Long Pillars Poems
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Written: May 11, 2025, for contest by: Sara Jama
Quote: “Let the beauty of what you love be what you do. Sorrow prepares you for joy." By Rumi
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Sky unveils a deep, katabatic chasm
Fuchsia flames ignite blooms, slicing in layers of strife
Brilliant yantras reside in our mental spaces
As we boldly paint our stories upon chattered hearts
Harboring emotional shrapnel and sorrows.
A memory prison beckons us to descry
Heart-hyacinths, mysterious luna
As sapphire armor shields my spirit,
While magnolias, mist—bereft of magic, wafts rot in time.
I no longer wish to conform to the lamenters
I feel like a ghost playing pranks after being imprisoned
Surrounded by shameful shards and a gloomy silence
Soft sighs leave emotional marks on the skin
As I grieve and descend into the abyss.
Hope hatches a hopeful heart while malaise mourns
Struggle and bloom quarrel in my heart's heavy cloak
A kismet-woven quilt groans as it falls in harsh brooks
Wicked words scatter like venom in a broken glass.
Vehement rants veiled in vivid visions of the soul
Everything hurts, and shrapnel pierces my core
In a heated chaos, whispers sprout Kenospia kernels
In cosmic calls, I gain wild, wielding a quill to sever ties.
How can love bear pain or looming ruin to serve solace?
Heat fuels molten bronze as heaven whims.
Painful pillars tugged at my chest, luring my torn spirit
Lost lifesaving light wanes as lethal rise dims into the chasm.
Little hurts cross defects, sparks ignite a vast blaze
Torn souls find a stern shelter, and an icy stream kills chaos.
Shame glistens in the moonlight, and stampeded disease stings.
Flakes of ashes brushed off,
From a face that aches of dust caught,
The departed days go unnoticed from the keyhole it peeks,
The "authority" goes by to sleep, if only it could speak,
Petrified by them, they say,
The ones who doze off through these, hurled with dismay,
Pillars in construction dropped off for hostile strikes to take place,
Harsh bombs, an arm extended in support from the gaze,
But to whom? the offenders who blitzes raids with no sign of ceasing,
To quickly exterminate the problem known as "citizens",
Citizens, the people flourishing in the land, with jobs, future and family,
They have hopes and dreams too, a bright tomorrow that they could relish,
All they wished for was to stay, not to partake in this misery play,
The lost and afraid, the scene unwraps to a brutal display,
I hope the gaze moves onto the ones in fray,
Despicable us, all we can do is pray.
Summers' thunderings gather in brooding, heavy clouds
Soundless masses with shuddering voices
Calling through an untamed sky
Shaking above the meeker Earth,
Pillars of rain, shot through, flashings in their depths,
Electric fires running through the close, wet darkness -
Thunderings assemble to make their pronouncements,
In booms and growlings cast through the winds
To tongue-lash an unruly world with elemental admonishments,
Bearing reminders of old forces that never die,
Waiting and spreading through vast spaces,
Breeding strength, coalescing.
Between the group of walls they live in,
He and she circle 'round,
Eyes seldom meeting,
Casting flashes of hurt when they do.
They hold within their aching hearts
Black shards of anger born of their quarrel,
Acid thoughts brew with the thunder's boil around them
It walks with its giant's tread above the roof,
Growling mindless sentiments
In tones that set the windowpanes ashiver,
Bitterness tends to the feeding of itself,
Savoring the cold fare
Of unforgiven words, thoughts both spoken and silent
While this summer squall of tattered love rises to rage
Ends in their dark unease;
The slow burn of anger between them
Has settled to smoking grey ash gradually piling up in their sombre souls
As the sky above flares through rushing sheets of clouds
Wind tearing by, laughing madly.
Canyonous Clouds
Peripheral white, lay calm against the distance
Stretched on mountains sleeping green
Keeps them from straying when awake
With purpose…. Settled in a gentle grasp
Air holds their substance, their boundaries intact
Aloof upon the effluvium sky disperses
Verbosity, a sound, abides, aided by loud winds up there
Powdery innocence predicated on prevailing winds
In open space begins
Moving forward
Lumbering malleable sheets of vapor on the void
Complacent on their sojourn on the morn
Genuflect before the sober sky
Abundant about them
Pillars of the air domain take shape
January 26 Relationship to God Bible Meditations Based on Exodus 26-28
Key Verse– Exodus 26:1 Moreover thou shalt make the tabernacle with ten curtains of fine twined linen, and blue, and purple, and scarlet: with cherubims of cunning work shalt thou make them.
LORD GOD, YOU ARE MY TABERNACLE MAKER
Lord God, You are my tabernacle Maker---
along Your righteous measurement
Thank You for beautifying the curtain of my commitment
Beyond the tent of my accomplishment
By Your graciousness for my eternal achievement's fulfillment.
Lord God, You are my tabernacle Maker---
along Your set order
Thank You for building up my spiritual border
Beyond the sockets of my vision as human beholder
By Your help, rearing me up along Your fashioning molder.
Lord God, You are my tabernacle Maker---
along Your perfect workmanship
Thank You for blessing my sincere followership
Beyond the testimony of earnest worship
By Your pillars of truth upon Your leadership.
Lord God, You are my tabernacle Maker---
along Your reviving altar
Thank You for burning the pride of my heart at war
Beyond the ashes of my hypocrisy for worldly star
By Your lamp of holiness, drawing me to You when I’m far.
Lord God, You are my tabernacle Maker---
along Your ministering office
Thank You for binding the garments of my consecrated service
Beyond the lines of my devoted diligence as a novice
By Your compassion, bracing me upon Your standard edifice.
Lord God, You are my tabernacle Maker---
along Your tender mercy
Thank You for bestowing to me Your clemency
Beyond the chains of my confession and repentance-fervency
By Your forgiveness You grant with love’s persistency.
Lord God, You are my tabernacle Maker---
along Your secured enclosure
Thank You for breaking the rings of my worthless treasure
Beyond the vanity of my carnal leisure
By Your sanctification, cleansing me from iniquities’ pressure.
January 26, 2023
As the Sword lies await in Stone
and Death is Conquered, Alas The Way comes Forth
and the Soul is Reborn and Reborn and Reborn
until the Day of Reckoning, How Sweet Is This Forge
and by the Blade, Subdues the Evil One
All Victorious, All Triumphant, All Return To The Sun
and The Great Seal Erupts, Let Thy New Age Commence Nigh
and Heaven Descends to Reclaim it's Light,
through Fields of Battle where Souls are Wrought
we claim our Victory, for Heavens Calvary is Unbought
and the Nations Tremble, for here come the Saints and Cavaliers
through the Upheavals, a New Jerusalem, a New Israel, a New Shield
Justice is Divine, No Staff Too Just
and The Great Patriarchs of Old Ascend from Dust,
and The Church Trembles, what was lost is Yet Again Reclaimed
these Swords of Heraldry Vanquish these Miseries, and Abraham is Uncaged
and by The Pillars Of Salvation, We are Set Free
and The Blade Of Science Claims it's Victory
Yond the Book of Judges, uncover the smudges,
Samson and or Shimshon, a Nazarite vowed, son,
Delilah deceptor, Philistia's daughter,
The lipstick was preying, weight lift also praying,
The black widow spider, spun her web of desire,
Weakness met the Stronger, Judge o'er his souls--weaker,
At night, just half on fire, the other half conspire,
The turning half plotted, the burning unspotted,
Samson's made of muscles, Spider stings turned mussels,
Spider's stinger retracts, eight-legged scissors hair hacks,
Samson was made a fool, Philistines grad high school,
Graduates assemble, alma martyrs temple,
Philistines filled--pagan, Samson don't see Dagon,
Flunkies built the Temple, protest those assembled,
Chants "Tie him 'tween pillars," "psst--same dream's dreamer!"
... and the rest is biblical history (theoretically/archeology, unchallenged? HM? Methinks misconception partial with Kansas ...) *Philistia was originally via Egyptian hieroglyphics as Sea People mid 1300 BC. After losing the war with Pharoah Ramses III, was banished to southern Canaan. Oddly, archeologists do not support this resettlement claim via the hieroglyphics. Then known as Pelesets popularly became Philistines The Philistines were brought into notoriety via the Bible during the days of Abraham and Isaac as King Abimelech was then ruler of Philistia. And of note, Sarah and Rebekah, as well. Seranim's or Lords ruled Philistia. They fell under the swords and arrows of the Babylonian Empire ruled by King Nebuchadnezzar II. And of further note, Arabically, Philistine is a derivative word for modern-day Palestine.
Long before Babylonians, Assyrians, Persians and Greeks,
Before Hammurabi, Sargon and Ramses ruled
The world below their feet;
Before biblical scenes and mythological dreams
Of magical carpet rides,
I knew you back then
Where sea breezes begin
And history was a gleam in your eye...
Alexandria, Alexandria, city of pleasure and pain,
They called you Ricotis as I recall
Earth Mother once called you by name.
Nestled on the Mediterranean Sea of monsters,
Pirates and explorers renowned,
You were not much more than desert floor
Until the conqueror came to town.
Alexander, Alexander, God-man, ruler-thought divine,
Sailed by your winds where the world begins
And knowledge was born and thrived.
In the halls of those palaces and places
He built from his own vision quest,
To rule a world of enlightened beings
Where all people could achieve their best.
Though he never quite saw your white marble walls,
With pillars of gold and blue;
Of the Serapeum filled with scholarly souls
Recording their own world view.
He never knew Pythagoras, philosopher, scientist extraordinaire;
Or the historians Philo and Josephus
And the volumes of memories they shared.
The early Christians, Church Fathers and Saints
Origen, Clement and Mark;
Alexander never knew what he finally did
When he gave you that worldly start.
You’ve seen the Pharos come and go,
Dynasties crumble and fall;
Romans and Greeks swept right off their feet
And Cleopatra’s castle walls.
Pagans, Jews and Christians too
All vying for your love;
As whispering winds of Freemason friends
Tell of Hermes below and above.
While Islam and Mohammed rule
In the shadow of the Sphinx,
Pyramids and temples filled with hieroglyphs
And obelisks that make you
Stop and think…
Alexandria, Alexandria, city of pleasure and pain;
So little I’ve spoken about you today
Compared to all I’ve gained.
Since the first day I once met you
In that dream so way back when…
Alexandria, Alexandria, so glad we’re still
Good friends.
Mrs. Holloway polishes her poetry dimly,
Regaling herself with the accoutrements of
Selected poetry, cluttered and less jinxed
By way of satanic slamming by famished,
Idle critics who read The New York Times
Just once in a sugared year.
She chooses her stanzas locally.
By that I mean her stanzas nurse patience,
Drifting from gossips to loose, impotent
Talks held when midnights ail.
She digresses from north’s steady arrow
To the rump of the south, where watersheds
Of a nation’s difficult history are published.
Chances are that her poetry would win a
Contest in a fortnight, but the era of romance
Is jaundiced, which is her constituency and
Her background for coloured matters.
Her abbreviations for the names of her old
Suitors are carved from pillars to posts – reposting
Caryatids as common sentinels on a poisoned bank—
Losing the Greekness required of such adornments.
O Holloway, read, read, read,
Her acolytes pressure her.
Time loses sense of time in its own timeness,
They warn.
That, to me, is the commonest blandishment.
I should never have sipped from her potsherd
Such stale beer as she offered on the day her
Poetry was reviewed by a proscribed newspaper.
But her urge for anything dead and horrid,
Egged me on, especially when she narrated
The murder of seven sisters by seven creatures that
Very Sunday morning when the taverns closed
Before they opened.
Holloway shocked me with the gory details.
Oh, I forgot to tell you she hankers after things
Truly, truly hebdomadal.
I call her Mrs. Holloway the Hebdomadalist.
Seven churches, seven trumpets,
Seven seals, seven heads, seven horns... and now
Seven sisters murdered by seven creatures.
That’s why her poetry is cluttered.
Full of nerves and airs of salutes,
Mrs. Holloway’s poetry thunders.
She presumes that time will, like the morning
Dew, settle on the sinews of her poetry.
(And I agree with her) .
And smoothen it —yes, time, the masseur of
All time.
Smoothen it.
Oil it.
Massage it.
And level it.
At least to street level.
(And I agree with her) .
My Favorite Teacher
It might have felt lost,
In the big world of old age pillars;
once those tiny hands slipped away,
from being her fathers fillers.
From afar came Her ,
Assuring him Of me;
and hers was I to take care of.
With Her had my father shared;
my falls and winter cold silences.
In Amongst the marks of excellence
she applauded my bits of writings,
In amongst whole classes neglect
she approved my ideas considerate of
some `relevance`.
Upheld were all those who didn’t even try;
I sat silently,
while she upheld My work `well described `
while, My falling drawbacks were in well disguise.
It might have felt lost ,
If I didn’t have the direction
to turn my shortcomings ;
to learn a skill
Beautifully to soak myself in.
In whole of the chaotic chaos
Set up around Me,
there was one escape to fresh start
with her reading of the stories ;
From those each lesson she read
in English literature;
Her each pause and flawless dialect,
gave words to my frozen picture.
Now Hers are the words I speak
Hers is this world I have meet;
Made Me look beyond Restrictions
and become this Person
who Breathes this fresh air of Fiction.