Long Archways Poems
Long Archways Poems. Below are the most popular long Archways by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Archways poems by poem length and keyword.
Naked Beneath the Robe
Would you have us all dress the same?
Coerce us into believing it is our favorite outfit,
influence the tide of fashion down a one way street.
Would you limit the words available to us?
Deny us the colors needed to create a rainbow,
leave us with only a corridor of grey archways.
Would you dull the scents of the garden?
Filter all aromatic wafting breezes,
blinding the butterfly and the bee.
Would you drain the sun’s reflection from the pond?
Refuse the gentle wind the courtesy of ripples
to validate its presence in its passing.
Would you force the spring morns birdsong through a funnel?
Squeezing from it the hope and joy of sunrise,
silencing the trill of tree filled benediction.
Would you shape all of the clouds in conformity?
Obscure the passion of their sky dance,
frustrate the imaginings of life.
Would you still the ghosts of shimmering mist?
Foil the fantasy of fog’s embrace
quiet the eerie silence of the marsh.
Would you hold as good, or bad, or wanting,
the heavens as they seek horizons touch,
obstructing sunset’s ruby passion.
Would you tear love’s passage from dead parchment?
Erasing words imbued with writers soul
to ease the fear of your unknowing heart.
Would you judge without the fear of error
confine the beauty of all essence
condemn without compassion’s edging doubt.
Submitted to – Any Poem #31 – Poetry Contest
2/23/2015
The Accoutrements of Knowledge
The accoutrements of knowledge
had crept into his life, overtaking it.
No more did he sit and think,
idly allowing nuance to shade gray
the black and white of learning’s
playful inconsistencies. Old books,
manuals, manuscripts, texts,
subscribed to journals, cluttered
his encroaching space. Old thoughts,
ideas, dreams, brainstorms and brain-farts,
waited – holding numbers – lost in
the labyrinth of slumbering genius.
The need to learn, the drive to succeed,
had seduced him, lured him into the
netherworld of concrete minds,
set in their ways, confident of
their credos. This hell of blindly
accepted dictates emanating from
a “think” tank, this babbling of banal
benediction, this forced worship
of the mindless by the thoughtless
had dimmed the beauty of the sunrise,
muted the music of the spheres,
closed the eyes of the seekers,
pulling the wool of doubt over them.
So he left the trappings of the pedagogues,
fled the archways of academia,
sought a clear and simple thought -
An endeavor not unlike the search
for an honest man. His goal was not
to think but to experience thought,
not to memorize the dance steps
but to experience dancing.
They said that he had “burnt out”,
lost his focus, succumbed to the stress.
Now free of the encumbrance of the
accoutrements of knowledge, he was
free again to seek, to follow, to be
conscious of the sound of his heartbeat,
the rhythmic surge of his pulse,
the shimmering glow of a dappled sunrise.
He would learn from all about him,
study the art of the mud daubers,
the construction of the beavers,
listen to the songs of the lark and sparrow,
answer the call of the coyotes,
taste the bliss of the bee hive honey.
He learned – no books can teach you
the scent of dew damp grass at dawn,
nor recreate the harrumphing solo
of the lead bullfrog. Nor could they
explain how the dragonflies dance
varies from the butterflies ballet.
And so he thought. How and why
had he constructed a barrier of
knowledge that frustrated his
search for anything else?
1/24/2015
submitted to – Any Poem Written in the Year 2015
sponsor – Laura Loo
Talk to me now...of day break
Of questing light
The sky
Salted with clouds
crimson with a spectrum of a rainbow at dawn
or
peppered with grey and raindrops
Sugared all
with the seeds of a new day
The question lies ahead
eventually we all must leave
I'm tired
Tired of mossy hills
Tired of rainbows
Spare me your rocks with they're glistening gentle
subtle hues
Spare me your mud brown here
red there
Spare me your ponds
your lily pads
Let me get over your lovely hidden pathways
you weeping willows
Oh please spare me!!!
Let me forget the walkways that stretch out so far
weathered wood and seagrass bound
that far out over the sands bring me
closer and closer
to your wild undulating blue so grey green blue sea
Don't dare me to love the sea anymore
That vast grasping calling tumultuous sea
Let me forget fine golf course grass yards
Forget me flowers
Forget me seeds
Forget me pine needle soft forest floors
and absolutely forsake me tall golden grasses that dip
and yaw in breezes
Forget me English gardens with archways
and ancient swings
with fancies and curiosity
Forget Me All fish ponds and lilypads
Let me forget the taste of oysters
Let me forget caviar on crackers with sour cream
Let me forget the taste of a fantastically season steak
hot dogs and home baked bread
Oh forbid me to remember the smell of a Christmas tree
and apples fresh from the orchards
Or peaches..plums and tomatoes hot from sun
Forbid me to want to water a flower again
Prevent me want to hear the sound of my footfalls
on cobbled paths
Beseech me never to think of salted air
Forbidden to me
to remember
what it was to kiss your lips
caress your every inch of silk
Swim in water
Dive and dip and flip
Never
to fly again when watching a bird
Resent and resist in me
the coo of my morning dove
on the day before her children leave her nest
I will not feel it again...I will not long for it if it is forgotten
I'll be ready to die then
Deny me all I love
Make me blind and mute and helpless and feeble first
That when I die
I die as I came
A stranger
wide eyed and awed
to the glory of life hereafter
A tunnel entrance into a building
Can be very pleasing to the eye
You never know what you will find.
It can be interesting to walk through
You never know what you will be seen
Some entrances are short others longer
They have different items hanging
Along the pass ways as you walk by
It could be art work or mosaic design
You never know what you will see
I have seen stripes on walls
these stripes look like archways
Leading us into a special place
A tunnel wall that leads us into
a building is never boring
Always something to see
It could lead to theatres
Or into a shopping mall
Or an art gallery show
Tunnels into buildings
Can be interesting
You never know what
You will see on the
tunnel walls
You made up your mind to view the world
With different eyes —eyes recessed, eyes inundated with lustre,
Straining to catch every flight of the dancing seasons that hurled
Man and beast beyond frontiers with baluster.
You are the town-crier of our time, delivering messages printed on banners
That hail the energy of the heated earth.
What a voice you possess! So smooth and euphonious, it rings loud and clear
With the gumption of a king’s augurer, leaving behind manners
That haunt us pleasantly with bliss and mirth,
Suggesting frantically the suavity of a seer
Journalism has come to judgement, fragmented by words and the eloquence
Of time and grace. Are you not equal to the task?
The world admits you certainly are! And with supreme relevance
Your disciples are many, Dear one, flaunting the mask
Of imitation — they litter the world like tiny red beads flung and scattered
Beyond boundaries stretching from sea to coast
You are a lover of words, speaking with valour even on the arcades
Of fright, charming viewers with the powers of gathered
Attention when rainy nights and dewy mornings boast
Loudly of integrated existence of cascades
An anointed raconteur you are, reeling off tale after tale
By moonlight of cosseted playgrounds
I assume you frequented gatherings, prelapsarian, on a scale
So great that the sage spoke on select backgrounds
How do you do it?
Do you burn candles with scented tallow, and without
Need of a flint —thus reluming primitively dark alleyways?
You are the light that shines on tenebrous path and grit,
Revealing fey monsters responsible for the drought
That burned the pennants of truth posted on archways.
I never before knew an institution of mass communication
Until the bright age of running news crowned your labours
By way of a universally attended coronation
The world attributes to you the favours
Of heavens and caverns of Eudemons.
Arise, Dear One, arise and claim your special flair,
Make noise with the reeds of the Nile and dance gracefully
As you dine on stewed cinnamons
Rest assured you’re deeply blessed, Dear one with a dare;
I assure you mightily, speaking faithfully.
The sun withdraws gently, a charmingly shy figure,
Upon the eyelashes of the expanse, a longing rests.
The clouds, abandoned poets with dreams dry on their temples,
Fall, like leaves of the sky, on the cheeks of turned silence.
The muted wind, trickles into views of twilight,
A silent spectator to the day's caprices that extend grimly.
And the rain, locked slowly in sluggish silver chains,
Remains a prisoner of the nights, in a hidden stable without a word.
The dream deserved lifts me over time, over ancestral portals,
My journey begins beneath archways of celestial stories,
The wings given to me, I believe, are as white as the first snow,
And it suits me so well, to tread on the tracks of the earth that breathes in the morning.
Among the droplets of sun trickling down, sky's demiurges dance,
In flight through the ether, where life and death, drawing, caress, embrace.
The world's book wide open, with letters parted into words and signs,
Stands like a fountain of meanings, all noble, all proud.
With that essence of being that screams and calls for me,
To forget life, for it has all been like a vagrant ray,
Dawn emerges from the dense night, weaving treasures of whispers,
Misunderstandings lost in words, of a mystery too often dreamed.
From sleep I awake, in the folds of a new day I wrap,
My temples clenched by mysteries, by thoughts and by clouds.
The sun pours the last ray on the ashening page abandoned,
In the faded light, iron beats on hearts, on words, and on unwritten myths.
And the grass lets its dew dry, from the skin of the rich nights,
The pages of life become cobwebbed with memories warmed in gold and silver.
Madness, the beautiful gatekeeper of stone dreams that lurk,
Watches as the rain of the world, in leaden shackles, awaits its sentence to overturn.
Elegant intoxicating ballroom, with polished marble floor, archways lining the walls rising to the ceiling in mahogany trim. Candle holders with lit candles between each arch to match the elegant enormous Swarovski crystal chandeliers glittered brightly above them, to a brilliance of the evening ball. The fragrance of perfumes, colognes, and fine cuisine fill the air.
The ballroom is full of singles and couple, wearing their finest long gowns, and tails, their white ties and gloves, dancing to the music of the orchestra while others feast on desserts and champagne.
My Prince stands with the other gents waiting for me to make an entrance.
I’m anxious to show off my sleeveless flowing gown, made out of white silk chiffon, embellished with lace and scattered pearls. I feel like the belle of the ball.
My Prince comes up to me and ask, “May I have this dance.” He fills my dance card, reaches out for my hand, and leads me to the dance floor, while my heart is beating faster than the music. The orchestra starts playing a slow waltz, the intoxicating turning movements and the one, two, three, steps of the waltzing speed brings intimating pleasure of ecstasy that is hard to ignore.
The evening comes to an end and my Prince walks me to the door and kisses my hand Goodnight.
11/24/2014
My Childhood Home
My lovely childhood home, I miss it so...
built Eighteen Eighty-Six, so long ago.
Three floors, all rooms with mantled fireplaces;
carved woodwork, archways, spindled winding stair;
cathedral ceilings, sparkling chandelier
in dining room enjoyed on holidays.
Third floor not used but built with parkay floors
and doors that opened to small balconies.
Off the front door, a porch wrapped 'round two sides...
was like a fairy tale when I was young.
Such lovely grounds; garage with two horse stalls
and covered sleigh with velvet seats of red.
White gravel paths with gardens either side;
the rolling lawn, majestic tall pine trees
and rippling stony brook below the hill.
My childhood home fulfilled my childhood dreams–
so happy there with my dear family.
Until I married, it was home to me.
And since home now is not too far from it–
I often pass the site of my old house.
On left, before I pass under the bridge
that sprawls across the Hudson River now–
the empty view brings sadness to my heart.
To build that bridge they tore my old home down–
the only house to make this sacrifice–
The vision of my childhood home is gone.
As I ride by I feel them wave to me...
the ghosts of past, and my dear family.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Premiere Contest: Enchanted House
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 05/23/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: A Child's First Home
Sponsor: Verlena S. Walker
Judged: 10/17/2015
Note: Newburgh-Beacon Bridge was completed and opened in November 1963
New York State claimed our home via eminent domain and purchased it in 1960
12/8/16
It's been a long time coming
It can be pretty amazing, when you actually put your mind to something
On this planet
Multiple meteors and comets landed
Causing lots of damage
Some irreparable, but the Earth was strong enough to manage
What happens to the hand that never raises?
Are you willing to take a chance for better wages?
Daily and nightly during weather changes
In a dog eat dog world, you got to put yourself out there , if you want to ever make it
Think clever instead of basic
Wherever, whenever in whatever places
You won't know why
Never if you don't try
Regardless of how much time goes by
People on both sides and in the middle stood
But some of it did little good
Like bracing yourself with brittle wood
Many different animals living off or on farms graze
Areas at night that are great to stargaze
Near and far from any parkways
And any man made or natural archways
By: Dalton Ogletree
Sticky sweet misty slippery slide
Coins overflow cauldron of gold
Translucent syrup signals rain's retreat
Archways segway to sunshine
Sliders collect treasure
Rainbow jelly sqish with licks light-hearted
Child like spirit devours vibrant lifesavers
Hazy amazing raised flag, fresh start
re-emerging sun
shines spectrum delectable
spectacular projector
Submitted to Chantelle Anne Cooke's
Best NA Poem from September
4th October 2020
4th September 2020
Nature - Four In One Poem Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France