Long Untempered Poems
Long Untempered Poems. Below are the most popular long Untempered by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Untempered poems by poem length and keyword.
In the melancholic hour of introspection, where twilight paints the sky with sadness,
Religious souls often walk, hand in hand with righteousness,
Forsaking the tender embrace of compassion for the cold certainty of being right,
Clinging to a fragile mantle woven from threads of egotism,
As if their faith could ennoble their identity with divine approval.
In the sacred sanctuary of belief, they build altars to their own image,
Domesticated echoes of God's infinite transcendence,
Reduced to comforting whispers that mirror their desires,
Learning of the Divine as children learn of Santa Claus,
Yet allowing those notions to ossify, remaining infantile and unchallenged.
Oh, irony, as we cast aside Santa’s joyful illusions,
Maturing our visions of myth and childhood fantasy,
While our understanding of the Eternal remains in the naivety of youth,
Unprepared to confront the vast, untamed wilderness of divine transcendence.
Here, in the labyrinth of our minds, echoes of childlike perceptions resonate,
Yet the true divine is an unfathomable abyss, a dance of shadows and light,
Beyond the gilded cages of our self-fashioned sanctity,
A whisper in the wind, a flame in the depths of night.
We baptize our egos in holy waters, seeking absolution for our vanities,
Enshrining our beliefs in stone, unwilling to weather the storms
That might erode our crafted idols, revealing the raw, untempered truth,
Which asks not for our righteousness, but for the tenderness of a compassionate heart.
In this silent pilgrimage through the chambers of our soul,
We must unshackle the Divine from our limited grasp,
Allowing the boundless to flow, to mingle with the currents of our existence,
To guide us through the dark waters of humility and grace.
Let us not forget, in our zeal to be right, the gentle call of compassion,
The holy whisper that beckons us beyond ourselves,
To embrace the transient and the eternal, the darkness and the dawn,
For in that sacred embrace, we find the wondrous, ineffable face of true divinity.
Thus, in the quiet of twilight, among the shadows of our beliefs,
We are called to transcend our domesticated notions,
To embark on a journey of deeper understanding,
Where compassion and humility lead us to the heart of the Infinite,
And righteousness melts away in the light of true and boundless love.
In the garden of my soul
there fell a seed
wondrous smooth
and dark as evening’s shadow
from which emerged a tree
tentative
its stem twisting uncertain from the soil
as a lover estranged
contriving an oblique path to bliss
unassuming seeming
yet in every subtle arc and incline
betraying desire by apprehension
its bark was gray as dawn
concealing colors dimly recalled
of a forest perhaps
or the creatures within
subdued, but of a sudden
illumined stark
inspired for a moment to endure exposure’s hazard
lest their beauty rest unrealized
unto death in fear’s embrace
and so it was
intrigued by these discreet shades of delight
I stayed the instinct that bade me
cut this curious guest
before it deprive all plants
cultivated by slow discipline
of nourishment
thus intact
from infancy it passed
until mature
its roots entwined with every cherished flower
and sweet-smelling herb
it issued forth a blossom
purple as melancholy
as it touches solitude’s warmth
and is rendered akin to joy
too gentle to endure
it yielded swift to fruit
its surface saffron
its flesh red
and seeming in its succulence
to entertain all contradictory moods
suggesting rose and berry
and lavender and peach
their certainty contaminated
but through intimacy grown vivid
as melodies may
by contact resonate in opposition
and in this way I was enriched
by eating of the tree’s blessing born of doubt
though through its flourishing thence
my garden has become a place most strange
transformed by lust untempered
into the home of myriad beasts and briers
possessed of claw
and thorn that rend
and streams that flood
and fungi that rise silent
from the wetness over night
and deep
where no thought penetrates
a seed awaiting propagation
dark perhaps
and wondrous smooth
Oh my beautiful Daughters
what have you done to the men of the Earth,
turning the roar of men's' love into notes of shame and whispers,
discoloring the gallant glow of trust with untempered lust for popular worth,
I made you to be embodiment of something sacred,
a steadfast source of Divine sincerity in the chaos of Man's struggle to be heroic,
to soothe and inspire His hope for honor, to be the hand he could hold in the tremor of dread,
in the Begining you did this much and more, exceeded the seed of my dream, making Them historic,
But you, my remorseless and rabid Girls
sought to be worshiped as a cult of marauding maidens of madness,
a horde of haughty harpies wanting glory your own, thrones tailored from supine bones,
pleasured as predators of Princes and paupers
saddistic seducers of troubadours and savants,
making " high minded " heros helpless on the cliffs of your thrills,
Oh my ravenous Daughters what have you done to the hearts of men,
what have you become with speared touch and rough laughter,
warm in love sport and cold in lip lies,
the Furies have your fame and faces framed in black flame
the day is soon when your beauty will become ashen, charms unmet with passion,
and the Furies will befriend you
adorn with thorned fashion, feed you a vulture's ration,
Nemesis is on your terrible trail of predatory travail
She to unveil the wail of your reward's gale,
my lovely Princesses, my girls of gnarled gain
a wind storm of lovers' cries flies towards you
a punishment Holy in it's honor and horrible in It's hit,
bite you shall, sixfold from Humility's tit -
J.A.B.
Mara’s hair colour touched by time, her voice hedged—struggling to find its way to me
She had once tried to kill herself.
My flippant thought: Did you succeed?
She looked as she had.
An abandoned relic, bopped-up, surfacing
in her drenched memories—Arbeit macht frei.
The stench of horror clings to her bare flesh,
worn as a wetsuit of near death,
unwashable, unforgettable—always present,
dragging survivors in its spiral of dark desires.
Dipped in death like Lazarus.
One of many Juden,
Spun into the spindle of time
then woven back
into living memory.
Her lips caressed the porcelain rim of a teacup,
allowing her stream of consciousness to flow.
Each sip of thought occupied her scornful solitude.
The cozy, blanketed a tempest of hate,
steeping in a strong pot of paranoia.
A sole survivor, thinking of her great-grand children at the Supernova Sukkot Gathering.
Are they alive?
No word.
Memories placed her on life’s off-ramp,
detouring to the deadened horrors—rising
from the ashes of the Topf & Söhne ovens.
The gas shower of angst traded fears for tears,
fingerless gold rings of love and devotion—
marked as counters of the untold bathers.
Death, hunger and torture, the triple tyranny
of genocide that took her family—people.
Vanquished, now the vanquisher.
Ceaseless revenge inflicted over and over again.
Global tides of sympathy and empathy recede.
Justice silently struggles to calibrate towards
the untempered horror as horror begets horror.
Gaza openly parallels into a concentration camp.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
(Response)
What magnitude of love, thou hath for me
A flowing fountain welleth up inside
Overfilling my heart with love and pride
Merely mirrors the love I share for thee
Our two hearts were meshed by God's blessed grace
Our love strengthens the tie that binds our souls
Untempered by heaven, forever it grows
Immeasurable love through time and space
Countless stars will sleep, winds will rise and fall
My darling, I thirst and hunger for thee
Please bringeth forth thy love and comfort me
The love we share encompasses all
Such Divine love before unknown to man
Such true love shall never be known again
response to Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnet
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...
Feb 12 2016
Blessed read as two syllables in line 5
14 lines - 10 syllables per line
by Daniel Turner
Rising from the desert sand
was a shimmering mirage
of a thousand shouts
Heated winds of fanaticism,
intense and blowing violently loud
Shrill calls to blood prayer seethe,
breathing fiery invocations
of a perverted philosophy
Screaming death to the infidels —
a scarlet smeared mirror reflecting
black cloth covered savagery
Crimson prayers are the daubed untempered mortar
which cements the foundation of this shakily rising kingdom
Whet the glittering scimitar swung grisly:
Beheadings are the blade’s
propaganda recruitment shock TV
Desert crisis ... dreaded carrion claws of ISIS,
oasis mirage bathe the sociopaths in bloody bliss
Mutilated bodies floating upon the desert sea,
a raised dark flag boasts of a fleeting victory
Prideful utterances of unspeakable barbarity
Contemned caliphate mercurial rising ...
now descending quickly below the horizon
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
The sand castle rise to power was ever so brief,
a pirated religion kingdom soon to end suddenly
Taking hostage your own faith,
now the proselyte guards are
fleeing from the palace carnage
Crumbling desert kingdom,
butchery sow the seeds of your ruin
Innocent blood spilled in the sand
will be your caliphate’s undoing
Crumbling desert kingdom,
blood reap the harvest of your ruin
Let your prophets of terror and rage
shout a false sanctum call to prayer
Intoning not this one truth: God will surely repay!
Just another holiday coming round in the season
as the weather changes warm to cold.
A chill upon the body cooling the spirits
to tepid memories long passed.
Thanksgiving full of laughter
gatherings of family and old friends
at the table in prayer and gratitude.
Grateful to be here, saddened at the absence
who once filled our lives and chairs.
Christmas just around the bend
with lists down to the floor
not filled with need, just wanting more.
A multitude of lights, blinking and still
colors dancing on the wires galore
decorative memories well stored.
Here it comes once again the lighting of the trees
wrappings and endless tags present unseen.
Magic in the air, carols played continuously everywhere
hustle, bustle crowds everywhere hurrying with care.
Children good and well behaved, dreaming of all they crave
waiting less patient in untempered anticipation of the day.
Just another holiday, no, not quite
this one filled with wild-eyed delight.
So, happy holidays, good wishes to all
may it set your spirits free on Hanukah, Kwanza or Christmas
whatever day that encourages you to believe
may it bring you the love and peace God sends you on this day.
O brilliant son of the desert,
You rose through the maze of your House
With precision sharper than a blade.
The future trembles beneath your feet—
But power, untempered by wisdom,
Is a fire that devours its bearer.
Do not chase the glory of empires too fast.
Rome was not built in one day—
And neither shall a just Arabia.
You cannot serve two masters:
The West with its silver tongue,
And your people, whose eyes still hunger.
Choose neutrality not as weakness,
But as strategy.
Your true legacy lies not in gold towers,
But in lifting the soul of your nation.
Forsake not your brother, Iran.
To unite the Crescent is to raise a new dawn.
The blood of Gaza weeps through the sand,
And every drop asks:
"Where is our brother?"
Sunni, Shia, Sufi—one people,
Divided by politics, not by God.
To unite them is to write your name beside kings,
To divide them is to sow your own ruin.
Beware the advisors with smiles from Tel Aviv
And tongues sharpened in Washington.
They do not dream for you—
They only use your night to hide their shadow.
The Middle East can rise again,
But only if you learn this truth:
Real power is not feared,
It is trusted.
I was ten
And SHE was eleven
And the other was already gone long ago
But now we get happiness
Bad habits follow
Bad actions
Bad moods
Unprepared parents make
Untempered tantrums
The medicine is killing me
Why can’t I take control
Anger and Pain
Pain and Anger
A room filled with trash
But it's MY TRASH
MINE
Sometimes in healing
We cast our pain
On the people we love
Moms got medicine
She cries for yelling
I don't care
I don't care
Time to see the therapist
I HATE THIS
I hate this
It doesn’t even work
Why did you steal?
I don’t know
I don't even remember picking that up
School is tiring
I know what I a supposed to do
But nobody sees me anyway
That girl sees me.
I don't like it
She sees me and is rude
All the other kids get yelled at for moving
I left in the middle of class
Nobody noticed when I got back
Why do homework
It doesn't matter
Nobody looks at these grades
Why keep comics
If you can't read them
I don't understand why the packaging is important
I see that you are angry
I don't see how moving a book
From one corner to another
Is Stealing
But ok
Form:
It’s days like this that my mind returns to Raleigh
The pitch, sandy futon, and our intertwined deviant legs
Pushing for a fix
I for one goal, you for another
I would be more aware by the end of the night
of the smoothness of your forehead, and your full Latin lips
While you would know my hips
and fistfuls of my golden hair
We would each know the fire on our tongues
and the familiar feeling of a heavy mind, tossing and turning
chest to chest
I loved you, but was surprised to find your hands rough
and your lips untempered
Like a child, you indulged in me
without the mind for what I am, or the culture to know better
Though still, you press and carry me
under the door frame, to the floor
and as we rest, night continues to sink, like theatre canvas
And We are disposed to move
With your golden skin, you lie
As your fingers trace circles in my skin
I thought that you loved me too...
But when my mind returns to Raleigh
My thoughts return to you
and your cold bed, our swimming heads
and how at dawn, you dropped me off
My bitten skin looking redder in the tail lights