Long Davinci Poems
Long Davinci Poems. Below are the most popular long Davinci by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Davinci poems by poem length and keyword.
In shadowed halls, I've followed the quiet threads of power,
Charting each muffled cry, its subtle sway in time,
Silently navigating the veiled histories held in their gaze.
Indeed, the world is more than a stage for veiled hands,
And the moon a silent sentinel of their secret rites,
In hidden rooms, the sacred vow shifts to silent betrayal.
I turn not to the relics of old secrets worn thin,
Nor seek the stark truths in ruins of ancient bonds.
Shadows are draped like promises, speaking of deeper dawns.
I've roamed the archives under the quiet moon's watch,
Untangling the snarled webs of alliances that bind.
Yet, they hold fast.
Sometimes, I long for the veils to be drawn back completely.
In the quiet corridors, triumphs speak their tales;
The secret heart pulses with the rhythms of old truths.
Your lifestyle is vibrant and restless
and from tiny towns to big cities:
your search for human images
to paint perfect, lifelike faces!
And while you don't have the unique touch
of a Davinci or of a Caravaggio: you do excel,
many strangers from far places ring your bell:
they spend hours posing for a silver brooch!
Earning money is only for essentials,
no passion is more satisfying
to glance at your finished paintings
and wish they'd be talking!
Painter of realistic faces,
immortalize them with your magical brush;
their perfect masculine and feminine images
don't need any correction or a final touch:
your artistic talent amazes!
Lewis Carroll, Harpo Marx,
Albert Einstein, Eminem,
Paul McCartney, Judy Garland –
These are just a few of them.
Add DaVinci and Obama,
Oprah, Jimi and Bill Gates,
Charlie Chaplin, Morgan Freeman –
All have something that relates.
R.B. Ginsburg, Mozart and
Ted Williams and, of course, Babe Ruth,
Helen Keller, Ringo Starr,
Matt Groening and Bart Simpson. (truth!)
Jerry Seinfeld, Larry Bird,
Ludwig B, Spike Lee, Mark Twain
Are among the ten percent
Who use the right side of the brain.
Since today’s Lefthanders Day
Let’s honor all of those who are
As I will with my grandson Henry,
Who’s my lefty fave by far!
Quirks
Lennon and McCartney
Composed a song for harps,
But neither one was very good
At reading flats and sharps.
DaVinci was a total whiz
at graphic arts and science,
but could he run a marathon,
or wrestle with the giants?
Transformers bring us light,
As Tesla had some genius.
Yet, he had no business sense,
Thus perished impecunious.
Descartes declared, "I am,"
And Marx united workers,
But when it came to music,
Both of them were shirkers.
Socrates taught others
By making pointed queries.
Although he was illiterate,
We understand his theories.
Lincoln, Ford, and Edison
Are considered rather legend'ry.
But for all of their accomplishments,
They never finished second'ry.
The moral of the story is,
If your marks are wanting,
Do not be dismayed,
It's really not that daunting.
Each soul has its genius.
Each soul has its quirk.
If you follow both of those,
Then your dream can work.
Far away, further gone, the farmer thought,
As watercolors brushed his canvas stain,
“My wife and her children, must have forgot
to come home again,” - blurs melting in rain;
-
“Forever finds all, but did he forget,
the wet daVinci now who finger paints?”
I thought, then yelled; “Hey Dad! Let’s go! You’re wet!”;
A son straining through blinds I felt inside,
Would I once be he, or would I just die?
His caves are graves that open, close, then hide,
then back to close as bats chasing a fly;
I thought of him, but thought to forget –
Then someone yelled from some neighbor’s cave,
Some voice I knew, from some buried grave;
“Hey Dad! Let’s go! You’re wet!”
Far away. Further gone. In another’s thoughts.
I dream a world of contrasts and evolution
Bold smartness and resolution
In so much as:
Flat things are flat for all people,
and shades of gray are not adulterated by photoshopping.
Facts and opinions regain their identities.
Deception is an accident not a strategy.
Trust is earned.
Empathy is respected as a strength.
Impulsiveness once again is the domain of toddlers,
not an asset of adults.
The racial spectrum achieves a balance and cohesiveness
unachievable by Versace or DaVinci or Trump.
Our differences are assets we share.
Ideas are guided by compassion and wisdom,
and triumph when they find their words.
I dream a world of contrasts and evolution
Bold smartness and resolution
CHAKRAS BOLD
HE designed root red via
a laugh so raucous creating
world wild rumbling random
rubies rolled ruling red
thunderous winds whirling
shimmering shocking floods
Emperor Supreme spearing
stimulate Mother channels
birthing babes to cuddle
sword sheath bloody
red is my beneath !
HE designed my womb
occult oracle orange
oceanic openings obliging
receive that which swims
into the deep to hear
obituaries or observe
creation’s octahedral
cathedrals octaving to
behold bold olive and oak
OM is where I rest divine
operatic orange sublime
HE designed my navel
with its surrounds golden
solar yellow mighty ignite
magnetise miracles for
better sight savouring
power for hours exuding
fires roaring pouring will
enduring strength for miles
and miles adoring gold
burnished bold plexus
platinum yellow nexus
HE designed my Heart
full blown DaVinci art
Picasso could not compete
green moss spring soft
therein pirouetted daisies
in swirling whorls fading
Mozart’s maddening
crescendoes crying
veils upon veils to
enticingly whisper
‘Come, bride, come’
HE designed my throat
a singing topaz blue
so true to cobalt hues
anew each teal
dolphin silent sprang
Truth trout sighed
sky blue signal smoke
softly sowed sweet
royal kaleidoscopes
herald harmonic hopes
pop songs wrote
HE designed forehead a
deep indigo isle circled
in vintage fashion
twisted ivy presented
EYE of all eyes an
empress ringlet ruffle
to and fro pondering
pupils so deep diving
turbulent storms to keep
in comfort who adores
my adorings roly holy
On my head Valentine
Supreme valanced a
valuable vortexed venture
vaned a thousand petals
a halo not exposed to
winged shadows shady
so my wondrous wispy
wisdoms you may emit
from this lotus crown fast
feather ferns fathom to
fit fetish dream atoms
O ! Lord of Lords !
in red orange gold
green blue indigo
white to sight heights
I bathe in your colours
behold arms embrace
so chaste to post my
poems in coloured
posies haste so
comely these chakras
choralling
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2025
More than five hundred years is quite a while
for the time we have gazed on your enigmatic smile.
A beautiful woman’s portrait painted long ago,
crafted by one of the greatest artists we know.
“La Giaconda” has been an alternate alias.
Your creator has been hailed a creative genius.
In a museum you are now for many to behold
How many stories about you have been told?
For decades, you have been displayed in your location.
A beautiful painting scintillating the imagination.
Countless numbers come to see you in Paris.
DaVinci seems to have captured all your loveliness.
With great detail and colors so bold,
you are prized the world over, and are worth your weight in gold.
Long may you continue to be on display.
You must have been quite a woman in your day!
What unforeseen force determines our course
On journeys throughout our days?
What drives the notions to cross deep oceans
That for some, become early graves?
What causes our dreams that move us it seems
To continually seek higher ground?
To discover new worlds in deep space that swirls
Like windmills ‘round and ‘round?
What made DaVinci a Renaissance Man
And Shakespeare a writer extolled?
How did Einstein think out there on the brink
Relative to light, young or old?
What ran through the veins of Mahatma Gandhi
Or Martin Luther King?
And what magic arose when Beethoven composed
Or Sinatra learned how to sing?
I duly confess, I’ve detoured no less
Than countless times through the years;
But like an arrow flying I keep on trying
To hit bulls eye, nice and clear.
Though Robert Frost I’ll never be
Ansel Adams or Henry Ford;
Still I keep striving like each of them
For something deeper inside to explore.
When I was young…before I could speak…before I was capable of dialogue…
unbeknownst to my parens…I saw life through a fog.
Everything my eyes could see…looked like a painting by Monet
I didn’t know I saw the world differently…I was born that way.
I thought everyone had eyes like mine…and saw the world like me…
It would be years till I got glasses and could see the world that others see.
With only my eyes or with my glasses on…my world was as different as night and day.
I either saw the details of DaVinci…or through the haze of a Monet.
Yesterday, however, for a little while my world took a different spin.
The skies were clear when we began our walk…then slowly…the fog rolled in.
As the fog moved in and over us…as it blanketed the shore.
I thought to myself…this is wonderful…I don’t need my glasses anymore.
So I took them off and for a moment played this little game…
with my glasses on or with them off…everything looked the same.
Yes, once the fog engulfed the people, the cars, the beach…the trees…
I realized, at that moment, everyone there was seeing the world I see.
So I put my glasses in my pocket…and for a few minutes at the beginning of the day…
I welcomed everyone I met…into my world…and the beauty of Monet.