Long Rome Poems
Long Rome Poems. Below are the most popular long Rome by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rome poems by poem length and keyword.
Act II: Judgment in the Forum
CHORUS:
O Rome, thou ancient nurse of law and might,
What shadows now do stretch across thy name?
The marble gleams, but virtue lies in dust,
And gold usurps the laurel of the just.
FIRST CITIZEN:
Didst hear the sage? His words were sharp as steel.
He dared to chide the Consul to his face!
SECOND CITIZEN:
Aye, but what good doth wisdom serve the poor,
When coin and cunning rule the Senate’s floor?
THIRD CITIZEN:
Yet truth, though trampled, rises from the grave.
The gods are just, though men be brave but base.
CHORUS:
Behold the tyrant, robed in purple pride,
Who feeds upon the commonwealth’s decay.
He builds his fame on broken oaths and lies,
And calls it glory when the people pay.
FOURTH CITIZEN:
Lucilius speaks as if the gods still care.
But do they hear us in their starry halls?
FIFTH CITIZEN:
They hear, though silent be their judgment now.
The wheel shall turn, and Varro’s house shall fall.
CHORUS:
O Rome, remember Brutus and his blade,
Who struck for freedom, not for selfish gain.
Let not thy soul be sold for silver’s gleam,
Nor let thy laws be writ in blood and shame.
MARCUS LUCILIUS:
Ye sons of Romulus, awake, arise!
The state is not a spoil for greedy hands.
Each citizen must guard the sacred flame,
Lest darkness drown the light of liberty.
CHORUS:
Speak on, good sage, thy voice is like a star
That pierces through the murk of tyranny.
We are not beasts, nor slaves to gilded chains—
We are the heirs of Cato and of Rome!
CHORUS:
So let the tyrant flee, his brow unbowed,
But know the people hath a memory.
And when the hour of reckoning draws nigh,
Let justice rise, and falsehood fall to die.
Bethlehem
The tiny town was busy,
as it was that time of year...
the census,
the government of Rome.
Reaching into the lives of the people,
ruled by force and dread,
to pull out all that they needed,
when and as directed by the powers,
in charge... on this earth.
Hushed tones of celebration,
gathering momentum from the start.
The first and most important drop,
telling of the rain to come,
to feed the crops,
and heal the land,
to bless the people,
those that stand.
The coming of the time...
of teaching,
preaching,
healing,
and casting out,
the very sin of evil,
itself.
Born to die on a cross,
not on a hill, but a hillock.
Crucifixion not uncommon at all,
the current and ready form of hate,
for all those unwilling,
unable, or by accident of offensive...
to someone,
somewhere,
that cared more about,
their pride, their honor and their appearance,
then the message of the Savior born.
To die a death,
no one can fathom,
as we cry over nothing,
and are shamed by little.
Sinners all, of non repentance.
Sinners still in an effort to be more,
even saved...
He gave a measure to be paid,
for things He never did,
never thought,
never would.
Spears and spit,
blood and broken bones,
the liquid of life,
drained upon the ground.
Wasted, for those that had no idea
their chance was given.
Yet in His very death,
the promise of forever.
Risen!
In a nation of "point the finger"'
she pondered joining the crowd.
As in the famed Roman Coliseum
she imagined herself in full glory.
Giving a glorious "thumbs down!"
After all, she told her arrogant
herself,
as she put a crown of leaves on her
head:
"Those foolish Christians need to die!"
Yet a voice deep within her, made her
wonder.......why?
'twas in the gods of Rome she believed,
Who was this Christ, these fools died
for?
Centuries have come and gone, her
crown of leaves decayed, too!
Today not only are Christians killed,
but millions of others have died,in the
milieu.
The new god is love of self, above all else!
That name, Christ, best not be spoken.
He, who died for all humanity, still a
most despised personage!
We honor false gods, read literature
assuring us of polytheism.
Then cry and gnash our teeth, when
statues are toppled, morals are a joke.
And our only satisfaction comes from
booze, hot sex or a fast toke.
June 17, 2020
11am PST
Poem # 1,249
Inside this cell no sell, just a bag of spiders big and fat
with gnarly hands she tucks away fifty crawlies in her hat
Her name is Katz and she loves cats but not old stinky rats
she thrums aside the prison door like a pining cat
Witches brew and boogaloo I cast a spell on you
muddle muddle fuddle duddle here's a stick of fever few
as the warden goes a jumping he unlocks on cue
spider spider drunk on cider, wackalacka spew !
On a broom made of chrome I will fly me back to Rome
all the spiders in my sack will find their way back home
wiggle wiggle jiggle niggle cruise but do not roam
in my cauldron little Gretel, cries and weeps alone
Well here is how the bones are stewed soft and tender,
gently brewed
well here is how the bones are stewed soft and tender,
freshly stewed....
June 15, 2023
Contest Name: Bag Of Spiders
Sponsor : Matt Caliri
there are some people
I do know
they speak of places
I can't go
ooh then some
if God is real
might should I ask
the chores of one
done by two
Makes easy the task?
Hadian speak to the Romans.
Yes God is Real
He's real in our Souls
Yes God is real
that We have washed
and made us whole
Gods love for us
is what we should know
yes God is real
cause we can feel him
in our souls!
Answered by the Romans
This was spoken when Hadrian wished
to build the Temple of Venus and Rome.
While in Rome a woman asked
if she could kiss the
dark haired Spaniard. The fella answering her questions
laughed and told her she was referring to Caesar she
humbled herself and said she thought
Caesar was a legend and a myth.
until she saw his face she didn't believe. The jews
around her told her that he wasn't the savior god
but he ( Caesar) wished them to worship
him as god, something
these men refused to do. She smiled
at them and said Hail Caesar might I feed my
people. Several woman than throw tomatoes at her
and called her a whore. She rose stained and shame
""Si, Dio e reale!" " Si, Dio es real!"
All love roads toward Home.
If home is Rome
then all roads lead toward capital
crowning Roman home.
When Earth life systems
are rooted in a climatic crisis,
we really do need to be recentered Home
to grow healthy and recompose safety,
as We can be.
Why can Species A's prickly paradise
become Species B's gooey quagmire of a nightmare,
until We remembers
how and why and when and where
They can choose to recompose
a healthier and safer Me/We?
Why can one's homebound genius
be another's indigenous Wild Card,
and vice versa?
If one person's root systemic technology
can be another person's clowning magic,
then why can't one person's science
be another person's myth,
and the Self/Other way around
re-imagination?
Why can't West hemisphere's monocultural medicine
be East hemisphere's polytheistic ecotherapy
becoming enlightened mind meditations
empowering body medication?
Why can't one Home's natural Tipping Point
diapraxis theory
reform Earth's respiraling
spacious bilateral flow
back to another time's Mythic Earth CreationStory,
both reforming
and unforming?
Why can't one West person's fear
about pre-climatic critical intervention trends,
as too slow and lethargic and ignorant,
be an East person's just-right Earth DeComposition Myth?
Homeward bound
as GreenPeace Bodisattva Warriors
costumed for WinWin MeWe checkers
folding and unfolding co-empathic gaming choices
until everybody wins
because no one ever dies alone
or afraid to arrive home together
on BiPartisan Street
toward mindbody homes,
whether in or beyond
monotheistic capitalized
WestBrain dominant Rome.
AND THIS TOO SHALL PASS...IF WE DO THE RIGHT THING
Shameful as it is, this burden place is still my land;
Though a broken house it may be, it's still my home.
Her foundation is cracked and rattled, but still, we stand;
Pity, her today's "Nero ego" has forgotten the story of Rome.
Despotism no longer hides in ambush along the power corridors;
Its venomous words and twin actions are now commonplace.
Each day the sunrises to waves of injustices and abject horrors;
And a once revered nation now wallows in its own uttered disgrace.
While it may seem that hate and bigotry play death games each day,
Infusing lives with their fisting bloody cuffs of "isms", let us not despair;
Reverse exodus has begun--the Noah-like political flood is on its way.
Rain clouds, lightning, and thunder of retribution have begun to prepare.
The Ark this time will be built with planks of liberty, justice, and undying love;
The Supreme Power of Blacks, Whites, Jews, and Gentiles is watching from above.
Our burdens are lifted—it’s spring break, after all.
Though ocean breezes, surf sounds, the smell of sunblock,
fresh tans and bottomless margaritas at the beach can be healing,
we decided to vacation on campus and find joy in small, everyday things.
Yesterday, we went to the farmer’s market, where one coffee vendor was making real cappuccinos and another was baking fresh breakfast pizzas. The combination reminded me of the 'Antico Forno Roscioli' cafe, near Campo de' Fiori, in Rome.
Then we hit the gym pool, climbed a rock wall (slowly) and played racquetball (rather poorly). We tried a dance & fitness class too—I thought I was in shape but ugg, it was hard to keep up. Peter (my 27-year-old bf) practically collapsed, but maybe he was angling for mouth-2-mouth.
Straight brag: Peter and I are getting new laptops today—MacBook Air M4s—mine’s baby blue, his is silver. So today seems like Christmas.
I don’t know if you people have computers, or use the Internet, but if you do, you’ll get it. I don’t know exactly when it’ll arrive, of course, so I’m pacing our suite.
I’ve always loved tech. My brother started teaching me about computers when I was 10—you know—hard drives, logic boards, power supplies, all of it. I remember it taking about two days to set one up and move all of the data. Today all I’ll have to do is set the new computer next to the old one and click migrate.
You gotta doff your hat to the tech wizards that came up with that, but the hours spent doing it the old way were fun.
“Something’s lost yet something's gained” - I think Joni Mitchell sang that.
.
.
Songs for this:
Am I the Same Girl? by Swing Out Sister
Mountain or a Molehill by Kris Berry
(The Appian Way was the main highway leading south
from ancient Rome. It still exists today, and is a beautiful
stretch of peaceful, traffic-free road, surrounded by Roman
tombs and umbrella pines. The following is my English
version of a sonnet by the Italian poet, Alfonso Gatto.)
Night everlasting scurries to the trees
in silence. Cold, the roadway mourns its dead,
who lie in these green verges. Sounds have fled
through air which is harmonious, at ease.
As dawn comes up, the far blue Alban Hills
swim into view through slender cypresses,
and water gurgles in its sad recesses.
Sweet place to sleep, despite the morning chills.
Here, breathe in the sweep of history.
Just ponder who has passed along these stones!
The white wind thrumming from the Tyrrhenian Sea
blows dry from Africa, exposing bones
of senators and slaves. This sacred ground
feels special, with so many dead around.
~David The Gnome~
(Rhyming Couplets)
Hello there dearie, my name is David the Gnome
And this is my home, Sweet Home
And you're most welcome to roam
Around, and read each and all of my poems
My library as you can see is built just like a dome
With the finest wood that came all the way from Stockholm
I read a lot, but I prefer that chap Sherlock Holmes
His detective stories make me feel quite at home
My dear wife just left to get some sweet honey-comb
Last year we traveled all the way to Rome
That was so cool, we also visited the Catacomes
And we went to see also our dear friend Jerome
I got the most wonderful and historical tome
About all the living world's Gnomes
And I am David the Gnome
One of the oldest of all the Gnomes
So please feel free again to visit my home
Don't be afraid of those nasty trolls that roam
Or landing anytime you want at my aerodrome
My friends the birds have wings built stronger than chrome.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2009
January.2.2016