Short Commingled Poems
Short Commingled Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Commingled by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Commingled by length and keyword.
Commingled with the Self’s bliss storm
A pillar of light is our form
Around which myriad worlds swirl
As Self we, to God’s will conform
clear crystal gemstones
on borders and veins adorned ---
leaves stand grey-green commingled
sparrows stay cuddled
on these snow-filled silver leaves
both draw reciprocal warmth
10 January 2023
Om the chant that arises,
commingled with God’s surprises,
felt within as bliss magnetism,
which pristine presence cognises.
God has devised for us an ism,
illumining mind-body prism,
ushering deep peace and wisdom,
heart affirms as an aphorism.
assuming our heart is satiated
we shed our mask and don a cloak of light
commingled with bliss beats unabated
that thus beyond space-time drenched in delight
we look at the world afresh with clear sight
but although now diminished is our fear
we nurture desire so we are still here
If we abide in the Self, we are free,
else trapped in narrow cravings, we are bound,
so unshackling presence from our mind tree,
external impulses do not confound,
for we are at all times, in bliss mists drowned.
May we shine as Self, by day and by night,
commingled with fragrance of bliss delight.
Given that God alone is the all there is
and all manifestations are but a dream,
to find out who we are is then not a quiz,
for as we are bathed in light of love’s moonbeam,
from our heart bursts forth, a thunderous bliss fizz,
whence we see this world is not as it does seem.
When our eye is single, we are full of light,
commingled with bliss mists ushering delight.
There was soft
purring. Inviting but malicious,
when you entered the cave.
A bittersweet encounter.
Quantified. A new dna print
after a cyber attack.
Another turn of the Venus.
The whole world
has never been the same.
Anatomy of violence
was shaping the
future bêtes noires.
Stupid thing, our roots
still commingled with dust
searching the stone-deaf god.
Satish Verma
Unimaginable beauty:
I found myself walking alone
far removed from humanity
in a large meadow overgrown
with kaleidoscopic poppies:
oranges, blues, crimsons and yellows
each indiscriminately
commingled in this meadow
like an incongruous painting;
yet, in my eyes, a masterpiece:
A polychromatic blending
of hues quivering in the breeze
as I stood amidst the allure
of their stupefying grandeur.
As a child of God, we have His power
commingled with divine love, light and bliss
but since we know not, in fear we cower,
sinking deeper into desire’s abyss,
though our heart tells us something is amiss.
Recognising we are not body-mind,
we then play our life role as God assigned
as spirit ensouling organic form,
transmitting vibrations loving and kind,
with our eye mindful, touch tender and warm.
My daily ride to Sand Island
Is now a pleasant memory:
Beautiful, nameless wildflowers
Led the way on both sides of me
And their commingled fragrances
Intoxicated my senses-
Numb insubstantiality:
Reality doesn’t exist
in this fantastical stupor.
I was still mindful of peddling
But in an autopilot mode:
Safe, yet lost in dreamlike
Thought where past, present and future
continued in the same time-frame.
And, it tore through dumb claim;
the fakes had commingled with
the truth. Nowhere my soul
found peace.
One by one shadows were losing
their skeletons. The tarnished face
was forced to recant its nose
and shrank into hole.
Blood grievously turned grey
and skin tanned blue in fierce withdrawl.
He tracked naked in squall
of abuse leaving the eyes for blind rubbers
and bald wolves.Legs tweet, the child
is coming back home.
SATISH VERMA
Form:
Burned and bluffed,
Fooled and ridiculed,
Etched in her stare
Was a frostbitten frown.
Fallacies and fact
Mixed and commingled,
Truth was perception,
Betrayal was abound.
Heckled by hissing
Snakes that side-wind,
Unable to decipher
The colors of venom.
Fraudulent, fictitious,
Fabricated intentions,
The appetite of predators
Is growing unfettered.
Begging and pleading,
Carnivores are calling,
Relentless persuasion
Knock at her eardrum.
“Meditation on) Pranava, the divine sound of Aum, is the only way to Brahman (Spirit), salvation.”
~ extract from ‘The Holy Science’
The root mantra that pervades the universe,
is the gong of Om, the cosmic vibration,
within which if our attention we immerse,
we enter the vibrant void of cessation,
imbibing God’s grace with no need to rehearse,
attuned to the cosmic reverberation.
In time Om becomes our inner sound current,
commingled with throb of bliss beats recurrent.