Long Untempered Poems
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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
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.
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.
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 once believed my yesterdays were born of sin,
That every misstep carved my name in shame,
That fate, austere, had turned her face from me
And marked my path with sorrow’s iron flame.
I wore my errors like a crown of thorns,
Each memory a whisper of regret,
Until the hour your gentle presence came
And taught my wounded heart what grace had meant.
For meeting thee was never born of chance,
Nor fashioned from the recklessness of fate;
And thus, if thou art truth, then all before—
My faults, my falls—were never truly weight.
What once I named a failure, dark and vain,
Now gleams as stars that led me through the night;
For every tear I shed in silent rooms
Was but a flame that kept thee in my sight.
The roads I cursed for twisting far from peace
Were pilgrim paths ordained by unseen hands;
Each sorrow shaped the soul I bring to thee,
Each wound a vow thou alone couldst understand.
Had I been spared the bitterness of loss,
Or walked untested through untroubled days,
My heart, untempered, might not know the depth
Of reverence with which I speak thy name.
So let the past stand blameless, reconciled—
For none of it was squandered, none in vain.
If thou art love, then all that came before
Was but devotion written first in pain.
I would not dare revise one grief, one scar,
Nor steal one shadow from my former sight;
For every broken hour conspired as one
To lead my soul at last unto thy light.
Thus here I stand, unburdened by remorse,
My history made holy in thy view—
For I was never lost within my sins,
I was but being shaped to come to you.
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.
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:
The educational forest has thickened
I can't see the forest from the trees,
are they Republican or Democrat?
voices once spoke out without a doubt
a lost message loud and clear for change,
those voices have since been silenced
by the onslaught of time and age, untempered truths.
Who speaks now?
Is it only the loudest voices
shouting bullies and the braggarts
who wave and aggrandized their failures as achievements,
the gray men staunch in their self-centered ways
unwinding progress and holding time hostage
to the dreams and successes of yesterday,
the future of possibilities.
These are the times that try men's souls
looking back and tossing out the compromise
of a warring world seeking peace and conjoined hands
where power-hungry individuals take charge not to lead
but to satisfy, enrich and praise themselves above all others;
one giant step for the political bureaucracy
no small steps for the average man.
America is better than this.
Who have remained steadfast
Who wield strength when beaten senseless
Who dare to taste the ugly and unrevered
Who allow emotional currents to breeze by
Who carve the hairline fracture of knowledge into deep jagged untempered faults of creation
Who pause for the soothing rumble of a child's voice
Who take a stand when legs are broken and irrevocably unbalanced
Who play to win yet never keep score
Who think win-win is obvious and redundant
Who value shelter and engagement of all sizes and shapes
Who see the crystal godly images obscured by billowy smoke and heinous toxicity
Who sing and relish the quiet participation in the shadows of the common man
Who reach down when no one else will
Who pursue and dream even when time and humanity has rendered it futile
Who know the reason why we are called mankind
Who feel that all hearts should beat together as one
I salute you.
(3/5/12)
Daydream: fragile as untempered glass.
Coming to life on clouds' rainy sky.
Building hopes it will at last surpass
other dreams we had and watched go by.
Wind's rustling leaves can nudge a dream,
though often found in bird's lovely song,
dandelion seeds wafting by streams,
sunset's reds massed in brilliant throng.
When you capture a daydream to own,
it will need some substance to sustain;
strength of desire, with future unknown,
don't let strength falter, people disdain.
Hold tight a daydream, or it may fade.
Once released, it may not reappear.
If, for moments, it lingers in shade,
It may become mist and disappear.
November 22, 2022
for Don't Quit Your Daydreams poetry contest
by Craig Cornish
6th Place