Long Museum Poems
Long Museum Poems. Below are the most popular long Museum by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Museum poems by poem length and keyword.
I looked everywhere to find some woods
I asked a friend to show me if he could
There once was a time there were trees all around
Although we kept looking there were none to be found
I've seen pictures of forests that used to cover the earth
Sadly they all vanished long before the day of my birth
Way back in the past I'm told the world was pristine
Trees, forests and animals, lakes that would gleam
They just watched, the warnings they didn't heed
The planet decimated, people just watched it bleed
So off to a museum called the valley of the trees
Artificial replicas, real ones destroyed by our disease
I'm forced to travel to the woods in my mind
Although I've searched long and hard, only pretend can I find
Upon my museum walls, pastiche you are,
Pseudo piece of art dredging old memories;
Where I hang now, a fine authentic painting—
Love of my sweet dreams.
You claim I once bloomed your ardent reveries
Yet, I recall your dreamworld quite illusive
When you pulsed my heart in your glory within
Phantasm of deceit.
There I was with you in your place of conceit
Where you waltzed in my life sparkling like gemstone
But soon you were unmasked as spurious clone--
An unwanted stone.
Don't come now, pretending it was real love,
When you still are, frowning face of frippery;
You've no place in temple of divine worship
Where my goddess lives.
June 22, 2020
Pick-A-Title, Vol 19 - 4 Sapphic Stanzas – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Simulacrum
Each stanza: 11,11,11,5 (howmanysyllables.com)
Living close by the Coryndon Museum
(Nairobi National Museum, ca. 1960)
on Forest Road, Museum Hill,
(where The Queen Mother, she once waved to me)
entrance for kids was free
how well I remember it still.
There I met Mary Leakey
and where Louis Leakey
(unpaid curator)
requested reptiles of me as a lark
and they were soon to be
(ca. 1961)
denizens of the Nairobi Snake Park.
I stalked colourful chameleons,
several species even walked our washing line,
but that's not all
I collected and contributed anything and everything
that hopped, skipped, jumped or crawled.
I’ve understood
This annoying lover lockdown won't let me leave free anymore
No, I don't know anything divine; no oracle I have
But I have to say goodbye to the lover of a joke called lockdown
From tomorrow I will go out in love
with my familiar city lanes, roads, ports, junction areas
I’ve learned from this quarantine life
The more love for lockdown in this world, the more infections and deaths
I don't want to learn this type love of life sitting at home anymore
Fifty days of quarantine has taught me ridiculous information
Maybe according to hypocritical international imperialist god revelation
BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera and local ATN Bangla News forecast absurdity about nCov-19
Everyone is serving the news
Got it, the presence of nCov-19 is more in the lover lockdown area
to increase farcical number of infections and deaths
No, not I am anymore in this closed room
Tomorrow I will say goodbye to this useless courier of death
For many days I did not open my mind’s wings to see the surroundings of my city
Gram, Singara, Peyaju, Samusha of Baddar Jhal Bitan have not been eaten for a long time
have not been eaten for a long time the Bangle banana with bread and parched rice standing in Khuilla's Cooling Corner
Didn't drink the milk creamy tear of Alamgir under the banyan tree in front of Agrabad Ethnic Museum for a long time
Shoes have not been polished in Shimul cobbler shop for a long time
Smoking cigarettes have not been paid taka for a long time to Kuduissa, Shallo, Tinku, Raima, Zarina and other unnamed children born on the streets of Agrabad Badamtali
(I certainly can tell this amusing virus couldn’t infect and kill any of them)
did not talk about cloth business with Osman and Munni Apu in Chawkbazar Golzar Tower for a long time
There was no amorous and playful discussion with friend Adv. Habib and Adv. with Johnny for a long time
I hope I will do all these habitually from tomorrow
I know, although I won’t go from Muradpur to Agrabad hanging like monkey by the 10th no. bus
Yet, from tomorrow I shall say goodbye to this wacky lover lockdown
14.05.2020 (Chattogram City)
Sad the heart
sick the mind
from world
of commotion
retiring
its past reliving
motionless drifting
to skeletons
of mind museum
odorless images
soundless captions
spirit of senses
still pricking
its heart
joy seeking
switching from
dreaming
to present of gadgets
unhealing
blowing away walls
breathing out
relics
dropping its shoes
of backward
living
raising its heels
that present
kept hidden
running barefoot
to the forest
for healing
where weeds
grow seeds
untouched by mower
flowers
pure fragrance
perspiring
petals unfold
true colors
unseen
like love
that's pure
because hidden
brooks flow gently
accompanying songs
of birds like treasure
in green hidden
each moment
the forest
renews itself
perpetuating life
by giving
with rains
and sun milk
its body
God feeding
its spirit by seeding
continuing
dependence
with patience
togetherness
teaching
God's
unifying love
revealing.
First Place Winner as "Memory Museum" Brian Strand- All Yours- 6/5/21
Some Loves are Made of this and No-thing More
David J Walker
It was never meant to
Last even one day longer
Some loves are made of this and
No-thing more
And I knew it would become
my museum
when I entered the door
and returned to pretend
again and again
it could have been my prison
if I let
it could be the cell that
I pace and fret
it could have been
a paroled portion
of my life in debt
to another
some-days love becomes
a sacrifice
some-times a monument
to dispensation
clemency amnesty
forbearance remission
vindication
Some loves are made of this and
No-thing more
A little porcupine in the midst of hungry pythons;
her quills are a danger to each attempted swallow;
trouble grows tall from the moment she existed;
And once upon a time, in six days a gang is conquered by her might.
She’s characterized by waters so low,
from the dead one to the Sea of Galilee.
She’s an open museum for religious sight seeing
with official mother tongues coming from her own conflicting world.
Her stamp against size zero maidens stood as the first;
she’s the main and king’s banquet hall
for same sex feasts in the entire middle east;
a trail blazer in the voice mail technology
and a breeding town for chess grand masters;
all sums up to the glorious inscription of her crown.
Even with her wonderful friendship with friends quite far
she’s still most hated by those very close.
The Wandering of a Dead Man
I move slowly, like a lost soul, a walking dead,
My vision, foreign, no longer belongs to me,
It is merely that of a human animal, an unwitting heir
Of Greek culture, Roman order, Christian morality,
And all the illusions that weave the civilization in which I live and feel.
Like a dreamer in a sea of shadows, my mind wanders,
Each step an echo of ancient temples, each thought
A reflection of the extinguished lights of the past.
In the flow of my consciousness, waves of faded memories
Crash against unknown shores, carrying me
Through labyrinths of marble and silences.
My soul was sculpted in the cold marble of Hellenic thoughts,
But Roman order raised walls around my heart,
In rigid laws and stone structures, chaining my freedom.
Christian morality painted contours of black and white,
Splitting good from evil in a world without nuances,
Where the light of day swallows subtleties.
My heart, an ancient relic, pulses slowly,
A museum of dust-covered ideas, of illusions lived and felt,
An empty temple where the echoes of lost beliefs
Mix with the whispers of melancholy.
Advancing slowly, like a wandering dead man,
Through a world of shadows and ruins, a stranger
In a civilization that lives its agony before my eyes.
In this dance of shadows and lights, my vision fades,
Leaving behind an immense void, a memory of a world that was
And of illusions dissolved in the eternity of oblivion.
I am a traveler in a universe of unrealized dreams,
An echo of a falling star, lost in the void,
A wandering soul, without aim or destination,
Just an ephemeral dream in a fleeting world,
Where illusions dance on the stage of our transience,
In a dance of shadows and lights, in the infinity of melancholy.
Poetry
Neither hobby
nor pastime
its grip ever
grows
Its hold on my
heart
through the drought
and the snow
Each word
that it sends me
each phrase
to impound
And blessing
the silence
my Savior
— resounds
(1st Book of Prayers: August, 2025)
Divine Wind
Shinto
or Buddhist
the Samurai
served
Their honor
and legiance
in blood
was preserved
The sword
as their mantle
and spiritual
Lord
Death
was their preference
dishonor
— abhorred
(Shinjuku Museum: October, 2003)
Betwixt & Between
Better or worse
those two oxymorons
Lying in wait
entrapping the weak
Lo and Behold
they claim self-importance
Lo and Behold
thoughts watered and meek
Polar extremes
they float barely conscious
To lure you between them
and hold you quite mad
Bye after Bye
they muddle your choices
Bye after Bye
— good orphaned with bad
(Dreamsleep: August, 2025)
Global and genuine
Personality wise kind
Words and sentences their introduction and identification
Exploration throughout
Through the journey of their minds into reader’s hearts
Where the adventure starts
Destination bound from origin
Every Poet with their individual detail
Showcasing like a Museum
Their portal of wit and style
Emotions unleashed
What all minds crave
Testimony
Before into the after
Sentences lead and words follow
Up the alpha scale
Without fail
Pausing only for a moment
Days into hours
Seconds into minutes
Poets arrived
Determined to stay
Destiny all the way
Calm and assured
Poet’s words to never go astray
Reader’s always welcome