Long Subtlest Poems
Long Subtlest Poems. Below are the most popular long Subtlest by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Subtlest poems by poem length and keyword.
My intertwined shrine, beating eternally within a cosmic trochaic, as min
Mystic troubadours tell tell heart, shalom, I beseech thee to stay calm, oblivion
In articulating the orator prodigy, they too, let me down with the subtlest clue, refrain
Serenity taken a vow, to greet the suffocating spur, speech impediment to rush , her lame
T’was plethora a remnant efforts of lonely mourner days and nights, so long to belong
Sonorous, I was a reverie there, of your playful churn , yours pleasant companion
This day, with you in me , you stay there, festive to know my may
To rejuvenate a soul sharing you and me, splashed once to say, wills met the other day!.
I am also a prose poet, navigating the realms of expression unencumbered by the shackles of rhyme. In this vast expanse of literary freedom, I find my solace, my sanctuary. My words flow unencumbered, liberated from the constraints of syllabic patterns and predictable cadences.
I weave my tapestry of thoughts and emotions in a symphony of language, where rhythm emerges from the ebb and flow of ideas. Each sentence dances to its own melody, painting vivid images upon the canvas of imagination. There is no predetermined structure to confine my thoughts; they wander freely, exploring the depths of human experience.
Inspiration finds me in the subtlest of moments, when the world whispers its secrets in hushed tones. I am captivated by the delicate dance of sunlight upon dew-kissed petals, by the ethereal stillness of a moonlit night. Nature, with all its wonders and mysteries, becomes my muse as I wander in meadows and traverse the shores of my own consciousness.
Imagination becomes my compass as I embark on flights of fancy, unearthing hidden truths and breathing life into the intangible. I am the architect of worlds, the weaver of dreams. With each written word, I conjure realms of beauty and chaos, of joy and sorrow, bridging the gap between reality and the realms of the unseen.
In this realm of unstructured verse, I find a refuge from the clamour of the modern world. Here, time stands still, and the weight of expectation dissipates. I embrace the elegance of the old-fashioned, where sentiment is expressed with grace, and meaning is derived from the subtleties of language.
Through this medium, I seek to illuminate the world, to celebrate the beauty of raw expression. In each sentence, a story unfolds, a myriad of emotions intermingling. I surrender to the currents of inspiration, allowing them to guide me as I navigate this vast expanse of untamed verse.
I am also a prose poet, unbound by the constraints of rhyme, embracing the fluidity of language.
end part two
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What secrets dwell in Poesy's heart, veiled by verse?
Why on the edges of our perception
do they dance? What are life's essence and course,
when blight strikes our hearts with introspection?
What path does the Poet tread, bathed in starlight’s gleam?
What whispers of tomorrow beckon him near?
How do his verses capture life's subtlest themes,
when flickers of comprehension die, then disappear?
The cryptic truths woven within rhythmic lines,
preserve the mysteries time itself shrouds;
Cloaked within the tapestry of the grand design;
draped in the enigma of the passing clouds.
Do words echo the silent rhythm of the poet's soul,
sketched upon the canvas of an endless sky?
Does his dance of metaphors, and rhymes, extol
the mysteries only seen through a poet's eye?
In each silent word, and each echoing phrase,
do we find our mirrored self, quietly unveiled?
Uncoiling the layers through the rhymer's haze,
reveals in time what has remained concealed.
This practice asks us to get to the root
Of everything ... forsooth!
We meditate
Contemplate
Shifting from gross to subtle
Layer by layer cognition spherical
Until we get to the subtlest
Rarified ... finest
For instance if we take matter
We shift from earth to water, fire, air and ether
Likewise the Gunas that orientation define
We move from Tamas to Rajas to Satva to align
In prayerful stillness nearer to God connectivity
Love hues too joy, empathy, compassion & purity
Five sheaths of the body
Thoughts refined as well as shoddy
The practice asks us to contemplate in a continuum
Shifting to the source eradicating the gross residuum
In all aspects of consciousness divine love our fulcrum
18-August-2020
“The Lord of the universe is devoid of all names. He is subtler than the subtlest, supreme. He is spotless, beyond the senses, mind and intellect. Where there is such a natural Being, how can there be "I", how can there be even "you", how can there be the world?”
Ego cravings unendingly persist
but know oh hermit, form does not exist,
for we are spirit, not this body-mind,
so leave each conditioned belief behind.
On ego death, light of Self recognised,
the truth beyond space-time is realised,
as we so entwine with the oneness field,
by potent power God Himself does wield.
In thought rested silence the truth is known,
simply, that all that is, is God alone,
as ultimate truth that cannot be named,
the light that lights all lights, pure and unstained.
When there remain no goalposts to defend,
betwixt bliss beats we easily ascend.
Power to invoke aesthetic delight,
is found in cave of heart, betwixt bliss beats,
teleporting soul to zenith like height,
love’s refrain that unendingly repeats.
Subtler than the subtlest scent to us known,
God’s elixir sublime enlivens form,
revealing deep truths, to us alone known,
soothed by magnetised mists, both cool and warm.
Slowing down life’s pace, we garner God’s grace,
felt as light radiating from our core,
holding pristine presence in close embrace,
bliss that leaves heart begging for an encore.
In timeless time as we become the flame,
endless bliss rapture is our claim to fame.
Those souls are of many shades
They walk past me in my dreams,
often with an utter silence, a heavy one,
And, all I do there, is watching those T-Shirts.
T-shirts have the strangest stories of this world
Often in the subtlest way, right on the chests.
One of them used to smoke, one was a poet
And one was a sweet childhood memory,
Left me pondering, for his pal, in the here and now.
And I watched them grow, one by one, as a blooming flower
Where each petal is a hue of gorgeous divine gratitude
Meant only to breathe and to keep the very breathing going on...
I call them friends,
As all colors are a dried space with an uneven texture
Where words hold the unspoken stories,
with traces of Murphy's law
And with a sigh of a lesser prejudice
Of choosing none.
June 25, 2022
Inspired by a Tagore song.
https://youtu.be/3sRLvceliZ0
(This poem is dedicated to my daughter).
Childhood is a ship,
preparing to set sail,
but not all harbors are kind
the ocean a mysterious enigma.
Not all inflictions are visible,
some bruises remain invisible.
Not all trauma can be expressed,
so the past is buried - still breathing.
Ghosts resurface, with subtlest of hints.
When we are born,
we are 'freshly decorated' boats.
Preparing to set sail through unknown waters,
longing to venture to foreign shores.
Yet, what is hidden underneath deep ripples,
is not innocent, like my childhood heart -
powerless, helpless, defenseless.
An anthology of a villain and his victims
Sins of my father,
once plagued my mother's tears.
Her anchor became a burden of heavy fears,
so drought, dehydrated her river bed.
To escape constant waves of rage,
my mind set sail to seek safer shores.
On my boat, I was my own captain.
Steps of thunder,
followed me through turbulent tides,
yet, spirit found courage to row faster -
to this day, I've never known how.
Maybe, I could not let his blood define me.
I watched, in horror, as his terror,
drowned my petrified siblings -
I wonder, why they did not sail away,
were their anchors, consumed with reality?
When words struck like metaphorical daggers,
sirens of the sea, serenaded with songs of sorrow.
But, my soul knew the sun would offer redemption -
finally unchain me from the darkness of adolescence.
Through passages of life,
what was once a boat in troublesome times,
is now a ship, settled on stable seas.
Example for Inflictions contest.
Silent One
8 August 2020
Dynamic reef flexion within the restless Earth
Continental drift spelled birth
once spelled Pangaea,
in early geologic time,
a supercontinent that incorporated
almost all the landmasses on Earth.
While rifling through mine
treasure trove of poems,
yours truly chanced upon
satisfactorily worded
geological event
where plate tectonics wrought
subterranean violent transformation
about a half dozen years ago.
Rust never sleeps courtesy zinc
without rhyme nor reason ye shan't
blame Neptune for unleashing
Indonesian tragic phenomena
just by his innocent wink
merely intended by regular
casual reminder
for Earthlings to think
seriously how (inhabited
linkedin chain of islands,)
yea kinda resembling a slink
key, within the ring of fire,
a large 40,000 km
(25,000 mi) horseshoe shape, -
Yukon also envision
a vague watery rink
encompassing basin of Pacific Ocean,
where e'en the subtlest plink
(no doubt unintentional), thus
absolutely necessary for inhabitants
to catch the latest
drift (albeit continental),
he gave forewarning
just days prior,
possibly relayed after
getting tipsy from overdrink,
hence warning not taken seriously,
where majority resident didst think
a practical joke got played,
yet a coterie of attentive people
accoutered in faux mink
(dressed to the nines
fur a gala fete
also taken by surprise,
no one sensed
any sudden high jink
then the cleaners),
and really the entire
population sustained strong kinship
with what they believed
tubby reasonable god
(a carry over from Greco
Roman Times font size 12),
hence could never suspect,
he would hoodwink
boy (and girl), whar
they ever wrong, come
Friday, 28 September 2018
at 17:02h military time,
or 7:02 post meridiem
an earthquake measuring 7.4
on Richter magnitude scale
leaving Indonesian island
of Sulawesi in total ruins,
from said rat fink
and additionally webbed,
wide whirling countersink
triggered a massive tsunami
razing humongous chink
essentially wiping off the map
in an eye blink,
whereat his lordship
could not be reached,
thus survivors bethink
sum - man tricks brought
watership down,
ah buoy big boon
dog gull upon his head,
boot nonetheless coon
sitter ably less of Neptune!
Methinks pilots are such superior mortals
For their ability to make metals fly like fowls,
And soldiers have such an impressive mettle
That makes you salute their daring prowls.
Surgeons are such a precise and thoroughly seasoned breed
That will dumbfound with details of capillaries and veins,
And commanders-in-chief such colossal powers wantonly wield
Till they addict themselves to honor and extend their reigns.
A charismatic preacher will yodel tunes and heal the lame
And win a hefty standing among their peers in a moment;
The teacher is the final light and bearer of the last opinion
And their learned views sail without a single opponent.
But the poet is the chariot of thought that inspires them all.
He’s the silent roar of the Boeing with the pilot in,
He’s the muffled ricocheting of the soldier’s Kalashnikov;
The unspoken overtones of the preacher’s condemnation of sin,
The subtlest incision of the surgeon’s authorized blade
And the president’s solemn inspection of the honor parade.