Long Transform Poems
Long Transform Poems. Below are the most popular long Transform by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transform poems by poem length and keyword.
Love found is so precious
Love anywhere, anytime
Love between any humans
Love between any nationalities
Love between any colours
Love is more than life
Love is more than fear
Love is more than belief
Love is more than tears
Open hearts open love
Closed hearts close minds
Open minds see love
Closed minds need love
Why does love feel like it's competing?
Competing with hate and fear
Our right and our left sides
Profile a different vision of ourselves
Two characters of the same thing?
But when we see our complete reflection
Where is love?
In our eyes?
In our hearts?
In our minds?
Love is a crying baby that needs our gentle touch
Love is a rage needing our soft understanding
Love needs nurturing, it needs space, it needs time.
Love can transform into hate faster than we can blink
Unlike our two sides that represent the same
Hate can't transform into love
Come! Bring forth the jar that for months had stood
Patiently undisturbed in the shadow!
Lift its lid, remove the leaves that serve as hood
And help age the wine that’s about to flow.
Catch a whiff of its sweet smell long detained
That now perfumes the air around us here.
Take some of the liquid with a bowl unstained
And--wait! Before we all have a good cheer,
Pour some libation to Kabunian’s name
From whom this wine and other favors came.
Fill the bowl fashioned from coconut shell
Blackened by time and from its constant use;
Pass the tapuy while the elders retell
The story of how this fermented juice
Has come down to us in its present form,
In much the same way that our forebears
Crafted it from rice, and then to transform
The grains into this divine drink we share,
Mixed it with bubod in order to mature
And ripen the liquor that now is pure.
Ah, how sweet the taste! How smoothly it goes
And warms the tongue that now tingles for more!
And the unique fragrance that from it grows
Reminds one of fields and of the outdoor.
How the liquid shines as clear as a spring--
Or a brook--that sprung from a mountain side!
Come, partake of this drink fit for a king
And speaks so well of the Igorots’ pride--
A toast to us here gathered of one mind,
And may the anitos be ever kind!
*Tapuy is rice wine from the Igorots of the Cordillera Region in the Philippines.
October 27-29, 2024
And the Word became flesh, but what's truly wild:
He came not as a king, but as a small child.
He emptied himself that we all might be full
of his Holy Spirit; from crimson to wool.
He lived here beside us, among us he dwelt;
He died for our sins, on a cross bore our guilt.
He showed us our neighbor, did this perfect priest:
the sick and the hungry, the weakest, the least.
He came to confront us, to transform our minds,
to count it all joy in trials of all kinds.
In weakness: perfected; sufficient, his grace,
to run with endurance, this journey, this race.
For God wants us holy, to set us apart;
may Christ light the way in your home and your heart!
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In the sonnet stanza form, with 11 syllable lines
In the vast expanse of twilight,
where the shadows of trials dance and whisper secrets,
I wander through the labyrinth of existence,
meeting you, adversity, with an open heart,
Like a seeker among ancient stars,
searching for hidden strength in the embrace of darkness.
Oh, adversity, have you not grown weary of your relentless pursuit,
Of trying to unbalance me,
to make me weep a river of unending sorrows?
You arrived yesterday, intent on cleaving me in two, with bells adorning your ankles,
Ringing with the promise of triumph and the sound of impending defeat.
But all you received in return was merely a shrug,
indifferent to your grand entrance.
No sign of weakness did you witness,
not on the surface, nor deep within my soul,
You waited for tears that never manifested,
for cries that never echoed in the silence.
You kept prodding, your needle pricks persistent,
but they did not make me flinch,
You stabbed with daggers of despair that never pierced my skin,
nor drew a single drop of blood from my resilient spirit.
Are you disappointed, adversity,
surprised that your sharp weapons bring me no pain,
but instead, they tickle my endurance?
Go on, keep trying, for you only make me stronger.
In this mystical, esoteric dance of shadows and light,
where magic and melancholy converge,
I find truth hidden in the heart of adversity,
a secret whispered by the cosmos,
And in each trial, a lesson unfolds,
in each pain, a strength is born,
In each challenge, a chance to grow and transform,
like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
So come, life, bring all your adversities,
for they are but steps in the dance of resilience,
They only strengthen me, transforming, shaping me into something more profound,
In an endless waltz of power and grace,
where every misstep is but a prelude to mastery.
And in this stream of consciousness, I find poetry in the paradox,
and truth in the heart of your relentless trials,
shining like a hidden gem in the dark.
Some express their pain,
some sacrifice it for others,
only poets turn it into poetry - (my quote)
Only poets can turn words into poems,
so those who are not poetic
can feel them in a beautiful way.
I'll always hide behind metaphors,
as I'm just a zestful zephyr,
trying to bring calm among
a tempest of mood swings.
When fate floats like charcoal puffs,
a tender touch helps to release
suppressed drops of sorrow
so I ponder, why I remain
emotionally challenged.
Every night the moon glows among the stars,
but is powerless against them burning away.
I find comfort in knowing some transform
into supernovas, just like ink becoming a poem.
We all crave for enough fuel to keep us alive,
but there is always that unfinished thought,
which suffers from a premature end.
When I'm lost in a land of windstorms,
I yearn to have the strength of Zephyrus,
hoping my soft whispers are not
misunderstood among self centred gusts.
I'll always be an atonement of nature,
as everything I long to do is a curse of selflessness.
Sunrise is the most stunning 'hello,'
whilst sunset is the most magnificent 'goodbye.'
But you are never guaranteed daydreams at dawn,
nor clarity of compassion at dusk,
so I'll keep blowing like a gentle breeze,
as no matter in which direction the winds blow,
I'll keep hope in finding a way home.
hello
its been awhile
I hope this is worthy of poetrysoup and poetry itself
thank you
"the dream"
the dream begins
there lies a dream filled with color and light
I wait for the day we meet face to face
my search and quest shall never fade
patiently I forever hope and believe
the dream awaits
for my wanted ambitions I will achieve
the glory will transform like a butterfly
when this happens darkness will then erase
my soul will take a soaring flight
the dream remains
tomorrow the dream at last will come true
nevermore with magnificent color and light
the dream will be
SkyWatcher
04-10-24
The turning wheels of the fleeting transient time
rotate enduringly with life’s rhapsodic kaleidoscope,
creates the enchanting picturesque patterns prime,
crafted by the mélange of flashing mesmeric hope.
All the contrived chameleon colors transform
the visage of mind’s vast undulating topography
into an ashen wasteland ravaged by discord storm,
or into a tortuous glistening emerald valley.
I am flying beguiled on the butterfly wing,
flittering in the rippling air out of distress,
before it flies away beyond the spell of spring,
forms for me the tapestry of happiness.
My mind’s canvas turns into memory montage,
as the receptive consciousness free of strife,
configures bliss in the kaleidoscopic collage,
I see the reflection of joy in the mirror of life.
You came on the wings of zooming breeze,
blew a sensuous storm of fervor through me.
I held the petals of love in my heart to appease,
lest they flew away to the wilderness of obscurity.
The transitory flame of the trajectory of crave
furrowed in my mind a blazing trail of yearning.
I traced its amorous track with ardor to engrave,
even if like the flicker of your love it was fading.
Losing the longing in the darkness of desolation,
I ambled on sea-shore of sorrow, eyes full of brine,
swirled like the dislodged sands with split emotion
in the tide of remote times when you were mine.
Sleeping on the desolate edge of the lonely night,
I see you as a star in my dream sky in times tough
when it sparkles for a while to disappear out of sight,
and in despair I regret I didn’t dream of you enough.
As the winters of the old times get lost, to me it’s clear
in the life that awaits me what I could wish for as new.
I look forward to the future that’ll unfold year after year
with the changing vista of fulfillment for me and for you.
I’ll walk mesmerized in the blooming garden of glee
where I haven’t gone awhile though it’s just next door.
In the twilight gleam how the new leaves glisten, I’ll see,
observe the surreal patina of spring I haven’t seen before.
Sitting by the window open to enticing nature at sunset
I’ll see in splendorous autumn the trees gilded galore,
read the poems of love of an unknown romantic poet,
feel the passion of lingering youth I haven’t felt before.
Are our inventories the same? Do I still fight in wars that I wasn’t made to partake in? Have my boundaries been set with regard that I am not the savior; no humans can be or are. I just learned that all the past times I unconsciously played God, I robbed people of the experience he had for them, otherwise sought. I always thought I was doing them a favor, but the truth is I stole from the hardships that were meant to transform them into a human who was more able to handle whatever life threw. So, they could lean more into their faith and know with him they are able to get through this flesh life race. I am sorry. We don’t know until we know what the right thing to do is. The more we allow him to rule in the position he is in, the less turmoil, we will unnecessarily put ourselves in. I apologize to the people I looked for, to save me in MY time of need. I’m sorry I put stress unto you when it wasn’t your responsibility. I ask for forgiveness for trying to be saved by you, someone who is not able to free me from what he has planned for me to do. I realize when I try to do anything that puts me in a position of God, I am immediately faced with a skin beings, fear, and an inability to save anyone for GOD, I am not.
Written: August 27, 2023
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Let a divine fire smolder in my soul.
Ignite the depths; lead me to feel whole.
A touchstone to strike, to set ablaze
Burning away the dross in a fiery craze.
My being, once poor and dark,
Now burns as an incandescent spark.
Surrounded by the holiest of haloes,
A flame that only devotion shows
Oh, let my soul be iridescent.
In a rippling flow of melody, ever-present.
Soaring to the dark sky—I ascend,
A countless crowd of stars—my quest wend
Even after my glimmers die out,
My light will linger, without a doubt.
The veil of darkness lifts from my eyes.
Revealing the blessed light will not disguise
With your blessings, my searing pangs,
Transform into a pious light that hangs,
Upward, toward the heavens above,
A testament to your boundless love.
Allow angels' fire to burn up my soul and clutch
A flame that burns with a sacred touch.
Igniting the core, purging all that's impure,
Leaving behind a spirit that's mature
Let this fire be a sparkle of hope.
My guide through life's turns and slopes
As I navigate the shadows and the strife,
Let this fire be the guiding light in my life.
Let this fire be a source of inspiration.
A catalyst for transformation.
Let it ignite a fire within my heart.
To create, to love, and to play my carte.
Let this fire be a force that sets my spirit free.
To explore, to grow, and to be all that I can be.
Let it burn brightly; let it blaze.
As I embrace the challenges life lays.
I have nightmares,
not those that visit the sleeper,
but those that know his name.
They enter me with the patience of heirs,
rearrange the furniture of my soul
and sit at the table of my thoughts.
I wake up with several men inside my chest.
One believes he owns my birth,
another claims to know my death,
a third sells my identity
for a few coins of reason.
I let them speak:
I am their country, their border, and their prison.
Since childhood, I have carried a windowless room
where a child continues to grow old.
He gazes at his own hands
the way one gazes at a riddle after it has been solved.
He would like to know who taught him how to become himself,
and why his name always feels borrowed.
I live among things that have lost their innocence:
books sometimes teach submission,
palaces give administrative names to chains,
altars transform fear into virtue,
markets put a price on consciences.
Civilized man knows how to count up to his brother’s price.
I have met peoples inside display cases,
arranged by scholars who claimed to understand them.
Their skulls, their lands, their silences were measured,
then what looked like plunder was called progress.
The century put on a brand-new suit,
while the old hunger kept the same mouth.
I think of the dead whom monuments render docile.
Marble lends them a nobility they perhaps never asked for.
The conquerors carve their phrases into the public squares,
then children learn those phrases like prayers.
Stone becomes a professor,
and ignorance is granted a chair.
I no longer know if I think
or if something thinks through me.
My ideas wear invisible uniforms,
my desires sometimes have the voice of a landlord,
my angers know the borders
that my reason claims to have abolished.
I would like to become a stranger to my own certainties,
to inhabit a second before any belief,
to clear out the inherited furniture from my mind,
to make my consciousness an almost empty room.
But man brings his ancient idols everywhere,
even when he believes he has ceased to believe.
Freedom sometimes appears to me like a lock
for which we forge the key ourselves.
We open a door,
then immediately build another prison.
We call this living,
with that comic gravity of the condemned
who write their own rulebook.