Long Sophist Poems
Long Sophist Poems. Below are the most popular long Sophist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sophist poems by poem length and keyword.
Those days of mine, unbridled underneath my golden sky, no longer misfit a gold coffer, intertwine
That the core innermost mine, my serene rainbow, those days of mine, rainbow blossom
Intertwine
In grip, they grew beyond the yonder valley to this lowly glum and glee
Those days of mine, unbridled underneath my golden sky, no longer misfit a gold cage, intertwine
My soulmate, met heartsong , chorus hymn song prayer
Erudite they were a wishful whim of mine, we were, there
They all were, flew away together, pensive a jocund, never waited in words to the superlative
Those days of mine, unbridled underneath my golden sky, no longer misfit a gold coffer, intertwine
Dreaming along a day, aspiring through a may, as if the longing were to become
Roaming around my parts and ashes of inferno, Gone long a skeleton , myriad and longing heartsong
Those days of mine, unbridled underneath my golden sky, no longer misfit a gold cage, intertwine
Morbid, this depth of a croon, is it a sophist plethora, mind playing tricks on mind?
Those fugitive neighbors of shadow, hoopoe of my shadowy flight
None knew why , underneath the golden sky
Those days of mine, unbridled underneath my golden sky, no longer misfit a gold cage, intertwine.
January 1st, 2024
Thinking it sophisticated, he declared himself a sophist.
Dwelling deep in Plato’s cave, he became learned in the shapes of shadows.
Enamored by their dim dancing, he concluded there can be no truth.
One day he realized that for this assertion to be true, it must be false,
and if it is false, it cannot be true.
Stepping out into ambrosial, golden dawn,
Departing at the new glistening inception,
he carried the heart of a befuddled terrified nomad.
A drifter, always hungry for affinity.
Rootless, always foraging for simpatico.
He became the vagrant ferreting the ambient gleaming
reaches, never certain of what he found, but convinced
that his search was urgently necessary.
In luminous amber ambience, he ambled the ambulatory.
Though his methods seemed antiquated and antique, he knew he could
never return to the cave shadows of antiquity.
No, they would never deceive him again.
But then as explorer, he confronted new dilemmas,
choosing between the newspeak of alternate realms.
His path lit by ubiquitous glittering rocks; he felt the glow penetrate in ways
he never before conceived, for he had always been soaked in stygian tenebrosity.
Common minds traverse comfort zones, seldom seeing beyond their boundaries.
His new freedom granted an empathic eye, remembering his hardest anxious choices.
Never before did he recognize how this residue, he collectively shared.
Upon this subliminal shoreline between mortality and the sublime, he could reify rapturous grails. He knew then, this divination was made possible only by his relatedness of being.
Moral codes based on inclusive truths make civil discourse achievable
because universal joints join collective being with unadorned conscience.
The curious mind is an endless flame,
That facts and truths cannot tame.
For knowing is powerful, sharp and clear,
Helping to adapt, learn and face the fear.
But knowing comes with a heavy cost and toll.
More questions to answer, more doubt to control.
But not knowing, too has its place.
For ignorance is bliss to engrace.
Where the mind lets go in free-fall.
In relief, in surrender, to just enthrall.
Knowing, sometimes it's better not to know.
To lie spaced-out, where turmoil won’t grow.
For though we claim to want to know more,
In the shadow of the knowledge door,
Lies our pull-back, and strain to resist,
Over-reaching beyond the canny twist sophist.
The magazine cover page had a picture
Strange,
Out of the norm.
All those expositions of creative writing
are not pure and divine, nor sober as well.
A hypothetical extravaganza of law-breaker laws.
There is no validity of empty or full glass
No chance of any logical input , there.
Breaking that glass introduces the possibility
Ultimate materialization of the ulterior climax
Little to do with a softer pencil mark
No way to erase that either.
Permanent stains, long-lasting, durable.
Sophist hallucination of a strange life
One cannot deny anything through escapism
Thinking aloud, Thinking a lot.
But then, why me?
I am just nobody
With a sky darkened with ages of improbable fall out.
Perhaps, there is not much left
But to be red through emotions,
red like blood. Red, a hot-headed color.
My meager plate gets lost with
innumerable calculations of priorities...
and the room floor with hypothetical extenuations
everything, everywhere.
A series of happenings of world with no far-reaching continuity
A groaning pain of a hopeless night, and a day too.
Thinking aloud, thinking a lot.
A sophist saint in ancient Grecian land,
Said whatever he said was a falsity.
Was asked to state anything before he died,
When once he'd committed an act of crime.
He would be hanged, if tell the truth he did;
And would be beheaded if he told untruth.
Being always prepared for th'unexpected,
That to be beheaded was he, stated he.
If he was executed cutting throat,
Then that would prove that what he'd told was truth,
For which the sentence had to be hanging him,
Thereby to prove that he had told untruth,
For which again to be cut the head apart,
Or if to be hanged, is this a paradox?
So thinking such and such the Judges swoon'd,
And asked the Saint to step out from the Court.
Thus neither to be beheaded or be hanged,
He roamed the country side and forest land.
The ancient Sophist saints of Greece were exceptionally clever with the use of their tongues. Don't play with them; they can bind us cunningly with their tongues. And don't corner them; we will never forget what we get in retaliation. Here in this poem, one such sophist saint is being tried in Court for a crime when the Judges get stung. The classical sophists were well-versed in paradoxes. The Judges in the Trial Court fail in understanding the real meaning of what the saint said.
Pedants fume helpless and seethe with rage,
But linguists surrender to the age,
Media always misuse
Commoners to confuse,
But rage not, time has turned a tired page.
______________________________________________________
It is the age of freedom, free for all. Words are used any which way. Grammar ultimately follows usage. Take epicentre. It may sound a bit grander than just centre, but it is used only in context of earth-quakes. But media prefer epicentre in all contexts— political, social, economic, any. Pedants and classicists and linguists may boil with rage. But dictionaries will ultimately capitulate and compromise. So, make no fuss, or you will be called doctrinaire, worse, obscurantist or obfuscator, or in the worst case a nit-picker hair-splitter. Alas, you thought you were a sophist and a scholar!
______________________________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |05.05.14 |
Thinker, scholar, sophist; Duns was, yet, a humanist,
His thoughts actions exhibited him as true philanthropist…!
Constructing a metaphysical argument, he said,
Of the existence of God, that like rivers moves ahead…!
Aristotle or Aquinas need not be great masters,
When divine decree, like creation, does all things alters...!
A Franciscan priest and theologian, he explained,
The Immaculate Conception, with due coherence gained...!
Theology should be a sensible science of God,
Human beings should find love of Trinity never flawed...!
He differentiated faith of heart from thought of head,
Added tinges of humanity, and true love did spread...!
By John Paul II was John Scotus Duns canonized,
For metaphysics with Christian faith, he is eulogized...!
18 March 2022
John Duns Scotus Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joe Maverick
Now a day's I find everywhere
good advice from everyone
-at an office, at a dramatic stage,
-at the political stage, at night talk show on TV
-at a speech of Friday Masque,
Or at every religious place
-at a crowded bus
-at rail junction or at bazaar conversation
Where I go find and hear good advice
Now a day's our generation is really
concerned for good something
-at the poetic pensive diction
-at the rational syntax of littérateur
-at the argue of a sophist
-at the eloquence of eloquent
Every I stay with good knowledge
and carry good advice something fresh
Now a day's
You, he and I are good counsel!
By this way we and everyone love to write and speak
the something good and goodness only,
like to advise others barefacedly!
But forget that advice for the time of self doing
when everyone is asked to implement
and walked perversely by the lane of a lame excuse!
-07.05.2018 Chattogram
Look at the stars, look at how they shine for you and everything you do
- Coldplay - Yellow
ASTRAL DISPOSITION
The twizzle etchings in the Winter sky, electrifying,
those sparkling spectators of spectacular spin —
the height, the depth, velocity is riveting
and it’s all for you, my Dear
Millions of miles away, rambunctious smiles, applause —
serenade of plucking wings, society of carefree things
and it’s all for you, my Dear
With sophist swag, quill and ink — destiny curves,
loquacious cursive of psaltery stars
and it’s all for you, my Dear
Integrity and grit — eternity’s candlelit, luminous flames
of red, orange and green, yellow, white and blue
and it’s all for you, my Dear
2/15/2020
Famous poetic lines 3 - Love songs Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
248 (eman dine tare bala jay)
On a day like this, perhaps,we may hum along the river Shenandoah , carefree
On a day whence it rains to reign a full swing, even though unpredictable, the longest is she! The river Trinity!
On a day like this to feel carefree, born to be free , and we say as she will be
A husky voice like this to be a thunderbolt aftermath , an unforeseen divinity
A rainy day like this to feel a rain soaked bird nest weaver mourner serenity
knocked out a wanderer pour, the darkest day light to soar.
None would lend an ear and hence forth uproar
None would be there, undisturbed absorbance , only speechless
Nihilism and kismet , wills met face to face , and the deepest solace
a down pouring rain, an usher from the sky
A lone ranger is she, with none other there to drift along trinity!
Sophist a lowly world here to trick
Tricky a cacophony to lure a meek
A compassionate gaze, a carefree to timely cage a whim, a majestic cry!
concise, specified and bullet point answered whence enchanted eyes
met in the depth, trickling downpour, two by two and more
Heart reached out to heart a beat , only they
And the remnant is in the dark sits there to say nothingness in a may
no loser is the world and she
longs to be there to no scar to any one charming to be
Incessant a down pour
She took a stance in an estranged oddity and for
And we told stories foretold
to impeach none to beseech or to preach
An ayah blew there a deep may to blow a gentle say in plethora delight
and lightning struck to mesmerize a dumb strike to take a heed every now and then
remnant they say, serenity, thou may, italic verse to grow optimistic, and even though
Turner entropy might say today, otherwise after all these are tarnished and although
On a day like this, perhaps, we may hum along the river Shenandoah, carefree
On a day whence it rains to reign a full swing, even though unpredictable, the longest is she! The river Trinity!