Long Statues Poems
Long Statues Poems. Below are the most popular long Statues by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Statues poems by poem length and keyword.
they always start the same way—
a handshake, a smile,
some cheap wine poured into a crystal glass,
the crowd clapping like trained seals.
then he starts talking about the people,
and how he’ll lead them,
how he’s their man.
but give it a few months—
the limo rides get longer,
the mirror talks back louder,
and suddenly he thinks
he’s got God on the payroll.
he’s supposed to be a figurehead,
just a cardboard cutout for the ceremony,
a name for the checks,
a face for the crowd—
but he starts believing the statues are for him.
you see it every time:
power’s a slow poison,
sweet at first,
then it burns the throat,
rots the soul,
and turns a man’s eyes into mirrors
that reflect only himself.
the rest of us—
we keep paying the bill,
keep clapping,
keep bowing,
pretending he’s not
just another double bigmac
From McDonald's on the corner
who thinks that you should pay his tab.
I enter gates that are rusty and old, worn with age,
This eternal resting place fills my soul with sadness;
The time of year does not help, barren trees hanging low,
Dried up flowers lay forlorn on rows of graves.
I followed a pathway taking me deep into the maze of sorrow,
Many stones difficult to read, erosion and time destroyed;
Some are simple crosses and others pristine granite markers,
I cross over a bridge above a rippling stream.
Dark valleys lay before me and toppled statues rest in peace,
This scene of sadness holds a place in my soul forever;
For among the burial plots, vaults, lays a beloved sad memories,
There is so much love in this forever in this place.
This cemetery is serene and tranquil,
And I still weep . . . .
____________________________
March 21, 2014
Poetry/Verse/Simple Mutterings/Still I Weep
Copyright Protected, ID 14-1003-884-0
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
I saw
The candle burning
Casting shadows
Over solemn faces
Tick tock
Goes the clock
People are born to die
I'm just afraid
Because I'm no longer afraid
Dreams of gold
Embossed statues
And everlasting joy
Crumbled to nothing
Look at how tired these faces are
With one dead the rest are soon to follow
Like dominoes we all begin to fall
We're just liquid
Before a colander
Faces fade in facetious fatigue
I'm out of my depth and in the wrong league
Tear down the signs and banners
And what do you have
A generational depression
Dealing with the end of all times
You saw what I saw when you saw it
Tick tock
Goes the clock
The past can be found written in history books,
Statues stand and tell no lies.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
We are pawns in a game of queens, kings, and rooks;
Bygone crimes we seek to sanitize.
The past can be found written in history books.
Time does not change a hero to a crook,
And to the devil you cannot eulogize.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
No matter what liberties with the truth are took,
Man’s bygone crimes remain, that all must realize.
The past can be found written in history books.
Always remember: man’s follies are just a page in God’s scrapbook,
Our foolishness we look to normalize.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
This world came without a guidebook,
Our past is not perfect and cannot be idealized.
The past can be found written in history books.
To see the future, to the stars you need to look.
I entered gates that were rusty and old, worn with age,
This eternal resting place filled my soul with sadness;
The time of year did not help, barren trees hanging low,
Dried up flowers lay forlorn on rows of graves.
I followed a pathway taking me deep into the maze of sorrow,
Many stones difficult to read, erosion and time destroyed;
Some were simple crosses and others pristine granite markers,
I crossed over a bridge above a rippling stream.
Dark valleys lay before me and toppled statues rest in peace,
This scene of sadness holds a place in my soul forever;
For among the burial plots, vaults, lays a beloved sad memory,
Of my childhood cat, Snowball, forever in this place.
This pet cemetery, serene and tranquil,
And I still weep . . . .
____________________________
March 21, 2014
Verse
Theme - Write me sad
Submitted to the contest, Moods, sponsor, Silent One, Fourth Place
Submitted to the contest, The Saddest Landscape, sponsor, Skat, Second Place
"A collaboration poem"
Oh, to be a poet like me
To be a muse, inspire, kindle someone's pen
To be the one they come to for help and encouragement
To be connected always by heart, soul and spirit
Oh, artist paint me beautiful
To be a sublime exquisite dream
To be that divine creation that inspires your path
Oh, could you write of me writer
To be the one to embolden words
To let words of me bleed from your pen on white
These wild thoughts are but my fantasy
Why would a poet or writer need me?
Why would a glorious artist need me?
But, I yearn for love of poet, artist and writer
To be lover and friend, and source of joyfulness
I would always exist in poems and in art !
I would be that forever eternal!
I'm the sparkle they love.
And now the world has a crush on me!
When the young woman awoke;
she knew she'd dreamed of the art gallery,
where she studied statues of marble or bronze,
viewed canvas after canvas of water colour or oil,
and her dream lured her back to the library,
with the books she loved to look at,
to read and absorb rhymes and paeans.
She longed for those places of culture and learning,
where her spirit always soared,
her heart and mind heady,
intoxicated, enchanted, enthralled
with the wondrous words she read,
and painted or sculpted shapes she saw.
Inspired, she reached for a pen and paper
to record the flood of beauty that filled her head:
January 26 Heart for God Bible Meditations Based on Exodus 25-27
Key Verse – Exodus 27:21 In the tabernacle of the congregation without the vail, which is before the testimony, Aaron and his sons shall order it from evening to morning before the LORD: it shall be a statute for ever unto their generations on the behalf of the children of Israel.
HEART THAT OBEYS THE STATUTES OF THE LORD
Our heart obeys the Lord and His statues through His mercy
While He welcomes us to come unto His throne without complacency
In order to commune with us in fellowship’s fervency
For our faith to grow in His gracious persistency.
Our heart obeys the Lord and His statues through His holiness
While He hallows us with His righteousness
In order to forgive us of our confessed wickedness
For our testimony to shine in His light’s brightness.
Our heart obeys the Lord and His statues through His commandment
While He purges us from disobedience-defilement
In order to lead us to submission’s fulfillment
For our offerings to be acceptable upon His sacrifice-settlement.
Our heart obeys the Lord and His statues through His Word
While He teaches us principles of divine record
In order to exhort us by His statutes and precepts’ accord
For our conviction to rest upon His truth, the Spirit’s sword.
Our heart obeys the Lord and His statues through His sanctuary
While He faces us me in worship-glory
In order to revive us toward victory
For our praises to express gratitude to Him, devoid of worry.
Our heart obeys the Lord and His statues through His name
While He reminds us of His awesome fame
In order to awaken us from sinfulness-shame
For our character to be conformed to His image of no blame.
Our heart obeys the Lord and His statues through His instruction
While He exhorts us along His admonition
In order to instill in us the need for sanctification
For our labour to abound in His ministry-function.
January 26, 2025
My Kind of town
My town may not be up to par
It may be leagues below most towns by far
May even seem rundown to some earthly clowns
The people here are quiet folk
Our fine citizens have no dogs to walk
Although a few may be seen strolling along
With their pet lobsters so red on leashes strong
New years we celebrate with the bubbly
As we do many fathoms of the year
The bubbles floating all around
Hot springs underneath abound
There is a ranch you see, just outside of town
The coral full of seahorses true
The whales swim by our ocean abode
In absolute amazement they smile or maybe frown
Our houses may be old
Each and every one though a museum to behold
To our vibrant illustrious past
Statues proud in aquatic blue
When you come visit us
We shall all look out and stare at you
If only we had had the time
We would have posted a sign
Welcome to Atlantis
I first learned to exhume the malice buried in their words,
Those grimoires of hatred, cruelty, savagery, and ignominy,
So I might understand upon which marble I carved the sanctity of my dignity.
Most of these demonic beings bury themselves in the cowardice of silence.
The clamor of truth rarely interests those afraid to lose their comfortable delusions.
I’ve seen diabolical mothers, chained in the darkness of their own decay,
Choose to stone their own flesh rather than chip the effigy of well-groomed impostors.
I chose the silence of ignorance as a refuge.
Slander always has longer legs than truth.
Humans have never been angels nor monsters.
He who claims heavenly ascension often stumbles in the devil’s fountains.
That is what I said to the mouth that relayed to me, like a ceremonial slap,
The impure judgments spoken against me,
All while knowing the tremors that rattle my nerves,
The porcelain of my emotions.
But it mattered to them no more than a feather on a battlefield.
I cut without hesitation.
I withdrew my presence as one pulls a knife from the heart.
The wisest posture would have been golden silence,
The sealing of lips before wars found their tongue.
But alas: humans prefer fire to restraint,
And no one stands sentinel for a solitary soul.
They traded righteousness for social graces,
Loyalty for consensus.
For to defend—truly defend—
Is done neither out of affection nor convenience.
It demands a straight spine,
And the courage to face the pack alone.
Those who dare deserve to be called statues,
For they stand firm in the storm.
As for those who drip venom in your name,
They hope, in their delusion, that you collapse beneath their own poison.
Let them perish waiting.
“It’s just a point of view,” they said.
I do not concur.
None is without stain.
But when a friend wallows in filth,
There is no need to applaud him from hell.
SHE NOW LAY NAKED
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing
Most elegantly, she danced from bottom to top
Pedals of roses Isled the hand scraped, oak wood floor that leads to his room
A hand woven, fringed carpet, with golden stair rods formed the way
Crystals from a hanging chandelier, rain bowed the doorway
She entered, full with the desire for love
She lustfully unbuttons her gown and slips out of her heels
His room windowed, with his bed beneath a canopy on his balcony
From here the city churches pierced the mist
Above the mist, two doves coo-cooing on a high wire
A row of lit lampposts lead to his king-size abode
Molded from clay, lion statues facing welcoming guests
The entry to his mansion, a replica of a Byzantine church door covered in vine
In the corner of his guest room, the harpist plays "Creatures of Prometheus"
Half beneath the satin sheets, she now lay naked
He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square
1, 9, 16 upgrade Version Contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
Line 1 The spiral staircase made her high heels sing
Line 9 From here the city churches pierced the mist
Line 16 He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square
5/9/18