Long Preludes Poems
Long Preludes Poems. Below are the most popular long Preludes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Preludes poems by poem length and keyword.
While crimson dawn orchestrated the sky,
Birds spread sweet notes at morning breeze’s rides;
As sunrise calmly croons with smile on high,
Rays kiss us tenderly with warmest glides.
Clouds tunes magically in peaceful tones,
Tree branches smooch the light in windpipe song;
Mountains and hills stand tall in rhythmic thrones,
As garden flowers sway with leaves along.
Dew drops mingle with strings of golden shafts,
Buzzing crowd preludes its rise in towns;
Chats and laughter are crescendos of wafts,
Sun’s sonata plays for our graces’ crowns.
Rejoice with daily sunrise symphony,
To make our day light, stress free and happy.
Kiss by the Passing Breeze of Awakening
Dust of divine whimsy
Flutters softly on unconscious cheeks
With ephemeral dawning
Fleeting like the flash of silver sandals
In moonlight - here then hidden -
Stepping out of the opaque
Soul stirring from oblivious daydreams
Stepping into moments of classical
Lavender-rose moments.
The leaven of breezes in stardust essence
Flares in lambent clarity
Caches of chimera, that drain the heartbeat,
Shrivel in bursts of cheeky shooting stars.
Aroused from the depths of sleepwalking,
Grace notes float on rose scents
Harvested in potpourris for strangled screams
Scrambling through midnight fogs,
Sentience revisits in soft swirls
Awareness, roused by reveille,
Stirs caressed codas in soft preludes,
Awakes in fresh mindful raptures
Nurtured by a passing angel kiss.
"What is life but a succession of preludes to unwritten words . . . "
Quote by_Constance La France
The creative urge of our vibrant soul
articulates poetry when it heeds
pulse of divine consciousness we extol.
Navigating life to fulfil our role,
without any doubt love magnetism leads
the creative urge of our vibrant soul.
To rise from limitation and feel whole,
drawn to love’s beauteous rhythm soul needs
pulse of divine consciousness we extol.
Knowing our aura is blackened like coal,
oh hermit, know God's boundless grace yet feeds
the creative urge of our vibrant soul.
Making unique music, being our goal,
empty like space, purity of heart speeds
pulse of divine consciousness we extol.
We paint the canvas by ceding control,
as the burning yearning to ink love seeds
the creative urge of our vibrant soul;
pulse of divine consciousness we extol.
14-November-2022
HMS, Rhymezone, PS Grammar
Theme: Writing
WRITING CHALLENGE - ''V'' Forms Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
PONDERING LABORING DAYS AHEAD
In the laboring days ahead,
Dawning with continuous trials,
And subsequent tribulations,
Let’s not be like sheep
In a slaughtering pen;
Rather, let’s be as lambs
In the garden of God:-
Armed with faith and hope,
And God’s divine guidance,
Let us, as the Psalms remind us,
Journey onwards to overcoming:
“Defending truth, humility, and justice”:-
For indeed, our God is a God of justice;
Justice indeed, being, “His royal scepter.”
Thus, as Summer is waning,
And leave falling Fall preludes
The vicious coming of Winter,
Let us realize resurrecting Spring
Will likewise return with healing grace:-
Thus, let us continue in our resurrecting
Labors of love, sowing reaping justice:-
No matter where you are
you are with Him for ever;
no matter how far you travel
it is His distance – all matter
and spirit, the substance of
His being.
No matter how fast you run,
it is His pace and tracks;
no matter how quiet your mind,
he hears the stirrings within
our silence, those soundless
articulations, before the words,
our preludes to delineation –
No matter how deeply or shallowly
we breathe...He knows our limitless
capacity~nurturing, healing,
awakening us to live fully and outright
the sum of all His passions realized,
purified and exalted to their highest
forms of manifest-expression –
After all will be said and done, Love is everything....
It was not a Parisian café
though it tried to be.
Our teeth were strong
they flashed
intermittently.
The house wine was red,
the bread was good bread.
The creamy leaf was dressed,
it bloomed and licked the mouth
with a blithe bouquet of ease and tease.
The fish was dunked in a
blue dish of piquant delight.
A butter fat flounder fandangoed
upon our tongues just right.
We were trying, working the words,
leaning into anything
that would further our cause.
Alas signals were misread
gambits misunderstood
subtleties stubbled over ambrosial food.
Tight lipped
we nibbled and sipped.
Time slipped, barely recovering,
the waiter was smooth, his speech
a soupcon of olive upon a slippery smear.
We tried to repair
tried to mend that which was not there.
At the frothy tick of the hour
coffee dark resignations shrugged.
We briefly hugged while hope
crumbled upon a red and white cloth,
hurried promises exchanged,
a cheek peck and wane smiles
pale preludes to nothing at all
and nothing arranged.
It was awhile since
yet
we met again
though we were ever the same,
for nothing went anywhere
and that was it
to be never again.
When I see in colors
I say Yes
softly or loudly
and usually in-between
depending on our vibrancy together.
When we see in black and white,
we say maybe yes
and perhaps not
and other shades of ambivalent grey.
I cannot see in black
as I cannot see white at all
except perhaps as shades of transparency.
When I hear in resonant music
I say Yes
to truths of resolution,
trusting resilient motions of emotion
integrity of life
life as integrity
potentiating further regenerations;
new songs for perpetuating tomorrow.
When I hear in words
I'm listening for what's missing.
Lyrics without a melody
are more disappointing works.
I see best in full dressed color
and hear our dynamic truths
most resonantly as music
in soft sizzling preludes
on through conflagrations
loud climatic revolutions
followed by silence
black as night
waiting for white
bright dawning colors
dancing new music
vibrant washed.
Learning in full octave ranges
we can see a child
listening for a parent
seeing community developers
and violators
seeing fellow politicians
longing to write and read
hear and speak poetry together
while seeing as musicians
swelling gospel choirs
and drumming
burning orchestrations
of co-redeeming music
in full non-flagging flames of color.
When we hear in colors
we see full octave best
until it's time for rest
notes that last
until they don't
turn just right bright
vibrant multicolors.
Where lies the loneliness of the night?
Its dark shadow stirs beneath the eyes, the mind will float aimlessly in a dreamlike state.
Beyond the window pane hides the truth
Its howls and cries muted, the beast, where mares are formed, escapes its shackled lair.
Tossing and lashing, the nocturnal wanderer lusts after its next prey.
What malevolent force walks the street each night
whilst cotton shrouds the innocence of man.
Hours chime to dawn and with it the sanctuary of morning light.
The twilight preludes the backstory of our fears that manifest to a nocturnal cycle of twists and turns wrapped in a sweated sheet. We are the authors but typecast as the protagonist of the weak, narrating each chapter from our subconscious pool where the last page is torn from the spine and the end never comes.
We rise, battered and bruised, pieces of us lie scattered about the bedroom floor. We try to remember, we try to forget in equal measure the scenes of our play for today. The cast slowly walks away, stage right to dust, and we carry on.
Celebration of Las Animas
The shadows know
When I shout into the void
Of obsession’s chaos that swallows even darkness,
Fractured light in jaundiced eyes,
Where withering blasts of winter hibernate in masquerades,
Promises lay in crumpled thoughts of raging anxieties
To crumple wings stilled by grief’s passages
Of flawed conscience.
My gentle shepherd, who walks in the brittle solstice garden,
Whispers to this stubborn lamb of irrepressible forgiveness
With healing that unites a divided soul chasing eulogy
To float upon the flowing tide, the River Agape,
Dewdrops of compassion in solitude’s metamorphosis -
Ebony’s iris nightfall – weave an arras in twilight’s hush
Where scented leaves of solitude and grace
Celebrate in welcomed cleansing wind and fire.
Released from perfectionism’s chains by perfect perfection,
Through radiating renewal on the Samaritan’s road,
Solitude’s incense from ash groves inhales metamorphosis,
Seasoned with the breath of mercy in shadowy first light
As dawn quietly peeks through the pink blush of epiphany,
Leaves behind ominous – footsteps of midnight –
Sweeping away bittersweet thunderheads on stone spires -
Finale of my seclusion.
In preludes to all things bright and wonderful
Rebirth, renewal, tethers me to new psalms
Scrubbing clean overgrown graffiti on my woodland wall
New anima stretches out in one moment of time and space
Navigating unexplored islands in the broiling stream
By argent rainbows in cornucopia’s of charity
To untangle knots of errant threads through life’s keepsake tapestry
Eternal Emmanuel, radiant message, face of amazing grace.
2-24-22
Contest: Form F – Free Verse
Sponsor: Constance La France
Theme: Life
Animas means life – communication of the spirit with the subconscious.
. In
. Love
& Lust
IT swells
Configures
IT consumes
IT envelopesall
Like flaming airs
Reclaiming voids
IT declares intent
Now the Ego’ lost
Now ‘i’ surrenders
Connecting voids
Swelling of will, in
. contiguous flow ; acting in now
IT is Consciousness
IT is the. ONE that acts
IT is also THE inspiration
IT can possess OR can transform.
IT also envelops IT permeates forms
One that preludes' IS. formless/ with form
There a desire to Be. also to conquer & tame
There, effort to Know. also emotion, to proclaim
IT is the complete Play; soaked in; of the very same
.
To experience, is to Be, is JNAN. TANTRA is to relate; to relish
. JNAN says :
"Know that wherever you are, it is the very same Self"
.
....In theosophy of two Men; Buddha and Shankara
.....disparaging viewpoints; finally met on a ground
...........as in joining of two hands; left and right
...................It was the field of TANTRA
.
Visual Poetry N A M A S T E
.