Long Pondering Poems
Long Pondering Poems. Below are the most popular long Pondering by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pondering poems by poem length and keyword.
Lately I have paused, pondering death
But I'm not fit for it's journey yet.
It's not that I loathe meeting death's kind
It will be, for me, an experience of a lifetime.
I've had one stupendous, lovely, awesome gift
A second chance at life I could not resist.
So tell me this... who's thinking of dying?
Color me rainbow. Rain falls, next, I'm smiling.
Lately I have paused, pondering death
It's out of my hands, my stem's length and breath.
All I have been, isn't all that I am
I've taken a stand to let The Source guide my hands.
I can claim to be a calico, claiming nine lives
Again, and again, I rise with clearer eyes.
I'd assume any form my Maker moves me to use
Would I be excused, if in your haven I refuse?
I am a flower, even in winter
Even in winter, I am a flower.
*
I wanted to write a poem,
that wasn’t poisoned with my pain
and lack of optimism to prove
to myself,
to others,
that I’m rising from the ashes,
stronger than before.
Back to being that free spirit,
not drowning in a bottle of wine,
laughing ’til our bellies hurt,
here for you, girl, wherever you are.
But it would have been a lie.
It’s why I faced a writer’s block,
staring at a blank page,
fighting through the silence,
pondering how to shape
unremarkable words into art
without the poem feeling hollow.
Then I remembered…
“This is the truth I shout,
the fire that ignites my soul,
the raw energy that breaks through -
poetry is my rebellion,
my scream against the void,
a promise to rise,
no matter how many times I fall
no matter how dark the night.”
Poetry to me is raw and true,
a piece of my soul,
my story,
Etched in the darkest ink, a battle cry,
written by my pen, my words.
And the truth is
I need to be heard.
I will be heard.
I’m reclaiming
My power,
My voice,
My right to exist.
And it’s why poetry
captures my essence,
gives me a voice,
can turn shadows to freedom,
transforming pain into the fire
that burns within me.
Pondering cromulent forms of love
I look around; down, then up combined, as
Scintillia of hope soothes my spine
Supine on mighty force of faith, for
My mine is snug in cool dark chocolate, and
Ethereal lights; sweet solitude and bliss, I have kissed -
Warm canopy of night reminds me of this, as
I celebrate blues... blue sky, blue sea, blues melody.
You may weld primordial walls, but I'll sing, cause
My history is rich beyond slave ships
Rich beyond white houses, white picket fence;
Oh, I'm rich beyond this skin I'm in
Go ahead! weld primordial words; I'd rather sing
I'll warm your walls with nightingale's wit, so
Won't you put asunder aged fears?
Freedom flows from heaven's ineffable joy within,
Won't you share in its dynamism?
*
Entry for C.T. "Four Walls' contest
Written: May 22, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Daniel Henry Rodgers
3rd place contest winner
*******************************
They found it in a cellar no one remembered building—
a small box of tarnished brass, hinges soft as old breath,
a warm lid that felt like it had been pondering for a long time.
Scholars termed it a mnemonic engine,
while clerics labeled it a sin-counter.
Children claimed it housed a star that forgot how to shine.
The lady who inherited it—
The one with the quivering hand and the always-paused voice—knew better.
She had seen the way the box listened.
When she approached, the air thickened,
as if the room were holding its breath to avoid spoiling a pledge.
The box never opened for her or anyone else.
It often shifts its weight on the table at night like a dreamer rolling over.
She kept it despite demurs that it buzzed, projected shades in locations,
no lantern may explain, and knew things no object should recall.
When she tried to leave it behind,
the silence in her chest grew heavier, as if the box were
only keeping her unspoken life from collapsing.
She swore she heard it whisper, never words, some nights.
A quiet, rhythmic counting sound.
Counting her unspoken regrets, options, and lost selves.
Maybe the sum of times she walked back from a truth.
The reliquary kept its secret.
It waited, watched, and held what she couldn't say.
After she died, they found the box beside her,
still closed, warm, and listening.
No one dared touch it, but someone claimed they heard it exhale—
a long, relaxed breath, as if it had stopped counting???
From my memory and from endless maps
I recreated my homeland to write newly upon it
And on the twenty first day, God rested for months
To ensure the world could shine darkly
The February sun shone mercilessly
As the only thing that could kill my hunger
I tasted their lips before walking into another set of credits
Ever pondering why I even bothered to perform
Endless ghosts whirled before me
As all past plot threads wrapped up nearly beneath me
Gazing into the bright Spring sun
My heart rang as hollow as ever
Twenty four and there's so much more
As an unwitting finale to permanent summer vacation dragged out
Beaten down by sun and arm in arm
We twin herobreakers drank the days away
Forever locked within my skull
My gray matter cried for what it lacked
And yet I let the waves crash down on me
To shield those who wouldn't return the favor from life
Thirteen months deep into stillness
I finally entered my field and ran
The summer sun never touched my skin
As I built and used a new TV studio
Culinary echoes bounded back at me
As the wizened elder who craved the chance
That stony faced and sleepy eyed children only took
Because they felt as though they must, rather than they could
Falsely accused with no recourse
I let my rage vanish into the aether
And lost myself within routine
As the heroic replacement I so desperately wanted to be
I took a student under my wing
And began to consider a new flight path
As this nest I came to know
Was battered by the fell wind I flew in on
And on that hill where my life was saved twice before
A dashing warlord gave me the missing piece I craved
The gentle tune of the ocarina called
And every morning, I patched what was lost
And thus the twin herobreakers merely became one
As I abandoned him to act as God
As nasty as any punch to the liver could be
When it became clear we could only bond over booze
And thus I waved goodbye to a decade of growth
Asleep at 10 with no fanfare
From every end comes a new beginning
So rest well knowing I'll remember you fondly.
Female, I felt! Chirped differently than on other days!
As though crying and screaming in many ways
It might not be owing to the change of weather, I know.
Nor, due to the drizzles, visited its nest like a forgotten foe.
I, with my little ability to climb the trees, took the adventure
As though signing with the tree, a unique indenture
I could not find anything unusual at first glance.
Soon, I fell enraptured by a skeptically unsympathetic trance.
I could find something, like an ipomoea black heart vine, sway
And crawling towards the eggs that, like turquoise stones, lay
While I stood dumbfounded, I could witness the frail bird bounce.
And attack the intruder, and his death sentence pronounce
Silence shrouded my so-far self-complacent wisdom.
I backtracked, pondering over the powers of the bird kingdom.
A Dylan Thomas State of Mind
It’s precisely 2:45am...the time when
~ if I’ve fallen asleep ~
I always awake to find
Myself drenched in sweat.
I lie here beside my beloved
~ as I have so steadfastly since
16 November 2016 ~
Thinking about...wondering...pondering
The end of my existence.
I am not talking about
Taking my own life.
NO!
I’ve seen, heard, touched, tasted, smelt
too much...
I’ve survived too much, felt too much...
I value Howard’s sweet...sweet...
Nurturing soul’s devotion
To keeping me alive these past 40 years
To raise my hand against myself...now.
I AM talking about these things:
Where do we go when we die?
Do I have a soul?
Will I be conscious — at the moment it happens —
That I am drawing my very last breath?
Sometimes, when I awake in the early morn,
Howard is motionless beside me
And I stare at his beautiful face.
Dare I reach out and touch it with one finger?
What if it’s stone cold?
His flesh heavy...dead?
Death.
The End of Living.
The End...The End...The End...
Last January I begged for surcease...
For an end to the pain...
An end to the physical torture...
An end to the psychic suffering...
The constant thoughts of:
“Is there a Hell?”
“Will I go there if I take my own life?”
“What does ‘eternity’ mean?”
Now this morning of 19 October 2017
I am thinking...feeling...praying:
Please...Please...Please...
God/Goddess/All That Is/The Universe/The Spirit
Make my neglected hated scorned body
Healthy and whole.
So I may live
today...
tomorrow...
next month...
next year...
Do not let me go gentle into that good night.
I am alive now...
And I rage...
I RAGE NOW!
....against the dying of the light.
Barbara Dickenson
19 October 2017
Calamities…
assaulted by the Memorial Day tsunami
drowned victims & floating cars--
appendix detonates during the Season of Hell
haplessly hospitalized in the UT-Austin medical zoo
Delusion of progress…
recovering in the mobile home
plodding through texts of
postmodern pointlessness--
overcome with visions of nuclear annihilation
Life is a plunge…
sensory overload & self-deconstruction--
reading "One Hundred Years of Solitude"
pondering Camus’ only philosophical question
does Jung have the answer?
Re-entry into the (ir)real world…
Labor Day blues & academic angst
surrounded by yi(u)ppies--
mesmerized by Eastern philosophy
crushed by existential dread
The Being & Nothingness of Texas...
The Longhorns won/lost The Game
primal braying & primitive reveling
avoiding the orange phallic madness
evading beer bottles hurled by frat boys
Monstrous cockroaches inherit the Earth…
discombobulated by the sadistic heat
I ram my fist into a case of Lone Star
“The horror, the horror” as Kurtz opined
can I still resurrect myself?
Five packed together in one car…
a circuitous journey to South Padre Island
silent white sand & red star suspended over the Gulf
hypnotic waves & harsh words in the condo
the Odyssey is (in)complete(d)
Yoga in Poem - A novel attempt 01/ Many
YOGA is a priceless gift given by great ancient Indian
saints for every human being through Vedas. I am
trying to bring one step each week before all my
known and unknown friends of Poetry Soup and for
other viewers for a glimpse of this treasure of India,
which in fact is a gift of Good Health
for the entire humanity.
Ravindra
Meditation Step 01
Meditation remains
The essence of healthy living
And the most precious
Gift given to humans
By the Almighty God.
We think and think
And puzzle our mind
With ideas and emotions
With worries and
Irrelevant thoughts.
This goes on in our minds
Ever since we find that
We have grown-up
To know and understand
And to behave with
The world.
But unfortunately
From that very time
We unknowingly start
Worrying also and
Sometimes
Not only during daytime
But even
When we are in sleep.
This never ending
Row of worries and worries only
Sometimes for reasons
And often without a season
Have become a habit
To lament
On what we have and
More on,
What we do not have.
This constant
Lamentation and pondering
Brings and form shape
A Free Gift for all of us
In the form of slow poisoning
Which we inhale and drink
Every day and every moment
When we breathe and talk
When we love or walk
When we behave and misbehave
When we are in a haste and
Even when
We lie on a cot
Or when we fight
Without a cause.
This constant thinking and
Worrying
Slowly destroy everything
Good and great in our heart
Given by the Almighty God.
But meditation and Yoga
Can restore
What we often unknowingly
Just throw away
By our day and night worrying
Which continues
When we go to sleep or
Are busy in accomplishing our tasks.
Meditation and Yoga
Can restore
What we often unknowingly
Have lost
By our worries
While sleeping and even while
Accomplishing our tasks
With a gift of better and healthy life.
Ravindra
Kanpur India 4rd /6th July 2013 To be continued ……
NOTE:
The series which I am starting today
is also a gift for all American
friends on their Great of Independence 4th July.
My Greetings for all of you.
With best wishes…Ravindra
Benefits of Meditation
can be seen and noted on the following webpage.
http://www.ineedmotivation.com/blog/2008/05/100-benefits-of-meditation/
As fuchsia clouds caress a saffron sky,
like pastel pillows in the eventide
and bid this weary winter day goodbye,
I sit alone and ponder dreams applied,
and ask myself if always best I tried.
The dreams in life which slowly drift on by,
like fashioned floats parading ‘fore our eyes
and calling us to grab them from the sky,
are reaching out and tempting with their plies
to jump aboard their float and claim our prize.
For me the dreams which loudest called my name,
the ones to which I gladly answered call
to join parade of dreams and claim my fame,
have shaped my life and left me standing tall
when all of life seemed backed against a wall.
But sometimes I still think of dreams gone by,
the ones to which I turned my back and passed;
can’t help but wonder with an aging sigh
just how my journey might have been recast
if had I chosen different dreams amassed.
Yet as I ponder with each passing day
and think of all the dreams in which I played,
I know for certain one thing I must say
there’s nothing I would change in judgements made
as aging sun now sets on my parade.
August 25, 2023