Long Time is ripe Poems
Long Time is ripe Poems. Below are the most popular long Time is ripe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Time is ripe poems by poem length and keyword.
I found myself lost in the past
I found myself lost in the future
I was looking around me, aghast
I had to take hold of the water
This is the spring of your life
Its source, no mortal can know
See the earth’s luminescent shine
As it joins itself to the flow
Make me mindful of love
There are barriers barbed and tall
Around trenches of our device
There’s hardly a view at all
With obstructions blocking our eyes
This is the valley of suffering
No Lotus and no peace
The time is ripe for uncovering
Tension must yield to release
To make you mindful of love
I look in my daughter’s eyes
At the wisdom behind her few years
Let me hang onto surprise
Her stillness is beauty’s mirror
This is anxiety’s ending
And this the chance for my son
His path unfazed and unbending
His calling to newness has come
Make them mindful of love
© 2018 by K. C. Dovoric / Broken Pilgrim Songs
Golden Sphinx on its wings,
soaring high, soaring high,
smouldering smoke all around,
flying to azure sky.
Gleaming white, the horses neigh
victory be our desire!
strike the cymbals, draw the swords,
let Sun glisten on sapphire!
Chorus
through the fire, through the fire!
riding through the fields of fire!
Tarry not, the time is ripe,
we have all we require,
golden sphinx circles around,
he is on to enemy lair.
March on! through blinding smoke,
know no fear, nor quagmire,
Hope greets, where the brave go,
raise the victory to admire!
Chorus
through the fire, through the fire
riding through the fields of fire!
4th placement
Chariots of Fire, Lyric song contest
Sponsor John Hamilton
Written 24/07/2020
Stirred.
Blurred.
Deferred.
A haze of thoughts.
In the raw.
Unprocessed unpolished.
Ethereal feral.
Impulses really.
I might drown.
A sea of ambiguity.
Random content
in my private universe.
At times, I can’t be bothered.
At times, I want them loud and clear.
At times, I want to scream and be heard.
Ofttimes, in time that can’t be rushed,
ofttimes, so deep they must be mined,
my words must form within a forge.
I capture what takes shape and worth,
from medleys of thoughts sublime
that seize their moments; coming forth
to shine as lines when flames combine.
I cannot say, before their time is ripe,
the fullness of my thoughts, voiced without fear.
I'll wait a while for words that set alight,
that frame them, read aloud for all to hear.
To capture rhyme, and then to set in place
as treasured memories of grief or joy.
To speak my mind with clarity and pace
in metered euphony that I'll employ.
Now, heard aloud, at last I say my part;
what's written need not die without a voice.
Once polished, may it then be known as Art?
The verdict will be in the critic's choice.
And so I write -- so that I will not die
without a voice for all I could not say.
Unburdened and uncluttered, let me fly
full-fletched in colours, darting into day.
AP: 1st place 2022
Collaboration with Kirk Tierney - based on my poem 'Writing Is How I Connect'
And the Poets and musicians and creative types
Of all description
Will throw off the yoke of the body snatchers
And bring on a thousand years
Of peace, love and creativity
But Satan (God’s Evil Twin)
Can’t be defeated forever
He will lurk out there
Until the time is ripe
And mankind again falls under
The spell of the body snatcher
Bureaucrats and corporate clones
Govbots and faceless bureaucrats
And poetry and creativity
Again is banished to the dark corners of our souls
The poet within me
Smiles
Knowing that some day
He will defeat the bureaucrats
That so oppresses the world
Someday
They will be the ones
Hiding in the shadows
And the poet will have his revenge
Until that day
He bids his time
Occasionally coming out
Taking over my soul
And writing these stories
Before returning to his hiding space
Deep within my soul
Tomorrow I put on my suit
And return to battle
With all of the other clones
Automats govbots
And faceless bureaucrats
And my poet
Smiles
Laughing while my soul
Slowly twists
Dying in the wind
And I begin another day
In the city of Washington
The center of the beast
Hell Central
The center of the cosmic conspiracy
That has lasted centuries
Man has lost
We are all slaves
To the machines
The poet screams
But is not heard
The machine can’t be bothered
The system does not compute
The anguish of crushed humanity
The system demands
More and more
Until the life within is crushed
And we embrace our enemies
And are absorbed
Resistance is indeed futile
Your goodliness and Godliness parades around in my head
and makes me scoff.
I used to be that way too but the devil came by with her enticing ways.
She had such a convincing spiel, I followed her gladly.
Understanding now that the sinner part of me is more fun than not.
Do you want to be stagnant? Stale? Left in the dirt?
An old maid or worse?
Your prissy ways and persnickety attitude
is going to cause you to petrify.
You will never experience the little death if you remain on this track.
Come play with me, hear the pipes? Frolic and dance; the time is ripe.
You deserve to live; eat from the fatted calf, drink some red wine.
Stop standing in the mirror of others, nurture your wanton side.
Lust and love, that’s all there is baby, and money and greed.
Let yourself have a taste of the life you crave, the good life.
They who pressure you into purity are jealous of your youth.
They want you to become moldy, green, yesterday’s bread.
Do not waste your talents, your hunger is vast
You are voluptuous, adventuresome. Taste some life my friend!
Let me help you by leading the way.....
It’s beginning to look
a lot like Springtime
Everywhere I go
The grass is now green
no mud in between
Soon-it’ll-be-long-enough to mow
It’s beginning to look
a lot like Springtime
Flowers are in bloom
Yellow daffodils
Tulips always thrill
Get-out-of-your-stale old room
It’s beginning to look
a lot like Springtime
There’s-a-certain-something in the air
Couples are holding hands
strolling along the sand
The-time-is-ripe for-a love affair
The world is crazy,
believe me or not—
it knows neither good nor bad,
only flows forward,
shaping wonders
for you to see.
A meal needs its patience:
chop, fry, stir,
each in its turn—
only then
can you taste its truth.
So too with life:
blended as you seek it,
revealed only
in its season.
Everything takes time,
wrapped in its own package.
Do not blame time—
stay open,
for it will come
when the moment is ripe.
(This poem is also posted on medium for wide range audience under the pen name Trishila, for more poem and stories you can follow me on medium website as well)
Some forms of soup both hot and cold to exercise the stomach, there's quite a few
borscht, gazpacho, minestrone, mulligatawny, cock a leekie and there's a gumbo too
So many forms of poetry to exercise the mind,
ABC, Cape diem, Crown of Sonnets, Double Dactyl, Villanic and Verse,
Could it be that soup and poetry are somehow aligned ?
For all the years of consuming many different kinds of soup, a natural way made sense
This new found discovery of poetic form, yet come to grips
It's still in a metaphoric thinking paddock, divided by a fence
Learning sometimes feels like mind is travelling in a thick pea souper fog
A diversion, clearly now the time is ripe, on a different site will log
And yes there is alignment !! Found a literary group
Wondered why it took so long to discover Poetry Soup