
Copyright John Duffy
This name derives from the Hebrew “penû'êl / peni^y ‘êl,” meaning “the face of God, facing God.” Phanuel is the name given to a possible fourth Archangel in the Book of Enoch after Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel.
Only those who have not yet met truly love each other,
Those who, in the early morning horizon, imagine themselves as kings and queens without sin,
They dream in the secretive color of amethyst, hidden somewhere deep,
Where the heart, intoxicated by the unseen moon, weaves its untouched desires.
They are like two parallel universes, close but never destined to meet,
In their cosmic dance, traversing unexplored, unembraced circles of stars,
They look at one another, through a veil of comets, with hope in their eyes,
Flashes of potential, of pure love, in the night where silence and mystery intertwine.
Hands reach out towards the moon, the cutter of nights, grasping only dreams and echoes,
In a phantom embrace, through which the celestial breeze passes, cold yet somehow hot,
The longing for a kiss ungiven, under the fluttering eyelid of time that pulsates and waits,
And unformed promises rise like smoke, dreaming of shapes, of completed contours.
In this labyrinth of the unknown, where footsteps resonate like an ancient song,
Lies the sweet elixir of mystery, sweetening every imagination,
Thus, in the space between certain and possible, floats the scent of an unnamed love,
As two souls seek each other among the stars and find each other in the unwavering moonbeams.
They are like two butterfly wings haunting the gardens of evening in a seraphic hue,
Touching only in the breath of wind vibrating with scents of jasmine and lavender,
The purity of an unknown feeling follows its path in evanescent bites,
And in the mystery that envelops them, the love born of the unknown seems eternal and holy.
Therefore, true love ascends in universes waiting to be discovered,
On unwritten book pages, in soundless melodies, it opens the way to infinite life,
For the sake of imagining what could be, they remain truly in their shared longing,
For in the unclear vision of beginnings, the incomprehensible possibilities of pure and undimming love are hidden.
Is that a sugar cube meant for tea
Seven billion people can't be wrong
If the matter that composes them leaves
What becomes of humans
There becomes a great emptiness
Of course it does, it's gone
The entire population of the Earth
Can fit inside a hand, perhaps the palm
like a cube of sugar but less sweet
A very special hand indeed is needed
It must be alien of course
Stronger than a parallel universe
That much weight in one small space
Would crush the planet and all that's in it
Go right through it like a knife through butter
Back to the infant universe that had a bang
A force in nature born
Matter is really energy
Converted in the void
When removed from humans
There is a lot of empty
That is how it works
In our universe