Long Crypt Poems
Long Crypt Poems. Below are the most popular long Crypt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crypt poems by poem length and keyword.
The moist meadow of my heart
dried desolate like a desert.
The mist of parched passion
spread with mystique opacity
from the halcyon horizon that waited
for the southern wind to blow
from the fervent sparkling sky
with your sequined charisma,
draping the shades of blue within me.
If you’d turned into an emerald tree
in the far away fawn forest,
the baroque boughs would’ve reached out
to the seraphic sky of yearning.
In their soothing shade
I would’ve reposed for a while,
hear the song the leaves rustled
with the drops of the dancing rain.
In the titular template of loneliness,
the transient motif of dreams
the beginning engraved
in the million footsteps I etched for you,
tracing the course for the agonized heart
that quivered like the wilderness willow.
The configuration of the unyielding essence
repudiated the catharsis reprisal.
I found a place at the edge of your taciturn time,
sensed the sound of furtive silence.
As all the dreams blazed in an inferno,
I breathed the smoke of the ashen memory,
afloat quietly in the sky of nothingness.
In the space between the slices of my heart,
where the frail feelings got frozen,
the design of desolation intertwined
with the splinters of the icons of desire.
They flew away to the corral of anonymity
on the trajectory of covert longing,
lay within the poignant crypt as a secret kept.
Ahh, as you seat there under the twilight of the night, who would have known you were my destiny. For now, you are the means of me beneath Orion, Earth, and sea. The sages of Rome and the Gods of the Greeks; Athena, Heroine of Venus pay homage to the love shared between us. All shall add our names to songs of their history.
I yearn to become a part of you down to the very core of your being. My place is with you and to be always in your grace. I whisper your name in the secret crypt of my covenant; that no other man alive can witness your worth to me. For you are for me… and me alone.
Whenever I hold you in my arms, I control all time and space. Whenever I look into your eyes, I stand face to face with the immortals… all those in Heaven. Your eyes, your lips, your touch on my flesh, the smell of your skin Ahhhh…The taste of you, the breath of you, I …
Exhaling to release the passion of my love for you, I yield momentary rest. Gathering my thoughts, I silence the ego of my vanity of knowing it is I who wash my soul in the waters of your natural spring and is revived; I who eat the fruit of your garden and bear the strength of 10.
I chuckle at the mere mortals that walk the earth as men. With you, by my side, I am the royalty on which Nobles stand. I am the might of Hercules and the power of Zeus. By the roar of the greatness of the lion “The King” ... I hold immense pride in bringing you to heights of mountains, to the falls of its waters, and the pleasures of its wonders. You’ve captured me with the force of tornado winds, and on your wings, I am carried still.
07-05-19
Written for a contest. Placed as N/A. Not sure why.. As a woman, I have witnessed men dominate, rule, and conquer for the love of a woman. This is what I believe went through their minds. As per history..per-sae.
The wolves do lope high and free
in mountainous trails and her masonry
the hallowed wood and rocky clefts
hold the dens of their hidden nests
Golden eyes pierce thickened dark
hunting prey within their park
hot breath raises mist in their flight
with urges to run in thick of night
lounging with the pack on a hill
neath the moon silent and still
The forest with all her rookery
cast eyes below to the pack they see
the cold crypt of the earth below
blood covered in splays of snow
pale ice rugs flow on ground and rocks
as the pack do run seeking the flocks
the burrow of the white wolf and her pups
upon her milk the fledgling sups
the shiver of their meal in deathly gore
lying torn apart on the forest floor
the sinuous beauty of their agility
of taking prey down with ability
The dominate male and alpha mate
are always first in hunger to slate
how many priests have nature of pack
are hidden in darkness and innocence lack
looking for victims the prey that they stalk
in secret places the plans of it talk
Religion that is false will slaughter the sheep
to not be it’s prey the truth you must keep
her princes are wolves ravening prey
the word of the truth they seek to stay
they would come clothed in appearance of light
but within the gown is blackness of night
With a flood of lies He seeks to deceive
and devour the hearts of those who believe
The serpent lays in the den of his mate
The Queen of Harlots , Babylon the Great
Ez 22:27 Zeph 3:2-4 Matt 7:15-16
COPYRIGHT © 2009 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Always the plastic containers,
leftovers maturing stacked in gelid wastes
where pork slumbers among the peppers,
chicken spooning with onions and cabbage.
The polar remains of once tropical meals
transformed into undocumented containers
to be opened far too late.
A curried hash so ad hoc that it could be
the flotsam of a ravenous hurricane.
Zipper bags squelch under groping hands,
carefully wrapped comestible debris
speaks to the eyes more clearly
than any warning sign could.
Dinners and snacks survive
as half-eaten life-forms
buried behind a white doored crypt.
Some, a few only
may be resurrected, only to be boiled
into innominate concoctions
by a cook who once loved them
way too much.
Tick tack the sounds of clock
Hush hush the wind hath blown
And you inside these rocks
Beneath this brilliant moon.
Arise beloved let me pray
Thy soul to keep wish I may
As in my heart you deeply lay
Arise beloved from the clay.
In my heart I hold you dear
And all the laughter’s that we care
Are now forgotten in the air
Elegiac hymns strike the lyre!
O beloved how I long
To hold your hands all day long
And sing with you the lovely songs
Amidst the face of countless throng.
And now I sit upon thy crypt
As these tears fall on my cheeks
I wish to wake thee from thy sleep
To bring to me the joy I seek
But lo, beloved I cannot
For things that past can't be recant
So I shall live and let thee rot
And here I'll end this mournful chant.
Once upon a midnight, ghostly,
Partied many, dead ones mostly.
Feasting in the graveyard, sprightly,
White eyed werewolves gorged, engrossedly.
In the bone yard, drab and squalid,
Apparitions (staring stolid
Neath the veiled moon, clouded lightly)
Sought fresh bodies, lean but solid.
Fiendish eyes shone, light and sparkly,
Ghouls and demons danced so darkly.
Maggots munching mush unsightly,
Black blood streamed like ink, quite starkly.
Fetid flesh oozed, flowing freely
Through the crypt doors, cold and steely.
Shadows, ashen, pranced contritely,
Ebon serpents slithered eely.
As it happens, all too often,
Zombies dimly closed the coffin –
Ra, the sun god, rising slightly
Hunger pangs were soon to soften.
If you ask, I’ll tell you blankly,
When you’re feeling dark and dankly
Come to where this happens nightly.
They’ll enjoy the feast, quite frankly...
If time were the minted money of the world,
we’d care to safeguard our wallets every instant,
making sure the valued notes don’t fly away like seconds
through the extravagant course of the darting minutes.
If time were to turn into the legal tender,
we’d carry the unseen folders in our chests,
filled with currency as precious as the years we get,
that we long to live in affluence every wealthy hour.
Sunrise time would be morphed into prized fortune
with splendorous riches enshrined in valued moments.
The crypt of dawn would turn into mental locker
where the gold coin of each second we’d warily keep.
Time would come for us with gilded hours to be spendthrifts,
for giving it generously to a destitute lonely friend in need.
The rationale to rightly own the treasure of time
is to squander it on something that requires it most.
Vampire vixens
Sharing their spoils
Lusting crimsons
Bodies coil
Fencing tongues
Caressing of flesh
Internal erectness
State of undress
Bodies drenched
Thirst quenched
Red flow run
Sexual scent
Midnight writhe
Before the dawn
Vixens of darkness
The dark ones spawn
Entrance he makes
Cloaked in death
To taste their blood
On his vixens breath
Cloak strewn
Bared and chaired
This blood lust two
Master shared
The dawn is near
As this threesome sleep
In their crypt
Darkened deep
Two blood lust souls
Innocent no more
Lured from earths
Living floor
Paths chosen
No turning back
These vampire vixens
In the world of black
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/myth-fantasy.php
Many things are ludicrous
I wrote volumes centuries ago
what do auld eyes grasp now?
the bard laments in his barrow.
I, Shakespeare, wake up in assuage world
behold this chivalry
behold the modesty that does not befit
a mistress or a humble gentleman
stylish and eccentrically dressed.
In a moment of inspiration.
on the road from London to Paris
Shakespeare could write.
this blessed land, this kingdom, this England
could have been written in solemn tones.
close to me on the plane seat.
After a few drinks.
I lent him my headphones.
I'm going to continue with this.
I may not be able to write.
He likes my watch
with a cover by Holzken
when I'm not looking out the window
I was flying through the sky in my verse
I've never been in a world like this.
In the Elizabethan era
Men held higher positions than female
women were forbidden to work
they had to bear children and household
cleaning, cooking, and caring for children.
When Juliet asked Romeo, "What's up?"
the young boy goes, "Cow, what is your quest?"
Bard, never alter your lines.
Thank you, rapt women, of all ages, for your lyrics.
Waking up from a long sleep
Remembering the past
visited the royal scene, suburbs, and theaters
walked through Warwickshire and Stratford.
A device called "TV"
a catalyst for family gatherings
It also spreads poison
he realized within himself
not to waste the few hours he had left.
You immortalize yourself through poetry
In a lonesome crypt after death
Your poems should resonate with many
Let it echo forever.
You asked Hamlet's question.
"Be or not?"
Written: January 13, 2023
Shakespeare In 2023 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Planned a pretty picnic, yet didn’t predict
Pigs begged - please eat us
Allocated table had laid out a feisty feast
Mince never been seen since
Rolled in crackling casing, their fatty flesh
Confused cuttings, garnish
New sensations buzzed about, fly nuisance
Neurons zoomed zealously
Hogs hounded by horrifying hallucinations
Leotard clad dancer retarded
Twisted vertebrae a violation, tongue flicks
Countdown to lard liquidation
Psilocybin sunny yellow yolk binds reason
Lumen shed no light of lantern
Mazatec ritual melted musk pink muscles
Slow motion mushroom sprawl
Mummified corpses crept out of deep crypt
Afternoon amber amplified fate
Fast forward formula filter, little pigs fiction
Scramble like crabs in a bucket
Baked brick brains, barbecued by voodoo
Vulgar misogyny bursts, a bulb
Blooms dubious blue in Voyria voyage void
Wolf at their door signals doom
Serpent slithered through halved heart rates
Shot of short sighted reaction
Spastic synapses jerk erratic, far stargazing
Scatter, decant into galaxy icy
Frozen bones form a crucifix in farmer’ stall
Fable of table where food served
Sustenance, except the hex that halted them
Bode their badges vanish in ash
21st May
A tatterdemalion
Demonstrates haste
has a bad taste
Homeless make tracks
Unashamed, I stay