Long Archers Poems
Long Archers Poems. Below are the most popular long Archers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Archers poems by poem length and keyword.
(The Merry Adventures of Robin Good)
Sherwood's Forest legendary, leading man
up, down, tricking eggs between branches
slender, slander, his voice is growing thinner
twisting, turning heads 50 shades of green
Master of disguise reaching for the top archers spot,
A bard, with uncanny precision, ROBIN nonstop
Splitting his opponent LIKE A BOSS!
Aiming arrows, where broken women sit
Creating fantasies, for his band of hypocrites
A serenade, of jealousy and mayhem
A poetic outlaw, generously taking what others earn
Wearing black tights, the hottest profile, sipping wine
A lust beyond Dorthy's Rainbow, a venomous poem
Somewhere, covered in leprechaun's gold
His chest is cold
- Yet warm from all the hands caressing this bard,
He is the best, gravity has no weight on his pen,
A soundless soldier having his way with his sword,
Executing those who challenge him,
Breathing life into many empty accounts
Giving voices and self-encouragement
With no time to drop down this bard from cloud nine
A dissipation of air fresheners and hello's
Painting pain just to pretend it hurts the person
A fragile voice whispering in the shadows
Slithering Secrets;
From this hooded bard who carries no face,
A mask of lies, taking what belongs to others.
Robin of honor, graveled by his peasants
MISUNDERSTOOD in every fashion, yet he preys
Pipping dreams away, down an infested rat's path
Shoving Little Johns hopes down the list
Robin is no common criminal, just a bard
Wearing a dark cloak, when in disguise
taking from the greedy --- giving to the needy
Thank you for enjoying my story
Robin Good and his network of Merry Men
2-3-16
The Christian life is not always all easy
for the Lord's way has many a bumpy road
those that deny this are biblically in error
scriptures clear, His seed will be sowed
The believer believes in their saviour
but also is called to suffer for His sake
to walk His road putting on their cross
learn well His steps before the earth quake
The apostle James speaks of many trials
they all to be thought of being all joy
for testing of faith produces endurance
so your walk with God no one can destroy
When you desire to live a godly life
persecution will come across your path
don't fear it know God's near at hand
for your enemies can't escape His wrath
Hast thou no scar? Amy Carmichael's words
a question we all need to think hard about
as Jesus suffered so will His own do
be faithfully true as Jesus does not a doubt!
(This is based on Amy Carmichaels's classic poem ' Hast Thou No Scar',)
(Hast Thou No Scar
by Amy Carmichael(1867-1951)
Hast thou no scar?
No hidden scar on foot, or side, or hand?
I hear thee sung as mighty in the land,
I hear them hail thy bright ascendant star,
Hast thou no scar?
Hast thou no wound?
Yet, I was wounded by the archers, spent.
Leaned me against the tree to die, and rent
By ravening beasts that compassed me, I swooned:
Hast thou no wound?
No wound? No scar?
Yet as the Master shall the servant be,
And pierced are the feet that follow Me;
But thine are whole. Can he have followed far
Who has no wound nor scar?)
The Battalion set out through the fields
Over mountain tops under cover of the night
Moonbeams flushed with shadows of clouds
Provided a permanent array of light
Two by two the marched softly side by side
Anonymous to trees and staying out of sight
Dawn cracked the early morning sky
Geese flying in its wake before daylight
The Enemy would meet them in the valley below
The Red Road Crossing staging for the fight
The archers prepared bows and quivers
Swordsmen and those with spears upright
And behind them the Calvary on steeds
Snorting and dancing Riders glued on tight
The Bugler signaled the troops all let loose
Cannons propelling shrapnel in the morning light
Horses and men a muddled mess of torture
And bravery a Calvarys' last fight
The ground which was brown was now a deep red
For the blood of the Battle had soaked in the night
And the ghost of these Men and their horses as well
Haunt The Red Road on the eve of that fateful night.
What I see in stars above is extremely wearisome,
with useless inane details that I wish I never knew.
Light years, space-time, black holes, big bangs,
myriads of pricks 'n specks a billion miles away - who cares?
I've been over-dubbed, deluded, and robbed,
of the romance, songs, stories,
and delightful spiritual legends
that ancient master star gazers saw
in stars above.
Hunter and archers with sword, belt, arrows and shield,
A veritable zoo of animals - lion, ram, bull, bear, llama, emu,
goat, scorpion, fish and severed heads, under arms.
Pots and pans, the scrub-a-dub dish that
ran away with the spoon.
Regal Heracles, Achilles and Troy in battles raging skyward
Bickering Gods, Virgins, Kings and Queens with kids and twins.
Action-men Pharaohs, wannabee Gods,
leaping from pyramid tops,
onto the ladder of the Milky Way, which is -
The River of Heaven, Road of Souls
The Spilled Breast Milk of Hera the Mother God
The seed-strew pathway the mighty Emus trod,
pecking their way,
In stars above.
We all should get out and look up more!
Gazing with ancient eyes into the sky above,
reveling to see and enjoy what they saw,
in stars above.
Clanging of metal disturbed her in no way
Lauma was a warrior and ready for the task
Her unborn children lay deep within her womb
Could not think of them now, took a swig from flask.
The archers were summoned next, they took out dozens.
It was a battle worth seeing, made Lauma feel powerful and smart.
She was in her prime, twenty-eight moons gone,
Ready to fight, her prowess known among the troops of her heart.
Lauma, are you ready? Her father asked. Of course he knew the answer.
She had been born a warrior, and she would die a warrior, his daughter-son.
She fought hard that day, slashing and killing the enemy swiftly and neatly.
The last sight I had was of Lauma glancing at her annihilator in the summer sun.
The front rank hold stong,
from where does come the strength?
pushing forward, one step, another,
Keep pushing you red.
Swords, spears, axes, striking home,
black with enemy blood,
All weapons must be fed,
let Evil blood flow.
Yet blood shall still flow on both sides,
the horror of battle fulfilled,
the ranks of light and dark, hard pressed,
sweat mingles with blood.
The Arlaghs slowly moving back,
still, they are not done,
now a pivotal part of the battle,
the red cannot give ground.
There are still archers behind the main foot,
see how they ply their death,
they still fire their death into the air,
arrows striking home with deadly accuracy.
Carts now rolled from Alahsar,
they kept the archers supplied with death,
yet these supplies were not limitless,
never waste a shot.
Yet still, the enemy numbers hold,
do the dead rise upon the field?
What black magic is this?
the numbers did not decrease.
Look at the number of enemies fallen,
no one can see them rise,
their numbers still never seem to fail,
and a cold touch of fear can pierce the heart.
Men of Alahsar,
what power of spirit leads you on?
What song of power does grip your heart?
it is the song of man's glory.
This song has no end,
it is glories song of grace,
yet everything can have an end,
an end that brings forth bloody death.
Could this be the end of the song?
The song of golden Alahsar,
the time for warriors to fall on their swords,
the end of all that is joy.
These men shall have it not,
they shall fight on even though strength starts to fade.
strike home you men of honour,
fight on for all you love.
Onward, onward, let the spirit fire their souls,
one cannot think of the cost of defeat,
men, Arlaghs, spiders and wolves, all sing the song of death,
each fighting for the precious gift of life.
Battle does ever come with blood and pain,
The repugnant smell assails the nostrils,
oh, glory, how terrible is your song,
the living dread of all who love life.
Blood now freely mingling with the Earth,
the green dies before our eyes,
black, red, and dying green, now part of the song,
thunder has exploded on Badicha.
The battle rages on and on,
vacant eyes look to the skies,
glory's dream to live or fall,
the fulcrum falls one way or the other.
To Be Continued ..........
Roman Politics.
The coldness of the night merged seamlessly
with the coldness of daybreak.
A weak sun did nothing to raise temperatures
or spirits.
The Legionnaires leather coats creaked and cracked
as morning dew met forest mist.
At the edge of the giant forest they all stood,
lined out and disciplined.
Waiting.
Far across barren scrubland
taunting voices shouted abuse and threats.
Hidden deep in their own forest fortress,
sporadic German tongues were cursing
Rome.
The battle was about to begin.
The shouts turned to chants,
the chants to howling.
Weapons clattered sheilds,
the waiting was over.
Fire was primed and archers drew,
calvary waited in the wings.
Three words echoed down
the infantry.
"Strength and honour."
The uncouth hoards burst forth,
all the tribes united
as one.
Screaming out for murder.
The Legion stood, waited, disciplined.
Brought them on,
waited,
formed.
Unleashed hell.
One half day later
Rome could cheer.
A nice piece
of involvement
was again won
for the Senate.
The tribes were undone.
For now.
Form:
Spring’s leading light has challenged Winter’s rule.
The ancient king, befouled, erupted from his early morning slumbering
And marched about his fortress
Enraged and raging.
His fury exploded against the walls,
And threats of retribution echoed throughout the halls
Against the upstart who tested the king’s supremacy.
The bitter monarch,
With eyes of steel and flashing light,
Like Saul, sulking and plotting against young David,
Smacked his hands-
His arctic breath thundered his commands
With authority and showy bluster
In defense of his domain, the
Crowned Head his troops did muster.
The elements converged.
“To Arms!” did he demand.
Sleet, those skilled archers of the hardened world,
Cast frozen arrow across the battleground.
Wave upon wave, the icy weapons hurled, until
The king’s nemesis turned ‘round.
This day’s battle went to Winter
The hoary head in fierce-like frame
His dominion did defend-
The scepter in his hand remained.
The old man’s reign, now prolonged,
The young Spearhead’s confidence disrupted
And denied,
For a time,
The pre-ordained.
But Winter will decline,
His rule and season come to an end.
Then Spring, the anointed heir,
To nature’s throne ascend- and all
The kingdom will rejoice!
© Michelle Waters 2021
Beneath the frozen dome of a late December, I learned with melancholy
That those who gave me wings are not the titans I summoned in my childhood dreams,
But two earthlings, stirring my dreams into an aura, breathing whims of ice and smoke into the cauldron of my being.
And in that harsh month of ice, when my soul huddled beneath the timid dawns,
The mug of hot chocolate by my bed becomes a herald, laden with unspoken words,
The warmth of a mother saying without words how much you need to warm yourself at life's bosom,
And I, unknowingly trampling over gifts with ignorance, with a silent longing buried in routine.
Oh, how I wish I had known how to unravel the thread of love, for it is an art crushed by the weight of the earth,
It struggled through dungeons of misunderstandings, attempted, I understand now, to tear down the cold walls between us,
I would like to take back the harsh words, the disputes that scratched the delicate veil of our connection,
But I was only a dandelion in the wind's path, a child who did not understand that this play is most earnest.
And as I step towards the dawn of a new phase, at last aware,
I realize there are no castles without shadows, that each family is a legacy of forgiveness and forgetting,
Love, an ancient coin that we are still learning to pay the right price for, it starves us and sometimes satiates,
And now, I see that it, always trying to mend what we have torn, still extends the thread back to me.
I would have liked to have been more whole, to have answered the call of her heart with honesty, without denial,
But reality knocked me down with fragments of walls, and I remained there, a child with the world on his shoulders,
Stripped of excuses and pretexts, with an open heart to the truth - all that have made us what we are today.
When I retreat into the hearth of the night, I find the blanket spread over me, hiding my fleshly embarrassments,
And when I look up at the sky, maybe I erred, but in the infinite blue I understand that it is never too late,
Life without those pawns who ignited the spark in the archers on the chessboard is inconceivable to me,
And no matter how fate weaves and unravels, everything started with them,
And an overwhelming sense holds me, that it will all end with them too.
The archers’ line was straddled,
By many a shapely calf.
The Marshall called the nocking,
And winked at the pretty lass.
The Maiden drew the bowstring back,
To her ruddy cheek,
As she fired her fledgling flights;
They heard the fair Maid "Eek!"
Chorus
"Sing Hey Ho, best beware!
Hey Ho have a care,
If ye've any pretty parts,
Ye'll keep them out of there!"
The bowman smiled and nodded,
As the Maiden struck a pose.
"Try again M'Darlin' Dear,
"But watch out for y'er nose!"
The Maiden rubbed her forearm,
And looked back with a glare.
Nocked another arrow shaft,
And hit the bull's-eye square.
Gentles all they tipped their hats.
The Marshall cleared the field.
The Maiden went to fetch her flights.
The men trod close at heel.
Returning with a manly stride,
Yet again, she took her stance.
The bowmen's eyes all glimmered,
With mischief far in advance.
Chorus
Pulling back her bow string,
To her crimson cheek so close,
She let another arrow fly free.
The string hit her in the nose!
Tears welled in the Maiden's eyes.
All the gentlemen rushed the Dear.
Wiping the pretty lassies face,
Of every single tear.
They brushed the few stray auburn locks
From before her green-brown eyes
Handed her the fine longbow,
And heard her sorrowful sighs,
"Do try again M'Dear Mistress,
But for your form we fear,
So, be very, very, careful Maid!
Keep those nipples out of there!"
Chorus
'Twas 'pon the final flurry,
As she drew string back to cheek;
"Thwack" went the taunting bowstring,
And again the Maiden "Eekked!"
Her cheeks they blanched a deathly white,
'Pon her brow there came a frown;
Still, when the Marshall called count;
She gamely shot the round.
"Sing Hey Ho, don't be scared,
Hey Ho just take a care,
'Tis simply a friendly warning
Not to put ye're pretty parts there!"