Long Sage Poems
Long Sage Poems. Below are the most popular long Sage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sage poems by poem length and keyword.
I will turn sixty years old this year.
I can face it bravely for I don't look my age.
Turning forty.... that filled me with fear
but I'm wiser now, practically a sage
and not afraid to turn this new page.
When I was young, sixty seemed so old.
I imagined I'd be decrepit and bent.
That's not me at all, if I may be so bold.
My current health and demeanor, a gift, heaven sent.
Though often I wonder where all the years went.
My face has some lines, my hair's mostly grey.
I am not bothered by it at all.
I still love to laugh and to sing and to play.
Old age is out there but I'll not heed the call
because sixty is just a number after all.
Most days I feel young, much younger than I
have been for so many years.
I'm not yet ready to give up and die,
I've just slowed down a touch, shifted the gears,
so this birthday I'll face with smiles, not tears.
Twenty fifteen will be my best year yet,
I can feel it, I'm sure it is so.
So many people and adventures not met
are waiting for me this I know
and I'm so glad to see twenty fourteen go.
Three preteen girls tried to be friends with each other
They will never be able to do it, says Dorthea’s brother
Never say never, warns his savvy sage stepmother.
Wisely saying nothing, is David, Dorthea’s brother.
David has noted that girls do not get along in threes.
They want a bestie, and one is always feeling left out.
He waits for the fireworks, which happens with these.
One of the girls storms out of the house, with an angry shout.
What happened to her? Asks the stepmother, truly confused.
David keeps his mouth shut, but he understands the shout.
The fact that he is smarter than her, makes him feel amused.
She is one of three, says the stepson, it never works out.
Boys can get along fine in three; they never stomp out.
That is true of boys, but not of girls, David said.
Girls pair off in twos, and one is always feeling left out.
His stepmother decided to put this new knowledge into her head.
What I miss:
The scents of fancy foods and good intent
The hugs of friends at church and sinners' lament
Foods we share on celebration Sunday, rest in my chair
Sometimes I think this whole situation totally unfair
Substitutions I like:
Riding down to Flint River, a sliver of respite
Gone from cesspit of isolation and COVID 19 the despot
Then go by Diary Queen for a treat; so, so neat
A two for one on Sunday, a Sundae full of sweet
What I miss:
The weekly visits inspissate family ties
When we come together, no matter the weather time flies
We enjoy a meal, have our fill until
How the time flies, we part with goodwill
How God blessed from the herb garden:
Tiny yellow butterflies, such small fellows land
Their presence upon the pineapple sage so grand
Hummingbirdmoths feed at the troth of Maximillia sunflower
The giant fuchsia zinnias compliant to Monarch's scour
All in all God has blessed
He lifts me up; He's my guest
Sometimes I'm lonely and sometimes sad
But God fills voids and listens to my request
Finis'
Written: November 01, 2020
Sponsor: Joseph May
Contest: In Rhymes Sublime
otherwise called book of wisdom
with its teachings and archetypes
laws and lessons as relevant today
as they were hundreds of years ago
history repeating itself
human nature being what it is
the mysteries of mankind’s experience unveiled
come to light in a cycle of repeated patterns
by candlelight the epochs blurred
here hovers an air of timelessness
in a rite of fire and intent
tarot cards neutralized and purified
wafts of frankincense roam the air
with much reverence my hands reaching
in a moment of silence and bonding
i invite the cards to imbibe my energy
the ritual of unwrapping their silk shield
while wafts of sage continue to disperse
revealing archaic symbols etched
adorning twenty-one major arcana
a hopeful silence for secrets divulged
in soothing stillness the old soul listens
shedding universal light on both past and future
mostly to understand ours and human nature
AP: 2nd place 2026, 2nd place 2023, 3rd place 2020
18.49
“The sage does whatever
appears to be done
without thinking of good or bad
His actions are those of a child”
Heart over head
Agendaless exuberance
No talks with Ted
Childlike innocence
(23-August-2019)
~~~
Verse 18.49 revisited on 11-February-2022
As we pause
The cause
Of thought
Ego begot
Bliss enters
Heart canters
Going without fuss
Where God takes us
As joy currents spear
There is no one here
Save essence of presence
Vibrancy of innocence
Love suffused
No longer bemused
Thought and action
Employs love for traction
With pure intent
Heart luminescent
There is no karma
For love’s our dharma
Inheriting awful army from his father,
Alexander became his life-script’s author;
Schooled by best of philosophers in history,
Gaining in all arts sky-high mastery;
At the slaughter of his father by an enemy,
In a wedding of the very royal family;
Murdering many to capture his power,
Fighting wars with half-mother and sister;
Suppressing many a mighty revolt,
To tribes, states and kingdoms putting a bolt;
Confronted by Persians and nearly got killed,
Won laurels, fighting and much blood spilled;
Encountering Darius for his kingdom great,
Getting him, amidst all odds; deciding his fate;
Disillusioned by a simple sage of India,
On his expedition toward annexation mania;
Fighting against Porus, king of Pauravas,
Turning back at the insistence of army, anxious;
Establishing an empire by great breakthrough,
Yet, leaving it at a youthful age of mere thirty two;
Who could imagine of the collapse of his kingdom,
At his death, as though a natural martyrdom…?
Entire life spent in capturing them inch by inch,
How one might guess every inch has its flinch?
Yet to me, his life was not a bundle of victory or loses,
Isn’t success and failure part of Pandora boxes?
He ate; he drank; like true king he fought battles,
He ran his life through plains and hills and stumbles;
He craved for land; this he considerably captured,
Though, ultimately, six feet was all that he needed…!
06 December 2021
I picture mind as an immense seaside,
Thoughts as random waves soon to fade away
As does a rising and receding tide,
Like weeds, what they leave survive welcome stay.
At times there endures sepulchral silence
That looks a soul-less stage flooded with blight,
A rain-washed seashore in deep penitence,
Deserted, and robbed of daylong delight.
And yet, should mind a dancer be on stage,
Real I the Self, a witness, dumb and deaf--
All knowing, still a deadbeat silent sage
For whom faith’s spelt with a capital F,
Ego directs, mind a dancer on stage,
And life’s drama unfolding, page by page.
___________________________________
Sonnet (musings) | 04.01.2011 | Self/soul
This Druid is a spirit's abundance of forest and inner heart,
A radiant ray of simple Sun's splendor,
Dressed in green groves of folklore,
Stitched in tree tones forevermore.
He wears leaves of distinction, purple-tinted,
Ruby red, and emerald green.
He roams the woodlands in a hazy maze
That falls through his morning gaze.
Striking eyes where the tree's bark belongs,
Enhancing the acorn with balmy brown gleam.
Winding roads turn through his daydreams.
The Green Man dances readily,
Adorned with spirals for centuries,
Giving journeymen paths to fae lights,
Readily twisting around flowers, foliage, and sprites,
Stretched in sacred homage.
Breathe in the breeze
Merry dancer amongst the trees
By ancient myth and tales decreed
By birthright and splendor
Wanderering Sage amongst grounded Sage roots
And soaring stars galore.
The ancient sage gnome of many colors
Flashed rainbows as he entered the forest
He was like a prism, dazzling the woodlands
As he walked, sunlight bounced off of his cloak
Who is he? A mushroom king asked his queen.
She had heard of the ancient sage gnome
However, no one told her what to expect.
In her weirdest suppositions, she had not envisioned rainbows
I think he is the ancient sage gnome, she guessed.
That can’t be right, said the mushroom king.
For his wife was notorious for jumping to conclusions
Without benefit of facts.
She was totally right, however, neither asked.
So, neither ever knew.
Guessing for the rest of their lives
All their other guesses wrong.
When the sky is a
sequestered sanctuary,
and the clouds croon
for sinking star-beams,
listen to the euphoric hymns of silence,
for seething storms throned
beneath rainbow castles
shall never obscure the
crystalline colors of compassion,
amidst thickened fangs
of dwelling darkness,
constantly trying to
seize peacock pigments
within violet-blue seas
of sequined sentiments…
O’ beloved white rose~
perfumed in vanilla love,
let not the wolf-spider gaze,
mirroring envy within black widow hearts,
confuse your diamond vision.
It’s just another day,
enveloped in a warm sakura sunrise,
there the gales of greed
looming in ghostly flecks,
question the redolence of rivulets
behind your veiled vigor.
There’s no reason to fear
when hope flows and drifts
like comets flying as fluttering butterflies
across the butterscotch horizon.
Remember, when the sage sun
seeps into foggy crevices,
and deserted dunes
speak in ashen accents,
their choice of words do not define
the rhythm of your seraphic symphony.
Your merlot wine spirit is
the whimsical wand turning unspoken
tales into wildflower wishes.
There’s no need for an alchemist
nor a sorcerer to concoct
spells that rearrange constellations,
as your voice swirls in magical mists.
You and I, are every last thing
we need to conquer the bewitching
perimeters we truly deserve.
Tonight, when my lids rest upon the
dreamscape of daffodils and dahlias,
I see that look in your eye.
I ponder, is it me that you long for?
Am I the unfading ink
within your saccharine sonnets?
I yearn to be the one you talk
about in sweet seclusion.
This trembling canvas longs
for no other skin to caress the acrylic
edges of my aching soul,
and I do not need
the wind and water
beneath whistling willows
to write my destiny
in green and gold.
We don’t need shades of shadows
following our intertwined silhouettes,
yet I let these metaphors
merge with the heat of
your passionate presence,
as you and I break through
the landscapes of grief
with mutual attraction
like the mulberry rays
between the moon and earth..