Long Carved Poems
Long Carved Poems. Below are the most popular long Carved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carved poems by poem length and keyword.
I loved you past the point where light could speak,
Where angels lost their tongues to envy’s flame;
Your shadow kissed my heart and left it weak,
Yet even ruin whispered your sweet name.
You were my hunger clothed in mortal skin,
The forbidden fruit that saints would die to taste;
I bit, I bled, I called the bleeding sin,
Yet craved the pain that holiness replaced.
You moved — and time itself forgot to move,
The stars knelt down to crown your cruel grace;
I drowned in oceans carved from what you prove,
That love is both a wound and an embrace.
So damn me softly, let the heavens see —
My hell is joy when you are haunting me.
In the dense green layer,
a small wooden home,
a few days of peace,
existing all alone.
The beats are not the same:
water stream,
wild creatures,
birds talking,
the nature sings.
The painting I see from my window,
the scarf of clouds around the neck of hills,
the embellished valley simply exists.
A tall waterfall pouring its emotion.
The time stops here.
Every scary wildlife is a beauty here.
This ain't normal.
My eyes are stretched over a mile.
My destiny has carved something unreal,
a moment that feels surreal.
I am lost within the air,
a better world with every layer.
I come here often to press some brakes,
to escape from the stupid race,
to live a lonely life with slow pace.
7/13/17
Among and below the stars
Near and far
From here to way beyond Mars
I send my regards
May your own path be carved
As you take charge
Close and beyond any barge
On either side of the yard
Up and down every boulevard
Whether or not your intent on living small or large
Maybe in the future, we'll see flying cars
Roger dodger you old codger
I hear you loud and clear through the transponder
On land and in water
Close by and over yonder
The temperature getting colder and hotter
Let us continue to prosper
And ponder
With so much to offer
Wherever we wander
Always trying to do it proper
While keeping our honor
Even when the times become somber
Instead of thinking like "why bother?"
Focus, try harder and conquer
Not a second later
Onto something greater
On either side of the equator
So be it if it requires a lot of labor
This is far from minor, this is major
Through civilizations and out in nature
THE SCULPTURE
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
He framed her face with charm of bright Moon light
His painful passion brought pearly luster
glistening on her wide eyes in delight.
Superfine cut by chisel with skilled stroke
designed curves of body on perfection.
On each point emerald emotion broke.
Elegant statue stood on completion.
Sculptor desired the statue as his wife.
His yearning tingled on earnest prayer.
How could the statue be blessed by life!
Her eyes blinked, she smiled at her creator.
Statue turned Galatia in rapture.
Dream girl carved by Pygmalion: Sculpture.
05/18/22
Orphan sonnet
Contest by Emile Pinet
Here is my Time.
Here is my mine, my mind
There's my mind
Losing my mind, my,
My, my, my time,
HaHaha, Ha!
Feet in the air, head on the ground
Try to spin me round and around
Round n' round n' around I go
HahaHa!
Where I stop no one knows...?
Oooooo?
I think I've lost my way today,
What could I say anyway?
Is it you? oh is it true.....
It hurts me too
I'm so blue.
OoOoo!
I was in the future yesterday,
But it looked nothing like this.
Take my mind and throw it away,
It will not be missed!!!
hah...
A love that I had never known, a
Love that travelled In today,
No longer exists in my home,
One that couldnt stay!!! Oh-haha!
Take me back to tomorrow,
A day I've lived six times...
It's just a new day of sorrow
To cry is a crime, ha-ha-ha.
Im, my own mime!
OoOoo...
I was in the future yesterday
I wish it. wasn't. like. this.
But I lossst my mind this time?
From just a ing kiss??
Here is my mind...
Here is my, my-my, mind hahaha
Here is mind?
Thrown away each time!
Tick-tick, do it again.
OoOoo...
Mirrors shatter I've been cut,
An Image torn from ends.
Why have all my doors been shut?
My time has turned to sand!
Ha-ha haaaa!
My mind has stopped the past,
But Didn't stop a year from now...
Ended today at long last!
I forgot there is no sound!!!
Hahahaha!!!
I was in the future yesterday...
I wished it was kinda like this.
Takes me back to better times
They'll see them when im missed!
Ha!
Oooooo-ooooo-ooooo...
Here is my time
Here is my mind, my time
My my my here is my... hahahaha
One more time,
Ooooo ooooo ooooo
I carved a tree with your phrase,
You kissed the razor of the blade?
My Lips sewn with your disgrace,
All my laughter's been betrayed!
Hahaha!
I make myself scream your pain
Your smile means "forever"
My mind wont be the same
Dying really feels safer? Ah-haa....
My heart keeps looping beats,
Its time stopped your name.
My body covered with sheets,
My name means, "Insane"
Hahahaha ha ha haaa
Oooooooo oooooo ooooo
I was in the future yesterday
I wished it wasnt like this
Take me back to better times
Oh how I'll hope im missed hahahaha
Oooooo ooooo ooooo
My, my, Traveling in time,
Im just a funny Mime.
Want to know whats on
My, my mind?
Haha.
the untimely measures gathered beneath solid
structure as hands fold the numeral gestures
gravely carved throughout the roman empire
while the daintiness of quiet muse's reciting playful
tunes through a calming poetic mannerism while
surrounding hidden notes while mastering an
illuminating symphony of words at times within
a dimly lit sphere of complete solitude ravishing the
minds eye capturing the purity of this brilliant light of
sheer salvation mending together so evenly like a woven
cloth of the unspoken speaking vividly to the quiet
understanding while the mere knowledge explored
beyond the galaxy only to return from the universe
with a boomerang effect craving matter seeking
wisdom an yet the core foundation of such yearning
still sits deep inside the heart of the muse stored
there as the mighty masons physically cannot chisel
away the outer surface once the muse has sealed
this beautiful masterpiece away for a certain time
of reflecting on poetry of the heart while the soul awaits
dances to confuse the heart into releasing such a divine
art form quickly an yet in that very moment the muse takes
holds of this fascinating poetic memory in time keeping it hostage
literally a mind written keepsake with the hope of savoring creating
a more in depth harmonic language of rhythm melody and words
hence the ability to enhance this craft into a profound literature that
will someday manifest into greatness a complete understanding for any
and everyone who simply picks up the book and desires to reads it
I sought the throne of honor high,
Where crowns and praises touch the sky.
I dreamed of titles carved in gold,
Of power, fame, and hands to hold.
But when I reached the mountain’s crest,
And stood where pride had claimed its best,
I saw a King—so pure, so meek—
Whose glory shone upon the weak.
His throne was not of earthly might,
But mercy’s flame and heaven’s light.
And there I learned, with trembling heart,
Where true exalted souls depart.
For higher than all thrones of men,
Is kneeling down before Him then.
The greatest crown one soul can meet—
Is dust and tears at Jesus’ feet.
The highest rank, the grandest call,
Is losing self to give Him all.
For glory blooms where pride retreats—
The highest place… is at His feet.
© 2025 Dennis Macusi. All rights reserved.
This poem is an original work by the author and may not be reproduced, distributed, or used without permission
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into ornamental animal
via botanical artist wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist wrought voila uber
prestidigitatiously head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed miraculously via
Te Deum divine fist bumping, whence realistic fauna burst
alive with an explosion of colorful twist and shout of foliage,
where scalloped superfluous detritus manna for naturalist
deciduous detritus capacious carpet boar animation punk
chew waiting groundswell Liszt ghost would arise from the
grave to produce magnum opus without a beat missed such
shrubbery mimicking the likeness sans glistening fleshy sin
yew, and gist about ready to become bone a fide (green be
hind the ears) thriving vox populist, per species and genus
wrought thrashing into birth as delicate craftsman promised
to imbue life, liberty and pursuit of happiness whittling away
leavings, thus did exist the nascent then omnipresent visible
entity emerging from cocoon an herbalist metamorphosed
from the imagination of a skilled, practiced and mentalist
conniver viz extracting the initially obscure blessed beast,
where with august magic wielding tools of this specialty vis
a vis bringing breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest dexterous
chiseling blistering hands baffle onlookers as coterie of
topiary harvest breaths mind bogglingly astoundingly
authentic rooted ready to frolic in the grass menagerie
a gamesome group of linkedin live progeny, the Michel
Angelo of dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid ahs hid
test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger green hued key luster.
Form:
There was a time
when you stood at the center of my sky,
and I, small, humble,
gazed upward in awe,
letting your brilliance shape my world.
Every word you spoke carved meaning into silence,
every gesture gave weight to the air.
I was nothing
but a shadow you cast,
grateful for the light.
But I see now
what I could not see then—
the sun blinds as easily as it warms.
Your power filled the spaces between us
until there was no room left for truth.
You were everything,
and so I became nothing,
a reflection of your glory,
a mirror for your pride.
I thought loyalty
was the strongest bond,
but loyalty bends under the weight of lies.
When the light scorches the earth,
when it burns what it swore to nourish,
what choice is left but to seek shade?
To turn my back,
to let the shadow stretch long and cold,
to kill the thing I once called divine.
Do you know the ache
of watching your own hands betray you?
The slow rebellion of the heart
against itself?
It is not hate that drives the knife—
it is love,
love that has seen too much,
felt too much,
and can no longer endure
the hollow echo of devotion.
The weight of the dagger in your flesh
is shaped by the need to save myself.
The slice in your side,
does not match the gash in my throat,
the silence you carved in me
time and time again.
You were the sun.
I was the shadow.
I wonder if I was always meant
to fade in your glow,
to burn out
before I ever had the chance
to rise.
there was a punctured potter
whose wills strained shuffled shudders
meagre muds moistened massive moans
dark traces drooled, gaunt glows
hoisted zeal hankered hampers:
eerie efforts pruned pulpy pesters
lanky labour leered, futility feigned lame
crushed contractions, callous confetti's crave
damp death drilled his plague
sumptuous suck, nosy nectar's crest
potter birthed a son,a generation then another son
whilst masticated malady mimicked, poring pawns
the keener he carved a shape,
soaring swifter contractors come for claims.
'20:05:21:17:26
Note: of punctured potter.