Long Golden age Poems
Long Golden age Poems. Below are the most popular long Golden age by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Golden age poems by poem length and keyword.
(*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*)
The Sea of Galilee aint in Texas
good lord I truly love just walking that sea
nobody else will join us in Texas
and that's why I'm heading to Tennessee
(*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*)
I'd be playin' that pie-an-no
in Texarkan-NADA Dry
upside-down that panhandle
Flori-DUH, I know why
Galveston aint New Orleans
it's nigh Corpus Christi Highs
not about the school's teachings
not score floored football guys.
(*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*)
Be on the loose with Canadian Goose
in OttawA-LOHA calls
We EarthShake -N- VolcanoBake
surfin' Viagra Falls
We all know Zen our hospital friend
where he says good night as you rest quite awhile
Fished and caught an Elk, shot a rainbow--killed a trout,
for that's, indeed, CHICAGO style!
(*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*)
We crack wide open folks were smokin',
golden age just sizzlin' Pan-DUH bear rugs,
I'll-Ask-'um, should-know, south of Catchy-Can-Can
[Translate only] (Alaskans, Juneau...Ketchikan)
I'll heed you Vice ... ere Good-buy, bail those lugs,
(*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*)
Map--my, what will they think of next?
All those Ex's down in Texas!
(*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*) (*)v(*)
Deliberately inching its way toward break of day,
The morning sun begins to emblazon the barley field.
Relaxing and watching the orb find its way,
The lady of the house waits for night to yield.
Like every morning, she is seated there,
Enjoying the dew scented breeze on her veranda.
Feeling its coolness on her scalp while combing her hair,
And the warmth of the rising sun becoming grander.
Her mind wanders back to the city of her birth,
Just over the rise, beyond the barley field’s treasure,
Lies the city with the most famous name on earth,
Where, in her youth, she was a lady of pleasure.
To Rachab went all of Jericho’s possession,
By decree of God, for which Achan was stoned.
For this soldier could not control his obsession,
Though aware the city’s riches were God’s own.
With God’s grace, Rachab’s wisdom grew,
And she made the city’s outskirts her spread.
Her land into a field of grain did accrue,
A breadbasket from which hordes were fed.
Her hires were the finest laborers in the land
And were busy harvesting barley all spring.
She paid the very best wage to every man,
Cause her crop was the best early rains could bring.
The fields and glades, that gave her pasture form,
Seemed sensuous in every contour and rise.
At daybreak, contrasting tones were the norm,
Painted artfully by the brightening skies.
Mounds appeared convexly round breasts,
Lovingly sculpted over a span of human girth,
Whose beauty was able to put the heart to a test,
As the machinery of memory rotates the earth.
Babbling brooks flowed from shady nooks,
Giving refreshment to denizens of land and sky,
Producing a scene of green worthy of picture books,
That not one skilled artist would dare deny.
Gingerly she rose the doorway torch to quench,
Watching the shrinking darkness become shadows.
Rachab calmly returns to her veranda bench,
To observe butterflies dance above the meadows.
In her dreams, she envisions a more golden age,
When royalty would be attributed to her seed.
A zephyr flows over her mind turning the page,
But she still aspires the prospect of the throne to accede.
What a lovely story to behold just beginning to dawn,
Rising out yonder, just beyond the horizon of time.
How we yearn to see that age return, now long forgone,
So our hearts may once again be joyous and sublime.
mandatory monopoly to teach kids a business sense
life long school writing career to help set up your children for success
filing cabinets for councellors to read through
to help your children reach their aspirations
by grade 12 the book edited and presented to the market
anyone can do this
writing a book to heal the mind
pick 5 or 7 names
write descriptive nonsense about them everyday
and don't bother putting it in order
Paying attention to your themes
realise when you have a breakthrough write
then rewrite that story
the miracle of the womb of dreams
women's intuition of an infants first introduction to it's creator
mom a subconcious prophet who just doesn't know
freud of the denial of sexual knowledge
jung of psychological awareness
all ties together learning to think through emotion
due to discomfort of heat and hunger
A gift to the world i have given you an oracle
sending the soldiers of god
walking the globe in circles to their enlightenment
by mastermining your war efforts
you can make war impossible
cities with their own magnetic poles strategically placed
the order of the compas points different for each quadrant of the world
The second generation Internet
pending approval before it is viewable
Bank robbing police in my backyard
its almost time for your funeral
Telling the well people to build an arc
just in case
you like to travel anyway
something better to do than poison your children
and repeat unpleasant mistakes
mandatory firefighting enlistments
preparing for droughts and floods
the war of our world v.s the wrath of mother nature
fought hard with the plan to end famine
still wondering about the missing priests
who allowed criminal refuge
children the victoms in one way
adults recieving the wrong sermon
Richy rich calling scotland yard
many of my dreams have been stolen
would like to go have tea with the queen
welcome to the Next level
the game of making ones life unfair
studied to induce suicide through psychology
waiting for you to come into my life to give me a gun
thinking i might fall for your good intentions
i won't
that much poison in my veigns
bank robbing police
if there is a problem solving this mystery
you just might attend some of the worst case scenarias
i have been living
Writings moving through me with the Holy Spirit,
Inviting exquisite artistry like Hebrew so I write it automatically,
Transmitted and sent with rugged style of construed truth,
To induce questions within the golden age of the awakening youth,
With the use of visions of visionary proof, bulletproof like Zeus,
Introducing the almighty sources most improved writer produced,
So I invite ya on a journey of tighter constructs so don't run,
Fearlessly aware of rats in this reality so I duck rarely,
Instead face them face to face infallibly and chat,
With Steez like Mortal Kombat fatalities I stomp that,
With comprehensible written abstracts Quincy Mac adapts,
Mindful of the traps that collapse inner wisdom,
A system coded with good and evil,
Skill is needed for survival while traveling this steep path uphill,
Yeah I say it again and again, I dig deep, consuming the blue pill,
Morpheus taught me this and gave me tips within the matrix,
So I resume and bloom from nourishment of the living water,
A human absorber of both order and disorder,
Peripheral sight foreseeing clearly like within Clearwater,
That's productive income seeing over the wall to wisdom,
Positive action is turning away from pessimism,
Preconceived programmed system injected into everyone,
Well done if you truly understand but always question ya perception,
Redeem me so I can know all of the famous knowledge tree,
Lambs feed small bits of bread but become sleepy,
Freely become tired, can't see the deceit so they go to sleep,
Those who feel incomplete question and seek meat,
Unique are those who stand with spiritual physique,
Some taste the meat and retreat because they're weak,
Weakness from removal of oneness so life can't complete us,
Readjust, find love remove and let go of the deception of ego,
Undergo inner self help to find a spirit that flows,
Yes ya heard it from Quincy and the wise throughout history,
It's no mystery that you can have inner mastery,
So head towards the tree that shows you how to see,
You and me have to stop being refugees and start to foresee,
By being a spiritual human being by receiving a healing degree,
So be smarter and good natured at heart,
Embark on the journey out of the dark.
Quincy Mac
Date Written: 5.4.2016
—A Prophecy by the Last Watcher—
Beneath the veil of sacred land,
Where prophets walked on golden sand,
The iron winds begin to blow—
Saturn speaks, and Rahu glows.
A land once blessed, now marked in red,
Where ancient kings and seers once bled.
The trumpet calls from Persia’s shore,
And knocks upon the Lion’s door.
Iran shall rise, with fiery eye,
Its atom heart shall touch the sky.
The shield of stars shall twist and bend,
And empires crumble in the end.
The eagle’s wings, once proud and wide,
Shall falter in the storm and slide.
Allies flee, no hand shall save—
The mighty fall into their grave.
Jerusalem, O sacred flame,
Shall echo not its holy name.
For half thy walls will turn to dust,
And prayers be silenced in their trust.
From out the West, division wakes,
As brother from his brother breaks.
Civil fire and shattered pride—
Each state a nation, carved and wide.
The House of Stars shall bleed apart,
Its beating drum a broken heart.
The dollar dies, the markets choke—
The dragon laughs in crimson smoke.
The bear shall feast on fading meat,
While Persia plants its throne in heat.
A robe of black, a ring of light,
Will crown the East with silent might.
And those who once did rule by fear,
Shall see their end come drawing near.
The hunted rise, the hunters fall—
The stars will answer to them all.
Netanyahu, cast from thy land,
Will stand before a foreign hand.
No robe, no shield, no sword to lift—
But judgment swift, and fate as gift.
The halls of glass, where nations met,
Will echo loud with deep regret.
No more the UN’s solemn vow—
Its flag shall burn, then fade somehow.
And from the smoke, a shape appears,
A new world born from ancient fears.
Not East nor West, but boundless air—
A voice unknown, both just and fair.
But sorrow comes before the light,
And darkest is the final night.
The karma sown in wrathful pride,
Returns like tide, none may hide.
For Rahu turns the wheel unseen,
And Saturn balances the mean.
The wise will fast, the fools will feast—
The meek inherit last, and least.
But hush—O Reader, watch and wait,
The stars have locked the final gate.
And though the fire may burn the page,
It leaves behind the Golden Age.
"Girl with a Pearl Earring" is an oil painting by Dutch Golden Age painter Johannes Vermeer, dated c. 1665. Going by various names over the centuries, it became known by its present title towards the end of the 20th century after the earring worn by the girl portrayed there. Wikipedia
Artist: Johannes Vermeer
Dimensions: 44 cm x 39 cm
Location: Mauritshuis
Created: 1665
Period: Dutch Golden Age
Medium: Oil on canvas
What do you tell me, My Beauty?
You turn and stop..,
you look at me with your wistful eyes,
your luscious lips are apart, but you remain voiceless…
The pearl in your ear shines ~
light on your face shimmers mysteriously,
your eyes are calm ~ reflecting, refracting
the depth of your emotions…
those dove-like eyes are artist’s inspiration!
The topaz blueness of your headscarf
with which you have covered your sensuality,
surround your face with serenity of
the ocean, gleaming emerald green
of your dress evokes the unspoilt
beauty of your youth…..
You are not what you appear
to many souls in this mundane world…
they don’t see the painter’s Muse…
You are the nymph, who visited me
for a rare moment of tranquility,
the Pearl shone, an iridescent
gem sparkling, opening your heart~
You remain immortal in my creation...
my masterpiece?!
April 25, 2022
For Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
THIRD PLACE
it had been predicted
the crime of your century
i would figure out
and do it justice
It was written
after many years of famine
and tragedy
the justice i did the crime of the century
would lead you to enlightenment
it was said
the lasting effects of my iron rod
would last for hundreds of years
known as the golden age
it was foretold
the last prophet of the world before jesus
returns at the end of earth when this was undone,
I would do this for you
and he would be annointed
so here it is
the mastermined war code
with potential to end your way of life
sucked into its center, a personal war against war,
in which war protests itself
spiralling out from the center of indifference
and miscommunication
to keep up with the supposed manipulation
the outside layers, a holy essence
as this beasts mission is to prevent itself
walking out with knowledge
to be scathed in your perfection
to take every good advice given in the mentioned cypher
to prevent the end of your life
in which your global enemies will be pinpointed
and peace on earth mastermined
My Iron rod
can be dangerous
for now i wield it with good intent
for now i teach you to come together in unity
to become a global success
this false prophet, dressed up as your historical legacy
this god complex, joke dressed in suicide
it was mentioned i would have an enemy
and with world peace for 300 years at stake
you would not tell them of this under rug swept prophecy
for your enemy to be realised
your global enemy responsible for all wars of earth
this warcode to protect everyone from their own foolery
walk away from this personal war with what is offered
for the next man i label as the antichrist,
may not be found as the blackmailed victom of your organisation
in the matrix of the underground,
the sleight of reality, belief and spirituality
the world deadlocked, and blackmailed for peace
I have an enemy
i t also happens that i have a rash
i am the prophet nostradamus predicted
the last one to be before the end of the world
i am here to lead you to the golden age
and then world peace
this will last for hundreds of years
but having an enemy
i am having difficulty accomplishing my heavenly task
I OPENED A DOOR
TO A UNIVERSAL ENERGY.
IT SEEMED TO BE
EVERYWHERE.
AND...IN MOST EVERYTHING.
I HAVE TO SAY
IT WAS A LITTLE CHAOTIC.
TRAVELING FASTER
THAN THE SPEED OF LIGHT.
OR SHOULD I SAY LIGHTNING.
BOUNCING, JUMPING, LEAPING
PASSING, OVER, UNDER
AND THROUGH.
IT WAS BEING
BUT NOT BEING CONDUCTED.
LIKE A SYMPHONY
BUT OUT OF CONTROL.
IT WAS AS IF...
IT WERE SEARCHING FOR
CONNECTIVITY.
IN THE PROCESS
COLLIDING AND TEMPORARILY
FORMING LAYERS, SHEETS,
AND SPHERES.
LIKE A FINALLY OF FIREWORKS,
AT BLINDING SPEED.
WHEN IT STRUCK THE SURFACE
IT CREATED YELLOW REDS
AND BLUES.
WHICH SEEMED TO COLLIDE
WITH ONE ANOTHER
CREATING THOUSANDS
IF NOT MILLIONS OF SHADES OF
ORANGE, PURPLE AND GREENS.
I STOOD IN AWE
OF MY SURROUNDING.
OBVIOUSLY FASCINATED
BY THE BOMBARDMENT
OF MICRO
BOLTS OF LIGHTNING,
I TOO WAS RECEIVING.
I COULD FEEL IT TRAVEL
IN AND OUT AND THROUGH ME.
I LOOKED AT MY HANDS.
I COULD SEE THE ESCAPE
OF ENERGY.
I POINTED MY FINGER
AND WITNESSED A
CONCENTRATION OF ENERGY.
IN THE FORM OF A BOLT
OF LIGHTNING.
I THOUGHT ABOUT IT
FOR A MOMENT.
I HAD TO ASK MYSELF
THAT ALL IMPORTANT
QUESTION.
WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON?
LIFE IS GREAT
FANTASTIC
INCREDIBLE
AND AT TIMES...
UNBELIEVABLE.
I LOOKED AT BOTH MY HANDS
PALMS UP AND BROUGHT
THEM TOGETHER AND CREATED
A SPHERE.
I SLOWLY SEPARATED THEM.
CREATING A LARGER SPHERE.
MY ARMS WERE EXTENDED
OUT TO MY SIDES
AND MY PALMS FACING UPWARD.
I WAS NOW INSIDE THE SPHERE.
I FELT SO ENLIGHTENED.
SO....RELAXED AND AMAZED.
I SLOWLY BROUGHT MY HANDS
OUT FRONT OF ME
TOWARDS ONE ANOTHER
AND CONNECTED MY FINGERTIPS
AND THUMBS TOGETHER.
NO LONGER WAS THE ENERGY
OUT OF CONTROL.
WAS I THE CONDUCTOR?
I AM THE CONDUCTOR.
I WAS IN CONTROL OF THE ENERGY.
THERE IT WAS, IN FRONT OF ME.
I HAD MY HANDS AROUND IT.
NO LONGER CHAOTIC.
A UNIVERSE OF ENERGY,
IN THE PALM OF MY HAND.
HARMONY OUT OF CHAOS.
TRANQUILITY OUT OF NOISE.
IF GOLD AND SILVER
ARE THE BEST CONDUCTORS
FOR THE UNIVERSAL ENERGY
OF LIGHTNING.
WAS I GOLD OR SILVER?
OR SILVER....
ENTERING....
THE GOLDEN AGE?
Michael E. Harris
02192021
Three Sonnets tell a story, in sequence.
[From the narrative poem, "Don't Go to Wyoming Alone"]
I. Natural Instinct (Chivalric Sonnet)
He saves a wad of cash and designates
the stash to finance trek in far-off land
in hunting boots and custom gun he built
for me with love and hope for trophy grand.
"Is this a trip I've dreamed about?" I ask.
"Can I enjoy the hunt, savor the kill?"
I contemplate the danger in that land -
will heat, dry thirst and bugs defeat my will?
Might this be atmosphere I cannot stand?
Excitement builds as I heft gun with ease
and find the answer soon on target range
as my bull's eye displays my expertise.
Though I have no inborn instinct to kill,
my reason tells me not to waste this skill.
II. Lost Vacation
Our trip is planned, we'll soon be on our way,
he's called and found the perfect spot to stay.
The husband leads you out to hunt the wild
as room is cleaned, clothes pressed, wife cooks gourmet.
Alas, things change, his current bent is new.
While Mom and I go west without a clue
he flies the skies to satisfy desire
from Air Force days where first the hunger grew.
But circumstance forced him to stay aground,
our funds were tight and kept him budget bound.
Since children now are wed and off the corn
he's free to choose to play or bum around.
When we return from trek out west by train,
he's spent vacation cash to buy a plane.
III. New Dimension (Couplet Sonnet)
What fun we've had in years of golden age
as we, in freedom's row, our thirsts assuage.
We climb above the ground in utter glee
and view the earth below from Cherokee.
We join a pilot's group and meet new friends.
We travel now as time and space portends.
Each time we fly we bring two more because
two empty seats invite our friend's' applause.
But soon we build a smaller home down south.
I close my ears as words come out his mouth,
"The plane's for sale, I need a tractor now
to plow off snow and grade the road." It's how
our trip to Africa, in quickened time,
became a tractor. Surely, that's a crime.
It's been a good while
Since the last time we talked
I'm definitely better off for it
And hell, I hope you are too
I've realized a lot since then
Since we took a shovel to the spine of our relationship
It's not like a golden ray of light after the night
But more like a fog has been lifted on this highway
You were apparently the sole remaining thread
That tied me to my past so heavily
And as I gaze upon my old kingdoms
My Falconia and Crimsonia are a lot more ruined than I remember
No longer are my memories pure bastions of a Golden Age
No longer do I exclude them from my current point of view
There was plenty of bad amongst the good
And to fetishize them as such was only hurting me
My Full Moon Queen isn't just a concept
Not a long-dreamt dream of an unobtainable goddess
But a woman I loved seven years ago
When I was a child and love was a foreign concept
We've both grown up in different ways
Much as I've gone through countless trials and tribulations
Surely she has as well
Nothing remains static, and all dreams must be woken from
I poured the depths of my mind onto pages upon pages for credit
And turned them in to a man who couldn't hope to read them
Among the sea of similar pages he'd have to read
And yet the concept was enough to shake me from my reverie
It's been a strange few months
No more constant anxiety, which in turn causes anxiety to form
After all, I'm not used to not having something to worry about
It's a strange, empty feeling that I both love and loathe
In a sense, part of me died with you
A part of me that held onto childhood with an iron grasp
That saw everything, even hell, cast in deep twilight
Was it a Golden Age or just gold tinted lenses?
The sun's set a little past twilight
Atop this dusky hill where flowers are starting to bud
I've dreamt this same hill covered in dead leaves under twilight
Same time, same Thursdays, same hill
But with a part of me gone and a new part growing
To fill the hole you left behind
To fill the gaps that growing up left behind
A being of scar tissue and hope, left behind to begin anew