Long Griffins Poems
Long Griffins Poems. Below are the most popular long Griffins by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Griffins poems by poem length and keyword.
How far from earth are heaven and hell?
And which way do you go to get there, pray tell?
Did God create a GPS for the soul?
Or did he give little devils or angels the role
to escort you to the place where for eternity you'll dwell?
It was so hot, my nose melted off my face.
It was so hot, my blistered feet got fused in place.
It was so hot because of an infernal fire
that God eternally stoked to fulfill his desire
to flash fry those who'd refused to be in a state of grace.
If not for this fence, there'd be no shade,
and we'd be burning up watching this hellscape parade
of hellhounds and lizards ~
and three-headed wizards ~
and griffins with gross gizzards ~
making the little kiddies afraid.
The rocks tripped me; I trod forward, upward to my lesson.
The wind chooses not to make its presence felt, yet.
The sun bursts gloriously into the flat, baby-blue, sky.
The red brown earth held its moisture greedily.
The effort shows in pulse and perspiration,
a flush blooms on cheeks unused to color.
The house appears abruptly, from a froth of greenery.
The wind keeps its distance, as if sensing
its presence is not desired.
The golden sun valiantly attempts to breach the houses gloom.
The guardians of house, home, and ether, leap forth.
Stone griffins, stern, etched by acid rain, stand.
The earthly hounds dart wraithlike through clusters
of cluttering tomes,and out the door to greet me.I enter.
The plaster shouts syllables, displaying in a military bent.
The house hungers for light, a broom. Her feather-duster fright.
The corner china cabinet displays a human skull.
Into this room she walks, a spirit of air, scared by storm.
God’s sacred light leaps.... only in the instructors eyes;
from her disfigured form, blue orbs, full of mischief and the joy of flight, revel....
teacher, a wounded Aphrodite, smiles.
Not the sleek modern skyscrapers
Fragile, slim, standing tall
Catwalk queens of present times
But squat, imposing, solid built
Dowagers of a bygone age!
Forgotten memorials
Screaming, unheard, unseen
Proclaim of valor
In faded wars.
Winged griffins,
Gargoyles, Gods, Goddesses
Look down and stare
Mute remnants of majesty.
Verily Ozymandias comes to mind.
The lanes littered
With the birds, the bees and the beasts,
Kids both biped and quad
Suck hungrily at vestigial teats.
Pups latch on to a mother
Who’s long forgotten her own.
A crow feeds on the feast
Of rodent tripe.
And the statuary smiles on!
Form:
April's roses scent inebriates every sense
below the Gothic cathedral
cardinals doze
draping their wings over
evergreen plants
foreshadowing a cool sunset
griffins guard the bell-tower
hampering the intruders
inflicting fear on the jackals
jaundiced they hide into a jalopy
kapok is soft as cotton
ladybugs allow no sleep
manifesting vulgar wit
nibbling on naugat
oblitaring any sweetness
prie-dieu is her comfort
quickning my understanding
ravishing the merry opus
shedding light on her faith
tending toward forgiveness
unquestionable in its promise
verboten to dishonor it
wimple as sworn devotion
xenophobe not permitted
yodeling is immense praise
zither plays a Gregorian chant
Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci
To live is to forgive,
Asia is larger than a novel by Joseph Kessel.
To the icy ray of moon that crosses the window,
To the bee that stings your honey on the table of abundance,
Forgive the indifference and talent of New York poets,
To live is to forgive,
To his parents who scolded and lied to you often,
To the teacher who strikes his baton on the desk,
To the student who recites his fable without knowing it better,
To live is to forgive Joseph Kessel in the mountains,
To the nervous lions that hunt the elephants of Tanzania,
To capricious girls who take shampoos,
To the girls who want seducing cats and griffins.
To live is to forgive,
To lovers who eat dark chocolate,
To the bulls that haunt the dreams of the Spaniards,
To the prime numbers, this ridicules our cute reason.
well, my mother loved to visit miss Peggy's place
yes, they talk about this and that but
still, Miss Peggy had several
spaded black cats in her place and
mother would ask her three young boys
to come out and visit Miss Peggy's house
unfortunately,
i
was the only one
brave enough to say that i have
a deep fear inside my chest that sing out
then I said, mama
i
am really scared of
those
big black cats are creeping around
in
Miss Peggy's house
the black cats looked like
centurions guards and griffins
standing along the
halls and stairs,
with
their marble red eyes and
white Cheshire smiles and
i
cried when mama
said
boy you come over here
and
give Miss Peggy a nice big juicy kiss and a fat hug
i
finally screamed out loud
and
said
mama
i
am really scared of
those
big black cats in Miss Peggy's house
and
that
Miss Peggy's has a thick black mustache
and
i
did not want to kiss her strange lips
will
i
I was unable to pass through.
Miss Peggy's house anymore
The rocks tripped me; I trod forward, upward to my lesson.
The winds choose not to make its presence felt, yet.
The sun bursts gloriously into the flat, baby-blue, sky.
The red brown earth held its moisture greedily.
The effort shows in pulse and perspiration,
a flush blooms on cheeks unused to color.
The house appears abruptly, from a froth of greenery.
The wind keeps its distance, as if sensing
its presence was not desired.
The golden sun valiantly
attempts to breach the houses gloom.
The guardians of house, home, and ether, leap forth.
as stone griffins, stern, etched by acid rain, stand;
earthly hounds dart wraithlike
through clusters of cluttering tomes,
and out the door to greet me.I enter.
The plaster shouts syllables, displayed in a military bent.
The house hungers for light, a broom,a feather duster fright.
The corner china cabinet displays a human skull.
Into this room walks the spirit of air, scared by storm.
God’s sacred light leaps.... only in the instructors eyes;
from crippled form, blue orbs full of mischief and the joy of flight,
reveling.... a wounded Aphrodite smiles.
She'd seen the house for sale and came
to have a look around,
walked up the path as freezing mist
curled, snake-like on the ground.
Two stone Griffins, like sentinels
gazed from beside the door,
she knocked, it opened,spilling
greenish light across the floor.
A wizened man with sunken eyes
asked ' yes,can I help you?'
she stammered 'er, this house for sale,
I've come to have a view'.
'Then step right in' the old man wheezed,
she cautiously walked past,
into the hall, where from the wall
there came an icy blast.
'Some draughts' he said, 'the doors are old,
just simple wear and tear,
which also makes that wailing noise
you're hearing from upstairs'.
The kitchen was spattered with red,
and sticky, like fresh tar,
'I had an accident' he said
'with beetroot, from a jar'.
A knife stuck in the kitchen door,
just inches from the lock,
'I keep it there, convenient,
as I don't own a block'.
The coffin in the living room
gave the young girl the creeps,
' I bought it in advance for me,
while it was really cheap',
the man explained, while when she turned
he forced back down the lid,
she swore she saw that something moved-
(well, actually, it did).
The staircase groaned with every step
as if it was alive,
she looked in all the bedrooms except
bedroom number five,
locked up, he said 'I don't use it,
and I have lost the key',
she swore she heard a plaintive voice
as she walked on, say 'flee!'
'I've seen enough', the girl declared,
'I'll bid you a good day',
'Oh no you won't' he grinned, she turned-
the Griffins blocked her way.
For contest 'The Haunted house', sponsor Dear heart a.k.a Broken Wings
26th August 2018
Look at the baseball field.
The poet’s words, a sword to wield.
To these pleasures I consistently yield.
But heavenly joys I often neglect.
Where are the heavenly spires?
The bosom that protects against the eternal fires.
Where in worship no one tires.
And the holy one’s face is clearly seen.
What is the reward that is beyond our sight?
How are we to navigate through the night,
With an invisible joy as our guiding light?
How can wicked hearts love one who is perfect?
And this thought perplexes me:
The one weeping in Gethsemane.
For his alienation from the holy trinity.
A fellowship not known by mortal men.
And yet my heart tends to go,
Towards the summer, and to the snow.
My love is for things that I know.
But the holy fellowship I‘ve never seen.
I can boast of the poet’s words.
I can admire the fish and the birds.
I can point to harmonies written in thirds.
But the Holy one’s face I cannot describe.
Man in his mind’s eye.
Can conjure up griffins and fairies that fly.
As well as fraudulent gods in the sky.
But a true deity he cannot draw a picture.
For the company of friends we are grateful.
In our camaraderies we are playful.
But we don’t desire to sit at the trinity’s roundtable.
Of that friendship we are alien.
And if there is a heavenly hymn able to touch my ear.
My eardrum may never again resound, I fear.
The face of the savior unclear,
To a mere golem returning to the mud.
Dreams in bottles
and maps on walls,
fairy tales told
of knights so tall.
Dragons and maidens
battle in flaming towers,
as unicorns jump
over plants and flowers.
Elves and dwarves
dwell in a hole,
a witch who steals
your heart and soul.
Griffins soaring
high on the clouds,
wraths who scream
ever so loud.
Shadows whose form
shifts in the night,
screams that shiver
to bring on fright.
Angels that sing
as pure as the sun,
a ring that possesses
your mind and runs.
Ghouls rip out
your stomach and guts,
evil cars that crawl
over bodies and ruts.
Zombies who want
to feast on your flesh,
wizards with wand
slowing the thresh.
The fantasy world
can be what you will,
your mind is unlimited
if you hold it quite still.
I haven't been well and I wrote this one for a little bit of fun in the down times...thanks for reading as always...Jayne