Long Shaman Poems
Long Shaman Poems. Below are the most popular long Shaman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shaman poems by poem length and keyword.
I believe in ghosts
I used to not believe
in ghosts or spirits
or supernatural phenomenon
at least
i used to be
quite skeptical
but I have had
some weird encounters
over the years
so now perhaps
I do believe
that ghosts might be real
I have had supernatural
experiences
things that defy my understanding
back in 1992
My Korean Uncle-in-law died
and the family hired a shaman
did a traditional shaman ritual
the shaman came out
a middle age woman
she started speaking
in my uncle’s voice
and she nailed it
she channeled his spirit
and his abrasive personality
even looked like him
freaked me and my wife out
had to leave the scene
just too freaky real
and ever since then
I have become a believer
in ghosts and spirits
they are all around us
some of us can sense them
many of us are blind to them
but I now believe in Ghosts
but I wonder if ghosts
believe in me?
writers digest spirit poem based on a true story
Living in harmony with the natural world,
the sage survives the dark roads of life.
Shamanic voices echo through the ethers
and the forests; voices of the elements.
Clarity is a gift of the soul, from Spirit;
silence is the primary device of the wise.
To hear the footsteps of the hungry wolf,
you must listen to the earth’s warning.
The newborn retains its universal harmony
until ignorance of mortality influences abandon.
Like the shaman, the newborn hears beyond;
knowing that the gnash of teeth is calmed by harmony.
10-20-2020
COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE(30) any theme any form Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
A Paiute shaman named Wovoka
hailed all the tribes across the nation.
And announced himself the messiah
visions backed his bold proclamation.
Year eighteen ninety in Nevada
they came to sing and learn the Ghost Dance.
And hear of a new world prophecy
that come spring will replace bow and lance.
The earth will be covered with new soil
burying the devils with white skins.
And on that soil grows a sea of grass
where restoration of hope begins.
Herds of buffalo and wild horses
will be resplendent in their return.
And the ghosts of ancestors will come
to replace all those who would not learn.
Everyone who performs the Ghost Dance
will be lifted high into the air.
And they will stay there while earth's renewed
safely removed from the white man’s lair.
They'll be returned to the earth and
all the recent dead will revive then.
And women danced till they collapsed
pleading for the return of their men.
Every dancer wore a Ghost Dance shirt
painted with symbols of great magic.
And when told bullets couldn't pierce them
this desperate last straw turned tragic.
Written Aug.7, 2015
We are the story tellers,
Once of nature loving best.
River and mountain lake and forest
Teaming life of air or land.
We loved the wolf, big hearted proud
The stubborn boar reclusive bear.
Each with spirit man endowed them
To tell of knowing natures worth.
Shaman natures laws need master
Herb law, river, the running deer.
The seasons passing they knew them,
Living with all, wild untamed and free.
To share in stories at end of day.
But Abraham this way came stalking,
Telling stories of a jealous god.
Soul giver only to his chosen
Nature shorn, a play thing made
Hidden in mists behind the vale of tears.
Shaman cast anew to be witches,
For knowing natures secret ways.
Cernunnos, Pan, soon turned to devil,
By prelates of numen promising eternal life.
Nature made wicked will loose its value
When souls stand knocking at heavens door.
Fantastical tales are loved the best
When men will argue of dancing
Angels on the heads of pins,
Or flights of fancy to travel the stars.
He went on an ayahuasca retreat searching for that magical seed.
To lead him up the stalk to his soul's treasury.
This white-collar fellow with money to burn, sitting before an old shaman.
Who'd so much to teach and he with so much to learn-
They quietly sipped the potion; the trip soon arrived.
On a psychedelic current, virgin constellation branding the eye.
After his ayahuasca odyssey, he told of wonderful things he'd seen.
Secret places he'd breached...
The mind expanding to the fringes of time.
Where he'd kissed a gilded silhouette of Jesus Christ.
He asked if I'd like to board the next mind expansion ride.
I politely declined.
Being concerned about ingesting a bad batch.
Perhaps clashing with a brass-knuckled devil.
The mind eroding into a total mental contraction.
I'm content strolling through this realm. clear minded
With its bits of heaven and hell.
I'll reach the next realm when the flesh is perfectly ripened.
It's not quite that time yet.
In the depth of night
While all is quiet
The mind starts to fade
Off into unexplainable shades
Conjuring images universally bound
A state of inexplicable bliss
twisting, shifting, contorting forms
Time itself ceases to exist
Where is this mysterious place?
A kind of subliminal trance
Which can be tapped into
Any given time you like
Is this the land of the youth?
The one the ancients refer to?
The same path the shaman walks?
Swirling colours and shimmering beings
In the light of day, it is possible
But lacks a quality that is not quantifiable
Though allusive as it appears
The difference is noticeable
Can we traverse the time continuum
Simply by inducing a trance?
Do our ancestors speak to us
In tongues unknown to our ears?
I believe this to be true
And have experienced it first hand
As I stomped my feet like a crazed bull
Turning into a trance dance
The tongue definitely foreign
But the emotions spoke clearly
This connection between realms
Maybe thin, but does exist
The Shaman sat upon the sand,
the sand of ocher clay;
between the walls of ruins tall,
where ancient one did lay.
The sky above, the earth between;
took in his sincere plea
tinksha’s toned and soft flutes droned,
a mantras bold decree.
The desert heat rose like a fog,
around his folded form.
Assassin once and marked by death
today, he’d be reborn.
He’d been the light on darkened paths,
within the blackest night;
he’d be the dark now ‘mongst the glow,
of over awing light.
He had not seen, he had not known,
that ‘mongst the killers he;
had been the light, the kindest fright,
he’d been purity.
And now, upon this sacred path,
the path so golden bright;
he’d be the dark and fearsome soul
trudging toward the light.
An empty throne? ~ Part 9
“My queen, we feared we’d lost you so”
The healer said in joyous speech
“When here the shaman does bestow
these wishes that we do beseech”
“What have you done, how can this be,
my broken heart can not withstand
You silly fools, why can’t you see,
this was my choice by my own hand”
“Your majesty, we know so true
these actions, orders from the king
Returning home in search of you
not knowing what the news would bring”
A frightened glance, o’er shoulder pure
“My love,” she rushes to his bed
Now weeping every saddened pour
To find her king now lying dead
“He gave his life so live you would
with every ounce of strength he owned
For from his heart he summoned good
his wish, his queen to stay her throne”
“Oh Knight in armor, promised shown,
why did you not protect our king
So I may sit upon my throne
and worry not of anything”
“Be gone, I need you here no more”
She wept, her face a glistened streak
Then kissed this man she did adore,
when one lone teardrop fell his cheek
“Oh what, I pray, shall come of me,
to feel this shattered heart again”
When the through dampened eyes to see,
Her teardrop glow upon his skin
It shimmered bright in colors grand
like prisms floating on the sky
She reached and took his weathered hand
then saw a flutter in his eye
A warmth did flow his fingertips,
his eyes then opened with a gleam
He pulled her close and kissed her lips
“I love you so my precious queen”
Her breath escaped from deepened fears
with heartbeat movements quivering
She cried again, though happy tears
“I love you too my wondrous king”
The kingdom sang and cheered in glee
A celebration soon had grown
For on this day their King and Queen
Once more did sit upon the throne
The End
Thank you to every one who stuck with me through this poetic series,
especially Heidi, Alexis, Darren and Peter. Thank you so much my friends.
Your constant support and encouragement is truly appreciated
As fish live by water, in Jesus the disciples lived.
His life he breathed in them as Lord Yahweh did to Adam.
Demons and diseases, as though magicians, they confined.
Deeds of wonder, like Jesus, their master, worked at random.
Non attachment to mundane tackles was their crucial norm.
Abundant mammon and luxuries would mar their mission.
The sin-ridden hearts to celestial form they should transform.
Salvation for souls was the goal of their expedition.
Begging bags, like those of mendicants, were part of their chore.
The father will feed his children. He has his secret ways.
Apostles should feel and heal the cravings of each heart's core.
Being with them, as flesh and blood, they should spread shaman rays.
Shake off the dust if you're unwelcome, yet, help those in need.
Wasn't embracing each human, the soul of Jesus creed?
I’m a midnight cat, by the name of Obsidian,
eyes golden by candlelight; by day they’re viridian.
As I lay here among my Mistress’s great books,
I am wondering what, for my supper, she’ll cook?
Mistress is a Seer, a Shaman, a Mage and
these books contain magic, spells upon every page.
This map too, is magic, it charts her course;
and shows her every single, natural resource.
For she gathers her herbs and plants for her magic;
to run out of these, for her, would be tragic.
She keeps everyone well, in our kingdom you see;
she even cures folks with extracts from trees!
You see, Nature provides, everything that we need;
though science won’t admit that better medicines, natural be.
There’s Digoxin from Foxglove and Aspirin from Spirea,
Ephedrine from Ephedra, it comes from various wild areas.
Once a nasty old doctor from a neighboring town,
tried hard to stop her from curing our Crown;
she concocted a potion from nature’s best weeds,
now that doctor, for her potions, pays money and pleads.
3-28-2022
Black Cat Poetry Contest
Robert James Liguori