Long Mount Poems
Long Mount Poems. Below are the most popular long Mount by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mount poems by poem length and keyword.
Nero the god! I had a dream.
There I was at the foot of Mount Olympus.
Mother was with me as usual.
As we reached a cross-roads, Agrippina said:
"Come Nero, here we turn left" But I said:
"No, mama, 'WE' do not. I'm gonna turn right!"
And that's what I did. She shouted after me:
"Become emperor, Nero, though you slay me".
The path led upwards toward the snowy heights,
past the lush vernal pastures of the lower slopes,
past vineyards and groves of olive trees,
through forests of oaks, birches,
willows, elms, yews and poplars and all holy trees,
past the crags where the chamois chewed stunted grass,
and the last brave wind-blasted pine
tossed and raged in defiance of the elements, I ascended,
till there was no other thing under heaven
but burning, blinding snow,
a conflagration no less fierce than that which now I see.
I looked down at the world of men,
and what should I see but -- ants!
The air was thin and pure - then the prize!
The summit appeared from behind a cloud-rift.
Treacherous thoughts welled up from within me:
"High climbers play with death –
death by freezing, death that lurks
in the shadow of a measureless abyss.
Was I not trespassing on holy ground? ‘
“Remember Icarus, remember Prometheus,"
sighed voices in the wind,
but then a louder voice from within me
bade me fear no counsel fit for the craven.
And so to the summit.
And what should I see when reached the Olympian heights,’
other than .....fierce Jupiter? Mighty Zeus?
I'll tell you what I saw!
There seated on an ivory throne, a frail old man,
whose long white beard fluttered in the wind.
His expression was more torpor than aught else.
That was it! He looked rather like...
some doddering old patriarch
that was Consul before Caesar's time.
As I approached, he tried to look grave and austere,
pathetically shaking his hoary senile head.
His trembling hand reached down –
I saw a quiver full of arrows
and a pile of thunderbolts at his side.’[
Now was my chance!
I seized him by the scruff of the neck,
and flung him down the mountain-side.
The last I saw of him was as he reeled
head over heels into a ravine.
Then I shouted in triumph to the four winds.
"THE OLD GOD IS DEAD.
Now I'm Top Dog. I got de thunderbolts".
Only a dream?
Perhaps. Dreams pass,
but not what they portend.
I hail thee ruins of Indus Vale!
With scented rhyme, with scented gale
Come on from world of mortal dead!
O come and lively wind inhale!
More ancient than the pyramids
That rule on ancient Egypt land
Thy wild wild eyes, with thy soft lids
They gazed on shimmering Indus sand
I will inhale thy breath in breath
O harken me from vale of death
(11)
I mount uphill, Thy citadel
And stood for hours Stony still
I saw minarets there in row
They fail and bow, all in thy woe
O stupa speak! from yonder peak!
Thy all worshippers where they go
In fog , in sun, while needles run
Thou standing lone in midst of woe!
I haven't seen a single soul
They faded all in mist and snow
Oh lonesome temple don't be sad
They will come and I vow they will
In evening smiles , my heart beguiles
Thy silver meads lay several miles
Thy rich forests of days of yore
Thy ancient seals and gods and kings
O life stop thou, O time come back
In courts I hear the bell that rings
Oh let me breathe, let me for while
Oh fortune for once for me smile
(111)
O lower town, Why thou breakdown
Thy aging speed , may thou slow down
Thy tourists standing by thy sides
All talking of the Times and tides
Thy rooms and wards, o nature yard
All tied devotees thine with cord
They want to dwell in heart of thine
They come and stand and for thee pine
O may phantoms of bygone time
Tell stories them in tune and rhyme
With help and love of Eden Lord
Whose seraphs are thy meadows guard
( ...)
O whistling toys, of girls and boys
In graves of stone why heave thou sighs
O happy ruins with face so fair
From thousand centuries slept thou there
Forgotten by the madding race
Then thou begot a heart sincere
Who wake thee from thy beauty sleep?
From fathoms deep wherest thou live
Wherest thou sob and moan and weep!
I pay homage to Cunningham
Who found thee there in seven three
Then came thy lover Daya Ram
Who thee from heaps of mud set free
Thy lips of ice, why not rejoice
Thou gaze this world with wild wild eyes
(...)
Thy fowls thy sheep, lie half asleep
In meadow green in forest deep
Thousands and thousands years passed by
My far off sky , he smiled he weep
When from thy beauteous Indus plains
The robbers carried thy remains
Thy ancient bricks, all gems of past
Continued
Armadilly came galloping into Troll Lake, bent on seeking a new life, to unwind.
He’d rode out of the Badlands, leaving only a trail of blowing dust and leaves, behind.
His steady stead Jalopy had been pounding feet, relentlessly with powerful strides.
Rearing up, Armadilly stopped before our Troll Bridge with his slingshot at his side.
I could see, he rode the sleekest mount, and the biggest tortoise, that I had ever seen.
Man that armadillo knew his tortoise flesh… this was the fastest one, ever been!
I would say: he truly looked, the devil’s mount… with glowing, fire stocked eyes.
The stranger named himself as Armadilly, but his true identity, could not be denied.
He was really Armadilly Billy, The Slingshot Kidster, as he bowed to us, so very low.
With a yes Ma'am, and a no Sir, he was smooth and could charm, near any old soul.
The Trolls loved him for the spell binding stories, that at the campfire, he gave away.
He never talked about his past, but we knew who he was, without being told, that day.
The rumor had it that Sheriff Bunny Garret had shot him dead, on one fateful day.
Another said he’d faked his death, heading south to Mexico, his life to live away.
But we knew better, for he was here with us, right now, on this illustrious day.
We knew he was a kind and misunderstood guy, because of what I’m about to say.
He saved our squirrel, Funkundilly, from a hawk diving straight for her, inward bound.
With his slingshot, like streaked lightening, he forced the hawk to spiral to the ground.
And we all applauded that Funkundilly was now, once again, so very safe and sound.
Then he strode, spurs a jangling, to dish out his own type of justice, so very renowned.
With a steely glint in his eye, he ordered the hawk away, or meet his end, he did convey.
And you can say that frightened bully hawk, really high tailed it, as he ran away.
Everyone celebrated that night, with Armadilly, all the way to dawn’s embrace.
Before he left, Armadilly knew from then on, he’d always have a home in this place.
But his mind was set on a wandering, more of this world’s adventures, to unweave.
So with a HiHo! Jalopy! He took off, leaving in another cloud of dust and leaves.
But I heard him shout that he’d be back again, soon…
And we were sure, that’s just what he would do!
Inspired by Silly Billy the Kidster's--- Billy the Kid Blog
An epic poem by Carol Eastman
Enea Gets the Red Hat
Finally, he's getting somewhere.
Fifty years of age and almost crippled,
prematurely aged, but at last,
sweet recognition rains down
on the poet. Kneeling before Calixtus,
he accepts the Cardinal's hat.
Fancy that.
With every triumph, we're swept nearer Hell.
Each anthem that we sing's a kind of knell.
No matter what we get, or grab, or gain,
we're human, and our lot is death and pain.
Both Frederick and Ladislas
had to do a lot of lobbying
(Calixtus was a Borgia, after all:
and family is family.) Por fin,
esta elevado. Behold the scene.
Frederick with his back to us
and Ladislas holding on to him
(shouldn't that be the other way round?)
deserve their pride of place.
The seething swell of humans
swirls around the little altar,
but can't budge it.
The clear-cut marble doesn't give.
What is the painter telling us?
Men move, and flow, and live, and go,
but soon or later, their
energy is spent?
The Church is permanent?
Regard the four main players,
the upper crust of Mankind's many layers,
yet each one a loser clone.
Calixtus took the throne
already old, and singing one stale tune
(and that, corrupt!)
He didn't use a long spoon
when he supped.
There's Frederick, the Emperor,
a joke. Bullied by his minions,
unhappy, hapless, broke.
And Ladislas, a king without a kingdom,
a cock without a crest,
he's Frederick's long-term guest
(another kind of jest).
A prisoner -- or let's say, at home,
he and Frederick make a palindrome:
august additions to this Pleasure Dome.
Enea: worn out, homesick, ill.
Surviving now on sheer will.
Is that Nature's tonsure, or Man's?
He's kept alive by feverish plans
to mount a Great Crusade --
but we all know it won't be made.
Two rigid windows and an altarpiece.
The Trinity? (The painting is the Holy Ghost.)
Or are those plain, framed panes
the Empire and the Papacy?
You think we're reading too much in?
We point you to one subtle artist's touch.
The youth, right-centre, in the azure cloak,
who's smirking at some "only-I-know" joke:
head cocked, as if he's watching all, askance:
he finds the dainty, double-dealing dance
amusing. Isn't he Rafael?
Hatted like some crimson Cardinal,
he's watching how they rise up, how they fall.
He's waiting, calmly, to inherit all.
I am but an ordinary woman resting in my easy chair after a long day of work.
However I am about to transform myself into a great explorer.
I travel through the many realms of space and time all from the safety of home.
My journeys cost me nothing but time spent in their enjoyment.
I close my eyes tightly to contemplate whom I shall visit this night.
Shall I sup with King Arthur and the knights of the table round as bards entertain,
Or feast on nectar and ambrosia with Zeus and Hera on Mount Olympus?
I could feel the angst of Cyrano’s unconfessed love for Lady Roxanne,
Or that of souls from Poe’s pen with his mocking raven quote it “nevermore.”
Choose to learn the life cycle of the bee, lion, or bear through a scientific work,
Or fly through space on a star ship with the creator of a masterpiece of science fiction.
I can recapture the whimsy of childhood while chasing cars with Clifford the big red dog,
Or take a brisk run with Pooh and Tigger through the hundred-acre wood.
I may celebrate glorious new beginnings with Mother Mary and Baby Jesus,
This holy birth portrayed forever within our sacred Bible.
I might also choose to contemplate death along with Caesar during his last moments.
Only the playwright Shakespeare could portray these with such tragic effect.
I may discover the secrets of gourmet recipes from master chefs,
Or learn how to sew a patchwork quilt of old fashion.
Vicariously visit the culture and religion of various peoples,
Or study the history of my fellow Americans.
Maybe I should check the financial reports to see how the stock market is doing,
Or it might be pertinent to examine the latest advances in law.
Let me discover the origins of favorite words in a volume of etymology,
Or distinguish quartz from quartzite whilst leafing through a book of gemology.
Books, yes volumes hold the secret keys to my voyage,
It is they that conduct me each night worldwide exploring.
I need not to plan ahead pack luggage or gather tickets,
Fore when I wish to escape this world a book is always close at hand.
I may travel safe and undisturbed through numerous times and places,
And leap out of one adventure headlong into the next without moving a limb.
When I am weary from the road or have chased enough beasts as warier fine,
I simply mark my place, fold the pages together gently, and retire to sweet sleep.
You can't imagine what its like to march on a sacred city,
to plunder and pulverize a Peoples' promise to Deity,
demolishing centuries of lavish labor, wasting offspring of ancient heredity,
destroying flesh, scriptures and stone with a savage Roman military synergy,
a discipline determined in it's destruction of dissention, inspired by ancestral victory,
politics was not our purview, methodical punishment was our specialty,
We were War's royalty, we were Legio XV Apollonaris,
monsters of Mars, messengers of Apollo, the juggernaut of Jupiter,
along with 11 other Legions led by General Titus, 60, 000 cuts of glory we stood,
for 3 and a half years we fought through Jewish guerilla ambush
asymetrical urban warfare welting our progress like a pirate pestilence
district after district, hell spell after hell spell we bled with chilled maneuver,
the Zealots were pyromaniacs, burnt sacraficers, their zeal and our bodies zesty wood,
in the Kidron Valley they flooded the streets " knee high " with oiled water
as the Cohorts waded through the lanes leery, a torch was tossed, flames rose in rush
240 men perished like spazing stars trapped in a box, our grief agape with a horrified crush,
as reprimand, Titus made the Legate sit in a tent with his chopped off ring finger
smoldering like hot sand in the hand of a marooned man aware of error in his plan,
the insurgents had men we called Fox Tails, desperate demons who knew how Hell began,
as a skirmish succumbed to our skill and number they would run into apartments,
dragging the fury of our blades into rooms of Hades revenge, these were fire entrapments,
the buildings would blaze like windowed volcanos, screams salting us with panic linger,
It was not uncommon to discover a missing Brother Legionary
castrated, and decapitated with a headedless eagle carved upon his chest,
don't speak to me about morals and mercy for I have seen and dealt the damage of rude death
hate becomes your Father, vengence your Mother, aggravated murder your cause
when everything you revere and fear merge to make a leviathen of life,
the " Chosen People " of God became the chosen target of annihilation,
Mount Moriah, mansion of Yahweh the Pariah would become capital of Divine crucifixion,
J.A.B.
This poem has been entered into the Roman Legion Contest
to honor Ancient Rome and the Poet who sponsored this historical subject.
To what avail are scriptures etched on stones
If it’s true, we must feel it in our bones”
~ Author Unknown
My first question would be…
Who is it that etched scripture on stone?
Then why is such a distinction made?
Long ago, Jehovah called Moses to the Mount
and carved on two stones divine law for His people.
His covenant involved sacrifice for breakage.
In anger, Moses broke both the law and the stones
shattering revered integrity in anger.
See, God’s people thought Moses was not coming back.
Perhaps God had killed him up there on that mountain.
Brother Aaron had let them shape a golden calf
which they freely worshipped instead of Jehovah.
God Himself engraved those basic Ten Commandments
which bestows a special significance itself.
But the second real distinction came later as
His people realized, man cannot keep God’s law.
What is the next question?
Why must scripture be felt in our bones
More important, what is the truth discerned therein?
The same Jehovah called Jesus Christ to the cross,
conferred forgiveness for lack of obedience.
Jesus’ own words are the truth He came to reveal
when He said, “I am the way, the truth and the life.”
No one can come to the Father except through Christ.
Hear these words from major prophet Ezekiel -
God will remove their hearts of stone and grant them peace;
His spirit will dwell in the hearts of believers. *
Promised Messiah had come, Israel’s King of Kings.
Royal throne, the cross where Jesus was crucified
and thorns were the kingly crown they placed on His head.
His perfect submission, example set for man;
His grace and mercy within us proves His true worth.
John 14:6 and Ezekiel 36:25-28
April 27, 2022
* the scripture from Ezekiel 36:26-28
"A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh. And I will put my spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them. And ye shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers; and ye shall be my people, and I will be your God."
Will you burn the earth`s skin to glass?.
Yet, right there , in Harmony of `69
I bent in adoration
before the dusky pearl of your forehead
the soft slopes of your never-ending body
shifting under a sea of blankets
Oh! treasure of treasures !
sparkling
to life
love
in the inner-sanctum of the
tent-temple of my emerald heart,
filling it with that attar fragrance ,
that compassionate smile,
that yearning voice,
quieting my storm
urging me
to swim your sultry sea.
How could the world ever be the same again ?
Outside,
rooted like stark brood of the Black stone ,
rocks parried thuddingly the capricious charge of waves
and subdued the swell and swirl of a dark ,disturbed sea.
The summer night was short
and I
cleaved to you like a calf to its mother.
Your dark-eyed nipples breasted the blanket ,
occulting the coarseness of Harmony .
We rocked to cradle the peace in the galaxy,
with love milking the way
to the morning star .
Winking over the mount,
Venus caught us intertwined ,
drooling like babes,
sated
I, summer cloud paramour of
you Landie ,
altar of my sensuous sacrifice
sweet naos forever
Yolande
briefly
undraping your
compassionate cosmic essence
for a gallant stripling
starving for affirmation.
Awed,
i nested in mouths
harmonizing
now enchanting,
now strident symphonies,
keen enough to split
chaos
into mutual opposites
that grappled , grinded and finally clashed ,
giving birth to a higher union.
I tattoo your name , Landie, on the stretched skin of the earth.
I pullulate the waves in your name
sackbutting the syllables
till tremolo breaks it breathlessly to foam
on the glistening beach of your belly
Wrinkles I didgeridoo into the dark blanket of our night,
stringing out your diadem of stars
I spiral you stately across my deep.
Breaking away
reluctantly
from the tug of your knees
i trolled our anchor through love`s flow
girding it close to my wound-up heart.
"Go now love….spare me a thought "
Your voice and a gentle seabreeze wafted me out.
Diving at dawn with a whale of love
between waking dunes
capped by sourfigs , bleary-eyed revellers,
the blue-blue sky warbled
“one and one and one is three
One thing you got know ,is you got to be free
Come together, right now , over me.”
.
I see you running up and down the street staring at me through your dark tinted mirror; I couldn’t see your face but I saw your hands moving about on the steering wheel as you mount that battered hill with curiosity and reality staring in your face.
I have subdued all feelings and continue to search of new meaning. I want to catapult up to sky and have some fun before I die. Are you going to mask your hands too with a gloves and a colored shoe?, What are you afraid of? The dress, the crown or the new frock? I saw you going up the hill with something that is smaller than you but you ride with a vision that is bigger than yourself.
The sun rises slowly over the hill and burst through myriads of grey clouds pouring out a warm friendly smile that sinks deep into my flesh. The morning sweat kept seeping through my pores soaking my clothes and dripping water all over the floor, it’s as if I have just ran a marathon ten times around the track clocking a faster time with all that I have got .
I can see you standing over there looking at me over here. Driving up and down on the street disrupting my heart beat. Why did you come here if you have nothing to fear, you kept hiding from me as if you are my destiny. I do not know for sure where this is going but I will journey with you to the end.
The big stage is rolling in and the streets are busy with fine merchandise from home and abroad, trucks are lined up at the corner and the streets shoppers and vendors are walking around trying to get the early morning sales.
The actors are repeating their lines and dancers from all over the world are rehearsing for the big event. A hundred and ten bands are on the track and the jazz performers are waiting at the back.
Big trucks parked up on the business street with millions of dollars of catered food stuff; chef, waiters and waitress are running about clearing the trucks and unpacking the stuff, it is going to be a big bang with coronation bells flying all over the land.
See them dressed up over there in fine costume and carnivals boots, their painted lips and exquisite attire set the whole world on fire, the music is playing in the background and everyone is gathering around
Come to where I live and I will show you something astounding, the streets are packed and the birds are flying in the air and the message is quite clear.
Israel Beckoned...In A Dream
This secular skeptic beheld,
eyes hallucinated, harried, felled
and haunted by
holographic images gelled
that didst silently scream herald
ding exhaustively
roaming, schlepping, meld
ding and trudging across
elapsed, nor quelled
blinkered, bloodied dead souls
across fractured wartorn veld,
where bludgeoned ghastly
eons of pain did weld
throbbing inside my
scepter templed mount, aye
vicariously experienced
cumulative historical grief
past to present anti
semitism I decry
incomprehensible genocide, (though
not necessarily exclusive domain
of Moses troopers), nonetheless I
find mine existence
ably linkedin sigh
lent lee to the
bosom of Abraham,
no matter such
quasi confession doth fly
in the face, despite devout atheism,
a genealogical kinship inherently
peppers the genetic
mind of this
questioning (authority type) guy,
whose lack of
religion cannot dispel
no matter fuzzy, gauzy,
hazy, et cetera,
asper the existence
of heaven or hell,
and no idea what
will become of
Matthew Scott Harris, when bell
doth toll mine death knell
though methinks, i.e. this fell
low will merely decompose
forever oblivious to
global pell mell,
whose corporeal essence will spell
reincarnation relegating molecular
composition of this aging
ordinary physical being
whose existence particularly,
poignantly, and plaintively
punctuated with delicately
framed psychological housing
twilight years echoing
punitive hardship just barely shaking
free, whence adolescent
aborted suicidal effort
near cleft flickr ring,
anorexia almost got life
extinguished, gut wrenching
yank key undergo wing
life and death struggle rattling
the long gone souls
figurative rusted empty cages,
whose legacy aching Diaspora, ages
ago scattered tribes, especially sages
Exodus to Babylonian Captivity,
(c. 12th to 6th centuries BC),
proud unknown forebears rages
against contemporary
Hebrews existential wages
of experienced unfair recent gauges
(recording heinous twentieth century)
opprobrious persecution quashing
valuable vital and voluminous
absent contribution Jews
never written pages
forever hidebound historical legacy
unfairly demonized ever since pre
Biblical epoch anonymous stages.