Long Bone Poems
Long Bone Poems. Below are the most popular long Bone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bone poems by poem length and keyword.
I woke up
and in the mirror,
saw a stranger--
a face not mine,
but like my own.
So I wondered:
Am I mad now?
But no...
if you think you're insane,
you're not--
the mind's own Catch-22.
Still...
why did this face seem
to belong to another?
I sensed my soul at work:
not quite done with its
nightly dream-making,
weaving entire worlds
from strands of memory--
bits of ego--
clouds of imagination.
My soul was seeing my flesh
as it really exists-- merely a
convenient container designed
to navigate life and this world
of the temporary,
the fleeting,
the lessening shadows.
And so my immortal part
gave its living doppelganger
a great and wondrous gift:
This is what you really are
as flesh and bone--
a waxen mold,
a vanity,
almost an illusion ....
There in a little town called Bethlehem
a couple called Joseph and Mary
the young woman who was pregnant
filled with worry almost daily
Nowhere could be found anywhere
until in that little town came inn
there a babe came forth here
God sent His son to take away sin
That little baby named Jesus Christ
here was God himself incarnate
in this body of flesh and bone
He came to save us from our fate
The saviour of the world no less
this Jesus destiny was upon a cross
God's anointed son truth embodied
focus to Calvary whatever the loss
This God-man full of God's spirit
drawing many to believe His gospel
came from heaven on a divine mission
salvation's news to make others well
Pyramid Of Peace Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsor: Ink Empress
Date: 7/13/2026
Rest, O' Zdzislaw Beksinsk's Easel
clay in the artist's hand, skinless rip;
mummy, love the man who still digs —
searching for blood in my eye sockets
because my heart's somewhere in rib's knot;
you broke through the flesh of my tomb;
my bone broken, against you.
now holding you, O' skeleton laid out in snow,
the death of you breathed out by a rose,
as the night paints on our love again,
~ the dust ends where fingertips begin ~
~ her first, but In your arms, bereaved sun;
she will always be another's oblivion ~
inspired by the artist
Zdzislaw Beksinski, (BE84, 1984)
329.
The Howl of the Petrified Minotaur
Ouch!!! Come here you wriggling food!
Pay for destroying my peaceful mood!
Away from the darkness! Go out from your hood!
Let's see who's fit for bone-breaking!
Show yourself! Stop your coward hiding!
Do not add to the wrath of this bull raging!
Ouch!!! An ambush from a weaker creature!
I am being beaten in my own lure!
Ridiculous! In this labyrinth, I'm the king for sure!
It is you who must suffer in this domain of mine!
But now I'm the one who fell supine!
Am I the oblation in my own shrine?!
Ouch!!! What pain?! What pain?! My spine is broken!
You, hideous pest, will be crushed once taken!
You, Theseus of Attica, never here a denizen!
Oh mother, Queen of Crete, save me from this murderer!
Do not allow him to tear me asunder!
Listen to this Howl of the Petrified Minotaur – a cursed monster!
-02/04/2015
(Dumarao)
*Fallen Myths Collection
The arms were bent to such degree
my elbows formed a pickle.
Where girls would laugh and carefully rub;
their actions all but fickle.
My knobby knees would catch their eye
alluring them with teeter.
My sex appeal was next to God.
Their motions now a beater.
My ankles seen as swollen out
would beckon for embrace.
When girls would reach to grab my frame.
Me blushing some disgrace.
My chin bone coming to a point
was shunning all but tempting.
The ladies wondering where it stops.
Not one of them exempting.
With knuckles bulging sightly bones
These beads of flesh made ripe.
A xylophone of sexy music
that women find their type.
My greatest feature boldly out.
A forehead bright to sight.
My headbone shining "Here I Am"
for which most women fight.
And finally not forgetting this-
My greatest gift to part.
I won't be sharing any of this,
for no bone is a heart.
5/12/26 12:47 pm
I am the waking sky.
From ravaged rose,
Vivid violets,
Bleeding blues,
And barbed Blackness.
Every bit of flesh, bone, and blood fills with Colors that sear through even iron-skinned bodies.
Rose-wounds, blood oozing from trust torn out of my chest.
Violet is the world stitched quiet at last.
Blue, sorrow puddled under my splintering ribs born from the nights you belonged everywhere but beside me.
And Black,
The part of me carved out by the blade of your tongue,
Left a cavity where warmth used to breathe.
Cold settles like dust in the hollow of my chest.
But even the darkest nights eventually thin,
And the sun emerges washing the darkness in gold that sings and colors carrying a mercy I never expected.
Each ray finds my shattered body where I fell,
The sun caresses me with warm hands pressing trust into my veins,
Light returning to my eyes,
And softness to my skin.
In the garden of eternity, where the spirit blooms like a vine of mystery,
We tread, unknowingly, on steps of time hidden beneath olive branches.
As the lifeblood of our finished thoughts dwindles, our lives, clusters of dream,
Shrivel on forgotten soil, with the sun as a wandering monk through the abyss.
The soul, a translucent vine clinging to walls that breathe things immortal,
Which, detached, withers under the weight of an endlessly flickering silence.
This is more than verse, it's the raw bone of our celestial being,
The unraveled vine, the frozen spring, the magical death – a world that flickers and glimpses.
The life sap, precious blend of sky and earth, no longer flows,
We, the ever-joined branches, now lie apart, powerless in supplication.
A stem, a thread of hope, a tragedy weaved into a grain of sand –
In the embrace of fate, we perish together, lost in our own myth.
And thus, the spasms of the heart reflect like ripples on a lake at night,
Eternity – a specter that whispers in summer through the woods left without ward.
But the silence that settles is not the end; it's just the pause before the song,
It's the moment when the root retracts its essence, preparing a new enchantment.
Torn from the primordial vine, I wander in mystery, searching for signs in heaven and on earth,
A thousand visions mingle in the chalice of the night, a thousand desires burning fiercely.
For in the depth of reality, beyond the veil of doubt, there is an unseen magic,
Where we, branches and vine, find ourselves again in dance, in an endlessly silent symphony.
In our odyssey among the stars, in search of the eternal spring of legends,
The vine of the soul – though torn – dares to reconnect the suspended bonds.
And in this transcendental journey, between the ancient and the anticipated,
We breathe the intangible ether in which, mystically, we are eternally enchanted.
Riding Wild Unto The Sun like a Night Light
with the Sword of Swords for the Last Knight,
Full Speed Into Valleys of Chivalry
Golden Helmet and Shield, here comes the Holy Cavalier
Trodding on Lucid Cavalry
Archetype Vangelis Defying Gravity,
Ascending Ethers from the Wild West, Northbound
Fire Wielding, Shaffron, Crinnets and Crown
Gallant and Free, moving Swiftly in Nobility
Into Halls Of Legendry and Infinity,
Cloudbound to breach Summits and Ranks
Armored with Ankhs and Sage,
Gryphon Crest on the Chest, Chanting Psalms Of Eternity
Mentally, Physically, Spiritually in Full Rigidity,
Blazing Untamed in Astro Luminosity
Crossing Thresholds of Astral Plains, to bring Cosmic Rain, in Cosmic Ferocity
Solar Glowing like Opal Stones
Blitzing like Drumfire, like Wild Stallions Of Old
Headstrong, Into the Heart to Reach for Stars
and Ignite the Sacred Flame into Bonfires,
Ever-Valiant, Ever-Forth in Heroic Strides
The Mantra, for The Bastions Enterprise
Into the Realms of the Soul for the Illusive Grail and Stone
and claim the Victory over Misery and Flesh and Bone,
where Legends are Born and Phoenix Fly
there Tales Echo of Battlecries,
and The Valiant is reminded in Repose, of Tales Of Ghosts
and Walks Into the Hills Of Zion, The Last Of Caballeros
In the terrain of deplorable deprivation,
manifest in the war-torn land of wretched desertion,
the obscure tufts of the subdued slender grass
struggle to rise from the debris of stony destiny.
The frail faces shape the artifacts of spiteful fate,
flicker with the fading smile of the residual innocence,
borrowed from the remnant rays of the forsaken sun,
already sunk in the desolate depth of smoky horizon.
The tender little hands have no toys to play,
feeble fingers draw the crude faces of dolls
on the broken soil of devastation, dry as bone.
The famine designed by human maneuver forces
the hungry children to fight for a foothold in the crowd.
Their famished dusty faces don’t know
how the dance of the summer rains feels,
for these are flooded by the torrent of tear.
The children when they should be blooming like flowers,
wander away displaced from home to nowhere,
driven by the harsh squall of the bomb blasts,
ripping the juvenile liveliness into ruins.
In the milieu of freedom under the unbound sky
the infantile flowers devoid of pristine patina
no longer blossom in the puerile gardens
of the land once vibrant where the children bloomed.
Tarnished by the muck of our malevolent times,
their deranged dreams die premature in the ravaged land.
Yesterday, Oh, I believe in yesterday—Lennon-McCartney (The Beatles)
I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day—Smokey Robinson/Bobby Rogers (Smokey Robinson & The Miracles)
I see trees of green—Bob Thiele & George David Weiss (Louis Armstrong)
Hardships and misfortunes
emerged to be a distant memory
But as my thoughts look back
It seems to reflect a well-told story
When Spring comes to L.A.
Before the month of May
I guess you’d like to say
What makes you feel this way
My girl helps make this day
Red roses true
Flowers bloom blue
The song I sing
A stunning thing
I am just a human
A natural being
Flesh and bone essences
Not an all-seeing thing
A simple citizen
To this land and country
Just one in a million
For life and liberty
Rainbow hues plus
Auspicious light
Skips before us
Rippling and tight
Love was an easy game
Many places to hide
We’ll seek and find your name
As telltale signs to guide
One way they had to go
Was one they did not know
Something they wouldn’t say
Belong to yesterday
Sweet birdsongs sing
Rejoicing bring
This wondrous earth
A new day’s birth