Long Precognitive Poems
Long Precognitive Poems. Below are the most popular long Precognitive by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Precognitive poems by poem length and keyword.
Salutations!
Are we all just a footnote in God’s mental thoughts?
He’s gotta BIG BANG Universe to run, does He not?
He’s the most masterful, magical, mystical, mathematical Magician.
He’s the “I” in Inventiveness and the thinking in thoughtfulness.
He can be everywhere, all at once. Anywhere, He wants. Anytime.
He can be anyone, anything, everyone, everything, He wants to be.
PURE THOT POWER!!! Hour after hour ... endlessly ...
For what it’s worth,
There’s no need for discrepancies or any misconceptions.
He doesn’t do fake news or have any precognitive predecessors.
Yet now has come to realize as I’m singing out these words,
How absurd, little bird, He chuckles in surprise
Then bursts out laughing with delight, in delight.
So wise, He sighs. Oh my, time flies ...
The Dreamer never dies.
Are we all just a Word in God’s Big BOOK?
Maybe we’d find out if we gave it a look?
Ingenuity is His middle name, envisioning e v e r y thing
We are all the stuff, He dreams up
There’s no need for questionaries.
We are all the fluff between His guff.
There’s no need for any inquiries.
Soooooo, I’m going to ...
Enjoy the day’s fullest when the Sunshines shining bright
Enjoy it at its highest when I’m down and out
Enjoy my every moment from here on out
Overcome the urge to be absurd and shout
From the top of roofs and mountaintops
And now, and now, I enjoy the NOW
With Full Moonbeams on me right here and how.
Hear me, here on me, adhere on me tonight!
So wise, I sigh. Oh my, time flies ...
The Dreamer never dies.
It came in with a flash
Lighting up the Sahara Desert
Most of my troop was asleep
I had a precognitive feeling
Sat up and starred to the east
My pal Hal’s mouth was loudly snoring
Space travelers came toward me
Riding strange unknown fast-paced animals
I had never seen anything like it
Travelers with oddities too unusual to explain
I stared at them, open mouthed
Are you from outer space? I wondered.
The night stars’ glow enhanced their scariness
I was petrified and began to shake.
A forklike thing paralyzed me.
When I awoke they were gone
But my knee had a prong mark.
It was much more than a dream.
Perhaps the dead have the last laugh over us --
Daughters bitterly weeping in front of Jesus in an old church,
(merciful Jesus, merciful Jesus, merciful Jesus, be there for Daddy)
Unknown poor relations, pond scum grifters, co-workers
(gone fishing and unable to attend the cremation ceremony
at such short notice), well-meaning relatives (I knew she'd take
it hard. Has she managed to eat and sleep at last?
You look like your father so much, it's uncanny), therapists
Bearing tranquilizer prescriptions, numinous yoga teachers, oh sattvic touch,
Oh grief boundless everlasting oceanic.
The living say people things and do people things,
They bristle with a most jarring, annoying, persnickety sort of aliveness;
What of his estate? Why is she crying in church? Must be a war widow.
Well, she's real pretty. We all lost a good man. He was depressed over the divorce.
He was going on a business trip in June.
He loathed this freakish endless winter and looked forward to summer.
He planted two apple trees. He was such an avid gardener.
I do not care for my father's peonies, tulips, clematises --
Elated, I spend days wrapped in his new pearlescent world;
Death is sweetness, soft falling feathers, a joy and lightness of being
Unparalleled, undisturbed, unimaginable;
Happy Birthday, Dad.
The dead boyishly wink at us through a freshly printed pale pinkish
Death certificate with its Mahleresque staccato --
Born in Donetsk, September 23, 1956, died in St Petersburg
May 21, 2026: ewig, ewig, ewig, Ewigkeit -- inky crow feathers again;
The dead are playful with ghostly phone calls beyond the grave,
Strangely found Buddha figurines that have emotional significance to you
And your father alone, the dead are funny, silly, impish, impossible;
The dead know things, the dead take their time as they now
Whisper and now shout in repeating numbers, precognitive dreams, crows
Touching your face after your last phone conversation
(duration: 11 minutes, 33 seconds) months before
They are even dead.
The dead are very much alright and we are not alright at all.
I go downstairs to sit in the yard and chain smoke
And I watch my father morph into a solemn,
Unfathomable Osiris as the night reluctantly falls
In a tremulous never-quite-night-St Petersburg June kind of way.
Their brilliance, their godawful brilliance.
Sixty plus, and counting,
Still running from my life:
Child, athlete, writer, warrior,
Master Teacher, mother, wife.
Still pondering the age-old question,
"Who am I?"
Am I what I do? What I have? Where I work?
Or, are these just my alibis?
Who looks out longingly
from my tired, tear washed eyes?
Am I what I own? Where I've been? Who I've loved?
Or, are these just my alibis?
Does my body define me?
Am I only flesh and blood?
Or, am I composed of each fleeting moment,
Comprised of sweetness, truth and love?
Once, long ago, in a precognitive dream,
I heard God's resonating voice whispering to me,
"You are Eternal, Immortal, and nothing can hurt you."
So, am I cosmic lights and spirit? Am I the path I seek?
Once, long ago, out of body,
I reveled in a sheath of cosmic light,
Knowing the truth of my own Oneness
And the ecstasy of dimensions in transcending flight.
"I Am that I AM." said the Most High God.
Can it really be so starkly simple,
To speak our truth and declare our Beingness,
And all of Life our sacred temple?
I am all possibility, one with my Source.
Powerful, omniscient: an unwavering creative Force.
By my focus and intention, I look deeply into Sri Yantra.
and I become who I choose to be.
By simply deciding to, I call forth the essence of me.
Chula Fleming© 5/22/2015
All the trappings of a Romanian queen
Gave her the immediate ambiance of power confidence.
Her aura proceeded her body into the room.
There was an anticipation seconds prior to her arrival.
Her entrance was provocative, practically obscene.
The level of sensuality brought forth made us all look up.
Who is she? Some whispered, recognizing ultimate power.
Her precognitive skills protruded into our thoughts.
There was a hush, a whisper, a spiritual pause
Most of the empaths and seers were intimidated, I was one.
Her majestic qualities surrounded the room,
Enveloping us in silent disbelief and awe.
Ford
Once upon a time, a young, teenaged boy had a dream,
in it, a Black Bird Thunder-ed on by, his it did seem.
Precognitive ?, one day, in middle age, it was true.
In a Black Bird, on the open road he would go – he knew.
Then one day, up and journeyed onward, a head he flew,
the road, before his wheel, lay ahead, ahead was his view.
Today, no wind in his long, graying hair, no sun on his head,
just the sounds of music – silent words on a page instead.
Now my Black Bird no longer flies, nor does she Thunders.
All that remains, that is left – a rear view mirror and wonders.
Oh !!!, the stories she could tell – of a life, a long time ago,
of beauty, of life, of experiences and all I came to know.
Knowledge of all, that will, one day, come to an end,
but until then, they will carry me through – be my friend,
a friend that accompanies those many empty hours,
brightens up those gray days before becoming bowers.
B. J. “A” 2
September20th 2004
We listen to these wishes where evidence of our subconscious come to life
Where our subconscious mind lies awake to connect us to our sentient
Where we dream about finding love as much as we lose ourselves to love
Where we wish to listen to our oneirology and change direction while trusting the omens and our inner guidance
Where we yearn to hold these dreams inside of us and desire for secrets we dare not share, but have courage to put them on paper with faith that one day they will come true
Where we listen to our dreams while dosing off to our precognitive senses
Where we wish for the day we lie awake with our conscious and mind at peace
Where we vow o dream and dream to remember that our path is without judgement and threat
Where we wish to break from a history of fear and curse of looking back instead of looking forward and listen to our dreams while we do
Poet
Masego Nkuna
I ride this wave of fantasy
that sends my desires astir.
What dreams may come
from the spiraling are yet
to vaporize in the stars.
The ebb and flow become
the tide of dysphoria
as I ride this crest of fantasy
to the Cancri netherworld
and I roil from its heat!
My soul aches from the pain
and I search for euphoria
through a new fantastical wave
and find the coolness I seek
in Uranus’ aquamarine comfort.
The white caps are the stars
that move me among the planets,
my energy spinning with the tides;
a maelstrom circling through
whirling and twirling consciousness.
Touring this universe of planets,
I spin through wave after
wave of fantastical,
precognitive dreams, muddled
and muddied as I return to shore.
She saw the crimson walls;
felt the apprehension and fear;
heard the screams without physical ears.
They were not familiar to her so,
she could not have warned them.
She had no idea where the house was so,
she could not have sent the police to help them.
The bloody memory left ghosts hovering
in her psyche for weeks;
knowledge of the slaughter, fed hungry nightmares;
as she prayed that she was wrong.
Whom and where remained elusive;
if only she knew; lives could be saved.
Premonitions repeat in dreams;
torturing the dreaming mind with,
precognitive news is bad enough, as it is; without the waiting and anticipation of hearing what one already knows.
When the house appeared on the nightly news;
the anchor told about the blood-spattered walls
on both floors.
Green nausea overcame her.
She agonized for a year;
rarely seeing or reading the news;
realizing that she might’ve prevented it.
Oh God, if only she’d known whom, when and where.
Precognition never specifies the details;
only the horrors yet to come.
The cosmos and the trip to the outer limits was within her grasp.
She was fearless, assuring her relatives it was no big deal.
Of course it was, and she was super thrilled to have been chosen.
They hugged her good-bye as if they would never see her again.
I am just going to Planet X34C she said, laughing at their morbidity.
Upon arrival, the astronauts drew straws to see who would exit first.
Would they disintegrate upon contact? Would it be safe?
No human had been on Planet X34C yet. She won the draw.
Her comrades gave her light punches on the back and shoulder.
Good luck! They said. She smiled, thinking of her family.
Being the first one out of the chute, so to speak, she was obligated.
To report back, to reassure them, to explain the climate and dangers.
Being clairsentient, her precognitive abilities soared in the cosmos.
She was one with the God-mind here; they were close to heaven.
In awe, she gave praise and thanks. Loving this nurturing of her soul.