Best Arc Poems
Travelling through life resembles an arc
We start out as a child emerging from the dark
To reach a crescendo
Establishing a tempo
Then sadly we all must eventually disembark
© Jack Ellison 2015
stelliferous arcs,
of chiffon-sewn cosmic chains
and rose-glazed silk yarns...
a tapestry of crystal ~
love-tendrils on eden's heart...
The Medieval era
was filled with wars and strife
between the French and English
at cost of limb and life.
The French became disheartened;
their victories were rare,
a humbling situation
which was too hard to bear.
A peasant girl heard voices
and visions she could see.
A maid who had a mission,
young Joan from Domrémy.
The King and other nobles
put all their faith in her.
This maid of calm composure
had dreams which they could share.
Entrusted with an army
she rode the horse she had
with banner and sword wielding,
in shining armour clad.
The English looked in wonder;
there were bewildered scenes
as Joan and soldiers entered
the city of Orleans.
With rousing words and courage
her men to battle led.
The English were defeated;
in disarray they fled.
More victories then followed,
her fame spread far and wide,
but when the voices ended
she lost the gift to guide.
In battle she was captured,
for sorcery was tried.
Condemned to death by burning
to wooden stake was tied.
The hungry flames devoured
the maid’s unblemished skin.
She called the name of Jesus;
found strength from deep within.
She died. It was all over
this heroine’s ordeal.
She was proclaimed not guilty
years later, on appeal.
A martyr, now respected,
who paid a costly price.
A victim of politics;
a saint in people’s eyes.
-------------------------------------
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
*Joan of Arc admitted that she never used her sword to kill anyone.
To her, strategy was more important than the sword.
sea-urchins in rock pools –
the flesh, a delicacy –
sparkle –
protected from the ocean
where anemones proliferate –
by a mist-glistening
heart shaped rock:
the keeper of my secrets –
a cache of memories
of mornings snorkelling
surface
eddy on the periphery
—homesick for my roots—
a keeper lost to shifting tides
white horses
masking risk in its wake …
a plastic wrapped sushi tray
on the kitsch kitchen counter
awash with the detritus of daily life—
a cold cup of coffee
milk skin
swirling like
liquescent marmoris
fluctuant under
fractured light
tender moments
where flaws hide in the spotlight
Laetrile induced
unsettling riptides
where occasionally colour swirls
marbling visions
the future liquescent …
I’m drowning in
proposals of memories
to be made with loved ones
family secrets to
be offered up
a dish that could be as
risky as Omakase …
smiling indulgently with my eyes
as a mirror-smooth ocean –
a north-westerly wind
whipping up the occasional white horse –
hides its turbulent depths
so a state of amenomania
settles over me
the final images
– as requested –
the secrets of my life
tucked away in an abditory—
eddying between past and future
the key to
unlocking it
—left in their hearts—
Joan of Arc – For God and Country
On the feast of the Three Kings was born,
a baby girl, in 1412, under the sign of Capricorn.
Destined to accomplish great deeds and achieve fame,
Joan d’Arc was her auspicious name.
A religious and political scapegoat,
her short life to God and country she did devote.
Fervently spurred by heavenly voices,
Joan’s fate was guided by singular choices.
She avidly believed in her mystical visions,
and was obsessed to fulfill her divine mission.
Each night she prayed, “Oh God, save France,”
until at last she was granted the perfect chance.
Leaving her family and the village of Domremy,
she pursued her destiny to defeat France’s enemy.
The “Maid of Orleans” with religious fervor and zeal
took a vow of chastity and her fate was solidly seal.
During the Hundred Years’ War, she took up sword and banner;
mounted on a white horse, arrayed in a white suit of armor.
Leading the French army to a momentous victory,
her rousing battle cry was, “For God and country.”
Abandoned by King Charles the VII and betrayed in the end,
she was burnt at the stake by French collaborators and English men.
Accusing her of witchcraft, heresy, and for dressing like a man,
at age 19, her life was all over according to their devious plan.
But even though her light was snuffed out by hatred and bigotry,
her exemplary courage and strength helped to unify her country.
Joan of Arc, a simple peasant girl, became a woman warrior,
and to the world a symbol of conviction, fortitude, and true valor.
Canonized a saint by Pope Benedict XV 500 years later,
Joan was named Patron Saint of France, rape victims, prisoners, and martyrs.
08-28-2015
Contest: Joan of Arc
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Placement: 2nd
Joan of Arc
HE speaks, and messengers appear
To innocence of one so young in year
The calling understood, she will not flee
Till France is free of English tyranny
The struggle long, a hundred years or more
An army tired, sapped of strength by war
She steps into the fray, new hope, inspire
Her words believed, the lighting of the fire
Hoorah, the trepid siege of Orleans broken
Triumphant Gaules their spirit now awoken
Battle proved, proud see her banner fly
On to the capital, her new war cry
Though the king be doubtful to her power
Sanctioned he, and blessed her of the hour
There, before the gates and walls so tall
Defending well, Paris refused to fall
Defeated, wounded, weary, drawn, down
Undone, alone, rejected by the crown
Falls into allied hands when out at large
Imprisoned to be tried, on falsehood charge
Religious order sent to set out court
To seek and force the answer that was sort
She, unwavering in her self belief
Her story standing gave them no relief
A minister dispatched to find (his) truth
Then shout her heresy from every roof
A thousand times the question fills her ear
A thousand times she answers without fear
Time was never going to be her friend
None came in aid or cared her to defend
Sent forth to burn in blazing execution
Inglorious was her perfect persecution
True to HIM her love would not betray
For HIM, at the stake, her life she lay
The passing years, gave her soul release
St Joan, now rests in reverence and peace.
An Arc to Heaven
Peace flows over my body
In calming, cooling waves.
Your words carry me to shore
Exciting, igniting my spirit
With sweet revelations of love.
My lonely heart blossoms
Slowly as dew drops awaken
With tender rhetoric shared.
They blaze, amaze my mind
With a peerless brilliance
As your verses elate my being
They delight, requite my most
Secret desires in poetic kinship
Which inspires, retires my soul
To soar high amidst the heavens.
7-21-18
*This poem is dedicated to the romantic poets at Poetry Soup
.
the wind has died down—
the ground s t r e w n
with nature’s debris—
autumn’s palette
a feast for the eye … a shelved chore
before the
inevitable miasma of dusty decay
teased by wind’s chilling fingers
that’s tasted in the back of the throat –
green and red leaves
scattered side by side—
a conspiritual cosying up
a compelling contrast:
youthful green, aged red—
although red leads the rainbow,
it
follows
in nature …
the beauty of old age
unfolds in the display of fallen leaves—
s c a t t e r e d to the wind
infinitely wiser …
Magicshow..........
.....
Token
title
to disguise,
memories
from stranger eyes
than the ones who see you now
tip your hat and take a bow.
you have fooled the greater masses
with your cape and opera glasses,
I ,
however,
know your name,
and the source of all your fame
Great Magician,
hocus pocus,
try to keep your world in focus,
you have found us through the ages
wielding warlocks and their sages
you desire to see the ending
of the arc of time you're bending,
Armageddon,
fades to black
you face the ending of the track,
come now
Merlin,
your disguise,
can't hide the darkness
in your eyes,
angels tremble in suspense
to watch the last of grand events
the stage is set,
the players rise,
the Dragon faces
his demise
and you must face
your own disaster
if satan truly is your master.
blinkered by formal training
counting bright abacus beads of syllables
mindful not to step on cracks—
rhythm is everything
the audience c h e e r s !!!
the runner-up jeers—
maybe next time the nexus of …
the bows and brasses displayed
along with my bruises
an abacus of pearls
c.a.s.t
on
w a t e r
that drowns out the h-o-o-f-b-e-a-t-s of
a P O U N D I N G heart
a trace of desire
slated at the font
of knowledge
concurrent with my past
laurels
I bow to your discerning palate—
you clap for
REPETITION
repetition
r e p e t i t i o n
but I do not rest
unlike Keats
my NAME
is not
writ in
w a t e r …
A wondrous arc, I beheld
Perfection in its form,
From what hand, or artists brush
Was such beauty born.
The teachers tell us what it is,
Just raindrops and refraction.
But my romantic heart,
Sees heavenly interaction.
Entry for
Rainbows Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
24/10/18. Placed 9th.
arc - parabola
life - our parabolic bow
ends that never meet
Joan was a girl who has the appearance of a boy. She was born in Domrecy of France into the peasant family of Jacques
d' Arc and Isabelle. She lived her life as a saint and saw a vision
to drive out the English who are gradually taking over the France territory and to get Charles the rightful owner of the throne be crowned.
However, she was an uneducated plebeian who lived her life with
dignity and honor. She declared her vision to Charles
but did not gain
his trust. She joined the army and became their
leader due to her
bravery and successes during her missions. She was ingenious and skillful despite, she never laid hands to kill yet her
vision was fulfilled; through this she got the king's trust.
Upon a campaign was sent by the king she was
captured by the Burgundian Faction who was allied with the English.
However, whilenegotiation of Burgundian with the English she made attempts to
escape, one of which she jumped from a high tower but her efforts was futile.
The King could not rescue her because he was bewildered and did not had enough trust in her. Joan was turned over to England at the cost of 10,000 francs. She was announced as heretic and
died a shameful death It lodged like stone within French army's heart
and her people but there was nothing they can do.
Some years after her case was raised by the king, they did thorough
investigation. She was finally declared as a saint and martyr. She was
embraced with love as infant within and outside her country including
the English countries and her roles in France can
never be forgotten.
17/9/2015
For contest Joan of Arc
Note: She was born in 1412 and died on May 30, 1431
She died at the age of eighteen approximately
nineteen years. She was
also known as "The Maid of Orleans"
The downfall of Joan if arc
After the battle at Orleans
Where Joan dressed in white armour
riding a white horse, took the town.
Making the Anglo-Burgundians
flee across the Loire River.
Joan's reputation gained ground
She and her followers escorted Charles
to Reims enabling Charles to be crowned
Charles VII in July 1429. As she had promised.
Later she tried to take back Paris only to find
that the Anglo-Burgundians were able
to fortify and defend their positions in Paris.
Come spring 1430 the king ordered Joan
again, to confront a Burgundian assault
on Compiegne, in doing so, she was upseated
and thrown to the ground, left outside the city
when the gates were closed.
Burgundians took her hostage with much fanfare
Her trial held in1430 where
she had seventy charges brought against her
Including witchcraft.heresy and dressing as a man.
The king hearing of her capture, distanced himself
After a year in prison, under threat of death,
Joan signed a confession
denying she had ever had Divine guidance.
Again breaking all rules she dressed as a man.,
Her death sentence was pronounced,
was burned at the stake
At the age of 19 in May 1431.
Her fame increased after her death
Twenty years later her name was cleared
By Charles VII.
Come 1920 she was canonised by Pope Benedict XV
She became the Patron Saint of France.
Penned 26/08/2015
I used to live in France, near the Champagne region.
My favorite Notre Dame cathedral is not the one in Paris;
Rather it is Notre Dame de Rheims.
After many battles, Jeanne D'Arc helped the Dauphin Charles
Be crowned the king of France there.
There are many statues in France of Jeanne D'Arc.
Most of them show her riding a horse with sword held high.
I've see that image in many Places in the north.
My favorite statue of her is in Notre Dame de Rheims.
She looks to be standing a vigil in her armor
With her battle flag posted behind her.
I've also been to Place Jeanne D'Arc in the city of Rouen,
Where the British tormented, interrogated, and immolated her.
It didn't look like a sad place, but I felt sad there for her.
I don't know if she really heard angelic voices,
But her story always inspired me--
Probably the only non-Biblical saint that ever did.