Long Arcadian Poems
Long Arcadian Poems. Below are the most popular long Arcadian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arcadian poems by poem length and keyword.
taciturn springs rising
from within the quarry
of deep earth's wisdom
urging lyrical waters to transpose
while held like singing seas of living reveries
of history and infinity
misting to meld with rainfall dreams
Falling like ancient messages
into the orchard of molecular landscapes
drawn to penetrate its legacy
embedded in the rockeries and rills
blanketing the groves of dirt and ferns
teeming in the arcadian oasis
feeding feast or famine
flourishing the solicitude of springtime
in spider spun dreams
of longings in ancient oaks
merging with the ebb of shedding sycamores
in salted seas teeming and exalting
the rhetoric of existence
in musing opaque vapors
mingling into pervasive clouds
bleeding life
cached in the creche
of pastoral beginnings
of everlasting eddies
watering the garden of dreams
April 22, 2020
Rewritten: October 3, 2020
Your Best Free Verse 2020
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Panagiota Acrostic
A Panagiota Cocktail.
INGREDIENTS
P~Phoebe, the moon goddess
A~Aphrodite the goddess of love
and beauty
N~Nike, the goddess of victory
A~ Asteria, the goddess of the stars
G~Gaia, the Earth Mother and Moon goddess
I ~Iris, the goddess of the rainbow
O~ Oh, Panagiota, proud mother of a
daughter who has Arcadian roots.
T~ Theia, goddess of of sight and the
bright sky
A~ Artemis~ goddess of nature and
birth.
Mix all ingredients. Handle with love,
care and above all~mirth and enjoy.
**Yia Mas to Peter who suggested this
poem~ means to your health..with
a glass of Retsina. Or whatever Greek
expression you choose or one I do not
know.
Disclaimer:I am no master of the the Greek
language at all nor a Hellenic history major.
My heart beats Greek, if you listen quietly with love
and no judgement. If you could see my heart~ it
is the colors of the Greek flag.
Thanks again Peter!
Panagiota Romios
2/25/2019
Orpheus and Eurydice
Come by,allow me to rest my knees
on those sinewy thighs!
I do not feel like feeding my mortal
body!
Just want your love to flood my eternal,
starving soul.
In my loneliness~ thoughts of you
crash my thoughts, endlessly!
Like an empty seashore thirsting
for crests of cool water..you...
My musical love partner!
Flood this immutable soul and then,
With tender love and with satiated souls,
We will rise, immortally.
Fulfilled, free and blessed.
Orpheus and his Eurydice, to dance in
ancient and splendiferous Arcadian skies
....eternally!
Panagiota Romios
4/1/2019
As the brisk morning light illuminates my room,
I feel overwhelmed by a foreboding air of doom.
Melancholy presence within every waking pore.
Is it I have been missing that someone I adore ?
Tears on my pillow were left there while I slept.
Wonderful memories of him so preciously kept.
Guarded by the night, for only dreams to recall.
Then why in slumber did these moist drops fall ?
The night keeps my secret? I miss him so much.
By day all smiles, while I'm longing for his touch.
Now this tearful tendency, I'm uncertain of why.
Remembering arcadian times shouldn't make me cry.
Mendacious vibes are now quite pervasive this morn.
Is it missing him? Is that the reason I am so forlorn?
Knowing him and his love, gives a euphoric feeling.
By day all smiles, loving him gives the affect of healing.
At midnight the clock chimes, twelve will be pealing.
The darkness of night, its my tears it will be stealing.
Deep in slumber and oblivious, I wouldn't even know,
If I didn't wake in the morn to find tears on my pillow.
Maybe in my sleep, I dreamed away all my fears.
Maybe "The darkened sky stole my tears"
Guarded by the night is it only then I cry?
Tears on my pillow, all that's left by the darkened sky.
Let’s go on the mother load road trip across continents skip
Even the hip can’t snip or pip the lip fillip of each sip or dip
A sybaritic not a critic’s tour to explore why more is more
Streets of beats galore & locavore treats an epicurean drip
In the Argentine bravado larder of course the empanada
From their mercado source with fine wine could try harder
Top of the poll Asado's charcoal soul to the song of cicada
Austrian fold in the past caught for foodies some sort of sport
They’ve fought over which Sacher torte does bewitch hold court
Or flattered the dish that mattered plattered crumbed & battered
Viennese wheeze a subpoena tease for a leaner schnitzel wiener
Lazing ease & grazing please on amazing spice isles in pyjamas
Laid back smiles made crack conch rice & peas in the Bahamas
Don’t give a damn about Claude Van Dam give me real mussels
Garlic specked not muscle flecked fraud whenever in Brussels
Snaffle waffles abroad should be crisp gooey as Belgians know
Elite frites oh and their stonker bonkers Wonka flair cocoa show
Brazil’s fill me to the gills thrill is still & always will be Feijoada
Even those in a posh off roader chose this nosh meat's Pagoda
Top of the steeple of food of the people a homegrown Skoda
Adore for any course a tour de Force encore honed toned Yoda
Canadian hardy foie gras machine a mardi gras that’s Arcadian
In the stirrup chirrup quaffing absurd maple syrup is Palladian
Nerds with their curds scoffing mean poutine almost Circadian
For rookies ducks pluck shells shuck bones suck cookies for luck
Opiner cuisine not in history stuck a mean memory mystery miner
Hymn of whim cough overcome by swim in broth Szechuan numb
Yummy unctuous darlings scrumptious diddly umptious dim sum
Ho hum no scrum finer all day diner always did come from China
February 28th, 1968 marked the date
Boyce Brandon Harris
(my octogenarian widower father)
purchased a small tract of land
Pooh would Winnie
constituting shadowed sliver
once hailing, hallmarking, harkening,
glorious vast "Glen Elm" estate,
which circa 1910 encompassed
a hundred plus acres of woodland
(including a pond frequented
by migrating Canadian Geese)
eventually zoned for commercial,
industrial, and residential development
(all in the name of productive land use)
particularly put into motion
courtesy Donald J. Neilson,
who transformed expansive woodland
rivaling shutterfly
sprouting like mushrooms towed stools
booming explosively
after ample precipitation
little houses on the hillside
little houses made of ticky tacky...
popped up overnight
transforming landscape
displacing flora and fauna with vinyl city
(minus spit of property papa bought)
manicured bumped uglies with wild wisp
reduced pristine niche leftover jot haven
squawking disoriented geese instincts
thwarted, where drained wetlands
a Arcadian past suburbanization
overlaying (palimpsest like) rural setting
trademark bucolic print Currier And Ives
stock in trade signature prints
landscape sparse human population
country aire sprinkled with family farms
fresh dairy, produce, vegetables
butchered animals free ranging
without synthetic injections
nostalgia faintly recreated here
Highland Manor Apartments
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
a slip of country revered
against a Paul Ling urbanization
nothing appears familiar
retracing roadways now major highways
frequent moments breeds alienation
familiar ground confusing, frightening, and perplexing.
Three hours suppressed before breaching the tight-lipped
container left neatly wrapped in homogenous foam
and smoky demeanor. Its lid caved in, having been tapped.
Through misspoken holes sprung arcadian visions,
lacking Peloponnese disposition, still semi-smoldering
with the tinder touch of Hephaestus extracted from
less subtle artistry attributed Zeus, high up on his steed,
bare-chested. Arms crossed.
How he used to look down on we mortals, wee, buttressed
by oxygen, in two-
parts hydrogen, one-part dioxide.
But this was real, not some Florescent church.
Outside the perimeter lay black stacks of texts I had gradually
gathered through time’s non-existence, way back when time
weighed as factual matter. Of course they still mattered.
Yet, I chose them to lay there, bathed in the soot of three daughters
I failed to veil. What do you say, Rita Dove? to wear
my white-skinned daughters spun lesser as still lovelier silk?
Is there anything clumsier to misappropriate than weather-vane hate,
with its gallant gait, with its augmented pigmentation,
when there’s no room in storage?
A grey-haired protestant behind me prayed;
“Oh, Thank God!
Oh! Thank God”
He praised through my bedroom window’s socket, shocked to shatter
by fire, fresh come splattered beard. I had not known him prior, this man I would learn was a fair-weather friar. So; I blew him a kiss.
But in my eyes,
he saw an unwell wish, so;
It needs to be done with this.
Cell in every cell of my body,
I sense your every heartbeat.
Dreaming always of your most intricate, dancing feet.
Savoring our secret special liquor.
Seeing those dark loving,luminous olive eyes.
Desire, still alive under twinkling, magical skies.
Endless and deep as the Nile, those sensuous smiles.
And, yes, still decadently so utterly beguiled!
Into a poetess you have me transformed,
By your Arcadian charms~~groomed and warmed.
Into a poetess, by your love in truth, I was born.
You, the elixir of my life, that keeps my pen flowing!
The springtime of my life, even if it is snowing!
March 21, 2020
1:30pm PST
You are the melody that echoes in my life!
With the atmospheric aroma of an angel.
How is it you broaden my horizons to magnificent heights?
I am christened with your cosmic charisma.
It dazzles on my forehead..see it glisten in golden-sunlight.
No matter how rough the turbulent seas of life get,
I know you are behind me on life's slippery deck.
Completely safe in your cherished company,
With only your arms and stars to guide us on stormy seas!
And even when our earhly lives do end,
To our star in the sky we will be sent and shine ever so bright!
I know our perfect eternal home is waiting for us.
A honeyed Arcadian home, grape filled and luscious, especially at
a luscious, sparkling twilight cove!
10/17/2020
Opus#2
Born in a nebulae, a spiders web of gas,
coloured by temperature, weighted by mass.
Nuclear fusion keeps them shining bright
just like on that first day when God created night.
So they don’t burn us He cast them way up high
to illuminate our world He lit up the sky.
The coldest stars are red, the hottest are blue
our star is orange to sustain me and you.
A gazillion balls of light, Arcadian fire,
or could they be the angels of Gods holy choir?
Fifteen million degrees keeps them alight
no wonder the poor shepherds fell down in fright,
their signs in the heavens are celestially awed
witness to life through a child still adored.
Astrologers use them to predict our days
while Astronomers study their galactic ways.
A billion years trip past, the mere blink of an eye,
their cores rapidly depleting our stars start to die.
Expanding shells that twist and morph
snuff out the light as they turn black dwarf,
as a swan song gesture, it’s almost over;
in a brilliant flash they turn supernova,
a nebulous cloud of gas is then formed;
the birthing place where stars are spawned.