Long Byzantine Poems
Long Byzantine Poems. Below are the most popular long Byzantine by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Byzantine 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.
I can never comply with fastidious hygiene
Try as thee most persuasive person might,
he/him, she/her,
they, them... can never wean
yours truly always objected
being told when to bathe/shower
particularly when puberty
found yours truly a tween
and my mother (deceased eighteen
plus years - sess her bowl),
she exerted authority
and told her "take a bath,
or no supper"
analogous to a queen,
strict disciplinarian to boot
who wedded her king
(my late father) at age nineteen
the latter (day saint) quite keen
nevertheless both experienced
love towards each other
and tricked out their progeny
(myself included) with halloween
getup, I vaguely recall Amelie Beth
(their eldest daughter -
older sister of mine)
donned as an angel
lighting up night sky, an empyrean
permanent heavenly fixture
popular through Byzantine
epoch, which blinded
her brother (me),
cuz yours truly, the devil in disguise.
Here I sit scores of decades
now edging closer to the edge of night,
and approaching those twilight years
remembering protesting vehemently
(way past the bewitching hour)
not wanting to wash myself
in the tub (water frigid cold), I write
how mother dearest,
whose presence I wanted to smite
this puny progeny
grappling as a neophyte
whose Lilliputian stature
(when a prepubescent)
a over five feet in height
who when constantly
teased courtesy bullies
ran back to ma mommy
whose son totally affright.
If employed in social services field, why
the above might justifiably
smack of insubordination
hashtagging me as Pigpen thereby
wharf fare prompting me
to cleanse myself diving off a Quai
in an effort for Peanuts gallery
to accept yours truly well nigh
but unfortunately
getting mistakenly captured
as a prisoner of war
forced by Japanese to construct
two parallel bridges spanning
the river Kwai
as part of Burma Railway,
also called the Death Railway,
for the many lives
lost in its construction,
but my daring do,
(and boyish good looks)
found yours truly
whisked away to the island of Hawaii,
where hula dancers
choreographed, entranced, and finessed
their seductive routines
a native lass smitten courtesy
one wily word wizard
whose courage bucked up
after munching powder milk biscuits
taken as mistress
helped beget our daughter,
who became apple of mine eye.
you are all a lost generation -- Gertrude Stein ?
I
Once hallowed encephalon
cavernous cerebral chasms
now less serene
ruptured n' spleen
Subjected to ravenous days?
Days n' illumination?
n' summers hibernation?
Awaiting eschatology and Madonna's divination
In summers somnolent slumbers I was told
In dreams of all truths and history's scrolled
and what a fair delication to unfold
truth rings from the shell aft each reeling beak's descent
Forsake of the shell's salty fleshes derivment
A fleshy flower buds on the briar
To pluck and dissect or leave to admire
Death in creation
dreaming awakes, awakenings dream
In our waking weakness lies perfection
But, oh how sweet to dream
Subjected to my piety in blinding ruth
did I in dreaming sin for sooth?
Had Queen Mab or Archimago
twist my thrice twisted dreams
with lies, abashing
and which in violence dance and beam
As waves with phosphorus' glow
they in guise clever crashing: gleam
false sooth, in golden pools of indigo
ever changing yet constant
As waves upon the shore
singing
Sometimes soft and melancholy
Sometimes malice, as to destroy
Death in creation
dreaming awakes, awakenings dream
In our waking weakness lies perfection
But, oh how sweet to dream
II
Oh my visage
how it pales in the light beside...
her
my madonna
my oracle my day
Darkness in its defined fray
and I Amidst a Yeats' Byzantine nightmare
to linger, to consist, to decay, an ill-stared heir
a doxology,
pregnant with heterodoxy.
Paling in comparison, in cavernous fright
days n' days and infinite blight
Static tremors. Intangible vibrations
Winter
Summer
Solstice
Hibernation
To seek what lay beneath
the countenance of the Madonna
the purity
The past I prospectively reap
n' seep
n' sow
The city's concrete catacombs glow
The future in night
day's abrasive
in its own right
reside in the day
confide in night
Rage, rage and endless blight
in dreaming escape day n' days of
a lifetimes endless death, in love
Death in creation
dreaming awakes, awakenings dream
In our waking weakness lies perfection
But, oh how sweet to dream
There he stands outstretched arms that offer relief
Causing our weary hearts to yearn and strive for a little more.
Always a little more.
The glittering jewels of his bedazzled fingers ignite passions
Deeply buried within the recesses of our byzantine nature.
As He totters, tentatively, temptingly
Just within the grasp of our sight,
Just beyond the grasp of our fingers,
Try as we might.
With bandy legs he totters before us, leading that we may follow.
But how can one, being of sound mind, consummately adhere to the trail
Of one so detached from reality that he may be mocked as the village drunk?
This is the very worst of the evils and despair that has accosted our race
From the great perils of Jason and his golden fleece
Down to the travails of Igodo and his band.
Despair and excruciating agony assail the mind and body;
Despair encloses the mind in the daunting cage of its grasp
While agony racks the body to the height of despondency
Where you feel you definitely can feel no more and then you feel some more.
It is at this opportune moment that the worst begins;
The aching heart.
This metaphorical citadel of feelings and emotions begins a tumultuous overflow
Churning out bite after bite of sweet memory from the memory card of the body.
This is when he appears on the horizon, taking your tortured hands
And whispering words of optimism - barren optimism.
Knowledge is the apex of despair.
Looking up from the dark pits of anguish into the dim and waning
Light of hope that fills your fading sight and illuminates the heart.
The knowledge that there is no means of escape, no broom upon
Which one can fly to the blue moonlight like the famous wizards of
J. K. Rowling. This is truly what ties us down, what bellies our courage
And undermines our strength.
This however, does not advocate for the castigation of the bandy legged drunkard
He is the adrenaline that keeps us going
The stimulant that revitalizes our body and disincarcerates the mind
His faltering footsteps, the only life line to which we cling
That we might not lose ourselves to the maelstrom of horrors in this life.
Hope, our bandy legged tottering drunk.
Three days in - three days of school - and it’s like I never left.
In school, you can get oversaturated with screens. I like books.
They have a sense of permanence, they don’t glare back at you,
and I want something physical I can grip, markup and push off
the bed onto the floor when I get over it.
After three days of class, I’m asking (no one in particular), "Are we there yet?"
I can speed-read if I have a pointer - I use cocktail picks (swizzle sticks?) - you know, the little olive skewers you get in a martini? I have a collection from all over the world.
If I go to a bar and they have nice swizzle sticks, I’ll gather a few up. “What are you DOing,” Karen, (Lisa’s mom) asked me as I scarfed up several from patron’s empty glasses at the elegant, Refinery Rooftop bar in Manhattan.
“I have a TON of reading to do,” I explained, helpfully.
“Don’t even ask,” Lisa shrugged, rolling her eyes, when her mom looked confused.
The trick to speed reading is your eyes (and brain) pickup more than you realize and people tend to pronounce things, in their minds, as they read, which REALLY slows you down. So, you swivel the pointer down the page, following the pointer with your eyes, and Walla!
You can’t do THAT with a computer screen. You need a book, and when you have 2 or 3 hundred pages (or more) a night to read, you can’t just hold your breath and refuse - like a seven-year-old - can you? Seriously, I mean, can we? I’m asking - though it’s probably a little late (senior year).
Now, of course, not just any appetizer toothpick or fruit pick will do - the selection process can be rather byzantine. They must be a certain length, about 2 inches longer than my finger, so my hand doesn’t block the text, and square ones are the easiest to grip. Finally, if they have a little arrow-point on the tip? Well, that’s true love.
The problem is, I can get a little intense when reading and they tend to break. When my roommates hear me exclaim, “God DAMN it!” At 2am. They usually know why.
.
.
A song for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
"50 Words for Poe: Cerberus"
COME, Golden my night
Aristaeus thy husbandry
from the cracked honeycomb
of my broken broken
sleeps my dream
warm and tasted sweet
a token
Goddess
Apiarist
COME, walk in the immortal
of my heart where
bees grow from split carcass
bleeding life a New to drink from
in your hands my
body becomes a
territory strong
standing firm
conquered yet not defeated
COME, see the forests of my mind
where myrtle nymphs put dead Incubus to sleep
to transform his evanescence
fully fleshed into mortal adorned in robes
of royal purple, bronzed in the blaze of
Apollo’s sunset flaming
o’er my wet rain soaked bones
I pass him the Light to crown his head
dressed as King
to empower the charms
to loosen
even the hardest of the coldest
my Byzantine heart of cobalt made marble stone
COME, feel my Delilah heart beat
COME, feel my home
This for you Cerberus, most hated, standing before Hades shunned and feared so
3 heads to be tamed, become 1 heart with 1, n’ere forgotten n’ere alone,
1 to be loved
to be loved as 1
Gold in my Light becomes you dark son
Dark in my Light becomes your Gold sun
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/643bw5s_qI4
"Out of the eater, something to eat; out of the strong, something sweet"
https://youtu.be/WXU9lEaJBn4
“And after a time he returned to take her, and he turned aside to see the carcass of the lion: and, behold, there was a swarm of bees and honey in the carcass of the lion.”
The human experience fulfilling sensation,
our environment is our creation,
not ours originally,but ours to maintain,
natural system,needs are sustained...
Everybody has a bell that rings
cellular vibration,in song it sings,
a siren song enchanting desire
a high which takes you higher and higher...
The world is full of it's rising stars
untapped potential which takes them far,
it also has it's falling stars too,
a world of fools,a world of ruin...
A new portal behind every door
a gambit of play being explored
every encounter a game of chance,but,
what do you bear,the cross or the lance ?
The relic spear a source of power
Imperial thrones built up their towers
from Constantine to Charlemagne,
the Byzantine to the Lorraine...
All just sequels of transformation
preceding was laid their emulation
enacted improvements instituted
system of governing constituted...
All in hope to outlast the past,
relay race,a passing of the staff,
still only bond by popular opinion
confounded by those noxious minions...
The eastern hemisphere full of rage
they crossed the Atlantic to disengage,
but,in their scope,they brought disease,
methodology which didn't appease...
The red west never got a true chance
as invaders stormed behind their lance,
Montezuma welcomed with open arms,
soldiers of fortune brought firearms...
Indigenous people filled their plantation
others were chained to fulfill fruition,
Noble's became Don's,others slavemaster,
chain of events was still a disaster....
From fuedalisms fortune of birth
circumstance directed self-worth
peasantry suffered tilling the soil
while others got fat from plundered spoils...
I've never twitted on Tweeter
nor am I an Instagrammarian
I've searched on Goggle
but cannot find MyFace
I ask it "how do I change the oil in my car?"
and get 570,000,000,000,000 hits
so I go make some toast and eat lunch
at least I can work a toaster
my kids think I was born in the Jurassic era
for I speak of phones with cords
that came out of a wall
and TV stations with 4 channels
to choose between
I feel like I'm swabbing the deck
on a Byzantine sailing ship
I don't know url's from www's,
or http's from html's
my mobile phone tries
to auttocronect my thumb typing
and cyber censors block my search
for 'penal colonies'
So I walk to my neighborhood park and
...lie on the grass
...stare at the blue sky
...pet my neighbor's schnauzer
...feed peanuts to the squirrels
...imagine shapes in the clouds
...watch the sun set and the moon rise
The cyber world is
an amazing supersonic ride
but the great outdoors is my landing strip
and I've just touched down
Our oath is our soul keeping
our joys are from smoking and drinking,
from the cannabis we cultivate a seeing
a laughter from the suffering
a tear for the living memory
from the raw uncut winery
We feel the flesh more keenly,
our trophies include skull cap revelry
imbibing the blessings of the enemy
from the roof of their mind's sanctuary
a treasure merrily grisly,
the scalps of our competitors a salary
making for cloak and horse bridle history,
from the trauma we make victory,
From the trauma we make victory
we showed the world how to whip and ride
how to love liberty,
paper and stone do not decide
the way in which we remedy
iniquity, only in Truth do we confide,
as our kin conquered steadily
from Kushan to Hispania's Atlantic tide,
Rome relinquishing the keys to Destiny
from Atilla to Theodoric's tribe,
the nomadic warriors and traders remained free,
Visigoths vanished as their independence atrophied
the Ostrogoths succumbed to sedentary treachery,
our songs remain sung strongly,
Our songs remain sung strongly,
as Christ was cruxified
for crucibles carried by the Family
we gave sanctuary to many a preacher stigmatized,
Toaists tasted the terror of our primal domain
Buddhists bathed in butterflys' blood
as the Jews jumped on the caravan coin,
Hindus knew Indra lived in the Aryan Hood
while the Nestorians never questioned our sin
and the shamans ate the shame of life,
Mohammad's ginger genetics made him kin
and his Jihad made us grin at the strife
his armies hired us and paid better than the Byzantine,
sometimes faith lives on the edge of a knife,
J.A.B. 2020
6/27/22
Still an Atheist
I'm a hypocrite for saying this
But don't ever think it's wise
To drink and drive
Looking at it with different eyes
Looking at it with different minds
Looking at it from different sides
All across the Mason-Dixon Line
To beyond Byzantine
It's worldwide, a bunch of little swine's
How is this life
It isn't right
Always getting criticized
I don't relate or call it civilized
Much of it in disguise
Still the lies
Meanwhile evil thrives
Wake up, or just get in line
Why do you think there is 'restricted sites'
Artificial lights
Shining atop the winter ice
Endlessly it's been a bitter fight
For more than 99 thousand and 50 nights
It took a lot more than 9 hundred and 60 tries
Usually aware and prepared, but this time
It was a quick surprise
In the blink of an eye
Eventually it signified
No longer mystified
Regardless if they killed the vibe
Until I die
I will survive
And improvise
A never ending amount of hills to climb
Empty and numb, not feeling inside
All the pain and problems minimized
People complicate what can be simplified
Far too dignified
Don't got time for those that throw fits and whine
Many go against but it's ill advised
Call me kryptonite
The people remain hypnotized
One day it'll all be turned to ash or crystallized
Technically since were in space, are we 'in the skies?'
A void that I struggle to fill inside
Still an Atheist
I'm a hypocrite for saying this
But don't ever think it's wise
To drink and drive
Looking at it with different eyes
Looking at it with different minds
Looking at it from different sides