Long Timed Poems
Long Timed Poems. Below are the most popular long Timed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Timed poems by poem length and keyword.
We seek out places
that seem to fit
the contours of our soul.
For some,
it is those quiet places
with expanded distances
way out past the reach
of thought. For others,
it is cramped city streets
where buildings rise
like glass cliffs on either side,
noisy restaurants and talk
in dimly lit bars.
And there are others
who find fit in seaside towns
where all is timed
by tides and the metronome
of sounding waves.
Or souls who settle best
in cool, dark places canopied
by tall trees, cloud and rain
and others again in the heights
of sunlit mountains
lifting up through
mist soaked terrain.
Then there are those
who have not found a place
except for the vast, solitary
and parched expanses
of a white page waiting
for a few passing showers
to wet its constant thirst.
The mind hangs in silence,
All is stilled, thoughts lingering
Lazily, as if in cosmic animation;
No words drip from the faucet that once
Streamed waters of creation, and now is
Only empty air passing over an idle lexis;
How deceiving is the thought, idle mind:-
A dormant volcano creates its explosive flow
Does not the idle mind quietly stream likewise?!
There’s no creation that’s void of time;
God himself used time to speak in creation!
Thus, is not time herself, the plunger of idleness?!
Butterflies are timed in cocooned metamorphosis; babes in wombs;
And likewise, black holes are wombed in the depths of time’s space;
Yes, in all creations, time’s time is an instant of its own self eternity:-
Thus, we poets of the cistern of divine wisdom and guidance,
Must ever be aware that the sacred poem is a creature of time;
Germinating in the womb of mind, and premature birth is also timed.
Yes, while time itself–for anything–does not wait,
We mere mortals must wait on the timing of time,
For it is in its own time that the poem is delivered!
Sponsor : Justin Bordner
WHERE LOVE LEARNS NO MORE
Where Love learns no more
two serpents crawling twine
one midnight black another
luminous wizardy white
entangled fanged bedazzled
circled by ultra violet rays
ultra red Sun the One
swimming in beet orange
mint mix elixir eclipsed
quiver quenches wreathing
writhing thirst as cerise
petals silently fall, crumble
dust to dust
Here howls no blackboards or
whiteboards no koki pens
pencils erasers or paint
no school bells ring
no Buddha
gongs neither singing bowls
no teachers gurus masters
or internet, memory, miles
history or futuristic dreams
nor Rumi poetic recitals
or even Gabriel’s angelic
harmonic frequencies
In deafening silence they
slither slide thrust open
skin on skin shedding
translucent spirals spinning
black imbibes white aglow
glistening melting moments
all else dissipates
two serpents exits explore
where Love has nothing to
learn but adore
God appeased appear
emits lochia, soar
observe serumed gyrations
entice enchanting narration
they remain darkly sage
silent shimmering sop
slippery slip illustrious dip
into hidden slivered
silver cords hanging
themselves naked new
wheeled throats bleed askew
Then from vulnerable bellies
delicate moths emerge
flutter one by one
become butterflies flit
making mauve milk
pixel pinprick serpent
eyes lightning shoot
first branches of
Tree of Life moot ~
an ethereal nightingale
tinkled appears, trialed
trigger timed
two serpentines transmute
into dancing flames free
stepping out of shadows
into silvery sematic glee
grace winged they disappear
into hymning hyacinth
Sky outlined in gilded
lyrical lore divine
In beckoning belly of Creation
L o v e has
n o t h i n g
to learn
suddenly the beauty fades
and the masquerade becomes a crimson deluge
somewhere out of nowhere, incoherence reveals her uglier side
the stone soup of badly timed revelation is pure poison
the rocks thrown at my routine dream bloodies the strength of the center and blockades the solidity of my little world
suddenly enough is a microorganism growing impatient via the knowledge within the maturation
i become a victim of your black confetti surprise party
i want you to taste the bloody black jello of my misery
however you get the flavor of my personal version of icy cold detachment
all the ladders are now worn and badly damage
all the attics are infested and offend with the stench of incompleteness and indecisiveness
suddenly my brain goes in circles in endless speeds like a defiant spinning top
i wish i could give my own brain a hassan chop
maybe then all sense within me will finally come together
however my journey will still never really have a true blue definition
Rosebush has ceased putting on green growth
After some debate, clipped the roses
Last two of the summer is my thoughts
Cool nights tells me that soon fall's day closes
One is a red bud slightly open
The other is a tightly closed baby bud
To enjoy their beauty in den
Now available to all that come in
After putting them in the glass vase
There spied two buds on purple Iris
Reblooming is timed for fall's race
Into winter just barely misses
The kiss of frost's deadly bite this night
Delighted to see small purple bloom
Which soon will fill air with fragrance grand sight
Hungry insects will feed on nectar with delight
Each one graces the Autumn air
With it's own specialness and blesses
My day with appreciation of simple goodness
Of God preparing beauty to be seen by those that awe
HISTORY, INSANITY, AND CRAZY TIMES
Its been said that “...history will never fade,
Remaining like sun devils in the shade.”
Its journey being unlike traveling time,
It often omits or tends to dust-shelf
Certain things old time left behind:-
We must be well aware of his story,
And let not present time in our story,
Be a return to those evil, demonic days,
Which were so wretched in so many ways:-
Thus, let’s ever seek to ensure that true-timed
History in his story will never again fade
And be dirty dust-shelved erased notes of ourstory,
Omitting the freedom fighting efforts ancestors made:-
Today, racist oppressors seek again to defend historical policy,
That was established to give rationality and acceptance to evil slavery:-
Thus, today, let us not be amenable to
The insane pooping of our oppressors;
Who, in consistency of diarrhea-like bigotry,
Are our new cesspool-transgressors:-
Today, a crazy person is no longer one void cleared
Of correcting the insanity in this nation’s insane world;
And insane oppressors are ones who fear not being feared,
And have no reservations about their bigotry toward us, being hurled;
For with audacious mendacity, it’s a mental state not considered weird:-
So please be well aware of what's
Ahead for we so-called, crazy hued folk;
And know that they’re getting ready to declare
Systematic racism, a prime psycho-neurotic joke:-
Oh well, in a super postscript frame of mind,
Sit contemplatively, and thoughtfully give some thought
To decide whether or not this pen was crazy, and a waste of time:-
The world is woven in such different ways
Struts the vertical, the flat below
Oh God who weaves me shall by me be praised
Oh, shall the mystic reach what she may crave
When all the strings release and she falls low
The world is woven in its different ways
Timed by ritual Lady Lazarus rose
And all the eyes that gazed were burning slow
Yes, God who weaves me shall by me be praised
There is a hollow only Ariel knows
As horse and rider as one being flow
The world is sensed in wholly different ways
The body ,home of mind, will run astray
Oh, what seams of evidence forego
Fallen God who unacknowledged knows
Beneath the sea of green the undertow,
Spirits sidle deep like melting snow
The world is woven in such different ways
That God who weaves me shall by me be praised
I suppose,
implicit in any explicating form of evolutioning theory-talk,
a revolutionary verbing thesis
progressively implies mindful intention
assuming ethologically growing function
deepening and/or widening what makes and feels sense,
spatial and/or temporal,
some health-explicating and/or pathology appositional implicating purpose
beneficial and/or harmful to anthropoids,
to all Earth's living-organic Tribes,
to all Ego/EcoSystemic Earth,
to all Animus/Anima Souls,
Yang/Yin
Left/Right Earth Holonic Nature/Spirit interdependence,
optimizing therapeutic
co-investing ZeroZones explicate/implicate
for secular/sacred nondual
health-evolving
yet unfinishable
and unspecifiable
natural-space
for dynamically now-timed Vocations.
We are ecological science
and con-science
and unconsciousness.
We are story
and egological storyteller
and unknown
unheard
unseen.
Earth's humane act
and actor
and theologically transcendent stasis.
The dance
and dancer
and deaf
and frozen
The song
and singer
and silent
muted
anticipation
and anxiety.
The play
and player
and absent
uninvited
worker.
The thought
and thinker
and feeler
and numb.
The garden
and gardener
and consumer
and starving.
The Earth
and EarthTribe
and Ego
and Interdependent
DNA and RNA place-timed relatives,
matriarchal regenerators
regenerations
degenerations
ungenerated energy
entropy
untropy
anti-morphic
metamorphic
metaphor.
We are leftbrain either/or polynomial
rightbrain polyphonic
ecopolitically polypathic
positive trust energy democracies
health/wealth
ego/ecosystems
bilateral
bicameral
binomial nonzero-sum balancing
The science story,
and consciousness storytellers
and yet unconscious
unfelt
unknown,
The patriarchal history
of and for eco-matriarchal mystery.
In the still of the night the orange headed ground thrush perched on a tree outside, calls out in earnest beseeching his mate to join him in intimate embrace. A perfect interruption as a wake up call suitably timed for meditation! As though by telepathy, the thrush calms down to only occasionally resume its melody in subdued tones, nudging us deeper inwards. As observer & observed thus invisibly tango, attention distilled with the purity of agendaless resonance with the soundless throb of divine magnetism filtered by the heavenly moonlight, the perfume of divinity osmotically percolates into each pore of form. We vaporise!
Still not the stillness
Let now stillness still our being
As bliss vivifying