Historical Poems
#historical
Historical poems, poetry about the past. Poems inspired by, and offering analysis on, important events in history.
goldenmyst
Poem Published
20th May 2020 8:02am
20th May 2020 8:02am
Mayan Spring
Mayan Spring
Taavi is embraced by the steam heat of thermal water shooting from a hot spring over the cliff and into the pool he stands in. A rainbow graces the mist from the cascade that pelts him. The colors are a sign of Ixchel the Mayan goddess of love whose name in hieroglyphics is Chak Chel or ‘large rainbow.’
The risk of getting caught in the swell of tropic desire makes him step out of geyser rain. But the rainbow goddess summons him back and again he feels her pour liquid sunshine upon his rise toward heaven.
The society of women bathers convenes with...
Taavi is embraced by the steam heat of thermal water shooting from a hot spring over the cliff and into the pool he stands in. A rainbow graces the mist from the cascade that pelts him. The colors are a sign of Ixchel the Mayan goddess of love whose name in hieroglyphics is Chak Chel or ‘large rainbow.’
The risk of getting caught in the swell of tropic desire makes him step out of geyser rain. But the rainbow goddess summons him back and again he feels her pour liquid sunshine upon his rise toward heaven.
The society of women bathers convenes with...
#religion
#historical
#oppression
#freedom
#rebellion
476 reads
6 Comments
dartford
Paul S...
Paul S...
Poem Published
19th May 2020 10:50pm
19th May 2020 10:50pm
Westminster
out looking at statues
around the city;
with the museums and
galleries still closed,
some old victorian
general on a horse made
of stone is both
street art and history ..
around the city;
with the museums and
galleries still closed,
some old victorian
general on a horse made
of stone is both
street art and history ..
#art
#historical
379 reads
5 Comments
goldenmyst
Poem Published
19th May 2020 5:06am
19th May 2020 5:06am
Mayan Mystique I
Mayan Mystique I
Ro says, “This museum has an impressive Pre-Columbian exhibit upstairs. There doesn’t appear to be much of a crowd. Let’s go enjoy a private showing of the Mesoamerican rooms. The primitivism of the Mayan sculpture will provide a good contrast to our museum experience.”
We enter the dimly lit room where horned beasts made of clay greet us. Faces of Mayan people gaze from a lost world. She tells me, “Look at that Sun God figure. No look closer. Gaze into his eyes. You need to squat for a better balance. We wouldn’t want...
Ro says, “This museum has an impressive Pre-Columbian exhibit upstairs. There doesn’t appear to be much of a crowd. Let’s go enjoy a private showing of the Mesoamerican rooms. The primitivism of the Mayan sculpture will provide a good contrast to our museum experience.”
We enter the dimly lit room where horned beasts made of clay greet us. Faces of Mayan people gaze from a lost world. She tells me, “Look at that Sun God figure. No look closer. Gaze into his eyes. You need to squat for a better balance. We wouldn’t want...
#love
#historical
#mythology
504 reads
1 Comment
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
17th May 2020 4:02am
17th May 2020 4:02am
Manor On A Hill
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.’
‘In my ending is my beginning.’
-T. S. Elliot
In creaks of shadows,
your windswept promontory
behind twigs of Forsythia,
bent Lilac branches,
your dusty red and green
antiqued form emerges as I look up.
As I walk along your cliffs,
trodding sparse grass
growing on steep mounds
too treacherous to climb,
I look up to view your hulking angularity,
your grey windows shrouded in dust.
At the base of your cliffs the...
‘In my ending is my beginning.’
-T. S. Elliot
In creaks of shadows,
your windswept promontory
behind twigs of Forsythia,
bent Lilac branches,
your dusty red and green
antiqued form emerges as I look up.
As I walk along your cliffs,
trodding sparse grass
growing on steep mounds
too treacherous to climb,
I look up to view your hulking angularity,
your grey windows shrouded in dust.
At the base of your cliffs the...
#home
#historical
#TSEliot #NaPoWriMo2020
#TSEliot #NaPoWriMo2020
653 reads
6 Comments
dfwtinman
Poem Published
12th May 2020 8:47pm
12th May 2020 8:47pm
Pike County, Eastern Kentucky
On the day Maude was born,
a quicksilver fog pooled, the sun slow to rise.
Women tended to birthing wounds,
while coal-sooted men sat around the porch, swapping stories and moonshine.
Growing up, Maude often scrambled to the top of an east-facing hillside, peering crest to crest. Her daydreams more colorful there.
Maude lost two young brothers to typhoid. Then two sisters to flu. As she grew-up, men
hovered ‘round her like bees to a blossom.
Maude would become a schoolteacher and marry another, Percy...
a quicksilver fog pooled, the sun slow to rise.
Women tended to birthing wounds,
while coal-sooted men sat around the porch, swapping stories and moonshine.
Growing up, Maude often scrambled to the top of an east-facing hillside, peering crest to crest. Her daydreams more colorful there.
Maude lost two young brothers to typhoid. Then two sisters to flu. As she grew-up, men
hovered ‘round her like bees to a blossom.
Maude would become a schoolteacher and marry another, Percy...
#love
#historical
523 reads
4 Comments
Strangeways_Rob
Poem Published
11th May 2020 8:10pm
11th May 2020 8:10pm
Burning Diary In A Shipless Ocean
#vizual
#love
#MyInspiration
#historical
480 reads
3 Comments
Graham
Poem Published
10th May 2020 11:42pm
10th May 2020 11:42pm
Tigris and Euphrates
My mind falls upon the timeless Tigris.
From her mountain source she flows,
Along her path written in the sands of destiny.
Passing the forgotten cities of Babylon,
No heed is paid by her endless meander.
Vaguely she flows through time,
Sweeping with her the secrets of the City of Wisdom.
The ghosts of Umayyads and Abbassids drink from her still.
Her sapphire sister, the maiden Euphrates,
Keeps course along her own destined way.
The gem of Sumer,
Gilgamesh himself still bows his head to her fate.
From silks and gold,
She...
From her mountain source she flows,
Along her path written in the sands of destiny.
Passing the forgotten cities of Babylon,
No heed is paid by her endless meander.
Vaguely she flows through time,
Sweeping with her the secrets of the City of Wisdom.
The ghosts of Umayyads and Abbassids drink from her still.
Her sapphire sister, the maiden Euphrates,
Keeps course along her own destined way.
The gem of Sumer,
Gilgamesh himself still bows his head to her fate.
From silks and gold,
She...
#river
#fate
#historical
453 reads
1 Comment
Morganpoet
Poem Published
9th May 2020 9:14am
9th May 2020 9:14am
TAKE NO NOTICE
It was 250 years ago
Cook arrived at Botany Bay,
thanks to Covid-19 no one
celebrated the day.
No stupid ceremonial
event held at La Perouse
instead, the fight continues
to prevent a cruise
boat terminal
being built,
adding to the
contaminated silt,
in a place already
degraded, by those
who continue to
disregard the invaded.
Morganpoet
Cook arrived at Botany Bay,
thanks to Covid-19 no one
celebrated the day.
No stupid ceremonial
event held at La Perouse
instead, the fight continues
to prevent a cruise
boat terminal
being built,
adding to the
contaminated silt,
in a place already
degraded, by those
who continue to
disregard the invaded.
Morganpoet
#environment
#HumanRights
#historical
508 reads
1 Comment
dartford
Paul S...
Paul S...
Poem Published
7th May 2020 11:50pm
7th May 2020 11:50pm
why the victorians died out ..
and looking ahead, we shan't be able
to hug, or shake hands, or kiss, or make love;
whilst playing footsie under the table
will be considered quite more than enough ..
to hug, or shake hands, or kiss, or make love;
whilst playing footsie under the table
will be considered quite more than enough ..
#historical
#pandemic
374 reads
6 Comments
dfwtinman
Poem Published
7th May 2020 9:09pm
7th May 2020 9:09pm
Before the Deluge
Once, you didn't need to be Jesus
to walk across the Trinity River;
but that was before the deluge.
Once, Spanish explorers named
the river “La Santísima Trinidad," the same
river native peoples called "Pahnichoba."
Once, traversing the stream's 710 miles
took far more portaging than paddling.
But then came the hundred-year rain.
Once, a burnt sienna blanket
spread copper ooze
across a bone-dry land.
to walk across the Trinity River;
but that was before the deluge.
Once, Spanish explorers named
the river “La Santísima Trinidad," the same
river native peoples called "Pahnichoba."
Once, traversing the stream's 710 miles
took far more portaging than paddling.
But then came the hundred-year rain.
Once, a burnt sienna blanket
spread copper ooze
across a bone-dry land.
#historical
#nonfiction
394 reads
0 Comments
BlackBoxPublicatio
Poem Published
3rd May 2020 3:32pm
3rd May 2020 3:32pm
Whispers
They know about you before they know your name.
They remain faceless until your close enough to hear.
They don’t wish to be heard too loud, because they hide a secret.
They are whispers, and they travel with the wind.
Whispers can congregate and cause a tornado.
With enough whispers you can destroy a church.
Won’t the church be built again in the heart of man?
We have all fallen short at some point in life.
Is it not so that a whisper from far away cannot be heard correctly by the listener?
A speaker will not whisper an entire speech to a...
They remain faceless until your close enough to hear.
They don’t wish to be heard too loud, because they hide a secret.
They are whispers, and they travel with the wind.
Whispers can congregate and cause a tornado.
With enough whispers you can destroy a church.
Won’t the church be built again in the heart of man?
We have all fallen short at some point in life.
Is it not so that a whisper from far away cannot be heard correctly by the listener?
A speaker will not whisper an entire speech to a...
#dialogue
#historical
#responsibility
#nonfiction
#DeepUndergroundPoetry
451 reads
3 Comments
Evocation
Poem Published
2nd May 2020 5:44pm
2nd May 2020 5:44pm
Warning Sign
In shallow graves of European shame,
The holocaust of vengeance still remains.
The merchants of destruction still applaud
This flaying of our freedom by the sword.
Hanging by the limb of every word,
The codex of our future never heard.
This viral web of anger in our minds,
Reflected in the mirrors of Versailles.
The holocaust of vengeance still remains.
The merchants of destruction still applaud
This flaying of our freedom by the sword.
Hanging by the limb of every word,
The codex of our future never heard.
This viral web of anger in our minds,
Reflected in the mirrors of Versailles.
#power
#politics
#war #historical
#war #historical
715 reads
8 Comments
DU Poetry : Historical Poems
