Long Castles Poems
Long Castles Poems. Below are the most popular long Castles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Castles poems by poem length and keyword.
In the desolate seashore of secluded islands,
people build desire castles with dream sands,
protect the fragile niches with fervent care
from the breaking waves rolling on them.
The surge washes away the forlorn abodes,
sorrow is hidden in insular souls of lonely people.
With magical spell I will turn them
into convivial people, they will be gregarious.
Behind the closed windows on sunny meadows,
engulfed by dismal seamless darkness,
people morph into slices of moonless night.
In their formless periphery I pass them by,
but I can’t see through them, can’t perceive
the true contents of opaque people.
With magical spell I will turn them
into transparent people, they will shine.
People fly like frigid birds in the misty sky,
on the frozen wings of the northern wind.
In their hearts lapped by the Arctic sea
frozen emotions sink, can’t swim.
Warm embrace of empathy they don’t find,
for they are condemned as cold people.
With magical spell I will turn them
into affable people, they will be gracious.
People make their lives desolate deserts,
the charisma of oasis desiccates in the dunes,
blazed by the flame of their fiery minds
the foliage of ardent passions burns, doesn’t rustle
with the tune of stimulating melody in their hearts,
for they are wooden people.
With magical spell I will turn them
into verdant trees, they will bloom.
_____________________
March 13, 2022
Contest : Magical Spell
Sponsored by : Robert James Liguori
My heart of stone quenches its thirst in the dirty hands of misery.
The tears of my family tree run down the scarred faces of their history.
The pain of my color screams in silence the secrets these racists choke.
My dignity unravels in the cold sheets of indifference.
I write prayers with the sufferings of my dehumanized ancestors.
Colonial barbarity rocked me more tenderly than the arms of a banana republic.
The darkness of my Africanness embraces me with the tenderness Marianne denies me.
My nightmares slip through the bars of their contempt.
I build castles of peace from the rubble of my rage.
Humanity has left me, but poverty calls me by my name.
I walk barefoot on the embers of a History they wish to erase.
My memory bleeds beneath the spit of their falsified textbooks.
The chains of my forebears still echo in the halls of their palaces.
The scars on my skin speak centuries their museums keep silent.
The winds of exile still blow through my sand-filled veins.
I breathe the ashes of my ancestors burned into oblivion.
The shadow of my truth roams through the filthy dungeons of their ignorance.
They painted my penance as folklore to display it without ever hearing it.
My ordeal crosses centuries but never breaches their borders.
I was born of the grim whirlwind of ancestral fury.
The flag of my homeland flies from my heart, but my roots have mourned for millennia.
My mother tongue weeps in the darkness of the Republic’s atrocities.
They offer me equality like one throws a bone to a starving dog.
Their lights dazzle me but never warm me.
My clenched fists still hold the dreams they hanged.
The wrinkles of my grandmother bear the cartography of a perpetual revolt.
I kneel on the ruins of my identity reduced to dust.
My pride is a wound they refuse to heal.
My surname suffocates in their colonized mouths.
Upon a beach I came to stand
And watched a child at play.
He did while playing in the sand
A point of life convey.
With scoops and buckets he did build
A structure tall and grand.
And to the child the beach did yield
A castle made of sand.
But as he left, I do recall,
Away I did not turn.
And with the coming night would fall
A lesson to be learned.
The tide came in, with force did strike,
The castle could not stand.
And I was shown how life is like
A castle made of sand.
And man is but a child at play,
His works they will not last.
For all he builds within days
Shall be by time surpassed.
Each thing we do, Each thing we say,
Each notion we conceive,
They all to soon shall pass away,
Yes, this I do believe.
We leave no mark, we leave no trace
That shall forever stand
Be sure my friend time will erase
Our days however grand.
On my way towards the castle made of gold and silver
I saw something which made my stride falter
It was the sight of a child
Sweet, innocent and wild
She was like an angel
So beautiful, with the spark of a most precious jewel
Oblivious to everything around her
She danced, and danced, and danced to her own tempo!
Stopped I in my stride,
Wondering at the cause of this masquerade
A masquerade yes, for the child danced while no music was heard
The child danced and sang aloud
Was it part of a show, maybe a circus show
I wondered, how would she end, where would she go?
I stopped, right on my way, sat under the shade of a tree
And watched, her, this child, dancing to the tunes of mystery
The child cared not about me
She danced and danced for the sake of being free
She danced till the moon showed itself
She danced all night till dawn showed itself
Then, she stopped, looked at the skies and breathed out heavily
She was tired, but, she would start again, she said so humbly
She needed some rest
And that was when she came to sit next to me
Why do you dance that much I asked her
What is there to do in this world, sick with fever
She told me
While looking at me pointedly
People just run after their needs, satisfying their greed
People run after life at fast speed
Caring not to appease their soul
Why, life here in this world, does be so dull
If death does be the end of it all
Why, why should we care to run after castles of gold
Take the time, like me, to dance and glorify the skies
So mysterious, they do be there where the beginning of it all lies
Listen, she said, listen to the bells of angels
Listen to the call of Heaven
Listen, pray do listen
And dance, for they be the only true music, in this world, so fallen
Listening to that child,
I felt my stride getting all mild
I let go of my chase
And became, like her, a spirit living up to the rhythms emanating from space!
I dance whenever I hear the music
That one, being called as mystic
I dance and care not about anybody's opinion
For, they are all blinded by the false show of this world's oblivion!
30 Sept 2015
~Passport To Europe~
(Taxidevo Agape)
Travel thru Europe
can be really nice
Germany's ancient
Beautiful country
With breathtaking views
Everywhere you go you'll enjoy enchanting sights
Traveling thru small towns with so much history
Most locals are nice and polite willing to help
You'll get to see many castles still standing 'round
Tall and proud filled of much beauty and history
In Paris take walk
Spain is full of charm
Riding the train thru
Europe is much fun
Travel will bring joy.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2012
January.30.2015
The 'Taxidevo Agape' is a poetry style created by
Joseph Spence Sr.
Help me understand
I don't understand,
why everybody dies....
no matter the future in their plans
Help me understand
Eternity dwells,
in the heart of every man...
no one can control...when they're gone
Help me understand
Castles are built,
on the shifting sand...
then, comes a wave....and washes it away
Help me understand
Bridge
Sometimes the strongest one,
gets taken by surprise
Sometimes the fastest one,
stumbles before the prize
It's so hard to trust,
surrounded by evil men
It's such a crime when,
the good lay in the dust
Bridge
Life is a mystery,
no questioning the why...
try to re-write history,
but we're stopped when we die...
I don't understand,
why there is so much pain
and suffering is all we know
There must be a way,
to chase away the rain,
and learn how to love as we grow
Help me understand
Bridge
Sometimes the strongest one,
gets taken by surprise
Sometimes the fastest one,
stumbles before the prize
I don't understand...why everybody dies
Help me understand...
Help me understand....
repeat and fade
John Derek Hamilton
May 25,2019
My fury and outrage remain unabated , it seethes like magma
and spreads itself throughout my being , it is barely contained
I shield it to keep the damage within , so it does not consume me
or those I love and want not to hurt.
My dark raving hisses and steams awaiting release , with screams,
hysteria that I may not be able to save the one that becomes my
vent , the outpouring eruption of pain , that I would whip and lash
with lurid pitch that it might cloak with agony the one whom I love
upon its receipt .
Why cannot I cover it and shift my focus to that which builds and
does not tear down and ravage as I have been ravaged?
Why does not that majesty of things that stand before me
not move me to ease or peace?
Oblivion , that vast chasm that plunges deep within my
soul ice cold heart , I wish it destroyed , but its the only thing
within that seems still alive and beating.
I wish it replaced with tenderness and warmth that it may
mark you with pleasure and not agony, clothe you with
beauty and not the ugliness that has taken up residence
and keeps its rent.
In sackcloth and ashes I mourn the loss of innocence , not
for myself only but for all those who suffer , and raise
not their hands against the perpetrators of their suffering.
God do not let me join in acts of perpetuation , that I strike
others in kind , in repayment for their deeds.
My life has been sacked and looted , thieves have stolen every
precious piece of personality that might make me redeemable.
Raw and naked estate exposed, my inheritance from Adam ,
I was molded in pain and forged by fire imprinted by a storm
of ire......
Oh God , why did you preserve me so that I had not died and
left me alive to cry , scream at the trials of fire that blister
the souls of men....
Awaken oh my heart , do not sleep in the death of love , and
the reign of savage pain , and the cries of those who live in
affliction , whose cries have been silenced before you.....
My tears have become stone , my walls a castles fortress
I cannot cast aspersions it holds you as well as I,
unlike the earth my stone cannot drink in the sun
Job moments
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C. Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Walk Through The Forest
Walk slowly through the forest
Feel the leafs on your feet
The stones between your toes
Listen to the water of a nearby creek
And the sticks crack beneath your steps
The forest is a world of its own
Castles and palaces reach for the sky
Covered with a thick ceiling of green
Flowers glisten in the filtered sun
Birds sing to each other
But none of that is there for you
Just remember as you walk
You do not belong in this world
You are the alien intruder
Still the forest welcomes you
Wrapping you in cooling breezes
Sharing its shade with you
If you have the chance to walk through the forest
Make sure you appreciate what is offered you
Thank the forest for accepting you
Lastly, when you leave
Take only memories, leave only footprints
If you do
The forest will welcome you back
The next time you want to take a walk
Some desire to leave their shadows upon the earth,
great achievements or abominable destruction,
anything to stamp a footnote
on any indelible ledger.
Some choose to walk on water,
to live unknown where every blade of grass
is known.
Kings have their castles and hermits their caves,
but the son of man disappears
into his own habitat.
He or she, lives under many roofs
but never do they call any place their home.
Lovers and poets live above the prevailing winds,
artist shape culture from the inside
not from without.
Love is the only lamp to read by.
Mighty cultures rise and fall,
but those who know how to disappear
far beyond any common memory,
they are remembered
by a God
who does not read the history of this world.
Positively Preposterous Puckheads...STILL!!!
Boy! They sure don't drive no Coupe DeVille.
My wife dragged me here against my will,
I just, Touched Down! in Palookaville!
Her Uncle Buck, buck-teethed and busted bunions,
Always smelled just a bit like onions.
He'd cuss me out while eating Funyuns!
Yep, that Codger's one big Curmudgeon!
Aunt Tildy, wore garters with lace tassels,
Bought lavender soap by the passels!
Had dreams of Knights at White Castles,
And she tells my wife, I'M the ASSLE!
Cousin Clem, I call him "Phlegm," ain't right in the head!
He's thirty-five! and still wets the bed!
And his folks still wonder why he's not wed!
I don't care what that Doctor Phil said!
Last, but not least, is that beast they call Boo!
That cur must be older than...Twenty-Two!
And bowels!...Man, that mutt sure could poo!
As luck would have it...he spackled my shoe!
Damn! Sun's setting, they're sweating, and I'm stuck here...STILL!!!
Oh Lord, please send me that Coupe DeVille!
I might as well start writing my will!
There's "Nightmares Galore" here in Palookaville!