Long Architect Poems
Long Architect Poems. Below are the most popular long Architect by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Architect poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
*WALK ME THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS VALLEY*
Hold my hand and walk me through
So that I will neither fear nor fret
I am stranger on this lonely path
Lead me before the twin ancient temples
Let me worship before the daughter of Zion's altars
Let me marvel at the sight of the wonders of the gods
Let my eyes behold the curves that no architect can make
Works beyond the instinct of sculptors
Lead me to the mountain top
The top men are scared to climb
If I cannot touch let me stretch my hands
To the thrones of the twin goddess
Lead me to the fountain that gives life
Same that feed the liquid manner
The crave of the sinless infants
Maybe I can one day be your priest
Fed from the first drips at daybreak
And an altar to lay for the night
Make a way through the colourful curtains
Made of the finest Royal fabrics
Let me walk through the soft and lonely valley
Let me look up to the hills on both sides
The soft but powerful hills of nature
The hills that caps its peak with the dark candies
The candies we all crave from cradle to grave
I heard the kings doff their crowns to have a taste
They must be made from the historical honey from the lion's jaw
The valley may be short
But I can crawl a thousand times the slopes
I can climb the steep edges
Gently but steady till I reach the top
If I'm gentle and steady
If I can be slow and determined
If I can aim and watch my pace
I can get to the land and have my gain
Don't take this for a play
Believe me I'm willing to lay there till daybreak
Be kind to me and reward my effort
Be nice to me and renew my strength
If I labour for one
Bless me with the other
Let me drink from the spring till I thirst no more
Trust me I shall be gentle and tender
I am afraid to go down the stream
I was told of how dark and rough the path is
I read it is a lonely way
It takes no pair at a time
I know the path is slippery and steep
I'm scared to test the depth with my staff
If I go down the stream
I heard I may lose my way back home
So let me hold on to the hills for now
Where I can lay my head and rest for the day
Where my sweat would be rewarded
And I can have a smile that lasts ages
Where thoughts are crested in memories
And memories remain till no end
Walk me through the hills with the shallow valleys
The path my heart so desire
*CONCEPTUAL FM ???*
In the thicket forgotten of deeply anchored thoughts,
Where ideas nest, across time and tailored spaces,
There I stand, guardian of the undimmed realm, the archivist of the flame
That knows not extinguishing in the beating winds of history,
Guarding the pure light that does not fracture from darkness.
Shadow does not frighten me, in the tumultuous whirl of the ephemeral moment,
The virility of my pen is the bastion safe from political venom,
In my fortress of books, ideas, and eternally glimpsed dreams,
A candle of knowledge, a lighthouse piercing the fog of despair,
And my intellect, a fleet that can quench the thirst of the abyss.
I am the knight battling the windmills of forgetfulness and ignorance,
At war with the shadows that attempt to speak of present suppression,
A country does not parade its grandeur in the fleeting plays of political stages,
But in the echo it leaves through a waltz of creative genius in the world's libraries,
Through art, science, and the poetry whispered by blossoming briar circles.
A nation does not stretch into the arms of death when it is defeated,
Nor embraces the poison when lords change or thrones waver,
But on the wings of those who walked through the subtle circles of thought,
They leave an endless imprint of the dream in the springs of eternity,
Weaving its chronicles, over centuries and wisdom its people grow.
And I, amongst waves of misunderstanding and barriers of indifference,
Submerged in creations that speak in languages only the stars comprehend,
I traverse the fine line between present and dreaming eternity,
I build from words a wall that no terrestrial battle can crumble.
I watch how politics spins like an old mill in the fickle wind,
But I keep my distance, with my quill dipped in eternal ink,
Agony and ecstasy, in a wondrous dance of knowledge,
Never forgetting that the sunrise from my mind is the rebirth of the world.
Beneath my intellectual hoard, with its invincible nature,
I warm centuries, illuminate unfoldings, and cultivate hope,
For, regardless of the whirlwind that beats at my gate,
I am master of my counsel and the dream I embrace.
Politics may haunt the streets and squares,
But the eternal plays in the laboratories of my tranquil mind,
Where I, the architect of this human sanctuary, undefeated,
Weaving eternity with my intellect, remain.
I have seen the formation
Of ancient lands
I have seen the creation
Of ancient hands
Pyramids
That soar to the sky
Here amid
Temples majestic and high
I have seen
Wonderful things
Tombs and scenes
Of ancient kings
I have seen huge blocks of stone
Cut by hand of flesh and bone
Fit in place for reasons known
To the architect alone
Each stone block from the quarry
Has a structure to help build
Each chisel cut tells a story
Of a mason’s guild
I have seen towering obelisks
With finely chiseled hieroglyphics
And ancient golden relics
Like toys in the attic
I have seen ancient mummies
The walking living dead
Take care or you’ll become these
Walking around instead
Dinner I have eaten
With pharaohs and kings by many names
And I have beaten
Them at their many games
I have sat on the temple steps
In the shadow of a large mastaba
I chatted with the great Amenhotep
And the gods Isis, Anubis, Thoth and Ra
They told me I could become a god
If I live and died in the manner of a king
I thought that was a little bit odd
For I came here wanting nothing
Tomorrow we go off to fight
The empire of Kadesh
If you come, you will see some sights
That you will never forget
I saw the battle of Kadesh
Now written about on the temple walls
I saw the battle in the flesh
Now celebrated in the temple halls
I watched the battle and from what I saw
Neither side won the war
From my standpoint the battle was a draw
But the Pharaoh will celebrate a win evermore
Pharaoh Ramses lived to the ripe old age of around ninety two
He outlived a lot of his hundred children and many wives
He’s remembered as Pharaoh Ramses the Great who
Built many monuments and revitalized the Egyptian’s lives
When they found Pharaoh Ramses the Great’s body
They found no silver or gold
Only the great king’s mummy
Thousands of years old
The archeologists all made a great noise
Where was all the silver and gold?
Where was all the old man’s toys?
That the grave robbers stole and sold
A lot of his stuff is still out there
In Egyptian antique stores
And Egyptian homes and country fairs
To get something you could spend a lot for sure
Nowadays Ramses is lying in state in the Cairo Museum
And men and women and girls and boys
All flock to the museum to see him
And Tutankhamen’s wonderful toys
Spilling a stampede of ink's prisms in brilliant
words infusing a Poet's thoughts.
Conveying creativity to provocative
imaginations .
Implicitly complying to isolating reality
Creating new dimensions where
Clock's spilling time's perceptions living
the moment of now forever.
Clockwise wisdom from wicked word’s
of a Crazy mind.
Philosophically our minds process symphonies
of orchestrated word's allowing cognitive man
to stay in harmony with the mind & body
a climax of our souls.
Mind the symphony insane insanity
orchestrated by the body in climax.
Words infuse a person's thoughts.
Emotions are expressed by the pitch of spoken word's.
Words communicate & body language speaks
emotions relative to the words
infused of a person's thinking.
Wisdom can be found reading in between the lines.
A paragraph of powerful catchphrases speaks
melodies of a catchy tune & flowers of imaginations
bloom.
Philosophy is ergonomics of the mind.
Urban legends in the suburbs.
Sounds of absurd check out the proverbs.
Cognition is a subject of cognitive man.
Premonitions are permissions of man's cognition.
Relative to the fixed position.
Precognition is a psychic's dream
an heard but not seen.
Culture is a reflection of society's ideology
theories of mythology in series of theologies.
Hypothetical theories query a qued question.
The clocks bleeding times perception
of dimensions in galaxies
light year's away.
Romeo’s an architect of accentuating
love's aesthetics in romance.
Twice pleasing to appeasing
sentiments in orchestra's
of delinquent eye's to witnesses.
Accentuating abstracts in non-conformities
designs contemporary aesthetics
in modern times.
Contemplating exquisite elegance unique
powers doubling my mind's conspiracy
of forwarding complex sediments.
Orchestrated the dynamics time playing
noteworthy scales of creativity
All the syllables in a kilogram of lines,
echoing grams of killer dope words whispering
persuasive complexity.
A mythic's chanting elegant wizardrtrii
enchanting ageless philosophies elegance of
life's angelic orchids of ageless wisdom's.
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Pen's Broadcasting Brilliance
21st century's Poet
# WickedRomancer
?#poet #poetry #poem
My head spins as the noise from the crash echoes in my head. I sit up in some kind of terminal with strange trains bound left and right for places I don’t understand.
One is gold and ornate but the trappings are fake with cracks that filagree in its façade the train reminds me of a serpent-like Leviathan.
The next is sliver and clean with white and sliver cravings blue accents and the train looks sleek streamlined like it's from the far-flung future. Bright lights gleam. Chrome.
Is that blood I see dripping from the golden cracks along the tracks. I feel the frost of the sliver train's exhaust. My head swims and lay my head back to let the world catch up.
The terminals lights are harsh here, harder than Fluorescence More brutal than incandescence the building I find myself in, is like no glass and armature skeletal structure I have to seen before. An architecture unknown in my life. On earth or anywhere. I feel the infernos of one and the chill of the other.
In this Terminal were these mechanical beasts are cradled. This terminus stretches into infinity. I see pail figures drifting up and down the platform faces all a blur like failed dreams I have dreamt once before. My eyes focus but the faces don’t, a little chill runs my spine.
I look around the depot, it is staggering. The architect must have been mad or on some mind devastating drugs.
I look to the right the building fades to a brilliant blue sky with regal clouds and a sun low on the horizon but never settings as occasional clouds pass before it shooting glorious rays of light my father call the visions of divinity. I think I see wing shapes fluttering like butterflies, but that can’t be? I rub my eyes nothing changes.
To the left, I look to see a dark horizon with thunderheads miles high of endlessly thunderstorms churning and crimson and violet lightning lancing the rim of a cityscape on fire. Dark industries tower and burn. A jagged broken land of fissures like rough-cut skin and bleeding lava, belching smoke. The worse nightmare of a demented god.
I stand lost in my own translation. I fell the screams of a car crash echoing, the rubber screeching, burning; in my head like a lingering bad dream. Fading in my inner mind's eye. I am forgetting the time. I must go. I feel I should go but I stand there for a while.
Where do you begin with Ravichandran Ashwin...intellectual impresario
Red ball romeo... conceptual maestro..the Kingpin of spin..leather lothario
Perpetual taunting...teasing..bubbling cerebral cauldron formenting..haunting
Troubling.. flaunting...tormenting..vaunting..fermenting..pleasing
Luminosity...but another one of the band of badger brothers
Reeks of unique chic tweak at its peak
Bare faced cheek of genius geek cavorting
Discerning pastor preaching while yearning for learning
More about turning…..curiosity pique...sleek sporting freak
Mythical master of disaster..have many if any been reaching 500 wickets faster
Viral spirals about this sage despite his age still taking centre stage
Batters like budgies trapped in a gilded cage
As though he had planned to grandstand the Ravinchand bandstand brand...stealing the back page
Revolution masquerading as evolution...cogitating...searching for a solution
Ruminating..problems to fix with his swag bag of tricks..spinning absolution
Precision physician with constant revision...each edition
A new rendition.. high jinks with winks.. and nods to tradition
Wondering...that furrowed brow..pondering how
Career of seams caressed with finger finesse ... architect..engineer without peer…
Can't debunk the magic funk…just respect from a Test tragic monk
Scientist enthrall..sorcerer gall...still one of us...the best of us all.
So hold your head high Ravichandran..still don't know why you were so often the fall guy
Fans vicarious view..our meme..you part of our team...daring to dream..your art of derring do
Iconic booty of noble probes…lush lullabies...strobes lapping global lobes
Sagacious..loquacious oratory...the tonic...fruity frolic
Fresh from laboratory duty..bodacious bucolic beauty
Even naysayers can't deny they relish that conjuring charm from your cherished right arm.
Let's zoom to the elephant in the room...is Ashwin the don of Indian spin
With the skill and will to top the bill and still pip Anil?
Kumble also a defiant giant on whom they were so reliant
Hot to trot just not as savvy as Ravi
The Don's got the lot..takes number one spot
Wealth of stealth...doyen among men..but never ever about himself
He loves cricket just for the cricket itself..zen then..
It’s as if something had exploded in my brain and the whole world had gone insane, it is that magic that you feel when you know that love is real and all the doubts and fear had gone away and something appealing was here to stay, and it embolden my will to get up and sing.
I couldn’t see it but I could feel it, I couldn’t touch it but I could imagine it and the skies turn blue I know that the oracle will come true, oh if you could feel what I feel, you would know that life is real and the fountain of love isdripping from above.
Oh if I could turn the clock back in time, I would undo the hatred of our ancestor and unite the broken hearts and compose music about the sun and sea. I would rewrite the new world order and send love to my sisters and brothers and mend the broken bridges, I would stand on the mountain and send messages of love to the weary, and when the sun is going down
I would give thanks for the heart and the crown.
Can you feel the blood running through your vein? feel the warmth that it bring and submit to it will you have travelled a million miles and have made thousands of sacrifice so live that
You were meant to live so separate yourself from the hill, the daily complains around you have drained your mental and spiritual energy and you will never be happy if you stay there
The universe has so much to share, so come with me and I will tell you what I heart speaks.
Circulate the letters of time and you will find the magic words
That is perfect for your soul, it is the way it is juxtaposed and the oxymoron that gives you running nose is smiling. It is like the architect of the sea that has come to set the reptiles free, they know where they stand and how live on the land.
Draw back the curtains of time and you will see things that will blow your mind, go back to the negotiation table and don’t leave the room until a good deal is reached, then you can rest your feet. You will have your bathroom break in the same place
And everyone everywhere that is working on whatever deal will follow the same method to mend their heel. And if it’s not complete in one day, you will stay in the same place until a deal is reached that everyone can agree to.
Circulate my words and cleanse your soul, circulate my poems and make the deal whole. Come and join me and you will be happy.
Everyone is dancing to a new rhythm forcing everyone to sing, the notes are right, the message is tight and this rhythm is causing a fight. Many people are happy with it but many still don’t understand it they just follow the beat and move to the rhythm in the street.
It seems like a gender war and the religious people want to create a brawl, Christendom or the holy land; man wants to claim dominion over woman. That’s not how it was supposed to be, the destiny will decide for you and me when the bulls are in the town, it turns my emotion upside down.
They want to squeeze you in a corner and make years of hard work goes down the drain to make you feel ashamed, they want to snatch the book away from you so that your hard earn dream doesn’t come through and when the day is done you have to get up and run and seek for solace in the sun.
Men has had their time and mother earth is divine we are the fruits of the land and we just want to cross over. Why are you giving us such a hard time when you knew that the message is divine, you are fighting for something that will never be and you will have to cross over and stand by me.
You have got to stop this gender war and work with everyone that wears overall, they are the working-class people and the group that can stand adversity. Work with what is feasible and make your location applicable; remove the juice from the stand and marinate your beef and fish with onion and pepper, add some spice and serve it with rice in a broad dish.
When your objectives are met, you must drain the swamp to keep the mosquitoes off the land.
Some people will have to travel to get a better position or you will waste away to nothing on this flabbergasted island, Babylon has no plans for you and no one is standing up for you. You are like a rolling stone that is gathering no moss and it is time to treat yourself to an expensive frock.
The planes will be landing soon and you must be at the boarding gate before noon, you will be given instructions when you get there, and you must not speak to anyone or participate in any conversation out there.
.I don't understand what the architect wants but we will work out a deal that will finalize your plans and place you in a firm position. Destiny will meet you at the shore and give you the keys to open the door.
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
Like magnificent avenues of autumn, wherein we bask before all colors flit.
Happily, my works were very popular, as current sweet songs of ruby birds,
At the purple, sunset time of fading skies, when lilac time flows backwards.
I dwelled in the house of the whimsical new, admired by casual passersby,
As clouds and gemmed landscapes are admired, by visitors to neon skies.
Neighbors wafted through visual colors, as rouge moon visits newborn sun,
Like hours spent visiting gaiety's garden, waiting for something to happen.
Torrid summer was in the cherry sunset, and green birds owned coral day,
And pink butterflies flew by the window, as gilt, molten time slipped away.
Juicy apricots were beginning to ripen, with their tangy, sweet savor of July,
When I saw several of my creations come to life, on the street, walking by.
I laughed to see the sudden swaying, to graceful, fluted music of the wind,
Like the smiling time of the evening, when seeing sun and moonlight blend.
They moved proudly upon the skyline, playfully frolicking, hues shimmering,
Like the earliest break of antique day, when newest truths start glimmering.
Mellow sunshine fell straight through the clouds, as the dancing slowly died,
Like the last day that a rainbow was glimpsed, on the day that nature cried.
And I had sensations of blind wonder, like the starry-eyed, dreaming night,
When the mighty ocean bellows its roar, in huge, full moon's powdery light.
I realized my buildings were alive, because of the people who dwelt there,
For people lent them color and spirit, as a medallion sun makes floral flair.
But they never again danced in daylight, nor in the sudden, purple twilight,
Yet, the rosy memory has never faded, like vibrant memories of moonlight!