Cloisters Poems | Examples

The Cloisters

I can almost hear the
haunting monastic chants
and solemn songs, lost
between the rippling currents 
of the Hudson River.

The Cloisters stand, silent 
upon a nearby hill
stone walls and ancient towers
are stoic and timeless 
carrying secrets of the past
covering forgotten sins. 

Echos of voices, Ave Maria and rosaries 
the fervent signs of the cross
commune amongst sacred writings
silent prayers and penitent pleas. 

The tower bells clang loudly 
ringing in the hours
as time slips over the horizon 
and well cared for gardens. 

I linger within these hallowed halls
aching to listen to those voices 
from long ago
disciplined, dedicated, devoted men 
who knelt to worship 
God Most High, Eternal.

Museum of my Mind

I would make a museum of my mind
Fill these musty halls with all my people
Every girl who has walked my corridors 
To write her piece and paste it on the walls. 

Every plaque together, a mosaic
Of all personas, memories, and thoughts 
Together an image, reflected back 
Informative of me, an auto-school.

Blowing out the dust of unused ballrooms
Broom cupboards and and the back stairs, each its own
Room for machinations, revelations, 
Fed by all those who reside within me

My lonely people, aimless wanderers
Floating through the corridors room by room 
Their homes are these clustered, open cloisters.
Endless is my palace of passages. 

I am dissected in a thousand cuts
Each slice a living, pulsating breather
Warm and soft against my cobblestone floors
Balance of life and rock, they people me.

Voices low and laughter cheerful, I hear
My population all internally
All beings that are me, graduated
Notches on a scale, all playing their part, 

Like cogs and wheels they move in tandem drifts
Here in this exhibit they gave me, of
Balustrades adorned and turrets revived 
I transformed: a museum of my mind.

Holiday Greenery

The Cloisters is a special place,
Medieval and austere,
Assembled from five monasteries
Brought from France to here.*

Within its walls are gardens,
All meticulous and neat
And to celebrate the holidays,
There is a special treat:

Swags of greenery and apples
On the lintels, way up high,
Plus so many matching wreaths
You had to smile as you passed by.

Just the perfect touch of festive
For a Middle Ages site,
With no need for glitz and glitter,
An old-fashioned yule delight.

*Washington Heights, in upper Manhattan

Ancient Books

Today I saw some ancient books,
Five hundred plus years old,
With illustrations brightly hued
And accented in gold.

Calligraphied in perfect print,
They really blew my mind,
Surviving all these years
And waiting there for me to find.

On display within the Cloisters
And protected under glass,
Just a page or two is visible
To visitors who pass.

Yet I think of those who sat and toiled
By candlelight, now gone,
Who’d be shocked that centuries later
All their efforts still live on.

Mythical

"Mythical creatures  arise in a labyrinth flight round a cloisters, 
a crown of flowers and berries they wear in fairyland." Quote by Poet 

Stars shiver in the laden cold with the moon's sight.
Autumn's chill sigh emotion thrown across the night.
The elves, faeries, centaurs, and minotaur physicality
in merry enchanting dance in the inner labyrinth
among the comfort the open courtyard invisibility.
Untold mythical young too; no mundane eyes could see.
Winged Faeries spin~dance holding an olive branch.
Dragons menacing roar with crackling fire of thunder
weaving between the clouds to catch the air above;
under a blanket sky, whirling in shadows of purple.
Magical serpentine fierce in all their mystic wonder,
incandesce scales in brilliant metallic shine livery,
to its subtle benevolence manner, bold chivalry.

3/17/2023

Writing Challenge - 'M' Words - Poetry Contest 7.  mythical 
Sponsored by: Constance La France

Months Without An R

A Florida man who died eating oysters
Would have been better served by those from the cloisters.
It seems that these shuckers were tainted with drugs,
And also with infamous warm-water bugs.
If you want to down them, that’s fine, that’s just swell,
But I’ll take a pass from the snot on a shell.

The Cathedral

The Cathedral

	It rose from where the elders once had stood
	And slowly grew to what we see today,
	Its towers, reaching upwards, stand alone
	To show the way our destiny might lay.
	Great cloisters show the quiet life they led
	And echo footsteps trod in years gone by,
	Reminding us, who follow in their stead,
	Just why the spires point upwards to the sky.
	How quiet still the corridors run true,
	Towards a heart that beat for one and all,
	Great walls of light present a wondrous view
	To those who come in peace to heed the call.
		A sacred hand, raised up, to rich and poor,
		That welcomes us today, as those before.

Cathedral Church of Gloucester

She is a beauty with her vaulted ceilings and cloisters.
Has been parading about for over a thousand years 
Showing off her English gothic architecture. 
Cathedral Church of St. Peter and the Holy and Invisible Trinity.

We have seen her in films and movies – The Hollow Crown,
Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Harry Potter. 
She houses at Gloucester, Gloucestershire, UK.
She was once a pilgrimage for Christian seekers. 

King Henry the Eighth established her current choir in 1539.
Today her choir boasts thirty-eight choristers and twelve adult singers.
So when you walk through, you are a historian, so much has gone on.
She is magnificent with her beautiful stained glass windows.

Her organ was constructed in sixteen hundred and sixty-six.
She has been the site of graduations, coronations, and weddings.
In medieval times she held daily worship sung by monks of the abbey.
Gloucester Cathedral, a gorgeous example of what architects can do.

Shalom Is At the Basis of the Universe

MY FIRST DIMINISHED HEXAVERSE (with apologies for fumbling)

I
Unless underlying
Peace is our bedrock
Surface war delude
As beneath strong waves
Oceans are at peace

II
Shalom, siblings
Good Creation
Designer God 
IS and  named: Peace 

III
Recall nuns
Cloisters call
Of Peace, Ohh

IV
They know something TRUE
We sometimes do too

V
F L O W


--
NOTE: In Line #3, I ought to have written "Surface wars delude," or "Surface war deludes." Would it have affected the syllable count? I was unsure ...

Twinkle Fairy

out of the mundane
an awe bit insane
fairy as it glows
twinkle little toes
yawning breadth then gone
before the rathe dawn
through empty cloisters
unseen wings hush whirs
it flutter back a tease
like an obscure bee
a blur in the blue 
glowing day it flew
their fair face round
bare all that surround
in the garden ground
curious glance it took
their glittering look
among ivy's deepest nook



10/29/2019

November Twinkle Fairy Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger

triple treat -

my heated hopes are waxing hazy
    a couple crushed for carnal crazy
      sneaky you, the scheme to hatch
  with her, a perfect itch to scratch

menage a trois Moirai, indeed
    this triple-dip thru natural need
      to savor both at once, supine
  and make that spicy nectar mine

soft sugar tongues mix with my own
    and instantly flesh turns to stone
      such carnal cloisters, meant to be
  two curvy creatures clutched to me

our tangled limbs in pretzel knots
    a percale sea of naughty thoughts
      how can such crazy cookouts be
  to taste you two while tasting me

before I feel compunction's clasp
    to let good virtue close my grasp
      I'll dive this molten madness, US ...
  and drown ... in fiery febrile fuss.

Mike the Monk

Mike The Monk had a habit,
He liked to eat fresh oysters.
He'd buy a dozen to take away,
And swallow them in the cloisters.

Mothers Love

Sisters
                                                                            cry
                               empty satin sheets

                 a mothers 

                                                             bleeding heart



I…caress sisters tears
comfort fears
her baby 
now unto heaven

we
                                                                         choking in sadness
       condemned for sins


Yet
men inflict such pain
evil drums march, not to be undone
leave them to their wars
their childish affairs

It is stale
to judge us who give birth
we, who know life
whom give life
from our loins
leave us in peace
you, who revel in wars
then profess pacifism
duplicity hidden in cloisters

your morality lives in the devils den

Moist Morning

Rich roaring rain
Plough pretty plain


Mind morning mimes
Reap rapture’s rhymes


Feel festive flair
Art ample air


Join jazzy jet
Sign simple set


Bright balloons boom
Zap zesty zoom


Grand gracious grooves
Meet misty moves


Dance dewy dreams
Such sensuous streams


Lift laughter loud
Prize precious proud


Cheer cloisters choice
Ply poignant poise


Taste telling times
Meet moving mimes


Set sight seeing
Meet moist morning




Leon Enriquez
25 December 2017
Singapore

Viridi

They all come, and turn,
The apostatic hundreds from the wilderness,
Hungry as the lamprey, open-mouthed,
Impatient as an itch,
And virtuous as the grave.
Those that wait remain unsatisfied,
Barren children of a barren race,
Yet hopeful ever.
Severed from their mother womb
And ushered into manliness,
The fortunates groan and hate the light
And curse the hand that feeds them.
Out of the night they come, the suburbs' nuns,
Come to the cloisters and the cellars
And in the candlelight take off the veil,
Throw inhibitions to the wind
And chastity to fools,
As far behind, an echo of the past,
A childhood godhead is dismayed.

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