Long Armor Poems
Long Armor Poems. Below are the most popular long Armor by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Armor poems by poem length and keyword.
Amid the fields of golden wheat,
A maiden sits with sprightly feet,
Her heart so light, her spirit free,
Her soul ablaze with poetry.
She dreams of love and distant lands,
Where the rivers meet the sands,
Where knights in armor ride so bold,
And tales of chivalry unfold.
Her heart beats fast, like a drum,
As she dreams of love, sweet and young,
With every breath she takes, she longs,
For the chance to sing her songs.
And as the stars begin to shine,
She turns her gaze to the sky divine,
Whispers softly on the breeze,
Come love, and set me free with ease.
Oh, the maiden in the fields below,
Yearning for love, hoping to grow,
May she find the one that she seeks,
And live a life that's full and complete.
From a wide square with an ancient marble fountain,
which borrowed its fresh water
from a nearby, pristine river;
I looked far away...to fix my glance on
the Norman fortress rising on the top
of a barren and steep hill,
that the Normans built to keep off
the invaders with fast horses and sharp swords!
And beneath those strong walls,
I lay down tracing them back to medieval times;
and as the noon grew warmer, I fell asleep
drifting into a past ,which made many fret and weep!
I wanted to hear tales of bravery, how the knights
fought their battles to guard against dire;
and their fortress they fiercely defended,
until the verdant grass was saturated with blood!
Galloping on my agile Arabian horse, with glistening
armor and drawn sword...I heard the laments of the wounded,
fearless as a voracious lion catching his prey,
I entered the battlefield that loudly clanked;
and everywhere there were prostate bodies on the morbid ground,
and I, in mortal terror, couldn't turn back and not face the enemy!
It could have taken a fatal moment for me to have died...
not returning to the people I had left behind!
As a true knight: I had to honor my pledge,
and through pain and ordeal I had to kill to stay alive;
when the battle ended, I headed back to the Norman fortress!
Awakening from that vision, brazing out fear...
I realized how real that could have been;
and its brief duration made me much courageous,
but somewhat deeply mournful...
to have seen so much blood and grief!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I want that skin to skin
Hands wrapped around him
Under his shirt
Hug love making
Tongue and lips verb vibrating
I want someone who I can stare into their eyes
Get lost, become entranced by
emotions someone feels for me
Continuously jolting my heart
With our exchange of electricity
I want to be electrified by your touch
I want sparks
I need flames this I know as much
I'm tired of being cold with only words to keep me company and console
I dream of
Warm reassuring hands on my shoulders when I am anxious and overwhelmed
Or little
Thoughtful gestures of acknowledgment
Of the love between two souls
Hopeless romantic
This is something I don't often tell
I look solid.
Strong enough, alone. Solid, a boys girl
this much I've grown to know
I appear to be able to light my own fires to keep myself warm
Pat myself on my back
And just keep moving forward
And you all say
She always finds a way
Yeah, because no one does that for you
This I learned the hard way over time
I just can't get it right
I stopped searching for someone else's light
But nothing came
Nothing but cold nights
And that kind of diminished my light
Searching or waiting for love,
I never could keep
So, I have been just focusing on me
They said that might help
But I've been focusing on myself
For as long as I can remember and hell
Prince charming could just have well ridden right past me and off this delusional hill, and I was probably so busy focused on focusing on myself
Oh well
I'm tired of waiting for someone to break this lonely spell
I want to melt into someone's arms
Not shrink inside myself
I am all I have
This is a lonely thought as well
I feel like I dubbed myself
The knight and shining armor of my own hell
Chasing after a magical creature to kiss and break this spell
Oh Laughing Lad - atop your steed,
How full the hours we spent at play,
Yet now you bounce to bound away,
With grand adventures left to lead ...
Sweet carousels you've spun, a-twirl,
With derring-do of knights from old,
And Oshkosh armor, bright and bold,
To catch the eye of one charmed girl ...
Oh Laughing Lad with lands to roam,
They'll have to wait for one new day,
Through tears, I watch you ride away ...
As soft now, angels guide you home.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Pick 5, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
It begins quietly—
not with a step outward,
but with a turning.
The mirror is already waiting.
Pearl-light, not bright, not dim—
something between breath and bone,
as if the surface remembers
every face that has hesitated before it.
I come to it without ceremony.
No armor. No declaration of bravery.
Just the small, brittle sound of being here.
And still—
it asks.
Not loudly.
Never loudly.
It asks in the way frost asks the window
to hold its pattern,
in the way winter asks the trees
to stand without answers.
Look, it says.
Look longer than comfort allows.
There is adventure here,
though no road unfolds,
no horizon splits open with promise.
Only this:
a depth that does not end
because it is not distance,
but return.
I thought courage would feel like fire—
a flare, a rising, a refusal to break.
But here, in this pearl-lit quiet,
it is something else entirely.
A staying.
A listening
so complete
it becomes a kind of song.
And yes—
the mirror sings.
Not with sound,
but with recognition.
Each breath fogs the surface,
then clears—
a rhythm of appearing and vanishing,
as if the self must be sung into being
again
and again.
I see the tremor.
I see the unfinished parts.
I see the places where I almost turned away.
And I do not.
This is the crossing—
not over land or sea,
but through the thin, cold space
between who I am
and who I refuse to see.
Midwinter holds me there.
No bloom.
No promise of easy thaw.
Only the slow making of something enduring—
like pearl,
formed in the quiet insistence of time,
layered around an irritation
that never fully leaves.
So I stand.
And if my voice comes,
it comes softly—
cracked, uncertain,
but mine.
I sing.
Not to be heard,
but to remain.
And the mirror,
faithful keeper of this small, fierce act,
holds it—
turns it—
gives it back as light.
In a world where beauty's often measured and defined,
A girl at twenty, had dreams intertwined,
She sought about change, a shape to embrace,
But little did she know, it would alter her grace.
Every glance in the mirror, she’d sigh,
She longed for the curves, the world defined.
Then came the implants, a promise of light,
A chance to feel whole, to finally feel right,
But the joy was fleeting, as symptoms arose, Beneath the surface of beautiful flesh, her whole body ached.
Her headaches and pains made life hard to take. Suicide sometimes seemed the easiest escape.
All the strange illnesses that whispered in her ears loved to perform in the shadows of her fears
With a weak immune system and pains so severe shed scream "Let me just die! "to the heavens about but it wasn't her time, she couldn't give up.
She wore her struggles like a cloak made of fear,
Each day a battle, each moment unclear.
Years rolled on, twenty-seven in tow,
With every new ache, her spirit felt low,
Yet deep in her heart, a flicker remained,
A hope for a future, unchained and unfeigned.
She scheduled the surgery, her heart in a twist,
What would she look like? Would she cease to exist?
The implants, her armor, her identity’s thread,
But the thought of release filled her heart with dread.
With courage she stepped into the bright, sterile room,
A leap into freedom, away from the gloom,
As the surgeon worked gently, she felt a release,
A shedding of burdens, a whisper of peace.
And when she emerged, a new dawn in her eyes,
The reflection before her, a beautiful surprise,
No longer defined by the weight she had borne,
She blossomed like flowers, anew she was born.
With each passing day, her health found its way,
The headaches subsided, the aches turned to play,
A vibrant young woman, with laughter and light,
No longer a shadow, she danced into night.
Her journey was long, but the lessons were clear,
True beauty is found when we shed all our fear,
In the mirror she saw not just curves, but her soul,
A radiant spirit, finally whole.
So here’s to the girl who dared to be free,
To embrace her own self, to finally see,
That beauty’s not measured by what’s on the skin,
But the strength of the heart, and the joy found within.
When I’m faced with monsters that stir in the dark,
And shadows bleed out where there shouldn’t be night,
I look to the embers, the ghost of a spark,
And I steady my soul for the coming of the fight.
They loom in the corners, enormous and grand,
With breath like a tempest, and claws made of ice,
They whisper of valleys where no one can stand,
And demand that I pay an impossible price.
They wear heavy cloaks woven tight from my fears,
And speak with the voices of doubt from the past,
They draw all my failures, my shames, and my tears,
And vow that my hope cannot possibly last.
But what is a monster to one who has found,
Is that courage built in the heart of the storm?
Though mountains of darkness encompass me round,
I rise from the ashes, unbroken and warm.
I will not retreat to the dust or the dew,
Nor hide in the silence, conceding the fray;
For every dark beast that the universe drew,
Was made to be vanquished and driven away.
The armor I carry is forged from my grace,
The sword in my hand is the truth that I hold,
And when the great terrors step into the space,
My spirit refuses to shiver or fold.
So let them come screaming, and let them advance,
With jaws opened wide in the pale of the moon,
I’ll lead them in time to a beautiful dance,
And quiet the tempest that threatens to swoon.
For demons are nothing but phantoms of smoke,
That vanishes the moment I stand in the sun,
They buckle and break at the very first stroke,
And scatter like dust when the battle is won.
the dragon conquered both armies, annihilating them with fire
soldiers screamed as he incinerated both sides, their lines breeched.
shields did not help them, and swords would not pierce his armor.
soldiers were helpless, falling down as the dragon screeched in the mire.
two witnesses lived to tell the tale, ten thousand and one dead.
though on opposite sides during the war, they became fast friends.
the dragon claimed yonder castle as his own and promptly went to bed.
two new friends ran home to tell the tale, without exaggeration bends.
spirits that floated out of the war that day went to various places of course.
patience had to be with the solider spirits who arrived at heaven's gate
leaders went the same way, and realized they were both thick and Norse.
why were we fighting? They asked each other. Why the hate?
the dragon felt smug as he watched these antics in his crystal ball.
he wanted marauders, soldiers, and armies to see their demise, their fall.
we are all put on earth to learn to love each other, after all.
he demanded dragon soup and stayed with this staff until the fall.
State's Soul vs. Power Chessboard. (POLITICRABS;)
(A series of "The Armor Crabs In A Bucket poems")
The crowd has chosen the path of the heart,
Where hope is a banner and numbers ignite,
They walk with the man who would tear things apart,
To fashion a dawn from the weight of the night.
Seen the light, "From consumption to production"
They seek for a breaking of heavy old chains,
A future where equity governs the soil,
They pour out their passion like seasonal rains,
And stake all their dreams on the harvest of toil.
Wisdom, of moving from sharing to creating
But the elites are building a different gate,
They look at the map through a colder design,
They say that a province that stands in isolate
Will wither away at the national line.
Obis transparence and unpadded budgetary
"The road to the center is paved with compromise,"
They whisper in halls where the strategies meet,
"You cannot rule a kingdom by averting your eyes,
Or throwing your votes in a wave of retreat."
Recurrent decimal of the turn of fallacy East President
They speak of the pacts that the governors made,
That power must rest where the south wind resides,
A tenure of eight where the foundations are laid,
Before the great pendulum shifts in the tides.
Ribadu is stationed in the old seat of Ashiwaju
So they bow to the center for federal bread,
For allocations, for peace, and for roads,
Choosing the safety of being well-fed,
To carry the state and its heaviest loads.
The four governors, all eying to deputize Ribadu.
The governor rules by the grip of the now,
Where survival demands that you look to the king;
While the populace stands with a resolute brow,
Refusing to dance to the songs that they sing.
Peter Obi, the popular structureless winner
One path is a movement of passionate grace,
The other, a chess game of status and state
And the long road of history watches the place,
To see which design will determine their fate.
Go and verify, please return with facts not frivolities.
Papa's condemnation of prejudice...
and subsequent grim statistic one
(among millions, or more)
tragedy with feted kiss
Yarraka Bayles darling son
hoop fully experiences bliss,
yet more vehement rage
against machinations (think
with little effort cruel humans)
trumpets, tools, thrives...
wreaking psychological havoc -
case in point yours truly
wrenched, screwed, and hammered
psyche permanently amiss.
Despite outpouring drummed,
plumbed, and summoned thru
worldwide webbed support,
whereby global netizen (regarding
crowded house village people)
forced to apprise
execrable endemic damnation crisis,
nonetheless, I lament with inconsolable cries,
(methinks linkedin exacerbated
racist, misogynistic, bigoted...
commander in chief doth demonize)
devastatingly loathsome nasty meanness
viciousness super powers must exorcise
immediate mandates necessitate
more than $140,000
courtesy GoFundMe page,
plus good humor guise
Brad Williams (good fellow
celebrity little person)
raised commendable effort implies
Quaden Bayles overnight
social media sensational rise
to send aforementioned lad (din)
upon magic carpet ride,
cuz bullies of all sizes
did relentlessly terrorize.
Since time immemorial, ill legal
pestilential, tyrannical blight,
whereby quintessential, overpowering
maniacal kickass delight
gushed adrenaline spurring victim(s)
to fight or take flight
impossible mission to escape hatred,
no matter ascending topmost height
stairway to heaven no guarantee knight
in shining armor to thwart might
against painful, (pit charred),
promulgated pugnacious plight
aboriginal boomerang promises harbinger,
whereby unbearable insufferable agony
will beget suicide, and/or violent behavior,
which haint right,
no boy birthed with Achondroplasia
rails lame excuse for beasts to subject
with atrocious, ferocious,
hellacious, malicious... mercilessness
comeuppance for venal wickness
will curse devilish fiendishly
gloating hooligans if not tonight...
what goes around comes around...
good riddance I write!