Long Gauntlets Poems
Long Gauntlets Poems. Below are the most popular long Gauntlets by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Gauntlets poems by poem length and keyword.
Amour
comes with its price
masked armour
worn fiercely
by dark nights
eventually
lifted
for love or folly
facing what’s
in front of you
the past
dark knights
removed
the once broken
now unbreakable
the veiled
amour
unveiled
Armour
comes with its price
arrives brandishing
like a sword its prize
delivers its secrets
all in good time
gauntlets
thrown down
wrists and palms
exposed, holding out
for the crown
all for Amour
the darkest night
light shining knight
bare faced and naked
at a Sovereign's feet
eventually
kneels down
Candide Diderot. ‘24
amour
armour
night
knight
To Babylon, we came...
To watch the rise of Tower
The Tower of Cain
A fortress of dark n eternal pain
Stretching to the vaults of heaven
to quite the RAGE of Man
to challenge the reign of divinity
into humanities Wasteland of Ages
a paradise of industry and history
a sable hand in a gilded land
once called EDEN...!
Men Came With Machines of Desire,
Roses of Fire…
gauntlets of Steel
a mechanical tyranny did the same…
That clinched Thorns of Eternity!
The bloody reigns of infinity
Tears fall on dreary sand For years...
A return to Eden
Where MEN claim...
A Utopia of IRON and Dusty Screams
A future of means and profit!
Yearning for opulent DREAMS…
Built engines on the backs of the damned
A nation of lost revenants
On horizons golden Zion’s seams
Blood of war mixing with lambs cream.
A Fortress of Praise in a Corrupt age
Babylons full of wrath, as towers blaze!
We find our hearts & minds a daze
And only in our God's holy Rage...
Can cleanse
&
Turn the Page!
*Image of Smallest Dog by Bio.
The Small Dog from Shansi
There was a scholar from Shansi City,
Miffed by folks he stayed in an priory,
Peaceful, but bothered by its many bugs,
So he bundled like a baby in hugs.
One night, two little knights with plumed helmets,
No more than two inches high with gauntlets
Hands, topped horses the size of grasshoppers,
Held falcons sized-like flies for the slaughters.
They raced crossed my floor at the greatest speed,
Another of them ontop his own steed,
Held a bow and arrow, instead, with him,
A small dog sized-like an ant filled with vim.
Behind him came a great army of men,
They held falcons with dogs just like him,
The bugs rose to flee but the falcons slain them,
Dogs sniffed out fleas ate them with no problem.
All cracks and crannies, the vermins were dead,
Scholar still pretending to sleep instead,
Then one rode clad in yellow and a crown,
He climbed the couch and he looked all around.
The men gathered neath him and paid homage,
They spoke a strange tongue, he had no knowledge,
The king climbed on a chariot and his
Guardsmen joined him with the greatest of ease.
Then off they went in a blink of an eye,
His men pursues with a victory cry,
Sounds like someone just scattered lots of beans,
The scholar rose, astonished to the scenes.
But then he looked at a brick by the wall,
A forgotten small dog not scared at all,
Scholar saw that the small dog was quite tame,
Leaps to bed, eats bugs, returned whence he came.
He feared the next day it be gone but no,
Stands on the brick leapt to the bed, it know
Its hungry, eats, then leaps back to the brick,
For days and nights, the small dog did the trick.
Until one day the scholar took a nap,
The small dog leaped by him and also slept,
The scholar had awaken, then he saw,
Flat dog like paper, as if one had draw.
2019 June 11
I am the Martyr you shall not want
I lay me down across waters
You will not cross
I wander mountainsides alone
To bring their grandeur
To your door
And run through gauntlets unafraid
Your cross to bear
I climb the steps of lofty peaks
Through storm and strife and dark of night
And rage the sky in grave distress, for you –
For you, my noble quest, I bear witness
To the blade and knife
To the callous force of Nature’s might
And in despair cry out your name
Though it radiates in muted tones
The crimson luster of its flame
Yea, though I walk through hidden valleys
In the shadow of the midday sun
And move in darkness, as it were
In honor of my sacred word
And wander in the wilderness
These long and restless years
Seeking a deliverance
I seem not to deserve
I yet am bound, in act and deed
By oath of blood and oath of right
Wrested from the Moon
One long and anguished night
Unto my lone and solitary quest
‘Less by loss of hope, of heart, of fight
I lose of you, my love, my life –
“Maverick”
Mavericks are made
in the silence
spent
where
freedom
is kept locked tight
in solitary confinement
moments melting
down visceral pain
through love
and
loveless madness
fierce swords are
grown from what’s
left of the shattered
Heart’s core
self-belief taken up again
intellect fox cunning
running the gauntlets
between the
dishonour guards
in Hell’s burning rain
Majesties are silver spoon
and coddled born
Mavericks are delivered
from hot kitchens and
cool as milk made
to lead
Warriors Brave
through
The Storm
Mavericks are made
to reign
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
"I am the master of my sea"
Maverick
An unorthodox or independent-minded person.
I took umbrage over a comment in a current blog, in part stating that poetry, "... is a battlefield..." No. There should be no gauntlets thrown, no darts hurled, and no negative words hurled as if Poetry Soup is a battlefield. I was motivated to write...
Over and over again, blogs become a wallowing hole
where ugliness brews contempt and always takes a toll
on those who are trying to make a simple observation.
Someone takes offense and that provokes confrontation
by a tadpole who'll be a frog and not Prince Charming.
Ya know... the narcissistic type who think it's alarming
that they're ideas are not accepted by others on the site.
Then, it's "Katie, bar the door" and get ready for a fight!
Pollywogs keep swimming in rippling waters of the Soup,
where they take a dump, but don't think of it as 'Poop.'
Blogs are sandboxes where nasty words become litter.
Catty remarks are made by the arrogant and the bitter.
Not surprising, the same ones cut up with their mocking.
It's the same MO they use when they come a knocking...
knocking on new blog doors and causing a ruckus inside.
That's crossing a line that no one should ever take in stride.
Some abuse blogs, as if they're churches or synagogues.
If any part of Poetry Soup should go, it should be the Blogs.
Not as some redundantly claim, should be poetry contests...
Objected to by rallying sponsors and poets in fervid protests.
Blogs serve as playgrounds but break all schoolyard rules
when some can't stop themselves from acting like fools.
There's fighting and tugs of war... never for a good cause.
Gettin' tough over trivial stuff puts a pinch in their drawers.
For gosh sake, act like adults instead of flakes and nuts.
There's never and excuse for acting like a rattlepated putz.
Shivering sullen, silent all the time.
Suffering, wisdom, alone and sublime.
Where, O my oracle, shall I begin?
Blanch, light of Sin, nickel, cadmium, tin.
Hollow are hearts in the hill-towns, and why?
Dreams are a mystery passing us by!
Doom, thy coworker. O death, say a word.
Quartered by each third for flipping, old bird?
Tremendous temper-fount, volcanic fire!
Crater, thy rim is a pinnacled spire!
As for springtime, low are the levels and wet.
Red run regret, roundabout but well set...
Wily raccoon, the coyote, thy peer;
Sent us a message to grind in the gear.
O love, thy caresses have hope on the wing!
Solemnity, siren's song, arm in a sling.
Weathervane, point. Pain, agony, anoint.
Lightning, thy bolts do the dead man appoint.
Rare metal substances, deep in the ground?
Sound may surround what the looking-glass found.
Foundation, deep in the ocean's body?
Flickering firelight reflected by sea.
Young master, time will secure what you seek!
Poets and prophets through boneyards will creak...
Zenith below and white-capped with the snow.
Stern as a blow thrown by giants? Then go!
Dun desert air from all moisture set loose.
Forest, refuse what thy gods do not use.
Dithering dervishes, dole and duress.
Grim gambrel gangrel, gill, gauntlets to guess.
Heaven and Hell, have you seen me? Well, when?
Foxfire and frankincense burned on the fen...