Long Serpents Poems
Long Serpents Poems. Below are the most popular long Serpents by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Serpents poems by poem length and keyword.
Magnolia blooms,
in not yet warmed chilling air of early spring,
look gruesome rather than beauteous
because the flowers open in lots of large corollas
with a shade of pink and scarlet in milky white based petals
resemble to the ginggue* actress Dan’s make-up,
she wears heavy red eye shadow
on thickly painted white make-up
and always ends with tragic end,
because the flowers
on the leafless brownish-black withered branches
look much too similar to the head of Medusa
sculpt on smooth but cold marble,
the large grotesque pupilless eyes
with hairs of ill-willed wiggling serpents.
When the sunlight appears momentarily
through thick and heavy gloomy air,
the blooms of neither white nor scarlet
fall on the ground and shatter to pieces of petals
that will never be able to come together again
in the gathering darkness of dismal weather
that is neither a winter nor the summer,
the magnolia,
though there is a shape,
like a lifeless artificial flower,
for unable to give off the fine scents, sobs.
And when magnolia sobs,
the spirit of deserted woman
roaming in the nether world
sighs her miserable life,
and when her grief piles up high,
the spirits of fallen corollas
return to the withered branches
and shoot out as the green leaves.
*Ginggue: The Chinese traditional pantomimic-opera like drama developed
and greatly flourished at Beijing in Qing dynasty.
Lines are drawn. fists are clenched. Behind word-armor,
they stay entrenched.
Spit flies hot from either side,
Where grace and virtue no longer abide.
Signs hoisted higher still,
suchlike words spewing from mouth
Tongues like serpents,
like from the bible throughout.
With thunderous noise, no one hears;
Cries from the vile mistaken as cheers.
Tisn’t the words from their tongue that they choke.
But heavy taste of pepper, within the smoke.
Rocks depict the sky. Swarm like locusts.
Some declaring their mark, like words to poets.
Chaos and malice placed above devotion.
Running through their minds, is the serpents potion.
Skies crack open. Brilliance rendering them blind.
Panic sets in. The left and right entwined.
Then a sound; Not a sound, a choice.
In the silent and still thunders a voice.
“Narrow is the gate that most will not find”
“Honor your Father. Love all mankind.”
“Deflate your chest and lay down your gun”
“So saith the lamb. So saith the Son.”
And they, with open ears bow their heads.
They surrender their lines and head for their beds.
They bend the knee and ask forgiveness
Internal conviction, divinity, they’ve become witnessed.
Those who remain, their choice made clear
The word is there to those, who choose to hear.
A song will be sung as war descends
Calling on Gods invisible hand
Enemies horde crushed underfoot
With no knowledge of why they came.
Ships harboured in the bay
Like sleeping sea serpents did they lay
While out in the fields they gathered hay
Never sensing where or what in the future lay.
Horns and shouts destroyed the silence
Swords and spears opened up the hearts
Souls departed and flew away
Never knowing why they died that way.
Golden harvest turned to red
Lika setting sun at end of day
Left to rot alone and discarded
Never made into bread for the departed.
A song was sung as serpents awoke
Slipping away under burning smoke
Back to the depths of what hell they came
Never to return that way again.
© Andrew Provan McIntyre 2015-05-15
In the depths of Winter one December night
As my thoughts slept I awoke in delight
For at the end of my bed was what I'd always dreamed
He was tall of stature, just as my hopes seemed
His outstretched hand beckoned my rise
Standing before him looking into his eyes
I could see he had passion and a warmth for the dark
When he touched me so, he left his mark
In a broken dialect, with a Latin trace
I could sense gestures of welcome as I stand in his grace
~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~
We sit together as his language turns to mine
Declaring me his second for now it's our time
We must summon his legions from the depths of this earth
To do this we must sacrifice to make the dark worth
He touches me again as my birth voice turns to black
A change in me I now feel, my allegiance to never lack
This devil so called to me immaculate to any man
To extinguish the light to be his master plan
As we step into the night, the earth opens like deep sores
His masses now march to spread darken spores
~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~
Standing together we are, whilst his legions look on
Above us ravens and crows circle, deterring the light from being strong
He raises his fist drawing black clouds from the blue
Whilst his flocks of dark angels into the distance they flew
For they are his eyes as they patrol darkening skies
To seek out the light of which we despise
This man now my master turns to his legions and declares
If it shines like a light, no one is to be spared
The hill we now stand on, glows of crimson red
For the day has come that the earth has dread
~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~~ ~ ~
On chariots of fire winged serpents follow
Spewing out their flames, many villages swallowed
Silhouettes combust in momentary capture
Whilst the dark march on, in death plunder rapture
His ultimate aim is to turn day into night
Extinguish the light and turn the dark to the right
Heaven and Hell to be absorbed for the one
I am no longer second, for I am his son
Days, weeks and months, turned into decades of fear
Earth now lies spent, too arid for tears
Written 10/7/2010 4:51:00 PM
Those intense eyes, imposing aura;
The warrior pose;
atop the snow-clad peaks,
among the floating clouds
still, radiating heat!
The serpents, the hair,
The alluring fear,
The magical hues, undefined, unfiltered
Beyond comprehension of mere souls
into you I gaze, are you Mansi’s ace?
Your roar- creates, expands, nurtures…
As I give you my fears, inhibitions,
Roar for me…
Let the cell vibrate, follicle tingle
mind flush,
let thy churn, a twister form!
Come as a child
or clad in a loin,
A pinstripe suit or a Gucchi boot.
Raise a storm or a strom.
You have come to play; the game that’s your always
To dribble doubts, net fears, dunk worries.
Haha…
Win will be mine, with the divine & Mansi intertwined!
As I saw you with closed eyes,
cried out…
a silent bellow to invite,
you roared, entered & tore!
The sheer pain, the veiled shriek
Throbbing veins, pulsating calf
Could it be more profound?
The aftermath…
In observance, in the space…I remain!
Bestowed by your grace, the Mansi way…
Under the sun and moon, flawed men linger in the cold
Who in the mist of darkness, cut and rip apart trees eons old
While stepping on grass and insects for wood to be sold
Deaf to the pleas the light within makes to them while men seek for gold
To make for themselves gods to care as well as impugn
Blind to the Father of Greatness who stands above the sun and moon
Carving the wood with knives with the edges razor thin
Into aggressive lions, venomous serpents, armed men of sin
Maidens with iron-grey painted on their senseless skin
Leaving spikes to pierce through the lights of purity trapped within
And with skill, they craft horned bulls painted with bronze for flair
Leaving the spirits to burn in despair, with smoke to fill the air
And to sell them like slaves that customers have to pay
Though these gods are the apparent wisdom and light, or so they pray
Hanging them with silver chains by their necks as display
Trading them as property despite calling them the gods each day
Painted in blood red to make them easier to trade
With tears unseen flowing to the blue sky for tranquillizing aid
Bowing down to the wailing statue to be devote
With the worshippers filling the room with prayerful chants with each throat
Maybe praying for their deceased children’s river boat
While blindly bowing, with raining tears, to their children’s wooden coat
A statue sitting down with a serene face and veil
With souls in that chaotic Samsara, in that cyclical flail
Giving fruits of all colours that are pleasing to see
For the trapped souls to smell their brethren rotting as a death-filled sea
Pouring fish blood unto the wooden corpse of a tree
To show loyalty to the wooden carcass with their prayerful glee
Half the wood they burn for food which is perishable
Half the wood they worship as a god who is imperishable
Craftsmen make wooden crosses of a man crucified
To honour the one Christ whom the world of winter’s darkness denied
While nailing the Suffering Jesus with hands applied
Further crucifying the Cross of Light within the wood that died
May the light be free from the lion-headed craftsman
May the light, through the sun and moon, become the one and only Perfect Man
I was baptized in the howls of wolves, under the lattice of thorns of ancient winds,
My veins are mapped by serpents, my pulse beats to the rhythm of forgotten beasts,
All who fear kneel, but I stand untamed in the midst of the storm,
Unsculpted by the hand of time, unyielding in the face of attempts to shape me.
Every scar on my skin is an earth-shaking howl that cannot be silenced,
Every breath I take is a hurricane born from the depths of my being,
In forests hidden by the shadows of ages, I rise like a primordial cry,
My crown is woven from winds that have danced with ever-changing leaves.
The whispered tales of forgotten creatures flow through my veins like ancient rivers,
I am sculpted by the storm, untouched by the hand that tries to mold me,
Every mark on my skin speaks of battles fought in the silence of long nights,
And each breath carries the force of a hurricane ready to unleash itself.
I am the one who stands proud between howls and winds, between scars and untamed storm,
An echo of the past that refuses to be forgotten, a soul vibrating with the power of beings,
In the wilderness where others bow, I remain, rising wild and untamed,
For I am the one who stands proud between howls and wind, between scars and storm.
The Salt Horse
Her body brushes the forest's bark like a clock made of dew,
her skin trembles thin, a flag of water beaten by the wind,
through the wood's fingers pass warm trade winds like a breath,
the trees' hands cool themselves in her as in a hidden spring,
beyond so much touching sleeps a horse as vast as the horizon,
his flesh is violet like a jellyfish dreamed in the sea's sleep.
From his mane living tentacles are born, serpents of salt and light,
they gather the bodies around and drink them like wells,
the chests break free alone, running bare like stray dogs,
they carry on their skin bruised imprints, old kisses of fire,
the fields bare their great teeth and bite into memories,
and the marks left behind burn like mouths that can't be filled.
Those immense mouths swallow the vines fleeing in fear,
cut into pieces, the vines rise up straight like candles,
at their tips small suckers grow, blind eyes searching the sky,
everything trembles in an ancient rhythm, a boundless dance,
I watch you from the horse's shadow, from his violet flesh,
not knowing if I'm dreaming, or being born from his salt-womb.
We are only shape and longing, living clay under a mercury moon,
blood runs through the trunks like a liquid smoke, white and heavy,
your hands are roots, your mouth a crystal made of dew,
inside you the trade winds burn as in a templeless temple,
and the erotic horse dreams he might become a forest,
and the forest, in turn, dreams it wears a mane of jade.
The bare chests remain, knocking at the gates of evening,
the bruised imprints remain, writing their story across the fields,
the horse remains, silent, his flesh a jellyfish gone dark,
and we remain, longing and ash, inside the body that forgets us,
somewhere on the horizon a new vine climbs again toward the light,
and at its tip grows a sucker-flower, red, mystic, alive.
My veins black as burned psalms,a river of rot running under my ribs.
Each heartbeat bleeds ink scripting serpents through scrolls of my skin.
Call me the chalice of corruption chaliced by curses,chaliced by craving.
My blood boils with broken commandments,whispering "drink me" to the dark.
Heaven turned it's hose of light on me once and the flame got darker.
My pulse pounds poison;it drums dirges for angels who drowned in desire.
The marrow in me mutinies,begging for the beauty of decay.
When I bleed earth drinks deeply and dreams in sickness and silk.
I baptize myself in my own bloodstream and scream Amen through the aneurysm.
My shadow sweats- blackwater veins bursting hymns of hell and hallelujah.
What will you do when it’s your time to shine?
Do you have all your words written down in your mind?
Have you planned for the day when they call on your name?
To lift up a soul and help hide someone’s shame?
Is it easy for you to just stand up and speak?
Anytime, anywhere – any day of the week?
What about when you’re asked to give your point of view
On the many events that take place in the news?
If you’re asked to speak on the ‘good news’ of Christ
To those who yet walk in the world, full of vice.
Do you have rhyming words or a sweet song to sing?
As you share the news of our Resurrected King?
These questions I ask are to keep us in mind
Of the Great Commission given to all mankind!
That our King returns with Victory in His hand,
And all will bow down with their knees in the sand
Giving glory to God – Who truly loved us all
Even though disobedience caused us to fall.
Yet He gave all He had even Everlasting Life.
He forgave us our sins – He took away our strife.
His command said “go forth in the world, filled with love
And be as wise as serpents – but gentle as doves”.
So what will you do when it’s your time to shine?
When God opens up Heaven and says “This child is Mine?”