Long Arch Poems
Long Arch Poems. Below are the most popular long Arch by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Arch poems by poem length and keyword.
With the end of days upon them
Nears the time of final battle
In the halls of high Valhalla
Asgard senses its death rattle
In the forest crows the rooster
In the sky the sun does darken
In the cave the hound is howling
To these signs the Aesir harken
Heimdall blows the Gjallarhorn
Dark the rainbow bridge is turning
Vivid lightning cleaves Yggdrasil
Then the central tree is burning
Aesir watch in fascination
See volcanoes spew like fountains
See the heavens splitting open
See the oceans climb the mountains
See the continents convulsing
See the forests burn to ashes
See the sons of Mim awaken
In the fatal lightning flashes
As the winds consume the wasteland
From the south Surtr advances
With his minions tearing corpses
Bright his sword and sharp his lances
Aesir then prepare their weapons
Eyes are clear and arms are steady
The Midgard serpent Jörmungandr
Upon the battle plain is ready
With his heavy hammer Mjolnir
Strides the mighty god of thunder
To do battle with the serpent
And to rend the world asunder
June 30, 2014
N.B. This poem is an Epyllion, a brief narrative poem with a romantic or mythological theme. It is written in trochaic tetrameter, like some of the ancient Eddas.
Glossary:
Ragnarök - Final battle and death of the Aesir
Aesir - The Norse gods
Asgard - one of the Nine Worlds and home of the Aesir
Valhalla - a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the chief Norse god Odin
Heimdall - A Norse god who blows his horn to signal the beginning of Ragnarök
Gjallarhorn - Heimdall's horn
Midgard- Middle Earth, or the world of humans
Bifröst - the burning rainbow bridge between Midgard and Asgard
Yggdrasil - The sacred Norse central tree that holds the Nine Worlds
Mim - an Asian renowned for his knowledge and wisdom who has been beheaded. Odin carries around Mím's preserved head and it recites secret knowledge and counsel to him.
Surtr- a fire troll with a flaming sword who sets the world on fire.
Jörmungandr- The world serpent or ouroboros that surrounds the earth and grasps his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. Jörmungandr's arch-enemy is the god Thor.
Thor - The Norse god of thunder
Mjolnir - Thor's hammer and principal weapon
Into the buoyant blue of a summer sky
I throw my fortune and my hopes.
With wings and wonder I survey
the world above and need some time
up there before descending back to earth.
Advancing throttle up I climb, rocket
like and plumb, to check the heights
of clouds and skill, rolling left, then
right as in a dance, light
with release from gravity.
Before my plane escapes my vision, too, I guide
it over a graceful arch, until fast approaching
ground is all I see, and while succumbing
to the appetite of earth for things detached,
roll again and again in defiance, cutting
facets from the burnished blue.
Pushing hard to inverted flight, I see things
from a different point of view. Pressure
on the stick reminds me that up is down, and
I must concentrate to follow a horizontal path.
The Extra was made for this, I tell myself,
and brace for more.
Throwing sticks to the corner I force a snap. In a burst
of energy my wings become a blur. Like a wayward
child nose and tail go off track and need correction.
The stress on joints and structure is immense, yet
my plane obeys with no complaint, rebelling
only at my command to return wings level.
Like a metronome ticking over the rhythmic pounding
of my heart I count my way through a hammerhead:
“Throttle up and push, and, wait, and… release!
1 and 2 and roll and roll, and
1 and 2 and throttle back… rudder!”
The plane pauses in mid-air – a sentry in the sky - then pivots
on a point. Opposite aileron keeps me in a geometric plane,
and earthward bound once more I resume the beat:
“1 and 2 and roll: to canopy, and belly!
1 and 2 and push!”
The lines and arcs I draw through weather fair and foul
are my signature, the salient points of aerobatic discourse,
a test of nerves and steel, the embrace of fear.
Breaking through that wall, I emerge
free to explore the boundaries of my craft.
I must look beyond the attitude of pitch, roll and yaw
to see the art that I’m creating there
from the power and pull of wings through air.
Holding a precise line against the force
of Indiana winds or the vagaries of a Midwest storm,
with sunburned lips, lack of sleep or
a thousand other faults...
ah, there is the rub.
It is no easy thing, and still I try
to reach perfection, to control the direction
I will fly in that endless summer sky.
Am I Vexed? No!
Am I vexed to face music? We both are ‘same sex.’
It’s beyond man to fathom the depth of man’s soul
though perhaps a computer (imagined) might spin
all the dreams love might share, why sun’s rainbows arch backs
like a cat, or why butterflies pinned in a box make us dream
we still see them in flight when collection’s their death!
Does a nugget that’s ripped from quartz crystal’s complex
miss the death of its parent, the star it was born of, feel toll
paid by hydrogen gas, that birthed star? Does gold win
that can plumb all the times it has filled a heart’s cracks!
Love grows colder confessed, that’s unable to stream
what heart wants? I’ll denounce this until my last breath!
Am I vexed we’ve both wives with whom each shares his bed,
one eternity’s hourglass suffices such friends?
Let me speak for myself and not dare to presume
who you love, but has love yet been born that is meek?
If you can, tell me please how such love can be love (so restrained),
not erupt in hot rhymes, or ice flows of free verse?
You think tides (moon might raise), or earth’s seasons reverse
(on the axis of globe knocked-off kelter), mean love’s time-constrained?
Is love full strength, or is it diluted; will squeak,
has a voice known to roar? Care can stay in the room
(if there’s good news or bad), gives short shrift to loose ends!
Our time’s brief on this earth! Save love’s honor for Dead?
Brian Johnston
29th of September in 2020
Poet’s Notes:
Craig Wilson is one of my oldest and dearest friends! We first met in
the US Peace Corps teaching 12th Form students at the Sultan Abu Bakar
Secondary School in Kuantan, Malaysia, from 1968-1970. Craig taught
Biology and I taught Physics. Craig gave his class, and mine, a three-day
sex education class (that was not in the Malaysian Syllabus!) near the end
of our two-year PC commitment. Ha!
My friend and I are both getting ‘long in the tooth!’ I’m five years older,
but our contemporaries are becoming fewer in number. I thought, why
should I wait to write Craig a love poem? I might easily pass before him,
and I am so proud to say that I love Craig, a man, period! May the heaven
(that I hope for) or the reincarnation (he dreams of) mean eternities loom
ahead for us both, though I’m (certainly?) far more ‘Right’ than Craig is!
A little black coal sitting upon God’s office desk
basking under the Light of God
writing down my thoughts and dreams
wishing to be more than what I am
God’s ink is black as obsidian
His pen of an arch angel’s feather
and as God goes about his work
I pray to God and talk about my stories with Him
of all of the adventures and desires that I wish to take on
God would listen, through His Spirit He would speak
but I wanted more of everything
I didn’t know as a coal what it meant to be a diamond
how my fantasy transformed into reality would be
the pressures involved in the metamorphosis
the lost and the change and transposition
didn’t really grasp what it took to be a diamond
yet I wanted to be more than what I was/am
to know who I will become and be
God picked me up and tossed me back into the world
from his Sherlock Holmes like office to reality
where with each pressure, my soul became more diamond than coal
with each suffering, I shined more like a galaxy
but I also felt impatient and wanted to be at the end already
even though all of what I asked has yet to be
Things were simple upon God’s Desk
where I basked and dreamed in perfect harmony
dreaming dreams that didn’t suffer from reality
that didn’t clash with everything
Everything has changed and I worry about cracks that could appear
from all of the pressure and stresses and worries
needing to deny myself to become this new version I asked for
The emotions like fire devouring inside
anger and frustration and madness
where I’m conflicted and afflicted and wonder
What is God up too…
Evil thoughts would spring into mind
like dandelion seeds from demons somehow finding me
trying to claw their way inside
Twisted thoughts that God has left me
God has forsake me
that nothing that I know is true
trying to turn everything against me
playing with my emotions
taking advantage of my weaknesses
exploiting truths into lies
placed inside a maze of insanity
How much more will I be able to go on and have self control
throughout this new world
that tries to pit me against The One that I Love: God
I close my eyes
where my faith blooms and grows
in this secret garden of my soul
where I can always trust that water will flow
Breathing in and trusting
God will get me through and hasn’t forsaken me...
Once, A Time, I Was Accused To Be
Like A Siren of The Sea
As Ones In Ulysses’ Odyssey
but, No … That Was Not Me …
Those Sirens, Lured To Death
They Were Lethal Temptresses
Like Myth of Cursed Lilith
Or Like Real-Life, Eve Transgressed
They, With Beauty, and Beckoning Ropes Hung
Bound, Beguiled-Men in Rose-Blossom Arms
And Spoke with Honeycomb-Tongue
But Whose Hearts, Held Hidden Harm-Swarms …
No … I Should Not Be Compared
To Those, with Honor So Blurred
I Have Only Shared and Cared and Bared
… So, In What Way, Have I Erred ?
It Took Many Years To Be
And Much Salt-Water To Rinse Free
From What Others Say and See
And Drown Out Complexity
Yea, I Do Call, I Do Agree …
but, I Sing To The Brave and Eternity
And When I Pray … It Is Holy
And for A Soul's Safety, Only
Oh Yes, I Whisper, Clean and Sweetly
And My Tone Thrills or Trills So Softly
And My Voice Can Arch With Ecstasy
Or Timbrel in Throes – Dawn to Dusk, Sultry
And I Speak Words, As Perfumed Nard
Speak Words, That Leave A Silken, Silver Cord
Or Speak Words of Double-Bladed Sword
… After All, I Am A Female-Bard
And I Want To Learn and Recite More Victories
And Teach Each Other’s Verbatim-Stories
Discover Each Other’s Verbal-Mysteries
And God and My Lord’s Vocal-Oratories
And With The Moon, As Symbol-Shield of Light
Yes, I Rise To Conquer Oblivion-Nights
I Keep Faith and Courage, In Sight
Aglow for Good-Guys and Cowboy-Knights
I’m A Sensual-Woman, and of Sacred-Things
I’m Emotional, Yet … Aim For Deep-Think and Dreams
Now, Some Called The Lord A Glutton, for Eating and Drinking ( Matt. 11: 19 )
So Some Call Me A Siren, ‘Cause They Want Me To Stop Speaking …
But, Worthy, Be The Ear, That I Speak To
And Shyly Cry and Whisper … My Secrets To
And If Only A True-Higher-Calling, Will Do
Then, I’ll Sound, That Siren, For You …
This Is The Siren Song, You Hear
Not One, For You To Fear
My Volume, is not Too Loud, But Clear
Singing, Avoid Shadows, Avail Cheer ! !
No … I’m Not Some Fish-Tale Mermaid of The Sea
More Like A Lighthouse, Guiding To Rock, See: ( Deu. 32: 4 )
Ever Glowing, Ever Orbing … Audibly …
The MoonBee - Siren Odyssey
Once, A Time, I Was Accused To Be
Like A Siren of The Sea
As Ones In Ulysses’ Odyssey
but No … That ' Isn’t ' Me …
Verse A:
Oh how you've honed rebellion, made an art of breaking rules
Just to garner my affection, but I didn't have the tools
(And I never suffered fools - no I never suffered fools)
I loved you with my diligence and bent my back to make
A bridge of opportunities and a path for you to take
(Cleared a passage for your sake - yes a passage for your sake)
Chorus A:
Can you see it, in the mist
There on high - there on high?
There's an arch, heaven-kissed
In the sky, the hazy sky
You may not see it now
But I built it strong with love
And one day it will hold you
Bye-and-bye, bye-and-bye
Yes, one day it will hold you
Bye-and-bye.
Verse B:
Oh I know how I've failed you in many ways I can't explain
We'll never have a friendship - I've caused you so much pain
(So many wounds remain - yes so many wounds remain)
Still I love you to my marrow, with a magnitude, profound
And I built a span, enduring, so you'd walk on solid ground
(So you'd be safe-and-sound - yes so you'd be safe-and-sound)
Chorus B:
Can you see it, in the night
There on high - there on high?
There's an arch, burning bright
In the sky, the somber sky
Perhaps you can not see it
But with love, it long endures
And one day it may save you
Bye-and-bye, bye-and-bye
Yes, one day it may save you
Bye-and-bye.
Verse C:
Oh I know my life is waning, and my faculties are weak
My strength is failing daily, and I've lost my grand physique
(Now my prognosis is bleak - yes my prognosis is bleak)
And though I can not tell you how I feel before I go
I know someday you'll cross that bridge, and then, my son, you'll know
(Just how much I love you so - yes how much I love you so)
Chorus C:
Can you see it, through the storm
There on high - there on high?
There's a refuge, safe and warm
In the sky, the windy sky
I know that you can't see it, but have faith that it is there
I molded it with these two hands, with kindness, love and care
So every time you need a bridge you'll know that I am there
To carry you to safety
Bye-and-bye, bye-and-bye
Yes, to carry you to safety ...
Bye-and-bye.
(Repeat Out)
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Bridge Over Troubled Waters" Poetry Contest, John Hamilton, Judge & Sponsor.
Let our hands interlock into a
beautiful zipper of prayer and
take pride in being african!
"What is the pride of being
african"
Asks a girl- unknowing of the
roots from which her family
tree grows ..
The lines on the palm of her
hands resemble the veins of
the african leaves she was
born into. Her
Bi-racial hair curled up in locks
of african beauty
Nd yet she asks " what is the
pride of being african?
An african woman whose only
pride is the curve of her hips
and the natural arch of her
back- ignoring the map with
which her mind can make- or
the different shades of brown
her skin radiates into the rich
airs of africa..
In the middle of an undeclared
war
We uncounciously submit to a
mental slavery ..seeking
comfort in the pains of the
past.. Slitting our rists with
resentment and self pity..
Handicappin our minds -
moving forward but still
arriving at the previous
destination!
Such wounded nations!
Why do we scrape the african
tatoo in the arteries of our
hearts by poking the the past
makin way for its venom to
make us bitter...
Perpetually impregnating our
minds
Only to give birth to a
vendetta!
Is that the pride of being
African!
Adding insult to injury
we duck and cover
Hidding from the touch of rain
Shieldin ourselves from the
sun's smile
But then.. Then we embraced
the weather and posed in the
sun as if God was takin a
piicture..
Then children with no toys
believed they could transform
oxygen into gold
Then a mother through trials
nd tribulations could still find a
corner within the circle of her
mud hut
Then the diamonds of Africa
lay in the sparkling eyes of a
new born -raised to the
heavens as an African
declaration
I listen to the invisible wind
chimes made by mother
nature
Singing songs of praise
Painting african countries on
this canvas we call Africa!
I see the poetry that lies
within future Nelson
Mandelas.. Seretse Khamas..
Futures You's and Me's
I inhale the soils and all the
memories imprinted on them
jus as Africa is imprinted on
me -
I rub off hurtful footprints of
hunger
slavery..
All for the pride of being
african
Let our hands interlock like a
beautiful zipper of prayer- nd
take pride in being african
Another Tale Of Musical Madness...
It was in the early seventies...
My friend and rhythm guitar man,
Mark Trotiner, worked in a well
known musician store in NYC...
Another one of those so rare
"light up the room types"-
He played great rhythm guitar,
Couldn't play a lick of lead,
Sang proudly with an awful voice,
Was the arch-typical Hippie of the 70's,
Knew all about music and bands,
Was friend to Frank Zappa,
Blues Project men, had met Jimmy Page
and countless others, the first
of the Greenwich Village Super Hippies
All the bands knew him...
He could charm your socks off...
Swore till the day he dies,
He inspired Mark Knaufler"s
"Money For Nothing"..
And I'd long learned how
to catch a bullshooter in crap...
Listen to his story....
Wait a good amount of time,
Ask him again about it...
See what has changed...
Repeat this process about
Three times,
You're sure to expose the lie,
I did this to him repeatedly
Over the course of years,
And he passed every test...
(that story itself worthy of
a great work...someday soon...)
However, he was the core figure
In the Grateful Dead Cover Band
I was in...with his guitar player friend,
Mark "Bone" Diaz- 6 foot three,
80 pounds, curly red hair tied back...
Greatest musician I ever played with...
And another anxious singer
with no voice...
Well Mark was always meeting
musicians of various levels...
And so charming, so unassuming
he appeared to be...
He had that aura, like cousin Bill
In all my life, those two still..
Stand out with this gift...
Oh, give me a spoonful of that gift...
And what a boost in my life it would lift
Anyway, (and this happened twice...)
Hope I don't get mixed up...
It's like tossin' them ol' dice...
This band, named "Koala"
Early 70's recording band...
Invited us down, based on Mark's word,
To open a set for them..
At their Bond Street Loft...
We wound up there twice...
Were told to bring naught
but our guitars...
Their equiptment world class...
Now I'll compact these 2 stories
To make my point...
We didn't know what we had
stepped into...
Should'a never entered the joint...
First gig, just like the "Big Day Gig",
All other musicians crapped out
on us at the last minute...
And I wound up doing this job
With Billy, Mark T., a drummer,
and me..
Continued From:
10. BTK Coming Attractions Part 2
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195844
****************************************************************************
BILLY the Kid's Great Escape.
"Word has it you said that if we ever met again you'd kill me on the spot.
Well here I am Kid. Now's your chance. Show me what you've got.
It's a shame that you'll hang in another week or two,
because I'd love to be the one who gets to kill you.
I've got 16 silver dimes in each barrel of my shotgun.
I'd love to try them out on you, but I can't unless you run.
If I free you from those chains will you run for the door?
Oh by the way Kid, your Ma was one sweet loving whore.
I'll kill you before you hang Kid. That's a sure bet."
"Be careful Bob," said the Kid, "I'm not hung yet.
" Bob thrusted his shotgun hard into Billy's gut.
The Kid looked up at him in pain and said, "Now what?"
"Don't do it Bob," Bell said angrily, "or you'll be the one who'll hang for sure
for killing a man in cold blood who was chained helplessly to the floor.
It's time for the other prisoners to be escorted across the street to be fed.
The Kid's not going anywhere. He's chained to the floor by his bed.
Anyway, I took the prisoners last so now it's your turn.
Go and have yourself a beer and I'll stay here and guard the Kid until you return.
Bob Ollinger placed his shotgun into the gun rack.
Before he left he said to Billy, "I'll see you when I get back."
No one can say for sure if the above dialog ever truly took place.
One thing's for sure. Ollinger tormented Billy at a merciless endless pace.
They were arch enemies who fought against each other during the Lincoln County War.
Ollinger was in the posse that killed John Tunstall, Billy's employer, friend and mentor.
"I have to use the outhouse Bell," Billy said to the deputy.
Bell kept his rifle trained on Billy as he tossed him the key.
Billy unlocked the chains that kept him bound to the floor.
Still in handcuffs and leg irons, Bell escorted Billy out the door.
****************************************************************************
To Continue Go To:
12. BTK Coming Attractions Part 4
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poem_detail.aspx?ID=195841
The universal worm has got some competition now,
since ‘Sandy’ took me out to Bateson’s dam.
This don’t include the ‘whitchys’ we get in a broken bough,
nor ‘scrubbies’ on the hooks we have to cram
to hide the silver hook
that a ‘blackie’ sometimes took,
where a ‘mudeye’ just might have a better look.
We have to have a bucket for these water baits we scoop,
and a net of fly-wire mesh across the face
that’s been tied on with fishing line, around a metal hoop,
keeping flatness of the fly-wire in its place;
so when the net is lifted
and the water’s all been sifted,
we grab our bait, and with a turn the net is shifted.
We must don a pair of waders when we wander past the edge,
for our gumboots do not have the needed height.
And as we scoop the bottom in amongst bulrush and sedge,
at first we see the shrimp put into flight;
but gambesia and ‘toe-biters’
rarely show that they are fighters,
and multitudes of water beetles, are un-needed ‘blighters’.
Now the water lily pads that extend across the pond,
offer some protection from a diving bird.
But the tangled stem’s and roots, are no barrier to squand
a chance to net amongst the water stirred.
And little pygmy perch,
arch their pretty backs and lurch.
Quickly released for they’re not in our search.
And backwater from the overflow is holding treasure too,
as it wraps the base of tussock, weed and reed.
‘Sandy’ said “In here there is yabby”, and we net up quite a few -
the ultimate of lure when a blackfish wants to feed.
So yabbies highly rate,
as the premier blackfish bait,
almost if to say; write a ‘blackie’ on my slate!
And with numbers in the bucket quite enough to see a day
of fishing in the Bunyip, Lang Lang or Minniburn,
I go looking for the wildlife that we’ve kept at bay,
when scooping water’s edge became our turn.
There’s teal, black duck and swan;
pygmy geese keep feeding on,
but shy mountain ducks have took to wing and gone.
So Bateson’s dam’s a haven from the damming of a creek,
where expanding water draws a teeming crowd.
When fishermen like us retain the chance to reach our peak,
netting better baits where there’s better baits endowed;
if we take a little care,
and we take what’s only fair;
the better baits we seek will still be there.