Best Marker Poems
Bright and messy
Colors, inks, and draws
Smooth, fun, easy, and silky
Crayola
barn swallows return
from seasons I've never known
to bring me new wings -
my eyes scan the old dirt road
searching for a summer lost
_______________________________________
History’s unpopular these days,
No one cares where Blues shot Greys,
Or where the tons of cannonballs were kept.
Union marker stands aloof, alone,
Monument of bronze and chisled stone,
And students giggle where the Northern troops once swept.
2:30 in the morning
All normal people are asleep
Raining down in South Dakota
Driving up from I-35
Miles of Midwestern highway
Cornfields connecting towns
A lonely asphalt signature
Writing lines of indifference
Telling stories through the voice of
Those who’ve driven all those cold and lonely miles
So much of our own stories
Travel on these stretches of grayish, cracked pavement
Roads are meant to eventually
Connect one to another
Miles along dusty roads
Lost and found passing by
Yet another gas station’s sunset
One little green sign with a number
“you are here”
For all of about a second
Passing by again
Goodbye seems all at once
Maybe not quite the right word to say
Perhaps that’s what it means to
Drive thousands of miles
And never really leave home
Thank you to the road
Ashes to gravel, dust to the fields
Writing lines of
Children’s tarnished dreams
Up in the distance again…
One little green sign with a number
“you are here”
For all of about a second
Passing by again
hello,please be sure to vote for the o-b-a-m-i-n-a-t-i-o-n come november
remember,america has never had a black president and until this is fullfilled,we will never prove we are not racist
places will scream if we go with o'cain,eer,i mean,mr.mccain and the lovely vain wife of his.has she ever been proud of america?
dont believe me?lets look at truth.the youth need a black man,isnt that the truth?know how i can tell,look at the sales and popularity of .50 the rapper.america is mad about him,so its time
a brother finds this out.we doubt poems would reach him,so mr.obama and your mysterious earthly career of smoking crack,or writing poems,which ever one happened.doubt me and see,the south will go red.nevermore
its a racial issue because they made it one.they,the democrats are the race baiters,and they love pain and hope your poor and stupid enough to believe they help the poor.good luck getting this published,many will scream.know what i mean?
this dark look at human thoughts was brought to you by katie kuric,the lover of any that hates america.god bless the union?i never will.we wont, we will.
when people pencil in a black man,especially a large black man,they jibber jabber but dont say they are proud to be supporting a black,they just say,"yeah,well",then go off on their own and think.thats eternity slipping away.the one you had mapped.
i am against barrak obama being president because he hasnt proven himself,and he loves himself,and he comes from the chicago area,and because he loves black music and black things and other insignifigants.
solitude and celestial light
reflections of most recent strife
I bury in sand with a shell marker
leave it there in shallow, salty water
Sign of what once may be left
Breath taken deeply denial of death
Presence of grace to have a place to hide
As family leaves fall temperatures will rise
Accepting the passing of a goodbye
For moments of inscription
Left for grieving eyes
Stone slate curved shape
Squared surface engraved face
Measuring space words at a limit
Who? When? Memories of them
Beginning and an ending
Of a life once lived
Name and date
Cemetery gates
Marker forever statue in ground
In remembrance clouded
Ashes to ashes dust to dust
Confined coffin entombed lost love
A marker
A place
For a person
That once was
Family
A Face
Remembering the hugs
A marker to celebrate
A person that is
Still capable of being
A person that gives
Living life after
A marker to represent
A person angelic family left
A sign of what once may be left
Within the hedge line written
Through the dark feeling of weight lifted
A presence of grace to have a place to hide
In stone carved out many names to find
The times of sorrow drifting over veins
As leaves do fall and temperatures will rise
Growth that flourishes may not wither nor die
Time accepting the passing of a goodbye
For moments of inscription that are left for eyes
Upon granite slabs or slate curved and shaped
Squared a surface that is faced flat forward engraved
Measuring the space that is at a limit for a witness
Who? When? About them
Beginning an ending of the life once lived
Name and date it is fate
A cemetery with iron-clad gates lock and key
Graves with more yard above than below
Journeying to where a visit is seen
Markers forever as statues laid to rest
Where we may stand in between
In remembrance
MARBLE MARKER
There was a white Marble marker at the head of his grave
Here lies an honorable man, just started to shave
He died for his country, so Ol glory can wave
The kids don't understand, she cries every night
Why did our daddy, have to die in a fight
She was his first girlfriend , gave him his very first kiss
With tears streaming down her face, how could it end like this
So young so scared, but also brave
He died for his country, so Ol Glory can wave
At every ballgame, he was the first to stand
At full attention, so bold and so grand
He knew it was time for the pledge, before it would start
He would have his hat in his hand, and one on his heart
He shouted with Honor, as he thought of the lives he might save
My husband died for his country, so Ol Glory can wave
You see thousands
I see one
flowers adorn
fields of memories
my love died
I am not sure his intent
not at all
he was a good man
he was mine
until war stole him
he gave his life
I gave my heart
year after year
I yearn for only him
and cry
for all of you
I shall never forget
Warm water
Swallow me whole
Up to my neck
Slide over my lips
And puddle into my ears
Close my eyes
The water climbs up to my brow
Pull the plug
The heat recedes
Watch the bubbles sucked down
The drain hole
The water streams
My body steams
I'm still not clean
we found your little stone page and just stared.
reading the name over and over until it blurred.
you were here and gone in that one time of april
struggling to breathe, but you just weren't able, now
above this plotted spot, you've risen, and we know that
to be so, yet our gaze is still on your name that is written..
Form:
I’ve always had the sneaking suspicion I’d never grow old.
I mean, when I was younger, I scribbled plans in a notebook.
Drew clumsy castles with blue marker and proclaimed loudly
that I’d own one one day.
But when you’re a kid, “old”’s just around your twenties,
miles away from that wooden gym floor and your friends
sitting criss-cross applesauce next to you.
Now I’ve got my license
- probably a prerequisite for castle ownership -
and I’ve driven those miles to that point
just to find it’s a cliff edge.
Every version of me - 8, 12, 16 -
echoes in the sigh of relief I breathe
when I see the drop-off ahead.
I used to be so scared of heights,
thoughts of rock-climbing would send my hands tingling
and my knees to weakening.
But this yawning chasm greets me like an old friend.
I've been here time and time again,
if only in imagination.
The wind blows softly at my back,
and if I close my eyes and follow its whims,
maybe my movements won’t be entirely my own.
Maybe I’ll have reason to fall.
The momentum conservation principle states that when objects interact,
the object pushed gains momentum from that with which it collides.
Sure, the wind’s not solid,
but maybe they’ll overlook that fact.
I’m sure doing my best.
Plastic flowers bend in the breeze
Photos of a young face placed to grieve
A cross or marker planted near
A place of death remembering a loved one so dear
Was it a drunk or speedster then
That brought about an untimely end
For an empty place at a family table no longer taken
Marks the last place of a person’s death slumber now not awakened.
© Paul Warren Poetry
As I approach the first mile marker I realize I am still glorying
in the cheers and hoots of my family; the proverbial die is cast.
a weird smile on my face, I have never seen
so many long legs as they dart past.
Some of their bottoms are so exercise- lean that they barely bounce at all.
This marathon is my first race; I watch others break free.
Do not look back, facing forward, smiling in a keen unnatural way.
It is best if I do not know there are not others behind me.
I fear it, but to verify it might make me lose my energy.
I clear my mind, thinking one step at a time, I follow their trail.
but what about your torn ACL an internal voice queries.
I still it immediately, afraid it will cause me to fail.
The first mile marker is within my sight.
Another runner dashes past me, and throws me a quick grin.
I am invincible, ready, willing, in shape for this.
I run after them, glorying in an anticipation of a win.
Written 12-20-2018 Contest: 2019 Poetry Marathon
sponsor: Mark Toney