Long Calligraphy Poems
Long Calligraphy Poems. Below are the most popular long Calligraphy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Calligraphy poems by poem length and keyword.
Architects
-Walter Rossman
In these ruins, a peculiar place
within the rubble, sanctity abounds here
and stand you will, straight, respectful
as you see the shattered idols of a previous people
erased.
one finds an engraved tablet
rustic yet visible enough
sees one, in wondrous artful calligraphy
that would’ve been etched by some
creative, trained hand that knew not
its work would outlive its precedents.
In it, one reads
“Forever have I waited for
this dingy city of mine, to see
new eyes and it takes,
sadly, the eyes of art
to see for itself
the utter monstrosity”
and you pick the rubble, anew
now with purpose that
that great hand wrote amid sweat
and blood, amid tiring hours of work
the future of the entire city.
As you dig, you find
the toolbox, filled to the brim
its contents never seeing the grit of stone
or the sparks off metals, never have they borne witness
to the midday sun and the perspiring architect
who creates art, unappreciated, and we all,
all of us men who descended upon the rubble
are filled with purpose
we grab what we can find.
The broken columns and
shattered stone, remnants of marble
and disgraced statue-heads are now lighter to hold
the rubble seems to clear off
beneath it lies, the indomitable will
of a poor, poor artist,
with eyes that could see far more than
anyone of the doomed city,
we all bathe in that will, we are now
inspired by art,
art that knows no bounds,
of cities perished, little is spoken
it’s what remains that matters
be it so, for that noble man
we’ll create a masterpiece
and name it, “Architect City”.
I am love’s kiss eternal
leaning upon
the lips of loyalty
O artisan of relentless flare
I validate every verse you vent
vehemently breathing
through the sighing silence ~
venerating this sculpted ivory skin
stirred and awakened
by your inherent intuition
charmingly echoing
amidst the faithful fingers
of your passionate soul;
a carved creation
chiseled in chivalry
draped in the desire
of a destiny designed
engraved away
from the ruthless rays
of the sinister sun…
I am awake…
no longer a marble metaphor
but alive and entranced
within the shadow
of your affectionate allegiance
listening to the
aroma of this ache
tracing this toned silhouette
resembling the translucent
textures of the moon ~
deaf to the twilight
chimes of the sky,
as the clay of life
nevermore comprehends
this ethereal vow,
this undeniable flame
softened through
the stone-warm touch of truth ~
as your creative choreography
of calligraphy
caresses every curve
embracing imperfect perfection
like I am
the undressed dream
you have forever wrapped
in porcelain patience
like angel-feathered Venus
with blushing wings
of gothic grace ~
scattered seashells
adorned where
thoughts of infinity tiptoe
through Aphrodite’s galaxies
beneath flickers of reveries…
and I belong to no other
but the paradise
within your familiar hands
holding the hope
that dwells within
the heavens of my heart’s pulse
like a forsaken talisman ~
the kismet rose...thornless,
only you were
fated to keep ~
the embossed emblem
of love
even time itself
cannot defy
*Inspired by the artwork "
Pygmalion and Galatea by Jean-Léon Gérôme"
I see beyond the
sea-snake crown
of thick-leaved jewels,
as a gossamer veil
conceals jealous goblins
shape-shifting above
a snow-dappled forest
of freckled weeds…
there third-eye rests
amidst tangerine tentacles
tearing my cinnamon
green clemency
glazed with holographic
lime gold clover….
now I’m torn
between wicked willows,
and a weeping angel,
vying for my
peridot throne,
embellished with
envious emeralds,
piercing passionately
through sparkling scales
of mermaid skin,
as peacock oceanic fairies
within skeleton silence
flutter mint-teal memoirs
of a narcissistic mantis~
tangling starry soliloquies..
there eagle-spotted
mantas swirl across
moon-kissed streams
unfolding marine magnificence
through mysteriously
malevolent musings..
I care not for the
rustic trinkets you wear
on fiery feathers
like cluttered calligraphy~
screaming in
high-pitched stillness,
longing to be seen and heard,
their faded fragrance
glows now within
tranquil twilight roots
like a forgotten facade,
while I sit secluded~
in my flaming coral garden,
as the modest maiden
of the rosemary sun,
unmoved and unbothered,
by the wailing wind
carrying notorious narratives
of eclipsed echoes
from sorrowful souls,
where hollow fangs
caress cruel
currents of chaos,
oblivious to the
sonatas of jasmine rain,
for I sing not for the spiteful
tides of tethered turquoise,
rippling with
salt-soaked souvenirs
mirroring the
untamable agony
of lost ancestors.
OUTSIDE THE BOUNDS OF SISTER CECILIA
the best firecracker
otherworldly seven hues
hiss, cackle, kaboom
Yes, dear ones, I want to own a pen that produces perfect penmanship, the curlicue calligraphy that Sister Cecilia would have hated. Each color, as my mood dictates would jettison from my mind to paper as a musical note, with hieroglyphic fervor. In unity and uniqueness as my lyrical words ignite each heart…each pen imparts the idea that never ends, heart to heart, light and dark, dear poet.
breathless, eternal
wax that never defuses
its bittersweet light
I can hardly stop to cross the t’s and dot the i’s. You, dear loves, like stars grab on - you little prince(s)! You travel light with faeries and dragons light as silk and mighty as giants. We muse together through the galaxy and time. In Athens, we sit down a moment to hear Saint Paul say, “For in him we live and move and have our being. As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are his offspring.’”
baptism of seeds
in the only plot we know —
glorious setting
inner poet can’t contain
as we head out of the grave
Sincerely, as we begin our journey, it never ends — it goes on and on with friends. Sparks fly - serious, silly, frolicking, frenetic and holy.
let not ruler scowl -
repeat curlicues fifty
times to accomplish your dreams
11/30/2021
Haibun- With A Message
Sponsor: Charles Messina
When time just collapses and stands still,
Reality shadows all laughter with haunted chill
I just feel that I should walk and walk …
Till the mosque awaits, not a further talk.
You keep on talking about writing on the wall
I see a clumsy nagging dirty pain, standing rigid and tall
Pure scripture keeps shining still, the innermost surreal call
Why bother to alter the calligraphy? Invalid try after all.
Softer tones utter each word in a pure divine way
All that was confusing gradually get vanished away
Look there! Out there on the far-reaching greenery ….
Little souls are building heaven with crafted archery.
(A gifted poem to Austin Poetry Society)
The moon is the compass to more than lunatics
the world shines forth on course to break the habits of Heretics
The void, the miasmic zone
The desert a monicker of mine to show
what on an empty canvas I can do, or to leave desolate as an epiphany to grow
Nomadic trackers seek me out in the signs
in the sands of
the
Mountains of the moon
they brave the desert to find, signs written in the dunes
Craters, calligraphy written of the Creator
the sands of time just rivulet capulet capitol letters
of loves endless sea where miracles are all the better
skylined wink of nursery bard story shine, on
the starlight makes the moon an adorned and pregnant bride, from the Sun
having a little me time as the nativity hears the tales
The sun, the moon and stars
they make nimbus across the sky as the Battle En tales
The stardust makes for night light, blink of the divine
to shine and shine and shine
the light of the stars, and fill the dark like fruit to the vine
Like star and moonglow on the desert snow
The moon and sun meet as two stars adjoined-to each other to know
in marriage,
one shines to, as the other beams, with child, aglow.
The ecliptic a carriage and around we go.
Family, children, Husband, Wife, Creator, its written in the stars.
Heaven a front row seat in a vast ampetheatre.
God has his actors His scripts and His laws, that plan for the Future.
They say their lines without flaw, learn to love!
The main attractions and the special features.
Peace of mind links
Opt feel and think
Etch fond verse brink
Thrill bold brush strokes
Ink stains now yoke
Charm wit that pokes
Choice paints with grace
Aim joy in place
Live lavish space
Love funds the need
Inch touch that seeds
Glimpse a live feed
Reach words that fit
Ask truth for wit
Prize poise sculpts hit
Heed each clear act
Yield to fond tact
Sense trust move pact
Chase ideas vast
Reap from the past
Insight now lasts
Pen signals style
Trust wit to smile
Seek thoughts worthwhile
Cheer knows warm draft
Odd writes niche craft
New symbols stuff
Calm affluent rhymes
Urge mellow chimes
Ripe fruits take time
Note why soul writes
Odd and strange cites
Words flavour rites
Leon Enriquez
15 April 2018
Singapore
Hot humid heatwave
Discomfort percolates long;
Sudden drenching rain
~~~~~~~~~
Sexy curvy strides
Vibrant elegance catwalks;
Hungry eyes focus
~~~~~~~~~
Two stray cats fighting
Furious body language here;
Small tigers draw blood
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient atmosphere
Old tea house in the city;
Strange calligraphy
~~~~~~~~~
Bus-stop commotion
Two drunken men in a brawl;
Tipsy foreign tongues
~~~~~~~~~
Temple bells sounding
Distant chanting rituals heard;
Prayer for our times
~~~~~~~~~
Late night wordplay moves
Missing lines stray on the verge;
Nothing much to say
~~~~~~~~~
Abrupt morning rain
Disrupts our simple routine;
Extra sleepy dreams
~~~~~~~~~
Here journeys begin
Trace cryptic constellations;
Dream upon a dream
~~~~~~~~~
Joy and peace appeal
Insidious intent conspires;
Clash of conflicts hurl
~~~~~~~~~
Little red-dot nation
Multi-lingual harmony;
Hypertensive calm
~~~~~~~~~
Beware of conflicts
Sensitive notions preside;
Keep the status quo
~~~~~~~~~
The Singapore wave
Echoes of the Kallang roar;
SEA Games here in June
~~~~~~~~~
Pretty play on stilts
Comely countenance lights May;
Orchard Road hazard
~~~~~~~~~
Listen to dawn light
Hurl dazzling colours that play;
Blurry eyes awake
~~~~~~~~~
Moment of madness
Reason clowning with passion;
Edgy concoctions
~~~~~~~~~
Being one with you
So many years of pure joy;
Love writes fond passage
~~~~~~~~~
May masquerades well
Contradicts odd intentions;
Old memories curl
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
12 May 2015
Singapore
Five hundred years ago, a young man wrote a poem titled "If" addressed to his girlfriend -- his first and last.
It reads,
"If I can write a word
and make this word my world
I will start with the first letter
of your name and tell the World
If I can create a cord
and make this cord my word
I will recite a litany
and make this testimony my destiny
If I can paint a picture
and make this picture my biography
I will color it with the same shade
that ends with your name and calligraphy
Only if I can have you alone
I will build a home that will sing
and sound your tone
If I can draw a line
and make this line my love story
I will stroke a circle to keep you warm
and safe inside my sanctuary..."
Yes, that is the role of the Teacher, as Shams was to
me – showing one ‘who they are’, so they can stop
bleating, crying at night, and never again be afraid.
Rumi
Oh beloved,
I'm like Rumi without Shams.
A shivering summer soul,
secretly stalked by wild white winter wolves.
A chiffon child chiselling chimerical calligraphy,
cursed with invisible ink, silent in sentimental sighs.
I've become the son of solitude,
tired from torture and torment,
descending like surreal sinking sunsets shaded in scarlet,
yearning for a dawn where we can blend like sunrise.
I have no desire to write
in your journal of sorrows,
but you cut my veins to bleed.
What is pain without pleasure,
or a poet without his poetess?
Oh mistress of the night,
I'll forever wait for you to adorn my garden,
to finally inhale the fragrance of my roses.
I'm the oil lamp in all your blackness.
Sometimes I may flicker like a candle,
but I will always reignite to create a spark.
Change the eternal chambers of my heart.
The day you stop reading my musings,
my pen will forever slumber.
Oh daughter of darkness,
let me salvage moonlight then place it into your eyes.
Guide my quill to engrave upon your shores.
Together we will sail away from Satan's spawn.
I'll shield you from twilight's beasts,
protect you from demons with crimson claws,
emancipate your wings to fly from an illusionary island.
Because,
you love the moon,
but it's the stars you gaze at,
hoping their stardust will illuminate your heart,
before they fade into nothingness.
Oh my seclusive sweetheart,
I will strum strings of serenity,
so you release tears of tranquillity.
I may not be the most handsome blossom,
nor the most popular prolific poet,
but I gift you my art and alliteration.
Some may say I'm romantic,
but I am no judge of what is exotic or poetic.
We can't put all our faith in petals and poetry.
I'm no emperor who deserves an enchanting empress -
merely a broken butterfly in your precious palms.
Life is an absent bride,
so I'm not afraid to bleed to death,
in the hope of soothing tomorrows.