"basilica" poems
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design
cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display
winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare
crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to hell
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge
torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side
black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch
middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
In the divet between mountains
Resides a wooden cabin – ostensibly an amalgamation of the scape
Adroitly - I - quondam female warrior flit
Down massive (ancient) hand-laid, hand-cut carved stone steps
Bounding from contingent step onto the dense pad of turned soil
Tacit compliance between gravity and soil holds footprints bound
A compressed deflating crescendo as pace ignites with bounds
Cadences of protuberant wildflowers and grasses erupt from swollen terra
A winsome chromatic menagerie, dispersed in ecstatic fistfuls
A venerably ancient ritual
My nascent clandestine vocation
Personally meted out - a beatification for my provisional sanctuary
Along glacier-fed stream
Lissome fingers shadow inert stalks –plucking dormant beginnings from their desiccated ligaments
I am austere and unadorned save for a festoon of pyrite flecks trailing my semblance
Residual gilding from my ante-meridian swim taken after requisite gathering of wild blackberries, goose berries, and rhubarb along oft-tamped path
The sun, nestling into its requisite apex endorsed my completion
I reclined into the hassock of soil, feeling the elements settle about with an embossment of my form
Imposing verdure arched subtly as compressed soil beckoned hyperbolic flux
As I lay within the basilica of opulent living columns replete with comestible bounty
Lingering dew honed inflections of sacrosanct petrichor in unison with piquant clover
Wild purple clover buds saccharinely tinted and inundated nestled nerves in mine cribriform plate
Birds pitched and galloped through the frond tips and beyond in the lapis expanse
Frequently snatching damselfly’s and assemblages of midges from their ephemeral drift
Auspicious rays transcended stippled diaphanous gravid clouds
Light inundated ether entered humbly into the cathedral oculus
Pyrite speckled terrain beneath, and my bare gilded form above
Cast a refracted aura about my sanctuary
Precipitously the elusive vaporous embankment distended further
Ashen atmospheric correspondence inaugurated liquescent sustenance to my mountain abode
And I -
Lingered beneath the descending gobbets, curls furled in a puddle
Fresh topsoil cupping my corporal topographic contours
Pressing blackberries into my mouth between smiles
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
mean beam bottom ***** without reluctance.
\\ air above \\
since forever baby boy: since forever liquid sparkler.
he has sense
& peanut butter jelly geography to his page.
his romance is of the west.
his eyes are of dandelions kicked & to the wind.
he moves like ancient turtle migration.
reaches feet to sidewalk \\ sand to depths \\ ride \\
night:
velcro-tightened mind withstanding.
party lights, ***** willows, retro punch, he
is orpheus descending: with all the elements positioned just so.
\\ jellyfish electric \\
he says he likes the loneliness.
he says it’s the water.
& so he moves \\ wills himself into the next measure.
liquid resolute bits.
so move \\ orca \\
curl of eye \\ so ride \\ black rollo wave \\
basilica \\ & \\
coral reaches below \\\\\
he likes to tell it, with warmed exaggeration.
slow-motion buffalo stampede. ride the railroads free & easy.
orange glowing bars of elsewhere. oscillating seal calls.
oily portland hipsters howling on the beach. those
juno cheeked rosy-red lips.
somewhere, sister getting married.
spring, summer, fall, winter, spring.
africa girl on a branch of a tree of a forest, overlooking elephant burial grounds.
color & white material:
plantations, gas stations, diners, & sharks.
this is the morning lunar \\
sweet blue beach of the old & awakening.
he crawls out & into her breaks.
her deep heights & bombora reef. the serotonin
functions twice, exposed between thin tissues of warm-blooded neurochemistry.
human, shown.
he is as a raw page, blank, yet
dipped \\
\\ so ride \\ bulbous waves of air mother agua \\
ride \\ &
\\ ride \\ &
brew by light these occurrences forever.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Poema Code Switching
By Aylin Soto-Aleman, Mercedes Caballero, Jesus Martinez, Marta Silva, Alex Alejandre
16.4.15
El final de una etapa
The end,
The beginning of a new journey
un camino
A un mundo extranjero
Un deseo, un sueño
A dream
Haciendo mi propio path
un camino
rostros nuevos , new failures
historias nuevas , new experiences
a sequel to my story, con hojas rotas
y mojadas
INMIGRACION
La memoria es un salto
entre continentes
crossing invisible borders
swimming in the rios
corriendo debajo del sol
La memoria es los abuelitos
ancestors cooking arroz y frijoles,
flan, driving through for hamburgers,
popcorn, sipping on horchata
Basilica
No todo lo que brilla es oro
not all rainbows and butterflies,
Clarita y sus cien años
Ruben y sus Tacos del Camino Real
El rancho
Midnight movies
Quiero a quien me quiera
It’s been a long day, without you my friend
Mexicanos al grito de guerra
Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light
Tepechitlan, Jerecuaro, Guanajuato
Long Beach, Argentine, KCK,
Chihuahua,
A Distance Between Us
El puente, the bridge.
Three Little Pigs en casa, at home,
don't step out marranitos,
la llorona te va a llevar
Memory is a leap
between continents
Cruzando fronteras invisibles,
Nadando en los rivers
Running under the sun
Born in different places
Pero las mismas intenciones
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
Meandering like its canals
Venetian streets sing underfoot.
Who wore away the stone cobbled streets?
Who walked down to the shore?
Who gazed out at the Adriatic?
Who's dreams were lost in Venice's stream of streets?
Licentious lovers loved in Venice's streets, kissed on her bridges,
Crossed under by gondola and over by foot.
Proposed at the piazza San Marco.
Kissed, while the Grand Canal wound her way down.
Down into the sea,
where the menace that is the world, Venice shuns.
Rialto, Doge, Basilica, St. Marks, pigeons!
All evoke that lagoon city of streets.
Originally refugees, incolae lacunae ("lagoon dwellers")
Venetians, gave not only a place for the dispossessed,
but a place for the world to see, feel and taste.
Art, war, politics, commerce, spice and silk.
Venice with her ribbon of streets, alleyways and bridges
saw the Renaissance, the crusades, and the Black Death.
Glassware, paintings, sculptures, religion, refugees all
synonymous with that floating city.
A city returning to the water she arose from.
Subsiding with grief as she drowns in elegant decay.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
"io sol uno."
-Dante, Purgatorio
There I was,
the comic-tragic star of my own motion-picture,
bold beneath the springtime Italian sun hung high
--a heavenly fixture,
illuminating the gold-leaf enframed frescoes in
kaleidoscopes of colours,
baking dry the pigeon droppings upon the flagstones
they smothered,
where I, in all my self-serving recreation,
posed proudly in a costume of my own creation,
an operatic villain clad in a billowy blouse of black,
the Campanile Tower like a sentinel behind my back,
as movie cameras panned and zoomed,
paparazzi photographers capturing me
and freezing me,
in all my wicked, medieval glory,
floating and gloating in the dank aroma of the Venetian seas,
*"I'm the shining star!
--Look at me, look at me!"*
-the super-special star I always knew I'd be,
a painted parody,
a harlequin of displaced passions
for all to laugh at and see,
before slipping silently
into the ornate basilica,
dim and dark as night,
thanking Mother Mary (for nothing) as I sparked
a votive candle's light,
not really sure or caring
where my life would lead,
just as long as the Azure Queen
shed Her Grace on me,
me,
me,
...until I fell
and fell
to the mockery of a home
I made in Hell,
hard and forever and fast,
the only fool left alone in my solo cast,
adrift with no direction,
****** and lost,
me and my frivolous theatre,
squandered an an extravagant cost.
_____________
"io sol uno" means, "I, myself, alone."
This poem is a true-life story.
__________
See the Piazza San Marco, Venice, Italy:
http://www.carfree.com/design/pix/sqlg110venice_piazza-san-marco.jpg
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 11:01 AM UTC
"There where that ray touches the plain
And the shadows escape as if they really ran,
Warsaw stands, open from all sides,
A city not very old but quite famous.
"Farther, where strings of rain hang from a little cloud,
Under the hills with an acacia grove
Is Prague. Above it, a marvelous castle
Shored against a slope in accordance with old rules.
"What divides this land with white foam
Is the Alps. The black means fir forests.
Beyond them, bathing in the yellow sun
Italy lies, like a deep-blue dish.
"Among the many fine cities that are there
You will recogni2e Rome, Christendom's capital,
By those round roofs on the church
Called the Basilica of Saint Peter.
"And there, to the north, beyond a bay,
Where a level bluish mist moves in waves,
Paris tries to keep pace with its tower
And reins in its herd of bridges.
"Also other cities accompany Paris,
They are adorned with glass, arrayed in iron,
But for today that would be too much,
I'll tell the rest another time
2.4k
Jesus wore only a robe and needed only a mount to speak to those around him. And yet his words, his wisdom, his divinity have lasted over two thousand years. But look at what has become of his legacy? Have you been to Vatican City? Have you seen the Basilica? What does it have to do with Jesus' core message?: Love one another. The collective wealth of the Roman Catholic and Protestant churches around the world is so massive that it cannot be determined. But Jesus wore only a robe and needed only a mount. Jesus would find upon his return a sight obscene: a colossal monetary worth of those who were supposed to carry on his teachings! Jusus would scream: "Sell all your worldly possessions! Sell the Basilica! Sell all the priceless and precious objets d'art in your collections! Sell all your churches! Give all your money to the poorest of the poor! Do you not remember what I did when I entered the sacred temple and found money-changers? I turned over their tables! I threw their coins on the floor! I threw the money-changers out! I found corruption instead of holy caring! What was my crucifixtion for? Pray to God and care for your fellow human beings. Do it in a vacant lot. Call it the Cathedral of the Sky.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 18, 2020
Aug 18, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
The Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis, King of France,
now called St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans was first built in 1718.
They hand out glow-in-the-dark rosaries for Mardi gras
so folks can find
their way to Jesus in the dark.
Come, pick your way through the park
cross Decatur to drink coffee at Cafe DuMonde,
have more beignets,
trail powdered sugar and beads
to stare the Old Man in his muddy eyes.
Hanging ferns and foibles
line balconies where voices speak
but you cannot understand on Toulouse Street:
you are but a traveler here even
when you've walked these cobbled stones
for twenty years.
Bend warp and weave your dinner;
string the lost
beads to sell to the unsuspecting
because anything goes
and the party will go on anyhow.
Beyond the sequined mask
naught but hollowed eyes you do
not want to see and that clown
you laughed at, but did not pay
juggles souls behind your back.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
I can't escape my fantasies
Not sure I want to
I exist in many places
I exist all over
What is reality
In a world that functions off the arbitrary?
Am I my day job?
Am I pumping gas at the same station
on the corner near my house
twice a week?
Is my life one extended motion
of muscle memory?
Or am I purely spirit
Soaking up the sun on Mykonos
Kicking up dust in the Paris catacombs
Staring up at the basilica
of the Hagia Sophia?
Maybe I can't escape my fantasies
Because they are real
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
Stealing the blues from the splashing seas,
A tinge of green from the olive trees,
A bit of red from the sunset, with pure,
White from the February dawn dews,
Myself, along with my wife Gem Nimmy,
Second star Madonna Williams, we all,
Together frame a sweet home with the
Bright combination of vivid colors
For an everlasting life to both of you,
Dear Bastin Paul and Marilyn Williams,
As this couple has made a life based
Promise to make a promise, as they have
chosen to make a choice for their life
BY
WILLIAMSJI MAVELI
NOTE; Inspired by Marilyn Williams, first daughter of author WILLIAMSJI MAVELI on the betrothal day, on 24th Feb 2014@ St. George Basilica Church at 11: 30 AM (Indian Time). The wedding is scheduled to be held at St. Jospeh's Forane Church on 1st of March, 2014 @ Kodakara, Trichur, South India.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 6:09 AM UTC
Oh Constantine! why did
you have to see that
cruciform in the sky?
the day you won your
battle—the world lost so
much more (since then)
than you would have that
day—where would we be
without Christianity being
the dominant dogma
engrained in the minds
of so many? would the
Roman Empire not have
fallen?—Saint Peter’s
Basilica never would
Have been built; the
Colosseum and Pantheon
would have kept more of
their grandeur—more
important buildings than
a grand church more for
tourism than to house God…
take a look at the Greek
and Roman civilizations;
then look at the medieval
ages—what happened to
all that advanced thought?
shamed and oppressed by
men who took a book of
myth too seriously—over
a millennium of intellect
wasted—we picked up
where the Greeks left off
with the Enlightenment
(if not farther behind…)
Oh Constantine! why
couldn’t you have let
Christianity be content
with a few backwards cults?
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
Notre-Dame, she is quite old: although she may
bury Paris, which has witnessed her birth, one day
But in thousand years or more, Time will make recoil
her heavy body, like a wolf does with a bull
and twist each iron axon, each of her neurones
to gnaw alas, with its blunt tooth, her bones of stones!
Many men will overflow the island in the Seine
to contemplate the barren ruin, the last remains
dreamers, re-reading what Victor Hugo has seen ahead:
- Then they'll think they see the old basilica
as it was, mighty and magnificent, a Gloria
rising up before them like the shadow of a dead!
Sep 29, 2023
Sep 29, 2023 at 3:39 AM UTC
And so the Archangel Sant'Angelo
draws his sword and spreads
his wings—as the pope flees
Saint Peter’s Basilica—to shield
the holy father as the seven seals
break to reveal the revelations
whence comes Christ again to
bring those who truly understand
his message to the eternal kingdom
of God to create anew a universe
where an can be reincarnated
with the purest of those left on
Earth—where (hopefully) the seed
of evil has been bred out or so far
deep in the pool of genes it arrives
only when man has advance further to
recognize the evil and nip it in the bud.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 1:43 PM UTC
——To Antoi Gaudi
“One that goes from Earth to eternity, to the highest.”
He was the genius architect in the first place
Using matter, pure and fine
He makes the life that he intends
But in arts pattern, and in science design
At the second place, he was a craftsman
where rigorous rectangles border
a dreaming perspective, where a stream
awakened, he created his life ideal
Then third, he was the naturalist,
Using all he has inspired, he stated
“The big book, always open and we
must strive to read” is that of nature
Least not last, fourthly, he was a guru
“the straight line belongs to men
the curved one to God ” Likewise
Movement meets stillness, a line meets a shout
He was always there in the history of Basilica
Architecture and Geometry
Art of fantasy and algebra wonders
Nov 28, 2024
Nov 28, 2024 at 2:55 AM UTC
The choir rang out and filled the halls with a hollow note
There voices were merely a dull hum in the background
Kneeling and looking past my reflection against the marble floor
Almost in a meditative state I welcomed the vacuity I found myself in
It was not until the second time did I realize
Drops of rain water were tapping me on the neck
I was positioned directly under a crack in the basilica's ceiling.
Even in a sanctuary I could not escape what awaited me outside.
Found it quite fitting, actually.
Even though I am inside my life is still being rained on.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 1:07 AM UTC
Tropica, botanica of poetry's heaven,
Tropica, santonica that groweth so free;
Let thy pen jot down and stroke the cloud's
Carelessly....
Tropica, a basilica awaiteth thine thought's
I knoweth thou art down, lonesome and depressed
But so many careth for thy heart's pain and loss........
Tropica, friend of mine, sun that Shine's
Let the day for thee be anewed, paint the world blue
As thy tear's turneth from cloud's to rainbow's bright and loud;
Tropica, hepatica growing wildly and untamed, knoweth ourn creator is near, do not fear, nor dread, thine head's lingo is as beautification on display.
Tropica, let thy poetic melodica sing it's angelic sound, wherein when thou doth feeleth down, knoweth thou shalt always hath a friend in me, as god wilt guideth thee, in the fire and freeze.......
Tropica, art thou now smiling (:::::::::::::
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Tropica cheer up dedication/friendship dedication
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
Defying the anger of the stormy winds
swearing at her erectness
she stood her ground on the rockface
stony woman, unafraid of raging seas, frosts
ships crashing at her feet.
With one eye winking/flashing,circling
she warned them of men with mustaches and machetes
marauding naked shores far below the banks
where caves in seawalls collided with the rumble
and dash of waves of protest. Nothing moved her.
She stood , solid as the ten commandments
unminding of the raging storms
doing her duty, flaunting her skirts
and dank steps up her heart which
stayed unflinching.
She was all my new woman wanted to be.
st, peters basilica on this rock
holding the keys to my souls entry
into her private heavens
a house with many mansions.
Author Notes
Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
A wraparound escalier
Rosette's to wrap ourn Dud's
Rebels to society
Low and high class thugs
Epicurean phenomenon!!!!
A Cosmo's to macroism's
Plasma to holy force
Phatom's of ourn own opera
As yen to take its course
Homage to ourn own castle!!!
Excretion to bare ourn name
Wild gluttons
Barbarian untamed
Spelling eachother's name
In hieroglyphic memorandum!!!
We shalt travel beyond old Egypt
We shalt gun the pagodas
We shalt peep the shrines of gosha
As in giants we shalt become!!!
A convent well maketh many babies
Basilica's of the angels
Seraph's of treaties
Shalt we sign ourn admiration in blood?
Tis
Yes
Tis
Love!!!
Kirks to keep ourn reme
mberance
Friary's to be attentive
As the mutuality
Shalt be sweet mine aimer!!!!
No distance shalt be to far
No rancor to blow ourn hearts
No hot mustard to stain out tarts
As Madrid shalt wrap us between acacia posie's!!!!
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
I've seen so much extravagance thus far,
The extraordinary paintings and frescoes
start to blur.
But in this place, I like the feeling
more so than the bible stories
outlined
on the carefully arched ceiling
It's calm with cooled air,
Giving me sanctuary
From all my headaches.
I could fall asleep now
and not care that I never woke.
This is not a religious conversion,
This is a feeling
Caused by centuries of humans being comforted.
Apr 20, 2010
Apr 20, 2010 at 8:28 PM UTC
Recircled czars drenched
In the blood of despotic swayers.
Encircled proteges with the
Aura of treacherous thorns
Keeping vigils in the basilica
Of authority
Year in,
Year out .
Selfsame partners in politics,
Selfsame partners in crimes,
Selfsame partners in progress
Selfsame partners in poor
governance,
Setting subservient subjects
In perilous bays of hopelessness.
Scale of disengagement
Dangling carrots of
Intimidating threats.
Recircled ideas.
Recircled inhuman governance.
Recircled personages.
Recircled wasted years.
Deluge of prognostic plans
Sinking boats of tale.
Decades of experience yielding
Inexperienced tzars.
Torn garb of treachery
Covered up blazers of falsehood.
Stench of stasis enthroned on the
Stool of power, wrenching
corruption from the grip
of guilt.
Populace sitting on sulky
directing the horse of
hardship with the
wailful whips of
perseverance.
Epochal terms of wastages
roll in
and
roll out
like a spiraling
viperine grass
snake
beneath the
hybrids of weeds
on a crest of
spring cress.
Yet, promises promoting
Superannuated gains of
Effortless dividend.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 2:53 PM UTC
Seven sins cyclically
Cycling sinister
Signs in the night sky
They look all identical
Death sits at my door
With sharp scythes so silver full
I wait in my bed
With sighs for a miracle
Happened so quickly
Brush fired basilica
Falling like leaves in the
Autumn breeze coup d'etat
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
Precipio
Beneath the cherubs of Basilica di
Santa Maria Maggiore, St. Frances of
Assisi inculcates the embroidered
*Il tuo sorriso è l’alba che ** perso questa mattina*
word of God, threaded into centuries
of artwork extinction, rehabilitated
into the minds of a museum, where
we cannot touch, only to distinguish,
what is ours, what is there’s, why
we must perderò understand the
implications of sunrises bringing
another day of God to teach.
Our loss of Nativity is
freestanding figures
brought on by time.
...
I was invited to read poems as a response to Ann Hamilton's exhibit at the Spencer Museum of Art. Read more about this event here: (This poem is actually shaped like a face, but I can't get the lines to stay, but you can see the actual shape at the link)
http://shannonathompson.com/2013/04/19/reading-event-ann-hamilton-at-the-spencer-museum-of-art/
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
the stars all alight
under the vast black-blue sky
the basilica walls glitter
with the reflections of the night
your heart cannot stop beating
while your hand is holding mine
never fear, my darling,
our souls still intertwine
your eyes glitter brightly
as you walk right next to me
the sounds are quietly blowing
from the far off distant sea
don't forget my love
your soul belongs to me
while my heart belongs to you
now go off on your journey
but don't forget me still
i'll wait forever for you
in the house up on the hill
i can feel your breath upon me
like it used to softly flow
i've missed your touch my darling
and i hope one day you'll know
how much your love propels me
to heights i've never been
your presence now surrounds me
so now swear you'll never leave
for my heart would shatter deeply
and float up to the moon
to be among the stars
which alight the darkened sky.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 8:50 PM UTC
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Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:06 AM UTC