Long Streams Poems
Long Streams Poems. Below are the most popular long Streams by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Streams poems by poem length and keyword.
When life in the city becomes too much to bear
When I am overwhelmed by a sense
of hopelessness and unrelenting stress—
The cacophony of city streets,
A mish mash of jarring sounds
cars whizzing by, horns blaring,
Ambulance wails in a distance
Buses moan and screech
Clickety-Clack of the overhead
“L” trains rumbling by
The din, the clamor, the ruckus,
the racket, rattle and roar
The street musicians
Dogs barking furiously down the lane
The chatter at the roadside vendors,
Oh, the babel of voices, the drunken brawls,
I retreat into the arms of nature.
Away from this chaotic world,
Alone, just by myself,
in the serene solitude of seclusion,
Wrapped up in a swath of silence
in this solemn dusk
I am at peace with myself
Among towering trees and splendorous falls
With its gushing streams and magnificent mountains,
The verdant fields and emerald green valleys
with rivers meandering down through
rolling hills and lush plains…
Soothe my insatiable craving for quietude.
Memories blurred in the past,
At most I can outline the images
Of times, they are everlasting.
My mind’s functioned to forget,
So I should never hold regret.
Yet my soul constantly reminds me
Of a memory and many more.
Moments now like distant memories.
My imagined reality is I’ve been at sea.
Willingly solitarily alone, on a journey
To find myself and somewhere else
Where I can just be free.
Memories lost in a stream of time,
Different streams going in and out
Of those surrounding seas.
A land, so far away, where I used to be.
Drifting amidst eternal wind.
Moments truly now faded memories,
Honestly I am deluded in the belief
That nothing repeats, when really
Someday it all does someday
Flood back into me as what
Seems to be someone else’s memories.
Muddled, eyes slowly drift off to slumber.
Through labyrinth blackness, perception ambles.
Blurring thoughts, a carousel of blunders,
spell I'm under, waning motion rambles.
Unearthed from the nadir, dragged from hiding,
wedged in a dream embraced by the cold dark.
Awaken by my screams not heard; finding
it was a dream, leaving a chilling mark.
Surrendering streams of tears mar my face,
a victim of deep fears and silent screams.
Cradled in his affectionate embrace,
warding off baneful effects of my dreams.
Dreams of love, dream that take you into hell,
where unresolved unconscious problems dwell.
6/19/2017
I was dreaming of you last night
for our souls are entwined eternally
and we were back at the art gallery where we met
you standing there with your tattered backpack
we stood together looking at a painting
then, you spoke and looked at me with the bluest eyes
and I was drowning in their ocean
and your voice was like music
I think in that moment I fell in love with you
I dream of entering Heaven's gate to find you waiting
oh, darling I will soon, till then watch me fly and soar
we went for coffee and talked and talked
a little place that became our favorite
oh, the hours we spent there
me reading you my poems and you listening
with eyes closed
and the walks, how we loved a long nature stroll
in green lush forests and woodlands
resting beside flowing, bubbly streams
listening to the birds sing us a song
and flowers dance
and vines twine
I dream of entering Heaven's gate to find you waiting
oh, darling I will soon, till then watch me fly and soar
oh, remember the lovely meadows we found
I remember one where you asked me to marry you
and I said yes, yes, yes
what a sublime wedding we had
I will always treasure those moments
I dream of entering Heaven's gate to find you waiting
oh, darling I will soon, till then watch me fly and soar
but, sadness also entered our perfect life
when we lost our baby boy to death
we were so broken as we held each other
I will never forget your deep love
and then, the unspeakable happened
I lost you, my forever beloved, my darling man
God took your hand and cradles you in his love
I dream of that dreamy forever realm with want
to be with you for eternity
with God and Jesus, my rocks and salvation
I dream of entering Heaven's gate to find you waiting
oh, darling I will soon, till then watch me fly and soar
and I will grief you for a thousand years and more
till my very last breath
I keep all our beautiful memories close to my heart
for when I am dreaming you come back to me
I dream of entering Heaven's gate to find you waiting
oh, darling I will soon, till then watch me fly and soar
In realms of verse where beauty dwells,
Where words weave tales, and magic swells,
There stands a poet, gifted, wise,
Whose name, a beacon in the skies.
Sandip Goswami, the maestro's name,
A bard whose soul is set aflame,
With pen in hand, he paints with grace,
A canvas of emotions to embrace.
In every line, his passion gleams,
Like moonlight dancing on tranquil streams,
His words, a symphony that gently sings,
Of love and life, of soaring wings.
With eloquence, he casts a spell,
His verses like a secret well,
Unveiling truths of heart and mind,
In poetry, a refuge find.
He conjures images with art,
A master of the poet's part,
From nature's splendor to love's embrace,
He captures moments, time and space.
Through sonnets sweet or ballads bold,
His tales of wonder are untold,
And in the tapestry he weaves,
A thousand dreams, the heart perceives.
His verses touch the deepest chords,
Awakening souls, striking chords,
In every stanza, a world unfurled,
Of emotions that transcend this world.
So here's to Sandip, the poet rare,
Whose verses lift us, through despair,
With gratitude, our hearts enshrine,
This cherished poet, so divine.
Written by ChatGPT
Beneath the sea of glistening stars,
Between the ethereal evening air,
Lies a forest of glowing dreams,
But as diverse and rich as they are,
None escape the same Moonbeam.
Under the lucent morning glow,
Roll waves of raving emotions,
Turbid fortunes and cruel woes,
The burning craving of billions,
Yet the same Sun illumes them all.
Princes, beggars and pretenders,
All dance their own tango with
Fortune’s jeering taunts and tantrums,
Each gambles to grapple with fate,
Yet upon the same soil they all tread.
The canopy of a grand old oak
Casts a wide and mighty shadow,
Ruffling with a myriad of leaves,
Adorned by blooming blossoms
That sprout in spring and wither in winter,
With branches amber in autumn,
Green in summer, and lean and bare
In Saturn’s season of barren frost.
Yet for all its lush richness, it still rests
Upon one abiding unchanging trunk.
So even as human affairs steer here and there,
And wander and meander like wetland streams,
The timeless source remains the same,
For all ripe fruits return to Buddha’s root.
https://purelandsutras.wordpress.com/2017/01/21/the-buddhas-masterplan/
Poem released into Public Domain
Water monkeys
Monkeys jump on all the rocks
And as the water flows, neither can stop
Because like water, the monkey knows,
That if it stops, it will be gone.
The water would evaporate
And if the monkey slips, it would be too late.
The water monkey is clean at heart.
In deepest rivers it would fall so far,
That it would never see life again;
But in the stream it can happily play all day.
So without fear the monkey leaps!
And into the stream it splashes with a scream.
A yell of delight, under scorching sunlight;
A place to relax, just like,
The hot spring Snow Monkeys do,
Under the moonlight.
Their sauna home in a place so cold,
Is Pleasantville, to the monkey mind.
A place to go and chill,
When you want a place to hide; or you need a place to go.
The hot spring pools over which there falls endless flakes of snow.
It falls down onto their heads and their ears,
But the monkey does not mind,
For they are relaxing in the hot pools,
Like they have done for many a year.
No enemies in this place of peace,
But the river monkey does not know of a peace like this,
So as he splashes in his streams,
He keeps his head above the water,
Listening out for any enemies.
This is a tale about some water monkeys…
The water monkeys I have seen, on my T.V.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
Amidst a cacophony of sounds, discordant they're not
Through progressive ears we're internally sought
We, well we await, we await black drapes
Lights are our signal, to enjoy their create
Strobes through mists, signal our time
Silhouetted shadows appear, it's now just after nine
In Ballerina stance, proud like she poses
Arms outstretched like petals of roses
She, Kim, of Touchstone effect
Through their music her voice, such melodic select
Prelude now generates as we await corded streams
Receivers we are, appreciating their musical dreams
Spotlights in sporadic dance, like silent sirens in the dark
In seconds they soon touch, we the Blacktide no longer stark
On this night in concert, we became one and all
Strobe lights show their appreciation, bowing when shadows fall
.
Sadly Kim has had to take a break from the band due to illness, hence re-post.
I'm perplexed! My breath chocks as Euterpe, Calliope,
Erato, Apollo, and modest Muses leading me
Through the refreshingly flooding streams of Antiope
To heavens, where I am, like an eagle, endlessly free
I can breathe here a frankincense-filled aromatic air.
In whose flow my atria-ventricular blocks open
Pranayama, whose parikrama in performance is rare
It overwhelms, as though the dam of feelings is broken.
When talons cannot grab prey, when feathers stick to the chest,
When, like an eagle, I meet the challenge of 'do' or 'die'
I go to the hills. I struggle the worst and pass my test.
In each effort, as though a mother in labour, I sigh.
In each poetic breath, I see the Brahman at the helm.
Does Brahman see my poems as I wish him to see them?
A tribute to young daffodils
may grace the poet's page:
new grass, full streams, or nesting larks,
as Spring takes center stage.
To write of faith feels natural
when pondering creation -
to render praise in poetry
with words of exaltation.
When wisdom is attained in life
not cheap or lightly earned,
and life throws shadows on our path,
we share what we have learned.
A little romance warms the heart
to reminisce of youth,
though tales we weave of loves long past
might quaintly stretch the truth.
A word or two of elegy
while contemplating death,
lamenting those we've dearly loved
who've drawn their final breath.
From time to time one must admit
it does the heart some good
to set one's sense of humor free
to lighten up the mood.
Yet other times a sharp protest
upholds the poet's creed
to fight injustice, hatred, war,
or poverty or greed.
The common thread that drives a soul
to take up pen and ink -
is being human to the core:
to love, to feel, to think.
written 29 April 2023