Long Monumental Poems
Long Monumental Poems. Below are the most popular long Monumental by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Monumental poems by poem length and keyword.
(The supernova observed from
Earth in 1572 was a major event
in human thought, because if
stars could explode, then they
couldn't be eternal lamps,
hung out by God.)
The cold stars glimmered
where they hung
in their accustomed places
on the underside of heaven.
The imperceptible gavotte
proceeded up aloft:
those little silver lamps,
dipping or climbing,
went about their business
oblivious of human time.
A scholar of the firmament,
incurious, unthrilled,
at ease with the inevitable,
the trueness of meridians,
stared up, unflinching.
The milky smudge of Cassiopeia
swam into his lens's narrow field,
and our student of the permanent now saw
that which he knew he could not see.
It caused no greater shock
than a snarl of irritation.
We always miss the moment.
The quiet glory of that tiny cloud
of far-off starstuff
marked the noiseless passing
of some unknowable sun.
And though the watcher did not know,
he was party, too,
to a monumental dying.
Getting near the end of my journey
going to miss all this new stuff a-coming
The future is going to be so exciting
like we've never experienced before
Are we ready?
Ready or not, hang on to your panties
this will be beyond anything
we've ever experienced previously
a revolutionary new way
of trading... it's called BITCOIN!!!
Basically it will eliminate the need
for conventional currency
allowing people to send or receive money
across the internet without being linked
to any real identity
The mathematical field of cryptography
is the basis for Bitcoin's security
Ready of not it's on it's way
It will take time to adjust but adjust we must
there will be absolutely no alternative
My mind ponders the effect it will have
especially on less developed countries
Time will tell and I'm at a stage in life
that I won't see the outcome
but by all previous monumental changes
throughout history
humans have always learned to adapt
AND WE WILL AGAIN!!!
Arthur's seat sits hidden by the cloak of night, his head up in the clouds.
Princes Street lies empty, no royals, no life, no crowds.
Nelson stands neglected, having made a monumental mistake.
Charlottes' going square without new books to articulate.
St Giles has closed his doors to weary pilgrim seeking refuge.
The Palace has lost its money, its reputation, its gold.
Up at the castle, the one o clock gun,
sounds to mourn Edinburgh's loss.
For all I hear, tonight and every night,
is the pitter patter of the rain.
It marks the tears of old Edinburgh town wondering,
will I be loved again?
Where be the Scottish man in kilt with bagpipe sash?
Or corner street drunken birthday bash?
Edinburgh weaps the soil untrodden,
those lost of late shan't be forgotten.
May we once more run wild with glee,
old Edinburgh town, the land of the free.
5.15.21
Sing a song of Taj Mahal
A landmark of lovers
And a lover's edifice
With medieval bowers
Tis a mecca for tourists
Tis sensational, tis exceptional,
tis truly a touristy place
Watch the shine and shimmer
of its magnificent marbled
dome
By the glimmer of moonlight
or sunlight, it's imperial chrome
So it's ironical then
that though Indian I am
I haven't yet been to this
touristy place
It is truly as they must say, a
lover's shrine
A place where hearts tend to
incline
They find it steamy
I find it dreamy
Oh I've to see for myself this
touristy place.
Each of the marbled minarets
conceal some romantic secrets
For lovers to silently explore
To admire and to adore
A place few lovers could ignore
Ah, you've got to visit this
touristy place
Two famed lovers lie in the
legendary vault below
and the stream too has a
romantic flow
A lover's haven, a paradise on
earth
Even dead passions there
undergo a new rebirth
Ah rekindle my love in this
touristy place!
Extol I may this awesome
imposing edifice
A greed for pure love is
perhaps better than avarice
So sing a song of Taj Mahal
A nice nazm or a great ghazal
So forever we have this
monumental
grace
Ah take me my love to this
touristy place!
(Sing to the tune of sing a song of six pence...
I’ve been toiling over
This monumental decision
But my mind keeps clouding
My weary hearts vision
When will I learn
To do things right,
How am I able
To keep up this fight
How will I know
I’ve made the right decision
When all I can do
Is up with such precision
I feel trapped in this haze
Of trying to make it all right,
But it feels like a losing battle
The harder I fight
I wish I could escape
This darkness and pain,
The more I try thinking
Makes me feel I’m insane
So the time is at hand
To finally choose
Will it be life or death
That sets me free of these blues
On Solid and Liquid Grounds
By: Earl Schumacker
Strong winds comb the ocean curve
White threads of mist lift away
Our hearty crew sets out
To find a way off
Solid land and sand abandoned
We bob atop the vast consuming sea
On collapsing dawn and day
A taste of salt
A rise of heights
And crying blinding spray
Moved by rogue waves
Churns and takes us where they will
Falls like iron buildings dispersing beneath a solid liquid world
As monumental weights about us
Removed from boundaries observable
Departures have their ways as fortunes change
Elements of cause displaced with waves
Unannounced
Back to the body of water and related wilds proper
Melds there…. formless…. yet filling in an empty need to remain full
A landless majesty locked in an embrace stays
We struggle
But turned around by forces not our own
Fear grew on us like mold
Rusting our souls in place
Gills and fish splash back our sinking expectations
Told us of their truth
Not ours
We must depart
Their world for ours
Something solid but no less moving
As he lay dying, slowly wasting away
He reviewed his life with ever-increasing dismay
Had he ever thanked his folks for their efforts on his behalf?
He knew he hadn't --- a monumental gaffe
Had he professed his love to his wife each and every day?
Had he listened intently to every word she had to say?
Had he always treated her with the respect she'd deserved?
Or had he criticized her sharply for being shy and reserved?
Had he treasured the time he got to spend with his kids?
Had he checked himself when he was ready to blow his lid?
Had he loved his children selflessly and unconditionally?
Or had he demanded that they do things perfectly?
Every tick of the clock is precious, the poets and Sages say
Live each moment to its fullest --- before the last one slips away!
Entry in "How Precious Life Is" contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
I.
O Bacchanalia! O wild Mania,
what be this ecstatic spirit of God!?
To be transported grants Arcadia:
but this awareness, this sense, feels so odd.
O thou soul! What mad symmetry of thought!
This sudden, unbidden, psychic climax
of the mind captivates with raptured thrill.
Calliope! thou hast me overwrought:
whence sing this manic grammar and syntax,
this wondrous expression that melts doom's chill?
II.
Thou rhapsody! Thou monumental bliss!
What euphoria overwhelms the brain?
With eloquent Calliope's moist kiss,
thrilled ravishment uplifts the head's domain.
O Joy! Pure, pure Joy! Intense happiness,
with rapture mingled, revives the psyche
with radiant delusion of the mind;
then glee that transcends desire to express,
like supernatural being whose frenzy
all at once overpowers, strikes me blind!
III.
Erelong the psyche is madly distress'd,
for the diseased become wildly deranged
by dire imbalance of the brain! Oppress'd,
with bipolar Mania unestranged,
I wane with her vanishing servitude;
for in her wake she leaves a deadly unrest,
which perforce enjoin the pallid mortician.
For mental psychosis damns the unblest:
but with souls (where with angels devils feud)
God operates as the Divine Physician.
Hey, never mind the hundred thousand folks
you'd have to keep for decades in the dark -
the sub-contractors, cleaners, office clerks.
Hey, never mind the billions such a hoax
would cost (to really go there works out cheaper!)
Don't give a thought to scammers, media whores,
and all those earnest, honest whistle-blowers,
who gagged to play heroic brother's-keepers
and get on Charlie Rose. Don't tax your wits
by wondering how a monumental lie
could hope to last, or even wonder why
someone would want to try it. Think of this.
In early summer, nineteen sixty-nine,
the Soviet Union hated Uncle Sam.
If there had been a smidgeon of a scam,
the Russians would have formed a clamoring line
of hackers, trackers, eggheads and the rest
to tell the waiting world, "it isn't so!
Our satellites confirm, they didn't go!"
But they said nothing. There's your acid test.
AFRICA IS NOT YOUR LAB
Monumental carcasses impended: Africa is not a lab,
A pinch of your pin is worse than knife stab -
Reducing a people you didn't create,
Solution is your cunning bait
But your weapon is merciless hate.
The stains on your lab coat is deceit,
Your agenda and past records you can't delete.
Ply your experiments in this evil's - smithy,
Poisoned-chalice to heal sounds pretty?
Not fitting. Your vaccine is the assassin;
Medicine from Tennessee tested on the Edisons
Might not be antidote in Benin for the Bensons.
Alfred Tennyson's Ulysses too surmount enemies
And so will we cos Africa is not a lab place.
Grind away! Moistenly mash up your paste,
Abort the mission to lay Africa waste.
We'll chew kola at your tricks - we're not in haste!
Not in haste to dine with ancestors & kings,
We'll dance to batá, gongon, base guitar & strings
While our liberty & redemption comes in a collabo.
Africa is definitely not your labo!
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © December, 2020.