Long Modernist Poems
Long Modernist Poems. Below are the most popular long Modernist by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Modernist poems by poem length and keyword.
I was an active, prominent architect, like fervent stars which race the sun,
Or exotic, summer flowers that bloom vibrantly, creating rapturous visions.
I'd wrought modernist skyscrapers, as huge trees lean into a bronze glaze,
On raspberry, latter days, quite lovely, when azure blue jays sing in praise.
I had designed homes and buildings, to the plumb delight of stylish people,
While satisfying the favorable environment, with novel, vivid colors, gleeful.
I had built homes for family members, the loved ones who made life sunlit,
Like magnificent avenues of autumn, wherein we bask before all colors flit.
Happily, my works were very popular, as current sweet songs of ruby birds,
At the purple, sunset time of fading skies, when lilac time flows backwards.
I dwelled in the house of the whimsical new, admired by casual passersby,
As clouds and gemmed landscapes are admired, by visitors to neon skies.
Neighbors wafted through visual colors, as rouge moon visits newborn sun,
Like hours spent visiting gaiety's garden, waiting for something to happen.
Torrid summer was in the cherry sunset, and green birds owned coral day,
And pink butterflies flew by the window, as gilt, molten time slipped away.
Juicy apricots were beginning to ripen, with their tangy, sweet savor of July,
When I saw several of my creations come to life, on the street, walking by.
I laughed to see the sudden swaying, to graceful, fluted music of the wind,
Like the smiling time of the evening, when seeing sun and moonlight blend.
They moved proudly upon the skyline, playfully frolicking, hues shimmering,
Like the earliest break of antique day, when newest truths start glimmering.
Mellow sunshine fell straight through the clouds, as the dancing slowly died,
Like the last day that a rainbow was glimpsed, on the day that nature cried.
And I had sensations of blind wonder, like the starry-eyed, dreaming night,
When the mighty ocean bellows its roar, in huge, full moon's powdery light.
I realized my buildings were alive, because of the people who dwelt there,
For people lent them color and spirit, as a medallion sun makes floral flair.
But they never again danced in daylight, nor in the sudden, purple twilight,
Yet, the rosy memory has never faded, like vibrant memories of moonlight!
The canvas is painted in ochres and browns
Suggesting a figure, the staircase coming down
Be it masculine or feminine is for your mind to see
The artist’s title denotes it descends in nudity.
The body parts are not displayed so exact
Demonstrating movements that appear somewhat abstract
Stare as long as you like at the naked body parts
It now hangs in Philadelphia at the Museum of Art.
The name of this Modernist display is recognized by many
Although knowing what it looks like – you may not find any
“Nude Descending a Staircase, no 2” is a title known well
Painted by Marcel Duchamp in nineteen and twelve.
Although some will be disappointed when they finally take a look
This painting is a masterpiece in my artistic book.
http://www.philamuseum.org/collections/permanent/51449.html
dawn dual duel
two poets
a face-off duel joust
free verse rhyme verse
a modernist traditionalist
mull and muse tell it true
prompt a reaction lay it out there
lover of words, jarring lover of pattern, rhyming
readers response individual readers all delight alike
anything goes on loose lines strict punctuation and meter
memories jogged and jangled memories lovingly recalled
stark and confronting language beautiful nice melodious words
leaves reader's questions unanswered readers cherish the poems like songs
10 free steps 10 syllables
bang bang
both dead
duel done
babel babble
Written: April 09, 2025,
*************
I will be faithful and reveal to you the facts,
You are mine in life and as soul, subtract.
Because when I die, all fables will be seen,
Your aesthetic gaze will murder my spleen!
If every star dims away or expires,
I should start to gaze at a blazing fire.
And accept the complete dark sublime,
However, this may require a bit of time.
Your love transcends my ability to repay,
I wish you abundant happiness, I pray.
So, while we're living, let's pursue love,
Then, even posthumously, life may shove.
A silk ladder is extending across the vine,
That one dangles precariously over the line.
The tragic blend of your entrance and exit,
Love you in a holistic manner, with no limit.
She walks as beautifully as the night,
With pristine expanses and twinkling skies.
And all that is finest in dark and bright,
Connected to her appearance and eyes;
Such squashed by the gentle light,
Which paradise to lavish day denies.
I'll enumerate the forms I love you,
I love you to the depths, scope, and view.
When I feel adrift, my spirit can cope,
For the sake of being an ideal scope.
Concealed from all, love is a hidden flame,
A delicate but piercing wound frame.
an inherently wretched state of happiness,
a raging pain that does not induce savviness.
This is the eremite's never-ending wanderlust,
Yours is the April-to-April love, modernist.
I began to twirl long after you had gone,
Your excited fingers point me to the drawn.
The shimmering, one vast claiming heart,
Esquire, who is both charming and smart.
I am reliable; I will express to you what I mean,
In both life and after death, you're my queen.
Since all the truth will be unveiled once I die,
Then, your two exquisite eyes will make me sigh.
Nothing in this broad cosmos is single,
In a shared spirit, all us gather and mingle.
Love confines me and teaches me to care;
You are the culprit, and you allow me to share.
Helping me cope, you offer me hope,
my dreams and aspirations began to slope.
Life fills each season without a reason.
a hollow life migrates with every season.
The first thing we learned is beauty is in
The eye of the beholder.
Paintings or pictures can be done in
Oils, watercolors, pen,
Charcoal, pencil, marker,
Crayons, and chalk.
The place was so quiet it was like bein
In church. We saw walls and walls of old
As well as new paintings in frames
With names
That were bold,
Historical,
Modernist,
Filled with simplicity,
Inspirational,
Comical,
Illogical,
And abstract works of art.
We found some that were hypnotic,
Rythmic,
Had personality,
Morality,
And were naturalistic.
We did explore,
Took notes galore,
And we learned it is hard to be critical
In describing some one else's work.
Art is attainable
Even explainable.
It is universal
And at times controversial
Yet, the day we spent at the art museum
Was sensational
And memorable.
Louise Imogen Guiney – Poetess and Writer
Louise Imogen Guiney sought a certain poetry of
perfection that rang true with a real radiance in her
poetry, that also bespoke a passion and feeling for
its lyrical nature as it was amply reflected with an
aura of spontaneity, a noted élan, and a sense of a
mystical moral verve. Guiney fashioned much of
her work around traditional poetic themes with a
distinct concern for both style and content.
Guiney’s profound religious orientation and desire
for this spirited feeling, along with her notion of a
certain perfection was defined and embellished by
her underlying concern with the Catholic tradition
in literature, and by her masterful view and concept
that brought the notions of heroic gallantry and
moral rectitude to the forefront of her scholarship
with regard to her poetry and her various literary
and historical studies.
The entirety of Guiney’s work and the mystic nature
of her poetic and literary endeavors imbued her with
a type of an early modernist touch similar to that of
T. S. Eliot, whose influence was twenty years into the
future, as he helped to bring the modernist movement
to fruition with the help of Ezra Pound and other poets.
All of these experiential forces, at hand, helped Guiney
to achieve her unique nature and brilliance over time as
a fine New England poetess of letters and scholarship,
and her poetry was all-inclusive of a grand and glorious
vision of English poetic traditions par excellence.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved
December 22, 2018 (Narrative)
Author’s Note: Certain poems from Louise Imogen Guiney
have been reprinted in 2020. However, the complete and
definitive collection of her poetry: Louise Imogen Guiney –
Her Life and Works 1861-1920 was masterfully assembled
by the author-writer E. M. Tenison in 1922, and it was, in
1923, published by Macmillan and Company, Limited in
London. Tenison had indicated in a “personal note” that
Guiney had read this book in complete draft form before
her untimely death in 1920. This book is a collector’s item.
I am weary of politics,
its plastic people
and the endless lies,
the glorification
of the outrageous antics
of the rich and famous,
the intolerance
and exclusivity preached
by most religions,
sensationalist media
who seek to deceive
and divide for the sole
purpose of ratings.
I am tired of excuses
and the way in which
honest people are exploited,
the power of big corporations
and angered by the mistreatment
of our planet. I am sick
of the promises made
by a world addicted to wealth
and the necessity to own
the latest must have gadget
and the modernist doctrine
of the primacy of the “self”.
We have lost our way
by abandoning the sacred,
the soulful connection
to the earth and what lay
beyond. My old and perhaps
naive mind imagines an ideal
where the world and life is not
configured to serve our most
unholy needs
but to those that will lift us
towards the greater good.
I really did like you Susan Fewster.
Even when I said, 'Well I don't like her!'
When you were absent from school that day
And your classmates made me aware
When they told me that you liked me and I blurted out,
'Well I don't like her!'
Please forgive me, I was childish,
I was shy and I really, really did care
My mouth may have blurted out those words,
But my heart said something else,
I was just embarrassed, young and stupid,
And I thought that's what
Boys were supposed to say
But I really did like you Susan Fewster
You were the modernist girl in 3B
But I was shocked and maybe a little amazed that day
When your friends said
That you actually liked me
Because there were so many other boys in the class
Good looking and full of swagger
And I sadly regret that day when I plunged teenage loves young dagger
And your 'friends' just couldn't wait to tell you
Those hurtful words I said
Each word hammering the anvil
And left ringing in my head
And after that day you tried to show,
Your dislike for me
But just before you left the school I had one last opportunity
To say the words, to put things right, but I just sat there silently,
Childishly believing that you might actually show some pity for me
And it's haunted me through the years as
I've thought about
Those cruel words I said
At such a tender age, killing love stone dead
So finally, here are the words that I truly always wanted to say,
That I really did like you Susan Fewster
You were the modernist girl in 3B
You were pretty, you were lovely
And I'm glad that you once had a moment for me.
Form:
The boy gets teased for wearing Holy Keds
And never Michael Jordan tennis shoes.
A field trip for a Friday afternoon:
Today, it’s modern art, the locals’ wing.
Head down, he tags along behind his class.
At least he is polite, his teacher thinks.
The parquet floor makes crackling under foot.
A landscape hangs along a barren wall.
“In modern art, emotions bring in shapes...”
Not listening, as usual, she thinks.
“Look, that’s my home!” he shouts aloud and points
“No, that’s the modernist O’Keeffe!” she scolds.
And herds her charge with open arms past guards
And docents under disapproving eyes.
At my birth, something happened up there...
into the wondrous constellations,
God Himself made them shine brighter
for this new born trascending life
into a destiny of greatness;
and my grateful smile deepened His delight!
Astrologers study the heavenly bodies:
stars, planets and the wondrous constellations
to predict the events of an individual's destiny...
from an ordinary one...to the most extraordinary;
fame is measured by a monetary value,
but greatness is a spirituality laid open to view!
Nowdays simplicity is looked upon with suspicion,
it seems a bit too spontaneous and impractical;
the modernist confounds it and confronts it,
treating it like an incurable disease of the outcast,
but no great man has ever been
ashamed of expressing it and propagating it!
We are building monuments of wonders,
and go far into the boundless Universe...
instead of undoing pain and disharmony,
curing the plagues that inflict this Humanity;
our society is too proud and arrogant...
nothing frightens us, and we still remain defiant!
If your fate favors you over the others,
who only can wish for such glorious moments
consumed in prosperity and greatness;
start cultivating the seeds of wisdom,
seeking out those truest friends living on the Earth...
to admire and share the wondrous constellations above!