Long voltaire Poems
Long voltaire Poems. Below are the most popular long voltaire by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long voltaire poems by poem length and keyword.
Voltaire lived in the early 1700’s…he was born in Paris, France….
His words still have meaning today…if we’d give them half a chance.
If we had the opportunity…to talk to the famous Voltaire
I imagine the first word out of his mouth…would be a word of warning…
Beware
Beware of your world leaders he might say…
they are not all compassionate and wise…
‘If you want to know who controls you…
look to those you’re not allowed to criticize’.
Beware of those who say how wise they are…
for there is usually insecurity behind it…
‘Cherish those who seek the truth,’ he’d say,
‘but beware of those who find it.’
Beware of all the nonsense being spoken…
all the madness being tweeted.
‘Stupidity can appear as wisdom,’ he’d warn,
‘the more often it’s repeated’.
He might say beware of those who are filled with arrogance
with self-worship and pomposity
For ‘Those who can make you believe absurdities
can make you commit atrocities’.
If he saw how easy it is for us to kill each other’s spouses,
their daughters and their sons…
‘Beware of fools with power,’ he’d instruct,
‘beware of fools with guns’.
If he looked at the way we treat those in need, he’d say
Beware! We need to change our point of view…
‘For everyone is guilty
of all the good they do not do.’
Yes, I wonder if Voltaire was still here…
if he was around today
would we conveniently dismiss his words…
or listen to what he had to say?
These are translations of Voltaire, one of the world's most prolific, best and most influential writers. Voltaire, born François-Marie Arouet (1694-1778), was an amazingly prolific writer who produced works in nearly every literary genre, including poems, plays, novels and novellas, satires, parodies, essays, histories, Bible criticism, and even early science fiction!
TRANSLATIONS OF VOLTAIRE EPIGRAMS AND QUOTES
Once fanaticism has gangrened brains
the incurable malady invariably remains.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Love is a canvas created by nature
and completed by imagination.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
If God did not create us, it was necessary for us to create him.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My only prayer to God was, “Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.” And he granted it.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
God is a jester performing for an audience too frightened to laugh.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Doubt is an undesirable condition, but preferable to ludicrous certainty.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Faith is believing what reason cannot countenance.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
?Life is a shipwreck, yet we must sing in the lifeboats.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Every man is a product of his age and few are able to rise above its misconceptions.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Judge a man by his doubts rather than his certainties.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The secret of being a bore is to reveal everything.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Common sense is uncommon.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Once fanaticism has gangrened brains the malady is usually incurable.
—Voltaire, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Voltaire, France, French, English translation, you, Phyllis, youth, young, crush, love, lost love, kiss, time, write, writing, words, poems, poetry
bunny heads
and spilled wine on the sofa
Minotaur on fire
and a raspberry doll
a sailboat in a swimming pool
and high foreheads in a park
a mime in a sand mirror
and armed homeless people
blue lips in hands
and Max Ray or Man Ernst?
graffiti in a coffin
and a skyscraper in a bottle
vegetable war
and a black hole in a pear
violin chef
and obese angels in McDonald’s
a paving on a water surface
and an auction sale in a wrong hour
colourless grass
and laughter in times of plague
fashion diarrhea
and a cow in a dance dress
black winter sky
and Cabaret Voltaire forever
dark red absinthe
and a hundred-year-old fisherman on top
murder on a chessboard
and dinosaurs in New York
cosmic mixer
and a smell of lemon fields
amarylis inside out
and a toddler in a sea shell
snow under the bed
and an orchestra at Mount Everest
space shuttle on the beach
and a night under her skirt
a steel ropewalker
and a flea in a golden cage
nice gesture under the reading glass
and a zip on the back door
calm west
and a key to deceased stars
labyrinth of cards
and a 2-D dinner with God (knows who)
all this and more
another time.
If man has become the measure of all
Our world anon will crumple and shrivel
Without a moral compass to keep us in thrall
Failure and success,the deadly ploys of the devil,
Or the cold ugliness of hideous revenge
Could inflict defeat on the Prime Mover's mission
That, discipleless, He can no longer challenge.
And so to Satan leaves us in submission
Man exists in a festering and noxious swamp
Where reason plays handmaiden to naked power
And shameless words service man's pride and pomp
A Voltaire is most sorely needed at this hour
To bring us back into the pure light of the sun.
If ,alas, there is no God,man must invent one.
Once called a fairy tale, it endures the test of time,
While man’s reason falters and philosophers resign.
From Epicureans lost and ancient pagans gone,
Christianity’s story steadfastly marches on.
Once called atheists by the Romans
Ironically they have the doldrums
Its plot, its heart, cannot be stripped away,
No morals, no miracles, no truth without its sway.
Other faiths may linger when the wonders have begun,
Yet strip the Bible’s marvels, and its story is undone.
God become Man the tale that makes (not breaks) our rules,
No legend or teaching from any other wise or ancient schools
Dares claim Incarnation, love descending from the skies
A philosopher’s tale for children, but for grown and searching eyes.
Where are these philosophers today? Have they not all gone away:
Lucretius, Julian the Apostate, Averroes, The Gnostics of the ancient world
Voltaire, La Mettrie, Ayer and those who reason in a destructive whirl?
No Buddha, no Socrates, nor prophet in the East,
Would dare declare themselves as God, or take on this Holy Paraclete:
If you ask the Buddha, "Are you the son of Brahma?"
He would have said "You’re in the veil of illusion to even ask” comma
If you would have asked Socrates, are you Zeus?"
he would have scowled then laughed at you
If you ask Confucius, "Are you in heaven, Tien?
“It is bad taste in a polite society to ask.” He would have said
If you would ask Muhammad, "Are you Allah?" he would have rent
his clothes in rage and then probably cut off your head.
Yet Jesus, among all others, declared divinity,
So the tale persists, a mystery for eternity.
Reason remains but doubters pass, their systems now mislaid,
But the tale of Incarnation this miracle remains unswayed.
A philosopher’s tale that lives as fact, a story hard to sever,
The heart of faith and meaning, enduring now, forever.
On the Christian anvil many hammers have been exhausted
Just precisely because of what it costed
Darkness coiled in the depths of the night.
Where shadows try to hide from your view.
The moon is a mirror reaching for the light.
Rattling on the doors grappling with the dew.
Cigarette rims on window ledges stub out edges.
The marred ghosts of fear misty file foul pass.
The well-known places on wrinkle old folks faces.
When your mind sees and grieves with the ashes.
Moister paint the shadow of your face in the sky.
And night continues impenetrable at a lively pace.
Unawares of the rage consigned conspicuous cry.
This hoary claim might charm all the living race.
Perils bring the way that rides the waves of death.
Turned all ends of pleasure into a darker season.
Freely flying thin into the dying fading breath.
Risky living dreaming of another set of reasons.
Deadly steer rides the night with spavined grey.
Journeying without remorse to throw the woes.
And try to catch a glimpse of the fleeting day.
That wishes to defeat time with all their prowess.
Darkness running along far flung into the night.
Black clouds filled the whole dome of the sky.
Grasp muffle decaying voices along the street.
Water nectar rain, wash, rinse, and balm the eye.
The Voltaire of space stars on a voyage in the clouds
Rival unquiet air shivers with unheeding tremor.
The changed atmosphere invites sleep into the crowds.
Binaries cover the city to make stragglers scatter.
The long night closes with a kiss in the frost.
Pale and fear as dear vintage sauvignon saint.
When the drink is in the wit, we see the rein of cost.
That holds the kingly feast of a mysterious variant.
From the porter’s view drink, is a jewel of the night.
Each keeps its way separate in the flames of desire.
And oozes away in the morning behind the sunlight.
In greater sanctity with dreadful eyes smiling in a fire.
When the dust of morning rises in the grassy skies.
The glint in your eyes, you dare not raise too high.
And risk the manor for how your honor applies.
When your mind likely knows, it holds a deeper sigh.
In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
where a newborn child was suckled, there.
Then, while a mother gently brushed my hair,
father read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh Bear.
Later, it became a galloping horse at county fair,
a sheet tossed over transformed into a pirate lair.
Sometimes, it was a rocket for Digby and Dan Dare.
A space for reading torchlit tales designed to scare.
Once, in the den, while lazing in the chair
Is where I first heard Simon Stewart swear
"S**t, bugger arsehole, I don't care."
He said, but as for me, I did not dare.
I studied A's on E's quoted from Voltaire
read Descartes and voted Tony Blair
Sprayed purple dye on tall spiked hair
Rocking gently, floating in mid-air.
A broken heart, a broken love affair
I tried to end it all once in that chair
The world hates me, and I hate it; life's so unfair
I'm still here but always have that cross to bear.
Dreams of becoming rich, a millionaire,
was I just building castles in the air
while rocking with a gin and tonic in that chair.
Then, later, I woke up the worse for wear.
I now have children of my own, a pair
We sit, for I have much to tell and much to share
About love, life, and death; how to prepare;
and read tales aloud of Piglet and Pooh bear.
In a dim-lit attic sits a rocking chair
I wonder how it ended up in there?
The younger generation doesn't seem to care;
but then again, why should they, to be fair!
*Image of Opening by Pixabay.
"Never forget: we walk in hell, gazing at flowers." by, Kobayashi Issa
Transcendence
Into the dawn, one yearns to be normal,
A delicate breath of precious life gifts,
Self-assesses to be supernormal,
Advantageous climbing in phasing drifts,
Wonderment spontaneously fulfilled,
At every courtesy occasions shifts,
Illumination caused by the strong-willed,
The paranormal chameleon-like,
Acclimating fluctuations instilled,
Daring-do drives the zest of life to spike,
Charming lust of will justifies presence,
A spirited vigor gauge expose hike,
Purposed free will by our omnipresence,
The exalted one whom I like to share,
Engage a divine measure claimed pleasance,
Parts from creed as an unshackled Voltaire,
Summon the resolved that remain at ease,
Ancestral parlay, wing, and a prayer,
Whispers Roundtable a board of trustees,
Ancient, current, the will, channeling trance,
Fraughts, impediments, subside and appease,
Loves and losses, the eternal perchance,
Defended visions promise days advance.
2022 January 12
*1st Place*
A Strand (1068)
~~Brian Strand: Judged 2022 February 08
*1st Place*
This or That, Vol 9
~~Edward Ibeh: Judged 2022 January 25
“Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater is their power to harm us.” Voltaire
In sapphire skies, so soft, serene and fair,
a balloon floats adrift in tepid air.
Nonchalant it hovers without a care.
Over and under clouds like they're not there.
It's mindful not to burn from the sun's glare.
keeping clear from branches, so not to tear.
At peace it seems, wandering unaware,
until a storm forms to cause it despair.
Gruesome gales force it to blow everywhere,
grim rain has no mercy for its welfare.
Breathless, it deflates into disrepair,
plunging, it no longer looks debonair.
The pursuit of life can become unfair,
just like the thickly sown thorns of Voltaire.
Common
Quote by Voltaire
To be common is to be normal,
It’s to have the sense to keep your mouth shut
And your smile wide.
To smile is not to smile
For your showing your pearly white teeth
Your actual soul is nowhere to be found,
Is it so abnormal to have a sharp tongue?
To smile with actual joy?
That’s the thing about being common,
It’s no fun at all
Date: 2/1/22