Long Historical Poems
Long Historical Poems. Below are the most popular long Historical by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Historical poems by poem length and keyword.
Matelotage they practiced matolage! Blackbeard the pirate
was a soured soul! They shared everything together. Shared lives: Sailors and buccaneers entered into a solemn agreement to become companions or "mates".
Shared money: Partners pooled their money, food, and belongings together.
Automatic inheritance: If one partner died in battle, the surviving mate inherited all of his property and wealth. Mutual protection: Matelots fought side by side and cared for each other during hard times .See that explains why Blackbeard woould keep get his first mate into trouble, knowing he'd get that booty.Mandolin or Lute and aPennywhistle.
For Your information
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Historically, Blackbeard (Edward Teach) did not have a husband; he was legally married to a woman named Mary Ormond in 1718, and historical lore suggests he may have had multiple common-law wivesHiding Loot: He brought hidden treasure and loot from his raids back to his home in the town.
Tresure seekers often times get clues about certain things Historians and treasure hunters have never found a hidden stash of gold or silver belonging to the pirate Edward Teach. Sir Francis Bacon: A literary theory proposes that Bacon buried original manuscripts proving he wrote the works of William Shakespea There is a gap of about 84 years between Drake's death and Blackbeard's birth. Drake operated during the Elizabethan era in the late 16th century, while Blackbeard operated during the Golden Age of Piracy in the early 18th century.l A coin with "eccare la figa" on one side and" mangiare la figa" on the other made sceintist angry due to the contint of the wordss. But the coins were assocated with Blackbeard.
This is untrue and fictional used as entertainment only.
The price we pay for our freedom is not contained in a man’s wallet,
Nor is liberty a currency found in a female fancy Gucci pocketbook.
It’s not in anyone’s liquidity portfolio investment bank records,
Nor is it contained in anybody's “Wall Street” premier trust fund accounts.
Reverently, the price we pay is not derived from ensuing wealth.
The red blood of freedom travels naturally in our veins—immutable!
Freedom has been ordained from creation in the lives of all people.
Liberty runs from heart to heart, inspires from soul to soul—sours like an eagle!
It’s linking parents to children, brother to sister, displaying courage.
Generations standing on the shoulders of generations—a fighting refuge!
The price we pay for our freedom and liberty—will never be free!
Historical accounts tried; produced no detailed cost—"It’s a sacred decree!”
The price paid has clearly left budgets—fragmented and unbalanced,
Red poppies blooming in the fields of courageous remembrance!
It has triggered aching souls, caused running nostrils, and weeping eyes.
Ladies wearing dark veils, and men black suits—great spirits that never die!
Uplifting hand and heads under the moon and sparkling stars at night.
Courage inspiring life in delight to continue the fight without—fright nor flight!.
Many look forward to more significant liberating inspiration to come.
Brilliantly embracing the shining new embolden golden rays of the rising sun.
Such a priceless premium runs in our veins and precious arteries.
The price paid for liberty and freedom is entrenched in our hearts naturally!
Inspired by "The Physician", a fascinating story that reminds me of the sweeping tales from Persia, like Aladdin.
"For those who don't know, the film ("The Physician") is partly based on real facts and characters: Ibn Sina, for example, really existed and entered the history of medicine with his Westernized name: Avicenna."
Our thoughts and wishes
By Michelle Morris
23/06/2023
Today I am a bride
Today I am a gift
It is a day of jubilation for them
This arranged marriage for business
I am a Physician
A foreigner in a foreign land
A man alone on a journey
To learn from the best teacher I can
Here we are in Persia
Life is complicated and difficult
We each have our own path
But destiny has entwined our souls
Our thoughts and wishes are our own
But our love for one another remains
Deeply felt between our hearts
Deeply known between our souls
We tried to accept our limitations
But we were drawn together as one
May the genie grant us our secret wish
To be together forever for all time
© Michelle Morris, 2023
"The Physician (German: Der Medicus) is a 2013 German historical drama film based on the novel of the same name by Noah Gordon. The film, co-written and directed by Philipp Stölzl, focuses on an orphan from an 11th-century English town whose mother died of side sickness."
Side sickness is what we know as appendicitis. These days, it's a simple operation but before modern medicine, people could die from it.
"The tale of Aladdin is found in The Arabian Nights tales or One Thousand and One Nights. An enchanting and magical collection of fairy tales of Middle Eastern origin. The Arabian Nights stories were first introduced to Europe in a French translation by Antoine Galland in 1704."
Sometimes, we cry about things that should be
Sometimes, we cry about things that should not be
Sometimes, we cry about things we thought would be,
but never in our life time. And when they happened, we
were overwhelmed to the point of joyful tears. Such
tears became the source of an inquiry from my son.
Very sincerely, my son once asked me, “Dad. Why is he crying”? My son had seen an African American man, crying at a 711 Store.
This happened on the night of a historical election in America.
An African American had just become the new President of the United States, a first occurrence in America. And my son, who was 31 years of age, saw this senior citizen crying. He wanted to know from me the reason why. I said to my son that I understood the reason for the tears.
I said to my son that the African American man that was crying has lived through a lot of American history, and experienced much discrimination, injustice, and in some places in America, racial hatred. Perhaps he was overwhelmed with the reality of an African American President in his life time. He knew that it would happen ‘someday’, but not this day on the second Tuesday of November, 2008.
As if I had not answered his question, my son asked me a second time, “But dad, why is he crying? Will he be invited to the White House for dinner?” I told my son that it wasn’t likely that he would be invited for dinner at the White House.
Although also African American, I had not voted for the new president elect, and have views vastly different from the crying man. But I understood, because I had walked in similar shoes as did that gentleman. I also felt and understood that no manner of explanation would make my son understand the crying, because the two of them walked in different shoes at different times; and the times had now changed. At least for my son, this time, the tears were not easy to understand.
cj10142015
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
There is sun in the air
As the salt shakes on bodies that are bare
It is the time to worship the golden light
Laying down saying nightie night
With its aqua blue hand
Crawling on the sand
Ocean waves are heard
By a frolicking bird
Enjoying this tranquil tease
That has an added breeze
Off in the horizon
Cruise ships are docked disguising
A fleet
Filled with relaxing as a treat
Protecting the port
While the crew wears Izod alligators on their shorts
Watching passengers disembarked
Encouraging them to visit the historical beachfront park
This is the place to chill
Popping the surfside pill
Coming to grips
During a vacation trip
That for many, not a few
Is long over due
and intuitive paramour, whence swooning swain first experienced anew
an alien emotional lightness of being within mine hardened carapace did brew
a propensity to surmise, intuit, and detect a romantic joyful dew
drop similar to lovers in dustbin of historical annals dipped ‘ere farewell flew
common as the air we breathe, this new found muse sic cull passion grew
yet handled with kid gloves, which lacked the means to nurture and hue
a novel interpersonal ecstasy, which with fits and starts knew
tony yen physics manifested into a mutual attraction
despite any self-admission new
to this chap, whose skills sans intimacy infantile
and as a result inadvertently caused grief
to a gal (who valiantly christened her vehicle Ruby)
hoping to stride down the pew
which outcome thwarted, now tis much more sands of mine life time
funneled down the hourglass shaped queue
without any rhyme nor reason find this bard **** to rue
how a golden opportunity indiscriminately
lost a flickr and sentiments now akin to culinary Michelin patshke stew
rather futile to ruminate the long lapsed travails that tripped a true
lee darling dame, whose take on the matter, this poet would cherish a view
yet….nary a clue exists if any possibility to revisit that denouement recalling
the awkward fits and starts before embers of warm reciprocity kindled
reciprocal an ambition to court, jest and indubitably woo
to flip and shutterfly at greased lightening speed
back to that contra dance at Summit Presbyterian Church
at the cross roads of Green and Westview Avenues.
As eighth month of the year
both within Gregorian and predecessor,
the Julian calendar, where
said month originally
named Sextilis in Latin
since averred month ranked sixth
in ancient Roman calendar veer
really changed to August in honor
of Augustus Caesar
pinpointed eight Earthly
steeplechased rendezvous roundabouts
clocking viii sun danced orbitz
thru metaphorical solar turnstile,
sans common era there
after retaining a trace
of antiquity doth square
lee tug at mine olde ink
quiz hit heave egghead noggin
heady curiosity shoppe,
asper how lunar place name
linkedin as rare historical tidbit
thus, when at a loss,
what to write poem about
an unexpected brainstorm
found me not to doubt
Google when literary eureka
came to this lout
(only I own license to debase self)
just on the verge,
and ready to pout
fearing writer's block
as if creative juice
yielded nary a drop from thine figurative
fountain oft times
gushing water spout.
As a poetic foot note, aye
frequently ponder about
millenniums gone by,
and peoples, who
dotted with graveyards
of lovely bones after they did die
the four corners of the globe,
this twenty first century
chap doth espy
harem there, a debauched prurient
hot pocket of mankind
(woman too of course)
begetting, fostering, mothering
ancestors of this guy
retaining genetic characteristics
that got pooled watering
survival of the fittest well nigh.
I tune in to the channel coming forth & then
present what's coming through
A train of thoughts move like locomotives only
stopping for a few
From the ethers they descend like falling rain
precipitating flow from the sky
When they come all are drenched in declarations
bathing in the waters of divine
Surfing the annals of the mind can cause historical
waves to erect
Tsunamis destroy paradigms in a flash before
proceeding to redirect
By many it's seen as a disaster but viewed as a
blessing by a few
Sometimes we have to destroy to rebuild again &
make room for the new
Your ships may be docked for a spell but will sail
again when weather breaks
The will can be an unstoppable force to behold
moving like a train without its brakes
It's wet after clouds formed & quickly passed bringing
out the sun after the rain
Tears fell from the heavens to what's below washing
away the dirt & the pain
The eye in the sky sees all in one take illuminating
what's low from a higher place
Open channels flow with higher purpose seeking their
level & making waves in another space
The worlds of our ancestors remain at war.
I saw this endless misery on an old globe,
where battles and front lines, though faint,
bled into blood-red delineations
where borders trafficked the endless dead.
I spread an historical map,
saw the suffering of much minuscule life,
wounded bodies charging or retreating,
body parts everywhere; a Lilliputian carnage,
yet loud enough to end any tune
in a songbird's throat
Old warriors returned again and again
as young men,
the mark of an early death
already seared across their foreheads,
their eyes flashing, reflecting
a world long buried
in mounds of bloody yesterdays,
and red stained tomorrows.
Then I overheard
(horror upon horror),
the yet unborn,
screaming
they were like
little birds
on fire.