Long Heraldry Poems
Long Heraldry Poems. Below are the most popular long Heraldry by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Heraldry poems by poem length and keyword.
—The Virtues I Could Not Bear—
He bore those virtues I had schooled my heart
To flout—the mercy tardive as a bell
That tolls when judgement hath already writ
Its iron sentence; and the fortitude
That, having neither warrant nor reprieve,
Still stood, as though endurance were decree.
His papers sodden, rain-black at the cuffs,
He watched the departing omnibus grow small;
Defeat had docketed him among the lost,
Yet some unlicensed morning stirred in him—
A pertinacious ember without name,
Which would not let the ruin have the last word.
A rumour traversed the town ere Truth
Had found her raiment, fastened up her throat;
By vesper it had gathered testimonial,
By night, a hundred tongues had canonised
Its falsehood. Truth came mud-foot, unadorned,
And found the lie enthroned where fact should sit.
I watched him exhaust the stratagems—
The specious plea, the venial compromise,
The facile alibi by which we varnish
Our abdications into innocence;
Till every avenue of self-release
Lay shuttered—and he chose the steeper way.
I had imagined triumph a resplendent
Heraldry, some aureate certification
Affixed to what the world elects as worthy;
His triumph was the wreckage underneath:
Each failure divested him of borrowed names,
Each rising made the ruin less his own.
Then, inexplicably, the firmament
Descended—not as vision, but as fact:
The stars lay rooting underneath our feet,
And darkness flowered upward through the stone.
I understood no doctrine, only this—
The road was not discovered. It was made.
Let Hell prolong its jurisdiction; let
The false arrive before the true, and let
Our virtues wound the very hands that bear them.
We are not promised passage, nor reprieve;
Yet where the last conceivable way is closed,
the footfall itself becomes the road.
The engine: Long and black
And sleek as she could be
She shook the earth in her approach
As her heraldry.
An atmosphere of steam and smoke
Expanding in her wake
The Queen-of-the-Rails speeds on
An arrival soon to make.
Massive is her presence
Enormity her design
Power is her excess
This Queen is so refined
Once she ruled with majesty
When o’er the rails she flew
But … now, this one last time,
The railway bids: “Adieu”.
Slowly when she comes to stop
We see she’s thoroughbred
When water, steel and hard, black coal
Within her there are wed.
Her regal-ness resplendent
In fittings’ shining bright
Commanding our respect
O’er the rails of her last flight.
Now sitting at the siding
She’s puffing rhythmic breath
The museum’s destination
Of her life commits its’ theft.
Photographs will mimic
Her image of today
But missing from those photos:
Glories of Yesterday
When o’er the steel she thundered
Demanding from all who saw
Respect for Her grand power
Which held them all in awe.
But Glory, she found, was fleeting
When “progress” came to call
Her future then was set in stone
In the writing on the wall.
Now we hear the brake release …
Her throttle then is moved …
She inches down the shiny track
Where the land with steel is grooved
Then as she gains her speed
And whistles out her “yell”
An announcement for all to hear:
“I know I’ve served you well!”
She’s journeyed through the ages
And a boy – an old man now -
Watches as she fades away -
He waves, then shouts out: “Ciao!”
But in his mind is yesteryear
With his dog there by his side
Watching near the railroad tracks
Where the Queen-of-the-Rails did ride.
And long from now whenever
He says: “Remember when …”
In those times of reverie,
She’ll come alive … again.
On the other side of the world
(pick any side)
you find a lost penny,
it is encrusted with layers of your skin
and is as dry as long spilled blood.
You find there the baleful,
the emblematic heraldry of woe.
The fool behind the knave,
both the henchman and the harlequin,
the sinister wink of the Jack of Hearts.
On that far-side, mirrors face inward
to nothing but yourself.
You see your image raging in an empty room.
You look upon the unhinged horror
of that unleashed autonomy of the many
as they run to the cliff edge as one.
Better to say at home - if you can find one.
Better to rent space in a larger cage,
better to be blinded by bewilderment
than end there, raving for no reason.
On that reverse side of anywhere
an ill-faced moon hangs sallow
alive and hollow, it is a bare and vexing glare,
a feud everlasting,
a fathomless quaff of odium
and an enemy
to every Spring flowering of love.
Don't go there - maybe you cannot,
maybe you don't know the way?
Then stay,
stay with those ghosts you know.
Do not ever dream or think to go.
Pray to that God deep rooted in your mind -
seek you there and hope to find.
"The Begin Again Beings"
A family of swords
the world under their feet
to all that is fallen in the
darkened passages beneath,
slipped on crushed pearls of tears
rivulets running down
a body of work pierced,
the milky powder swallowed
from the shells of wisdom,
much stronger than Bex,
a slither still remaining,
dulled the pain,
somewhat,
for a short while,
until it was fully consumed
and exhausted - then,
without warning,
the unstable ground
ripped, captured pages,
altered the blood let secrets
that seeped 6ft underground -
through the cracks,
one would postulate
that this was a doleful,
how to articulate?
there is only one way -
experience exsanguinate;
their charbroiled armour
now tarnished darker,
nourished the unseen seeds
of the Begin Again Beings
and their shoots shifted
from blunderbuss bullets
and cutting swords
pulled from stones,
to quills flourished
and bowing
to the never ending
silent war of roses;
breaking the surface rot,
growth was slowly seen
breaching up towards the Sun,
in the time of another’s
war strewn
journée poétique
Golden Trumpets
stood with Lilys-of-the-Fields
and Blue Lantana its
thistle down blown apart,
scattered and carried in waves
across the blue sky clouds,
to propagate and adorn
the thorny crowns
of black ravens
sitting on the shoulders
of their beloved
scarecrow masters,
their heraldry requiring
blood and the water
to dissolve their
steadfast blindfolds,
to clearly see as doves,
the beautiful great mystery
of the forgotten ones,
standing their ground
triumphant, never left,
never leaving,
bathed for all time
in the Sun
this is "1" story
of The Begin Again Beings
and how their well-fought for kingdom
was won
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Father my Heraldry to charge;
You're a shield, my shield...O' God
And you impaled me;
With your two coats of arms;
Placed side by side;
Father, you often fall by on, you impaled me;
Father, you pierce me with a sharp instrument,
Your Son Jesus has impaled me with His mercies;
And you impaled me;
Once a sinner man filled with filthy sins;
God your Word, your Sword they have so...
Impaled me;
You impaled my severed sin-filled head on a spear;
Allowed me to bleed out my shames, all my fears;
Father God, I forever thank you;
Impale me;
"Father, enclose me with pales of fencing;
My heart is entrenching;
Pierce me my spirit, heart soul and mind impale me O Holy divine;
Impaling those of the sovereign things, so caring;
As the impaled arms of The Father brings;
O' God harpoon me lance and gore me;
Disembowel, puncture, perforate, transpierce me;
Forgiving Father, transfix, pierce, stab, run through me;
Allow your Sword of the Spirit;
To again and again and always perforate continually transpierce me
With your love and mercies, I thank you, Father,
For you have Impaled me;
Father enclose me with pales of fencing;
My heart is entrenching;
Pierce me my spirit, heart soul and mind impale me O Holy divine;
Impaling those of the sovereign things you bring so caring,"
Impaled me;
7/21/19
Placed 10th place in Contest
Impaled Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Anthony Slausin
In a dream I was a knight
made of flowers.
And on my tabard
where should rest the sigil
of a dead king
or heraldry of an unfeeling
God,
There is your face.
Silhouetted by your halo.
My errantry brings your grace
to fields afar that have seen
no hands more loving than
the plowman's
,who does the work
but not in love,
in hope
in foolish, romantic hope
that such reverence,
such courtly love
could make the plowman see
that there is love to be found
in the work
that there is something holy
in the deed.
That if I could be all that I am,
could not what he planted?
Because hands like tools planted me,
but it was loving hands that pulled me
from the earth.
A loving hand that twisted my stems
into arms,
that I could write these words
that tangled my roots
into legs,
that I could see what was beyond my field
that interwove my petals
into beating, bleeding poetry,
that I could shine the love breathed into me
back out.
G'day eclectic nation..From citys to outback stations, in the canefields and wheatbelts
Where the heat hugs , yet sweat cools you if
You move right.?
And you follow bush rules, in that searing light
To those dunking their akubra.' To Yalata where
They fixed my metal.. To those up on
The ridges and on bar stools settled, to the marchers who are moving, and the loosers
Who are ( booing ') who are realising the freedom, that so many sacrificed for and
Believed in ' I wish to you enlightennent ' and
To those displaced by designs not of benign intent, currently toughing it under
The shelter of tents.' I wish you strength
And health.' And a return to a better commonwealth.' Not one of crown and pomp and heraldry, yet one of mateship
For each man and woman who be, the holders of continuity..The rememberers
Of the best we can be..I am marching with
You all in spirit..And beleive no sky will limit, share a smile and hugs, pull up a rug.'
Australia day ( is here to stay ) God bless and guide all love i say.'
With return to summer tree of berries red -
he flashes ‘tween the green scene like a trinket;
celebrant in citrus hues of sunset bled
it matters not if twilight is delinquent
for he wears the molten shades of end-of-day
evening’s pout, in skies of gray, reflects dismay;
a zesty orange-envy oriole brings
for he torches air aflame... a flame with wings.
Susan Ashley
October 5, 2020
(June 7, 2020)
Rispetto lyric rhyme scheme: abab ccdd
Poet’s note: I am lucky enough to have these beautiful summer migrants, Baltimore orioles, return to my mulberry tree and hummingbird feeders each Spring. Such a sweet joy through the summer season! When they depart at the end of August, a piece of my heart goes with them.
As the Sword lies await in Stone
and Death is Conquered, Alas The Way comes Forth
and the Soul is Reborn and Reborn and Reborn
until the Day of Reckoning, How Sweet Is This Forge
and by the Blade, Subdues the Evil One
All Victorious, All Triumphant, All Return To The Sun
and The Great Seal Erupts, Let Thy New Age Commence Nigh
and Heaven Descends to Reclaim it's Light,
through Fields of Battle where Souls are Wrought
we claim our Victory, for Heavens Calvary is Unbought
and the Nations Tremble, for here come the Saints and Cavaliers
through the Upheavals, a New Jerusalem, a New Israel, a New Shield
Justice is Divine, No Staff Too Just
and The Great Patriarchs of Old Ascend from Dust,
and The Church Trembles, what was lost is Yet Again Reclaimed
these Swords of Heraldry Vanquish these Miseries, and Abraham is Uncaged
and by The Pillars Of Salvation, We are Set Free
and The Blade Of Science Claims it's Victory
Germ of essence.
Human blob.
Shattered eggshell to the chicklet hatched.
Interlocking family of a kingdom.
Beget or begone? Antigone!
Pouch bearing mammal with no issue for her milk a plenty.
Enlightened species on
a zodiac sign.
Propagating genus wild and free yet stillborn.
Wet nurse in a pregnant phase but still a child at hearth or so it seems.
Meadow grazing Macropod fazes antipodean observer all the while.
New arrival signage whose laboured footprint chills on every impact.
Courier from catacombs, fateful torch aloft, flambeau at a glance where toddlers cheer, sonnet form heraldry ablaze with kindling verse.
Human destination thread that spins a hopeful tale.
Cave of legends halting site persevered by household zeal.
Stalagmite, stalactite, granite grey day gulag’s natal spasm.
Troglodyte who once did tramp upon a uterine tunnel trading in survival for relief.
Embryonic creeper stuck on dry wall canvas.
Border crossing cradle cordons off a check point, never mind the cost or inconvenience.
Acorn random toss, mighty oak seed trap between a leaf and fallen log.
Flower pollen stigma,
never seen as shameful to the fertile mind.
Tree of life penumbra casts a limelight shade.
Concepts pulse the mind like nascent parabolic kites that stymie outcome.
Genesis of brainwave.....
nurtured by insightful minds and marble carver tomes.
Olympic status offspring, budding Einstein player on the ball.
Thought, the inner urchin magnet probing deep inside magenta labyrinths.
Wheel of fortune‘s mumsy shadow
ova.
Masterful philosophy storing foetal logic on some growth cell’s wellspring fountain.
Infant augur embers fan their winter flame regardless.
Birthright , birthstone,
birth pang, the reproductive organs of infinity whose algebraic series has no final chapter scheduled.