Long Permeable Poems
Long Permeable Poems. Below are the most popular long Permeable by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Permeable poems by poem length and keyword.
In a night of blue velvet,
when stars are open wounds on the dark sky of memory,
My thoughts intertwine in a slow waltz,
a dance of shadows and lights,
under the moonlight of consciousness,
Seeking that filtering barrier,
that silver gate that separates the outside world from my inner universe.
A barrier not of granite,
but of dreams and memories,
a delicate filter, woven from the threads of ancestral values,
Which allow ideas to enter,
but filter them through a fine cloth of tradition and identity,
For I know that without this filter,
the soul would be a turbulent sea,
losing its compass in storms of foreign thoughts.
Just as a people preserves its essence through cultural and demographic continuity,
I preserve my self through a constellation of values,
a map of the inner sky,
Which shows me the way even when stars fall and nights become endless.
Too much homogeneity would extinguish the fire of life,
turning me into a wax statue,
devoid of breath and warmth,
But a chaotic diversity would tear me apart,
like a harsh wind that strips the leaves from a tree,
leaving it bare and helpless.
In this magical night,
where the moon is a broken mirror reflecting fragments of truth,
I feel how the filters of my values protect my heart from the erosion of time and forgetting,
Preserving my sense of belonging,
that stable anchor in the endless ocean of consciousness.
And so, dancing to the rhythm of my thoughts,
I lose and find myself,
in an endless cycle of introspection and revelation,
Learning to live between the permeable barriers of my being,
where past and present meet and merge,
In a symphony of lights and shadows,
a melancholic poem that reverberates in the infinity of the night.
I thought I had all I needed,
I rested on my oar,
I thought all had been mended,
I had everything to soar.
Naïve and inexperienced I was,
Someone had to put me through,
It was a different battlefield and the wars,
Were not what I thought was true.
The instructions came at the eleventh hour,
Nothing much to salvage,
I couldn’t be pulled up the tower,
I had caused permeable damage.
I fought to get back on my feet,
All was to no avail,
There were a plethora of requirements to meet,
I ran but didn’t entirely prevail.
I have laboured for others,
Gave all my time and left my desires,
Opportunities came but like toddlers,
I didn’t see the current flowing through the wires.
I'm on a full-scale run,
Before the door closes on my turn.
April 2, 2022.
My Foolish Heart Cash Prize Poetry Contest.
L. Milton Hankins.
Voice of the Universe
Inner voices gently sway and twist
into a spiral of nothingness
finding a place of surrender.
The venture we seek is far beneath,
obscured and vigilant
from what light reveals.
Our eyes have no capacity.
Our heart envisions to lead us
through the door of silence
that holds the throne of our peace and sanctity.
It is a place of surrender
into the depths of wisdom
that speak from the surface of knowing.
It heals the pain within our meaning.
Its sweetness pervades all reality.
The infinite is permeable and muted.
It is exquisitely defined and complete.
It cannot be touched-only felt.
As we fall into the deep sea of ourselves,
the aquatic flow we know as truth
reflects in the tides of our history and belonging.
It is hidden but easily found.
It is obvious but invisible.
It is the place of our judgement.
It is the redemption of our being.
It is the intelligence of knowing.
It is acceptance and forgiveness.
It is our sunrise and sunset.
It is the voice of the universe
that teaches us our most profound moment
of our connection within love.
July 31, 2021
Tat Tvam Asi Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Rational men among us state plainly
- that no ghosts walk among us.
But they haven’t really searched the shadows,
or smelled the sweet musk-roses you wore
when wind-chimes twinkle like your laugh.
If ghosts haunt, then spirits linger.
If ghosts bedevil and terrorize,
spirits hangout, abide and remain.
Time is as nothing to them,
they are now and they are then.
We are shadows, that are becoming
shadows, that were shadows before.
Rational men know what they see,
but they’re dull and though waking,
remain unaware that lemures tamper,
with impressions, subconscious voices
and barely perceptible shenanigans,
across death’s thin, permeable veneer.
.
.
Lemures = From Roman mythology: spirits who become involved with the living.
The first, carefree summer day a somnolent tune doth swagger
An intense heat hovers then releases a permeable dagger
Sapped of inner resolve, at noon retired to shaded bower, a truant
lagger
At eventide, resuscitated from the cool respite, from my shielded
lair did stagger
The next, searing day shorn of shirt and shoes but with my dignity
intact
I alight from my screened porch assured that my taut skin would
the beaming waves refract
A soothing, afternoon breeze ripples; my chest hairs retract
Traipsing along, unencumbered by the elements, I skip through the
manicured tract
My bare feet absorbing the ground's subducted heat
Disheveled hair, a fluttering mane swaying to my hip hop beat
The soft grass blades caressing my knobby ankles like a velvety
sheet
A winged armada skirting the shock waves pulsing from my
reproaching feet
Treading into lush, green garden cloaked with ingratiating beams
of light
Each, leafy tent bowing paying homage to the sun's infernal might
The pleasant aroma of waxy corn leaves and glossy ferns my
nostrils delight
The sweet scent of mellow berries and ripening mellons my taste
buds insight
At dusk, my barefoot odyssey abruptly comes to an end
A grizzled, sizzled wayfarer, to my artificial estate I slowly wend
Blithe journey my spirits exulted, but pain in my tendered parts did
the sublimity ammend
A cherry red shroud covering a weathered rind looking for soothing
balms my misery to tend
I am a lone foreigner alocated
in an exotic landscape with
nothing but the foaming blue tides of duvet
that I rythmically sway with like
the sweet branches of spring.
I stand, bend, sit on the salty
lips of that ocean.
however the shallow has never
been my comfort zone so
I fling myself into the belly of my bed
and find my head in the jaws of a soft
pillow chewing my skull at snail pace.
slowly, a heavy weight of
sleep drowns my lifeless limbs
and sedates my consciousness with a lullaby.
"you're free!
free from labour, free from you, free from everything besides me", sings Lady Lazy.
suddenly
dawn breaks with orange permeable heat,
she is Bed 257.
she is not a root, she is a seed.
keeping me from work,
I pull myself out of
the vast roaring sheets and tidal duvet,
I'm gratefully unappreciative
and so the cycle continues.
Form:
I have noticed
in negative strong
long feeling settings
a willingness
to accept impatience
to reluctantly embrace tolerance
and Agree to DisAgree.
Yet, to equate this conclusion
with cooperatively
and actively Agreeing to Positively Agree
with anticipation
rather than further fight anxiety
would be to overvalue tolerance
and to underestimate
differences that polarize
and paralyze permeable
and transparent communication.
We do not meet
everybody wins standards of nonviolently held synergy,
powers of positive communication praxis,
by agreeing to chronically disagree,
shrugging
and leaving the dialogue
with win or lose, who knows?
back to hopelessly stuck,
but now further entrenched
in frustrating irresolution,
looking away
tolerance
Of a discernment
too dumb to GoldenRule agree
to act as decent as a healthy
wolfpack
And too ignorant
to co-invest in present
and future benign integrity.
To believe agreeing to disagree
is sufficient for short-term bridges,
let us be forewarned
agreeing to not yet agree
on mutually appreciated plans
for healthy inclusive democracy
Is quite far from cooperative value enhancements
of agreeing to compassionately agree
we are here together
to unconditionally extend
all EarthTribe's health and safety
Polyamorously cooperative
eco-political regenerativity,
revolutionary winAnthro+winEarth
democratic positive outcomes
of mutually appreciated
passions of loving minds
and pleasures of thriving bodies.
WiseElder Circles,
planning family social,
and political,
and economic,
and environmental services,
rant on and on,
back and forth,
about feeding homeless people fast food fishy dinners
when we could, instead,
teach how to plan, then harvest and prepare,
a healthy sustainable diet
through all four wealthy nutrition integrity seasons.
These same WiseElder Circles speak more peacefully,
and effectively,
remembering best Win/Win affective practices
for teaching/learning anything
with anyone
primarily commit to trusted co-mentoring relationships,
walking our interdependent meal planning talk
while sharing our healthiest snacks immediately available,
tidbits of walking/talking integrity,
through all four childhood,
adolescent,
adulthood,
WiseElder seasons
of growing nutritionally nurturing co-opportunity.
Multiculturally interdependent WiseMentors
recall all past ego mentors
were born of cooperative bilateral ecosystems,
warm wombed transparent nature
and intimately wet nutritional nurture
of and for mutually positive passions
entrusting future interdependent healthy nature/nurture planners
outside/inside communal.
Who, indeed, might womblessly appreciate
the occasional spontaneous multigenerational fish banquet, communion
delivered to our unlocked hopeful doors?
Permeable boundaries to mutual health planning trust
cooperative mentoring experience
compassionate behavior
communal beliefs in positive
nature/nurture co-management
focused on growing WiseElder future wealth,
social
and political
and economic
and environmentally interdependent co-opportunities
past through future non-fishy resilient
ego/eco
nature/nurture
inside/outside
long-term nutritional organic social meal planning
fit for even the most prestigious multi-enculturing WiseElder Circle.
Every civilization has depended on water,
our Earth without it would be another moon;
blue oceans secure this nation from invasions,
but also cause destructive storms and death.
There's no other planet like ours, its waters
invigorate plant life, seasons renew themselves;
who would live in an arid desert exposed to wind
with no precipitation, only sun? Who would survive?
Permeable roads allow water to easily flow
and not saturate the ground during storms,
watch it dripping from the rooftops and trees,
even the grass benefits from it, it stays green.
We need water in our bodies to prevent hydration,
the more we drink it, the healthier we are indeed.
Crystallization occurs in winter when snow turns
into ice; even lakes freeze, rivers stay in liquid form,
so do oceans and seas for us to watch in wonder.
Every drop of water counts, it is a requisite to sustain all life
there's a vast shortage; droughts are caused by scarce
rainfalls, thousands will perish...others are forced to abandon
their lands. Can flowers, grass and trees grow in dry soil?
A land without water offers nothing, it's another wasteland.
Some of us are very lucky to live in prosperous countries,
it's a challenge when droughts hit, have compassion and help.
There is only love
when we leave the other
behind – our world of others:
Commitments deemed by
self so paramount,
we become perpetually
addicted to treadmills;
inducted wrong-tracks
adhering as a second
skin –
The rain can
fall but the plain will never
give back, if the permeable
depths irretrievably
No benefit by making
of one's self a non
irrigable desert –
having wandered too far and
stored up too little –
the well used sayings
about burning bridges
and being a spendthrift,
they apply to the heart and
soul as well--
Love often...but wisely....