Long Robes Poems
Long Robes Poems. Below are the most popular long Robes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Robes poems by poem length and keyword.
Scarlet robes on Abony street,
reciting untold stories of nights without cause
As the queens of the night go about their business
Giving their now distasteful pleasure to wondering strangers.
Their loud chatter fills the streets
Denying the night of its rightful duty,
They sway from side to side
Their barely covered skin telling a story
Scars evident of the war they fight daily
All concealed by a scarlet robe and a crooked smile
Their pride lost they wonder about,
As nylon caught by the wind they are blown at every direction,
Stripped of their honour they live,
Detached from society, a living, breathing abomination.
L.N Ngema
Coiffed petals glad tidings tell
Vintage red cup raised to the sun
Whose heat mellows hearth's veil
Enticing host signals feast hath begun
Aromatic vial with sweet scents stew
Hypnotizing fumes already suitors cue
Maitre d' winged banqueters will review
Whizzing minstrels waft toward rendezvous
Arriving guests with sweet libations do woo
Neon-draped Bumble bees enter flickering buzzing strobes
Metallic Green bees browse corridor; each succulent scent probes
Ebony-caped, Wasp beetle antenna fondles light, delicate lobes
Orange, sequined Monarch butterflies prate in paper machete robes
Salivating, virile male patrons imbibe freely from nectar fount
Nubile, female matrons nibble heartier fair; pollen from stamen mount
We can not all be devils. There must be angels and even if angels are robed in rags and their robes soiled by the earth, it is alright as long as their robes are not soiled by bad deeds.
Angels are universal
Angels fight for justice
Angels are the guardians of light
The will shine on darkness and make it bright
Some believe angels are imaginary
Other thing that angels are ordinary
Men or women who work to change the world
And when their job is done the return to the other world
Spiritual beings who stick to God's rules
And do not live their lives in ignorance
Like mere fools
Disobedience of His ordinance
Will follow His wrath
The Angel of death will chase the evil doer
With his spiritual bat
And knock him off his feet
Before the battle start
The circus music plays, deep organ
sounds as the ramps lower
into the crowds. A roar goes
up towards the heavens,
A path to the savior is found.
the clowns role out, dressed
in makeup and robes, ready
to act out a skit seen day
after day after day all
over the world. Alms, they
cry, alms to repair the roof,
re-carpet the hall and pay
off the newly bought
Cadillac. The music dies down,
the hat is passed around,
and you are frowned upon
if you don’t give enough.
When the crowd filters out
and clothes are changed, out
of your Sunday Best, no amount
of money can change
who you really are once
the circus leaves town.
Hisajo Sugita was an innovative and influential female Japanese haiku poet:
I remove my beautiful kimono:
its varied braids
surround and entwine my body
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This day of chrysanthemums
I shake and comb my wet hair,
as their petals shed rain
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
This sheer kimono?
how the moon peers through
to my naked skin!
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
These festive flowery robes?
though quickly undressed,
how their colored cords still continue to cling!
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Chrysanthemum petals
reveal their pale curves
shyly to the moon.
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Loneliness?
reading the Bible
as the rain deflowers cherry blossoms.
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
How deep this valley,
how elevated the butterfly's flight!
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
How lowly this valley,
how lofty the butterfly's flight!
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Echoes from the hills?
the mountain cuckoo sings as it will,
trill upon trill
?Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
You stand aside harvesting fields wide-eyed.
To collect the sheaves of leftover grains
Tatters in your old robes you try to hide.
As though they're gold sticks, you pick the remains.
You work, you even beg for your mother.
She is old, sick, and might be dying soon.
I hear you also have a small brother.
I know you love him as though he's God's boon.
It's for them you've foregone all your joys.
As a victor, you've withstood despairs.
In words and deeds, you've a unique poise.
Your smile-filled service has surpassed your tears.
Your love pulls me, dear unheralded saint.
I love you as you defeat each constraint.
Written: November 02, 2025, for contest by: Robert James Liguor
**********
The frozen core of human activeness
where the temperament recklessly smiles,
sludge cascades from the blade's edge
A joyous opsimath emerges,
reminiscent of rebellion and aged books,
sturdy and infused with a grin.
His unique calling sign is the "lard of law."
He wears robes adorned with nimbus designs
and stands before a wall of questions.
He gathers information from insightful individuals
Every conundrum is a breach in the law,
And every victim wants to be obvious,
He repeats sharp retorts to the sentient
To the obstreperous, the zymotic throbbing of history.
He says that justice is not banausic.
She is a lissome Nereid,
dancing with eurythmic elegance through garbage.
Though weariness grasps the morning,
and moribund minds look for troughs, not summits.
He persists on—
a sherpa of the spirit,
bestow the noisome into view
where enlightenment flowers akin to vernal fire.
Justice is not a flaw,
It's beginning
It is Nemesis
the tiny thread that links,
the strained heart to the flimsy earth.
I prefer the myths to the dry histories, where truths come and then crumble away,
For history is written with a quill of feathers, but the myth, eternal, beats with wings of iron.
Mythology dresses lies in dazzling robes that over time are clothed in truth,
And it gives birth to a wisdom that time can shape as the river shapes the stone.
Intelligence, deaf and blind, listens only to defy or to nod in assent,
Thus the message, like a drifting ship, is lost on misunderstood seas.
Instead of welcoming the word as a guest to the tables of meditation, it would tear down the messenger,
And we, mortals learned, have lost the art of sitting with the message, of cherishing the story.
The fault, it is said, lies in the arms of that education which molds us into valiant soldiers of certainty,
Not into wise seekers of questions, of meanings hidden in the folds of the everlasting myth.
Our world stubbornly struggles to tear the thick paper of deep understandings,
Poisoning us with dogmas, forgetting in the procession of days that all which was once a lie may bloom as the apple of new knowledge.
Cool green in dappled sunlight,
Her carve feet on a pedestal,
She stood still and quiet,
Completely hewn from crystal.
Her robes flow neat and clear,
Cut from jade sharp and precise,
The soft emotion on her face is seen,
Beautiful, sad, cold and concise.
Once worshipped with devotion,
Riches piled upon the flowers,
Praying for a self- serving solution,
Vying for a part of her powers.
When the thunderbolt of strife,
Fell upon the devoted believers,
It didn’t take long for the knife,
To turn amongst brothers and sisters.
The girl now dark green,
The lustre shadowed by war,
Intentions were no longer pristine,
Corrupt prayers deepening the scar.
The jade girl made to toil,
Felt fear creep up in her eyes,
Yet they remain dry as arid desert soil,
For who could hear a rock’s cries?
Soon the jade girl was forgotten,
In a myriad of betrayal and greed,
Seen as nothing but riches to be stolen,
A goddess who didn’t show up at need.
Scars vein across the gloss,
Attempts to pry her away,
She remained within the weeds and moss,
Till sun shone on her one day.
Her jade eyes got a glow,
The weight of brambles oA of her,
Felt the cool water flow,
And the hushed whisper of prayer.
Eyes now adorned with pearls of salt,
Gold ambrosia flood her every crack,
She’s seen and risen from fault,
Jade girl sets up to get peace back.
Once she simply knew how to gift,
When the domain was swept,
By disaster- opening a rift,
Young one sat and wept.
Newfound faith gave her rebirth,
Jade girl began embracing,
Her status as a goddess of Earth,
Giving her existence purpose and meaning.
Her story honours this pen of mine,
The Jade Goddess smiles upon me,
Words pour like ceremonial wine,
As I begin chronicling her story.
AGAIN AND AGAIN
Dreams faded like the shadow!
The tears soaked my long-sleeve
The blood drop from my ears
Like the honey shading from the beehive
The stone striped me
“Again And Again”
Brothers and sisters passes!
The orphans outnumber the shelters
The domicile floods the widows
The life encounter roadblocks
And the sorrow takes the dominion
“Again And Again”
The sun started to shine8
I pushed my self from bed
Ready to start a new day
Although sleep was so sweet
I didn’t hold back until I was out
“Again And Again”
The sun shone brightly
I found my self not alone
But in a team with courage and passion
To chase the intruder who
Robes the lives of our neighbors
“Again And Again”
Ooh! The darkness covered the eyes of our people
By the first time we knocked their doors
It was hard to be accepted
Considering us as members of devil
We kept our focus to open their eyes
“Again And Again”
We came up with the idea to kick the intruder
ABCD played the great role
The team added up the duty
Outreaches to kill the root
The kids were responsive
“Again And Again”
Our voices chased the intruder
And the darkness started to vanish
My dreams were back as before
The neighbors captured the tips
And started to practice
“Again And Again”
Many troops were formed
Ready to fight the existing war
The battle is so tough to leave on hands of minority
The knowledge will be the armor for each
And SRHR as our banner, the hope will touch each
“Again And Again”
By
FREDY Y. ALPHONCE