Long Gallery Poems
Long Gallery Poems. Below are the most popular long Gallery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gallery poems by poem length and keyword.
It was time, for my audition - a nice renditition,
I came armed, nothing too predictable, with ammunition;
this offered my chance for fame, only I was to blame
if I messed up, success meant I would never be the same again.
It was good, I knew by the smile on their faces,
now I waited, standing, while my heart really races;
I knew that one juror may give me a hard time,
playing to the gallery, a mountain I might climb.
The unnecessary hype, weirdly prolonged, was irritating,
I heard the voice: 'You know what . . . . ' , procrastinating,
why can"t he just say if he liked the bloody thing or not?
as though he was on another programme and forgot.
It was tiring, waiting for all their second-guesses,
I need not have worried because I got four yesses.
I came along with high expectation
And hopes of grandeur, instead defacement
A ruined mass of fallen structure
Displaced gray stones in random stature
A mist alighted like a screen
A passing shroud that blurred the scene
And when it lifted a man I saw
Standing by what seemed a door
With hand he beckoned fervently
Responding, I sensed his urgency
I entered the ruins like a ghost
And followed with awe my new found host
He cast my mind back to an age
of decadence, richness, hard to gauge
My eyes receptive, I was beginning to see
Its many rooms now clear to me
I stepped into a hall with floors of marble
And sweeping staircase, a sight to marvel
A gallery of oils adorned the wall
The face of my guide appeared in them all
He smiled at me as I gasped in wonder
At the treasure to view on which to ponder
Porcelain, tapestry, it had the lot
Even a dance floor for pavane and gavotte
Four poster beds with embroidered drapes
The smell of must was hard to take
From mullioned window I glimpsed the lake
With swans and ducks I make no mistake
Manicured lawns and statuettes
Embraced the lawns like silhouettes
Reflecting the atmosphere at this time
A faraway bell had started to chime
What happened here I asked the man
Squandered by me and the rest of the clan
We waged a bet and sadly lost
It all went, at such great cost
The toll of the bell was getting louder
He turned to go, he was losing his power
Fast fading before my very eyes
Now in the ruins and the demise
I browse the toppled masonry
I sense his smile, his presence, his waving hand
Once garden, in place the moss and ivy grow
With sad reflection I turn to go
I sit here pondering the next move as I watch the hour slowly slips away, and chance standing in the horizon muse steadfast at me. It is that little nudge that you get when you are almost out of breath and you try to find something to hold on to but nothing is there and a tiny beetle comes along and start to sing a merry little song.
It is the little things that amuses me, like the mouse playing hide and seek in the art gallery, the spider building a web for its sadistic prey and the cock roach crawling on the wall has caused a great brawl. It only comes out when visitors are in town and starts a commotion all around.
The evening sun is just cooling down and everyone is running around; it drifts at the back of the hill and creates havoc in the street, the people are running around in a frenzy and something peculiar is disrupting my heart beat and I can hardly breath.
Sweat is dripping from my face and my head is getting hot, my clothes is soaked and my feet are burning. The water is running in the stream is warm and something below the surface of the earth is interfering with my dream, I have to go and check it out.
The beetle from the order of Coleoptera,is flying around in the tree with four hundred thousand bugs descending in the open space on thee. It’s hard exoskeleton is fashion to protect its internal organ and resist all external blow they too are getting ready for the big show.
I have traveled this path many times in the sun and rain and each time I travel it’s never the same, sometimes the journey gets longer and my heart gets heavier and chance waits patiently for you to come. It is that moment of waiting when nothing is left I begin to find myself
I have stumbled upon the “art” in me and the courage that is spread out in the ocean before me, and I begin to reason with myself. Just one more chance to go on that trip, Just one more chance to see if you really exist. Just one more chance to get it right, just one more chance to complete this sacrifice.
There is one thing standing between me and you, it is the path that you have to pass through when you close the door; meet me at the junction with a script camera and a bottle of water and you will write that story of how we cross over. Meet me at the junction and chance will take your hand.
You know me as a poet, and writer of poems sad,
I take poetic license, violating rules and conventions;
telling a story using figurative language, I share,
my life's journey and sorrows in beautiful words.
Few beyond this safe harbor have read my poetry,
I write with raw emotion and I lay my soul bare;
my poems are my treasures and I keep them hidden,
oh, fathomless is the pain.
My view on life is somewhat sad fatalism,
my destiny foretold, it is already written;
there are many facets to me that I share with few,
oh, classical music moves me to write my poetry and words;
I love Chopin, poet of the piano, Mozart, oh that lyrical charmer.
And I am a lover of art, going to the art gallery weekly,
I love Van Gogh, Degas, Pissario, Bernini and Botticello;
Leonardo and of course, Michelangio, I could go on and on.
I am also fascinated in the architecture in my city.
Often, I just walk the streets looking for beauty,
admiring Gothic revival with its arches and vaults;
and I love the Victorian building where I reside,
with my cat.
I have a small garden, created with a love for nature,
a tribute to my mother's great fondness of flowers.
the things you may not imagine about me are many, for example
I adore vintage jewelry and clothes, and antique anything;
and I am a collector of books, reference, dictionaries, all in a clutter.
And one last thing that I find so very odd and strange,
is that although since childhood I have walked with death;
and death haunts me- I am quite happy, although quite internal,
and I do love and absolutely need my silence.
_________________________________
July 30, 2015
Poetry/Free Verse/''All That I Am''
Copyright Protected, ID 07-1140-660-30
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
A few quiet hours of solitude, detached from life by choice,
Apart and withdrawn from humanity - the world;
Solitude, tranquility - O, sweet the peace and quiet,
In this self-appointed quarantine, this silent retreat.
I savour the stillness, the distant sounds of traffic and sirens,
A wind-mobile tinkling, the birds twittering, unseen;
O, I am not forsaken with loneliness, the opposite be true,
This is a state of alone on my journey in discovery.
Like the solitude of a lighthouse keeper, by choice - silence,
O, splendid isolation, seclusion, aloneness, remoteness;
I love this time where I can find my soul and my words,
Cut-off from worldly matters and in a state of alone.
Did you know, one can be in solitude even in a busy crowd,
O, yes - in a used bookstore amongst tattered books;
At the library engrossed in the rows and rows of knowledge,
The art gallery - lost in beauty - of lovely flowers.
And of course, lost in the famous poets and artists of the past,
As I am today - in my detachment and reclusion;
In a quest of reading, learning, writing poetry and solitude,
O, sweet the breeze blowing and a little cat purring.
_____________________________
May 27, 2015
Poetry/Verse/"A Few Quiet Hours"
Copyright Protected, ID 05-677-503-27
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted into the Standard contest, Late April
sponsor, Brian Strand Judged 2015
Third Place
~
Butterflies, magical little creatures,
abstract painted wings in hypnotic designs,
like Dali and Monet collaborated
with gratis paint and unhinged brush strokes
Combining beauty with misunderstood nonsense,
melted watch towers on flowing bridges
above lily pad sentinels with twisted faces
One palette, two brushes, an endless sky
filled with a multitude of rainbows - of colors
on an easel of fragmented vines
and soft flowing orchid leaves,
winding their way into the vaulted plain
of our visionary quests, soothing every need
as they fly from flower to flower
It is at this point I realize that -
if this is the case, then
my body must be a gallery
of the finest work ever known,
for each time my eyes find your smile,
your beauty gazing upon me,
these wonderful winged creatures of nature
invade me, every part of me and I experience the most
wonderful fluttering sensation - you
~
Floating scents
of blossoms
Walking in the ashes
Of Derek's heaven
Inbound upon vision
Falling crystal teardrops
Summer dew
On the ground
Beautiful gardens surround
Explosive in nature's beauty
Blossoms of all shades
Bouquet the very earth
In the sweet
beautiful aroma
In the scent
a beautiful fragrance
Entering the house
Blue awakens senses
Opening vision
Falling to it flattery
Famous artists everywhere
In its twentieth
century grandeur
A harvest
of art
Entering a peacock
held on my vision
My mark on time
I saw a Picasso
Holding the kitchen
In a brightened air
Renoir held the upstairs
In a setting
burning warm
A pretty maiden
In pose
Speaking volumes
inside of me
Snake skin slipperS
Upon the beds ground
In the wardrobe
a rustic jacket
Christian Dior
Upon the bed
Lay sweetheart pillows
A lady's promise
On her fisherman's
Safe return
Each window
A different picture
Picturesque beautiful
Different views
Of the grounds
Walking towards the lake
Birds singing
In its gentle breeze
Nature whispers
Rustling
in the trees
Leaves one's soul
Whistling in the leaves
In a silent stare
Across the water
Inbound sound
A fish plops
Spiraling ripples
on the surface
Breaking reflections
A gentle breeze
Caresses the brow
Aroma flares
Within the nostrils
Trees standing
Their ground
Centuries looking over
Heavenly
standing tall
Amongst the blossoms
The sun
Will forever smile
In moonlight
Silver shadows
casting the soul
In all its beauty
In the colours
of a butterfly
Kissing heaven
Upon its air
Blowing
a butterfly kiss
Fluttering beautiful
Floating on
Glebe's breeze
Falling around
Glebe house
We are walking on the fine lines
That connects to the other side
Its exterior is very thin and you need
A giant telescope to document all the sordid
Boon and the naturalist colors; time is of
essence and you must be on time for the wedding
the guest are pouring in and the choir began to sing
the ceremony is about to begin so tell the guest to
walk through the doors that that leads from the basement
to the upper floor; you can only take that route once
to achieve your mission way up in the sky . You don’t have
enough time to remain on the ground, so follow your
heart where destiny is bund; take the side road that leads from
the main street and walk on the steps below and you will find
the platform that leads you the train station. You will find
the airline waiting gallery on the other side.
This might be the last time we will meet so post this letter for me
Tell my beau that I am coming to see thee at half past three
Tell my beau that the earth is flat you view it from the back
Tell my beau that the earth is round if you wear queen Elizabeth’s crown. Water is in the rocks and science can prove that
And you must get ready for the after shock.
Tell my beau that I will be true to thee; my hands are tied
But I will go with you to see where the arches merge with the sky
Heavens will bend once before you can see the sun and you will know
Howthe original journey began.I don’t need a lot of things for the
Journey; I only want enough money.I will carry only what I need for the journey, so keep your hopes high and tarry with me and let courage c
complets the journey. Post this letter for me.
In the Gallery of Life, where deeds hang on display,
Not all can see the masterpiece amidst the gray.
For excellence, that rare and radiant art,
It is visible only to the excellent heart.
Like calls to like, in silent recognition,
A secret language, a hidden coalition.
The mediocre gaze, yet fail to see
The brilliance that sets true greatness free.
As diamonds know the cut of their kind,
So do great minds illuminate great minds?
In the sea of ordinary, they stand apart,
These beacons of skill, these masters of their art.
The Symphony of Genius plays its tune,
But only to those who wish it a commune.
The rest may hear, but cannot comprehend
The depths to which true excellence can descend.
In labs and studios, on grand stages,
Where innovation flows from mind to hand,
The excellent discern what others miss:
The spark of greatness, that ethereal bliss.
So let not lesser judgments cloud your view,
For they know not the heights to which you flew.
Your peers in brilliance, they alone can tell
The magnitude of how you've done so well.
In this world where the average often reigns,
Remember: excellence knows excellence's pains.
Your light, though bright, may not be seen by all,
But to the excellent, it stands forever tall.
To The Lady I Will Be
You're going to look at me and think
"What in the world were you thinking"
But best believe at the time it seemed right
Loving so hard and holding on tight
You're going to look back and wonder
"Why didn't you do this instead"
But trust me, the repercussions would've been outstanding
You know, for being a clown at every instance
You're going to be high valued damaged good
Pretty ironic, isn't it?
That's because you will always contradict yourself
Always wanting what's best for them, never for you
Yet cry and hopelessly yearn for the favour to be returned
You're going to be an artist
Not of pen and paper
But of flesh and bones
And your wrists will be your gallery
You're going to be so broken, future self
I'll not sugar-coat and sweeten the lemon
But you're also going to be loving
Broadcasting the pure heart you tried to hide from what you thought was venom
You're going to find someone you won't hurt
Someone who will know you for every piece
You're going to be loved a million times
For that's the number of all your cries
You're going to fall in love one last time
And you will feel alive for being in the lime
From each of your broken pieces
True happiness will overflow with peace
Dear future self, our past and present were disasters of nature
Or probably of our own doings
We do reap what we sow, after all..
But then again, we own no field and have no show