Antiquity Poems

Antiquity

If we'd lived in olden days
days of yore
the golden days
and I were a troubadour
I'd serenade you with my lute
unless I had a flute to toot
or go more than the extra mile
and sing a song to make you smile
not with the end of a lance
would I beg my lady's favour
but gallantly request a dance
mayhaps a carol

A Boastful Mountain

"Arrogance, a harmful disease,
                                 Never keeps human souls at ease
             

A tools loose in Britain'

Oh farage do give it a rest..' at last things are more quiet
Yet you have to beat your chest.' How much did you cost?
Who has paid your price.? You turned your back and are
Part of the pack..While Tommy is stuck; in the jaws; of their
Vice..I ask you hold that thought for a moment..If its a
Thing

The World of Colours

Children like bright colours
And so kindergartens and nurseries
And so shopping items
And so youngsters
And so tourist centres
And so food and souvenirs
And so bright photos
Colours brighten up hearts 
A sign of hope,happiness,confidence
Freshness and life
But too much artificial touch 
Will lose the naturality of scenery 
The classic beauty
A quiet elegance
The history of antiquity
An appreciation with time 
Anyway natural

Antiquity

I feel like an antiquity
some relic from the past

crumbling at the edges
eroded over time

aging has arrived
There are fissures in my proud steel plated armor

once invincible
reality is bringing with it a heavy blow

it creeps upon you
like a stealth thief in the night

now you berate yourself
for being caught unaware

new words slip into your vocabulary
things like “possible stroke”

a

Antiquity

In my blistered ruined mind 
I build odd gods, old! 
They sit in irregular rows,
In a crooked cathedral ,

Like a pantheon of ornate oddities! 
Each one dusty or lost, I have forgotten
Honesty…!

Cracked white china and blue filagree…
Each a stony façade,
Carved eyes hollow, staring! 

Absolutely hollow and odd… 
Staring like little divinities!
Sitting in irregular rows.

In a

The Wild Wind of Antiquity

The wind is come to sojourn once more
Delivering tidings from far away, yonder.
It expires its breath and wheezes veracity.

Eyes may not see but ears are alarmed
As the wind calls out its blustery voice
And those who listen will know it well.

The legend told is one of timeworn myth
But nought can change, save for illusions,
And he who

True, a Myth-And-A-Half Ever Since Dim Antiquity

True, a Myth-and-a-half ever since dim Antiquity

     “Breathes there the Man with Soul so dead
     Who never to himself hath said
     This is my own, my Native Land”

True, a myth-and-a-half ever since dim antiquity
Who breeds and holds the brood in binding sanctity
Isn’t s/he

Flower of Antiquity

Silken seas
pouring chromatic,
waxing floral
in scented bliss;
ecstasy of 
godly kiss
is jubilation,
they reminisce.

Woodbine entwined,
elegance refined;
eternal hearts
enraptured 
like minds.
Chrysalis ever
so divine in flight.

Dragon dreams
transcending 
light-play’s
mesmeric seas;
rapturous cacophony
tranquility played
with ease.

sultry flows
yet to compose
aesthetic dreams, 
in natural repose;
then awaken blossom
of newborn rose;
heart of Egypt’s
majestic Pharaohs.


5-7-2
All Yours (May 9) Poetry Contest021
Brian Strand

Nature of Man

Until the cap is won, effect of heat on reasoning remains unknown.
Until the palace is visited, that comfort creates discomfort is undiscovered.
Until power is tasted, that corruption is a genetic disorder remains a fallacy.
Dereliction, never  a power disability, but a long inherited trait in ANTIQUITY


The Lion hectors the antelope
The Antelope terrorizes the grass
Strength uncommon

Who Has Ever Survived His Death Since Antiquity

Experiencing trials and hardships along the way,
For four years I’ve witnessed the truce in full play.
The nation’s at stake as the willow catkins in a gale,
My life is the drifting duckweed hit by rain or hail.
The defeat at the Panic Beach panics me constantly;
Passing the Lonely Bay, I feel even more lonely.
Who has ever survived

Pictures of Antiquity

Standing proud are the buildings they’ve erected
Bold and tall, contemporarily dressed
in concrete and metal attire
Architects of the future
laying down their visionary foundation in the present
Rising up from the ground
are their impure skyscraper dreams of global domination
A false resurrection,
that in due time will be torn down
				Can’t you see it?
Look at the ancient Roman Coliseum,
a picture of

Antiquity

Memories

Renewed by scene

A heart carved in sapling

Mighty red oak thirty foot high

Heirloom  

Memories can be pronounced mem-o-ries or mem-ries

Power of Antiquity

If power of prayer dusk come of flame 
what make for a good lunch her love

If money could no longer make a bridge would a throne still appear
piece of pieces does not lack wood

Is a walk a walk but how long does a paste paste time can timid 
out paid a disguise 


If lighting could

Reflections Into Antiquity

“Hoc est quod Isidorus”, she said,
As I ate Swiss cheese
Wrapped in a starch fold,
While blatantly returning a nod. 

Never grace my table
With your impurity.
Is it finished?
Indeed!

Something supercilious waxes the eye,
and you beaming go.
I stay for the gladiator match.
But all around I see hordes.

She said there was a transcript in the mail.
But I laid down my

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