Long Santiago Poems
Long Santiago Poems. Below are the most popular long Santiago by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Santiago poems by poem length and keyword.
Legend of Fosse Way
Riding hard under a moonlight high
not a leaf rustling and it troubles my mind
In the distance there's music of the lyre and flute
rippling over the moors
Serenading the stars
The voice of a maiden
bleeds it's way through the thick darkness
Singing an ole Bawdy Pub Song.
My steed swift at a gallop
hooves sound their click clack
As we cross Halford Bridge
No time to be wasted
seeking comfort at the Inn
History demands I deliver this message
The dispatch I carry holds the future of England
I must make Exeter Castle by dawn.
No matter the risk or danger I encounter
It is crucial that I press on
Two Queens vying for the throne of England
Not even God can decide which be the righteous one
Protestant or Catholic not the reason for choice
A Queen must have love for Mother England
coursing through her blood
Forrest fairies ring the bells on the Fox Glove
The Oaks without expression and still
A rare breeze slaps the sleeping grasses in the glades
In the marsh toads croak complaint to night’s chill
This road is dominion of Highwaymen and thieves
Robbing those that choose this way to travel.
By the will of God and the Bishop's blessing
I will pass undetected by scoundrels and rabble
Nourished only on bread and Brambleberries
Traveling in the cover of night taking sleep by day
All that I've seen are ghosts of Roman soldiers
On this thoroughfare known as Fosse Way
If by the hand of God or the Devil
I meet with an untimely death
And I am unable to tell tale of this ride
Let not my story meet the same fate
Say my name Nigel Foster be mentioned in yarns
told in pubs and taverns .
History will decide if I am a Patriot or Traitor
As a result of my actions
When the years pass into the future
Don't let me be a lost memory of yesterday
If by chance may I live on
as one of the many legends
The many legends of Fosse Way.
Inspired by Alfred Noyes poem “The Highwayman"
And in memory of my distant relative,
Robert Devereux 2nd Earl of Essex.
Judge Santiago Burdon
©2019
WALKING WITH RUMI
It’s a religious routine, his impious
use of scripture and prayer calling on god
for salvation and sustenance, purity of heart,
perhaps a way better job, or some actual proof
that his people still matter
His, is a god who uses archangels, heavily-armed
toughs, assassins and avengers, roaming the streets
of a gray paradise (neither heaven nor hell), their
big wings folded, their bow strings ready, their
quivers full of arrows, flaming swords sheathed,
their intelligent eyes marking dark, handsome faces
and awaiting the directives for savage air strikes
at far-away places, somehow weaving a route through
meridians and parallels, angling in low through the
hazy red dawn or coming in as silhouette against a
full silver moon to deliver against enemies
or just the people next door
Forever on his knees, he solicits relief
but I have other plans – I go walking with Rumi
a daredevil dervish who treats the concept of love as
a magnificent machine to be recklessly driven without
fear of collision or collateral damage
And he offers a dream about poems in Persian and songs
on the wind from a light without source
that illuminates all
High above Santiago, its six million souls and steep
mountain walls a dialectical drama about fertility and
faith, we negotiate a ledge, he walking on air, me hugging
the edge, still afraid of the tumble that could easily
shatter the glistening glass that I am
But there is something I know: My wife will come soon
with a full winter moon like a big tambourine over the
Andes at night, and they will play in the evening, they
will dance with the darkness and swallow the day
and then give it back, laughing, in the bold early
light of the red rising sun, and decorum aside,
I will dive off that ledge into all that she is,
into all that I’m not; let her make
me better and thank God that she can!
P S IT’S POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 7
any thanks to you selected poets; Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it; Each letters and each word; Reads so very dear and well; Joys of your souls cheers; Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills; Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
• Ernesto P. Santiago 370
• Estela Canama 263
• Eve Roper 82
• Evelia Roper "Eve" 155
• Evelyn Judy Buehler 237
• Evelyn Pearl Anderson 231
• Faith Aimalohi Idomeh 310
• Faraz Ajmal 154
• Florestine "FJ" Thomas 127, 5, 53
• Frances Schiavina 19, 240
• Francesca Pappadogiannis 371
• Franchesca Mia Reves Tortoza 429
• Franci Eugenia Hoffman 376
• Francine Roberts 163, 23, 87
• Francis J Grasso 101, 282, 83
• Fred Jagenberg 284, 393
• Freddie Robinson Jr. 205
• Frederic M Parker 127, 215, 262
• Fritz Purdum 413
• Gabriel Alejandro López 323
• Gabrielle Jordan 168, 169
• Gail Foster 441
• Gail Rickless DeBole 243
• Garrett Gowing 452
• Gary Allen Ritcheson JR. 89, 95
• Gary Bateman 10, 57, 71
12/13/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
P S IT’S POETRY WRITE ON WRITE ON CONGRATS TO MY FELLOW POETRY SOUPERS PART 8
Many thanks to you selected poets; Of sharing your whispers from God, tho you didn’t know it; Each letters and each word; Reads so very dear and well; Joys of your souls cheers; Covenants of choice, reading your voice; Blessing peace be still; Please keep writing your skills; Rhyming verses blessings of course it’s… P.S. Congrats and thank-U my fellow Soupers
• Ernesto P. Santiago 370
• Estela Canama 263
• Eve Roper 82
• Evelia Roper "Eve" 155
• Evelyn Judy Buehler 237
• Evelyn Pearl Anderson 231
• Faith Aimalohi Idomeh 310
• Faraz Ajmal 154
• Florestine "FJ" Thomas 127, 5, 53
• Frances Schiavina 19, 240
• Francesca Pappadogiannis 371
• Franchesca Mia Reves Tortoza 429
• Franci Eugenia Hoffman 376
• Francine Roberts 163, 23, 87
• Francis J Grasso 101, 282, 83
• Fred Jagenberg 284, 393
• Freddie Robinson Jr. 205
• Frederic M Parker 127, 215, 262
• Fritz Purdum 413
• Gabriel Alejandro López 323
• Gabrielle Jordan 168, 169
• Gail Foster 441
• Gail Rickless DeBole 243
• Garrett Gowing 452
• Gary Allen Ritcheson JR. 89, 95
• Gary Bateman 10, 57, 71
12/13/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Proyecto de tren instantaneo entre Santiago y Puerto Montt by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan
Soliloquio del Individuo by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan
(Homage to Nicanor PARRA, 1914-2018, the Chilean ANTI-POET, winner of the "Cervantes Prize" (the highest literary honour for writers in Spanish), four times nominated for the Nobel Prize, studied Physics (Brown University), Cosmology (Oxford University) and taught maths and physics for some 40 years, but styles himself as the Poet who writes "Anti-Poems" - a fresh
chastising wind to debunk self-styled poets hardly born to the métier but drunk with their own effete and ephemeral voices. T. Wignesan, Paris, 2016.)
The Anatomy of the Instantaneous Train (plying) between Santiago and Puerto Montt
The engine of the instantaneous train
occupies the place of the destination (Pto Montt)
while the last coach
straddles the station of departure (Stgo)
This type of train affords the passenger
the advantage of arriving instantaneously at Puerto Montt
at the very moment he boards the last coach
in Santiago
The rub is in order to continue voyaging
the traveller has to keep moving with his luggage
through the train
until he gains the first coach
Once the passage has been realized
the passenger may proceed to exit
the instantaneous train
which has remained stationary
during the entire voyage.
• Observation: This type of (direct) train serves only the uni-directional journey.
Source: Poem read by Nicanor Parra as invitee to the International Poetry Festival in the Netherands in 1989 (?)
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2016
(My poem is done in Mixed Rhyme which is a form created right here on PoetrySoup by our fellow poet, Ernesto Santiago.)
Things will get worse!
Year after year, of course.
Spend some time planning survival,
don't be blind, don't live in denial.
This message is for the Milliennials,
the one's who were left behind,
the ones who lost parents and grandparents,
but you have survived, it's just not your time.
You bore the weight of the world,
carried the existence of mankind,
raised children you did not bare,
taught them to be loving and kind.
Teach them also to be smart!
Please, learn from our mistakes,
cherish and respect the Earth.
There is so much in nature
that strikes back at destruction.
Mankind aware, or unaware.
Viruses mutate. It's not a fantastical thought.
The Bird Flu, the Swine Flu, SARS and MERS,
and yes, death is what they brought.
Same virus, growing stronger year after year,
mutating over and over, now COVID-19 is here.
It's half life is more than three hours
when expelled in aerosol form,
not the larger droplets, which are here today, deadly,
but tomorrow may be gone.
Next year it may return airborne.
Please, listen to our sorrow,
if you want to call it that.
One after another the virus takes us,
yet we are grateful for your tomorrows.
We have had many years to prepare,
on our journey back to God.
Knowing your lives will be spared
is the only consolation this virus brought.
It's hard for hearts to heal after such massive loss,
and getting through the grief can be rough,
but we left without complaint because we love you,
let that be enough...
to heal your broken hearts.
Long ago when fairy tales and fables
Defined that period in time
There's a story seldom told
Of a Dyslexic Shepherd boy
Who guarded the town's flock
From a wolf with hungry eyes
The Mayor said to cry Wolf when he attacked
Then townsfolk would run to his aid
never should he raise a false alarm
The Shepherd Boy before him
knew the rule but disobeyed
He played a joke by crying Wolf
when he wasn't around
He thought it so funny
To call out a false alarm
Making everyone to come running from town.
He played his joke a few more times
Soon not a single villager would react
Then came the night when the wolf made his move
And he cried out that the wolf had attacked
Not a soul ran to help him to fight off the wolf
They heard his pleas but they went by ignored
He was alone to face the vicious wolf Without the villagers support
In the morning when they checked on the Shepherd Boy
His outcome was horrifying and grim
It happened that after his many false alarms
The joke was actually on him.
The Dyslexic Shepherd Boy made a promise
He would never call out a false alarm.
As long as he didn't play tricks
He would never come to harm
The night came when the wolf attacked
He screamed for the townsfolk below
they thought it was a trick
because the Dyslexic Shepherd Boy wasn't crying 'WOLF'
He was screaming 'FLOW'
JSB
Judge Santiago Burdon
Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequilas Bad Advice, Lords of the Afterglow, Overdose of Destiny, Architect of Havoc .
NEW YORK NEW YORK AGAIN
When I go to the Service as soon as I get up
I listen to Frank Sinatra's song
“New York New York”
The city that never sleeps, as me
And I with pleasure, like Liza Minnelli
Making a profane cabaret
Where could win an Oscar.
I so much and good
How do they say they did it
Persian and Apuleius.
If it's hard for me to do it
Immediately burst into a thousand dicteries
ting on the mother who gave birth to me
How do the new parturients
Let them stop without an epidural, bareback
Shouting at the husband:
-You could be here giving birth, damn.
The comes out to the beat of the song
(Unparalleled daring is to say that I ):
"I'm going to New York
Could be Chicago (Yeah )
I want to be part of them.
My desire to as a bum
It has had an effect.
I want to wake up in the city that never sleeps
Blaring the toilet bowl
I wanna be king of the hill on top of
Like the kings of Madrid
In the Palace of Aranjuez.
So many farts contain our asses!
How long have I been ting here
You have seen and heard it.
When I pull the chain
The will be gone
Like the sins in the giant censer
From the Church of Santiago, in Compostela.
I'll fix it:
If I can here in New York or Chicago
I can do it anywhere
Up on the rooftops
As the ancient fables of the Greeks tell
What did the gods do, demigods
And all the fine mob.
The water from the cistern will transport me
As the famous Nile did
To the lies and hoaxes
That daily life contains
Until they incite me, again, to
Virgil and Ovid
Two big jerks, as me.
Our nephew and his lovely wife invited us for an afternoon on their boat
and I immediately thought of The Old Man And The Sea…you know the book that Hemingway wrote.
As I lounged in the softness of my seat and felt the wind blowing through my hair…I wondered about Hemingway’s fisherman…and how he and I would compare.
We learned Santiago was an old and experienced fisherman as his story did unfold…I am not a fisherman…but like Santiago…I am old.
Santiago put in early…it was for the big catch he did wish…our boat left the dock around midday heading to a restaurant where we’d eat fish.
Santiago’s boat was a little skiff…he fished all day and all night under the moon…we were out for a few hours in a bigger boat…with a motor…and pontoons.
Santiago fought an enormous marlin…worried he’d make a mistake…without a worry we gawked at enormous houses on our leisurely ride across the lake.
Santiago fished alone…hoping the bad luck he experienced of late would come to an end…I sat there thinking how lucky I was to be surrounded by family and friends.
Santiago braved the elements…the fish…his own fatigue…the cold…Gee, I guess when I really look at it…all we have in common is that the two of us are old.
Yes, after throughly thinking this through…that’s the only comparison I can see…between my experience yesterday…and the old man and the sea.
And although Hemingway’s novel won him a Pulitzer and is, arguably, one of the finest books he wrote…I think I prefer my version of the old man in a boat.
Like a distraught pilgrim
I'm going to do the Camino de Santiago
With a friend who, like me
Was a rebellious seminarian
Yesterday a believer, today a hardened atheist.
We no longer believe in nonsense
Nor in the charlatanry of tricksters
We only believe in our body
Which is our only Beloved
And in his flower of Love
With his two hanging balls.
We have agreed to walk
To Santiago de Compostela
From the Hermitage of San Amaro, in Burgos.
We go with only what we have on; without an Euro
And a bag with a change of clothes just in case
Along with some sandals for saints.
“The rebellious priests are already leaving for Santiago.
The La Milanera neighborhood is now staying
Happy and pleased not to see for a while
These “****** priests””
Some San Amaro songs sing.
We took the Via de Bayona
To go to Compostela
Until we reached La Puebla de Arganzón
Where we linked up with the French road.
Tired, we arrived at Monasterio de Rodilla
And, on top of its rocks
Full of ruins of a castle
From the first period of the Reconquista
We sat looking at the Church of Santa Marina
Which is said to have been an old Monastery
Delighting our eyes all over the valley of La Bureba
Just like our carnal flower
Raised high up
He cutting his cane, and I mine.
A shepherdess who saw us
Driving her fifty sheep and four goats
Went crying on the way to Oña
Her dog barking at us.
Sleepless, at dawn
Looking towards Atapuerca
We decided to go back home
Because we were missing
The mortar and pestle.