Long Sanctum Poems
Long Sanctum Poems. Below are the most popular long Sanctum by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sanctum poems by poem length and keyword.
Will you burn the earth`s skin to glass?.
Yet, right there , in Harmony of `69
I bent in adoration
before the dusky pearl of your forehead
the soft slopes of your never-ending body
shifting under a sea of blankets
Oh! treasure of treasures !
sparkling
to life
love
in the inner-sanctum of the
tent-temple of my emerald heart,
filling it with that attar fragrance ,
that compassionate smile,
that yearning voice,
quieting my storm
urging me
to swim your sultry sea.
How could the world ever be the same again ?
Outside,
rooted like stark brood of the Black stone ,
rocks parried thuddingly the capricious charge of waves
and subdued the swell and swirl of a dark ,disturbed sea.
The summer night was short
and I
cleaved to you like a calf to its mother.
Your dark-eyed nipples breasted the blanket ,
occulting the coarseness of Harmony .
We rocked to cradle the peace in the galaxy,
with love milking the way
to the morning star .
Winking over the mount,
Venus caught us intertwined ,
drooling like babes,
sated
I, summer cloud paramour of
you Landie ,
altar of my sensuous sacrifice
sweet naos forever
Yolande
briefly
undraping your
compassionate cosmic essence
for a gallant stripling
starving for affirmation.
Awed,
i nested in mouths
harmonizing
now enchanting,
now strident symphonies,
keen enough to split
chaos
into mutual opposites
that grappled , grinded and finally clashed ,
giving birth to a higher union.
I tattoo your name , Landie, on the stretched skin of the earth.
I pullulate the waves in your name
sackbutting the syllables
till tremolo breaks it breathlessly to foam
on the glistening beach of your belly
Wrinkles I didgeridoo into the dark blanket of our night,
stringing out your diadem of stars
I spiral you stately across my deep.
Breaking away
reluctantly
from the tug of your knees
i trolled our anchor through love`s flow
girding it close to my wound-up heart.
"Go now love….spare me a thought "
Your voice and a gentle seabreeze wafted me out.
Diving at dawn with a whale of love
between waking dunes
capped by sourfigs , bleary-eyed revellers,
the blue-blue sky warbled
“one and one and one is three
One thing you got know ,is you got to be free
Come together, right now , over me.”
.
Beneath the surface of the perceptive mortal senses
the mind nestles the buds of dreams it desires to see bloom.
Allured by avid aspirations into insipid ignorance,
it suffers wandering in the wilderness of discontent.
Under the convoluted layers of the mangled mind
languishes the servile soul at the impervious inner depth,
until enlightenment dawns with the light of the eternal truth,
building with dedicated spirit the holy linkage with the absolute.
Travelling on the enlightened pathway of devout life,
an inward journey to the sacred sanctum of spirituality,
takes the soul to the ultimate destination of liberation,
where realization perceives the meaning of emotions.
The swirling currents of the vagrant mind
find the current course of intuitive introspection
through the layers of consciousness,
dissipate in the shade beneath the divine lamp
that illumines the swathe of the dark acuity.
The soul then shines in the heavenly glow,
reflecting the patina of the perception lotus,
as the self-searching comprehensive odyssey ends
at the sanctified altar of supreme mindfulness.
Distanced from the thought-swamped past
the merger configures awareness in the realm of now.
In the onyx night, the drizzle of argentine stardust,
symbolizing the sequins of sensual epithet
of the vibrant existential melodic essence,
adorns the pearl-laced waves of the rolling psychic sea,
that spreads seamlessly to the baroque emotive shore
though the bay of bliss of the musical mind,
echoing the tune of the soulful symphony.
The rain-washed sparkling sky of the new day,
enwrapped in the chromatic trellis of the rising sun,
spreads the spectrum of corporeal perception,
fabricated by the fascinating sense of the vibrato of life,
weaved as the tapestry of transient feelings
with the lattice of self-drawn imagery of kaleidoscopic now.
The congenial current of contemporary time,
defused in the miasma of the marooned mind,
turns the indented poignant impulses
into lyrical crescendo of consciousness concerto.
On its sonorous serenading wings,
the awakened awareness flies in the sky of sensual sonata
to the harmonic realm of euphoria,
realizes the nicety of the unequivocal notion
that life is a song to be sung in now continuum.
The Question, Translation of Carlos Bousono’s poem : La Cuestion
« …Oh ! God, Oh ! Centre »*
for Vicente Puchol
(* Note by the editor, Alejandro D. Amusco, attesting that the above quotation was not included in Bousono’s Antologia poética, 1976, and on the « mysterious Centre » on which the poem is a cogitation. T. Wignesan)
Yes, we know it : would you like to find the secret precinct,
the invulnerable enclosed sanctum,
to enter through any hole into the incredible spectacle,
to penetrate the labyrinth and find the powerful Centre.
As if a thief could rob the totality of light
to find, as I say, the powerful Centre, the absolute Centre,
the immobile Centre of the tempest which moves by itself,
a Centre where nothing is found to budge,
where everything is absorbed into itself, like love, containing
itself in itself,
not on its periphery, but fully wrapped in its contents,
overflowing like the apparition of a card in the suit of Spanish cards,
like an enormous cup of manifestation which augments,
like a wave which continues to mount higher and higher and beyond
its highest limits,
farther yet than possibility’s horizons ;
and keeps growing afterwards, going on for days, and the spectacle of its extermination – the hideous knowledge and the joy of recognising its loss ;
and which continues growing for an immemorial duration in the
direction of its own centre : terrible,
like a persistent cascade pouring down its interior, a flooding within
the experience of feeling well in one’s being,
an existential waterfall without end which retracts - having stopped
flowing – inwards into its own Centre.
Ai ! The crucial question is therefore to enter the labyrinth,
The big question comes down to making the move.
Be warned that it is only an act of penetration,
a simple act of transfer ; it would suffice to make a gesture with an
idea that brings joy,
perchance it might suffice just to find water in the barn
or a path in the woods, or in the woods
to fall upon an exit
through the hole (where we came in), to proffer with the key to the
enigma
the solution of the charade,
and discover the other side of the abysm, the reversal of the plot,
before the roof deteriorates
under probing fingers…
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2013
Give to me your sadness and I will give you joy
that you may know this the gift that our God employ
like the morning dew that lights upon the field
all of your sorrows will to your past be yield
let the light of love be the beauty your heart adorn
the cold and the darkness from your life be torn
be aware that with the gift to calculate the cost
to die unto yourself and impurities be tossed
Oh elusive joy whose flight like bird on wing
where is the happiness that you I hoped to bring
I have sought your face that I might your splendor wear
searching all the hollowed haunts for your loving care
Oh dearth and emptiness where core is desert dry
surround the earth you do and we wonder why
I see mankind starving who do not feed on truth
without the microscope see mans dis-ease as proof
The garments that we wear are the mourners shroud
behind us left the glory the love you us endowed
Oh God of Love to your sanctum would I fly
to escape this godless place wherein we all die
The erosion of our souls where exists such vacancy
that distraction of our minds and our complacency
but we like dogs eat our crumbs fallen from your fare
fear to partake the table you have offered share
like on serpents belly slither in the arid dust
lost we have the tracks of whats true and just
our fields do the curses thorns and thistles bare
our poverty of spirit the clothing that we wear
Oh come God of creation , offered freedom from our plight
dispel the gloom and darkness that exists our night
and slave we do in pain for our crumbs of bread
but what is empty cannot give life unto the dead
So few candles left that give us any light
in our weakened states to keep the laws of love in sight
that the price of love is that our life be shed
drink within pure water and upon your tables spread
this is just the prospect view of humanity as a whole
not as individuals who practice affection as a way of
life , after watching the documentation of the
bombings on Nagasaki and Hiroshima I for a day
felt ashamed to be named "human" the shear horror
of the capacity of mankind to terrorize his kin and
use mass destruction as the excuse for peace...
COPYRIGHT © 2010 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Faridah a name that blings I goose bumps
The fairest of them all my constant love
Free in spirit and soul she beloved of soul
My soul in her presence ignites in ecstasy
She is tall dark and lovely with a sweet charm
Her voice leaves my innards desiring for more
More of her lithe and athletic pretty ones body
Her abode a place of beauty where damsels visit
She makes them look pretty she's a beautifier
When I mention the fires she ignites in me
I cant but help promise her a coastal holiday
In a resort where we will sample margaritas
As sweet refreshing red wine is served unto us
...Rimi I cant fathom a life without my promised one
Faridah my sweet and lovely essence of an angel..
Her name I whisper liltingly lest fate hears of my love
And full of jealousy drives her from mine safe hand
Beloved is blessed with swit lips that taste of honey
Her perfume reminds me of pomegranates essence
They come from all over the ridges trying to woo her
But my beloved listens not to their wanton placation's
In my hands she knows she is safe and contented
With Abu I sent gift to Maaha our courtship taking root
Given the green light go ahead she is now my fiancee
..My Krall being full of goats I intend to fully pledge
Myself to her.. My Faridah making her fully Mine..
I intend to make her my sweet princess my only one
The one Queen who will rule the seven parallel realms
At my side.. as I mirror manage.. I muse in swift dream
..Oooh my beloved of Rimi Open the doors of Bashan
You're prince rides in seeking you're sweet presence
Do haste lest he leaves and is waylaid..
By them that guard..The cities fortification..
If you hear the voice of my whisper
...Open the door for me to gain calm entry..
..Am reminded of Rams of Bashan when they danced
With pleasure beloved of Solo..
...I send the south wind..And North wind
With them gland tidings of mine proposal..
Open the door for me My sweet lover do not hesitate
In you're hands I melt and merge into yo sweet entity
You're moans and mine groans fill our inner sanctum
As a game of time replays in all earnest..
You're One RIMI..
Code 254.. Acode Stronghold 013..
Guarded by towering hills on the East
And flanked by the Arabian Sea on the West
With its easterly shore of stretching sandy swell
That lulls the restless waves to sleep,
There is a land, my land of green vegetation
Nestled among palm trees and paddy fields.
Oh! I am in love with this narrow strip of land
Of rugged hills and meandering rivers
Of placid backwaters and blue skies
Of gibbering monkeys and singing cuckoos
What rich diversity you graciously provide
A land dotted with temples, churches and mosques
Where Hindus, Christians and Muslims cohabit
Where diversity flows through her arteries
And unity beats through her throbbing heart
Here souls dance to the timeless rhythm of music
Of diverse genres, vocal and instrumental
Classical and folk, sung either as solo or in groups
With the accompaniment of (2) 'veena',(3) 'tanpura' and violin
Their varying pitches beautifully synchronized!
In the serene dawns and dusky evenings
The atmosphere gets abuzz with the soft strains
Of (1) ‘Sopana Sangeetham’, the ethnic music of Kerala,
It comes floating from inside the Hindu shrines
Flooding soul’s enchanted shores,
And opening the floodgates of piety
In healing murmurs and throbbing notes,
As the symphony builds up its circuitous round
It descends down as a stream of blessing
Drenching devotees in its moistening sweetness
Like the drizzle of dew drops from heaven
Making hearts ride in the palanquin of joy!
May.21.2023
If your Birthplace- Country was a Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Anoucheka Gangabissoon
This poem is about Kerala, a small state in India, which is my birthplace and its geography and culture.
1.Sopana Sangeetham is a form of Indian Classical music, developed in the temples of Kerala. It is sung, sitting by the holy steps leading to the sanctum sanctorum of a shrine.
2.Veena- a stringed musical instrument, one of the oldest of Indian musical tradition, played sitting cross legged, capable of producing all oscillations of Carnatic music
3. Tanpura- a drone instrument of Indian origin used mainly in a concert of classical music, creating a melodic background, but not a melody.
Gods of glowing neon and gaudy screens
smile upon charming, charming patterns of heads.
All colors of hair, lit red, then green, then blue,
guided along invisible paths, crown heads
perspiring, chanting and glancing down
on marching, mechanical arms, then worrying
as they scurry along infinite, crisscrossing paths -
at once so ordered and so unfathomably chaotic.
Drums are rolled by hurrying feet
dictating the race of mankind.
A metropolis looms, adorned by a billion shimmering jewels -
electric jewels - and an apparition sways over the
bustle, silently watching, silently floating.
Giant chutes proudly puff out plumes of nightly black
and devils forged in impure fire do rise
to the heavens above, graced by the blessings of
the industrial revolution, in turn blessing humanity with progress,
imperceptible except as phlegmatic gasps
and the whiff of crisp green paper, distinguished by
wizened faces and packed in neat bundles.
Bulbous, aged fingers do trace from within
the sanctum sanctorum of a temple aged a thousand years,
charming, charming patterns of jewels
in intricate, frozen dance, carving out hexagons of perfect symmetry
from wearily cut marble windowsills.
The work of a thousand splendid hands
preserved by the unseen, dusty hands of time
did render the mosque palatial, its beauty heavenly.
The admiring eyes sing hymns praising the architecture, alas
they are blind, for the marble, white as angelic wings, is grey now.
The scientist appears, eyes hidden by thick glassy cubicles
yet shining through, lit by the endless pursuit of knowledge
and equally burdened by numbers, figures, notes
and the maddening myopia of man.
On the screen appears, against fresh white
charming, charming patterns of red, green and blue
sinking downward, worryingly as it would seem,
his uninflected pleas let in through one ear, instantly
shunted out through the next by the populace, to whom
the music of modernity rings sweeter.
First Place, Charming Patterns Poetry Contest
Date: 16th October 2021
What's the espresso this evening, Rubicam?
My random access memory will light upon it
As I riffle the files of my brain.
Pulling out something fresh,
I burst out with words to cover the enigma.
Bones
Bones are the fare--
Stewed bones with marrow deep inside.
Cracking the bones of the chicken leg,
I find essence,
Everlasting purity so well stored and tucked away,
Like a savings account or DNA.
The vapor of mud rises fleet and narrow.
This is the conduit of the inner sanctum,
The railroad across Canada in the snow.
Red vertigo covers the wheels as they turn,
Rolling asunder like a sky.
We eat and gorge on the beauty of it--
The holy thing--
Sent all holy and shiny new.
We split the marrow with a scalpel,
All sharply tooled and honed.
The operation is a success at last--
Liberation is at hand surely.
The vice has fallen away,
And the orange center is revealed.
My word-center is on autopilot;
I am still, silent, patient.
Then the marrow grows overabundant,
Needing quick hands to capture the thief,
Lest escape be granted.
The expository hose is drawn up.
The bare leg is covered and modesty satisfied.
There is no canker in this truth,
Being pure to the core,
Pure as blood-marrow.
The stigma is gone out of it.
Holy is the anthem and the chorus
Sings a greeting to the little people
Who stand waiting in line.
They watch for some illumination
Of the dark letters written on their souls
Bandits would not deride them
in such an instance.
Horses in a fever will trample words,
But words re-form; they cannot die.
You who bear the mystery,
Who cannot die,
You have palpated my heart
And signified a vast reference point,
Pleading to me with a sad song.
My turbulence is all inside me,
A stormy affair,
Always sorting and reeling back with shock
As the ivy vine climbs the ancient wall.
If you had no device,
Would you not read more books?
The man dignified in the third person
Will ask the questions here, mind you.
Return to me again loon of the wide lake,
Loon hiding in the reeds.
Show me your face before you fly,
And sound your voice in the evening.
Marriage is much like going to the grocery store to select your favorite fruit…What may look
good on the shelf? May have a different taste once consumed at home? As I walked through
the isles of freshly picked fruits where they all laid on display, each one looking ever so tasty
to eat, I study each one of them for their ripeness to eat.
Some green and the next bunch so much greener than the first, some are purple and some
a mixture of shade of colors. They overload my pupils with their different textures…they all
look so good to eat? How many should I sample? They all come from around the States and
some from foreign places I’ve never even been in my whole life.
As I sample the first one, it explodes inside my mouth and it burst onto my palate with a
rush of juices that flow down past my taste buds then into the deep inner sanctum of my
throat. It’s was so delicious I could hardly just eat one…But just like the people in my Church
I know that security is watching me, but like a kid in a candy store, I can hardly resist but to
eat just one.
My belly now somewhat full, from my sampling frenzy…I make my way to the cash register
and then head home. Once home I rinse them thoroughly and make my way to the comfort
of my big chair to enjoy my treat…As I bit into the first one, it floods my mouth and taste
buds with a mellow, yet somewhat sour taste. I could not believe to my surprise, the next
one left an ever more bitter taste inside my mouth…For just like the chore of picking a life’s
partner?
What appears to look so good and taste so good in the street may leave you with a bitter
taste on your mouth, once you take it home, the rest might not taste as good as the first
piece. Remember that just because you sample pieces of something does not always
guarantee that the rest of what you took home will be just as sweet as the first one you tried
in that bunch you sampled. Unlike that bunch of grapes that can throw away? A person is not
trash-able once taken home to your place. Its bitter taste will now spread its way through
out your home.
As rippling horizon
douses fiery orb,
you are at your
most alluring.
Ethereal,
diaphanous limbs
stretch out,
reach for me,
beckon to me.
Barely audible murmurs,
laced with
forbidden promises,
cross the distance
between us.
Whispers become
more insistent,
more urgent,
more pressing.
Begging, cajoling,
pleading, coercing,
demanding that I come to you,
that I give myself to you.
Eventually,
inevitably,
relentless appeasement
erodes my resolve.
Heedless of the warnings,
heedless of the risks,
I succumb completely,
totally and willingly,
without compunction,
without restraint.
Wrapped in your embrace,
rapt in your presence,
I submit to your whims.
So implacable,
indefatigable,
I'm utterly entranced.
You draw me down,
encourage me,
guide me,
bid me explore you.
Probing your inner sanctum,
I crave you,
love you,
know you.
Your scent,
your taste,
your sounds
fill my every sense.
I inhale you, imbibe you,
devour you, as you -
in turn - devour me.
Your very essence engulfs
every inch of my body.
Breath snatched from lungs
as passion escalates,
threatens to consume me,
promises to consume me.
I thrash atop you,
beneath you,
within you;
borne aloft
on waves of ecstasy.
And finally,
finally,
when I have
no more to give,
you cast me aside.
Giddy,
exhausted,
totally spent,
I roll over and watch,
helpless,
as you pull away.
Trembling
outstretched hands
cruelly snubbed.
Desperate pleas
callously spurned.
And then you're gone.
Our time together
was so brief,
so fleeting,
so transitory.
I'll never forget
our impassioned tryst,
but you won't even
remember my name.
Jealousy's venomous barb
pierces my chest
at the thought of
you with another.
I have no wish to share you,
yet I lay no claim to the
Daughter of Poseidon.
You belong to nobody...
...but...
...you do belong to everybody...
--------------------------------
(C) May 2017
Bit of a departure for me... before you think I've gone all "Fifty Shades of Grey", the whole poem is metaphorical.