Long Icon Poems
Long Icon Poems. Below are the most popular long Icon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Icon poems by poem length and keyword.
Ah! Yes! Yes! You say my poetry
reminds you of a great musician;
the ear to feel and a heart
to impart—so the conductor
motions his vessels to sail:
a pianissimo or great crescendo!
I think that breeze, that wind
that went into us all
should always blow out,
a journey full, an ocean roar
as we are commissioned to assimilate,
translate, define and refine
the creator into something
even more loftily created:
Each cell with its own vibratory sound;
independent while attractive--
repelled by others
be-spelled by sirens,
as the snake its victims
and the saint
its helpless devotees
entwined;
whether toward or away
one flees the entombment--
breaking the shell of fear
we blossom while unfold--
we write a new reality;
The discord!
The harmony!
Volumes that chase
then surround—the ever
splintering light we pursue
a multitude of wands--reconstitute
and tune,--Ah! Such exaltations
can be violent, can be harmony;
Yet they are all divine--beauty
and pain fall and rise
as smoke dissipates leaving
a beaming new sky.
Should we be less
than a symphony of all sorts?
And those players of Shakespeare,
should we not be
players off the stage as well as on?—anything less
would be true hell, transcending those fictitious demons,
powerless were it not for our complicity;
and so possessed the stage itself...and the theater
pillars, and the sky translucent,
a cathedral dome for our blessed cradle,
heaven peering in on its young,
adoring man's perfect, soulful evacuation,
each poem a religious icon of sorts--
No, we should not think ourselves merely children
of the sun and moon—nor those
limited by music of enchanted spheres,
for we are
at our shores
and depths
the effulgence of
all blessed
composing tears.
A Belgium born lady of sweet refine
but an inspiration in all she overcame
emerging from the darkness of the war
to be a real star but always remain the same
Became a royal princess holidaying in Rome
this set her off to star like filming fame
Sabrina, Charade, Funny Face were four fav
her leading men hearts being cast aflame
Breakfast at Tiffany's set in Manhattan
places Audrey as the modern fashion icon
so many movies bringing rich acclaim
now just memories as Audrey's gone
Although a famous Hollywood star
loved her home among the Swiss
there her and it's beauty ideally matched
where Miss Hepburn enjoyed such bliss
A great lover of little children
did so much for those tragically poor
a real star with a human touch
Audrey an inspiration truly you are
(My tribute to my favourite star - Audrey Hepburn, who oozed class and beauty, who was truly humble and human.)
Do not Push It
I’m like horses do not like the wind today, it is northerly and
The sun, despite shining free of clouds, cannot warm my chilled bones, symbolizing a disconnect between hope and reality that resonates with political disillusionment.
Horses turn their considerable behinds against the wind and keep
My behind is skinny and does not protect my neck, but a scarf offers a quiet reminder of resilience, inspiring hope in the audience.
But a scarf does. I used to have strong fingers, but now they are thin and look.
Like a Bangladesh river delta, and to think there was a time I laughed.
at the face of frost, and if needed, would run bare-chested across
The unfriendliness of the plains of opposite Poles, me, the leader of the pack
And I, the leader of the pack, once met Fidel Castro-an, an icon of dignity, yet his conversations often circled only around himself, a humorous critique of political egos.
God, he was boring —only had one subject — himself.
But I do deviate, I’m only an Argentinean horse adopted illegitimately by
A general major, his wife wanted a foal. The landscape now has a hundred.
Colors of green, but it worries me that if ISIS takes world power, vines will rot on my land, reminding us of fragile stability and shared fears.
Rot on my land, and when they pass on their pick-up trucks, I must wave.
A black, inartistic flag with intelligible writing on it. My wife is the practical one.
Will say: after the Islamists took power in Portugal, my husband finally got
Sober enough to be offered a job as an Imam.
ARETHA - queen of soul
the queen of soul has passed away
but in our hearts she will always stay
"RESPECT " the best selling record of its time
became the favorite of yours and mine.
hailed by presidents and put in the hall of fame
where her memory will forever remain.
she was an angel sent here to sing
and all the joy that she would bring.
but she was not just a woman or just a singer
she was an "ICON " she was "Royalty "
and showed us how love should be.
we will miss you , heaven knows but you
are the one GOD has chose to sing in his
glorious choir dressed in heavens white attire.
REST IN PEACE MY QUEEN
David was born in Birmingham but lives in Leeds,
Likes porridge for breakfast with dried nuts n’ fruit,
And black coffee on the side to start his day, deeds,
He did a social work course, bike as his side boot.
He has Cerebral Palsy and began riding aged eight,
Won two golds in Beijing 2008; time trial, road race;
He was third placed in London in the mixed frigate,
And then came first again in the road race, his ace.
He’s won a medal at 9 World’s since the year 2005,
Starting out at the Sydney Paras of the millennium,
Because he’s momentarily at the age of thirty-five,
And so he’s an icon to youngsters with momentum.
MONEY TREE
In a garden of dreams, where riches abound,
Stands majestic, a tree, with wonders profound,
Its branches unfurl, like treasures untold,
A masterpiece of nature, a tree made of gold.
Behold the money tree, in all its grandeur,
Its leaves shimmering, with a glossy allure,
Each leaf a currency, an emblem of power,
A symbol of abundance, a fortune to devour.
With roots deeply planted in fertile ground,
It thrives on ambition, where dreams are found,
Nurtured by hard work, watered by desire,
The money tree blossoms, soaring higher.
Its trunk sturdy and firm, a pillar of strength,
An icon of wealth, beyond measure or length,
But true riches lie not in its golden façade,
For seeds of generosity, it holds with no regard.
The money tree gives, it shares its grand wealth,
A beacon of hope, to those struggling with stealth,
Providing shelter & comfort, to those in need,
Its branches extend, sowing kindness as a creed.
Yet, let not this vision become avarice's snare,
For the money tree's bounty, we must learn to share,
Let compassion guide our every pursuit,
And the tree's blessings shall bear eternal fruit.
So, plant your own money tree, in your heart and mind,
Nurture it with gratitude, and love unconfined,
May it grow & flourish with harmony's embrace,
And let abundance shower upon this sacred space.
For true wealth lies not in the gold we attain,
But in the love, connection, and joy we sustain.
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
Copyright ©? November 2023.
Gilded Crosses?
By Mark D. Stucky
Shiny icons gleaming on altars?
And hanging from necks on gilded chains?
No. Not back then…
Not golden, not metal, not shiny, not slick,
not smooth, not symmetrical,
not sanded, not straight.
Unvarnished, uneven, irregular, rough-hewn,
knotty, cracked, scrap wood
with hazardous splinters.
No sparkling jewels inlaying gold.
Just rusty nails
impaling flesh and bone.
No ornate mounting, no pristine pedestal.
Just dropped into a hole
and wedged with rocks.
No symbol, no sacredness, no beauty,
no justice, no hope, no gain,
no victory, no glory.
Just naked, scandalous, criminal, brutal,
with loss, sorrow, pain,
and inevitable death.
That is what a Roman cross was
and meant back then…
a death sentence,
an icon of horror.
Until…transformed
one dark morning,
when Light shoved stone aside
and sentenced Death to die.
(First published in Small Town Anthology V: Entries from the Fifth Annual Tournament of Writers, Schoolcraft Community Library, 2019, pp. 147-148. See also my related poems "Resurrection iBodies," "Darkest Night, Morning Lights," and "The God Behind the Curtain.")
(Image by congerdesign on Pixabay.com.)
Advent is the first celebration of the Christian church,
Its first calendar event, not in December but in November,
On the last Sunday of November, and is normally, usually,
The first festival/celebration of the church year, remember.
Shops sell advent calendars to excite us into Christmas,
Where you can open small, numbered flaps to reveal,
A Christmas sentiment, thought or event as an icon,
Which lets you broad-mindedly appreciate xmas for real.
The four Sundays of Advent mark four different things:
The first destroys the myth Jesus was a total surprise,
Because it finds ancient predictions in Isaiah and Micah,
As the media were the prophets then, with wide open eyes.
The second Sunday lights a purple candle for hope,
Hope for societal revolution of the poor’s healthcare;
And also secondarily, hope in god who would ramify,
This plight so difficult in Jesus’ time, now a familiarity.
The third emphasises that you will find joy, pleasure,
If you believe that Jesus’ message was valid and required,
At that time in which the rich monopolised medicine,
Such that that his followers had to persevere as inspired.
And the fourth Sunday celebrates the Christian church,
Coining a word, incarnation, for the belief in Jesus as god,
For believing that god’s finger touched the baby’s skin,
Validating that parental obedience, that poverty of the kin.
And Advent candles suggest that truth was secured then,
By Jesus death which stated the worth of liberating,
Disabled and ill people into health and happiness,
Because this societal light shines multiply as pervading.
By George P. Lumayag
https://georgelumayag.weebly.com
The Super Snow Moon lighted our bleeding hearts,
That we’re staging the National Arts Month in February;
It reminded us to the king like the powerful wolf
Who defaced the rules of artistry
That he butted his unverified thoughts
To the heroine’s genuine and overconfident performances of art
That surpassed beyond a national badge of honor.
Aunor’s highly praised body of work inspires us
And her humble legendary origin conquers the borders
Of music, television, film and theater.
In our digital age, her extraordinary achievements
In various international film festivals crown her
As world-class actress.
Her artistic and brilliant talents exceeded the elements
Of being the National Artist,
But a thunder and lightning of judgment
Seemed like a twist from a daylight to Super Blood Wolf Moon Eclipse,
That disgraced the discretionary power of the king,
Who included undesirable factors other than artistry
And unceremoniously deleted her honor.
The resounding assertions of the noble souls
May have figuratively incarnated the national icon,
May have patriotically penned Nora Aunor’s magnificent works,
And may have glorified back the artistic contributions of a genius,
Who shall have been lionized for being...
The people’s National Artist!
What if I happened to win the lottery
What would I do with the money
Spend it on all kinds of frivolous things
Or a year long trip with my honey
Eat in restaurants three times a day
Choose the richest item on the menu
Act like a real old mucky muck
And obnoxious no matter the venue
They'd surely know I was 'nouveau riche'
By my big mouth flamboyant air
But I wouldn't care with a bulging wallet
Doing everything with panache and flair
What a pipe dream I'm currently having
As if this sweet old loveable jester
Could be anything but the belle of the ball
A vision of beauty in polyester
Odds are about fourteen million to one
So I won't be buying the beer
More chance of becoming a cultural icon
Like Cyrus or Perry or Spears
© Jack Ellison 2014