Long Archer Poems
Long Archer Poems. Below are the most popular long Archer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Archer poems by poem length and keyword.
It's a wonder young children still turn out all right
With the stuff that gets crammed in their heads every night.
Things like visions of sugar plum fairies and sprites,
Or a thousand tales of Arabian delights,
A frog who turns prince with a kiss from a lass,
A girl who goes dancing in slippers of glass,
A cow that gets high and jumps over the moon,
A crockery dish that elopes with a spoon,
A boy who can fly but refuses to grow,
A difficult girl who plants maids in a row,
A magician who wants to trade old lamps for new,
A woman so poor she must live in a shoe,
A waif who sells matches out in the cold,
A king who can touch things and turn them to gold,
A dog, an old woman, a cupboard that's bare,
A girl locked in a tower, a ladder of hair,
A magical wheel that spins gold out of straw,
A guy helps a lion with a thorn in its paw,
A girl wearing red visits grandma who's resting,
Finds a wolf in her nightdress and Granny digesting,
Three kids and a wardrobe, three men share a tub,
A brave tailor kills seven mean flies with a club,
An archer makes merry with men in the woods
While relieving the rich of their money and goods,
Kind huntsman, fair princess, a vain evil queen,
Seven dwarves, and a prince who gets caught in between,
Hateful fairy, a baby, a hundred-year snit
'cause her name's accidentally left off a guest list,
A piper who lures out of town rodent varmints,
An emperor with new but invisible garments,
A farmer's wife butchers three handicapped mice,
A house drops on top of a witch who's not nice,
While another with gingerbread children seduces
Then gets baked by some twins in her own savory juices,
A giant and a beanstalk, a cat who wears boots,
A wolf who's outfoxed by three pigs in cahoots,
A bad little boy who sticks fingers in pies,
And another of wood whose nose grows when he lies.
There are others, of course, far too many to mention,
But I hope these will serve to excite some attention.
With stories like these knocking 'round in their heads,
It's no wonder if kids toss and turn in their beds.
Yet throughout countless ages these stories survive,
Kids listen, and dream them, and still wake up alive,
No worse for having been charmed or affrighted,
Imaginations are stoked, little minds are ignited,
And continue to hold them in dear veneration
As they pass them along to the next generation.
I
Yours is a mystery no mortal man can comprehend,
and your name which I mistook for my sister's, is a riddle
that would remain unsolved…
I have searched and searched within the recesses of my heart
since we parted at the crossroads
to know why my heart suddenly fell
like a fly into the spider's web, like a creditor's call
on a debtor's door,
like rain on a sunny day for you (a stranger)
on our first coincidental meeting,
and why it never stopped falling…
II
Weird as it seems,
the resonance of your soft contralto voice
lingers in my head
as if it were moments ago, and I feel
the reverberations against the daunting din
of the crowd that encompassed us…
The image of your slim black body stands in my mind's eyes
like slender palm on a bar beach,
and the perfect projections on your comely face
reminds me of my mother in her prime
when maidens prided in the sanctity
of their innocence
and thinking of you lulls me to sleep, to daydream
youthful dreams of her
in whose shadows I weaned…
Doyin! Lightfooted archer* on the wings of fate-
the suppleness of your black skin and your matchless manners
are true reflections of your untainted roots,
and the playfulness in your cultured tongue exalts you
amongst the silken daughters of Eve
(and are mere reminiscences of our first meeting)
How can I define your superlative beauty in verse?
III
Doyin, you are not one of my sisters, you are not my mother's daughter
yet, since we parted at the crossroads,
I have been in despair longing for the overwhelming ambience
of your sisterly warmth,
to hear the sound of your tender voice resonate
in my head down to my heart,
to feel the enlivening breath of your inner bowels,
to rest beneath the sheltering canopy of your hair, and
be enlightened by the magic splendour
of your bespectacled eyes…
Doyin, I long to bridge this river between us
to reach the enchanting realm of your refreshing countenance
and dwell therein within
the friendly fountains of your heart.
But since we parted at the crossroads,
and you went your way while I stood watching,
the image of your fetching figure
lodges in the chambers of my heart like a golden fleece
IV
And why my heart suddenly fell for you
I cannot tell…
Was it for your fetching figure or matchless manners?
I still cannot tell
I leave it to fate…
Because He Beats Me
Back I go into the den of tears
Splashing them across my face
The ones I have shed before
The memories
Some I have saved for years I this horrid place
Standing still I await the blow
My head - My back - My abdomen
Reality strikes
It seems so slow
I am paying for my sins
He loves me – He loves me not
Like picking pansies as they grow
He chose me for this lot
The tender kiss soft as a butterfly’s wing
So special I feel when he’s near
Oh, how my heart does sing
Making up is romantic dew
A glow beyond belief
Discolored speckled vision cleared
It all boils down with grief
Like a Lassie runs I make my way
A carpet for his feet
Bruises show a clotted flow
That fade well in a week…
I plot to steal away
Saving money for my future stay
He breaks my sofa – Says he’s take my life
I am his come what may
Stored anger churns deep within my soul
Backdrop game of blissful years
My bloodshed can never atone… Neither can the tears
For each mirror shows traces of healthy mane
I return faithful in fear
Unchanged
Because
He
Beats Me
- (c) Emily C. Archer
It was sunny the day our hearts broke away.
A decade has passed—but some wounds ignore clocks.
The news bloomed like bruises on a nation’s chest.
Shoreham stood still.
Time forgot how to move.
Eleven men.
Men of mornings and small routines.
Lunchboxes. Laughter. Motorbikes.
Some had children. Others were children—still.
And one…
one kept wildflowers on his phone.
Too shy to say, “This made me think of you.”
There’s no symmetry to this grief.
It leans sideways and doesn’t apologise.
It smells like engine oil and funeral flowers.
It hums in the throat of widows and mothers,
grows moss in the cracks of pub tables,
clings to the wings of the plane that didn’t stop.
Somewhere, a bottle of red remains uncorked.
Somewhere, a bike rests against a wall no one will move.
Somewhere, wildflowers still bloom—
and someone remembers
the man who loved flight,
but stayed grounded
for everyone but himself.
Still.
Author’s Note:
For the eleven lives lost on 22 August 2015 at Shoreham:
Dylan Archer, Richard Smith, James Mallinson, Mark Trussler,
Matt Jones, Matthew Grimstone, Jacob Schilt, Daniele Polito,
Tony Brightwell, Mark Reeves, Maurice Abrahams.
You are remembered.
Dear Editor,
I won’t let you stand on my throat—
Stifle my compassion,
Weigh down my shoulders
With a chip — not sweet like chocolate,
But sharp like ice.
Not from the old block,
But cracked from the freeze
You placed in my bones.
You guillotine my fire
And return me only grief.
Dear Editor,
I know your job is important—
But is it louder than the truth
That begs to be heard?
Just because a stanza doesn’t touch you,
Or it ends without rhyme or convention,
Does that make it any less real?
Dear Editor,
Please see the substance beneath the design.
We poets are crucified
For daring to call out—
For letting our voices
Tremble, burn, and bleed.
Dear Editor,
I once wrote about loss
So heavy, it cracked the sky.
A plane fell — and a friend was gone.
And I wrote it raw.
And I sent it whole.
And it came back with silence.
Maybe the timing was wrong,
But the pain was right.
Dear Editor,
I beseech you:
Look into your heart,
And look at the piece.
Admire the craft,
But let truth ring through.
Then maybe more of the unheard,
The undervalued,
And the unpolished
Will shine, too.
Horoscopes defy what the mind already knows
Sagittarius categorized, Catholically inclined
Religion forces Signed eyes to reconsider deliverance
Archer status on the dance floor
Lips poised clothing crunk'd
High heels dipped in ghetto couture
Street loved, Sirens seem to posess me with Hip-Hop streaming
Cold blue steel pressed against my thigh
He makes me forget Good Girl analogies
Marxist ideologies and paying the water bill
Electric cars and global warming
Catholic tendencies clash with knee-jerk leftist remarks
Minorities have a propensity to be Democratically oriented
Shall I take it to the highest point of disregard
And let Disneyland dreams give way to worldly needs
Oh God
May we philosophize before his muscles take me over
Smiles reconcile what was once sober
Drunk off uncertainty
"I live for the moment" lies
We all need a little healing
I forget my repented chants to forgive sins
The more educated I become the harder it is to blindly believe
Faith is a tired charade that I must play
Center stage, bright eye'd and readily paid
I believe but must I rely on what the homily says
The bank notes the eagerness in charity of diluted masses
I trust in the Lord
Everyone needs a mentor
To relinquish safety in the face of uncertainty
Is something revolutionary
Am I to fall in love with guilt as my ancestors before me
Will Jesus still love me if i'm not sorry for smiling
I'm not sorry at all for being
Lividly in love with living
But was it T.S Elliot who was so declined to meet
The basic devotion in his poetry
Or was it me who denies faith everlastingly
I'm already twisted with these bottles of opiated, over the counter conviction
Priests who color me darker then I was before I dipped my hand
Into sanctified waters
Questions procede answers that are left for dying
The Vatican with daily mantras force me to facilitate fate
Is this the right religion for me
Why isn't faith enough, destiny binds me to unforgiving roots
Relatives in Zoot-suits trying to mix it up
The fine lines between being revolutionary and being impious
Are fading so slightly from the clear cut minds
Or is it mine whose mind is cut from something similar to sacrilede profanity
Surely we shall see
With prayer in my hand
the devil at my feet
There Are A Thousand Treasures Of Kings
Worth More, Than All The Wealth, There Could Be !
Some Say, It’s In A Kingdom Of Dreams
Others Say, It’s As Real As You & Me
The Legend Says, There’s A Kingdom Of Love
In A Kingdom, Far Away & Above
Kings-Treasures, To Be Claimed By The Best
Those Worthy Of Courage, To Quest
& So, This Is Where I’ll Start, My Friend,
Tho’, This Isn’t Where The Real Tale Begins
You See, There Was A Merry Band Of Adventurers
Who Went On A Quest, As Treasure-Gatherers
There Was Moses, The Freedom-Circle-Rider
Stayed His Course, Like An Eagle-Glider
There Was Goff, The Monk Of Sky and Trees
His Visions Of Life, Were As Open As Doors With Keys
There Was Kendricks, The Keeper Of ‘Interesting’ Tracks
& Marty, Of The Hale & Hearty & Power-Pen Pack
There Was Adell of Deep Wells … & Dio, The Devoted
& Dame Brown Of Mountain-Ground, So Sweetly-Noted
There Was An Irish Lass, O’Leary Of Laughter
& The Golden Daughter Of Grace & Audrey Of Gifted-Banter
& Devonshire, The Dove & Highlander Of Heather-Cove
Of First To Join Search: For Soup & Treasure-Trove
Of Course, We Have A Prince Of Passion Land
& Ismael, A Dream-Merchant From His Own Island
The Prince, Paints Of Pleasures; The Islander Speaks of Treasures
Both Know Of Biggest Royal Cache That We Could Ever Measure !
There Came Tim, The Archer Of The Wit-Forest
& A Determined Mother with Son, The Lady Doris
Maid Adams, Who Teaches How To Keep Cold Away
& The Lightning-Voice Of Linda Marie, Keeps Wolves At-Bay
There Is Sir Lamoureu of Sir Lancelot's Order
He Wields Words In Articulate Axes & Armor
And To Those Who Dare Say Chivalry Is Dead ...
Is Because -The Sonnets of Sir Lamoureu, They Have Not Read
& The Legendary Language That Sir Lamoureu Pledge
Then There's Lady Linda, A Chatelaine & A Poet Destroyer
But She Only Versus The Verses of The Vanity Voyeurers
Her Skill With Quill Accurately Quite Accords
As Proof of Pens Being Mightier Than Swords
We Have A Pretty Elf Known As Anne Lise Andresen
Her Piquant Topics of Poetry Makes Her Our Taliesin
And We Have Our Very Own Kind Maid Merryman
She Transports Adventures Better Than A Ferryman
Part 1 of 2
Written & Copyrighted By: MoonBee Canady
Him
Beautiful - Handsome - Androgynous
Charismatic - Understanding - Unifying
Knows your pain...
Your desire to belong - Yearning
Want for something bigger
Your purpose... Meaning
He will fulfill all the desires of the faithful
The avarice... The political seekers... The powerful
The meek
The poor in spirit --- The elect
He knows God’s laws --- God’s word
Deep familiarity with Jesus
He brings light
Bears light
A new light --- A new way
Appeals to the minds of men
Curiosity
Carrying prophesy
Holiness in his left hand Deviance in the right
A magnet-To-Soul Iron filings
He is
Once disrobed
Much too late to recoil
The ultimate
Numerology master
Twister of wrong for right
The man of perdition
The
Antichrist
(c) 2025 Emily C, Archer
Youth, Time, Night Sky And Heaven's Blessed Voice
As I lay me down in lush verdant grass
Gazing into night sky as Heavens pass
Twinkling stars, to an old grievous soul speak
"Be of stout heart, not a mortal so weak"!
Heavens voice advice, if ones heart listens
Gleaming as true as, morning's dew glistens
Should we not thus seek, blessings so divine
As to not let this world our lives define?
Big dipper singing soft ditty times three
As its handle cast light, welcoming me
Archer shot beams across the Milky Way
As benevolent words, asking no pay!
Brother moon dancing, to set wolves howling
Nature set free, its kids go a'prowing
In peaceful repose, I fall into sleep
My last words, "Lord, Pray you, this soul to keep"!
Robert J. Lindley, 11-17-2019
Rhyme, ( When Youth, And Treasured Memories An Old Poet Remind )
Dedication, Second Poets Dedication Series, Nabokov
~ ~ ~ ~
As Sun Rises, Bringing Morn's Newborn Glee
As sun rises, bringing morn's newborn glee
rooster crows out its pleasures at dawn's light
as world again wakes, its teeming dark sea
shouts, do as you will, dark has fled with night!
Alas! Such is but its great and black lie
for darkness chooses but a brief retreat
folly to believe, as many may die
joining cold ashes of mortal defeat!
When night returns, its dark dances about
as hidden shadows leap from poison trees
solemn blackness, its power needs no shout
as those wise in many years will agree!
Yet new sun that brings light to dark banish
sets its course mortal man can never sway
reveals those sins we may wish to vanish,
in ever decaying hours of each day!
As morn's voice calls, this sweet coffee I sup
slow across this wood porch, an inch-worm crawls
an old man savors third and final cup
and seeks warmth within his castle walls!
Robert J. Lindley, 11-17-2019
Rhyme, ( Peaceful Morn, As Dawn's Glory Seeps Into Weary Soul )
(When Both Light And Dark Stir A Poet's Soul )
Second Poet Tribute Series, Vladimir Nabokov
Notes :
(1.) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vladimir_Nabokov
Vladimir Nabokov
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
There Are A Thousand Treasures Of Kings
Worth More, Than All The Wealth, There Could Be !
Some Say, It’s In A Kingdom Of Dreams
Others Say, It’s As Real As You & Me
The Legend Says, There’s A Kingdom Of Love
In A Kingdom, Far Away & Above
Kings-Treasures, To Be Claimed By The Best
Those Worthy Of Courage, To Quest
& So, This Is Where I’ll Start, My Friend,
Tho’, This Isn’t Where The Real Tale Begins
You See, There Was A Merry Band Of Adventurers
Who Went On A Quest, As Treasure-Gatherers
There Was Moses, The Freedom-Circle-Rider
Stayed His Course, Like An Eagle-Glider
There Was Goff, The Monk Of Sky and Trees
His Visions Of Life, Were As Open As Doors With Keys
There Was Kendricks, The Keeper Of ‘Interesting’ Tracks
& Marty, Of The Hale & Hearty & Power-Pen Pack
There Was Adell of Deep Wells … & Dio, The Devoted
& Dame Brown Of Mountain-Ground, So Sweetly-Noted
There Was An Irish Lass, O’Leary Of Laughter
& The Golden Daughter Of Grace & Audrey Of Gifted-Banter
& Devonshire, The Dove & Highlander Of Heather-Cove
Of First To Join Search: For Soup & Treasure-Trove
Of Course, We Have A Prince Of Passion Land
& Ismael, A Dream-Merchant From His Own Island
The Prince, Paints Of Pleasures; The Islander Speaks of Treasures
Both Know Of Biggest Royal Cache That We Could Ever Measure !
There Came Tim, The Archer Of The Wit-Forest
& A Determined Mother with Son, The Lady Doris
Maid Adams, Who Teaches How To Keep Cold Away
& The Lightning-Voice Of Linda Marie, Keeps Wolves At-Bay
There Is Sir Lamoureu of Sir Lancelot's Order
He Wields Words In Articulate Axes & Armor
And To Those Who Dare Say Chivalry Is Dead ...
Is Because -The Sonnets of Sir Lamoureu, They Have Not Read
& The Legendary Language That Sir Lamoureu Pledge
Then There's Lady Linda, A Chatelaine & A Poet Destroyer
But She Only Versus The Verses of The Vanity Voyeurers
Her Skill With Quill Accurately Quite Accords
As Proof of Pens Being Mightier Than Swords
We Have A Pretty Elf Known As Anne Lise Andresen
Her Piquant Topics of Poetry Makes Her Our Taliesin
And We Have Our Very Own Kind Maid Merryman
She Transports Adventures Better Than A Ferryman
Part 1 of 2
Space Ghost
Not of your world, nor you of mine
Your demeanor, un-human kind
A Space Ghost, floating through constellations and galactic lights
She minds her own (coast to coast)
“Jupiter will I make it back home?”
Crash landed, somewhere far imagined
Had I rather not
New ground; “Ok! Small steps, catch breath, Keep steady.”
READING: Unfamiliar Species Approaching
"Here,Now!"
“Or not.”
Only Silence and blank stares were shot
Words spoken; Mission Fail We speak different tongues
Technology; We both own/know well
Communication; The UNIVERSE has its way to show and tell
Energy; I think we’re vibing
Transmitting; Desires
Project Images; Things of similar interests
The Gravitational pull; It’s persistent
In exchanging body language, we learn where we belong Entirely different but enough to continue on
Losing focus
Keep watching as it reveals
This view; I can’t recall what else was around before/after the crash.
This purpose; What’s it manifesting?
Still Distracted
Hope it pays no mind
Let these eyes stay fixed and gazed
Upon you, for the remaining time..
Celestial mysteries
Internally I unfold
Captivated by the magnitude of this entity
And the beauty it holds
Such a transparent soul
Nebula
Ultra Violet Rays
Its colors; how they illuminate the face frame Your presence feels like Green Earth And It’s all Venus I see in you Warmth
Oxygen: Low
Code Blue: OUT
Retrograde: Over
In Direct Take off
“Farewell being.”
“Thank you for exposing your world and all that you are.”
“Collect what you’ve learned from me as hope if ever you feel apart.”
Maybe one day we’ll cross again My planet, 9th house Galaxy Explore: The Archer
Cause over the horizon, we could drift away
I could show you where Mars and Saturn sway
So don’t stray too far...
Maybe I’m just a Space Ghost Insignificant; who only passed you by
In your eyes
In your mind
I might be a Twilight Zone too much
Light years far far away
You’ve seen fancier stars
Aside from it all
Will you promise to remember my name?
Or how I came?
And for this Space Ghost, do you hold a place?