"sublimely" poems
#*It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”
Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
#*There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
God will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
*She's like deliquescent caramel,
the cool side of a pillow
to lay your weary head,
subtleties of springtime &
warmth in wintertide,
whispering hope upon lush
Zephyrus pipe dreams,
mellifluous nymph with wings
of a butterfly warrior,
softly determined,
unfailingly true-hearted,
whilst relentlessly ferocious
Wise, yet sometimes struts
blindly in the light,
as dulcet tones of a cello's
melodious marmalade
in sentiment's tender fancy,
she's beauty, charm,
knowledge, poetry,
utter strength,
& humane weaknesses,
she's twisted and ethereal,
her aura sublimely captivating
you may covet her body,
you'll never possess her soul*
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles
Of forest night had hid eternal things,
They scaled the sky with towers and marble piles
To make a city for their revellings.
White and amazing to the lands around
That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose;
Crystal and ivory, sublimely crowned
With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows.
And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang,
While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains;
Never a voice of elder marvels sang,
Nor any eye called up the hills and plains.
Thus down the years, till on one purple night
A drunken minstrel in his careless verse
Spoke the vile words that should not see the light,
And stirred the shadows of an ancient curse.
Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield;
So on the spot where that proud city stood,
The shuddering dawn no single stone revealed,
But fled the blackness of a primal wood.
9.9k
In this new world so connected digitally
Online with your smartphone or desktop continuously
Every touch or click with your fingers sublimely
Connecting messaging chatting seductively
Rush of dopamine brain lives ecstatically
Bits and bytes that rise and fall emotionally
Waiting for physical touch earnestly
LDR love seem to be extraordinarily
Yet to see LDR grows into LTR eventually
Dec 29, 2019
Dec 29, 2019 at 7:23 AM UTC
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
The moment you were born
were summoned to Earth
far from heaven.
Far no more, no more
heaven is now an open door
close to the believers' souls!
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
The moment did you dip
your toe in this mortal soil.
Mortal no more, no more
it becomes sublimely
the most beautiful of all!
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
The moment you breathed life
your perfume stirred the water
the meaning of life is obscured
no more, no more
it’s all clear like the full moon!
Peace be upon you
Peace be upon you.
East to the west
you are the best.
The leading light
shines at the fore.
'Rahmatul lil Alamin'
Mercy to the world.
for the mankind
for the evening star
and the morning rose
you brought peace to all!
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 3:18 PM UTC
444
It feels a shame to be Alive—
When Men so brave—are dead—
One envies the Distinguished Dust—
Permitted—such a Head—
The Stone—that tells defending Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of Him we—possessed
In Pawn for Liberty—
The price is great—Sublimely paid—
Do we deserve—a Thing—
That lives—like Dollars—must be piled
Before we may obtain?
Are we that wait—sufficient worth—
That such Enormous Pearl
As life—dissolved be—for Us—
In Battle’s—horrid Bowl?
It may be—a Renown to live—
I think the Man who die—
Those unsustained—Saviors—
Present Divinity—
6.9k
JOHN KEATS’ LAST POEM WRITTEN IN ROME ON 21st February 1821*
(From The Imagination Of The Writer)
I am fading, fading fast, Fanny, my love eternal
Far away from you and home
I am dying, the hours I am counting
In what I liken to my grave that is Rome.
All that I seek in this dark loneliness is solace
Moments of respite thinking
Of you and our past exchanges of affection
Dissolved by fate with our hopes descending
Unto the oblivion that had been pre-ordained
Tears are comfortless and what is to come
Is but this pain that seared love must bear unknown
Only self-felt and suffered without end that renders my heart totally numb.
I can’t understand and it defies reason
The human heart should bear so much pain
While the tranquil stars hold so steadfast and the song
Of the nightingale drifts so sublimely in every sweet refrain.
Youth once gaily clothed in such beauty but now
Grows spectre-thin and here is but fret and fever
Where the old and infirm hang their heads down
In tearful reminiscences of happy days that have fled forever.
And now, my ***** my only love, you alone in this
The saddest schemes of things should share
This my life so wretched , lost, unfulfilled and joy-bereft
I beg forgiveness, only remember my poems—sorrow let us silently bear.
John Keats one of the greatest English romantic poets died on 23rd February 1821 in Rome, aged twenty-five
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
*Be I worthy
To hold my head above the clouds in your eyes
In a sky blue horizon
She sips nectar with the
Hummingbird queen
In moments of gentle surrender
But still I ask
Am I worthy
To watch upon thee
In these moments so sublimely tender
Spiraling tears of court room jesters
To old to perform
To young to die
Be I worthy
To hold the jewels which bind thee
To the ground
With which you freely walk
See her watching the waves
Which beckon her fate
Sweet necter of a dawn so new
Crystalised in the breathe of angels
Breath upon my cheek before I fall
Sweet mother of life itself
I be worthy
I have never been so sure*
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
long live your rivals
for one is your idol
buddha is my jesus
and dharma is the bible
now what i have up here
is something new to your ears
actually listen to me
now let me begin
write a new rhyme
man find a new sound
you can't even believe
this **** that i found
all these things on my mind
everyday
they make me drown
in my thoughts
everyway
my imagination wonders
around all over the place
think about the universe
how did man begin to learn in this space
i'll go on about the mysteries later in time
cus i'm slightly ashamed of myself
i believe in all these things
my momma can't perceive
things my momma can't can't even believe
i shouldn't worry about what she thinks
*** i'm just doing what i do
i'm being all that i can be
but i can' help but think
that i keep on making julie drown deep in my thoughts
i just can't stop and think i'm lettin julie down
down to somewhere we never should have been
*** i can' help but think
that i keep on making julie drown in my thoughts
long live your rivals
for one is your idol
Karma is my jesus
and Buddha wrote the bible
now what i have up here
is something new to your ears
actually listen to me
now let me begin
listen to what i say
no you don't believe
*** man i'm slighlty insane
i may have to say
the acid opened up my mind
to all the things
that man cannot explain
but people looking down
*** the man hides the truth
from the masses
for what they claim
is for the good of us all
but in reality
its just misconstrued
perception
they want you to believe
but you know i always dream
what is reality
spend my whole days
only to realize
theories, ideas and such
nothing concrete
only things to think sublimely
when a mind feels ashamed
you just need a signal
to release all these gains
django unchained
metaphor of simple self contain
let me to believe
that everything that i conceive
is just a method
that leads to compassionate leave
letting julie down is no relief
its just brings pain to my soul
everything that i perceive
long live your rivals
for one is your idol
Shiva is my jesus
mother earth wrote the bible
now what i have up here
is something new to your ears
actually listen to me
let me begin
Long Live your rivals
for one is your idol
the space is my jesus
and the time wrote a bible
now what i have up here
is something new to your ears
actually listen to me
let me begin
Long live your rivals
for one is your idol
Reality is my jesus
perception wrote the bible
now what I have up here
is something new to your ears
I hope you listened to me
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
Crow was watching ......
......with his toothless grin .
Biding his time ......
...... he then stoops in .
He knows more than you may think ,
it all reeks of a ghastly stink .
No matter ! With your false truths ,
your lies betray you , So Uncouth !
So now ... When you are alone ,
be safe and wise ! Know the Unknown .
For crow is silent and cares not ,
Has his revenge already been Begot ?
Victims ! Aren't we all ?
Those Who rise sublimely ,
Only to find their fall .........
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
Heaven
. . . Have Mercy . . .
Rest, rest, rest, for ye be none,
pitiful Fallen One.
Quivering bows flow over grave strings
bassoons and basset horns ring
pounding timpani’s announce:
Master of the Holy Choir
- - Renounced - -
Vain, fluttering heart
sublimely denounced, scorned;
fouled, ousted:
Horned.
Wailing strings, bassoons,
basset horns, thundering kettle drums
lift angelic voices to glorious requiem.
Pleas for Eternal Light’s remain
in wings refrain.
Heavenly Chorus' cradle to sustain,
mercy to soften
disdain.
The Holy Oracle contests --
to no avail.
Siblings’ choir protests.
Beauty beyond measure,
Angel of pure, Divine tessitura,
Absolution for Thee?
Foretellers of dark illusion
open Holy Scriptures to reveal
the drone of Eternal Damnation:
trumpets of ill
drag Thee to Hell.
Deep, ephemeral rhythms
exalt dancing strings,
seal destinies -- Kiss The Almighty King.
Glory be unto His Majestic Reign,
Will Supreme,
Tremendous,
Powerful, Holy Being.
Scribes record,
recite this dreadful day,
condemn Thee: Fallen One.
trumpets lament, strings mock
this unholy, forbidden way.
Bows flutter -- a memoir
of redemption.
Cries of confusion
dissipate
into muffled choirs,
murmurings
of deliverance.
Delicate chants
beg for forgiveness;
a Soul’s salvation, fusion.
To no avail!
Turbulent strings strike the Holy Duel
in wrath, writhing hatred,
majestic wings tumble --
twist to wrenched ******
Death devours, Birth becomes
the Fallen One.
Angelic dissolution --
distraught, agonized Ethereal,
Eternally beautify
these ghostly, trembling
winds, strings, harpsichord, drums.
Voices of brotherhood remembered,
cushion Angel’s earthly descent.
Breathe into infantile genius
heavenly symphonies
to sweeten a life
trapped, scorned,
condemned,
mourned
Love of God: Amadé
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
So...there's this girl who's rather smart
that, when her lips begin to part,
drives me up the wall in a good way.
I sort of want to see her everyday.
She's usually busy though,
so I occupy
time with one constant sigh
until she calls and then I go.
I don't really know too much about her ---
she's Aphrodite's caricature! ---
no,no, that's a bit rash and inflated,
but in my stomach butterflies've congregated
each time her face comes to mind.
Severely interesting,
her hands are often clean
and she's never proved less than kind.
I think it might be good to write her a song
(I should've been writing this all along)
so that she'll feel sublimely delighted
and is happy, though consistently derided
by the upkeep of her garden's flora.
She could use a lot
of things uncommonly wrought,
like poems stuffed with anaphora.
*In time all the snowflakes will evaporate.
In time the sun will sleep under an iron leaf.
In time acetylene darkens human hate.
In time all time will seem quite brief.*
So, in honor of her I have created
this mediocre song so dominated
by use of the Yeats-stanza's rhythmic-rhyme,
offering it to her as ends to the crime
of my deplorable mannerisms.
I hope it's well-received,
being arduously conceived,
but I'll openly accept criticisms.
Coral, though you must (and do) work a lot,
work harder at those things which can't be bought
(i.e. relationships, love, and empathy)
for even the natural workaholic bee
requires mutual love.
Even while working
find a small moment to sing
this song. I hope it's enough.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
*All I Am
I keep it sublimely real not living in a rush. Cos future belongs to me. _I live to make better thangs & make thangs better._ Reality the only place I go. Nothang had my prudent pen, _but to poured out some naked truth. I live 4 all I am._ All I am my personality. you see even my name chants my identity shine in limelight. _I'm a star, I live aboveground I shine in the moonlight._ Remember me eternal realist poet. When _you_ walk in the light!
--- Cloudnine Fairmane*
Sep 17, 2022
Sep 17, 2022 at 3:16 PM UTC
She said:
I am neither witty nor a beauty,
nor illustrious nor an actress
so if u take me u must be either
a ****** or reckless.
He said:
Well, you see i have met countless sleeping beauties
all of which utterly enchanting and bighearted
but not one such a dauntless daredevil
that she leaves a spartan fainthearted.
Never described as prejudiced or foolhardy
she would faster swim the English channel naked
,and she will do so sublimely,
than see a crime or sin go unstated.
If all you have to offer,
is what you are now
then let me tell you that is no bother,
and only say Wow.
Cause you are totally original
nothing short of awe-inspiring,
absolutely phenomenal
and so worthy of this ring.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 7:03 AM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphorias of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix are pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 11:35 AM UTC
They number the benches
they, those who need to have order
and know the when and where
of all things
The sage of bench 33
doesn’t really ever see
the brass plate with its proud threes
he covers it with his frock
as if to sublimely mock
the “theys” who need to believe these
graphic creatures keep the world
from tilting too far on its throne
The sage of bench 33
was once a number watcher,
he too counting the ways and the days
to find their sacred sum
but now he only counts
what really counts…
the steps to his next meager meal
the coins in his blue chipped cup
and the stars he can see
from bench 33
on moonless nights,
amid the frenzied frights
of those “theys”
who number not only their days
and the checkered concrete ways
but also benches for the holy homeless
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
God visited our house last Sunday
a bright papaya orange butterfly
welcomed Him,
fluttering in loops like a kite
as He stepped out of His car
Embracing our dear friend Jon from
New Jersey
He entered our pagoda
indeed, not as a guest but
as an embodiment of God
The early afternoon was garlanded
in loving, intimate, animated conversation
and a delectable lunch was served to our
beloved brother
This was topped off with nectar sweet
chocolate coconut prasadam
Everything from matters of the spirit
to soul stirring S.R.F. devotional songs
chanting sublimely
suffused our heavenly day
Even the backyard birds turned out
in large numbers
their cocky red, brown and
sky blue heads
peeking curiously through
the patio door
craned to catch a glimpse
of our divine companion
Jon, His mellow, prayerful eyes
blessing all His gaze fell upon
leaned back comfortably in
the recliner chair
like a long lost friend
returning home ~
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Maieutic dreamer, the ecstatic euphoria of cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix is pandemic. Extravagant exorbitances of flirtatious flamboyance and flippantly flighty flit-ness. But what of stint-ness snities? Excruciating exacerbations of laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous tediums. Synaptic syntax is fervently intense like a feral phrenic frenzied **** Ruminating humanity’s collective consciousness gives me hysterical deliriums. We’re frenetically febrile, atrociously impetuous impudents who don’t know our id conclusion from our impromptu innuendo juncture. And what of the organizational principles of our subconscious continuums? Do we only dream about dexterous articulation? Can we become the agile acuity we envision or do we wallow in the drifty drivel of dour droll’s dreary? What’s to phatic say about futurity fatidic’s forlorn wanton? We need chutzpah, moxie savvy’s panache. Is there no such thing as a universally acceptable ontological deontology? Probity is as obvious as due yesterday, ethology’s entelechy the omnipresent reward. Elan vital is not subjective, it’s objective. Explicating epiphanies of social contiguity’s prospectus so innate as to be irrefragable. Not perhaps the oligarchies of eclectic synectics, but perhaps the pugnacious audacities of emote to exude aimed imbue. Assay relay’s convey, foray delay purveys inveigh. Perhaps if we are all cogently fecund with our vituperatively vociferous the holocaustial cacophony of our obstreperously abstruse will be just what the grotto grouch gumption ordered. Infusing all with the capability of aspiring to higher powers and yet not forgetting the mystery of self and others. I know I know what an ingratiating sycophant on the introjection. Gambits of alluvium aloof impunity when we all know immunity is Epicurean absurdity, but I already covered that on the phrenic aimed holocaustial cacophony. Seriously of we all enunciate so on the diction of mesomerism's to punctual. Why can’t that be the essence of accidence ambience acoustics, the arbitrational attenuation of actuator's aorist. We are not ethereal, we are corporeally preternatural and the sooner we all learn to respect each other to that the sooner we can get down to the sublimely surreal in oneiromancy’s apotropaic panaceas.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 7:19 PM UTC
Baby it is time to reflect another memorable lovely year
Today I wish you the most joyous Happy Birthday ever my dear
Let's celebrate for all the selfless love you shared
To all dearest to your heart whom you so much cared
It's your special day birthday girl ever so gorgeous
Beautiful heart 'N mind that always will be so ageless
Many Happy Returns of this beautiful day so dear to you
Now to me as well since my heart that your true love drew
To you only one inseparable sublimely connected soulmate love
Limitless love happiness health 'N joy I ask from Gods above
So fortunate I feel to have you as my own each day of year
Today I wish you the most joyous Happy Birthday ever my dear
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 10:51 AM UTC
*When you write in prose, you cook the rice. When you write poetry, you turn rice into rice wine. Cooked rice doesn't change its shape, but rice wine changes both in quality and shape. Cooked rice makes one full so one can live out one's life span . . . wine, on the other hand, makes one drunk, makes the sad happy, and the happy sad. Its effect is sublimely beyond explanation." - Wu Qiao *
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
The poesy of chef's soup du jour,
peppered in a skillfully
pauperized simmer
or sublimely enriched dish of
ultimate truffle butter grandeur,
tastefully rendered in the
aromatic broken bread of
delectable poetry's bouquet
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
Purely noumenal or epistemologically maieutic? Existentially transcendental transmogrification, transmute, transude, transubstantiate. Spiritual apercu’s incarnate. Infinite possibilities eidetic prospectus perpetrates incorporeity ideology’s perfectible ontology. Elan vital’s entelechy’s apotheosis. Psychic clarity’s evolutional ascension. Perpetuity’s adamant tenacity. Sentience’s inevitably irrefragable logistical tactician. Preternatural’s ostensibly immortal fecund. Yes, lie with me and I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind with mesmerizingly enrapturing ecstatic euphoria. Sublimely surreal futurity fatidic and decadently arrogant blatant flagrancy. Incorrigible atrociously impetuous impudence, pusillanimous no. Enthrallingly endearing sensually demonstrative flirtatious flamboyance. What’s to extravagant exorbitance portray……… exserted protuberance’s indefatigably indomitable. Sexuality’s infrangibly latent virilities, erotica erectile errantry’s hubris! Feral phrenic frenzied ***** salaciously seductive.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
Some days I feel it slither within me,
a sickness, a serpent, it writhes to be free
some days I feel like a dark cloud,
like a shroud upon this world
like the wind that whirls around your shoulders on a cold octobers day,
like the smell of fresh decay,
some days I have to say I that I feel I've gone astray from the path
and taken it upon myself to release some sort of wrath,
to take vengeance upon society for turning a monster like me
loose in the world to play,
I feel like I need to administer some sinister
right away, straight into my bloodstream,
I need a full dose of dream within a dream,
nightmare scenes,
I have been known to say that I often,
feel like sleeping in a coffin,
and that sometimes I feel sublimely surreal
and inhuman like a demon born of a dying fire,
Voracious and with no desire
But to bleed dry everyone I find
If I feel it eases my so called "troubled mind"
Oh, I can't say that I don't
yearn for blood and souls,
some days
But mainly I'm just angry enough to take it out on me
you see,
it's such a trip to be,
the hero and the villain of your own story,
no guts? then it's just not gory enough,
so I gotta get tough, cause it's an army of darkness I'm standing up against,
and I'm lacking the proper chainsaw limbs for defense
and I could use at least one shotgun,
so I guess I can stand and fight,
go kicking and screaming into that good night,
or I can run,
************ run!
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
Rhapsodic moments
Sublimely rising
Singing
Blissfully blending
Piano notes
Exquisite, sweet
Rapturously surging
Precise and pure
Tumultuous as the rain
Overflowing
Rippling, rolling
Thunderous drums
Effulgent, ecstatic
Crashing crescendos
Rising and falling
Passionate sounds
Exultant, blissful
Harmonious melodies
Serene and sensuous
Tender as a kiss.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 12:31 AM UTC