Long Blazoned Poems
Long Blazoned Poems. Below are the most popular long Blazoned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blazoned poems by poem length and keyword.
I still remember that old barn so red; a center point of my youth;
Pickle barrels in the cellar; cows on the ground floor and hay stored in the loft.
I rode the John Deere a thousand times in and out of her wide, always opened doors;
Plowing fields near and far, but with her redness never out of my distant sight.
She housed the cows we milked and the tools we used throughout the long, hard day;
And, she was our playground on those summer days when chores were done by noon.
I remember her beautiful, natural smell that our city cousins abhorred;
And, I knew every nook and cranny that I could hide in to get away from their whines.
We would swing on the rope out of the loft, landing on piles of freshly cut hay;
And, just lay quietly in the night with a cool summer breeze passing through her doors.
It was in this red haven that I birthed my first calf and learned how to set a broken leg;
And, it was high in the loft with my high school sweetheart that I first became a man.
The farm that housed that wondrous red barn is now a mall parking lot;
But, the memories of lessons learned within are forever blazoned upon my mind.
Soon after the sky had shed her liquid sorrow
When dark clouds quickly vanished
It turned immaculate, spotlessly blue.
As the cosmic hiss subsided
And the wind withdrew to its unknown hideout,
There was a hush- the hush that follows,
As the priest concludes his spirited sermon.
In that quiet, when dream and life coalesced
I saw the leaves trembling in the cold
Dragonflies performing a ballet in the air
Their wings catching glints of sunlight
Spiders moving round crystal studded webs,
Repairing the broken filaments of their gossamer
And birds from trees taking off into the sky
Enjoying a pervasive sense of peace
And my heart soaked in pure mirth
Humming the lyrics of a half forgotten song
I walked down through cobbled paths
Feeling the wetness beneath my feet,
To savor the beauty of Nature,
Newly bathed in the profuse vernal shower.
Suddenly the light blazoned,
Giving a golden glow to the leaves
And the suspended rain drops,
Glittered like sparkling gems.
Mesmerized by the beauty of the scene
There wobbled shiny silver droplets of joy
In my eyes too, struggling to be spilled out!
Resubmitted for 2022 Marathon Mile.No.15 Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Mark Toney
Placed Sixth
April.6. 2022
A Brian Strand Premier Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Brian Strand
Out of the concrete jungle the big cats prowl
from Grafton Gully to the great plain,
and when the big cats begin to howl
you know Leopards are loose in The Domain.
I strode out to the middle swinging my bat,
and all day long they chase the ball and shout
when I would get rapped on the pads “Howzat?”
but wink wink, the umpires ruled “Not Out!”.
Friends, Romans, Countrymen, gathered in awe
to watch The Master and his name exhort,
and at the crease blazoned a century score
by the Lion slayer in fierce onslaught.
“Bravo skipper!” roared the crowd, “More! More!”
Dapper in his white zinc and red bandana –
Howzat! into Wisden and leopard folklore
run-out on that great urban savannah.
I should have stayed my crease – instead I ran -
but cometh the legend, cometh the man!
Cover and square leg would scurry and duck
when Excalibur blade threatened again -
cut, hook, pull, and drive - each ball thunder struck
by the forged willow of gods and men!
A rank sledge and slog over midwicket
was the fatal shot and call of “no, yes, no!”…
and in the post-match bar in the oak tree thicket
rose puffs of stupefying herb that billow.
“Bravo skipper!” roared the crowd, “More! More!”
Dapper in his white zinc and red bandana -
Howzat! into Wisden and Leopard folklore
run-out on that great urban savannah.
I should have stayed my crease - instead I ran -
but cometh the legend, cometh the man!
Written: December 1996
Everyone harbors a tattered fleet of bygones in dock
Old scores and sores of direct hits we've sustained
In past long gone battles and tussles, well past o'clock
But held as bygone mementos, your slate unclean and stained.
Forgiveness should not forget, but should move on.
Let sleeping dogs lie, let bygones lie and be bygones.
What's done can't be undone, let it be dusted and gone.
Bury your bygones deep, so your future is not cluttered with cons.
People you know and meet will tattle and tell on friends
Gossip truths and whoppers about what they have done wrong
But how does that help to make up, move on with amends
When the legacy of the past lingers, but should be long gone.
Like cartoon balloons, or stickies, bygones not gone
Pop up with messages, above friends, about who did what to whom.
Clean the slate, clean the desks, restart with blank icon
Having processed and churned over a past, rendered in salt, a plume.
Resolve to build resilience to cope with what's past
Expand your social engagement, divorce your bygones to past mast nailed
Set bygones adrift to be dashed in storms offshore, your harbor clean at last
To welcome fresh blow-ins with 'let's make up' blazoned on sail.
With heart divided between old and new
both loves so dear and warm and true;
'Cross continents covered with morning dew,
so fleet I ran to be with you.
Cloth marked, banner blazoned, dearly tried;
on I ran to be by your side.
Storm gathered, tide washed, a dear heart so true,
still on ran I, till I found you.
To your widespread arms and warm auburn eyes,
your red full lips and limb filled sighs;
Onward I wandered thus dreaming of you,
to touch your hand and kiss your eyes,
Her blason banner so stiff, bright and new,
hung on my right for all to view.
You saw her colors favor by my side.
Your tears welled, coals banked, heart torn pride.
You held a silken scarf in your wee hand,
turquoise token, woven with golden strand.
Your gaze so crestfallen slowly wavers,
Yet, reaching forth I accept your favor.
Placing your keepsake upon my left side,
to be my shield, to be my guide;
silken, soft symbol of my hearts delight,
to the battle I march on that dark night.
And, as the clash of weapons loud,
Immersed the days dawn in horrific sounds,
Of mortal pain, and death's story;
So fervent fought I to return to two.
Blessed by M'Ladies' Glory.
Memories lie strewn like scented petals
Emitting sweet fragrance, they tickle my senses,
Taking me to the time, when after a long wait
We got a gift overdue, lifting our joy to excesses.
Into our nest a birdie came, tender and treasured,
Chirping incessantly, making our dusky days bright
My first born, a baby boy, a late arrival
Who altered my life and made me soar like a kite.
Another came after three years,
As a late-night guest, giving us added joy
Excitedly we watched our little boys run and play
As our house rang loud with laughter and cry.
Elder one was bossy, still they were true brothers
Grew up to be our pride and joy, bringing cheer
No noisy brawl as the younger was obliging
They rarely quarrelled, preferred to be together
The ash laden cinders of our heart blazoned with our sons’ arrival
The elder one was hyperactive and was quite inquisitive
He would ask- “Why rain always falls down and never goes up”
Questions- making the answers less by definitive.
Once when l was holding the little one in my hands
The elder asked- “Of the two, who do you love more”
I could see a trace of sibling jealousy flashing on his face
I fell silent, but knew it was a question I couldn’t ignore
Drawing him closer, after a pause, I answered
You both have place in my heart that no one can take
When you win, my heart sings in joy, when you fall
I come to lift you, when misbehave, my heart, you break.
If you stay a sweet child as you are now,
My heart will have equal space for you and your brother
With all doubts cleared, I saw a glitter glimmer in his eyes
He nestled closer, with no more fears to bother.
.
Edvard Munch
An Ekphrasis Stylized Poem of Jealousy
Oh, ancient Oden!
I summon your primitive hand.
Take this oiled brush I hold,
and order my strokes with your command.
With deep red, spilling like blood across the land,
she appears as the object of my affection,
nude and reaching toward a tree
as if to lure my enemy, with want and lust-filled attention.
Is there reason, lord, why my foe is portrayed in Crayola-like imperfection?
Is he to be, Newfoundland, and she as Norway with Viking confiscation?
And are the greens not depicting my envy,
a reprieve from the harsh white lands of Greenland?
And now you insist… I portray myself, or maybe Leif,
or perhaps a Christian King!
Why do you torment me so?
Why can’t I just let this brush go, before a Berserker I become,
to seal my fate through fires run,
across my own pire I’ve tried to overcome,
and on success blazoned before the cross, to be succumbed?
Once filled with hedonistic jealousy, in my exhaustion,
I am finally outrun,
back into the green Norse woods I retreat, weak and numb…
to mend my wounds, and lust for your power hence come,
to paint another day.
by Martin Braun
July 11, 2023
I saw two clashing titans,
Ten miles above the green;
Their massive bodies twisted,
In battle over Spring
The beast shown black as sackcloth,
The hero – white as snow;
They battled one another
With brutal, mythic blows:
Two terrifying creatures;
They quaked and thundered loud,
Both vying to be victor
On mountain tops of cloud
Behemoths bearing weapons
That blazoned fiery white;
They wrought colossal chaos
Across the calm of night
Until the darkened monster,
Amid the epic row,
Bore down upon the other
And struck a fatal blow
As echoed booms of thunder
Traversed the mount of death,
The weary whitened hero
Then drew his final breath
T’was then that storm did conquer
The innocence of Spring,
And took her mountain dwelling
From which she used to sing.
I thought the landscape burst in sudden flame
with embers wild cavorting in the glare
of dawning sun, but boundless sparks became
a throng of monarchs flitting through the air
above a field as though on charcoal ash
that gusts of wind then carry as they gyre.
From wings illumined spread the brilliant flash
of pixie dragons breathing threads of fire
as fine as frog hair glinting in the slow
emission of the morning's creeping light
that struck the gloom with every lambent blow
until each wizard shadow was in flight.
The tartan tiger eye that draped the glade
was blazoned on the pinions as they flew
like flower petals of the clans arrayed
in Lilliputian combat on the dew.
A cadence of disheveled leaves they fell,
these butterflies upon the turrets mean,
escarpments and fay parapets to quell
the mist ascendant from the April green,
then rose again like prodigies from smoke
that came to cloak them from the murky foe,
kaleidoscopes of flutterings that broke
the cling of darkness with emerging glow.
By noon the burnished battle scene had cleared
as dandelions waved their vanquished whites,
the gleaming copper standards disappeared
and I relinquished images of sprites.
The Kundalini Is Rising, now I'm Flying High on Wings Of Wisdom
Full Power Up On The Chrism,
Ever-Upward in Fully Blazoned Life
Fear No Evil, Fear The Regal Like....
I AM Spirit, I AM Alive
I AM Soul Divinus, One with the Sacred Fire
Deathless by the Knowledge, Breathless by the Flight
Wielding Staffs and Grails of Light,
One and Beyond I AM Eternal
Boundless by The Force, Boundless, Supernal
Slinging Mights Of Courage, Stone Bold like David
Never Jaded, Wielding Long Bows like Hayk Nahapet
Solar Gleamin like a Scion of the Great Spirit
The Vibes Jive On Exquisite,
Legend Born by the Alchemy
Chasing Diadems for the Masterpiece,
Full Ascent Into the Heart Of Israel
The Land Of Milk and Honey and Citadels,
Ever-Luminous, The Sacred is Rising
Ever-Thriving,
Abode the Heavens, The Stars Align
Seven Doors To Paradise