Long Venerated Poems
Long Venerated Poems. Below are the most popular long Venerated by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Venerated poems by poem length and keyword.
The moon casts its silver vault over the ruins of modernity,
Where the souls of conservatives and progressives meet in an endless dance,
Of mistakes and traditions, I find myself carried on the wings of a stream of consciousness,
Contemplating the contradictions that define our ephemeral existence.
The progressive, with his heart of fire, steps forward, without looking back,
Embracing error as an old friend, inventing new paths,
Delving into unexplored abysses, in his eyes each mistake
Is a step towards a bright future, a candle burning in the night of ignorance.
Yet, in his frantic flight, he does not see the ruins left behind,
He does not feel the pain of those who fall in the shadow of his steps.
The conservative, with his heart of stone, stands guard at the gates of the past,
Fiercely defending what once was, in the pale moonlight.
The ruins become sanctuaries, and the mistakes of yore
Are transformed into sacred legends, he looks with reverence
At the remains of a bygone era, seeing in them an eternal beauty,
Untouched by the passage of time, in his eyes any change is a threat.
Thus, a tragic dance is born, in which each new mistake
Of the progressive immediately becomes a relic venerated by the conservative,
It's a symphony of contradictions, a fragile balance
Between momentum and stagnation, between dream and reality.
In this play of shadows and light, each soul
Is trapped in a snare of its own consciousness,
Trying to find meaning in the chaos of the modern world.
And I, a mere observer of this melancholic spectacle,
Let myself be carried by the wave of thoughts, seeking answers
In the silence of the night, perhaps the truth is hidden somewhere
Between the ruins of the past and the promises of the future,
In the heart of each mistake and in the beauty of each tradition.
Perhaps balance is nothing but a dream, an illusion
That disintegrates under the cold light of the moon,
In this divided world, we remain prisoners
Of our own beliefs, navigating among ruins and hopes.
Seeking meaning in the endless flow of consciousness,
And, in the end, perhaps our only solace
Is to admire the ruins under the moonlight,
To find beauty in imperfections and to learn to live with the contradictions that define us.
the celebrated sailing frog
from Montgomery County
went a court'n, or so the tale iz toad
to a grand ole mansion built around 1910,
and e'en 'pon
being razed ~2012 ah no dummy
sea worthiness still plainly showed,
twas February 28th, 1968,
when my father
bought the house at 324 Level Road
majority deuce score plus nineteen years,
rush back with unfettered exuberant zeal
this aging elf spent psalm tranquil
May days sung sotto voce
atop memorialized, prized,
shingled out, ship-shape valued,
venerated, vip voted faux vulgar demesne
"Glen Elm" named private
100+ acre wooded common weal
many a pitch perfect spring day
found yours truly
frankly basking atop spacious roof
oft times begging the cosmic force
irrationally lyft ting this Earthlinked bing,
this uber dreamer
willingly taken with "poof"
(magic amazing dragons)
presuming my absence,
would not be missed and whereabouts
no cause for alarm,
but usual antics of contemplative goof
ball, and aware
a minor for hair (Sunkist) gold
Helios innocently beckoned,
this then sole Sol tanned
within the solar raised fold
surrendering while atop
the multi acred roof where any cold
melted away, whence became bathed
like a bronze statue of auld.
zip pose zing the weather forecast
donned wafted air
fragrant with flowered flora
visibility for miles
if ether crystal clear,
this high da way countless yards
off the ground presented flare
approximating pristine floral display
with powerfully poignant immunity
against cackling, jeering, scowling,
A saccharine rueful cry rode upon the wind,
not a howl but a solemn ceaseless wail of tears
whispering a last bell's ring, peal and tolling goodbye;
a farewell to blended melancholic images and visions
that once permeated the echoing halls and corridors
where voices rang a rhythmic haunt of point and purpose.
Now only the mournful chimes ring out
blending into one solitary hum of shrill vibrations
when heores fall and memories grow hollow and short;
their now inaudible representation fading
for those left to enviously follow
or others to willingly ignore the footsteps.
Imprinted on the breeze
the aureole of brillint sun begins to fade
and history inadequately records the garbled sounds;
time passing, inconceivable kaleidiscope discolorations
the venerated celibacy of thought expunged
by inherent truism of the amulets of freedom.
Tremulous and tender the pedantic strident sings loudly
and the ooze of the death knell tolls ineptly sings,
straining the ear to open, hear, listen to the reverberations;
the anthologic repository rigid, closes, locks in the wind,
while the alcove resounds indulgent in unequivocal silence
definitive climatic acknowledgement, the knell secured and muffled.
8/26/18 Edward ibeh's Wind Chimes contest
also, in honor of John McCain's passing.
Before trust,she lives with love,
Up above feelings,her voice builds inspiring sentiments.
Looking up to the skies,her face is drawn on the clouds above the horizons.
I guess you don't have core-knowledge of this person?
I'm dealing with this personality born with dorminant beauty.
Yeah,the kind that would make you wonder in seduction.
Beating up on reality,
Nothing speaks against her perception.
God fearing lady with nativity conviction.
Qualified with intelligence and honour.
Meet her kind of Charisma,
That which attracts attention as corolla.
And you'll not afford to let go of her.
Affableness and diligence holds whatever she deter.
When she appears before me,I recall the first day we met.
The day that I can't forget.
Hey...she goes by the name AFIA ACHIAAMAH..
In fact,I'm honoured being in her contemplatable love attire,
And she is highly venerated even from afar.
If smiles fall on my face that means her voice is heard in ears.
Pretty looking of her greatness is trending through years.
This got to be a decorative spectrum,
Of which grace and self-discipline always dare to make AFIA ACHIAAMAH a blissful medium.
The revelations of God – HOLY ONLY YOU O’ GOD--
"Holy you?
You are
Only, only you?
The revelations of God
And is the guiding holy text of the Christian religion.
Of holy? “blessed.” relationship between holy and whole;
In the religious sense probably developed
From keeping believers spiritually whole —
And pure Holy only exalted worthy of complete devotion SURE
God as one perfect
In goodness and righteousness
DIVINE for the Lord our God is holy
Only devoted entirely to the deity
His the works of the deity a holy temple
Holy prophets having a divine quality of holy love
Hallelujah
Venerated as or as if sacred Holy Scripture
Living word Jesus, might holy councilor
Only one thing that is true,
God’ appropriate,
Necessary in a particular situation, in contrast
He’s never unordinary
He’s all the truth the only true,
He’s in the sense of just, Merely
At the moment He’s no theory.
He’s never weary
God is just
Simply just
God is purely just
Merely just only God
He’s more than
Nothing but only God
Only
At most He’s most
Only, Always only God
My God, Our God, Our God is Holy Only-Hallelujah"
10/19/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2022©
Last night I wandered past your total disregard
And walked forlorn
Stark insecurity amplified
Still I walked , my usual forebearance uncomplied
Upon furthermost the distance between us elongated
The sustenance of forgotten stores inside me generated
I was venerated - nay subjugated
Of these morsels congregated
And fed me through those inkblack nights
In dewfall of the quiet
Inside unheard the rebel riots
As my breath became a billion
As my fears that I embraced
Loosed themselves and fearing fled
Melting in the murky bellows
Did I find my standing there...
Naked but for meekness laced
Forgotten was my fear
I needs you dId not anymore
Nor your disregard this doggone day
Not dejected as before
Only sin has me surrounded
And soon encircled dissappears,decays
Unclothed in limped insignificance
Nothing said ...
So still your body lies
An army in green
fields,
ever vigilant, ever
silent, ever still.
Their honor ever
their shields,
falter, they never
will.
They've fought their
fight,
served how and when
they were needed.
They've earned their
reprieve from the
harsh, glaring
light,
but their post,
after all this time,
they still haven't
ceded.
Stones, shaped to
stand and dressed in
white,
mark where they lie,
mute through the
years.
Not voiceless,
though, for there
are those who
remember their
fight;
when called on by
one such in need,
their steadfastness
appears.
Carrying on their
legacy, are those
who continue to add
to their venerated
ranks.
Some call them
soldiers, some fools
and some heroes;
some see the endless
marble formation and
give thanks.
Down the somber rows
reflective feet
tread,
seeking friends,
family, or simply to
respect those who
gave all.
Regardless of race,
gender, creed,
religion, or
homestead,
ever onward, kin
they are; ever
together they stand
tall.
Never forget why
they're in those
green fields; the
battlefields they
crossed,
the kin they left
behind, to grieve
and remember.
Regret young and old
gone too soon,
innocence and family
forever lost,
but don't begrudge
their sacrifice -
with our lives burns
their eternal ember.
Bygone recollected reflections while perched atop storied roof...
years gone by now with a poof
constituting one garden variety generic goof
bolle yours truly sprawled himself aloof
The celebrated sailing frog
from Montgomery County
went a court'n, or so the tale iz toad
to a grand ole mansion built around 1910,
and e'en 'pon
being razed ~2012 ah no dummy
sea worthiness still plainly showed,
twas February 28th, 1968,
when my father
bought the house at 324 Level Road
majority thrice score plus deux years,
rush back with unfettered exuberant zeal
this aging elf spent psalm tranquil
May days sung sotto voce
atop memorialized, prized,
shingled out, ship-shape valued,
venerated, vip voted faux vulgar demesne
"Glen Elm" named private
100+ acre wooded common weal
many a pitch perfect spring day
found yours truly
frankly basking atop the spacious roof
oft times begging the cosmic force
irrationally lyft ting this Earthlinked bing,
this uber dreamer (uplyfted Dharma) bum
willingly taken with "poof"
(magic amazing dragons)
presuming my absence,
would not be missed and whereabouts
no cause for alarm,
but the usual antics of a contemplative goof
ball, and aware
a minor for hair (Sunkist) gold
Helios innocently beckoned,
this then sole Sol tanned
within the solar raised fold
surrendering while atop
the multi acred roof where any cold
melted away, whence became bathed
like a bronze statue of auld.
Written May 6th, 2026, for contest sponsored by Ink Empress
Prompt ~ Addicted to your Alchemy
*******************
Addicted to your alchemy—
I admit it without genteel restraint,
without the wherewithal to pretend
that this isn’t a selcouth, slow-burning undoing.
Your cuddles fired a flutter of ecstasy,
a golden glow gliding gently in my ribs,
switching my stolid stillness
into a fleeting void,
a longing that lingered,
leaping beyond limits.
I wretchedly return to the declivity
where your voice first broke my heart—
that susurrous, almost perfidious whisper
evocative vows, never venerated
I still recite it as if it were scripture.
There is a tristful sweetness in these moans,
a quixotry I cannot winnow from my bones.
Even today, your absence hones
similar to a stalwart shun
Draw me into that katabatic abyss
With virile, velvety-dark desire eclipses.
I strive to argue with myself—
a futile conundrum,
a colloquy with a heart too recalcitrant
to resile from the memory of your mouth.
Desire has its own sequacious logic,
It's tailored susceptibility
And I am guilty of every syllable.
You were always a little inimical,
a little officious with my longing,
Yet I let you inspissate my nights
with your half-truth heat,
your muliebrity or virility
(whatever shape you wore that hour),
Your sylphlike drift through my restraint.
And still—
I would sojourn in this sorrow again,
a sublime symphony of sprees
the sumptuous, smoke-soft torment
That leaves me wan,
yet wanting.
Addicted to your alchemy—
yes.
Because even now,
in the nadir of this night,
Your memory moves through me
akin to a clandestine partita
a dark-winged music
I cannot—
will not—
stop listening to.
(If I hadn't walked past my older brother's bedroom door
I wouldn't have realized that I needed some more)**
Ladies and Gentlemen, his time came much sooner
Then we could have imagined, now mourning this crooner
On the verge of this pinnacle, about to be on top
I speak of the memorial of one Reginald Belford Scott
Just a statement to the world with this cover
Simply to let us all know they need time to mourn for their brother
All colors, no colors, none segregated
Black placard venerated
From the opening bells tolling, decibels reverberated
To the ending with a rock n roll sermon elevated
A power punch with this Nineteen Eighties driller (all killer no filler)
Now the second bestselling album to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”
Yes, it’s plain with an embossed band’s logo
It’s a value (not a hue) as far as artists go
It leaves much to our imaginations
I think that’s on purpose, to allow ruminations
So, here’s some peace for all those who lack
Wait for the headlines, we will be “Back in Black”