Long Transmuting Poems
Long Transmuting Poems. Below are the most popular long Transmuting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Transmuting poems by poem length and keyword.
Utopian concept
No crime and punishment
For once stance becomes correct
Love divine remains as the sole sentiment
Yet the scriptures speak of both heaven and hell
Limiting enableabilities of entities who have strayed
Consigning them to darkness for eons as their fear swells
Our heart rejects narrowness where compassion is betrayed
Love that exalted divine sublime vibration that has no opposite
Employing no force, gently steering all hearts into the light
A singularity wherein separation becomes composite
Transmuting misdirected souls to do what is right
Discontent thus with the fundamentalistic view
We look in within for blissful joy perfect
Focusing on love to renew
Utopian concept
26-May-2021
Sweating buckets in the hot seat, losing the ability to buffer the spaces in-between.
Yet sweating profusely can help you come back fully healed.
However what you are chasing is much further away, and what is chasing you feels much closer.
Like in any race the focus is always on the lead car.
Sending them best wishes and a lot more of hidden evil eyes.
Splash boom, dashed into a spin-out.
Spinning out does not necessarily mean to crash and burn.
Overshooting the corner forces you to reset/rest to gain back control.
Just coasting on the low fumes of synchronicities.
Stress must played in this chaotic times or could just be scrapped ahead in-time.
Just as the chaotic race of life, use that transmuting heat to purify.
Do you think the harder you push the pedal increases the chances to be showered more petals?
Theses small talks echo sounds so sweets, with the upgrades of my venturi tunnels.
I see Vishnu on a car plate and on the tv show, edging me to top gear manually to greater higher performance.
If we know ourself, we’ll know the universe
but if our inquiry seeks to go in deep,
recognising touch divine does not rehearse,
we begin by letting musings inward seep,
that by melding with the void, penning soul’s verse,
between form and formlessness, we take the leap!
To get to a knowing that transcends our mind,
we shift to heart, leaving thought spirals behind.
Sans thought we are, as awareness self-aware,
alive, aglow, entwined with all existence,
igniting love, choosing with all souls to pair,
discarding beliefs, shedding our resistance,
sidestepping each and every ego spawned snare,
seeing clearly that from God there’s no distance.
All this sounds fine to hear but let’s be more clear,
feeling the life breath, that within us does spear.
In silence, sans identity, what remains,
save the pristine pulsation of love and light,
which we are but know not, bound to ego’s chains
but released we embark on a wingless flight,
with our pure heart now cleansed of erst feral stains,
as bliss effervescence cascades with delight,
in wonderment we see, God and we are one
and being His son, we shine like yonder sun!
The seeker who seeks, in truth does not exist,
for we are a soul, dwelling in body-mind
and we know this when there is no to-do list,
shifting from head to heart, choosing pathways kind,
transmuting here now, becoming a bliss mist,
mindfully playing our role, as is assigned.
Bilocation between this form and vast space,
allows us to garner clear truth, by God’s grace.
For the maneuvered inducement of compulsive being,
the transmuting tenet of uniqueness,
the personified indented identity,
changes in the self-devised palette of color mélange,
while the conjured chameleon furtively cocooned
paints the shifting façade of deceptiion.
In the ostensible enactment of life’s amazing drama,
performance perfected in one-act play,
and with the obsession of passion ostensible,
gilding the consequence crafted by metamorphic alchemy,
the surreptitious shift from one actor to another,
is an axiomatic designed drive.
Out of the limelight, the clandestine colors fade
on the visage of the virtual makeup,
the pallid original face morphs mystically into
the veracity mirror of fragile actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of shape rinsed with primal hue
of the unaltered distinctive disposition it embodied once.
The spasm of contrived perception splits the mirror,
the shapeless shards of shattered pretence
scatter as discarded debris abandoned.
Metamorphosis creates the deluding creature,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm of illusive shape shift.
Why don't people lichen mold?
Is it cause they are afraid of growing expediential old?
Afterall Atum gave birth to Tefnut and Shu through the breath.
In breath lies the prefect breeding ground of moisture and air.
Then its not odd, but you ought to have mold.
Given the daily bread, my skin part of my body is comforted by mold.
Can the mold help shape and mold me better?
Just refueling my eternal furnace too keep awake the cold.
Sacrificing everything, that's bold!
Walking around the forest with a mesh bag.
Trying to fit in by being a fungi.
Just remember not to make a mountain out of a mole hill.
But ain't that life?
Understanding cellular biology through the lens of Venn diagrams.
Segregating, separating and dividing as long as the cell walls hold.
Mixing in hot water with tea, sugars, and a cold scoby.
Gives rise to the kombucha below.
Folding mold spores into a battleground for the strongest mold.
Under the watchful eye of EinRaa behold.
As I smile and shine transmuting lead to gold.
Sold - Sold - Sold!
“Behold deep within, magic of God’s wonder ~
Sound of one hand clapping, resounds like thunder”
~ quote by poet
Beauteous and graceful is the dance divine,
at play within, orbiting our heart centre,
requiring but of us with love to align,
whereupon we feel rapturous bliss canter,
hastening ascent, since love for love does pine,
leaving heart’s door ajar, for us to enter.
Divine energy magically loops form;
we look on awestruck, swept away in this storm.
There is in truth no doing we need to do,
save relinquishing cravings of egoic will,
as polarities orbit heart to renew
flow of soma nectar that does overspill,
igniting soul that shines like fresh morning dew,
urging us to savour bliss to our heart’s fill.
Symbolic language can describe not God’s grace,
transmuting form, yet leaving behind no trace.
Contest: Broken Promises
Placed : Second : June 26
Sponsor: Silent One
a smouldering ember, promises lay on white ash emitting amber sparks into a half barrel ~
hot barbecue was long past eaten with its
juicy sauces dripping fat down sunburned
throats (...)
for what are promises but hopes for another experience, other canvases when such is no-one’s prerogative but Divinity’s to give-
take at stake as cosmic balance deems
stability fit —-
hairline cracks within whispering strings
verbalised appear as thoughtforms touch
oxygen to smoulder upon brick and mortar
dissipating into sandgrains upon a pane of
tears transmuting promises into primroses
fractured assurances open hearts like
bread broken on a spring picnic mat
cracked ghost glass secretly glanced in
darkness as subliminals already heard
distorted frequencies enticing eerie
perceive avatar promises as poorly stitched
pom-poms ready to fray onto polished floor
for in dim silence mind flowering tongue
is but colourful creator making magic
with both promises and primroses
let every augur dance across forehead
in daisy chains
for core to remain unsore ~
Nothing else but pure consciousness
With a singular is-ness of blissfulness
No time or space or body or mind
Every aspect of i-dentity left behind
Singularity in Absoluteness
Unqualified fullness of being-ness
Mind-body vaporised, how do we then return
We transform becoming bliss on this sojourn
Not as separate identity experiencing
Actually transmuting by so becoming
The truth is we ourselves cannot reenter our body
A divine power steers us back so we breath easy
No translation of this transcendence seems possible
Being a transitioning beyond thoughts analytical
We affirm it as a singular energy field true oneness
Beyond void or manifestation interconnectedness
Here there is neither space nor time nor any measure
Nothing else save consciousness in blissful rapture
30-July-2020
In a world where words are butterflies of light dancing at dawn,
The poet becomes an alchemist of shadow, transmuting silence into gold,
A beacon spreading its ray through the waves of time's mist,
Critic of society, he digs deep into the soil of ignorance with a silver quill.
Verses flow like a river of stars through the eternal night of consciousness,
Unknown hero, uncalled, but carrying in his chest a fire of change,
For he knows that writing is not just the echo of dogs barking at the moon in the village,
But a pledge to build bridges across the abysses of lost hearts.
If these words are just wind whistling through the void of oblivion,
Then why write, why dream under the sky of indifference?
In each letter, the poet puts his soul as a silent offering,
Hoping that somewhere, a heart will grow wings and fly towards truth.
Somewhere, in hidden corners of the world, the echo of verse will resound,
A heart will stir, will feel, will understand the call from the star,
Writing is not just creation, but a cry, a desire for change,
A manifesto to make the world better under the light of eternal dream.
My heart weakened by its innumerable years
continues to flutter its plangent beats. An
ancient maple tree, its leafless naked branches calls
for me to rest beside its protective scaly bosom,
for it sees a messenger perched upon my shoulder.
I feel its pulsing inner core gently whispering of things forgotten. My tortured troubled intellect fails to comprehend the language of its quintessence.
My shriveled breast listens and its fundamental
makeup comprehends its declaim.
The benevolent and hospitable giant with invisible
web feet bids me to become part of its composition.
My inner self understands its venerable message for
it whimpers like a malnourished neglected infant
waiting impatiently to suckle its mother.
Oh! If only I could creep into its nucleus and curl up
in a fetal position to expiate my sins while transmuting
my nonspiritual body into it’s vibrant sap and feed its
vascular cambium system so that my essence can once again Return to its natural state.