Long Reverence Poems
Long Reverence Poems. Below are the most popular long Reverence by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reverence poems by poem length and keyword.
In a dream I was a knight
made of flowers.
And on my tabard
where should rest the sigil
of a dead king
or heraldry of an unfeeling
God,
There is your face.
Silhouetted by your halo.
My errantry brings your grace
to fields afar that have seen
no hands more loving than
the plowman's
,who does the work
but not in love,
in hope
in foolish, romantic hope
that such reverence,
such courtly love
could make the plowman see
that there is love to be found
in the work
that there is something holy
in the deed.
That if I could be all that I am,
could not what he planted?
Because hands like tools planted me,
but it was loving hands that pulled me
from the earth.
A loving hand that twisted my stems
into arms,
that I could write these words
that tangled my roots
into legs,
that I could see what was beyond my field
that interwove my petals
into beating, bleeding poetry,
that I could shine the love breathed into me
back out.
As a summer breeze words from your lips are sweeter than honey
In the sanctity of the night with the moon hovering above
Inspired by reverence for unearthliness and spirituality
A profound predilection for pious thought and brotherly love
Has the heart burning with condemnation of apathy and brutality
While encompassed with pulsating altruistic feelings
And a deep consternation for retribution meanings
When inwardly balancing morality and mortality
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 31, 2018 for contest 7 LINES, 7 WORDS: RHYME POETRY sponsored by LU LOO - RANKED 4TH
You rushed in, a cold dark secret to all
To cover impending doom's quiet voice
And moved like a shadow upon a wall
With the sweat of death your weapon of choice
The woeful sickness to suffer you bring
To the elderly victim's door, you knock
As the graveyards welcome, the church bells ring
The stench of death's old continuous clock
Wise are those who cleanse labor's hands of you
To wash away fevers of your desire
And overcome your wordless toxic brew
To cool the fatal climate of your fire
Prudent the life made longer from this deed
Embrace the reverence to clean indeed
3/15/20
contest Coronavirus-19
Science and Mathematics
Science, when divorced from reverence, becomes an instrument of domination.
Mathematics, when reduced to mere calculation, objectifies reality.
But when approached with curiosity, humility and awe they reveal themselves as languages of the cosmos.
Fractals. primes and harmonics, these are not dead symbols, but living geometries of consciousness itself.
They point to the architecture of awareness, the order hidden in the apparent chaos.
The danger lies in objectification.
To reduce a forest to timber or a soul to statistics is to lose sight of the living essence of things.
True science does not conquer it listens.
True mathematics does not imprison it liberates.
When philosophy guides inquiry, knowledge serves life rather than reduces it.
Consciousness and Soul
Consciousness is indivisible like a prime.
It is not a trick of the brain, nor an emergent glitch of matter.
It is the fundamental ground of experience, a landmark in the infinite lattice of being.
Each soul is unique, a resonance point that cannot be replaced of replicated.
Death, then, is not an annihilation but a transformation.
The drop of water that falls into the ocean does not vanish - it becomes the ocean, and the ocean becomes the drop.
Selfhood is real, yet fluid, dissolving and re-emerging in endless cycles.
Consciousness is both individual and collective, both particle and wave.
Flight 370 Things Suspended In Air
Fresh out of bed
In long disjunction with the day
With due reverence for the missing
Suspended in the air
All things held suspect
Something takes shape out there
But there's nothing there
We’re not quite sure
Nothing looks familiar
How did they get..... somewhere?
A woman then approaches
With every sound of softness
She told them to relax
With every confidence
This flight has ended in the air
It’s been suspended
It does not really matter
Things like facts
Let us gather more data though
We're good at that
They asked her why
Some things have no answer
We don’t know why
This conversation
Like the flight
Has ended
Somewhere in the sky
On our dollars
We see the words
“In God We Trust”
Spelled out for us there
Across green currency
Is the hope that brings us
Insight into what our forefathers
Longed to see in our country
Since the tragedy of civil war
We’ve been known as
The United States
United being the word
That penetrates through our thoughts
To remind us that we aren’t
Just Republicans or democrats
We aren’t a party
We are the UNITED states
If we live as we should…
Reminding ourselves that it is…
“In God we Trust”
And the
United States
We may discover that we have
The opportunity to share
Our thoughts, our hearts, our feelings
Without riots or demonstrations
But with kindness and consideration
Together, we might discover
We can get along with one another
Through faith in the God of love
And prayers sent up from us
To bring us back to the joined hope
That comes from sharing this land
And living in reverence and devotion
To the One who created every man!
God bless the USA
The whiteness is blue, and wet, and fluffy to the eye,
Even when it is not.
It brings hot sweet cocoa and warm mittens into the memory,
Twinkling with glitz, glamour, and frost,
Icicle magic, dazzling your eyes.
The air so cold, it brings tears to your face,
The whiteness is blue, faerie-magic-like, not here every day.
Snow falls daintily at first, then she picks up speed,
as there is no stopping her.
She glistens as she waits for you to test her
snow-ball-ability.
Is she wet enough to roll? She brings out childhood memories
faster than most. You remember chasing your cousins, making
snow angels, snow forts, and snow men.
As far as your eye can see, the land is magic, blanketed now,
with a glamour you can only get with snow and frost.
A reverence she commands, you feel instantly,
not felt during any other season.
The glitz, the glamour, the frost, rhinestone twinkles on a
sea of white, dazzling your eyes out.
Written: March 28, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is a myth that time cures any wound,
It is merely what people say and sound.
When the wound was simply skin-wide,
No reply may occur due to decay sighed.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Feeling numb and wounded, sighs escape.
My heart churns—overwhelmed by a scrape.
Pebbles embed in my brain cortex.
Amorphous swirls provide a raw vortex.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Assessing a child's stomach on baking day,
Those smitten by love share anguish and decay.
Fail to express love or even heart grief.
Charmed in a state of anguish and relief.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
I perceive kismet as a formidable antagonist,
One could not despise his rival or protagonist.
That amazes everyone—upon slaughtering me,
Who slain me, or who carried out such butchery?
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live,
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Let's devote the night to the wounded.
Their bodies are battered—rise to be subtruded.
Whispered to no one, cleanse of their scars.
Wounded sigh in killer room as dusk dew parse.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Those who have been wounded by his arrow,
Those who were scathe sob in love, thrill shadow.
Wriggle on the rug with love and reverence.
Heal wounds themselves, hurting its severance.
Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live.
Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive.
Head over to celebrate with them tonight.
Love may seem corrupted—they cry fake sight.
If they shed fake tears—their love isn't divine.
Believers never act wildly or display mood signs.
“Nothing Real can be threatened
Nothing unReal exists
Herein lies the Peace of God”
from : A Course in Miracles
_______________________
aah, dear people, know Reality !
this path is no path at all, yet every
path lead heretofore, a surety
as alpha and omega swings
it swirls in whirly winds, calling
bringing sting or bling as Exalted
ignites every shadow stalling
narrow or wide in kind
blissfully fine ~
choose whichever path as way
to brook the truth from struth
testaments or wisdom books —
Void, though Heartful, material
and immaterial, holds no cobbles
tracks, sermons, gurus or mantras
quarks attune to All’s voiceless
unseen buoys ________reflect
oh, people, know Reality !
veracity lets you plunge so deep
dreams shatter, lids bleep, Awake —
to begin is breath within breath
under nostrils, mere observation
will energise, sing not vicissitudes
sensations within rising and passing
transmute without, like driblets in ocean
Release ! for on its own gently sows
as essence to dust bring pumpkins to
reap or lonely weeds, it matters not
Reverence triumphant above, below
integration of opposites rattles mettle
to burnish furnishes spirit, grid free
circular into pyramid, then merkaba
pentagon temples bare, pathless
path contains them all in stall
moving sanguine smooth, ungrooved
rise the wise who know that they
know, lean is fat, crown a hat —
all garbs we wear to aware, tear
in despair, seasons cycle ripe pears
withers, rebirth __spiral up, limpid
Exalted knows every umbrage
for it is His to witness choices
dwell present precious, surrendered
His Will kills not any mocking bird in
vain, sane is pathless path ordained
….reflect
oh monk ! we know we have
heretofore begun, virtues embraced
wholly our spirits will ascend, refine
all was chosen before we journeyed
on moving sands, dined, mourned
searching —
aah, dear monk, our living light within
unfolds steady ______we reflect (...)
by and by pure thousand petalled lotus
culminate — we nurture, imbue, exude
Reality’s path certainly is pathless !
________________________
Tribute To L . MILTON
winter climbs to eaves
icicles growing longer
dripping tears of joy.
The above poem is written By Milton on December 5, 2022
I was whelmed to go through as incidentally it matched my feelings.
Perfect presentation on Winter. I recollect my honey moon trip to a hill station
exactly showing similar picture. Literally speaking Icicles were hanging from
eaves growing longer ! Might be dripping tears of joy.
Chilled sensation in room longing for cosy warmth.
I admired. I was touched.
My Reverence to L. MILTON
01/ 15/ 23
In Honour of Milt . an Un Contest
First Place
Contest by Andrea Dietrich