Long Pieta Poems
Long Pieta Poems. Below are the most popular long Pieta by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pieta poems by poem length and keyword.
Then, he knew why he must hew
old memories from marble-
emotions quarried from heart's slew-
Oblique fight with his faith's garble
Cut block unfolds Christ, enthroned
on mother's lap- death sleep supine...
Sculptor's concepts cast in stone,
art wrestles with thoughts divine.
And sorrow, stilled in her young face,
speaks truth of words kept in her heart-
mother, son, distilled in saving grace,
sacred words saved in graven art.
A pity, the piety
so few true onlookers saw...
Revealed in society-
few look on In devoted awe.
II
Now she knows why she must express
emotions whittled away, and smoothed
from quarried heart's deep distress-
The process leaves her soothed...
Such feelings are not cast in stone-
Warmly carved in reflective marble, maybe,
as he wrestled with tempestuous thoughts
burning, guiding hands that draped
unmoving drapes over motionless shapes,
shaping faith that cannot be bought.
And the tenderness on her gentle face
belies the hurt of curse's sword driven
straight through her mother heart...all trace
of ancient prophecy hidden.
Till truth, preserved, be told.
Had he not told them many times
he would return, come back to life?
And that word was kept, unfailing.
And the stone was moved, revealing...
Posted: 22nd April 2019.
Note: I am totally in awe of the stupendous sculptures produced over the centuries.
Miraculous as they are, I believe in greater miracles, the resurrection of Christ being just that.
I am also a mother of two grown up sons.
My little miracles...<3 <3
Luke 2:25-35. Luke 24:1-8
Gathered, to mourn in one deathless hour
Fragile, a test to faith's consummate power
Grief, which is stone cast, among five stricken faces
Softened by reverence, and mute, anguished traces
Weightless in her arms, but heavy for the eyes
Devotion anchors deep, painting tears that will not dry
Each pulse that pounds, each gasp one takes,
will rise, then, with awe, as the brush strokes create......
Lost, the desperate world, which honed new beginnings
Shattered, by the cost, as their world had stop spinning
The few souls, who cradle, unable to speak
would renew from a tomb, He would defy and retreat
For those who altered history, Sofonisba paints with eye and ear
Will they stutter, will they falter, or still deny that He appeared?
______________________________________
Submitted for Cyndi's Contest: A Painting....Sofonisba Anguissola, Pieta
Walking in Milano
On a guided city tour,
I wasn't really certain
What delights would be in store:
A castle (or castello)
Which displayed, as quite a perk,
An unusual Pieta,
Michelangelo's last work.
A massive carved cathedral
And a mall with fancy shops
Filled with Prada and Armani
(Not my normal browsing stops)
And a modern art museum
With some wonderful displays,
Such a pleasure to encounter -
Worthy of a tourist's praise.
But let's not forget the topic
That's inspired this day's rhyme -
Yes, of course I had gelato
With 3 flavors at this time.
Hazelnut ('cause that's a given)
And pistachio to boot
With red raspberry I added
Just to try a little fruit.
When I think of this vacation
I will fondly look on back
With gelato as my guidepost,
Keeping memories on track.
It was the time when art was king,
Of artists whose praises we all sing.
Great minds there were in the Renaissance,
Through eons , unsurpassed, with little advance.
Greatness was embodied in the works of art,
In Lorenzo's gardens did Michelangelo start.
But great there was one of Mona Lisa fame,
Master painter, inventor - Leonardo his name.
Contemporaries for sure, one really wonders
Of the two, whose work steals the thunders.
David, the Pieta, Sistine Chapel, and more
Everlasting they are through ages sure.
But then there's the Lisa, Last Supper, inventions galore.
On their ingenuity and genius, the world lays great store.
Can genius be bestowed in multiple men?
Can peace and tranquility be shared even then?
Can two kings sit and reign on one throne?
Or squabble and fight like two dogs with one bone?
And so, these men of unparallel fame
Were set by chance a mischievous game.
Asked they were to adorn the Council Hall
With paintings to settle rankings once and for all.
With gusto did the two set about
A Battle each to prove their clout.
Leonardo chose the battle of Anghiari;
Battle of Cascina was Michelangelo's quarry.
Great was the strife between the two,
Each strove hard for the other to outdo.
Of the rivalry ,I heard, - the worst of all,
Art was the victim - and the two took a fall.
Relates the great chronicler Vasari,Giorgio,
That the nadir of art was seen in the Palazzo Vecchio
As each of the greats thought little of their craft
But dallied and diddled, till the populace all laughed.
The Cascina on naked bathing soldiers was based
On the banks of the Arno it was placed.
But the scene that was rendered was so ludicrous
That his work, sadly, bordered on the ridiculous.
Leonardo's Anghiari was a shade grim
But his chances to greatness was very slim.
He used oils from Pliny the Elder's recipe
But soon these flaked , were smudgy, and drippy.
Be that as it may
To Art's great dismay
What should have been great works
Were diminished by Rivalry's quirks.
Vasari painted over these objets de art
And replaced these with his own from the start.
Now conservators do scan, to see if they can,
Which of the two, Leonardo or Michelangelo, was
The painter of the elusive Magnum Opus.
~18 Jun 2016~
My Uncles’ Hands Were Strong…
My uncles’ hands were strong:
fathering children they never had.
My uncles’ hands were strong;
yet gentle like the chiseled hands
of Michelangelo’s Pieta:
strong saintly shooting hands
that touched tender souls with gentleness
only undying love could give.
On their bent backs
rose a Siamese nation
of oppressors and the oppressed:
a Janus nation whose face reflected
mockery of its supposed democracy.
My uncles’ hands were strong;
strong like steel hammers and anvils:
strong fisted hands breaking chattel chains.
Yes, my uncles’ hands were strong:
and the strong men just keep coming on…!
Fragments of ancient stone, woman, sad and desperate.
She rests on a tomb of death, of longing and loss.
Her insufferable grief is an open wound of secrets.
In “Christina’s World,” she forlornly crawls across.
Dylan knows her as the “Sad-eyed Lady of the Lowland.”
In “Automat,” Edward Hopper portrays her all alone.
She drifted astray and lost herself in “The Waste Land.”
Oizys conveyed misery and sorrow; a goddess well known.
Fragments of ancient stone, symbol of human death.
Our Lady Madonna weeps, tormented, anguished, in pain.
She agonizes with the sick, expelling their last breath.
She mourns our lost humanity when war has left its stain.
Freda Kahlo painted herself as a deer pierced by arrows.
William Blake’s “Mary” bore the face of broken despair.
The Romans named her Miseria, goddess of deep sorrows.
“Lady, Weeping at the Crossroads,” Auden wrote her with care.
Fragments of ancient stone, emblems of shattered dreams.
In “Lady Sings the Blues,” she was crooned by Billie Holiday.
In “Sad Clown Girl,” Chris Motta’s painting is no meme.
In “Dead Love,” Sara Teasdale bereaved her love’s decay.
“All is Loneliness,” where Joplin screamed and cried.
All is shadows, anguish, and tears when Anias appeared.
Egypt called her Nephthys; death and mourning were her ties.
“The Pieta” has portrayed her sixth sorrow for hundreds of years.
Angel of agony summoned from our collective unconscious.
Jung told us that dreams reveal more than they hide.
Her mythical manifestations are glorious and harmonious.
Her artistic expressions grant us our weakness untied.
If there was one place I’d love to go see,
would be the home of the Colosseum-
Right deep in the heart of Rome, Italy,
with the charming Vatican Museum.
The beauty of downtown St. Peter’s Square,
is where Michelangelo’s Pieta dwells-
Where lovers linger with dramatic flair,
and in the starlit night they bid farewell.
The Sistine Chapel reveals splendid grace,
encompassing you in beauty and light-
The skilled artisan spirit I embrace,
floating on a gondola in the moonlit night.
Rome, Italy is my dream destination,
discovering the beauty of God’s creation.
March 13, 2017
it does not matter what your discourse
lost in the marble folds of la pieta
mother holding her son
rises above mere human differences
the sorrow of a mother holding tragedy
mauled as a common animal
the fruit of her womb
it began in the encounter, his road to calvary
her vigil as he passed
watching her son forced to abandon life
the outstretched arms, hands bleeding
the wound in his side, feet anchored with nail
Simeon's sword has come to pass
no matter the discourse herein, a mother's sorrow
she is not alone, a plethora of mothers
know too well this aching heart
as the smoke clears and cannons rest in silence
across the bodies now motionless
we hear a desperate plea
mother, mother, no cry dearer
9/15/26
Michelangelo covered with the hood
Weeping tears as holding Christ, he stood
At the head of the man, who is the Lamb
That became the perfect sacrifice, the great I Am
Putting himself in Joseph of Arimathea's place
Helping Mary Magdalene and Mary Jesus' mother face
The tragedy, that they felt ended Jesus' race
His chance to be the Savior, sent to grace
The world with salvation and kingdom of love;
How each stroke of the hammer guided from above
Perfection of this work you desired for the Dove
When an error occured, you were not proud of
Gave this unfinished work away (to Antonio)
Who for a profit did sell the work for pay
Reconstruction by Tiberio Calcagni paved the way
For the look of the Florence Pieta' today
(The information that I got about this work said that Michelangelo used himself as a model
for the hooded figure. I could just see Michelangelo feeling the agony of the person when he
put himself in their place.)
Love and Grief
_____________
The love of mother and son depicted in a marble statue,
the Pieta, said to be the most beautiful in Rome to this day;
no corpse could be more life-like- no mother more sad,
it resides in St. Peter's Chapel- behind glass.
So elegantly beautiful,
the face of Mary unfathomable and tender;
the veins and bones of Christ,
wonderfully worked.
Divine the feelings- I feel . . .
The virgin draped in a huge cloak;
with the dead Christ on her lap- his body limp,
her right hand supports his upper body, gaze lowered,
his right arm, hand and foot dangling . . .
Nearly naked, Christ lies in the folds of her cloak;
lovingly she holds him in death,
her face etched with compassion.
Grief so beautifully carved,
amazing the artist;
his name carved in the fastener of her cloak,
Michelangelo Buonarroti . . .
____________________
May 6, 2017
Verse/Art- Michelangelo
Copyright Protected, ID 898394
Written for the contest, Celebration of Art
sponsor, Kim Rodriques
First Place