Long Repository Poems
Long Repository Poems. Below are the most popular long Repository by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Repository poems by poem length and keyword.
Tell all the worlds about the treasures found
Renaissance trace spellbound in the ancient form,
Tender and haunting; an era of time curves around
Past the present to a future beset with tech charm.
Historical pages cling romantically to our eyes,
Each epoch defines a sparkling gem of surprise,
Their fluttered rebirth is like stars changing sizes
Release by time flown from the damp demise.
That dip their limbs to bow unto gloss modernity
Like the artist and sculpture, they paint a world.
Of aesthetic peculiarities and lofty discovery,
Longing to find a place soaring free in the soul.
A vault of citadels says much; then said no more
Deep within, ancient wonders rise from the ashes
Talented beauty weaves from centuries we adore,
The time and place asleep in a waste wilderness.
The plague of colors survives in medieval triumph,
England, a literary monument of architect literature.
Finds the noble heart to express cherished breath
Creating the etiquette claimed by French culture.
Such dept alone could not be paid by metamorphism
Humanism fading in a mist has its place in society,
Heightened with extreme lust and erotic mannerism,
Italy removes the conscious veil from bizarre reality.
Ceiling significant through music strings serenade,
Renaissance dazed; allusion lay dreaming half awake
The inquisition of fate went on pilgrimage made,
German sentence commute through the classical gate.
The Netherlands explore and navigate all the distances
Byzantine adherence goes beyond impregnable walls,
depict faces of the Tsars persist in the military hypothesis,
And labyrinths take refuge in Russian banqueting halls.
The richest measured proportion of distilled beverage,
Vodka values more than all the dull limited senses,
Spanish religion repository of the myths and rage
Set the path where new western experience commences.
Portugal selfie, the pinnacle piece that thirsts for commerce
Lisbon flourished paints and medicines with Flemish.
Poland concept and conflict gain border land dominance,
Spice trade rises high and makes indiscreet allusion flourish.
We travel far beyond renaissance to the greatest monument,
When the transition of culture from the middle age evolved
Mesmerized art is a rediscovery of an enduring cultural movement,
The monarch of the Roman Empire renaissance man inspired.
T
A
TAJ J TAJ
MAHAL MAHAL MAHAL
[W] MAUSOLEUM IN [U]
[O] A MARBLE SPLENDOUR [N]
[N] AN EPIC IN STONE,A MARVEL [E]
[D] FOR HIS BELOVED MUMTAZ MAHAL [S]
[E] T HIS FAVOURITE AND MOST CHERISHED T [C]
[R] A QUEEN, BUILT HE,THIS NOBLE MOGHUL A [O]
J EMPEROR , A MAGNIFICENT MEMORIAL J
[O] MAHAL IN HER FOND MEMORY AFTER SHE LEFT MAHAL [H]
[F] ******* HIM SUNK IN UTTER GRIEF,WHEN SHE ******* [E]
BREATHED HER LAST, GIVING BIRTH TO THEIR FOURTEENTH CHILD [R
[T] IMMENSE WAS HIS LOVE TO IMMORTALIZE, HIS VOW [I]
[H] BEREAVEMENT'S PAIN EXUDED AS LOVE IN STONES OF MONUMENT [T]
[E] IVORY WHITE MARBLES LAPUS LAZULI,TURQUIOSES [A]
PIETRA DURA, ARTISTIC ,BEAUTY PERSONIFIED SANS ANY WONDER [G]
[W] THIS TOKEN OF DEEP LOVE FOR DARLING WIFE [E]
[O] STANDS SYMBOL OF ETERNAL LOVE TODAY RIFE
[R] ADORABLE,MAJESTIC REPOSITORY SO ROMANTIC [S]
[L] THE KING AND QUEEN LEFT BEHIND LOVE LEGACY [I]
[D] HISTORY WILL HUM THIS LOVE STORY FOREVER [T]
[E]
ON MOONLIT NIGHTS ON BOSOM OF YAMUNA RIVER,FROM PLINTH TO DOME MARBLE SHINES LIKE SILVER. IN EVERLASTING SLUMBER LAY IN TOMB THE
QUEEN WITH HER KING BESIDE, THEIR STORY IN LOVER'S HEARTS RESIDE.
LONG LIVE ETERNAL LOVE OF KING SHAH JAHAN, LONG LIVE THE TAJ !!!!!!
28th December 2016
~ For Concrete Crush Contest~
Glossary:
Pietra Dura: Inlay technique of using cut and fitted, highly polished colored stones to create images.
In the library - for contest
Books are the ever- burning lamps
Of knowledge and wisdom....
It 's a well-established truth and I
also nod in full agreement...
But let me say this, I am not a nerd
And I am not a book-worm....
Nor do I have a flair for reading much
and all my friends know this too well....
But in these few days what surprised
them was my frequent library visits
My tryst with our town library..
was on a rising note day- by -day
My friends got curious and dubious!
Free-times or weekends my schedule
had changed,
My footsteps take me to the library road ....
All roads for me led to library not Rome!
Friends were not on my agenda as before...
Intolerable, all in a group they did approach
Asked me the reason for my library craze...
I shrugged, I smiled,I winked,
I blushed but didn't disclose....
My visits to library stay continued...
One fine morning greatly dressed I,
left my home as my perfume lingered
My destination, I need not say now
I know you readers have guessed it right!
My steps moved in well-paced rhythm
Hilarious spirits , morning pleasant!
Sun smiled at me and flowers wished!
Into the library i did step in...
And as his glimpse my sight caught
I blushed, I waved, smile creeping in
Bright face, so elegant , so handsome
Waved back and sent me a flying kiss
A research scholar and my new love!
Day in and day out he enjoys with books...
"The origin of species" by Charles Darwin
Rene Descartes and his philosophy of,
Cogito ergo sum !
My experiments with truth by Mahatma Gandhi!
Hereditary principles by Gregor Mendel..
Sociological thoughts of Max Weber
These are a few that I recollect..
Oh my dear soup friends...now that you all know
Please maintain silence.... is the board I'll point at!
My other friends are still curious....
I leave it to them to find on their own!!
My love has filled in me a new passion
my reading habit is slowly improving!
I sat with him last week with Pygmalion
Classic of versatile George Bernard Shaw
How hours passed like minutes, I never know!
I Worship library now as a repository
of knowledge of varied genre!
In reading and applying what we read
lies our real wisdom!
for contest: In the library
sponsorer-Isaiah Zerbst
by: Anulaxmi Nayak
on:13th August 2015
Fiendish and gruesome phantasmagoric
denizens reigned horns of a dilemma blitzen deer
dwelt deep inside subterranean vault perform an evil dance
haunt psychic landscape with imaginary (yet realistic) vixen
gargoyle visitations that cast macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders cavort and gallivant
disturb donnor party quiescent sleep
with devilish and sinister prance.
Apparitions crept stealthily into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository whence illusory landscape of dreams
take place to rejuvenate exhausted
body, mind and spirit triage
rent asunder blissful sleep with startled fright
cold sweat drenched nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms wrought an awful ghoulish sight.
Mushroom cloud anniversary triggered
frenzied gargantuan hallucination
seventy two plus years ago today inauguration
into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
maintain self-preservation in surreal atomic weapons race
impossible to escape the dark threat
heir hilly looms and threatens life on Earth
one launched missile spells extermination
across entire global space.
No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
and guaranteed demise to all life
*****Sapiens violent history of bias,
intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare and chronic species strife
unaffordable legacy for future (and perhaps alien) archeologists
who will sift thru civilization debris with delicate knife.
Artifacts buried in a heap
of pulverized and radioactive ash
civilization monuments and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction
for beings become excessively brash.
inside me cranium
toady, an amphibious December 19th
twenty twenty one sinisterly drum
intonating forty five orbitz one bum
graduated as hard school of knocks alum.
Fiendish and gruesome phantasmagoric denizens
dwell deep inside subterranean vault
perform an evil dance
haunt psychic landscape
with imaginary (yet realistic)
gargoyle visitations cast macabre trance
nocturnal unconscious invaders
cavort and gallivant
disturb quiescent sleep
with devilish and sinister prance.
Apparitions crept stealthily
into peaceful slumber receptacle
repository whence illusory
landscape of dreams
take place to rejuvenate
exhausted body, mind and spirit triage
rent asunder blissful sleep with
a startled fright
cold sweat drenched
nighttime garments and bedding
teeth chattered uncontrollably
heart pounded loudly inside chest
nightmarish phantoms wrought
an awful ghoulish sight.
Mushroom cloud anniversary triggered
frenzied gargantuan hallucination
seventy six plus years ago today inauguration
into atomic age took place
one country after another sought
to acquire demonic and destruction devices
maintain self-preservation in
surreal atomic weapons race
impossible to escape the dark threat
looms and threatens life on Earth
one launched missile spells extermination
9.
across entire global space.
No escape from humankind military machines
munitions march mean madness
and guaranteed demise to all life
*****Sapiens violent history of bias,
intolerance and/or prejudice
characterizes vicious warfare
and chronic species strife
unaffordable legacy for future
(and perhaps alien) archeologists,
who will sift thru civilization debris
with delicate knife.
Artifacts buried in a heap
of pulverized and radioactive ash
civilization monuments
and hedonistic symbols
gone in a blinding brilliant flash
irksome flotsam and jetsam
spewed into outer space
alien nations light years distant
collect miniscule bits and pieces
offer object lesson as extinction for beings
that become excessively brash.
The eraser belonged to me; it was saved by my mother and returned along with many other
childhood items when I became middle aged. I was curious as to why she would save a
stubby old eraser from the primary grades, so she reminded me of its’ one and only use. My
faded memory of that time suddenly became crystal clear, as my mother recounted for me a
watershed episode from my formative years.
I had, as they say these days “acted out in school once again,” this time by writing
unspeakable words in a textbook. Without any hesitation or forethought, I chose as my
repository the teachers’ edition of our English composition book. Quite frankly, at the time, I
thought they were literary gems worthy of publication. That’s why I knowingly inscribed them
there for all to see. Upon further review by more knowledgeable minds, it was determined
corrective guidance and a phone call home was in order.
I was to spend several hours after school that day sweating in contemplative silence as I
erased the teachers’ edition and many other similarly defaced books. It was during this time
of reflection that I ground that eraser down to the stub as it remains today. The last visible
vestiges of my bad expositions disappeared forever that hot afternoon, along with more than
half of the eraser.
Mother then reminded me of what she overheard the Superintendent tell me, as she sat
mortally ashamed and waiting for hours in the hallway outside that sweltering classroom. I
can still visualize her ample adult size, trying in vain to get comfortable, in a sticky one
armed desk made for a 5th grader.
“ John, I want you to try and remember this:
WHAT YOU SAY to others might last with them until THEY DIE.
But regretful WORDS YOU WRITE, the residue of which, will last long after YOU DIE.
So you keep what’s left of this eraser and I hope you never need to use it again.”
*For the "Rub it out" contest, i still have the eraser.
Hostages kidnapped: casualties of war
After extorting pound of flesh
lifetime humiliation drummed into captives
hammering indelible nightmare
no amount of therapy can expunge.
Lifetime trauma inflicted perpetrators wage
dead bodies littered makeshift triage
death and destruction
exhibit super fresh killing fields,
where sally forth set pathmark
to abominable gut wrenching
ghastly hollow hellscape.
Haunting horrid macabre scenes assault,
batter, clobber, et cetera the senses
death construed as mutual
(of Omaha) collateral damage
fallout populated by zone of dead bodies
littering apocalyptic landscape
rendering spooky morbidly fascinating,
especially from safe vantage point
bajillion miles away
whereby yours truly
hunched over his Macbook Pro laptop
glanced the headlines without further delay
aid convoys moving into Gaza Strip
a tepid hip hip hooray
impossible mission for
overactive imagination of artist
or writer to capture bedlam and melee,
scaring up heavenly sight
for grim reaper soirée
repository for skull and crossbones
as arid (extra dry) winds hasten desiccation
whistling repartee (even from afar)
faintly resembling mourning of Zalay.
Countless hungry ill clad masses beg
the question regarding
purposefulness of mortal kombat
screaming in agony against cutthroat
belligerents who gleefully gloat
laying waste besieging
ship of state and emergency lifeboat
senselessly bombing spelling
likelihood for peace on earth remote
silencing the lambs and yellowthroat!
Methinks spouting protestation
against loosed strife,
courtesy demoniac *****sapiens
where talking heads strategize foo fighters
pointless exhalation of breath
sabotaging, shortchanging, siccing,
squashing, subjecting, et cetera
innocent bystanders ultimately hastening them/
they to untimely and unfair nasty,
shortish and brutal death
linkedin to personal choice of deity
and attendant religious shibboleth.
I, cold ... cold as stone ...
But is that not befitting such as I?
Once, merely common, hidden deep in the earth,
Still, my quality made itself known ... my porcelain perfection
Shone in the sun, and I was freed from Terra's grasp ...
Across a great sea I was rocked, carried in care
To finally, joyfully, go under The Master's hand.
I slowly, agonizingly, emerged from the cloud-white slab, pure ...
Brought forth into all glory and consummation!
Stone saw, chisel, rasp, cloth, and paper ... I stretched my limbs, reached my
Fingers and toes to the ether ... arched my back in a repose of death,
Laid upon an altar of mocked coral, draped only in my net -
The Pearl Diver's repository of all things glistening and wondrous!
Oh, what exquisite orbs, those that grace the net's seam!
White, pink, and black opaline gems - iridescent ocean treasures!
Miraculous drops of milky, nacreous moonlight, hidden in Neptune's gullet,
Awaiting their emancipation ... finally freed at the edge of the diver's blade!
But that, for me, is yet a dream ... I am but stone, after all ...
Be content, instead, to gaze upon my keen beauty,
I, the polished progeny of a sculptor's acumen,
I, the refined, glorious bloom of stone,
I, the ivory issue of marble elegance,
I, the bairn of a master ...
The Dead Pearl Diver.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the " ... And Now For Something Completely Different" Poetry Contest, John Lawless, Judge & Sponsor.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Brian's Choice Q, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
( This is about the sculpture "The Dead Pearl Diver" by Benjamin Paul Akers 1858, currently on display at The Portland Museum of Fine Art in Portland, ME ... this was a personal favorite of Nathaniel Hawthorne, and he wrote about it more than once. This is an incredible sculpture, especially in person )
Thank you, for excavating from dead tongue
Under midden of lies
The archive of our own history
The outlines of identity
So we under obscurity white sheet
Could find resurrection of self
In another voice oppressed
But unconceding of its comeliness.
Before I grew old I was only school
Afraid to be nobody unless I conformed
To class, and status and creed.
I could not see then how I consented
To condone the designation of a weed.
Before I was old
I did not even know weeds were revolutionaries
Resisting the pharmacopia of gods
And heal me in the old ways again.
Let this vernacular, this dialect
From in between the interspaces of existence
Reworking the problem of my preservation,
Let it flowers like weed
Gushing from unexpected places after rain.
Thanking you for understanding how to spade
With it the introspection of itself
Match with veins, leaves and flowers
The pattern of remain alive.
The tongue is archive of the soul, and language
The repository of all the culture holds.
Sure, folk songs are sweets, but our stories are more
Than words. Babel has no meaning
If it confused only words to flock in nearer trees.
Something deeper there was lost
Perhaps the lens by which we tell who we are
The frightening part of God,
The vision that must be consumed in hell
The staircase that if we trod
Would tear the scream of worlds from us
Making a new dilemma out of dust.
I sing not for Babel heights but the rights
To flock the founding tree of truth.
Thank you, for permitting me to speak again
To taste the lilt and roll of visceral sounds
Wearing glottis masks and labial screens
Spreading the germ of belief
And the sanctity of self in an ubiquitous air.
Folk people, balmyard man, healer
Kuminah giver, obeah veteran
Abeng blower, anancy teller, long spoon cook
Your anthropology will be the first page
Of my exumed biography, my life given back
Like raft to me. I am going to dig the moon.
If, like me, you’ve been retired
for some time now, and your mailbox,
like mine, has become the repository
of all sorts of health advertisements –
vitamins, medicines, ointments, organic foods –
all of course urgent offers, even
discount checks, as incentives to purchases
all guaranteed (or your money back if still alive)
to slow down the aging process and renew
your vigor and if you’re male awaken
and enhance your sexual prowess
to what it used to be – if you can still
remember that far back – to when you
were on the summit of the “bloom of youth”
or as close to a Hell you didn’t believe in.
In my case, and for several years now,
I’ve been receiving almost monthly offers
for various hearing aids, accompanied
with generous checks as downpayment, besides.
A particular brand touted better than
all others and far more expensive,
and based on latest technological
breakthroughs and advances, etcetera, etcetera.
In short, a bargain even at the high price.
My hard-of-hearing mother fell for the carrot,
so-to-speak, and purchased a four thousand
dollar “top of the line” aid.
Was it an improvement? Yes, she shouted,
for background noises only! Tired of our shouting
matches and her chronic complaints – and expletives –
I decided to call the promotional company.
Apologies were profuse, but no fault
of the product. Rather my mother’s –
her age, for one, her advanced hearing loss,
for another. And as a consequence, with
weak apologies, no hope for a refund.
Frustrated, I made a final appeal that
no more advertisements be sent to her
and would they kindly remove her name
from their mailing list, to which they agreed,
and to which I responded: Sir, that’s the best
news I’ll ever have to shout at her.