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.
Giant poet gem, Tagore’s story-poem: NISKRITI,
Is a piazza perched paved and perfectly paced beauty;
Scale model of a castle of vast poetic kingdom,
That has spread into an empire of Indian wisdom!
Manjulika is a dew-drop in the mighty ocean,
Of the land of Bay of Bengal where feminine gender;
Fulfills wants of men as mother, wife, daughter and labors,
Less fulfilled of subtle cravings, in her heart she harbors!
Nucleus firm; Malabika has solemnly sung it,
Narration, like roots, stems, leafs, flowers, fruits of plants well-knit!
Images complex extract emotions, expose like day light,
Questions of destiny hang, like stars in dense dark sky, bright!
Figures of speech, like hand-picked coffee-seeds, well chosen,
And like gems and pearls in an ornament, fairly woven;
With stones of words and verses flat, oval, blunt, round, pear, square,
The edifice erected here is stern, solemn and somber!
05 December 2021
Inspired By A Translation Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Malabika Ray Choudhury
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
They wait perfumed in fresh clothes,
The kids, at the top of the stairs;
We’ll be back by evening Auntie, says the mother,
C’mon or we’ll miss the corriera.
They troop off down the stairs,
Cross a courtyard into the whining of
A carpenters lathe,
And crunching of gravel,
Past Mr.B’s house, with his collection of
Rare coins;
Exit a dank passage and enter a warm
Ochre world.
They greet C in his grocery, which
Smells of cinnamon and washing powder;
Pass the old mill, where legend said
Ghosts roam at night,
Finally reaching the bubbling piazza.
The corriera announces its arrival,
The kids don’t care, they’ve got their Spiderman
Comics to think about.
By sundown they were back, weary,
Sleeping on each others shoulder,
Pity it was all over;
And the kids dream of Spiderman.
(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.
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:
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 setting sun urged holiday makers
To roam around the Venice canals.
A thousand and one lamps helped
The gondoliers to find their way
As he sang a lovely love song
And pleased the lovers as they sat
On comfy cushions on the boat
Occasionally stealing a kind kiss.
Stare at the twinkling beautiful stars
Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes,
List and learn, ye dainty roses
We're called the gondoliers
And this is our song of love.
Venice knew what love meant,
Even when they traverse the bridge of sighs.
They wondered how many crossed
To their doom. But that was ages ago.
Now the bridge was decorated with lamps.
Oh, what a beautiful sight it was.
Solitary gulls lead all to Piazza San Marco.
The lovers looked in awe at the tourists.
They paid the gondolier handsomely
And descended on to the vast square.
They found a table and ordered
An espresso and a tasty pizza.
It was expensive but worth it.
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 : )
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.
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