Long Statuary Poems
Long Statuary Poems. Below are the most popular long Statuary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Statuary poems by poem length and keyword.
With Careful Spoons
Your perfume essence speaks of lazy afternoons under sage trees.
You kissed my bent neck with a pointed snake of sweet saliva eyes.
Now we are twisting inside my slow tilted bedroom with creep shoes.
Your gray short skirt shows slender legs flashing firm nylon divots.
Panties white and tight beckon my touch amidst the soft furniture.
Lips gesticulating now with puckered tentacles made of sugared spit.
Taloned fingers with pink polished probings find the noble charge.
Music-playing minestrone tasters come to dance with careful spoons.
Why have you lead me into this frothing dream web of lilac spume?
We kiss now with mind-rushing lip lashings glued to the secret night.
We delve now with our bending statuary into the new morning light.
In ancient cities and times,
kings, rulers and their often-faceless consorts,
were exalted in marble statuary,
yet
so much of those effigies
now remain headless.
Those bygone exalted figures
have lost their heads,
(or occasionally the odd arm).
I ask myself,
where did all their heads go?
Were they deemed to be sculptured flowers,
doomed to be dead headed like roses,
by stone-faced gardeners?
The beheaded, the headless,
litter history,
it makes me want to check my own neck,
to confirm my often weak-headed state.
Heads are easy targets,
you strike a light in the dark
then some petty tyrant takes offence
and poof,
there goes your head.
Genghis Khan played polo
with human heads.
If we were born
with a dotted line around our necks
we might put two and two together,
we might be better prepared,
for being booted around
like footballs.
If I had been clearly told
to always keep my head up my ass,
I might not have had this death wish,
to write weird poetry.
Where is the dress, where I hold the edge of the seam
My formally flowing reservoir of dopamine?
Against her skin I made epiphanies of gold
Despite my tender age of several days old
I once vowed to not escape her silky touch
As I grew old, it turned trapping much
Beside her, now matured, I grasp my creation
She watches and grins; I met her expectations
Now with her gone, I must voyage for approval
For that is how the human mind copes with removal
Her warm aura of blossoming rosemary
It only turned out to be...temporary
I turn to face you now, Sir Statuary
Before I set off on this forever ferry
Could this destination become final?
Like my heart, which always ends on a high note?
I came to see you at the remodeled hospital
there were bright tiles, statuary Marys, and assorted saints
"full code" was on the door.
We talked about your eventual escape and some summer plans
Now ,I am informed by curt text that there is a DNR with "comfort care,"
and no further attempts at treatment.
Too much oxygen for home or nursing home, a quick move to hospice across the road.
I kind of knew when the nurse's eyes slid over you and
the live plant I brought in the optimism of the early part of the week
was jammed in a light-less corner- I set it back on your tray.
You showed me that the nurses no longer came running when you took off your mask- the machine readout was dimmed and the alarms no longer blared.
You want to be sure that I plant hazelnuts,
and build a bomb or storm shelter, you know someone with a backhoe...
"Jesus lives on the 4th plane, you know", you tossed out to engage me
"...but there are other planes..." a gasp and the mask back on.
Your sister quickly interjects that I need to find "someone" to talk to you about this, someone who is interested.
I will talk to you about Jesus, and argue for his placement in the 6th plane
to see those blue eyes twinkle over the mask.
I will plant hazelnuts, I affirm, and look into the backhoe.
I see you, and I will see you around, my friend.
For Mike M.
an average of 2,830 cubic meters
per second of rich silt
forms an alluvial plain
spreads outward in a fan shape
from sedimentary deposit whereby
ancient Egyptian civilizations got built
adorning arid topography invaluable
like aorta pumping blood at the nape
of the neck, yet analogous context
engendered engineering feats without guilt
whereby artisans, craftsmen,
early geographers illustrated in frieze and drape
frozen timeless statuary exhibiting
phenomenal abilities to the hilt
associated from mainspring within
fertile crescent swollen like a plump grape
which longest river often overflows
banks whereby coveted materiel gets spilt
feeding the rift valley and allowing,
enabling and providing peoples to dominate
flooding the history of mankind
with accomplishments that marvel even today
epitomized by innovations -
alphabets, wheelwrights, pyramids, etc lives did create
baffling historians how each mortise and tenon
snug as a bug in a rug mortise and tenon block
construed edifices persons did intricately lay
perfect with near geometric exactitude
ranks as wonder of webbed wide world great
faint hints of daily trials and tribulations
recorded for posterity in clay
or shards of broken pottery pieced togethe
coupling revelations a mosaic plate
which functional artifacts
provided dietary staples
to pagan spirits populace did pray.
From the Heart to the Cross
The burden to carry on a journey slated
Weighs heavily on an outcome known to be ill- fated,
When Faith is the belief in hope for deliverance
Where humanity’s destiny hangs in the balance.
In mirrors dwell prisoners’ angst and desperate rot,
To lay their heads in the bosom of Madonna.
One way leads to the Saviour, the other does not.
Be it by choice, from the heart to the cross.
Comfort and joy. God will provide sanctuary
The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
Though Mary mourns, her anguish is temporary.
Unbelievers throw stones, yet His Word lives on.
His last hour on Golgotha shook civilization.
Angels triumphantly trumpeted the Lord’s salvation.
A madman with a hammer thrashes the Pietà1
To eradicate the metamorphic rock sculpture from history
That Michelangelo chiseled out of Carrara marble2—
Who made the seated Madonna larger and profanely stronger,
While cradling Jesus (whose appearance projects frailty)
As if having been chastised for allowing crucifixion.
A mollification for theological credence,
Neither reinforced nor inspired by biblical writings.
By appeasement, the sculptor admits conspiracy
With dogma, misrepresenting Christ to the living.
Mary’s demureness as she looks upon the contorted figure
Supports the illusion of her lordly stature.
***
Notes:
1 Pietà: The “Pietà” is a sculpture by Michelangelo (1475–1564) depicting the Madonna cradling Jesus after His crucifixion. The sculpture was completed in 1500 and is housed in St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican City, Italy.
On May 21, 1972, an Australian citizen vandalized the Pietà with a geologist’s hammer. The individual was not charged with any criminal offence but was hospitalized in Italy for two years and then released and deported back to Australia.
2 Carrara marble: Carrara marble is stone quarried in Carrara, Tuscany, Italy. The three most common types of Italian marble are Carrara, Calacatta, and Statuary (aka Statuario). Michelangelo is reported to have said that this was the most “perfect” block of stone he ever used.
Beltran ,the artist, has seen Christina,
seen her crawling form, statuary still,
in the field of grass
inching only in the minds eye.
He has wondered, as did Wyeth
what might she have been
been before the polio took her lower limbs
when she could stand and walk upright.
Beltran's nymph Christina 'light' in sailor pink
sleeveless and fragile stands stalwart
and considers the blacken air, the
skeletal house the ghost lights in the sky.
No forward motion can we spy
and action lays behind her
her arms and wrists crossed.
And though the rows invite cajole
the Little Tina toward the night
we see she's having none of it
a tornado comes this night.
*Please See About the Poem for Andrew Wyth's Christina's World
Not the sleek modern skyscrapers
Fragile, slim, standing tall
Catwalk queens of present times
But squat, imposing, solid built
Dowagers of a bygone age!
Forgotten memorials
Screaming, unheard, unseen
Proclaim of valor
In faded wars.
Winged griffins,
Gargoyles, Gods, Goddesses
Look down and stare
Mute remnants of majesty.
Verily Ozymandias comes to mind.
The lanes littered
With the birds, the bees and the beasts,
Kids both biped and quad
Suck hungrily at vestigial teats.
Pups latch on to a mother
Who’s long forgotten her own.
A crow feeds on the feast
Of rodent tripe.
And the statuary smiles on!
Form:
The late may sunlight is bathing a monument of Nature
so colossal in sculpted vertical structure
that it may very well be the palace complex of forgotten supermen,
stories from my childhood pastor of biblical Petra
discovered by Crusaders, or the Temple of Ramesses in Egypt
emerge in my mind as we course through this valley of watered chisled fascades,
sandstone worked by the trickles of centuries
has created craftsmanship of rusticly romanesque grandeur,
pillars, cornices, porticos, grotesque statuary
invites the imagination into the architecture of antiquity
and the legacy that looms in the landscape of divine forces,
these are the White Cliffs of America
born from the bone of Divinity
and worked by the water of will,
Coming out of the Atlantis precinct as Clark calls it
a fork in the river confronts us like a new religion
a pathway heretofore unknown to our shadowed souls,
the Hidatsas mentioned nothing of this avenue,
I am angered hot by this suprise of doom
if we choose the wrong river we find only dreadful failure,
both waterways are mighty , broad, and of a similar depth,
one goes northwest the other southwest,
I swear my brain is gonna burst,
Clark is bracing himself against a tree as if he is waiting for a heart attack,
nobody knows blue from black at this juncture
and the guys are gettin hyper as horses amid thunder,
after discussing the odds he and I return to camp
as professional officers, no doubts, only orders,
two small detachments , one led by me, the other by Ordway
will traverse on foot one river each
up to forty miles examining clues like owls on a mouse's trail,
each party is on extra alert for bear and Indians,
grizzlies have become a common monster lately
sometimes requiring 12 shots to subdue,
they are infamous for their zombie qualities
having freakish endurance and bloodlust while being injured,
as for the natives, one only knows after eyes are shown,
J.A.B.
Marry a poet
Who will write you poems
And treat you; a pet
Composed many anthems
With kisses that presents you his QUEEN in a banquet
Marry a poet, a great bard
Who will take care in bed
Hold you like sword to an Asgard
Lay you in words' heart retread
At mind to ever remain your guard
Marry a poet and be the story
And reason to stimulate pen
Wanting to paint you more of history
That young lovers shall admire you: a Zen
To keep literature as an awesome inventory
Mary a poet whose handwriting blooms
Whose work reflect your ache, gain and prowess
No much a concern won't looms
Turned you an ageless actress
And make your wears: costumes
Marry a poet for love
To steal away the silent sanctuary
Hail his grace as your troubled belove
Till end, you shall keep enjoying the statuary
Celebrating the all you had shove
Marry a poet; an art warrior
Learn how to fight along
Not to see sleepless night a barrier
To love making and a wrong
Becoming a great fancier
Marry a poet to learn heptad
How much is a day worth
And how precious the muse a moment adds
To creation of quills' rebirth
Than always thinking of gonad
Marry a poet
Who will turn you pet
For the real feelings do beget
Not to be forgotten like debt
When it is made wet; out of a lovely duet