Long Refuge Poems
Long Refuge Poems. Below are the most popular long Refuge by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Refuge poems by poem length and keyword.
August 15 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Jeremiah 14-17
Key Verse – Jeremiah 14:20 We acknowledge, O LORD, our wickedness, and the iniquity of our fathers: for we have sinned against thee.
PRAISE BE TO GOD FOR CONVICTING US
OF OUR SINFULNESS
Praise be to God for convicting us of our sinfulness toward our:
Repentance along His redemption blessing
Reformation upon His regeneration bliss
Renewal with His revival blossom
Rejuvenation in His repairing building-brace
Restoration by His replenishment-bountifulness
Jeremiah 15:20 Praise be to the Lord for saving
and delivering us against:
Captivity of confounding challenges
Curses of contaminating carelessness
Carnality of clinging childishness for our cleansing
Charges of condemning conscience toward our consecration
Corruption of craving claims that call for chastisement unto conversion
Jeremiah 16:21 Praise be to the Saviour for being our
strength, fortress, and refuge with His:
Mercy minding our mourning
Miracles moving along His mysteries
Might mentoring us midst His merriment
Magnificence melting momentary miseries
Mastery and magnanimity, marked by His marvels
Jeremiah 17:10 Praise be to the Holy Spirit
for searching our hearts against:
Hardness hitting holiness
Haughtiness heralding heaviness
Half-heartedness halting helpfulness
High-mindedness heaping hopelessness
Hastiness heading to haphazardness. Amen!
August 15, 2024
In the chambers of the caves,
I sought refuge from all the moral forgeries
spreading over the land. Holding my lamp aloft,
I pursued solace in childhood alcoves.
In the chambers of endless caves,
I explored myriad twisting pathways
longing for the playful mirth of recall.
But Cerberus confronted me, snarling,
preventing my passage beyond his gate.
In the chambers of the caves,
I descended deeper into unconscious cavities,
finding vast chasms of terror, and
winding tunnels leading to oblivion.
I wept like a summer rain cloud.
This was all a terrible mistake, I decided.
How do I escape?
In the chambers of the caves,
I wandered, panicking aimlessly until
I stumbled into an illuminated hollow.
Suddenly, I was surrounded by dancers.
Festive music played as they circled me.
Here, I felt safety and delight.
Laughing and clapping, the dancers pranced.
How this confusing labyrinth brought me
here, I couldn’t guess.
In the chambers of the caves,
I soon learned I must continue my exploration.
Everywhere, there were caves for living and dying,
deep subterranes of experience. Jung called it
collective and archetypal. Others declared it
the physics of the soul, the quantum consciousness
of reincarnation.
Upon the world's palettes no artist will mix
The vibrant hues of our rainbow, as only my heart can do,
No one will paint you in the prismatic colors of pure love,
Nor write odes of passion with ink of late nights, moon-inspired.
Like me, no one will carve out of time a shimmering mountain,
Where each facet reflects an era traversed by our love,
And no one with the string of celestial voices will sing the song of your sapphire gaze,
Nor portray in notes the music of your eyes mirroring the starry ocean of my soul.
You are a dream, etherically dressed in the moon's silk veils,
And I, stand mute with adoration before the piece of art, shaped by divine hands,
I ask you, do you feel how boundlessly I carry you in my vast love,
Which would, without hesitation, surrender and offer for you the entire glistening of this cosmos?
No one else would keep the starry sky in their heart only for you,
Nor could they yearn for your dawns like the sun yearns for the morning light,
Nor could they plant within you the sweet caresses of the summer breeze,
Watching them grow and blossom into playful whispers, garlands of fondness.
Only in my eternal guidance will you find meaning in the stormy night,
Alone I will offer you the refuge, the light of the lighthouse breaking through the darkness,
And in my arms, you will find moments of ecstasy, flares of emotion,
A carnival of colors, the revelry of muted fireworks against the firmament, our love.
The jar remains still, dressed in its glass mantle like a snow globe of silent forgetting,
each broken part of me lies there, floating in my warm and crimson waters,
a lake of lost memories, a mirror of the soul seeking to find itself again.
I open the jar and try to fit each piece into the deep voids of my being,
like a puzzle of the soul, but each time, I fail again and again,
and I wonder if I will ever manage to reassemble myself, to become whole again.
My gaze stops on the silver needles, shining like stars in the night sky,
someone has separated them from their thread, leaving only silence and cold steel behind,
the crude tools of healing, without a guiding thread, just silence and the desire to mend.
I clutch the needle tightly, a silent smile forms on my lips,
now I begin to sew each broken part, the cold needle pierces the skin with care and love,
as if mending my mother's old shawl, each stitch a memory, each knot a dream.
I sew my broken parts like a sweater of the heart, with love and dedication,
to protect myself from winter's bite, when the poisoned air seeps into cracks,
I sew again, like an old sweater, perhaps I will be whole again, even if only I know the story.
Each stitch a step towards rediscovering the lost self, each knot a warm refuge,
perhaps I will become whole again, even if sewn in silence, unseen by the eyes of the world,
a waltz of needle and thread, a dancing tale of healing and self-discovery.
He touches me in the early dawn
Hours before the chickens start to
Peck the rich, toasted earth around
Their pen, clucking with enthusiasm
For the tassels of rich emerald lawn
Coming away with them as they peck
Relentlessly with a fervor that dances
Merrily to the tune of cackling, fussing
Peppered with crows from the rooster’s
Fertility gloating, he swaggers, preening
Sensing the way his heart will mourn
On the days the hen sits on her almond
Shaped eggs, awaiting the time when
There will be new life tapping its way
Through the tough shells to be trained
By the hen to feed, bath and seek
Refuge, as I chase out the lines
Of his hands against my breast in the
Morning, while we embrace, caressing
Sighing, whispering, just before the light
Shines down from the sky to warm my
Thighs and trace a glimmer of hope
Along the edge of the silent night
August 20, 2020
time’s sands swirl
the spinners spin, our marionette lines
twisting and entwined
caught upon each other’s lives
loss now stains my mottled
once proud face, scaffolding
slack and slipping ever downward
with fogged eyes failing in their folds
summer’s sun a distant memory
and winter’s icy doorway within reach;
so much I should have said, but
words failed, falling stillborn from my lips
immedicable wounds now fester, layered
scars purple and puckered accuse
as I hum some dreary dirge
to the beating wings of carrion birds
no refuge anymore for the damned
time a long way passed such redemption
I stand staring at that frozen hole
muttering prayers in an angry landscape
.. goodbye old friend
On some ordinary days
when we are too busy
worrying about the silliest
and dullest things,
there's a day more thrilling
and special than others.
On this day
we should remember mothers
with smiling eyes,
with beating hearts,
with wide-open arms
inspiring beautiful words
written on a greeting card.
It's a day dedicated to all mothers,
it's the loveliest day in our lives
when we become small
as she rocks us
in those soft, caring arms,
we find our refuge,
it's the safest place
to indulge in the truest love ever known.
Those sons and daughters
who stand next to her are lucky,
even though some grieve
and miss her, unable to weave dreams
they vividly remember
when they were happy.
learning the song she taught
with motherly tenderness;
she stared at them with care,
taking all fears away from
the scariest heart.
It's a day dedicated to all mothers
holding our hand,
guiding us through life,
her endless devotion is our own
her enduring memory comes alive.
On each brilliant dawn
continue loving her,
whether she's here
or in God's kingdom,
flashing at us that lovely smile
very tender and revealing.
It's a day dedicated
to all mothers
should be filled
with surprises.
Have you ever really heard
The sweet twitter of the night bird,
Flying towards the refuge trees:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
Two lovers sit on make shift bench,
Strangely they spoke in makeshift French,
Hoping their sweet whispers would please:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
A boy and a girl ate their meal,
Time for play, oh just hear them squeal
The children run and laugh and tease:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
The parents discuss the future
Their love, growth, success and nature
Their love mature, their hands they squeeze:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
God sees all of His creation,
The beauty of their vocation
Like the greenery of the trees:
It's like the sighing of a breeze.
Rumi Quote: "We are born of love; Love is our mother."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peering out the window
under ominous moon
your calm seeps into my altruistic soul
ambrosian sun sets, asleep
in meadows, fledglings find refuge
framed by jade green foliage.
Fetching footsteps felicity
as the snow melts down
you enfold us in your love
a gentle rhythm from your heart
awaken the moon butterflies
when autumn sun comes back
you support us on our tired path
may our trek be long in tandem?
When hurdles come nebulous
you improve awareness
now I grasp the reason
the rainbow itself requires
A storm brewing
to reveal its vibrant colors.
Reaching for your gleaming hair
leaving auric imprint on your scalp
never has a mother been balmily
how I hold you constantly
the eye is drawn by vanity
what's left to tell is scant.
I saw that you never step aside
quickly returning a hurried call
your input is always blithely cast
humbly, you gave it all
an eternally enduring love
dwells within your heart.
I yearn to express in shorter lines
all deserved accolades
over the course of time
your favored spell has worn off
my darling mother was my first lady
your stay was bright and cheerful!
we buried you on a chilly, windy day.
In the enchanted night, when the moon weaves its silver mantle,
The insomniac wanders through the labyrinth of his arcane thoughts,
His last refuge, a crystal castle of eternal consciousness,
Rises above the sleeping world, a mystical beacon in the darkness.
His gaze, a magic wand that splits the veil of night,
Reveals secrets hidden in the scrolls of the sky,
While others float on clouds of ephemeral dreams,
He gathers falling stars, transforming them into an elixir of wisdom.
The clock ticks, a pendulum of destiny suspended in time,
Each second, a pearl in the necklace of infinity,
For him, minutes are grimoires full of unspoken spells,
In which he can weave the web of parallel realities.
His superiority, an ivory tower amidst the cosmic storm,
Rises ethereal, yet firm, in the face of hypnotic sleep waves,
A magical illusion that nourishes his soul with divine nectar,
Anchoring him in his realm of expanded consciousness.
Through enchanted windows, he scrutinizes the world immersed in dreams,
A solitary wizard of his eternal insomnia kingdom,
Wondering if he might be the Supreme Dreamer,
In an oneiric reality woven by his own magic.
Thus passes the night, a dance of shadows and arcane lights,
The insomniac, an alchemist of the secrets of profound darkness,
Until dawn finds him, tired but enlightened,
Wearing the invisible diadem of one who has conquered mortal sleep.