Best Staircases Poems
~ATLANTIS~ Featuring:) Kelly Deschler
-------
Can't be re-written by the Gods
The land and sands of time'
Destroyed by the fire of Poseidon's curse
Atlantis swallowed by: Earth
--------
In one day and one night
Peaceful existence met its end
Built on a volcano, now surrounded by ancient rippled tears
Lava stripped apart the rich and glorious empire
Enriched by Engineers and Architects whom loved power more than the Gods
Forgotten souls, sheltered by a watery grave
History withheld from shallow sunken memories,
Western sky's hide the truth, a vision from the Pillars of Hercules
"An island situated in front of The Strait of Gibraltar"
Ghostly ruins wait to rise above the Mediterranean and Atlantic Waves
A magical island held down by the hands of death,
~
Atlantis lost city walls ---a secret hidden by mermaids
Partially buried, beneath the ocean floor it lies
The largest sunken treasure never to be found
Magnificent pillars of an imperial palace still stand
Somewhere hidden under ancient sand
Some are leaning against turrets, that toppled after the impact
Nothing human will ever inhabit these walls
No feet will ever touch these staircases, again
Only an eerie silence now resides here, with the blue-green waters
Seaweed grows along it's outer walls, like ivy on a trellis.
Obscuring it even further from the human eye.
~
Other ocean tides will never compare
Tantalizing blend of fantasy and mystery
Stone walls covered with precious gems
-Listen to PLATO'S voice-
"Look close, Look close, into the sea!"
Through the light and Pillars of Hercules
Some where out there buried in the vast
ATLANTIS THE PARADISE
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
Fantasy sold on a 50’s bottle cap;
a party-girl side-saddle sits
on a double-edged crescent moon
up high —a silver scythe in glamour-night-sky
corners of her cherry mouth tilted up
her left hand raises her glass a toast to the stars
frothy head of champagne-beer flirts
with lips spooning the rim
right hand holds the bottle instead of reality
look! no hands on a razor’s edge
precarious hilarious
a redhead with bouncy-curls and a flouncy-skirt
boot-heels over head when she laughs and Oops! falls
clouds catch her without friction and pillow her fiction head ~
but you with wild escapade eyes fell hard
fell
hard
far beyond Earth with not a soft cloud to cushion you
glam-allure just a sexy lore a filthy lure
but once you’ve been star-dusted and angel-dusted
it’s all the same…
vintage Miller bottle cap
a perfect circle like the fattened moon face
leering through broken windows
shards glitter the floor like fallen constellations
your black pearl eyes two muddy puddles
life drained through rows of tiny needle holes
slip-knot above your elbow just tight enough
your pulse beats its fist against the restraint
—pounding —pounding —pounding
impatient to be bled and fed
you and this dragon’s den a dilapidated pair
abandoned and without family
you share the blank stare of broken windows
veins collapsed like crumbled staircases —
empty inside of empathy and dreams..
a junkie’s spot where shooting stars crash
embers in your bloodstream turn to dust
— you cook in a rusted bottle cap by candlelight
candle’s glow your Sun in a dirty universe
with your teeth you pull back on the syringe
this house unused by the living a cold corpse
but in the warm rush of your skin’s flush
your gaunt gray body melts like hot wax
pale horsehair walls a slouchy silent witness
... your soul escapes as it scrapes across the floor
flurries sneak through broken windows
whirl of wind whistles on its rounds like a jailhouse guard
rattling beam-bones jangling ghost-bones —
user-litter kicked around like a pile of old brown leaves
burnt fingertips and a junky "High Life" bottle cap
all you have left
There are different levels of truth
I climb
Staircases
That
Go
Far
Beyond
Comprehension
Reality is made of thoughts
Spiraling and humming
Like they are something
But in the end
They are all just ideas
Driving to nowhere except
Waiting to be found and
Put into motion
Heights of control
Shift to third and go above
Everyone is an enigma
I fall in affection
constantly
With myself
Metamorphosing
Who am I to ask of perfection?
I is always capitalized
but what if
i is i and we are we, and he, we together
make something different, completely?
Manufacturing lines put together
Vehicles that take soul imprinted notions
on midnight drives by the avenue
Sell them to the Lord, to the Devil
'Tis all the same
For goodness sake, heaven is simply
What we make it
It stood on the top of the hill
dominating all of its surrounds.
Its drawbridge these days lay open
spanning with ease the now dry moat.
Like a fairy tale fortress it had turrets
that soared up high brushing the clouds.
Its four towers majestic as blankly,
they stared, covering all points of the compass.
Slit windows peered out of casements
through walls up to six feet thick.
The massive double oak doors
fifteen feet high and twelve wide
stood thrown open allowing glimpses
of the enormous courtyard beyond.
Battlements led to each round tower
that once housed the nobles.
Old battered forgotten furniture
grandly carved four poster beds.
A sword or two lay scattered
amidst the clutter and bird dropping.
Wide stone staircases meandered
curling round and round the walls.
A gallery or two dotted here and there
perfect hiding places above the hall.
Some for musicians to play unseen
Their notes floating through the air
as below the dancers swept and strutted
as the ladies hooped dresses swirled.
Long tables once laden with food
stood a skiff with broken legs.
Wooden pint tankards higgledy piggledy
strewn about midst wooden platters.
Tattered standards limply lay motionless
against walls dotted with scattered torches.
The Lord of these lands killed in distant lands
leaving an infant son removed to the city
by his grieving mother who sought to forget.
Now ninety years later his grandson views
the devastation of years of neglect and vows
to return the castle to the glory of its heydays.
After three long years of often brutal work
removing shrubbery, moss and decay
Life starts to re-emerge Flags flutter
gaily high up on the battlements.
Chandeliers sparkle and the torches flicker
Tables once more groan with a feast of food
Happy shrieks of laughter fill the grand hall
And one would swear the castle wore a smile,
as children played around the buttress's.
Xmas enchantment
White flakes falling from grey winter skies
Flocks of daffodils beneath snowy mounds lie
Rivers of red candy canes flow gently by
Along evergreen banks, dew covered grasses,
lighted trees and sparkling wine
Covered with bows and laces
Sitting round hearths and fireplaces
Covered in quilts lying in their beds
Children dream of warm kitchen counters
decorated with mountains of treasure,
cookies, cakes ,and pleasures
Ginger bread men and sugar plum fairies
Dance with visions floating in their heads
smiling chocolate faces melting sugar
with passionate kisses and soft gooey embraces
Long stringed bands from every land
Serenade lovers and places with unparalleled restrain
Stringing chords from haunting refrains
Under blue moons and starry skies
Where soft whispers lead to lovely lies
Blood races with wine and champagne
The night unravels exciting lovers and friends
Couples planning extravaganzas travel
Staircases covered in pine scented garlands and laces
Leading to pleasant places, dreams and fairy tale lands
celebration halls with room to dance
Spreading the cheer to every face
Or any kind of differing race
Merry Christmas to one and all
Doorway to dreams that decorate slumber,
Is entered by minds letting go.
Drifting through spaces and mythical places
Flirting with fear and incredible chases,
Down long empty hallways and up endless staircases
In search of the answers we know
Then flowers of fantasy brilliant and fair
Blow all their rare petals to dismal fields bare
Pull back from the snake whose bite isn't real
Watch for the enemy close at your heel
All is in blackness nothing to feel
Float upwards and upwards beyond, danger's way
Plunge suddenly, swiftly to cold light of Day
Written November 2, 2015
With my back against the wall
I fall
Down never ending staircases
That spiral down below
To seas where books float downstream
Along open pages reflecting past memories
Spinous leather bound by visionaries
Bookended and upended
I'm nothing but a cog
A pawn in this epilogue
Rosencrantz and Gildenstern are dead
And with them I make my bed
Lost in the littered pages of history
My life is bordering the brink
So does it matter what I think?
You'll miss me if you blink
Writing this book in disappearing ink
When the sky above's azure blue
the grass below Irish green
My thoughts straightaway turn to you
Reflections of visions
yet to be seen
Winding lavender staircases
intimate moments shared
powdery-snowfall embraces
adventures yet to be dared
Parting kisses linger
'til dawn's warm sun intrudes
touching my lips with your finger
flames' fancy thus fanned ne'er subdued
A collaboration with Linda (Poet Destroyer)
Atlantis
Can't be re-written by the Gods
The land and sands of time
Destroyed by the fire of Poseidon's curse
Atlantis swallowed by: Earth
In one day and one night
Peaceful existence met its end
Built on a volcano, now surrounded by ancient rippled tears
Lava stripped apart the rich and glorious empire
Enriched by engineers and architects whom loved power more than the Gods
Forgotten souls, sheltered by a watery grave
History withheld from shallow sunken memories
Western sky's hide the truth, a vision from the Pillars of Hercules
"An island situated in front of the Strait of Gibraltar"
Ghostly ruins wait to rise above the Mediterranean and Atlantic waves
A magical land held down by the hands of death,
Atlantis lost city walls...a secret hidden by mermaids
Partially buried, beneath the ocean floor it lies
The largest sunken treasure never to be found
Magnificent pillars of an imperial palace still stand
Somewhere hidden under ancient sand
Some are leaning against turrets, that toppled after the impact
Nothing human will ever inhabit these walls
No feet will ever touch these staircases, again
Only an eerie silence now resides here, with the blue-green waters
Seaweed grows along it's outer walls, like ivy on a trellis.
Obscuring it even further from the human eye.
Other ocean tides will never compare
Tantalizing blend of fantasy and mystery
Stone walls covered with precious gems
...Listen to Plato's voice...
"Look close, look close, into the sea!"
Through the light and Pillars of Hercules
Some where out there buried in the vast
Atlantis the Paradise
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Linda, I just wanted to say thank you for allowing me to write this awesome poem
with you. I truly appreciate all of the support that you have given me since I have been here. It is sad to see such a talented poet leaving the Soup.
You are one of my favorites, and I will miss you very, very much, Linda.
Always & Forever, Kelly
The Imaginary Man by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
The imaginary man
lived in an imaginary house
in the midst of imaginary trees
on the bank of an imaginary river
From walls which are imaginary
hang ancient imaginary framed paintings
irreparable imaginary fissures
which recall imaginary events
which took place in imaginary worlds
in imaginary places and times
Every imaginary afternoon
he goes up imaginary staircases
and leans over the imaginary balcony
to survey the imaginary landscape
which is made up of an imaginary valley
surrounded by imaginary hills
Imaginary shadows
approach from an imaginary path
singing imaginary songs
to the demise of the imaginary sun
And during imaginary moonlit nights
dreams with an imaginary woman
who offered to him (toasting) her imaginary love
once again he felt this same pain
the very same imaginary pleasure
and once again began to palpitate
the heart of the imaginary man
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
The invitations have been sent out, and the venue is sublime
A Castle in the country oh how I wish that it was mine
With sweeping staircases in the entrance hall
Crystal chandeliers, oh its perfect for my ball
The guests will arrive in their suits and dresses
Their masks are in place – I hope no one guesses
Dancing by candlelight it is so romantic
Not like at a discothèque so fast and so frantic
I’ve got the most wonderful caterers in the west
Their canapés are amazing, simply the best
Ice-cold champagne served in a crystal glass
It really is apt for a party of this class
It’s secret wedding party for when my beloved and I say ‘I do’
The only thing missing from my surprise party is YOU
07~20~14
Written for Rumor has It Contest ~ Sponsored by Judy Konos
~awarded 1st place~
As the staircases creak
The noise echoes and scares
Worried spirits may haunt and sneak
Hearing the drip drop
Afraid it's not the rain
That comes from all around
Feeling a chill in the air
It's not the weather outside
Is it spirits to bring fear
Then comes the night
Feel a hand's cold touch
There's no one in sight
The hand reaching out
It must be a demon
You begin to shout
Behind you eyes appear
It must be a Spector in the dark
You can see no body there
Consumed by fright
Run while screaming
From this house that night
Day lilies assorted and bright
With flox flowers purple and white
Crisscrossed expanses of soft green lawn
Thus was my first April day born
Palm branches the worshippers brought
Lining staircases and streets
As they ought;
Red Cardinals, Florida grass, hydrangeas, lavender
Scenting the air, aurelia and ferns; violas and shrubs
Daisies yellow and deep purple hues
Flowers abounding through maiden grass white
Doves and holy wells, seekers of light.
Steeples and places,
Seats of gold –
Vestries in ancient wood
Respected of old
Stained glass windows
Altars and naves –
Bright with daffodils
Poppies and haze
From fine water sprinklers
Fronting white towered cathedrals
Or plain wooden benches and Methodist places
Scurrying Baptists, hiding the faces
With cloths and white linens
Of embroidered laces
Peonies pink,
And look there fellow –
Lenten roses in mixes,
White, green and yellow.
Tennis courts and fancy fountains
Ornamental grasses
And pampas white
These colors, and flowers and other signs say:
“It’s the beginning of Holy Week
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord
It’s Him whom we seek.”`
They’ve found a body in my back yard. I
imagine what a dead house would look
like. A stillborn Brownstone with its Jurassic
sandstone hiccupping fossils and family
feuds. Terrace houses would ripple rumour
and rife gossip from one mirrored house to the
next, those prison bars on pavements. A Bungalow
would be simpler: no basement layers or levels
of intrigue, no Who before the Dunnit. Now I
imagine what type of house would best cover a
crime…. no room in High Rise or Loft - the body
would just float, just hang there. A quickly
erected Tent could hide disturbed earth; or a
chugging Barge to clog up clay and clods of mud
over not yet decayed fingers and thumbs. A
Farmhouse has a credible need of a pyre like
an Igloo’s plausible need for ice. A Tudor revival
wouldn’t want anything of the sort. Then I imagine
how the rooms would react: bathroom tiles cracking
into brave smiles and kitchens hiding knives in fear of
another attack; staircases sagging like the confused
brow of a mourning man, a living room offended by
the very antonym of itself. I imagine what a
guilty house would look like… crocodile tears from
a Pacific Lodge and panicked lies of a Flounder, the
subtle reveals of a Dingbat. I doubt a Shotgun
would even try though, nor the Creole Cottage; just
accept its racial profiling. They’ve found a body in
my back yard. So, am I a church now I have a graveyard?
A young boy stood on the Aventine hills
And watched the future unfold in front of him
He saw the industrialization of mankind
Their souls powered by steam
We have tasted the waters of a billion ecosystems
The sound of bombs, sooths some child in Baghdad
Survival and solitude
Sacred lands full of stone
He saw the European Renaissance
The age of discovery
The telescope expanding the borders of consciousness
The restoration of humanity comes slow
It moves and continues into the future landscapes not yet thought of, not yet built, not yet wakened by the thinking brain.
He wants no more bloodshed
No more repression
Just the lush gardens that glisten under full moons
And the clearness of ice
If only he could remember the world how it was
Full of vibrant chants
And mystical monasteries with spiral staircases that reach out and touch the circumference of earth.