Long Roman Poems

Long Roman Poems. Below are the most popular long Roman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Roman poems by poem length and keyword.


Raised From the Dead

three women with points on their licenses to the tomb of Jesus they ventured
as they had a love for our Savior that was totally uncensored
they were told that the Roman soldiers over His tomb were standing guard
but they had a need to consecrate His body that compelled them to do their part
it was risky and unreasonable in the minds of most
but man's reasoning has no value when it comes to our Heavenly Host
to do the impossible that is what they desired
and with the power of the Holy Spirit they were then inspired
to walk by faith and not by sight guided by God's spiritual light

and when those women got to the tomb they then discovered 
that the sepulcher of Jesus was now uncovered
no Roman soldiers were in sight 
just an Angel of God wearing raiment snow white
"fear not" the Angel said, for the prophecy has been fulfilled
the Messiah  Jesus has risen from the dead for it is God's will
the mighty stone had been rolled away
it was a bold godly display

do you know that God will roll away any stone that impedes your life?
as He rolled away the stone at the tomb of His beloved Son Jesus the Christ
to be raised from the death of corruption and sin
restored, renewed, revived and born again
raised up from societal barriers of destruction
now a new creation in Christ's gospel production
the Lord desires that we live abundantly
and to walk with the power of His authority
so never forget the sacrifice and the blood that was shed
when Jesus the Christ by the hand of God was raised from the dead
Form: Epic


Apollo Devotee Bathed Earthling Coppertone Fresco

Caution taken (lathering
     exposed epidermis with sun screen)
     against harmful innocuous
     rich (Times New Roman)

     12 font ask tick sun yet sen sate)
     refulgent radiant balm
unequivocal panacea medicinal luxuriant calm
     on par with a old

     sister wives tale remedy me late mom,
would magically construe
     to alleviate home sickness qualm
post pledge initiation invocation befriending
     Jason the Argonauts and Major Tom

dizzyingly zipping thru space
     in search of the golden fleece,
     (which acquisition
     ranked as a no brainer)
which recollection, sans above exploit flashed

     (at greased lightening speed) this peace
full May afternoon, a pitch perfect spring day,
     one adequately oxygenated
     air supply crowded house

     legendary fete of the rising son momentarily
     sol limb lee flared concluding with reverberating
     (though decades elapsed
     since fortuitous galactic heralded

     world wide web panegyric
     broadcast cosmos wide),
     then with just as quick
     memorialized recollection

     prominently recalled,
     said remembrance as things past
     vis a vis denouement across Universe
     with Poof! lifelong (black hole sun hopping)
     capping achievement did surcease.

Ah...such blinding realistic provocation sparked
     via pure imagination
     upon one earthly terrestrial beast

Sunkist soaking raiment sequestered
     within corner nook decreased
with onset of dusk, a mind bending
     dreamy experience least

expected while nonchalantly fantasies take flight
basking (with robins)
     in an angulated nook sky height
upon premises of Highland

     Manor Apartment out of sight
from the buzzer (I may as well be
     a million miles away),
     thus poetic justice end trite.

soldiers women

The applause
I had a drink before going to a poetry reading
 since I was nervous
drank a few whiskeys and spoke dramatically about the plight of the Palestinians
I needed help to get down from the stage since my glasses were at the hotel.
The next day, we went to a meeting where the top of
The educated class go, I thought they were idiots 
they had erudition but no
learning, So I got up and spoke for fifteen minutes.
The silence was colossal 
think of a needle falling from the galaxy
and landing at the Himalayas, I had sinned 
said the global warming was a natural disaster and had nothing to do
with global warming.
The meeting was unreported  in the local paper
 but what do
I do not speak this Roman soldier’s language.
© Jan Hansen  Create an image from this poem.
Form: ABC

His Lily of Love

His hand slipped inside hers and suddenly it was
as if the world learned how to breathe again
Perhaps it was the cadence of the blessed moon
sweeping away all the harsh lights of yesterday
Perhaps it was the way his eyes slanted sideways
as if to say, "there you are"
Anointing her wounds with Spikenard moments
of Grace, the room lit up like a roman candle
burning bright and fervent;
His Sacred Heart revered her shattered soul
and she turned into His Lily of love,
weaved by gold threads that were spun from Angels above.
There, bathed in the Holiest of Silence she became whole again
Walking towards Him unafraid, barefoot and wholesome,
as the day she was conceived.

They Knew He Was Coming To Judge

They knew He was coming to judge
a Roman, a Jew, an atheist, and a Muslim
and pay for their sins by carrying the cross
to Calvary on His bleeding shoulders;
they didn't understand the purpose 
of His mission and continued to spit on Him
and mock Him while women wiped off his bloody face...
was Christ ever in a vengeful rage?

He'll reward the meek and the pure in heart,
punish the wicked who resist
and don't surrender to Christ;
they refused to acknowledge how might He was
and He continued to take insults and blows...
being silent and dragging the heavy cross!

They knew He was coming to judge
a Roman, a Jew, a Muslim, and an atheist 
or whoever was worshiping a false god.
He could have avoided death by calling upon 
the angels, but He chose to be scourged  
as prophesized, to do God's will instead;
and bearing atrocious pain He turned
to his mother and declared Her dying son
bending His head and wearing a crown
made of pricky thorns never showing a grudge,
and those painful thorns made Him bleed 'till he died!
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member Death To Caesar

“Death to Caesar!!!”

“What!!  What did you say???”

I said:  “Breath to Caesar!!”
“Long and healthy and contented breath.”

“So which of his Legions are you a part of?”

“OH!  God, if there is one, they call us the freezing legion.
“See these fingers, well where they used to be, well
they got lopped off.  It was so cold out they didn’t even
bleed.  Saved my indentured frigging life.”

“Those that died froze so quickly we didn’t even
need litters to carry them off the field of battle.”
“Just picked them up stiff as you please and threw
them in the cart.”

“So What made you join up?”  “Trouble with the law?
or In-law?”  “Too many tarts?”  “Eh, C’mon.”

“Damn, same old story.  Dad’s a senator, always bragging
about his son, you know.”

“Agricolas this, Agricolas that.”  “Dammit, stop snickering.
He thought it would be an advantage to have an outlandish
moniker.”  “So he hung this one on me.”  “So one day I just
got fed up, said screw this, and went off to become a legionnaire.”
“Guess I showed him what he could do with his stupid name.
Now I kill farmers, well not just farmers, just about anybody
that gets in the way of the Legion.”  “Not a bad job though, as
long as your not the one frozen stiff and tossed in the cart.”

“Well, I bet your dad’s proud now.”

“Nope, hasn’t spoken to me in three years.  Says I spend too much
time hanging about with the lower echelons of humanity.”  “I told
him we weren’t partying, that I hacked their limbs off, crushed their
skulls, decimated their homes and villages.”  “Last thing he said to me
was Nail Caesar!!”  “Ya gotta love these loyal subjects.”  


for Isaiah Zerbst, The Roman Legion contest

WISDOM TEETH

Maybe your February smells the same as my October
Or maybe something tastes the same
Perhaps the beat of our song sounds the same
As your laugh
And the bass tempo is different
And the drum beat is slightly off
I don’t know if I can tell the difference 
Between a good change
And a bad change
Maybe you just make me want to experience both
And my jaw hurts
While you become the roman road
To my Egyptian pyramid
And the smell of rain on hot pavement
Sends my senses into overdrive
It lingers
While my memories of February slowly fade
Like steam on the bathroom mirror
While I spit blood into the sink
They dissipate

Premium Member Bus Ride

met a Roman in local bus,
his name he said was Spartacus,
smiling he then asked me my name
he said I was of Godly fame!

we bore names of two epic men
two who fought wars with thousands then,
time, history has hurried since,
He was no warrior, me no Prince!

tried to picture him armour, sword,
riding a horse on roman road,
I soon put out my erring thought,
closed the chapter when Romans fought!

he wore a tie with polished shoes,
leather briefcase, his hair cut loose,
He was rep for a London firm,
He looked young refined and handsome!

he paid tribute to doctor’s role,
talked of Covid and lives it stole,
two men that day sat side by side,
brought together by a bus ride!

how our social terrains do change!
we have friends now from a wide range,
religions, colours don’t matter,
God makes us from the same batter!

Written 17/07/2021
Honourable mention
Critical Race Theory contest
Anthony Biaanco sponsored
Form: Rhyme

Segovia and Madrid

Terracotta dreams alight
 in rising Roman aqueducts
 slipping in twilight hours of the night
 where mysterious Spanish memories are plucked;
a momentary plunge 
 with Hercules standing muscle-bound 
 from which olden images are hung
 as winds rise without a sound;
a flare in dance upon the castle floors
 to pray a prayer aloud
 beyond grand cathedral doors
 holding visions authentic to each crowd;
slip in and out the corridors of legacy
 Segovia and Madrid, the old Alcazar,
 where history lay in wait splendidly
 and time marches on, near and far;
these are mere images that remain
 to tell a story old yet true
 by which history is framed
 a place, a legend, a story not new;
let it rise, let it stay
 mysteries laid in the past
 while awe and beauty grace the day
 and visions and dreams race fast.
© DM Babbit  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Rhyme

Last Rites - Cop26 Iii

The sideburns of the Maples
Turned another color in early October

I look in my Roman bathroom mirror
Person reflected is a stranger to me

The green children
No more than sprouts finding their blossoms

Are impossibly older than me
More ancient than the planet’s lore

Poor last good kids

Hunched over and limping
Faithfully lacing duty to their boots
Strapping chores across their shoulders

They walk the cobblestone Earth
Knowing the truth
As a crown of thorns upon their heads

Anxiously crying

Father
Do not forgive them

For they knew
Exactly what they were doing.

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