Long Michelangelo Poems
Long Michelangelo Poems. Below are the most popular long Michelangelo by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Michelangelo poems by poem length and keyword.
She lies high on a mountaintop
She is surrounded by an abundance of lovely olive trees
Sometimes I hear her calling my name
In a faint whisper
The whisper sounds almost musical
She has mountains with lovely peaks
She has seas with golden sands and white pepples
She is rich in foods and culture
Her cuisine is Amore
Her songs are romantico
Mother Nature has blessed her with beauty and brilliance
Michelangelo Dante Aligieri Leonardo Da Vinci ..
Have enlightened the masses
The masses as such
They have literally changed ones reality
She was smiling proudly in rejoice
Who is she?
Who is this beauty?
My homeland
My BELLA ITALIA
Giovanni didn't trust Michelangelo,
He'd heard that for guys he was hot.
But for minimum pay of a florin* a day,
He was willing to give it a shot.
As soon as they started the session,
Gio's senses said something was wrong.
Mickey couldn't decide how to pose him--
Wearing armor, a toga, a thong?
This went on for a while, and then with a smile
The master casually said to the dude,
"Please don't think me a jerk,
But to get this to work,
I must have you totally nude."
Avoiding eye contact, Gio peeked at his contract,
Then took a deep breath and replied,
"Si, but with the insistence that you keep your distance,
And another five florins besides."
And that's the way the story goes,
I've repeated it word for word,
How the most famous statue in all of the world,
The one that's called "David" occurred.
*Author's note: The florin, ducat, and lire were common currencies during Michelangelo's time. A florin, according to one source, was worth 2 crowns, approximately $26.00 today. I could not find the name of the model who posed for this sculpture nor how much he was paid. I doubt seriously if M. paid his models in florins, but I like the alliterations.
A recent share on a post, that is so relevant to poets writing in a world seeped in instant self gratification.
Title.
The Entrepreneur
(A lone voice whispers)
We do what we do, because we are old school
Inspired by the likes of visionaries such as, Michelangelo or, Vincent van Gogh
For in a modern world driven to seek immediate validation, and the trappings of success
We may be becoming a rare breed
For deep down, we know this unconditionally
Unconsciously
We are a work in progress
We who do the hard work constantly, through patience, and resilience
We know we will eventually see the journey has been worth it
As we are blessed
When the world eventually sees or embraces our portfolios
For that immense need driven by relentless consistency, patience, and resilience
Will eventually knock on a certain door to be opened by us
Marked
"For the brave
Who conquered the Lands of Broken Dreams filled with Regrets"
(C) Copyright John Duffy
Young cousins meet in a great combo
Moons and stars in a marvelous show
In red blue pink green all eyes glow
An ideal spectacle for Michelangelo
Our daughter and her friend like a red tomato
In their eyes sits a sky of light indigo
Nieces and nephews in a mood of rainbow
Life and dream in a great tempo
Katie and Teddy are the happiest duo
An angel at the window to say, hello!
_____________________________________________________
May 27, 2016
For Personal Memories Monorhyme II – Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Land of Dante, Michelangelo, Vivaldi, Verdi, Vanvitelli and da Vinci;
there Julius Caesar spoke these victorious words," Vedi, vidi, vici."
From the majestic snow-capped Alps to the sun-scorched Sicily,
one is astonished by the sea and sky blending to unravel a mystery!
My gorgeous town lays among shady mountains that
protect it from storms and winds coming from the West;
its vast valley is overlooked by a stately, sturdy castle...
standing as a sentinel that made the invaders tremble.
Walk with me down the narrow paths flanked by pines, maples and firs
that lead to the scented and harmonious landscapes loved by Ovid,
and adored by Virgil who once saw them on his long travels;
and I being born there, makes me very enthusiastic and glad!
Not many have seen a splendid sunset stretching as far as Mount Vesuvius;
I stood on that breeze-caressed hill transfixed and vowed by the glorious
spectacle of rosy clouds as shrilling seagulls hovered over a harbor so calm;
I could almost see the swift, white sails returning from a sea still blue and warm!
Well over a hundred years ago
The illustrious Vincent Willem Van Gogh
A genius somewhat like Michelangelo
With thousands of artworks in his cluttered studio
From the sublime to the grotesque for show
Might have been better off working as a gigolo
Because he died a pauper on skid row
In those days artists had no impresario
To make sure they lived high in a chateau
Dining on champagne and escargot
So it was quite a different scenario
That brilliant artists lived totally incognito
Often exchanging a painting for a meal on a patio
Or selling their wares door to door on tiptoe
Carrying under their arm their impressive portfolio
So it was for Vincent Willem Van Gogh
Misunderstood and suffering from vertigo
Mentally unstable and drinking heavily in Bordeaux
Depressed, impulsive and insane – a tragic combo
Cut off a piece of his ear, his sanity was touch and go
A troubled soul, life for him was a wild rodeo
Obsessive passion, far from living the status quo
His life and work intertwined shimmying like a yo-yo
Feeling the stranger, he shot himself overcome with sorrow
Post mortem everyone wanted to hear the myth of Van Gogh
With his vivid colors of burgundy, ochre and indigo
In his honor every year the orchestra features the oboe
And while the Italians chant magnifico
Everyone else cheers Bravo! Bravo!
How times have changed for poor Van Gogh
From a mere hundred years ago ~
Read on air by invitation ~ March 21, 2020 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 1st place 2026, 2nd place 2021, 3rd place 2025, 3rd place 2022, 3rd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2026, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 15, 2021 for YOUR BEST MONORHYME contest sponsored by WILLIAM KEKAULA - RANKED 1ST
Michelangelo covered with the hood
Weeping tears as holding Christ, he stood
At the head of the man, who is the Lamb
That became the perfect sacrifice, the great I Am
Putting himself in Joseph of Arimathea's place
Helping Mary Magdalene and Mary Jesus' mother face
The tragedy, that they felt ended Jesus' race
His chance to be the Savior, sent to grace
The world with salvation and kingdom of love;
How each stroke of the hammer guided from above
Perfection of this work you desired for the Dove
When an error occured, you were not proud of
Gave this unfinished work away (to Antonio)
Who for a profit did sell the work for pay
Reconstruction by Tiberio Calcagni paved the way
For the look of the Florence Pieta' today
(The information that I got about this work said that Michelangelo used himself as a model
for the hooded figure. I could just see Michelangelo feeling the agony of the person when he
put himself in their place.)
It was the time when art was king,
Of artists whose praises we all sing.
Great minds there were in the Renaissance,
Through eons , unsurpassed, with little advance.
Greatness was embodied in the works of art,
In Lorenzo's gardens did Michelangelo start.
But great there was one of Mona Lisa fame,
Master painter, inventor - Leonardo his name.
Contemporaries for sure, one really wonders
Of the two, whose work steals the thunders.
David, the Pieta, Sistine Chapel, and more
Everlasting they are through ages sure.
But then there's the Lisa, Last Supper, inventions galore.
On their ingenuity and genius, the world lays great store.
Can genius be bestowed in multiple men?
Can peace and tranquility be shared even then?
Can two kings sit and reign on one throne?
Or squabble and fight like two dogs with one bone?
And so, these men of unparallel fame
Were set by chance a mischievous game.
Asked they were to adorn the Council Hall
With paintings to settle rankings once and for all.
With gusto did the two set about
A Battle each to prove their clout.
Leonardo chose the battle of Anghiari;
Battle of Cascina was Michelangelo's quarry.
Great was the strife between the two,
Each strove hard for the other to outdo.
Of the rivalry ,I heard, - the worst of all,
Art was the victim - and the two took a fall.
Relates the great chronicler Vasari,Giorgio,
That the nadir of art was seen in the Palazzo Vecchio
As each of the greats thought little of their craft
But dallied and diddled, till the populace all laughed.
The Cascina on naked bathing soldiers was based
On the banks of the Arno it was placed.
But the scene that was rendered was so ludicrous
That his work, sadly, bordered on the ridiculous.
Leonardo's Anghiari was a shade grim
But his chances to greatness was very slim.
He used oils from Pliny the Elder's recipe
But soon these flaked , were smudgy, and drippy.
Be that as it may
To Art's great dismay
What should have been great works
Were diminished by Rivalry's quirks.
Vasari painted over these objets de art
And replaced these with his own from the start.
Now conservators do scan, to see if they can,
Which of the two, Leonardo or Michelangelo, was
The painter of the elusive Magnum Opus.
~18 Jun 2016~
Years ago when the kids were young
A plan of action in my mind began
They ran around playing children's games
Peace of mine was never the same
When the boys dressed up they looked real cute
Fighting baddies they were in hot pursuit
Many months I put up with this
The noise, the screaming, tearing at my bliss
Then came the day all hell broke loose
No more their father could be a woose
Leonardo, Michelangelo were the first to be shelled
Raphael and Donatello were next to be felled
Once simmered with herbs and beautiful leek hoops
Teenage Ninjas, turned into Turtle Soup
Many hours of quietness in tranquillity followed
Whilst bowls of Manhattan Soup were delightfully swallowed
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/humour-2.php
A setting sun inks purple mountain peaks,
painting frescoes on slopes of sullied snow.
And smearing scarlet in blotches and streaks,
its art surpasses Michelangelo.
Shadows scurry to merge with silhouettes,
as acrobatic bats hunt moths in flight.
And when Night gets as quiet as it gets,
ebony extinguishes Dusk's last light.
Crimson and cerise, color carmine skies,
as Sol's chariot gilds the edge of Night.
And trillions of stars materialize;
twinkling overhead like jewels of light.
And in the heavens hangs a beaming moon,
light pooling around it, like liquid gold.
For glowing as bright as a gold doubloon,
Luna's face is a wonder to behold.