Long Steppe Poems
Long Steppe Poems. Below are the most popular long Steppe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Steppe poems by poem length and keyword.
In the shimm’ring empty distance
Of a vast central Asian steppe,
A faint and formless shape appeared.
A soundless mass of black and brown
Rose like a djinn from out the dust
Of the long traveled Great Silk Road.
As it drew closer on its course,
Under a wide and hot noon sky,
That vague and slowly swaying shape
Cloned a train of two-humped camels,
And dark-faced nomads robed in blue,
Who marched in sync with Borodin.
On they trekked toward Samarkand
With their load of silks and spices,
Mixing sounds of bells and voices;
Indifferently passing by
To vanish in a distant haze
As do so many of our days.
Reason, are you thinking twice?
Idea, freely roll.
Poison, pen, and paradise!
Grind the golden goal!
When do dreams hit deck deterred?
Carrion crow, thy bird.
When the winner comes in third!
Anguish, how you stirred!
Hell and Heaven, hither hie.
All good people lie?
Warrior wounded, thy cold cry!
Dismay means to die...
Tympani, tomorrow.
Roll like a river deep.
Source, sail through the sorrow.
Caiman, time to creep.
Weather? It gets cold outside.
Weakness? Best to hide.
Windmill? Charge and woe betide.
Wharf rats have no pride.
Jamboree, thy goers.
O party, hand out fun.
Lawn, best call thy mowers.
O sugar, best get spun.
Dark fire, with me one more time!
Burn in riddles black!
Breaker point, upon me rhyme!
Heart of mine, attack!
Gods of death, deal wisdom out!
Suffering, to come!
O steppe horseman, when to shout?
When you have no drum...
ashes to ground ashes
dust to biting dust
birth to surrender
no phoenix
just crumbled trenches
no cross on the grave
blink of an eye
kissed amulet
steel for the battle
until last drop of blood
he held onto a prayer
clutched his weapon
when they broke his dog tag into two pieces
before snowfall covered his belligerent tracks
two halves conversed and confirmed the fact
that he should only live ‘until death do us part’
permafrost unforgiving
cold wars heating up
same message same fate
in the name of Father Son and Russian winter
an Unholy Spirit had taken charge of the battle
Stalingrad ... a footnote of history and tank chains
when spring came the steppe emerged unchanged
21st May 2020
I am a champion,
the thought and feel of it is real,the fact being indisputable and the reality pure,
with others,and in singular isolation victory over the misery of disrections is now,and future,
I am a champion because I have led myself and others to victories,
victories over the malvolent and lurid labors,
living,toiling,dreaming,and breathing within the parameters of a system foriegn
to my instincts, alien to this suture,
I am a champion along with others because I weep incredulity
at the untaught magnitude of a work ethic producing abject glories,
brought to my knees,my heart beats rife with pain,fear, & the mud of doubt,
brought to lunacy by the dispassion that consequence savors,
rising, and rising as emotions explode at the chance and moment for domination,
justification, to obliterate the obstacles,making room for stories,
awaking with dry pain in the eyes,nausea,dizziness,despair,
seeking simple reasons for motivation to go forth,
wishing quixotically for more sleep,
finishing the day feeling dumb,dull and brazen like a fenced horse
hungry for edification,rectification,seeing the great steppe with a risk too deep,
going on week after week with new sprains & strains on mind body & spirit,
always some mistake, cuts, bruises, burns & hyperextensions,
compulsively micromanaging,hyperanalysing, a manic finisher,
nothing will dissuade me from the thankless pursuits of daily perfections,
the anatagonists,the ones who sneer & discourage casually at the noble attempts
of the able champions trying to maximize efficiency,to excel,win,
raising that standard which the mediocre claim can't be improved,
I and others jeapordize our health,safety,sanity so to accomplish the impossible,
I receive no grand trophies,new contracts or publicity,
nobody takes my picture or delivers a prize,
there are no special tokens or passwords on the table,
we strive ferociously for the sake of victory,for the knowledge of limits,
this way setting greater goals & tests,
being testaments for others who climb,
do I want acclaim from Deity for my successes,distinction for my sacrafices, no,
I work hard for me and others to be sublime -
J.A.B.
Her reemergence into my relatively reclusive reality
was tantamount to the scary sensation a victor perceives shortly prior to victory,
the feeling that you could prevail if time would just evaporate suddenly,
extinguishing the crowding curve that an opponent may still win,
the situation wasn't that dire,
Nevertheless,
Embers became fire,
flames transformed into dangerous desire
and wishes remained whimsical,
we began by ignoring the unpreferable past like it was dissolved ice
that watered a now open and fertile steppe ready for horses liberty,
she spoke vaguely, happily, and with a young athlete's hubris,
I clarified things comprehensively, I was encouraging like lost songs heard within,
Aleksandra said that she was in love with life itself,
I mentioned that I was in love with survival,
seemed to me that there was a compatible appraisal,
one who loves life does so because life appears to them as a kind beauty
a perfect preachment that exists for their edification,
one who loves the survival of life perceives life as a pitiless perfection,
a brutal beauty endured with dignity for a fiercer freedom commitment,
we each received relic epiphanies from the echoes
of our elastic hopes & heartaches which suggested risk is a ransom of romance,
cute chance,
briskly, like a chill of the dusk,
we ended the endeavor of escapade,
the dictates of our friends, families foes and freedoms would not finance -
J.A.B. 2007
I have lived before the clocks were wound,
When silence spoke and stars made sound.
My hands once etched in temple stone,
The prayers of kings, yet slept alone.
I knew the scent of burning leaves,
In Vedic dawns, beneath fig trees.
I sang where Nile met desert wind,
A priest of fire, a soul thick-skinned.
In Rome, I wore the thinker’s face,
In chains of thought, not bound by place.
In robes of law or sacred thread,
I judged the living and the dead.
A scroll, a blade, a feathered pen—
Each life I bled and breathed again.
In Florence I lit minds like flame,
But died unknown, without a name.
In shadowed courts of Genghis' reign,
I walked as ghost through steppe and plain.
I sought the Truth in every creed,
But never tamed the soul's deep need.
Through monks and maps, through ink and war,
I crossed the seas to distant shore.
Each time reborn with memory dim,
Yet haunted by the silent hymn.
Now here I stand, the circle tight,
With one last fire to birth the night.
I’ve seen the rise and fall of men—
But will I walk this Earth again?
Meandering through the moonlit meadows,
the moonbeams cast magical mauve shadows;
The clair de lune cloaks the clouded clearing,
Arcane rays gleam in august appearing;
Thus enchants the round empyrean queen
with elysian echoes etched on the scene;
The land lighted by the lambent lantern
looks lush with luminous lunar pattern;
The celestial chandelier calmly charms
night's blue blooms without belligerent qualms;
The steppe sleeps under sentinel silver
who guards the grassland with glows that shimmer;
The pale white pearl projects peace on the plains,
Under her creamy care, no one complains.
I was told Jews were colonists and white
I wondered how to test if that was right
So I looked up genes, a simple approach but bright
Found Jews are at least half Canaanite.
This was found by looking at more than one Neolithic mound.
Bodies, bones, before the Iron age, DNA could be found
I bet my know-it-all debater hadn't thought of looking at that
He looks at debate as throwing me on the mat.
Who belongs in Israel is an ongoing fight
Interestingly, the Arabic speakers are also part Canaanite
But the relationship with Jews is uneasy at best.
Still, there was a way to test.
Europe's prehistory can be tested too
Most residents died, we look for a clue
5000 years ago, some evidence it was disease
Eurasian steppe peoples took over the keys
If you admire Stonehenge, please know
The people who built it had nowhere to go
Most of their descendants were gone by 2000 B.C
No one at fault, seek the truth and be free.
Jim-I-Nator,
chase creator,
imitates a song,
recreates a major,
sail's you to saviors,
reinvents the round,
reelects the tasers,
summons it in a bong...
Bites it right out
just like the Chong.
Waits in a mile-
just for the hump,
butts heads with the viral-
just like the slums,
does a downward spiral like a swivel,
dials 911 to spy on individuals,
random as hail in July,
hits like nails-
out on the lake in the sky-
just where I had wanted to die.
Like a Laker in a coat,
like a disastrous danger running wild and remote-
just like Ebeneezer Scrooge with a check book and the holy ghost,
just like Jesus on an electric motorcycle,
flying with angels-
jimin' with a bagel,
rotating at an angle,
fly's in the sky like a needle near the eye!
Random as hail in July!
Eats prunes,
and then pray's not to die!
Greets his shrooms with venom,
beats his moods with a pendulum,
hears through stethoscopes when he's endin' the run,
goes to the gym to have a little fun!
Waits for the time to stand still,
eats all the cops in between him and his pillz!
Says **** jail!
My ******** is a nail!
**** being out on bail!
I'll still be here until the killer is unveiled!
Shapur I, Wise King of the Simurgh Kingdom, and friend of Mani
The King of Kings of Iran and non-Iran, the sun of many
Walking through the valley of the shadow of death, the road of any
Recalling his life of war campaigns, stone monuments and plenty
Recalling his support and talks with Mani, though his heart was in doubt
Now he knew that the blazing flame, that guided him, was going out
Wondering why he believed Oromazd and Ahriman were brothers
Why he worshipped fire, for soon his fate will end in painful fires
Remembering how he dismissed the teachings of the lotus flowers
Mani’s gift of Persian honey, that he did not taste, like others
Ready for the chariot of burning flames, his friends started to weep
He sunk down into his soft bed, and fell into the clutches of sleep
“A voice calling from the Eastern Steppe, “Prepare the way for the Light
Make straight, open paths to the Light, dwelling in the heights above the height
Valleys will be made low, heavens will open, all in a king’s sight
The world will shake, and the world will be bathed in moonlight and in sunlight””
These are the words the angels prophesied about Shapur the King
Shapur before his sleep faintly chuckled at this, praying and wishing `
Shapur I came again, forgetting his former self and wish
But had dreams of the Just Judge, sitting just above a pond of pearlfish
“You allowed every flower in your vast land to grow and flourish
You were the sun shining indiscriminately on all plants and fish
And cared for that seven petal lotus in your garden and court
Though in the past, you politely declined to give your heart’s full support”