"loftiest" poems
O Buddha, the gold vein of thy sermon of mercy ran through gloom-gorged, rocky hearts, and illumined their darkness.
Thou loftiest soarer of renunciation's skies, beneath thy God-lifted eyes, the kingdom of sense-comfort, the rivers of gross greed, the vast and lust-scorched deserts of desire, the tall trees of temporal ambition, the cactus plants of prickly world-worries—all melt into invisible smallness.
Buddha, the arc-light of thy sympathy sought to melt the hardness of cruel hearts. Once thou didst save a lamb by offering thyself in its stead.
Thy solemn thoughts still silently roam through the ether of minds, searching for ecstasy-tuned hearts. Seated beneath the banyan bodhi tree, thou didst make a solemn tryst with the Spirit:
"Beneath the banyan bough,
On the sacred seat I take this vow:
Let derma, bones, and fleeting flesh dissolve;
Until the mysteries of life I solve,
And receive the all-coveted Priceless Lore,
From this place I shall stir, never, nevermore."
Thou symbol of sympathy, incarnation of mercy, give us thy determination, that we may seek truth as doggedly as thou didst. Bless us, that we may be awakened, like thee, to seek remedy for the sorrow-throbs of others as we seek it for ourselves.
From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
4.8k
We're all just a massive mess of energy
A beautiful, massive mess
And that's just the brilliance of it!
Times and times retold of our divinity,
Of our ancestors painted by the stars,
Of glory untold
And oh the glory!
That you may see it
Or even hear the echoes of its glorious memory resound across the heavens
And the loftiest of them all being our mind
Singular, not plural
For we have but the same mind
That we are moved by the same passions
That we are subtly subject to change
Oh, our malleable souls!
That we aspire for the Heavens
So we may get to soar freely
And yet dance to tunes of a heathen kind
Such is the hypocrisy that we've been raised to uphold as daily norm
None being the lesser!
For had it not been so, then with God you'd be this very moment
As Master, nature springing to your tunes
That you'll master all as Did SoloMon
Tense just being one of our many creations
So through this wake up call,
I beg all of you to arise from your deep slumbers
Your virtual realities whose bounds you artfully set with decided deliberation upon your mind
Wake up and see that you are infinite!
Wake up and see that you are divine!
Wake up and see that you are gods!
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
Dark polished stones line the divine walk of power
Demanding fresh blood from diplomatic feet
Where haughty arrogance meets unpretentious humility
Introduced by an arbitrating street
The loftiest of fences steadily lines the walk of power
Dishonorably straddled by a shameful few
Who never make any honest attempt to choose a side
Or contemplate existing truths
Comfort reigns securely in their warlike peace
Balancing upon those fences
Until humility overpowers and demands a stand
Leaving arrogance with no defenses
Balance fails eventually atop the fences of the walk
A diplomat’s feet must make a stand
Straddling the fence will never polish power’s stones
Come down and walk and take command
Aug 26, 2010
Aug 26, 2010 at 7:35 PM UTC
*thinking oft of alighting into dreams
whose rides go through loftiest-clouds..*
Upon the gilt threshold, it appeared - a waiting carriage
and passing by, along the broken road, came Zachary
through gentle-haze, it struck him - the face of beauty
Came nearer.. only for disillusionment to take him by the hand..
Zachary’s lament falls on the thunderous roll of carriage
as it leaves the water’s edge..
ripping out his heart-eyeball and throwing at open lightning-sky
He chokes on dust-particled truth-beads piercing heavy-air, doubling over
Zachary, oh Zachary.. who are you?
too many ill-winds
blow rude-breathe
rack and shake your life-cage
try to unseat your heart’s-core
*a gentle-prayer comes across the way – and takes your hand – leads you to the side
it shows you how redemptive-answers lie on the light-ripple on the water
go quietly beneath and
you’ll find yourself..
in time*
S T – 15 Octogonic-day 2013
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 2:47 AM UTC
This mighty empire hath but feet of clay:
Of all its ancient chivalry and might
Our little island is forsaken quite:
Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,
And from its hills that voice hath passed away
Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,
Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit
For this vile traffic-house, where day by day
Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,
And the rude people rage with ignorant cries
Against an heritage of centuries.
It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of Art
And loftiest culture I would stand apart,
Neither for God, nor for his enemies.
1.4k
© 2010 (Jim Sularz)
I am neither man nor woman -
or naked flesh and blood.
I journey at the speed of compassionate thought -
without limitation or boundary.
I draw near only in peace and I will reshape the world -
like no great army ever could.
I am Christmas, 1914.
I am gentle and childlike -
a joyful melody in the hearts of young and old.
I am spirit without malice or hate -
a mother’s undying love, a father’s embrace.
I reign above the loftiest mountaintops –
dwell in the silent depths of blue oceans and seas.
I am Light eclipsing all other lights -
to heal and comfort those in need.
I am all-knowing and eternal -
the universe, my heavenly abode.
And upon my divine mantelpiece,
I affix - all things beautiful.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 8:11 PM UTC
I cannot replace a loss like Kathy
Who inspired my world of rhyme
Who encouraged my neatest metaphors
And urged me take the time
She cheered me to the loftiest
And made me reach plateaus
I never even knew before
I'd have the will to go
She was a poet and an angel
This human in disguise
She touched my life and made me see
A world beyond my skies
She kept my quill original
And made my words more wise
She'll come by I know she will
Each time my fire dies
Copyright Louis Brown
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
Hit me hard and break my heart into a million pieces
Cause only then will you see how much its worth
Don't settle for a dozen scraps, a hundred, or a thousand
Strike with passion and leave a mess upon the earth
Then watch me as I pick up every piece that was scattered,
From the loftiest clouds they perched, and crevices they slipped
Now take them from my hand and hold it in yours all together
And feel the weight of the million pieces that you had ripped
I want you to see how they still mold and form the same original shape
How a million pieces could be reattached and still reveal a heart
Yet, do not mistake their lightness for instability or lack of focus
They can also be diamond tough; my soul is the fortress, while it, the rampart
Its not some plastic easter egg thats only as good as its design
Not a false brittle shell, with a hollow and empty core
Each piece accounts apiece, a full apple with no worm
Every heartbreak meant to make it, love even better, than before
So if you're looking for commitment, let that be the trial
I'm not promising it'd be easy, it can only be worth the pain
It's only in shattered hearts, that subtle thoughts are brought to light
Neither the first nor the last, but I'd repeat it all the same,
If you're the one I'm about to gain.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC
A frailty of quick sand
a deep gap in the immense land
away from clover green
secluded nature's earth
daily seen this dry dusty scene
we have been listening to most touching songs,
psalms, hymns and of magical singing
great person of simplicity
mind match of a genius
man from Mars not from Venus
from dust you are to dust you go
to the Lord's scenic spot
eternal life you will have, it had been said
you are still living amongst the dead.
Worthiest prayer ever heard
loftiest words oftentimes birthed
saddest meanings in every word.
One thing we may rejoice
like Abraham in the Holy Scripture
you left myriads of your own,
from your humble creature.
High Almighty God, most grateful to You,
that You cared for Pieter and led him all time through,
he died once, was resurrected again and now with You
he chooses to go to his beloved époussée
and asked for your permission
while waiting this transition,
all of a sudden he was knocking at your Door,
You received Him at once with greatest love and more....
May he rest in peace, husband, father and engineer,
Pieter van der Werff, the Dutch buccaneer !!
© Sylvia Frances Chan
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 4:45 AM UTC
When proud ones boast
Of all that is loftiest
In his faith,
In her flag,
In the hue of their skin
The Devil licks his chops
In lustful salivation.
When caring souls
Reach out to offer
A bowl of rice,
A healing dose,
An understanding ear,
An open heart
Satan clutches his dry throat
Gasping for air.
August, 2006
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
There's never been a middle ground for me.
I can be terrifyingly drowning in my insecurities and self-pity one minute
then the loftiest songbird, soaring quaintly without worries the next.
The grey must be a boring place.
And in all optimism, surely there is someone who will accept me
for all my madness and sanity.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
i'm lost somewhere familar
looking at ashy knees in
bath suds with disdain
rose petals sprinkled away
have the loftiest abode
have the airiest dresses,
but i never had auburn tresses
like hers
i was charcoal in
comparison
one of the desert girls;
candles flickered the way
she'd bat her eyelashes
bringing hands to my eyes
i lie on the floor
and i lie to them more
a nightgown hangs the way
the pale moon
did
carpet kissing my bare feet
rosy knuckles grasping a storm
the lake foams over in it's wake
who saves you now
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 7:03 PM UTC
Time to wax lyrical,
Time to shout from the rooftops,
My words rolling like thunder
Across the whole wide world.
No mardy moods
Or negative vibes.
Time to replace killing with care
Hatred with love
Tree chopping and ploughing
With planting and wild growth.
Let emotion sing as music
Love and care
Musical words
Called poems.
What are we doing?
What are we doing with our planet
And it’s folk?
Aliens from other worlds might ask
And wonder whether to intervene.
Re-education is required
Getting us back to the ways
Of Mother Earth.
Teaching us to let go
Of our egos
Our lust for mere goods
And territorial land-grabbing.
It’s not what you have
But what you make of it
We only live once
And not for very long
So I say again
Love life
All life
From the tiniest ant
To the loftiest tree.
Enjoy a giraffe
And savour the aroma
Of a bower surrounded by flowers.
Let’s grow more forests
Teeming with life
Clothed in mysterious mists.
Unite together
To end poverty
And strife
Cease all wars
Treat everyone with respect
As equals
All free
All loved equally.
Paul Butters
© PB 29\11\2023.
Nov 29, 2023
Nov 29, 2023 at 3:33 PM UTC
Ancient Seat of Versailles
Sweet shimmering palace
Place of majestic mirrors
Reflect the grand beauty you store
So that each vision
Is distorted and deformed
Yet still retains the brilliance
Of picturesque perfection
Like Capitalism unsoiled
Or Socialism Unspoiled
A duet of ideas
Promising the good life
The great life
Heaven, before it was hardened
By revolutionaries of reality
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 6:37 PM UTC
A conversation of depths so deep
Where thoughts are free to swim
An all-encompassing embrace
Of
Ideas and Imagination
Where the significance of human life
And contemplation of of the future alike
are discussed and sunk in memory.
A conversation of depths so deep
that open and intoxicate the mind
with the loftiest of realizations
and cradle it gently in epiphany after epiphany.
That quench the thirst for knowledge
with oceans.
How I long for one.
Would you care to talk?
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:08 AM UTC
will you remember me as the scent of lavender and pine,
a long embrace of wild flowers that sends your mind
into the silence of the forest.
will you remember me
as the golden hour tip-toeing its way through your blinds,
stretching it's warm fingers to touch your jawline,
laughing
all tangled in saffron sheets. will you
remember me as the sound of river summersaulting over stone and wind to reach your feet,
a wordless song
of change flowing freely.
will you remember me
as the taste of promise in spring's first peach,
an overwhelming sweetness,
the whisper of heat.
will you
remember me
as the taught reverberation of
metal string
against air,
the pulse
of love
returning
to itself
again
again, again, again, again will you remember me as the touch
of skin on skin during the rosy hour of midnight,
the magnetic kismet of feeling in flight.
will you remember me in the small moments,
alone
in the hidden corridors of your heart.
will you remember
me in the in between
of stop
and start. will you
remember my voice lilting 'round corners and downstairs
to kiss your eardrums.
will you remember the easy silence of mid-afternoon dream bums.
will you
remember my rooftop and spontaneous embrace and forest fire love.
will you?
will you remember?
remember me,
memories in a chromatic key,
the push and pull of harmonics on heartstrings,
the all but lost things
of a poet's loftiest dreams.
a rush of unspoken loving.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 4:13 PM UTC
atop the high mountain
in the rarest of rarefied air
the greats all congregate
their pillars marked
with the word
phenomenal
to ascend
to this location
to be amid
their finesse and style
one must strive along the miles
a foundation of sturdy bricks
one establishes
here on this earthly ground
to enable
a rise to the locale of the immortals
who reside in the loftiest
of celestial surrounds
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
My loftiest dreams,
My deep desires
Seem sure to fall and crash
Upon the waters’ dismal shore,
Beside the ocean vast.
The countless grains of sand that stretch
Beyond my eyes’ perception,
Represent the broken hearts
Destroyed by man’s deceptions.
I cast my mind ‘cross the dunes of time
Not finding life, yet seeking mine.
I get turned back by castle walls,
Finding that all reason falls
Far short of my expectations.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
…But I fail to grasp…
I really do.
And I fail to write too
about the colossal confusion
in my mind's realm.
To be free must always create glee.
And freedom, consequently,
must incontestably be
the loftiest of all bounty.
✽
…But then they say:
Do not run away from your instincts
…of survival, love, anger, ***
for if these instincts were not of value,
nature would not have given them to you.
And I muse: Is it true?
Is it?
this incomprehensible link between being free
and the ineluctable visceral slavery?
Won't it rather be that no sooner than you begin to try
to attach (or detach) value to this view or the flip-side
freedom…would indubitably fly
…away?
And then they say that one must surrender.
And thus I agonizingly wonder:
when the mind doesn't wish to unwind
…to let go…
and you bully it to do so
you still cannot be set free
for it is only they who say:
Whatever you resist
shall persist.
✽
And I fail to grasp, I really do,
the cryptic intent of this concentrated glue
of chaotic desire and cardinal instinct
inherently inbuilt
by nature's very own inscrutable mechanism
in (wo)man's puppet-like plight
and then making salvation
the sole noble right
of a free spirit.
✽
An afterthought mulishly survives:
Why?
Dec 11, 2019
Dec 11, 2019 at 10:10 PM UTC
Oh no, far remote-
I am not a poet though
poetry I write
as I know
I am but a tiny bit of sand
somewhere on the poetic shore
not worthy to be noticed
to be washed away by the tide- no more
than a fallen leaf
from the giant poetic oak
that has stood so majestically and serenely
with the loftiest and most sublime voice it spoke
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 8:18 PM UTC
Often, I lose faith in it. Sometimes, I believe in it. And always, do I want it.
A sinking feeling that bellows in my core, yet a spirit uprooted into something more.
It’s a quicken in my step, and a leap of faith, it is something that makes my whole heart quake.
It is a sign from above, some may say fate. It is flutter in my gut, the butterflies that await.
Though, my heart feels heavy at times, and not all of my words seem to rhyme.
Every now and then, there is an ache. A subtle reminder that love wasn’t ours to take.
So if this mistake still makes me shake, I wonder if this concept is real or fake?
Even in my darkest hours, my loftiest of days, my belief in love always remains.
Beyond all the pain, remorse, heartache & fears. I must believe something’s worth all the tears.
For each day, paths crossed with whom are unknown. To us, another face on life’s winding road.
Could the next passerby be the one I look for? The only person ever to make my spirit soar.
If this great love is finally found, will he know just how much my heart leaps and bounds?
Will he smile at my jokes & hold me when I’m down? Will he always be around?
Will I be the first person he wants to see when he awakes and the last before he lies down?
Will I be all he wants and nothing more? Will I be enough for him and never a bore?
Will he want me beside him forever and always? To have & to hold for each & all our days.
Often, I lose sight of it. Sometimes, I am frightened of it. Yet always, do I want it.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
When the old man was a sailor
When food was served, before cleaning pots and pans
the old man when young, went out on deck to see the sunset.
A dreamy that is if a tempest wasn't blowing,
gale in the mighty Pacific reduced the bravest to shivering gnat.
The old man was a cook not the loftiest type of work, whoever
wrote a book titled:” The adventure of a ship's cook.”
The old man, when he was young, got up early to see the sunrise
before frying eggs and bacon, not forget baking bread; and receive
the insults by frustrated, womenless ******
But he was there in all the oceans, their tranquilities and fury,
what was left was serene evenings alone in his cabin read great
novels about audacious voyagers.
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
Above the silhouettes of pines,
with needled edges blown and wild
Heroes collide!
Virgins and damsels are frozen in stride
Together by inches they turn in the sky
And brilliant the moon in her loftiest place
Diana's face aloft in space - and under her eye,
mahogany tables set out in the night,
wearing her light
Draped in her rays are the myriad faces,
Strangers in pairs and amid conversations
In gestures and signs and in whispers and mimes
Their stories take flight - I'm enthralled by their
tales uttered into the night
Here where the pines are as tall as the sky
Where the moon will forget all our faces
If I had their ear or if I had their graces
I would share in their solemn and secretive phrases
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 9:36 PM UTC