Long Archaic Poems
Long Archaic Poems. Below are the most popular long Archaic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Archaic poems by poem length and keyword.
(The Shattered Mirror of Avignon)
Five women stand, yet all are broke.
Against a curtain of ochre, blue, and white,
Picasso breaks the world with a savage stroke,
Reordering flesh into jagged, painted night.
Two sit in masks of African heat,
With eyes of daggers, vacant and intense,
Their limbs disjointed, monstrous, yet complete,
A fierce assault on beauty’s old defense.
See the prostitute on the left—archaic, frozen—
A nod to Spain, a shadow of the past,
While her sisters, on the right, remain chosen
To bear the mask, a spell of anger cast.
No sensuous reclining, no soft embrace,
But angularity that confronts the gaze,
Stealing the viewer’s quiet, private space,
And holding him within this broken maze.
They do not smile; they threaten from the canvas,
An “ugly” genius, a scandal wrought in 1907.
Rejecting perspective, a violent impetus,
Turning a brothel into a fragmented heaven.
It is the birth of the machine, the modern, cold,
A mirror shattering the Renaissance view,
Where beauty is not worshipped, but controlled,
And all that was known is made anew.
A torch carried on forever, indeed,
for the aggressive rhymer in me,
is alive again, unshackled and freed,
rising to challenge another day, I see.
As I found myself lost deep in Tolkien,
with epic Star Wars, never ending,
surrounded in a geek paradise, serene,
optical illusions before me, suspending.
Life's songs on guitar strings strummed,
an epiphany unlike they've ever heard,
euphoric dreams in my visions hummed,
as I pen archaic word after archaic word.
Artistry is born only to be my brother,
encircled this star, a pentagram made,
my day is done, I have conquered another,
as the sun slowly brings down the shade.
A Word Collage For Chan Hurst
(Cyndi MacMillan's contest)
otherwise called book of wisdom
with its teachings and archetypes
laws and lessons as relevant today
as they were hundreds of years ago
history repeating itself
human nature being what it is
the mysteries of mankind’s experience unveiled
come to light in a cycle of repeated patterns
by candlelight the epochs blurred
here hovers an air of timelessness
in a rite of fire and intent
tarot cards neutralized and purified
wafts of frankincense roam the air
with much reverence my hands reaching
in a moment of silence and bonding
i invite the cards to imbibe my energy
the ritual of unwrapping their silk shield
while wafts of sage continue to disperse
revealing archaic symbols etched
adorning twenty-one major arcana
a hopeful silence for secrets divulged
in soothing stillness the old soul listens
shedding universal light on both past and future
mostly to understand ours and human nature
AP: 2nd place 2026, 2nd place 2023, 3rd place 2020
Written: May 29, 2024, For Constance La France Contest
"I have been a stranger in a strange land." Bible Exodus 2:22
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stranger, I seek remote areas
bridging hills and valleys—reams my barriers
I aim to acquire a piece of land
the locals are wary of my demand
calmly smile—and bow In compliance
Also, they chose to join a proactive alliance
I'm not anxious without my peers
I strive to learn all their culture for years
their customs and slang are unclear to me
tradition could provide substantial foresee.
However, I will complete my quest
find my path—and meet friends' request
I will stay in this struggling place
where everyone hates and ignores my face
I shall bear myself safely
I'm a nomad at heart, vainly
set an impact in this foreign world
I advanced out of curiosity and swirled.
Through mystery, despite doubts—
and future challenges sprout
an intense need drives me
wanting knowledge and hilarity
this promise inspires me
of raw vistas with each degree
a chance of discovery—
and hidden truths of a magical land
with some dread and anxiety, I stand
usher my quest into unknown deep ruts
ready to discover my secrets.
Landscapes blend with peculiar sights
high, misty skyscrapers, exotic flora lights—
and fauna thrive in lush slopes
winding waters whisper mysteries grope
of archaic civilizations.
every minute is an opportunity for exploration
relations offer options to explore
in this foreign world, my heart sore.
"Alas! The lessening light, the worsening my plight-
My face- a somber expression..." excerpt from
*a poem by Just That Archaic Poet
The summer of my laughter’s passed;
my happy skies grow overcast.
No meadowlark is singing here.
The winter of my tears is near.
In vale of shadows, sun hangs low.
I sojourn now where chill winds blow.
Into November’s gloom I peer.
The winter of my tears is near.
Before I meet eternity,
a snow shall come and bury me,
Its brilliance - anguish soon will mirror.
The winter of my tears is near.
The summer of my laughter’s passed.
The winter of my tears is near.
In the archaic anchorage of the wayward mind,
isolated from the righteous roots of inviolability
by the dislodging drive of the deriding desires,
untamed instincts shroud the senses in disdain abyss.
Under the sensual surface of corporeal discernment,
tapered thoughts transitorily profile intrinsic images
on the fleeting screen of the sprouting awareness
within the unique quintessence of universal reality.
The stimulant inner window on enlightenment vista
lets inside rousing sunshine of impetuous actuality,
radiates the impulsive impression of awakened psyche,
enhances the defining strength of the cathartic spirit.
As immanent emotions unfold in spontaneity space,
the soul contained latent in the cauldron of vacuity,
finds freedom, merges inspired with consciousness
of divine oneness in the realm of absolute supreme.
ENTHUSIASM
out
of reluctance
some merriment
heretofore
esteemed
notionally
incognito
in a
lovely
renaissance
remained
a rarity
a fantasy
of the
appetite
of curiosos
impertinent
in pursuit
of the picturesque
to conceive
the vivid
in the
archaic
characterised
by
pillars
of the
intricate
patterns in
vivid imaginations
venturing into
the intrepid
visual art
for
a connoisseur
made
practicable
likened to
self-portrait
to celebrate
a common
inheritance
& frequent
the obscure
& the blurry
monochrome
reduced
to black
& white
on
a
series
of murals
Submerged in a rat race, to keep the number high.
compromised the truth of the Prince of Peace,
imported science, liberalism and other form of philosophies.
to obscure the simplicity of the gospel,
Biblical illiterates lulled men to sleep through fantasy
and indeed,
“Thine enemies roar in the midst of thy congregations;
they set up their ensigns for signs.”
some experts of science,
others chose philosophy for their trade.
A mixture of voodoo and tradition
the babel of our religion,
many inventions and importation
from the world system to soothe men's cravings.
and in our bids to compete and conform
we sent the Master out through the door
and men love it so.
As we are now jesters from the pulpits
The complete gospel now a burden.
Repentance is extinct, righteousness unpalatable,
our churches as club houses where no Bible it taught
with itching ears as congregants
and we were just socializing,
more denominational than divine
secret devotion now archaic,
and the dark kingdom was plotting
as men sopor like captive.
then came corona, as a scourge, trudging the entire universe like a colossus
and men remembered.
that our Master is the master of the wind
but we sent him out long ago.
By a compromised gospel
Met this girl, in every party of whites and boxes, output like matches
I cannot portray if she is fine to talk to me; it is just texts and silence
Feeling is kind of odd; we know someone, we are randomised binaries
Then it is even; to ask consciously to think, is it good if we can change class
Forethought, aforementioned, all of the steps in motion-- like a flash.
Insofar as I never contemplated that I would fall this fast-- constantinople clash
Even so fast to react, a jab of mine would travel quarter of a second
Hers made it even faster, by falling me unconscious, making genuine bond
Whom I would just make friends-- a thom, it is not finished, it is beyond
I feel so secure. give her a lot; she would not bite, yet fear her abscond
Perchance, this just how I adore, from the moment meeting her to this digital world
She is the curly hair that made my way unseen and curved, now rebonded
Soothly, yes. You have observed how I made the rhythms read twine
Oh, Jane, how have you made this word from modern to archaic, emprise purine
Thyself is a thing that a man would protect, a man would serve as canine
You travelled with me through the lights; I have written your beauty in the sun's citrine
I have never met you; only the thinkers think of gods that favor both me and you, serpentine.
I would never depart this land of ours, shaped by what made us feline
Form:
Who defined
“certifiably insane”?
You see, it too closely
defines those who are
running this world.
The place where technology steals jobs;
Airplanes, crash more than they fly;
Politicians are elected,
based on the most…convincing…lies and bribes.
Where the archaic caste system, is making a comeback;
where diseases are created to win wars
and where medicines are created
to cause more sickness, then they cure.
A madhouse, where viruses are added to seeds,
which become our food.
Where no cure for cancer is ever found,
although nature gave us many.
There’s too much money to be made in…research;
to find too many cures will create less jobs.
Where surgeons sell unnecessary surgeries,
to enhance their lifestyle.
Where those without jobs or money,
are forced to buy insurance or pay fines,
yet politicians are exempt?
A psycho-drome where people disappear,
with no trace and human bodies are plasticized
for exhibition? Who are they, anyway?
Where genocide is an unpunished act,
if the initiator so chooses and
Where theatre-wars are created,
for the profit of world leaders.
Where coal companies freely murder families
and toxic pipelines trump, all human life.
Yes, who defined, “certifiably insane”?
That’s one hand, I’d like to shake…
the truly sane one.