Long Stigmatic Poems
Long Stigmatic Poems. Below are the most popular long Stigmatic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stigmatic poems by poem length and keyword.
Who is this would-be Redeemer
stalking my own mirror?
Whether for good or evil
I remain stuck in
ambivalent.
Riding Time's unfolding edge,
glancing forward for faith in better
stronger
surer lasting light
glancing backward darkens optimistic hope
to change what I cannot
yet
to fulfill commitments to grow together
as me and we might
were I not so all-encompassing alone.
Universe of Presence much too vast for home.
Even so, the present makes a safer home
than future's pregnant womb
or past's sterile tomb,
drawing these two faces together
in stigmatic messiah wound,
breathing in and out,
stifling each victorious shout
"Not yet!...not yet....again
my time unwilling to climax
without our Time past
and future CoBeloved.
Faith in fated freedom
struggles with choosing Earth's rebirth
as ego-death
to what might have been
anthro-privileged benign
contents choosing co-invested life
as if co-passion through cosmic context
of karmic win/win revolution.
CoRedeemer hearts
and loving minds
perpetually ride anguished surf of paradise,
not yet, not done yet
not this, not that,
not yet tomorrow, too soon yesterday,
hanging on bodhisattva mentoring crosses
in-between
where nondual co-arising Now
surfs swelling/ebbing cycles
Here
not yet resiliently healthy
There
and not yet wealthy
win/win Were.
When you cross colors with you, color bleeds right through.
You then become an image.
Imagine that…
Is black considered as bad?
White is surely lesser more.
Fore-why wonder-what for—
Soar ecliptic in response to…; to who do you?
Too whom…?
Who what wonder for why colors bleed through our inner core?
Pour hearts out, floor core heart…; without doubt.
I prefer contextual words. Pictures seem to be the more for lesser is board.
On the exterior is judged by an individual, seclusive interior.
Some feel better than you, for manly man me feels subconscious; inferior.
Devolution is taking its place; right in plain sight of personal face. Lied to for you…
Lied to for whom!?
Do what-wonder you do.
Any color blind mind settles for lesser more few.
What’s a matter with you?
Blame him.
Blame her.
Cuff her up and label him enslaved by disclaimer.
Hate me.
For not hate you-You-and-YoU!
It’s your fault.
It is not mine.
Together our hearts explode when such stigmatic colors kalide.
-Ironic Zinc
inspired by El Dub’s Picture perfect post.
2016
~SHELTER FROM TH' STORM~
TWISTING INTO VORTEX,MY VISIONS VANISH TO NAUGHT
THUNDERHEADS ROLL VIOLENTLY,AS VORACIOUS DINS RING A TOLL
TH' DARKNESS...NOW FEEDS FEROCITY'S MAELSTROM
BURSTING AT MY SEAMS,TO CHALLENGE REALITY
STIGMATIC WOUNDS,PROFUSELY NOW POUR
LIFE BECOMES DEATH,AS I PLEAD FOR MY DELIVERANCE
REGRET OF MY BIRTH,FEEDS A YEARNING
FREEDOM ONCE AGAIN,FROM TORTURE...I PLEAD
DAMN MY MORTALITY,I DESIRE NO MORE
TO BE LOOSED FROM BOND OF FLESH,MY SPIRIT GROANS
A TRAUM'D PAST,WAXES NOSTALGIC
CONCEIVED ONCE MORE...THEN REBORN
DEMON'S SEED PLANTED AGAIN,SEARING RAIN BLEEDS
TH' STORM GALES TOSS ME,TO N' FRO' TO BREAK
THOUGH SEEK I A SHELTER,NOT ONE BEACON SHEWS
MINE EYES THAT KNEW BEAUTY,ARE NOW BLACK'ND BLIND
A WHIRLWIND NOW FORMS,DRAWING ME FORTH
DEBRIS PULVERIZES MY PSYCHE',AS IT SWALLOWS ME IN
ONE NOW WITH THIS CYCLONIC SATAN,I SEEK TO DESTROY
BUT AN EYE APPEARS FROM TH' CENTER...OF PUREST LIGHT
PIERCING MY HEART...RELIEF COMES AT LAST
TH' STORM NOW CEASED,I FALL AS I GASP
HANDS APPEAR 'NEATH ME,AS SAVED I'M AGAIN...
FROM CEASING LIFE'S BREATH...BY TH' TRUEST OF FRIENDS
©~AZAZA~'09
Not entering among those sterile walls
your mind is firmly resolute with decision
not wanting to be cutted
you are leaving your life
in hands of earth
but will you be wise enough
to ask her a right questions
determined enough
to hear the answers
I know you are afraid
not feeling your body as your own anymore
it is still your body
and those cuts maybe aren't happiest solution
they are definite one
I know you are afraid
feeling is well known
like you are broken
damaged
devoided from fitting in socially constructed frame of 'normal'
but normal is social construction
receptive for modifications
your body isn't all of you
it is that perfect cloak for your soul
and cloak has that habit to become worn out
needing some repairs
there is nothing stigmatic about that
here ... take my hand
let's be labeled
together
we'll wear that yellow badge
despite their bigotry
don't be afraid
and don't let your ego choose instead of you
tired of departures, yet
aware that you have your own path
I'll esteem your decisions
because I love you
please don't die on me
Yellow walls are swinging
object
compounded out of blood and flesh
is lying down
in brain
copy machine
and
one piece of paper
yellow walls are swinging
object
by yaws wide open
waits
green
red
blue
crying
only one piece of paper
and it is white
yellow walls are swinging
object
crucified
over stabbed
rinsed out
through bloody forehead he signed death to mindedness
yellow walls
they are tranquilized
piece of paper
only one
colored with meadows and flowers
walls
yellow walls swinging
he pressed his head to the filthy linoleum
close enough
they
will find the way to rape him through the walls
A SPIRITUAL SAINT'S STRENGTH AMIDST STRIFE
Fortitude for half a century, giving God all the glory,
The Foundress of Holy Family lived a humble, godly life,
St. Mariam Thresia - a stigmatic saint's story
Filled with many troubles, temptations and strife,
From Puthenchira, an Indian Syro-Malabar Catholic
Consecrated herself to the Lord at eight or nine years,
Modest and meek, serving the poor and the sick,
She was disciplined, obedient and different from her peers,
With childlike simplicity, charismatic charity and Christian chastity,
Fastidiously following Father Vithayathil's fine footsteps,
The "virgin of pains" was for Family Apostolate, the model entity,
Nursing the sick and dying by visiting them at their doorsteps,
Burning with intense love for God, she was a mystic soul,
"Whose Heart was aglow with fire and whose feet were winged",
Enduring her sufferings for the sake of Christ was her goal,
Her patient, divine spirit was with radiant sweetness tinged,
She had fervent trust in God's immense providence,
Her spiritual ecstasy was hours of prayer and meditation,
The "Apostle of suffering", she strived for her continence,
Wiping the tears of the broken hearted was her consolation,
Her gracious gift of goodness guides us all in giving
Care, concern and compassion to the comfortless at all cost,
Her lasting legacy left behind still leads the living
To show His love, shine His Light and shelter the lost.
Form: Rhyme (abab)
10.23.19
{This poem is about St. Mariam Thresia, who was canonised on 16th October, 2019 by Pope Francis in Rome. She is the Foundress of the Congregation of Holy Family, Puthenchira, Kerala.}
(1)
Strophe
Slowly and slowly fly the mighty feathers:
the uncanny wrath bearer, the poacher's prey,
the bald bizzare stigmatic cryptic creature, the ecology's majestic role player;
the curtain raiser of ecosystem's air purifier.
Alas! Your iconographic role is omitted,
you, the saviour of the mortal race
from the contagious diseases.
Astounded! How you uncontaminated dear environment.
Your poaching has taken away
the soul of the balanced ecosystem;
crucial is saviour friend's presence, on the verge of extinction plight might have horrid ripple effect!
(2)
Antistrophe
Irony! The friend's void can't be substituted by mere replicas of sustainable development;
the diminishing existence will
drastically affect the local food webs!
How alluring to have a glimpse
of the hunch and tuck of the bird's head in the cold,
flapping and fluttering the wings,
stretching the neck in the heat!
You, remain aloft for hours,
soars gracefully on long broad wings;
with dazzling sharp eyes
from the highlands to pick the carrion!
(3)
Epode
Your iconographic presence is being honoured by the myths, legends, fables of civilizations from ages.
High time to contemplate, to introspect,
to jump into the ecosystem's integral bandwagon:
as pivotal to rescue and redeem the bird's friendly endangered existence!
All Rights Reserved © Silpika Kalita
We are born remembering
DNA's sacred syntax,
cryptic receipts with multigenerational redemption value,
to redeem integrity through this incarnation's
fully functional root and crown potential
For ecological
politically co-intelligent
co-operative economic practice
with polyculturally unconditional intent
Mutual subsidiarity of peace
compassioning just rightness
declared only through solidarity
in co-prehensive
leftbrain consciousness.
Who are these would be CoRedemptive Mentors
stalking my multi-regenerational mirror?
Tempted by good and evil
I reconnect MotherEarth's suffering
to monotheistic FatherSun's not listening,
steadfastly ambivalent feelings
ambidextrously languaged
Riding Time's enculturing edge
flying forward for hope of better
stronger
surer lasting light,
fleeting backward darkening doubtful powers
to change what I cannot compassionately tolerate
to fulfill EarthJustice commitments together
as we might
were Anthros not a lone Redeemer
anti-hero monoculture
Prophets without sufficient Time
for holy spirit's embryonic forms
flowing full-natured unction.
This present makes a safer home
than future's pregnant womb
or past's enslaving RoyalAnthro tomb
severing analogical revolutions
apart
rather than preserving integrity's resolutions
together.
Double-bound
stigmatic
messiah wounds
Breathing in Earth's first breath
while dying out Ego's already last,
stifling my victorious solo shout
"not yet...not yet" out
My mythic time
portends mystery's co-redeeming climax
without embracing Beloved EarthTribe's
sacred sensory resonance.
Redeemer musing Heart
mediating fragile warring Mind
against unwisely breaking Body,
our Trinitarian Teleology
As messianic restitution
perpetually rides
Earth's suffering surf
of almost pregnant paradise.
Tropical quadra plateau, Amazing bright sunny,
Glided waterfall Carrying happiness in their gunny.
Long nodding flower's joyously plumed,
Everbody waving happily, the herald bloomed.
Eureka, I love this heaven on earth!
Hazy perished hills, houses trenching at the outskirts,
Swaning over to the fluctuating peak of mountains, roosted with struts.
Orchid waftured, Clinging on to the cluster of flowers,
Precipitated rain was about to shower.
Gosh, it Stimulated my soul!
King of beast, sucking the sweet tempting fragranced juices,
Solitary alienate species including Honey bees mused badly abuses.
Fluttered wings, Struggling with them, Leisurely travelling my journey.
Fitnessed physically as if I am in an defensing army.
Situation turned to be horribly muddle,
Tremendously, I wanted to sort and excitedly cuddle!
Proud to have an Airfoiled wings of mine,
Antennate feature you prissily shine.
Rainbowis passion lying inside me,
Resourcefully mingled with music and dance, happening besides me.
Whoa,People got entranced!
People jeopardize the innate beauty,
Relishingly wanna do my duty.
Actuating my arms, Ventured to fly high.
Intended inspiration wanted to reach the sky.
Weaving the web spiderman thirstily trying me to catch.
Escaping from them I ran, prevented myself from getting snatched.
Ohhh,They had a Hostile faction accord!
Nature's beauty aspiringly propelled me.
Blowing wind, tactily sensisizing my skin,
Blushing cheeks, spilled the bean.
Nocturnal creatures will wake in the dark,
Aerophilically dangling around the shruby bed,before they bark
Stopping by sayonara, continuing my next stigmatic destiny!
By Madhavi
In the velvety night, caressed by shadows,
A poet whom I deeply respect whispered to me,
That my verses, through his cold and harsh eyes,
Were but weak jokes, a pale reflection,
Not slicing arteries, not unlocking true agony,
But instead, terribly to pronounce, accessible.
I lift my head under the dream-laden sky,
Grasping the truth like a bouncing rubber ball,
Determined not to hide. In this world of reflections,
Of scratched masks and overflowing illusions,
Rejecting the utopia of sincerity for the spectacle of the prism,
Silicon Valley brings virtual realities,
And I, with my pen and stigmatic signs,
Bring forth virtual poetry, not my soul,
But a perfect simulation, a construction of smoke,
Mirrors and crocodile tears.
So come, take your place on the carousel of my heart,
You will find Hollywood blood, hard luck stories,
Wounds made of plasticine, rented mourners,
Tragic confessions and inflatable dolls of lost lovers,
What do you seek, my sweet? What makes everything good for you?
What does integrity mean in a world of irony and facade pain?
Yes, I can possess integrity if that excites you,
In an era where blood clots are art, and jokes are farce,
I will learn, versatile as I am, I will cry those ninety-six tears,
Develop stigmata on command, embrace surplus suffering,
To maintain my place in the artistic galaxy.
But if you are wrong, upon your death,
You will traverse into hell,
Where Groucho Marx will tickle your bare foot,
With Edgar Allan Poe's feathered quill.
So the truth remains steadfast in our tormented minds,
For we are sculptors of virtual pain, rooting our identity,
In an abyss of irony.