Short Ramparts Poems
Short Ramparts Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Ramparts by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Ramparts by length and keyword.
Freeing the myth,
begotten to dream
Ramparts to crumble
—Sorcerer’s scheme
(Rosemont Pennsylvania: February, 2021)
Tis, this other life
Appearing only as dream
Day I left your side
Ramparts that did not collide
Yet, I know still deep inside
let us
drink the chartreuse
yellow green fields with our
eyes till we escape our ramparts
with wings
-maria corado
5/16/18
Whistling wind
wrestling with withered leaves
on the cocoa farm
Lifting debris does not pay
I plead thee
go to our leaders' hearts
blow down their stony ramparts
Are you a servant
to creation’s lord,
every word indentured trope
In towers of despair
each phrase a step
—on the stairs to love and hope
(The New Room: March, 2021)
My heart was hidden behind undetectable ramparts
He mischievously tiptoed over my heart, spreading fairy dust
Infiltrating every particle, echoing his call~~
Security is tight, the world is different now
To each man and woman we must be vigilant and vow
To do our small part
To shore up the ramparts
So for peace loving people, our freedom will allow
Reigning in his own demise,
the alcoholic stumbles
Falling from the ramparts high,
hard upon the ground
A monarchy of lost regret,
in anger’s shame he crumbles
Trapped inside a broken dream
—heartache’s thorny crown
(Rosemont College: July, 2021)
Fashioned in enameled vacancy,
the gentry’s veil was pierced
Exposed unclean, all vices seen,
through fury sharp and fierce
The folly of their blasphemy,
whose cover all but blown
With blood to flow from ramparts high
—once driven from the throne
(Dreamsleep: December, 2021)
Dawn’s herald sounds forth,
Night’s ramparts are stormed,
Her daunting walls breached.
Westward she withdraws,
Her keep abandoned,
The conquest complete.
Day’s standard flies high,
Proclaiming rebirth,
Warming the chill land.
Written 13/04/2015
~Shane Cooper~
what breach of faith
has time wrought?
like cannonballs
through ramparts and walls
each day bores on,
unflinchingly through page after page
of sickening drivel.
the sun contentedly wallowing
in its yellow sty turns over
without a snort.
at day's end it seeks other fields
to root and hog.
(undated 1979)
Within this structure,
my words remain
Each line a fortress,
as thoughts refrain
The ramparts solid,
its moat retracts
All quivers loaded,
as doubt attacks
The enemy constant,
assault on fire
What darkness births,
one phrase retires
The battle spoken
upon the wind
My legend written
—still safe within
(Dreamsleep: October, 2021)
Ramparts adorn the castle walls
Amidst them slotted turrets
Making for a grim façade
Inside a moat that repelled many
Fortress of all it guards
In its depths a dungeon
Captives were placed there
A home to torture chambers
The stains of blood darkly visible
Inferno pit in the centre
Over which people were hung alive
No mercy given here to foes
Screams heard for miles around
Your heart is a fort
mine is a castle,
the ramparts of each
are unassailable.
Send in your dragon,
I'll send in my knight,
what will prevail
the armor or fire?
The fire
of your heart
melts the armor
of mine.
The fort
and the castle
entwine and become
a kingdom of love.
The ramparts of my existence span wings
of time...beating of my heart allows me to
believe I am here...then again, when am I not
leaving behind states of consciousness
I fly into the arms of wonderment
some part of me questions whether anyone
else notices I am flying through the heavens
most favorite moments of perceived freedom
dressed in a sweater woven of prayerful
reminders...
In the lap of holy Ganges
Mystic waves crawled upon him
Ripples of love embraced and
Divine showers Ganges wet his cheeks.
Saw him in reflections of depth
Blurred it away by blowing breeze
Hymns of nearby ramparts,
Echoed off and reverberated like holy smoke.
When moonlight lit the lamp.
Last shadows filled emptiness
Then saints preached "Death
As eternal stretches of life".
The unhistorical museum
Misses thousands of years
Its grazier-rich sole reference
To peoples whose breath has lingered millenniums
Is a back-of-drawer
Cast-away reference
To the problem.
In square-framed wall hangings
Escutcheons of capital dominate
Captured views of time-challenging
Individual property-retaining ramparts
Outside maggies and their feathered foes
Still remember
How to circle.
Listen to poem:
Childlike innocence
turns stones into shiny stars
clouds into tall ships—
wonder walks barefoot through grass
where doubts, care not to follow.
Wet hands in beach sand
build castle kingdom ramparts
to defy the surf—
knowing that naivety
is a fugacious bulwark.
Morning eyes open
to greet the world, unarmoured—
as a child artist
who fears how they're growing up
will dispel their impishness.
Long, wide, vast, high, dreadfully deep protective walls
Battlements, ramparts, bulwarks, and tower folders
Living quarters, arrow slits, gatehouses, and halls
Monstrous walls built as though with steel-alloy boulders
Water-filled deep massive moats to obstruct the foes
Bastions and merlons within majestic meadows
Forts and castles are mysteries of histories.
They are focal themes of bewildering stories.
In the song of the antelope,
the Prince heard his Queen
Now locked in a convent,
her beauty unseen
The tower still distant,
its ramparts on guard
Just one point of entry
a hero’s reward
The mist in the valley
her prison unseen
Through clouds in the distance
her pleadings, her screams
The miles before him
twin antlers ahead
His future unfolding
—his destiny wed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
In the Song Of The Muses,
the Prince heard his Queen
Now locked in a convent,
her beauty unseen
The tower lay distant,
its ramparts on guard
Just one point of entry
a hero’s reward
The mist in the valley
its prison to free
Through clouds in the distance
her pleadings, her screams
Two miles before him
all love waits abed
The future unfolding
—his destiny wed
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Forthwith over these ramparts be
What life and liberty means to me
The soldiers who gave their lives
That went to strife by their wives
So poignant be, what’s left instead.
Then are we saved from what’s ahead?
Tomorrow’s days we cannot replace,
What yesterday’s left, without a trace.
For all the soldiers who gave their lives
That are only remembered by their wives
Will it make a difference, in the end.
Or is it all for naught, I can’t comprehend.
No matter who you vote for
the government gets in
Left or right, day brings night
with colors gray and thin
The better parts of nature
get worse as time goes on
Bilateral infection
whose cure is woebegone
As hubcaps change in order
the wheels forever spin
Tomato or tomatto
that same old song to sing
A baby leaves its mother
new brick to build the wall
Ramparts trapping all inside
—beyond which prescience calls
(The New Room: May, 2023)
My home is on the farthest ramparts
And in the darkest of canyons deep
Where scanning vultures circle my keep.
My home is in the hottest jungles
And the sandy desert wastes so dry.
Where scanning buzzards circle and cry.
My home is in the frigid mountains
And huddled on shores rocky and damp
Where scanning ravens circle my camp.
I am on the prowl both day and night
Call me commando, seal, or ranger
Others thrive because I face danger.
I need the ocean to protect me,
with its pounding surf.
Able to beat back,
my strongest fears.
Building sand castles,
up to the sky.
Standing behind its ramparts
defending my soul.
When you are away from me,
I need to oean.