Long Waxen Poems
Long Waxen Poems. Below are the most popular long Waxen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Waxen poems by poem length and keyword.
It is strange
how things that we see
and take for granted
in everyday life
should suddenly instil
in our minds
a new awareness
of their presence
A silent moment
a brief pause
from life's ever quickening pace
a moment of peace -
in times like these
a common thing
like a dried old tree
becomes alive with beauty
It stands like a quiet sentinel
who has witnessed
many an event
through time
Time has passed by
but it remains
silently standing there
O Tree!
What secrets do you store
in your noble branches?
How many events have you recorded
that man knows nothing of?
In your younger days
when you wore your mantle of green
you nested the carefree birds
to their offspring
you gave protection
When the sun scorched the earth
you gave them cool shade
On a cool windy night
you gave them warmth
How pleasant was their song
to your ear
as they sang a song of thanks
to you
You were a playmate to the children
When they romped at your feet
or climbed on your branches
you smiled
Time grew older
and the children became lovers
You saw them kiss in your shade
soft with the light of the moon
The aura of their love
touched your leaves
and you blushed
Today
they have all gone away
but you still remain
silent sentinel
still waiting and watching
How many untold events
have you witnessed
faithful keeper of secrets?
O that my soul could commune with you
and share of your rugged beauty!
Most Noble Tree!
forgive me for my
once-waxen eyes
One Nine and Sixteen What Are We Fighting For
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Once used to stitch fabric and other materials
Invented during the first Industrial Revolution
A state of armed conflict between differences
Nations, states different groups within a nation or state
Wage war conflict take up arms fight against
Engage in a war why and what for
Sewn up emotions tattered minds and clothes what are we fighting for
The war years seemed like only yesterday
God has lit up the universe, the world with waxen clay
Leaving us mankind as caretakers
We are the wax He's molded we're shaken
We're placed on His shoulders to see the light
Created in His image we are His light
I'm cylinder of wax wick that is lit to produce light that's seen and shown
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
04/22/18
Sponsored by: Viv Wigley
For One Nine and Sixteen - Poetry Contest
In a house, half-mad, with mother and dad,
And a labyrinth he couldn’t escape -
He trudged the maze, with a string ball, so sad.
The sky’s warm, gay orb, too, was round in shape.
So pretty was she, he dreamt as he marched,
And he constructed a bright plan in his head,
Sweating through shirts which his mother had starched,
He remembered what his father had said.
He would see his girl (the sun in the sky).
Augmenting his arms with two waxen wings,
A catapult shot him o’er clouds so high.
He burned, melted, crashed, his arms then in slings.
Dad said, “too close”, but his expounding lacks -
It was - his wings were inferior wax.
Here, this day, on this inglorious
Field
Thy vain struggles will count no
Valour.
All hope now abandoned,
Imminent defeat unconcealed;
Erstwhile countenance display
Such waxen, languid pallor.
Surround by your dwindling
Forces
Ye will but sadly find...
That the stout keep of your
Valiant fortress is all but breached,
Once strong foundations failing -
Wherest badly undermined!
For a rigorous examination beckons
ye;
Stood before impassioned jurors
Chosen from the feared and all
Powerful families of the ignoble
Medici.
Black curtains drawn back from
Deep reveals
That look out over the enlightened
Years...
Where conceals...
Hidden between leafs of peremptory
Decree:-
A blight spread upon these lands,
Inflicted from Romes insidious
Plans -
That cause stain upon the
Renaissance of a golden century!
When clapping thunder breaks and
Brazen lightening clashes
Still I would know ye again:
A pounding, frenzied reflex devoid
Of all Godly purpose -
Detached from any amount of
Blame!
For I have sought ye out, O lowly
Meretrix;
Heaping upon you with bondage
Enforced through servitude and
Shame;
And I, O lowly Meretrix,
I...hereby command thy name.
A fastidious Advocate of intellectual
Character
Shallst I elect,
He who be a practitioner of
Theological proposal unrefrained,
To represent you -
Raised from the rank files of the
Dead and slain!
A public gallery, wherest seated,
Ghostly phantasms
That I purposefully select;
And for a judge - A deathly one:
Ill measured, worshipfully detached,
Beneath it all,
And hopelessly arcane.
This "Innocent" fool, dressed in
Guise of highest ecclesiastical
Enforcer,
Perpetuated a medieval Inquisition,
Both protracted and prolonged,
That openly boasted and rejoiced
In its zealous slaughter!
Thereby spawned a terrible edict -
"Ad Extirpanda":-
Cannon law that advocates the
Use of "Legitimate torture"!
Know thee also, Meretrix, the Pius
Pontiff,
Heaven sent,
Who in his greater wisdom
Convened over
The council of Trent:
Four hundred years spanning
Across a Reformations fears;
Reaffirmed when Pope John,
In reflective reiteration,
Was heard to chillingly hiss:
"What was...Still is"!
TO BE CONTINUED...
In your palms, universes gather like butterflies with waxen wings,
I feel how light paradoxically hides beneath evening shadows' rings.
Time shatters in hourglasses, its sand a river of forgetting,
Words flow without banks, like rivers of longing and dreaming.
Moments die in silence, rebirths from shadows of thought,
In your eyes, the sea is a tear, the sun a cloud distraught.
In this dance of stars, love is a fire that never sleeps,
With arms outstretched to the heavens, I call angels who keep.
On the velvet black sky, a single word is a beacon bright,
Our souls touch, paradoxically, at the altar of night.
In your voice, silence screams with muted cries of yearning,
And within me, a song is born, an echo that’s unrelenting.
Silence is the voice that tells tales of worlds of old,
On time's thin thread, love is a dream I daringly hold.
In your eyes, the sky is vast, the moon a lamp that weeps at dawn,
Under your eyelids, silence hides like rain in snowy lawn.
I watch eternity donning its misty attire,
In my soul, hope is born from dreams and desire.
I open windows to the world, paradoxically to close the infinite,
And in your arms, my love, I find both my beginning and my end, intimate.
Encased in an isolated castle of an old fool’s paradise,
A decaying dagger rests upon a distressed oak table.
Frayed book pages scatter across termite-riddled floors.
The calligraphy carries echoes of triumphant battles,
Vividly etched in ink.
A revered legacy is forgotten in decades of decay,
Its inked glory fading into disarray.
Reminiscing of bygone days when youth was a sturdy partner at my behest,
Now weathered crimson dahlias adorn the windowsills
Of a desolate dynasty,
As the last petal falls.
Echoes of faded footsteps can be heard within the empty halls of waste.
What remains is a golden crown with sanguine marquise
Resting heavily upon an exile’s head.
How do I conquer the bloodstained fear trickling within the fractals,
Reflecting off the scorching sun that swallows flames,
Swirling around the ashen pyre
Of the poetic corpses I’ve slain for validation?
An inquisition paints a vicious vermilion
Within the sobbing stained glass.
The once-perfect porcelain flesh of our legacy is flayed,
Surrounded by the whispers of forgotten souls.
Cobwebs drape over shattered dreams,
As beams of light punctuate looming shadows.
Concealed beneath cold stone lies the family crypt,
Patiently awaiting its reluctant visitor,
Beckoning the exalt through clandestine corridors.
Within the hushed chamber of undying slumber,
He recalls the tragic tale.
Before him stand his beloved wife and children,
Forever ensnared in the clutches of eternal sleep.
Echoes of the past replay like eerie shadows,
Retelling the grim chronicle of their demise.
His envious, wrathful younger brother succumbed
To the greed of his own ambition.
In the darkness hour of that dreadful night, the dagger-wielding usurper
Plunged their existence into oblivion,
Casting spirits of suppressed speeches to weep
Within wailing walls.
Now I am the cerulean dusk of the gloaming,
A burnt-out waxen ivory,
The candle before their tombstone.
Light a vigil lamp today,
In memory of a land away...
Let us light a sacred flame,
Let the world all do the same!
For the mountain breeze so sweet,
Where the thyme and fragrance meet.
For you, my Homeland, lost and torn,
So sudden, unjust, and left to mourn...
My Homeland by the Black Sea shore,
Whose proud peaks praise forevermore!
How many hearts were made to weep?
How many bleed with wounds so deep?
How many eyes were filled with pain,
And swelled with tears like rushing rain?
And who was left behind to stay,
To toll the church bell through the day?
To light the waxen candles bright,
Beside the Altar in the night?
To light the chandelier that swings,
High in the dome where heaven sings?
And in Christ’s lamp of endless grace—
The light no shadow can erase—
To gently pour the sacred oil,
And change the wick with holy toil?
My only Homeland, pure and true,
We never will forgetting you.
The strangers envied all your grace,
Your glories and your beautiful face,
While a Turkish axe brought down its blade,
And on your children, slaughter made...
Sending us to wander blind,
Leaving all we loved behind,
To bear the heaviest, darkest cross:
The entire world’s most orphaned loss.
Coming to Senses
Ten thousand fathoms deep of immeasurable pain in hand
Tim raises the anchor entwined with callus and sea shells
Back breaking ardour sends blisters straight to the heart
Touches untouchable spikes from the corals
His tiny coracle was meant to navigate shallow waters
He had been a bog snorkeler wrestling mud for sheer joy
Yet his mask had come off and revealed a grimy persona
Skin’s slipping adhesions loosen the grip
Where dolphins had sung he echoes vacant sound’s void
Hoarse silence suffocates dreams and screams deep inside
A pantomime on the parchment of mute cacophony’s yield
Ear drums beating retreat into uninhabited mirrors
He tastes tentacles of an ink dried creature folds waxen paper
Smacks tongue and flavours cannot discern tears from dribble
Congealed on his palate ingesting nothingness’ rancid relish
Buds meant to savour reveal nowhere to save
Cataracts descend from within ragged blindfolded drought
As he begins to deliver catharsis by grinding sand into tears
Eyes on red alert icicles hanging from lids he melts down
Sees what he must brace without delusions of fancy
Five senses mingle with reason likes cogs in a rusty wheel of life
Unshackled emotions smudge duplicity of sorrow and freedom
Eventually Tim manages to let go of his doldrums’ illusion
Spliced by his anchor lies the journey of his ultimate soul
26th May 2019
"FLOWERS IN THE SHADE"
Once upon a dreary day,
Over a thousand of curious dreams,
While I laid for a nap,
There sprang a sparkling vission at a sudden.
And appeared a beautiful flower blooming in the shade.
Was not sure but confuse I was thus,
Till I learned was my dream only.
Yet, was a beautiful and a unique flower indeed.
That appeared in my dream alone.
Nothing more to lament but,
It is the 'Flowers in the Shade'
I cried out loud in the shade!
Grieving how could this be?
I longed to be out, away from the shade!
Mourning how could the wind be?
I dreamt, sang, waved, danced,
Shed tears in the shade and longed to query the light.
But how could the light find so?
Now I begin to imagine and seek in reality.
The solitary, matchless, waxen alike,
Pinkish-yellow flower that bloomed in the shade found thus blooming in reality.
In the mystery of night, when stars sing a forgotten hymn,
I travel through the shadows of silence, seeking an abstract truth within.
Through labyrinths of thoughts, an underground river carries me,
With each ripple, closer to the star that ceased to be.
In the whispers of the wind, I hear the call of ancient deities,
Pouring into my soul desires and dreams of yesterdays’ pleas.
Here, where time is but an ephemeral shade,
I seek my essence beyond the waxen veil's cascade.
I am a rootless tree, adrift on the endless sea,
I wear my solitude like a cloak of twilight's decree.
In the silent universe, I search for a thread of light,
A connection with all that is and all that might.
Rituals of silence bind my words to the sky,
In the cosmic dance of stars, I find a truth austere and high.
I repeat ancient incantations, words of forgotten lore,
On the wings of dreams, I lose myself in a time unknown before.
I am but a seeker in a world of questions and replies,
A traveler through life's chaos, with a soul heavy with disguise.
In every verse, a portion of the philosophy of silence sings,
For in profound silence, I find the key to understanding things.
And perhaps in this quest, solitude is but an illusion's guise,
An echo of the desire to find meaning amidst confusion's ties.
With each step, I draw nearer to the edge of infinity's reign,
Where heaven and earth meet under destiny's domain.
Through words, I rise in the eternal dance of stars,
And in cosmic melancholy, I find the peace of spheres afar,
For in the sea of silence, I rediscover me,
A seeking soul in a boundless universe, without identity.