Long Piazza Poems
Long Piazza Poems. Below are the most popular long Piazza by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Piazza poems by poem length and keyword.
(It was 1860 when the English poet Robert Browning
stumbled upon an interesting artefact as he walked
through the city of Florence. It was a file of documents
from an old Italian criminal trial, and he would turn
this material into his masterpiece, "The Ring and the
Book".)
The Old Square Yellow Book
It was the kind of day they call a "stallion"
in Florence, with white sun, surpassing strong.
And it was noon. (In June, to be precise.)
The Englishman came strolling aimlessly
(or was it?) through Piazza San Lorenzo.
And, just as now, a market crammed the square
and foamed around the statue's marble plinth.
Here, plaster busts, there, flaking picture-frames,
and Garibaldi portraits (way back then,
in eighteen-sixty, they were giving birth:
Italian nationhood was in the air).
The tall "inglese", drawn towards the stall
which offered prints and books, picked something up.
He shouted "shop", and put one lira down.
The book was his. He managed to ignore
the girls, a-squabbling over tasseled shawls,
those burly porters, drenching head and neck
in Giovanni's fountain, braying mules,
cacophony and chaos all around,
to read his book. His blood knew, right away.
At last, he'd found the raw material
from which he'd quarry one great masterpiece.
One foot propped on the railing, near the step
which leads down to the fountain by the church,
he read, engrossed. Then, with a sudden laugh,
he threw it in the air, and caught it, safe.
What was it? Well, a book - but more than that.
It was the record of some long-dead trial,
some murder case of many years before,
with statements, pleadings, longhand notes. In this
authentic tangle lay a human tale
of fierce emotion, rich psychology,
if he could tease it out. So off he set,
re-reading as he walked, feeling his way,
along the narrow Giglio, then the broad
Panzani. Via Tornabuoni next,
so long and straight, down to the river.
He passed the Strozzi Palace, crossed the bridge
they call the Trinita. When he reached home,
the cool Felice, there was not a doubt.
His whole life's labour lay there, in his hands.
I can still recall the look upon His face
Each thought still makes me go to that enchanting place
The vernal air was floral sweet and honey breezed
We roamed along Venice's zigzagged lanes and cobbled streets
On our secret rendezvous,We hugged affectionately under pastel gothic galleries
Greeted by the aromatic smell of freshly brewed roast coffee beans
Strolling along the pigeon-filled piazza San Marco
We wandered hand in hand,in the serenissima ancient floating land
Street musicians played their flutes.as We sat on a roof-top wooden terrace
We glanced at merchants sell hand-blown murano glass
by the picturesque Doge's palace
We ate a snack , then walked away towards the old opera house
which now has risen from its ashes.
We sauntered forward through little alleys
from where He bought me ,a gold painted venetian mask
To my surprise ,He had another gift,a wrapped up scarlet sheer laced basque
I peered at him through my dark lashes,He raised his left brow and flashed a smile
Expressed his charm in playful ways,in a flirtatious endearing style.
Boarded at last on a black gondola,cruised the lagoon and the canals
A few light kisses,a few soft brushes,waiting the bell's toll whilst in his arms
There we lay in waiting beneath the bridge of sighs
We sealed our kiss and promised lips,to the harmonic sound of chimes
He leaned on me,I welcomed Him,our spirits been entwined
Above,the sky has changed its colour,I watched the sun set in his eyes
All I am,I gave to him,my enduring heart- His sacred shrine
All that He is He gave to me in once upon a time
Not for the contest,but thanks for the 'Lovemaking in an ancient place contest,inspiration'.
This post is inspired by Ancient Venice and the tale of 'The Bridge Of Sighs'
The tale goes-If you kiss your loved one with the bell's toll of St,Mark's Basilica,
at sunset,beneath the bridge of sighs,the couple seals their love forever.
There is another tale to it,a sad one,but preferred to share the happy one : )
Prevarication permits pretend perception, presenting
piquantly piqued, pimply pimping playboy, plucky
pulchritudinous previously pusillanimous, prevalently
puckish, psychic packman, pokemon playing proletarian
puppeteer pygmy, peevishly punky, plummy, plumy,
pompously pushy, pampered, prefabricated pinchbeck,
pokily plying plowshear, plodding peregrination, pied
piper pitifully peppy pornographic potato pealing,
parsimonious paradoxical protagonist, proposing
preposterous panicky pacification plots, prioritization
pertinent penultimate peroration, perhaps perceiving
perjuring, perplexing, perverting puzzling pronouncements
projecting pulsating pixelated pulpy pinball pinging
packets prompting pacific, poetic, phlegmatic purplish
psoriasis plagued, plumbum pallor pallid, Paleolithic
protuberance pronounced, psychosomatic prohibitionist,
polarizing perfunctory peculiarly progressive, patriotic
postmodern pathologically proud paternal panache,
peripatetic panaceas portraying prescient perfidious
puerile president, predominantly proposing parochial
principles, plenty public parking, purposefully
promoting pharisee phalanxes, pilates practicing
paragons, perennially peaceably proficient protesters,
profitable polygamy, pugnacious pitbull powerball
players, pandering polyandry, propagating professional
palindrome pensive peeping people, peddling,
proselytizing predicating prostitution, proliferating
phenomenally, populist persona promulgated peyote
phased physicians pioneering prescription promoting
paradisiacal pricey photographic pictures, placating
phrenetic physical perturbation partaking place
purchased (paid paltry pennies) por palatial piazza.
My Dream Vacation
To return once more to Italy where the forgotten places
still remain in harmony, echoing, antiquities graces.
A private car, traveling through Tuscany in the open air,
with the breeze blowing through my hair.
Where sprawling, fertile, grape vines and gnarled olive trees
grace the terraced mountain sides, their fragrance lingers in the breeze.
Ambling on foot, through Cypress groves, on padded paths of moss,
leading to a village square, where time has all been lost.
In the piazza with its’ cobbled stones, pausing, to hear the fountain sing,
Then stepping up to the carousel, to take my chance, to grab the golden ring.
Listen to the peal of church bells, ushering in mid-day,
climbing up the time worn stairs, to the Basilica to pray.
Kneeling at the altar, a Crucifix hangs, glazed in white
surrounded by Arch Angels, below an apse in gilded golden light.
The voices of ancient sages, whisper vows of silence, speak;
in cloistered columned courtyards, nature’s beauty that I seek.
Evening unfolds to a kaleidoscopic dome, filled with stars;
in a café, nestled in the hills, I begin my memoirs.
Date: March 5, 2022
For: My Dream Vacation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: L. Milton Hankins
Placed 3rd in contest
In early April the bus from Lecce
unloads us at the fabled fish market.
The place is shuttered down, not even
the scent of chowders past lingering
in the air. The only hint of June’s
full fare is one slight stall where we
might taste the slimmest feast from the sea.
Our pre-season stroll through the town
finds the walkways of Gallipoli
totally negotiable, no clump
of photographers enthralled
by weathered or whitewashed walls
selects, collects, and edits images
while others still in line are stalled.
From the piazza we look down
upon the moored boats, a fleet
of white and blue at rest, sails furled.
The slips are full, all expectant still.
No one putters with paint or repairs
a necessary cloth in this week
before the moveable feast.
On the beach’s sand and seawrack
where summer’s bodies will soon
arrive, accumulate and over-
lap in ever-increasing heat,
a single person, a young man,
and his dog are the only creatures.
Their toss/fetch game is photographed.
In the Mercato, nothing is
for sale; but its facilities
require no wait, leaving us time
for questing tongues to lick
a taste of the local gellati
on a bench before the patient sea
until the bus beckons us to leave.
THE HOUSE OF LORDS
I am from The House of Lords
where men are great and women are whores.
I am travelling to the home front to inform
my country that war is to come.
Our rivals are jealous of our fortune.
They sent a woman because their attention becomes grave.
I am sharing this with my fellow women for solidarity and support.
I must bring honor to The House of Lords.
Cohesion is the militia.
We all aimed to a common cause.
We know our men are our strength; therefore,
we must morally espousal.
I come to empower.
We will write to enrich and advocate for corroboration.
In that we fight for our self-worth,
Let us henceforward.
We will stand in the piazza.
We will speak in our clearest voice.
We will bring insight through our performance.
This will be an enjoyable time for all.
However, when the time comes, we must declare war.
I came to home front for stratagem.
Our military are strategic women and men.
Insofar, we know when.
The House of Lords is foreshadowing a liberated country for its inhabitants.
Our conflict is with those hostilities because of our affluence.
We are their weakest point.
For that reason, we know that warfare is to come.
|___________________________________________|
Penned December 05, 2014!
What is a square, a shape, container quadraphonics, a traditional rollerskate
What is an atrium, a fireplace, a closet
What is a boxing ring, a gymnasium, blackboard
What are a checkerboard, deck cards, crossword puzzle, jigsaw puzzle, dice
What is a bed/mattress/ boxsprings/sleeping bag
What is a swimming pool, shower/bathroom stall
What is an upright piano/organ
What is a refrigerator, microwave, cellphone, monitor, TV, a room laptop, curio What is a dinette, medicine cabinet, bathtub
What is a book/shelf/sheet/tablecloth/towel/handkerchief
What is a quadruplet, quadrant, quadriceps muscle, cubic, square knot
What is a cushion, table, mirror, milk carton, van
What is a suitcase, cigarette pack/carton, bowling alley
What is a filing cabinet, bureau, grandfather clock, casket
What is a trampoline, stadium, arena
What is a deck, galleria, patio, smoke pit, plaza, terrace, aquarium, cloister
What is a tent, arcade, forum, mall, piazza, right-angled, square feet, acre
What is a parking space, pinball machine
What is a color scheme Cyan, Magenta, Yellow, and Black
What is the smell of chocolate
What is the taste of cocoa
What represents the seasons
ANSWER: The number ....
2020 January 30
What's In A Number Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Juliet Ligon
“The place of cure of the soul.”
Millions, clasped beyond Minerva's hall,
While inquisitive and confident hard.
Headed down towards different thoughts;
To giant collections, questions, borders strange.
There stood content's house of three.
In front, moved in cylindrical copyrights,
In round pegs and liquid language totems.
Then the first, unsettled pages in riddles,
In spirals, springs, learning machines.
To the second, summers and archived plans.
Thriving in the boundary walls.
Near the citizens, subjects, preservers,
Near the propagative inner rims of
Scholars, thinkers and doers,
Past a fire's waging gaze.
The formats walk up the manuscripts,
Cross, some ease and model's
Algorithmic snapping patents.
The quenching value of such!
Models and catalogue's emphasis
Builds the architecture's exceptional core.
The conscious modular maps, and
The abstract granularity of it all.
The rail crawls on these sheets and
illustrated diagrams and documents.
In such, roams bound kilometres in bronze,
and softens the stained glass piazza.
The lengths of the worded path evolve,
On the dotted strings, signs:
Librarians, Poets, Authors,
Publishers and Students, the oath;
“Seek knowledge from the cradle
to the library to the grave.”
June the most beautiful month, delivered the most angelic Angels
I
Poetically
Extend My Warm Congratulations
To every Beautifully Heavenly
delivered Angel who
stepped
feet on
planet
Earth
On
Jumping unto new elevations; June
Boarding a flight to a poem land in the
Poetry
Soup
Jet
Goodnesses
Blessing
Favour
Peace
Love
Joy
Happiness
Amen
Amen
Amen
Bountiful Abound Your Outcomes
May your poetic golden ink never run down
The streams flowing from the inspiration of poetry soup
Be your waterfalls
May your paper never be exhausted
The white clouds to be your blank sheet
Happy ,,........................happy
Poetic celebrated life, more Grace, more strength, more insight, ....Health Packaged in the Blood of Jesus...... In JESUS NAME!!!!
Abundant Beauty Always Your outcomes as you move increasingly the golden stairways
Get your heavenly birthday package
Sent by an Angel
This Golding morning
Expect the piazza befall nightfall
He will wing to your doorsteps
And a chime will be the sign of the knock
On your June footsteps
Happy Birthday June Poetry Soupers
From
I ,
me
&
myself
Gideon
AND PASSING INTO HOLY SOULSFROM AGE TO AGE
SHE PRODUCES FRIENDS OF GOD
PROPHETS
WISDOM 7:27
IF YOU GO TO MILAN in northern Italy
You probably head first to the Duomo
The massive Gothic Cathedral in the center
After you tour it and walk amid the spires on its roof
You might sit on the piazza steps eating gelato with scores of others
Then you might descend to the subway, ready for another adventure
As you hurry through the hallway to catch a train
You’ll pass a locked door with a small window
If you look
You’ll see mounds of dirt and stones
But if you return to the church
You can visit that underground space by going down some steps in the back
Amid the excavations is an octagonal-darkness
Alone
Contemplate the font where St. Ambrose washed
St. Augustine in the living waters of baptism
Then you can return to the bustling
Brightness, centuries later
But still held in the e3mbrace of the same Wisdom they sought
Found
Lord, open my soul to your wisdom and truth
Readings and Gospel
Wisdom 7:22, 8:1 * Psalm 119:89-91, 130, 135, 175
Luke 17:20-25
Form: