Best Historical Poems
Absolute truth, both mystery… and paradox.
“You make me wonder if you exist or not?”
The Greeks glimpsed you in circles and squares,
The medievals revered you in scriptures and prayers,
The moderns doubted you in so many facts and proofs.
Absolute truth
your a hidden treasure in the dark.
I’ve been searching for you with a lantern and a map.
Absolute truth, a misty mountain peak,
We’ve been climbing towards you
with a rope and a pick.
Absolute truth, a real puzzler
and a wonder.
We’ve been solving you with a clue and a key.
The enlighteners searched for you
in nature and reason
The romantics sang about you
in passion and vision
Whereas existentialists certainly questioned you
in freedom and action.
Absolute truth: are you actually still alive and relevant today?
You’ve been inspiring us with
your beauty and your grace.
Absolute truth, you are most diverse and multifaceted.
You’ve been expressing yourself
in every culture and every race.
Absolute truth, you are so complex and yet, paradoxical.
You’ve been challenging me
to question and embrace.
The analytics dissected you in symbols and many signs.
Whereas continentals explored you
in history and culture.
Yes, those postmoderns deconstructed you
in relativity and plurality.
Absolute truth, you invite us to seek
doubt, affirm, and critique.
You show us the value of
curiosity and humility.
Absolute truth: you challenge us to
dialogue, dignity, listen, respect, and appreciate.
You teach us of the importance of
diversity and empathy.
Absolute truth, you call us
to transcend, transform, love, and willingly serve.
You lead us to the ultimate goal of harmony and peace.
The scientists explain you in matter and energy,
The believers proclaim you in faith and grace,
The artists create you in beauty and meaning.
But the needle spins wildly, a chilling impart…
"Absolute Truth is a compass with a broken heart."
THE RESTLESS SEA
As dawn swept 'way the morning stars
A gloomy Helen glared
Poor Paris stood in silence-- watched--
He’d kiss her if he dared.
The sea was raging round their heads
The men rowed without cease
The lovers headed to their doom--
A myth is birthed in Greece
Ten thousand ships launch in pursuit
Rough soldiers flex their knees--
Today hunt thieves tomorrow queens--
Men do what kings will please
The soldiers puked and gambled hard
Twas boredom that they feared
A seasick trip was just a jaunt--
The Trojan shore appeared
The glory grew beyond Troy’s walls
The truth no one can trust….
Dark tragedy writ in the books--
Tis flung among the dust.
Victoria Anderson-Throop
1/14/13
Butterfly wing door vestibule builds anticipation
Shuffled, carpet muffled greetings, familiar embraces
Piloted by Holy Spirit, seated hushed congregation
Ritual of ornate cathedral thanks hidden crypt rib cage
Enduring centuries, pliable sandstone testiment
God's following holds time proof tenacity
Flared proud corners, pyramid reminiscent
Honour continues amidst shifting society
Solid oak panelled door on wrought iron hinges
Greets round barrel key bearer with ominous groan
Down four slouching stone steps from street edge
Solo visit in sacred space never partaken alone
Curved bookcases cater for leather bound learning
Volumes of theology define best ways
Nook with desk lets liturgist imbibe God's word
Tall back chair, acorn emblems engraved
Beneath majestic vessel, clay damp chamber
Rhubarb velvet curtain, tassel tied to sides
Strongest entity relies on the Lord as Saviour
With worship's dedication, faith survives
In expansion, searcher emerges at alter, cleansed
Hive of etched arches tribute precision architectural
Vibrant robes, sashes draped, silken beacons
Of preparation, celebration of overcoming, renewal
Pulpit's ingrained memory both daunting and welcoming
Deep set lead light showers sombre pews in intimacy
Haloed Christ holds baby, shares parables with children
Crease covered hymn books strum procedural symphony
Written July 2020 (no previous submission)
Submitted for : Brian Strand
Completely New Volume 23
on 18th August 2020
Chases me down a paint-stained alley.
My feet are swollen—maybe someday they’ll rot
Exhausted from the brush stroke agony
I seize when the light forces itself upon me
When will I decide to turn myself into dust
Deranged is what I seem to be
They locked me in a rage-filled scene
Hearing petrified, hate-charged screams.
Peering through the curtains as I wake from restless sleep
Staring at a starry night
It sings me a melodic, stunning melody
Maybe the air that flows through my lungs
Perhaps the heart that pumps my blood
Is not what I truly need
Maybe a pistol will give me ultimate peace
Perhaps a bullet will allow me to foresee
As I lay near my brother
I don't sob, I don't plead
The life I lived wasn't for me
“The sadness will last forever”
It won't be cured by remedies
So I must cut short my legacy
The rope that strangled me with miseries
My death is not a tragedy
Oh what fun it is to watch the surreptitious actions
of the globalist elite,
And the open mouthed innocent ignorance of
their following sheep.
Feeding the pseudo enlightened masses
An Epulaeryu of lies,
on their table labeled “comfort zone”,
readily digested as alibis,
courses as to why the unethical repetitively
Nation crashing status quo is eeriely historical,
and now the state of current events is indeed
historically, an ominous, telling.. Future Oracle.
.
I am Sphinx Stone, Sun stationed statue
silent sculptured synoptic, not marble or
granite nor black tourmaline or crystal
timelines cutting cross my magnetic
magenta miracle to dissipate in dry
desert winds, my gaze unmoved
as quizzing quantum queens swirl
around a Blue Planet ascending
Sphinx Stone gathering goddess’ goodness
whilst slippery Sophi-el sprinkle sparkle
Nile evaporations down Sumerian
phantom phœnix photons
here I stare broken-nosed across vast
expansions exiting or entering dual
portal claws hot rooted into Violet Flames
of Mother Earth belying my etheric origins
Did Leo descend from helium heavens
painstakingly perfect from His tumultuous
gut with goblets of gold, goblins gyrating ?
ask you may North African secrets slither
no soiled sounds to simmer in sandy
storms or scarlet sunsets spreading
spells, silence my singular speech to
skulls of pharaohs or peasant alike
I am Sphinx Stone, my silhouette
signposted in simple or significant sigils
Saturn’s starlit sighs bypass not my
knowing aloof yet vacant stare which
agelessly gather stories of aeons
imprinting dreams of God into manifest
luminosity becoming your words on lion
bones or this ephemeral page
Sphinx Stone I see sabian riddled profiles
making prolific progress patterns filled
with steely grit, come now release
agitated ages of bygone bitters to
prick or paddle dimensions where
appled anemones sing my stare into song to
swallow swiftly sweetly slivers of sanctities
I remain Sphinx Stone stable
unsullied forevermore
A HISTORICAL EVENT
It happened over 2,000 years ago
But the story is still being told
About a man that you may know
A man great to behold
Considered by some to be shunned
Yet by others, He was adored
His miracles caused some to be stunned
By others, His feats were ignored
Some failed to believe of His virgin birth
While others knew it to be true
The only perfect man ever on earth
Who died for me and for you
To save us from a lake of fire
If we place our trust in Him
To spend eternity with Him, we should aspire
Or our future is looking quite dim
The life of this Man lives on today
In the lives of His loyal believers
This historical event is here to stay
Regardless of numerous deceivers
Yes, Christ is the Man I'm referring to
Born of a young virgin child
Conceived of the Holy Spirit
Born so meek and mild
He can save you from your sinful life
To a life of victory
Relieve you of the load of strife
This man of renowned history
9 October 2018
For the contest sponsored by Lu Loo
A Turning Point In Life Is Equality
Writings in a Black Perspective....
The day will come when all will be the same color
The mingling with the neighbor
Just like it was in the beginning
No one will have a rainbow blinder
Harriet Tubman, born a slave
Devoted to save
Those that wanted freedom
Not sold or enslave
Jackie Robinson was given a rough time
For being black in all white baseball teams, in his prime
Couldn’t not sleep or dine with his teammates
At anytime
Rosa Parks sat in the front
Of the designated black section, indignant
She refused to give her seat to a white passenger.
She was arrested for the incident
I went through life suffering racial discrimination
So I harden my soul because of rejection
A turning point in life is equality
And our salvation
3/16/2015
Sun spots glow on saucer eyes
thrown as green disks to the sea~
Fall gently, so gently on mirroring waves
of reflections I once thought were me.
You aren't anybody to the plinth in the workforce.
Of course, I know of your success.
My money does not have anything to do with you; therefore, why negate a
nation’s wealth.
If you just would abide by the Constitution, your achievements are '
insurmountable.
I came via statute of law, but you violated them all.
In these historical times, there will not be a walk.
I will, however, step-to-the-cause.
Your stance is cruelty.
Your voice lacks depth.
You are a mammoth in society through social injustice.
No law has been applied and the freedoms of humanity are threatened.
You were the Judge who did not preserve the Seventh (7th) Amendment.
In these historical times, I am a trailblazer.
I will watch from a skyscraper.
You state emotional distress is the fabrication.
You state the summary of this all is damages made.
You said I am nothing but a Pro-Se Litigator, insofar as your voice means
nothing within this nation,
You are just a native-born child whose life has been negated.
In these historical times, I am the biblical generation.
An era of gist that is socio-political and socio-religious predefined by a socio-
economic existence, I attenuate you with strength and know that justice will
prevail.
This will be documented throughout antiquity.
____________________________________________|
PENNED ON OCTOBER 14, 2014!
Near nice allies need
to confront this beast in the
moment to be brave.
Not in a memoir
when you’re 75 and
few feet from the grave.
For colored people
and all people of color
start a whining wave.
Why do we still fight
for the same civil rights of
nineteen sixty-three?
Did you know Comcast
is fighting against the rights
of Black and poor folks?
Look it up yourself
know what is going on around you
find a cause to fight.
Use your pen and voice
raise your voice and write it down
vote a righteous cause.
Organize your block
note differences and respect
put judgement on pause.
Let’s make it better
you and I together to
help correct the flaws.
A war between David and Monalisa,
Continued even after Last supper and Last Judgment,
The two great Renaissance men – Leanardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo
The creators of murals also the heroes of healthy quarrels,
The men who knew the values of art,
I wonder! why they failed to look each other’s heart?
The kings of contemporary art – may be covered their chest with armor and clothes.
At the height of pride – there was no chance for a fall on his opponent’s sight.
A long running spat between the Mighty artists,
When! When! When! Started…?
When David was victoriously installed in Florence - or
When Vitruvian man gained more prominence?
What made the friends of art turn the foes of heart?
The contemporary architects painted their ceilings – with
Colourful egos, animosity and rivalry.
Always the work of Da Vinci acclaims incompletion – may be
He felt not to rebel with walls.
An obsessive observer of nature – Leanardo
A scientist, inventor and philosopher.
A forceful expresser of anatomies of men – Michelangelo
An architect and poet.
Both mastered all the arts but never , never the other’s heart.
Two idealistic men, depicted realism,
One gave life to science – the other
When touched the dead materials came to life.
Whether Meticulous Michelangelo or prototype Leanardo - they revolutionized art,
The magicians of 14th century worked only with their fingers –
Only with fingers - the magic still remains disclosed .
History feels proud to carry their names,
The two great kings who fought lifelong to capture -
The throne “Best Italian Artist”, never failed to keep their masses
Astonished and happy through their artistic administration,
Though years passed, still they remain seated in our memories as undisputed ‘Conquerors’.
July 9, 2016
Historical rivalry-Part 1- Leonardo vs Michaelangelo
Sponsor - Marugu Mo
Historical Nature Preserve
There is an ancient resort at the wooded site
of Mohonk Mountain House, where olden times invite
us to enjoy a beauty that is not finite;
the woods and paths within this silvan setting cite,
a charmed, venerable retreat of pure delight.
Mysterious, how lake reflections show the might
of steep stone, rugged cliffs that double in sunlight.
The depth of beauty of the rambling woods excite
the climbers to achieve top of the mountain height
and walk the lovely nature trails at first daylight.
Since eighteen sixty-nine, a much-revered highlight
for visitors to come and bond with nature's rite
at this historical reserve; be it campsite,
or indoor stay with lush Victorian insight,
where comfort, ambiance, and beauty so unite.
Tranquility is felt in all that's good and right
within this nature paradise both day and night.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Monorhyme
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: 05/21/2016
Required words used: ancient, silvan, venerable, mysterious, tranquility
~ roses are red, and ...
violets are VIOLET
not blue! Can we talk?!? ~
;-
)
“Saint Joan Of Arc The Maid of Orléans””
“Jehanne la Pucelle”
Joan of Arc a pious peasant farmer's daughter
In her times alone, she spent it in adoration
~
Ten year old Joan runs in joyful play
Through the field of red poppies
Taking a shortcut through the forest
Anxious to get to her father's farm
~
Sunlight burst with wind and the sounds of voices
Blowing through the tendrils of limbs and leaves
"Save France from her enemies and bring them back to the hands of God"
~
A young uneducated woman with no military experience
Gave hope to a monarchy and brought unity to a nation
A fearless inspirational warrior that never raised her sword to kill
But to give hard clouts to trollops and run them off from camp
~
Under divine guidance Joan Of Arc a seventeen-year old heroine
Of the Hundred Years' War between France and England
Led battle after victorious battle
~
Those that praised her ended up plotting against her
She was captured by the Burgundians
~
The English then purchased her and charged her for treason
By ecclesiastical court at the English stronghold of Rouen
Furious at the audacity of a young peasant girl
Could be a battlefield commander and could bring down a country
They couldn't charge her for her victories
So they charged her for with witchcraft, magic, impiety, and wearing men’s clothes.
~
To the very end at the cemetery of St-Ouen
Facing death by fire
She claimed she was guided by voices from God
She asked for a cross kissed it and held it to her chest, repeating
"Jesus"
"Jesus"
"Jesus"
~
She was burned alive
9/12/2015
Joan Of Arc, nicknamed “The Maid of Orléans” is considered a heroine of France for her role during the Lancastrian phase of the Hundred Years’ War, and was canonized as a Roman Catholic saint.
Born: 1412 Domrémy-la-Pucelle, France Died: May 30, 1431