Long Sanctity Poems
Long Sanctity Poems. Below are the most popular long Sanctity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sanctity poems by poem length and keyword.
LOVE ON PHONE (2)
Two weeks run past us
Who, when do we breaks the jinx?
She can’t come to Lagos
Her project thesis on her neck
It then fell on my round neck.
I just came back from Accra
Scheduled another to Abuja
Excuses galore rented the air
Was I scared to beholding her?
Would I like what I will see?
She is getting impatient
As she long a feel of me
Dirty mind! not of that you think
For she is intact even at
Two dozens plus one age
Her calabash not yet broken.
I was proud of her sanctity
Joy smiled over me of her chastity
Could she be the heart
I have been searching for?
Please, don’t tell it to her that
I am dying to see her too.
Alayande Stephen T.
8.25pm
8th November, 2007
The story continues.
There is an art to silence
The only thing louder than violence
Sitting beneath the trees
Looking out at the lazy seas
Was any of it worth it
When it left you in a burning fit
Your body is broken and bruised
Words are spoken but you're too abused
So you sit there and close your eyes
Hoping for sanctity from all of the lies
And when you open them you'll see the cage
And you'll feel a seething rage
But there's no escaping your thoughts
So very hard you fought
Perhaps it was all a waste
When all you wanted was a taste
Of the freedom you've heard so much about
That so many tout
But there is an art to silence
The only thing louder than violence
We set off full of hope into the night
as it grew blacker towards the end
of the jetty where shorelights
dimmed to a distant glow.
Wind drove a swell to boom
and crash against the pylons below
sending a shudder through our feet.
The air was bitterly cold.
Baited hooks hung in the dark depths
on the end of a taut line
where every twitch and tug
was telegraphed to a finger
primed to detect that tell tale pull.
The rod ready to be whipped upwards
to imbed a hook into an open mouth.
We would wait…and wait.
An hour would pass. Time meant
nothing to my father who would stare
into a blank abyss in a trance like silence
as if nothing existed outside
of his vision into the great beyond.
Two hours would pass. Not a single fish
would bite. The only break was a pause
to renew the bait on hooks.
Bored, wanting to go, afraid to enter
the sanctity of my fathers dreaming,
I entered my own. Propped against
the jetty railing, coiled against the cold,
I crawled inwards towards my familiar home.
Hours later, without a fish,
we would walk back along the jetty
still in our silence, both of us
unable to tell each other
where we had been,
both of us alone.
it had been some time
since the walls
and the joins met,
but with each stride
foundations were lost
and flakes of misery
broomed my wake
the stigmata came
and it was as if,
my iron pen
had speared my wrists
someone called it writers cramp
but the sanctity of the odour
spoke otherwise
when the green began to ooze,
the hand of Esperanza
rested on my forehead
raking her nails
telling me
it was time
and,
that my hands had purpose
one last time
as each word envisioned
a thousand lashes
and each stanza speared
my side
I laid stripped
of flesh
each piece of flayed skin
raked off to fly the wind
dessicated to dust,
I laid in nirvana
mere moments
but,
falling through
the hourglass
I ran dry
now made of chalk
with each rub
I am diminished
to crumble
and the lines
grow ever obscure
She was the white horse of the Himalayas
Purity Smolder of flameless skies
Then, chains of conquest -
A half-century of human Inhibition
The Neophyte's arrogance of consumption
Would Flounder to stain and slay the wind
Her Dolorous pinnacle lies, littered with
Debris dense Lecherous ego
Immaculate essence siphoned
In the name of
Vainglorious Bombast
For sanctity, for healing, for reverence
Let Everest rest, in Providence.
5/31/19
For Eight Word Free Verse Challenge contest
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Required Words: Smolder, Inhibition, Neophyte, Flounder, Dolorous, Lecherous, Bombast, Providence.
I sit by the slipping sun along glistening shores that stun
Where my soul melts with age and gratitude
Languidly drowning in depths of sanctity and devotion
In the reminiscent ocean of its content and latitude
Such as this in the heat of the afternoon sun
Slowly dripping into the western sea-sky
With the fullness of its scope and splendor
Touching my eyes that ponder and wonder "Who am I?"
Within this point of light where my heart surrenders
To be as this in the heat of the afternoon sun that dies?
And as the warmth fades from view and is done
Surging oceans of memories swell like waves before me
Then part away like darting seabirds high in their run
As my heart is released still burning with synergy
Such as this in the heat of the afternoon sun
April 16, 2020
Slipping Soul Sunsets Into the Sea Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
I fear that I have become incredibly dull: a knife that has only learned to cut carrots, a pen that does not get replaced, only its ink replenished, a piece of paper balled up and thrown away, a word only repeated to deaf ears that would rather not acknowledge its sanctity. I have become a husk of a person. I have become an empty vessel of human emotion. This is what becomes of a person when all they have to turn to to feed their mind is a screen flashing images, showing people how to react, an ongoing assortment of empty media. I wish to spend my days in the bosom of the Earth, admiring all she has to offer. I wish to swim in her lakes, sit on her shores, blow her dandelions, feel her grass beneath my body and fingertips, feel her rain on my face, and breathe in burning humidity from her everleasting body. I wish my life could be spent in the trees of her soul. If life didn’t ask so much of our labor, I would be in the Earth's core rummaging around for the parts we cannot see in the 9-5 workdays. Unfortunately, though, in this economy, I cannot spend my life as a writer or focus on painting my way through the world, spending every waking moment trying to express every part of my being, so subsequently, I will spend my days as a working man. I will become “The other woman” of my own life, constantly trying to achieve what looks like everything I want to become. Taking on the persona of the woman who has it.
Unassailable purity, a cognition divine of venerated mind,
Proffers promise inviolable, beneficence sacred aligned,
With force invincible emanating from goodwill of heart
Forming precepts impeccable, teachings benevolent impart.
Purity of thought and action~ a worthy and righteous goal,
Resounds indomitable from kindred voice of resolute soul;
A heavenly call of compassion, extolling sanctity of love,
Lifting tenor of gloomy dawns~ soothing refrains of dove.
Unassailable purity in life, a road map of directions to hope,
Sacrosanct are its valiant acts, vowing ceaselessly to cope,
Performing with mighty resolve, deeds inducing pride;
Serving humbly as invisible hand of irreproachable guide.
Assisting destitute is the sermon, tolling bells of prayer,
Beckoning the weary, indigent, to shelter and welfare;
Comforting grief of despair with words enlightened, aware,
Consoling cry of nothingness, bequeathing love and care.
It exemplifies within her selfless smile, purity of her eyes,
Reassuring her children, bliss of mother’s love never dies;
Its rectitude unassailable, eternal as the reign of time,
A gift precious, paramount to life~ ethereal and sublime.
Written: December 30, 2025, for contest sponsored by Tom Woody |
********************
I chose {Amy Winehouse} as the tragic figure to honor: brilliant, gregarious, recalcitrant, luminous, and undone by the fire that made her unforgettable.
Amaranthine Girl (A Tribute Song)
You walked the stage in chiaroscuro light,
a chatoyant soul who prowled through every night;
your voice—limpid velvet with a wisteria ache—
could rake the sky mist clean with every note you’d hold.
Behind the winsome grin, the weltschmerz took its claim,
your threadbare heart still doggedness in flame;
and though the world adored your sacrosanct refrain,
You bore a burden no applause could ever tame.
(chorus)
Oh, amaranthine girl, you sang beyond the pain,
Your luster never wilted in the dismal rain;
Though hubris and the hecatomb kept pulling you apart,
Your song remains ubiquitous—engraved in every heart.
Verse 2
You wore no tiara, yet you ruled the smoky bars,
a viceroy of sorrow underneath the broken stars;
your laughter—genteel, gamesome—masked the acrimony,
an erroneous joy and grief in faultless harmony.
You tried to evanesce the ache that writhed inside,
but fame can be a fickle, inimical tide;
and though your muliebrity shone bright through every fall,
The foofaraw around you built a Barmecidal wall.
(Chorus)
Oh, amaranthine girl, you sang beyond the pain,
Your luster never wilted in the dismal rain;
Though hubris and the hecatomb kept pulling you apart,
Your song remains ubiquitous—engraved in every heart.
(Bridge)
Spasmodically, the cameras flashed, officious in their chase,
Their meretricious palaver tried to strip away your grace;
Yet even as the world grew loud, your voice stayed halcyon,
a sanctity of truth no blatherskite could prey upon.
And when the final cloudscape dimmed, your light did not evanesce—
It lingers redolent in time, a sacred catharsis.
(Final Chorus)
Oh, amaranthine girl, though the night reclaimed your flame,
your melody still rises—never ossified by shame;
and yonder in the quiet, where the sky and sorrow break,
Your song keeps beating unabated in the world’s collective heart.
Where conifers gaily waltz tempos evergreen
Unspoiled by human deeds, pure, and pristine,
Eagles soar there, spanning freedom wings
And trees gently whisper to rhythmic bird trills
Echoing grey owls, blue jays, robins, crossbills,
Hopping, jumping, circling, frolicking in breeze
Reveling with hatchlings, feeding on berries
As sun rays filtering-in on wildflowers glow
Oscillating shadows in gusting, windy, woes
Amidst bears’ huffs, woofs, raging ugly growl
When raccoons coyly snarl at foxes’ feral-howl
Hiding from pitter-patter of tropical rainfall
In heavenly paradise as birdsongs toll daylong
Serenading the land where liberty is paramount
In forest of my dreams’ blossoming sanctuary~
A temple, a hideaway, a refuge, an ecosystem,
A reserve for humanity, a shrine for sanctity,
In equilibrium, edifying calmness and peace
Where elixir of sacred life flows in holy streams
Sustaining earth’s renewal in tranquil harmony.
April 17, 2021
Placed 3rd: In the forest of my dreams premium contest
Sponsor: Mystic Rose Rose
Placed 1st: All yours (Apr 24) contest