Long Seekers Poems
Long Seekers Poems. Below are the most popular long Seekers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seekers poems by poem length and keyword.
Neither a patriot nor a cosmopolitan
I’m walking no party line, carrying no cross
Sorry for this, but I’m just metropolitan
Making the ends meet, giving no toss
About others, and they feel the same
About me, so we’re on equal footing
Have a nice day is the one thing we say
Whoever we meet, doesn't mean rooting, tooting
Once I had a dream to live by the sea
Then in the garden I wanted to spend
The rest of my days, but it wasn’t to be
So I waved goodbye to both dreams that I had
That’s how I see it, patriots and cosmopolitans
Immigrants, refugees, seekers of home
Set your sails straight away to the dearest ones
Otherwise, you are bound to make it alone.
See my blog Address of Poetry:New Vistas, going up now, about the hard days that lead to the write of this truly moving poem. Thank you, and happy to be back after weeks away.—————————————————
Warning Words from My Soul ***
There is an ocean: un-named,
un-explored;
Where whales and dolphins swim
un-threatened.
Cruise ships never touch her waves
or harbors, unable to venture the
crossing.
Sunshine will not reveal her,
But by moonlight her peaks glisten
In remembrance
Of every human eye cast upon her.
Selah…
She is one of Earth’s jewels.
Her secrets stay sunken.
Deep. Deep and lost.
There are no maps for treasure
seekers.
History has no note of her.
Turn if you see her. Turn!
And do not listen
To the lulling rhythm of her waves.
Do not lie on the clean, warm sand.
Do not think you’ll find any rest
Or peace beside that beauty.
Flee! Fast!
Wake your being,
Shouting for Christ!
———————————————————————
(c) sally young Eslinger 6/2021
Thanks be to God
"The Book According to St Lovejoy 1:3 (Part 1)"
1. 3’s the Number so here we’ll commence
I’ll start moving while the non-believers
sit on their fence
A very little known Chapter, part of a
most significant Book
all the stories are written with 3 in mind
Locked in a cupboard
that’s gone missing
the big split in the spine
indicates it’s unique in it’s position
lost in fractured time
with stories spilling out between the many pages
hidden under a stockpile of
thick dust somewhere
won’t be missed in antiquity, nowhere
but has travelled so far
through canals its words cerebral
all swimming down a tight viscous
river of blood tar
out to that Sea, the Ocean
Life
perpetuating life another chapter arrives
into the world screaming,
it breathes
in this Book there are always 3
for reading, not pleasure, somehow the
chapters have all gone missing from
the Family Tree.
2. Another Peter became Simon
fished the Sea for his mother
he had a story in his chapters
that required slow
then swift delivery defied
the story of bittersweet childhood all
bottled up with a note, he threw into her ocean
but she’d already stepped onto the boat
down the Styx River
to meet God the Father,
Son and Holy Ghost.
Or so she thought.
Two fathers missing, two mothers host
but 3 is the number that will impresses
us the most
An unread story,
stolen delivery the Peter-Simon Creed
Nicene said before sleep to transport him away,
the other the piano self-taught
played his own keys
sang all the pain away
both abused not believed
seekers of retribution
now lost off course by several degrees
drowning in misery
one was down on his knees
LUX VITAE he said, this is my shield
he walks through the Light,
the Light is his Guide you see
the other looks for release
past his muster time, walks round and round
the sharp corners of his mind,
a small locked room
lying there supine
next to the sea,
he edits his story vigorously
before he signs his contract
by Her Majesty’s Final Decree.
(Lovejoy-Burton/2017 Dec)
The The - "Soul Mining"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkzwnBqjRYg
Standing on the precipice of fear and awe,
We are creatures in wonder and uncertainty.
We make all our heavens and hells.
This edge of possibility, where we search
uncharted interstellar dimensions,
the wormholes and blackholes
beyond our comprehension.
Intelligent maker of such things,
If it is evident anywhere,
then, we are surely too small to know.
Does it drift through space like
an unmoored ghostship or
is it the confluence of
universal consciousness,
the essence of intention?
Is this universe alone, or
just a branch of many on a tree?
Are we here by blueprint or
merely coincidental?
Are we a rough draft, or
Are we an objective?
It is hidden in the rain,
hidden in the particles of pebbles.
Standing on the precipice of fear and awe,
We are actualities in stupefaction on ambiguities.
We fill our voids with heavens and hells.
Yes, we are tireless seekers
poised on the precipice of the unknowable.
Well-favored Winter Jasmine,
how have you managed to survive?
It's long past the briskness of Autumn days.
Yet, your exquisite beauty lingers, and you thrive,
lovely petals still intact when you shouldn't be alive.
Oh, wondrous Winter Jasmine,
your plant has lost leaves of jade green.
Such a picturesque paradox within my garden,
botanical glowing when moonlight casts a sheen
upon you, creating the glint of a glimmering scene.
My perfect Winter Jasmine,
as white as the day you bloomed
on your stout stem you still stand tall,
scenting the air around you, softly perfumed.
Visions of you laced with snow, my eyes consumed.
Winsome Winter Jasmine,
I fear you're encapsulated in ice.
Not grown in freezing tundra on earth
like alpine flowers of stark white, edelweiss.
I hope your stunning show has not been a sacrifice.
Enduring Winter jasmine,
I hope you remain until Spring.
When you are warmed by the sun,
to your greening bush will you still cling,
attracting pollen seekers; honeybees on the wing?
Ecclesiastes 3 King James Version (KJV)
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
Time passes as the lay of the land calls
the tread of the seekers and penitents.
The sun God Apollo reigned overall,
beauty, wisdom, healing bought him acclaim.
The land of Provence is full of the fruit of life,
a cornucopia of bounty grows in hallowed
valleys along the slopes of the Maritime Alps-
all which can grow, will grow here.
Centuries pass and the lay of the land calls,
cross the sea from Palestine comes Maximin
to the shores, with Magdalene through the squalls
in Larzarus’ boat. A small chapel, he begins.
Dedicated to the Holy Saviour (le Saint Sauveur)
Sainted Maximinus of Aix grew his flock.
Time passes as the lay of the land calls;
the Saracens invade, fell the chapel’s hall.
No war, or plague, stopped the rebuilding of walls.
St-Sauveur rose again a place of worship for all.
A thousand years and more have passed in this sacred space,
a thousand years of birth, and marriages and death.
A thousand years and more, still song rises as the
choir sings, the organ’s pipes sound a youthful swell.
*This is a French form called Descort which
calls for the use of more than two strophes
First Published by Mused: Bella Online
I didn’t see Alhaji Sule, the big contractor
Though he is a sponsor with a huge stake in government.
I didn’t see Chief Ade the financial banker
Though he is well-versed on political palavers.
I didn’t see Mazi Eze the business mogul
He’s engrossed in his profits of sales and remains apolitical.
I didn’t see Sir Osahon the civil servant
I wonder, but guess he knows he’ll always have his pay.
I’ve hardly seen his Excellency, not any of his children
But I can see all his servants and some of his relatives.
I see market women, okada riders, menial labourers
Poor farmers, job seekers and beggars, superintend by
Ad-hoc staffs, police, army, party agents, observers
Thugs, cultists, pickpockets and party chiefs, all…
All under the biting sun from sunrise to sunset.
From the tussling crowd I hear and see unending
Wails of distress, curses, cracking of limbs and crimson
Muffled by fugacious shouts of political victories
When from behind the curtain five dollars less swaps for a vote.
Stale politicians and their eating party chiefs preside over
The poverty, ignorance and despair of the masses who shall
Again be left in the cyclic vortexes of socio-economic woes.
In the coming years, they’ll, in public, keep licking their wounds
While the politicians, in private, will have and eat their cakes!
I once lived the life of a high flying, rich financier,
Walking the streets full of lights.
Everything was my oyster, I existed on loft,
Dancing the dance of great heights.
My wife was my trophy, beautiful house and hot car,
My kid a great footballing teenage.
We all appeared perfect to everyone else,
But behind walls was a family rage.
I secretly detested my wife’s shallow, her needs and wants,
And she hated my bodily yearns and desire.
And my kid would self-harm, to feel anything,
He’d burn the skin on his arm with a fire.
Then the stock market crash, my wife remarried more wealth,
My kid ran away with his gay college friend.
And I sleep here each night, with a cardboard walled house,
Homeless, in the rain, on the west end.
For the seekers contest on being homeless
Luke 1:37 ~ For with God nothing shall be impossible.
Jeremiah 32:17 ~ Ah Lord GOD! behold, thou hast made the heaven and the earth by thy great power and stretched out arm, and there is nothing too hard for thee.
{The Holy Bible}
Nothing impossible with our God,
Nothing is too hard for Him,
Lacking nothing, His seekers are awed,
For blessings flow overbrim,
Nothing hidden from God Omniscient,
All things naked in His eyes,
Almighty God, He's all sufficient,
Omnipresent and all wise,
No good thing blocked if we walk upright,
He provides for all our needs,
He'll save us, when our hearts are contrite,
Nothing's too tough when God leads.
22nd March 2023
For Constance La France's "Writing challenge - 'N' words" contest
My life as a spiritual seeker
I am a bless child, A spiritual seeker, I live my life with gratitude and appreciation for humanity, all manner of life is precious.
I embrace the good, bad and ugly that is part of being human, we are all capable of doing evil things, the creator gave us free will to make a choice, on which path that we will follow. Everyday I make a conscious choice to take full responsibility for my words and actions, stop look and listen moving forward with the truth and the courage of my convictions, with love and services for my fellow man and woman.
We are all on a spiritual journey, to find our true selves which leads us to the creator and our spiritual community.
A spiritual seeker is known by their sweet words and their telling of the truth, which is an offence to those who do not want to hear it, followed by their good deeds, virtues and services to others.
Beware of the person who's sweet words blind you to their greed and dangerous corrupt deeds.
The human race has lost its way, we have become computerized, bionictized and metatized.
We do not connect with one another in a spiritual or human way any more
We are losing our ability to think for ourselves with our conscious mind
We are out of balance with the creator, but by the grace of the creator and spiritual seekers world wide sending out prayers every second that humanity and this planet survives.
A spiritual seeker embraces all persons beliefs, knowing that love is the common goal, there is but one creator, who created all things and love is the key.
I have had the privilege and honour on my life's journey to sit at the feet of Sathia Sai Baba, in his ashram in India, spent time in the Canadian mountains with a native Shaman, time in the jungles of Costa Rica with a native Shaman my greatest joy was spending many years in the company of my good friend His Eminence Abuna Yesehaq Mandefro, Archbishop of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, in the western hemisphere and South Africa, everyone of these spiritual teachers that I have traveled to came to me in recurring dreams over several months and years, before I found the courage to go and seek them, not one of them tried to convert me to their beliefs, they all welcomed me as a child of God.
I do not go any place unless the spirit guides to that place or person
I am a spiritual seeker