Long Ponderings Poems
Long Ponderings Poems. Below are the most popular long Ponderings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ponderings poems by poem length and keyword.
Proverbs 16:31 (KJV) The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.
Our time has come to know the grief,
Of losing friends, losing those things – we held onto,
The past, the last hopes, the quiet assurance…
That our time is still in the present, today,
Echoing like silent shadows, abiding…
Youth and dreams, simple plans to continue,
With every strategy, each idea, those many proposals,
Plans the remind us we’re still here, yes – we’re here,
Living those moments, those precious gifts,
From the One who created us to live life, to give
With open hearts, open smiles, open light…
Reflecting the music of His wonderful grace.
Our time has come to know the heartache,
Of our dying pasts, our dying dreams, our dying families,
The ones who linger inside our memories,
Shyly melting away our darkest fears, restoring our faith,
And stirring thoughts of heartfelt beautiful, blessings
Found in the souls of those who believe,
In everlasting joy, everlasting peace, everlasting
In the arms of Jesus’ amazing light, His kindness
Stilling all our darkest storms, quieting despairing hearts.
Our time has come to know the meaning of life – it is…
Shining in the twinkle of a child’s eyes, melting the snowflake,
With a tender touch, inviting the laughter who frees the soul,
To whisper light through the moments of faith, the moments,
Praising the One who lives in the light, never fading – never evading,
He is always, forever, eternal, gifting our hearts with His spirit,
The One who comforts and sings joy to the melody,
Of light, softly flowing, silencing the shadows and remembering,
Even in the worst grief, His beauty sings of peace – His love
Wipes away the need to mourn without relief…
He is the One who inspires me to see through the silence,
The breaking of a heart – into the spirit of His love,
Where there is a beautiful beyond my own hopes, beautiful –
That comes alive in the soul who feels His spirit, His holiness…
Fulfilling, endlessly giving grace that believes – He is alive,
And He is ever with me – He won’t ever leave if you’ll just believe!
Yes. He is everything to me!
I think perhaps, there is no sadder thing to know
then many of the works of Edgar Allan Poe.
In reading those familiar bardic words
I find I could be scared
of death, dreams, bells and birds.
Aside the tomb of his most beloved “Annabelle Lee”
lie all the stormy raging of the deep Atlantic sea.
Loving and having once been alive and free
but lost in death to someone else’s coveting,
in the end, we all give in
to the strength and wild tempest of the wind.
There are lesson taught that remain unlearned
when life and liberties are too often spurned
and we lie down beside the gentler morning tide
to await our turn to touch the life and death divide.
In the dark shadows of oncoming night
I lit a candle to hold steady, soft and bright
to keep me safe when I was not awake
keeping back the angels from my soul to take
I drifted off to quiet pleasured deeper somber scary sleep,
within Poe’s “A Dream Within A Dream” i did creep.
In silent ponderings I read and clearly heard “the Bells”
awaiting each sound fill the air around which it swells
in the ringing, singing, tingling and clinging spells to tell
of clamoring steel and metal clashing, smashing, trashing,
while all the world is spent of cost within its own created loss
repeating non-jubilant rehashed bashings
that sing out and shout and scream for more
of hate and fear and pain and war
waiting to pounce angrily in the name of God
to perpetrate God’s will in some hidden fraud.
Then “The Raven” calls, causing all to be distraught
at the writings, its verbiage, the readings exceeding naught.
There softly stepping was a vision imbedded in indebting
that around me I wrapped the covers from my bedding
to no avail; the caw, the cries, the yells could not be stilled
and I lost the powers of my mind, my heart, my will.
as voices filled the air with shiver shaking chills four score
while in the shadows crept visions of his sweet lost “Lenore”,
and there I stand along some solitary shore
shouting to the wind,
Nevermore.
Impeccant,
of non-textual matters
one’s covered flesh,
and hidden embrasure’
as diffusate primer
slips life’s veil, and
in agitated pontlevis,
cleaves the universe’ reason…
“Egads! What sorcery is this?”
Holy heart failure, Batman!
“Beavis and Butthead”,
on Soteriology!
or merely, this word wizard’
celebrity; slap my knee,
and pass the shinola please
would you then consider the following:
palliate your lesser selves, or else
where silence seethes, your spirit will
bleed asunderp; and in the depths of space
and time you will forget your moment’ cill
so divaricating your soul, until
that whisper of your assibilate voice
remains in memory’s forever
as that sound of death’s last hissing
And now to secularize
your quarters out per se,
a knotted rope and stallions four
two palms, a cup and nothing
more than, one’s perceived illation
with rigorous and self-righteousness’
precipitancy, my will so locates your
remaining sang-froid serendipitously
and in humaneness casts, this lifeline
out to thee for free for you to grasp,
of each person placed above all things
as nature sings concretism’ simplistic rhythmic
wringing “stream of consciousness”,
a-flowing upon thought’s eternal thaw while
Descartes’ “Substance Dualism” does so
battle, against Plato’ “universalia ante res”
supernal then, is an ideal’s whim, or Ids whine
within one’s thought’s stokehold, as axis bold
or love’s bestow, fires the flesh to render
that pondering patch of thinking’s wrath
awaiting that awakening moment’s bewhisker
in essence, life’s xenium given in kind
as is the universe’s night skies splendor
passing that lending thought, behind a silent chador
visualize the context and intent within
a compelling and perplexing write to win
an idea’s kneel before that “mercy seat”
this particular and incomplete entelechy bleeds
of questions asked and left unanswered continuously
of generations after generations in weeping
conscience wistfully fawning in defeat
and admitting, to a lowly ponderings musings.
Release the shelter of bare feet,
rhinestones on big toes sparkle.
The tentacle-shine of sunwheat
on the scrapyard-swig of river.
Like a sunflower, the mudlark
shuts her eyes, complexion
surrenders to the sun’s spark
as sighs rush about cool ankles.
This lackadaisical leisure lost
to the whimsical call of wings.
Her playful ponderings defrost —
she ponytails long cinnamon hair.
Wonders what the silt will give up
today, muscles prepare for work out.
Long hours linger — she’s no buttercup.
The slow rustle of water into the pan.
The seersucker-mud like a baby’s first
shoe — she cannot wriggle out of them
and for this Eurekan-tub she thirsts.
A simmering giggle at her search.
Tinkering with the gold dish —
shuffling treasures in the round.
Precious stones ticklish,
the swishing sound resplendent.
Her ancestors with wagons came,
ready to obtain riches and lavish land,
in the cold-hearted chamber untame,
traded ditches and shovels for pans.
Their memories roar in loss of their eyes
in the tundra of time. What’s lost in mystery,
she hopes to find — their trinket goodbyes.
What was the cost, for it was not her life.
Perhaps a broach of a great-great aunt —
oh what pleasurable mint but repetition
of weeping, for surely the ghost would haunt
but it would be a worthwhile footprint.
Her plum-warm cheeks enjoy the dive
and swirl of her memory-seeking sojourn.
Her golden irises and vibrating fists survive
peeking into the melodic riverbed’s thoughts.
Her tail swings with ebb and flow of seconds,
like a cuckoo clock with precise repetition.
Surprised, the splash of a trout beckons —
his stock contained in this friendly wave.
Up and down all day securing finds of ugly
nails and twine, but then she finds a button.
A payday! It’s small and torn but lovely.
Eureka! a Victorian star, a sign of life.
3/30/2020
A place in the middle of nowhere, I wish to be in, where I could still
Breathe the blissful pure fresh air of the bucolic, where I
Could hear the hum of silence harmonious to my mind’s rhythm, where
Dew drops of serenity sparkle in a peasant’s land in morn’s rays, where
Eyes yearn to catch a glimpse of the beauty of the soul than the beauty of the
Face, where I do not need a mirror to see if I look okay and I
Get to be accepted as I am and not compared with anyone, where the
Harvest hope of a farmer is not shattered by cyclones and floods, where
I could hear the throb of silence and pen my ponderings in peace, where
Jealousy or hypocrisy or anxiety or grief ceases to exist, where
Knots of hindrances for growth untangle themselves with ease, where
Language of love is the only medium of communication, where the
Melodious songs of birds are heard throughout the year as
Nature is never reluctant to flourish in Her full glory here, where the
Oppressed are not cast out from society like corners of bread, where
Perceptions of my muse are ignited to get answers to all my deep baffling
Queries on life, where disabilities of people are not made fun of, where
Rays of the rising sun, forever, gives the warmth of hope, where my
Soul revels in ‘the now’, cares descend, and mind is at ease, where
Thoughtless, I can remain in this unknown, unnamed land, where
Unspoken words of truth echo more than spoken words of lie,
Voices, muted, of the innocent get more chances to be heard, and
Whimpers and sighs of pain are never heard. Such an idyllic
Xanadu is my dreamland, where I do not have to worry about
Yesterday, today, or tomorrow and could reach a
Zen state of mind that will soothe my being.
Vexation seeps through sighs
As the pen finds comfort
Sharing the same story
Nonsensical pretty boys
With smoke cloud habits
And bloodshot ponderings
Vaunting on their
Newsworthy delinquency
With incessant metal bar consequences
Promulgating in the same breath
they’re gaining
New ground
Breaking the cleanse
Of poisoning
Their liver
And feeling the linear
Coldness of a countertop
On their nose
With a half glass of water
In a ring of loneliness
On their nightstand
The gulp of insomnia
Rudely digs its hook of candidness
In your empathic being
Melodramatic memories
Of empty dinner table
Upbringings
Spending school nights
Placing cigarettes
In plastic bottles
With front porch
Heart to hearts
With their second self
Pulling the sleeves
Of sweatshirts once borrowed
Over tattooed knuckles
Shivering against the disbelief
That loyalty in this town
Is only face to face
Rehashing
first heartbreaks
With the outlook
That mistrust follows
Demons
That look just like you
The way you
Introduce yourself
With skintight beliefs
Low cut distractions
Met with
Amorous disposition
Abrade their thoughts
Of you from tantalizing
To discomfiture
And their ears
Can’t handle
Opprobrium especially from their friends
When you would
Put fingers
In yours like an obstinate child
Just to keep
Looking at them
With oblivious blissful daydreams
Even if you were
Stumbling drunk
Out of their broken front door the night before
After learning
They sent flowers to someone else
Like a man with his paramour
Leaving your existence
In a blighted state
Surrounded by empty walls
For
They
Took it all
But don’t worry
The guilt of breaking your heart
Is easier for them to swallow
Than the nausea
Traveling up their throat
With the spew of your adoration
For Paula Swanson's "Beseech" contest:
Prose Poetry Verse:
God has given the moon the stars.
He remains a God beyond the stars!!!
A year or two ago, "Ort" was discovered in space and is where stars are formed -
yes, new stars born upon the darkest of skies ever...?
This scientific world; fascinations with what is beyond, as if "Jacobs ladder" did not
teach us all something.
Objects accidently left in space, just nuts or bolts, yet with the velocity upon
crashing upon the earth surface....?
The lovers and the lonely gaze upon these small bits of light in wonder, in comfort
It has been that way;
ponderings of the heart, the soul, and the mind~
There are as many stars in the sky as grains of sands upon the earth.
This is fact?
It is infact how the Hopi, many old scholars and cultures too, made our time, our
calendar... it is within our own peception of how we could at times perceive the
stars, and yes, "time", time, time, "I am afraid I don't have enough....!" (murmurs)
When in fact, we as humans made that!!!?
Our time, I believe is His Glorious, Lord God that provides all things to both the good
and evil, His love, we only know so little. Like a drop of water in a bucket of ALL His
Love, so, if you ponder to the stars tonight, shed a tear, for some will fall instantly,
many a day; Our Lords magnificence.....goes on and on, and His wrath will come.
Blessed starlight... these bits of light, how I do admire your gestures to the
illuminations of the moon so high, and we awake; another breath~ a Sun!!!!
Echoing in my sanity that is on solid rock~?
~
God bless everyone in the world, please keep our families, our loves safe, within
these times, it is difficult. amen
God, thank you for your Son! Praise to you, Oh Father, Most High
Praises!!!
"'He,' whom speaks into existence those things which were not as though, they are...." ~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fables; to dream these seemingly impossible things!?
A compiling compound upon the pages of a lifes, forever tarnishing of stories....
Drinking this mixture of both poison and cure; night after night and, day upon day
Finding but, these mostly barren tainted walls; no repreives and no relief; vacancies
This continuing onslaughts never ceasing to slay, the spirit of a living hope ~
Until one day the precious heart so finds, no more air left to breathe; condemned
Slowly, it dies....
Depicting cycles repeating themselves once more as, deeper, into the mire they fall
Beauty desperately countering within; framed moments to stem, these portraits; illusions
Painted upon the canvas of creations reasons not knowing thus, nothing to win and or, lose?!
Destinies foreclosures; deposits towards the paradigms of, signed sealed and delivereds
Reciprocating affairs, amid the not so magical mystical mystery tours; misled....
Ponderings upon the reparians reflective waters; refrains perceptions; lost in the muse
Bleed me a river please and then, break me in two, time and time and time, again!?
Quondam sleeping now as, waxings cankerous sores somehow, speak their tolls
Tomorrows, priceless tears....
Diagnosis being it so hopeless then, let us gather in what we can, while we can; deja vu
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The house, of fallon dreams?!
Note: Smile ~ I was listening a bit earlier to the song, "Beautiful," by Mercy Me & I thought
About certain lives & souls so, painted them a poe ~ "My 'Love & Warmth,' Always," John!:) ~
Form:
I've treasured memories like purest of gold
Which are pondered in thought as I am growing old
Of my little children a long time ago
And the questions they posed, they
just wanted to know
Of animals, bugs, and of toads,
snails or slugs
Of fabric and string, Oh! Can we make a rug?
And of funniest words that they
found simply absurd
And of people and places
of which little ears heard.
Who, when, where? What?!
Oh, Mommy how?
And why? Why?
Why mommy, aren't we allowed?!
Of questions, this mommy had heard
Every day
As the children discovered through
their world and play
The seashells from the wonderous sea
The world, their university
And thus this theme which now I ponder
As back in time my memories wander
Gazing upon the firefly hovering and then, whisking away amid blithe ~
Luminescent wings sweeping such ponderings; aside
Illuminating sunlit prisms within these, countless hues....
Waters washing times carved boulders as they journey toward the sea
Soon to be met by Spring tide melding and together they shall be ~
Centuries softly whispering into my ears; Half Dome, calling towards the heavens
Adorned in Her coat of virgin snow and oh, how spectacular She seems
Eyes which beckon to close aneath these, thresholds dreams....
Darkened lashes dividing unto such opulent spheres of sight
Visions crossing the tangible temporal tides as wings that soar ~
Meeting a Silvertail Hawk amid the tree top wherein, She smiles at myself
Set upon athenaeums assemblage swelling through my soul....
Taken to flight this warmth of the quatorial sky, now kissing Her lips
Assimilation pouring from the tips; ambrosias heartbeat ~
Pulsation; as that of a baby whom cries whilst reaching for the stars
Welcome to existence this, breath of life....
Reverberating jewels of wisdom to be given; these pearls of light
Silently peering beyond the chromatic firefly; fluttering reflections as prisms inside ~
Half Dome dressed in Her virgins white, pristine smile; beautiful
Luminescent whisperings and Spring tide thresholds
Mother nature and Father times, ions of love now, entwined
Euphorias waters of verdant making their way towards the sea and, into the child
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...."Chasing Butterflies" ~
Form: