Long Marble Poems
Long Marble Poems. Below are the most popular long Marble by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marble poems by poem length and keyword.
Withering weeping willows
shade wrought-iron gates,
creaking in the midst of a cool mid-autumn gale.
Starless, charcoal skies loom above,
as birdsong of nightingales drifts through the evening.
Coming upon a worn, dirt-laden path,
frost-burnt grass lines the edges,
beckoning me to mourning’s sorrow.
Marble statues of angels, frozen in prayer, greet me.
falling to my knees, I brush the crisp leaves from your grave,
tracing your name with my indebted fingertips.
Your presence floods back,
whilst tears coat floundering eyes.
I lay amongst lily-white chrysanthemums,
As my home became the cemetery
the moment your soul departed.
We know she was born that
blissful July, perhaps sooner. But we never settled
on a time of death, so the tombstone
sits on my nightstand for now
I water daffodils with
black coffee—I want to plant them
next to her grave, where I'll
never visit. It's the least I can do since I
can't visit her, as you'll be there
to caress my cheeks when I weep
and her heart will resume beating—No, I made
a solemn vow to honor her peace, so
You can say your goodbyes before her
last exhale, hold her hands if you will
I'll be there for the send off
and chisel our love into the marble
Elegant intoxicating ballroom, with polished marble floor, archways lining the walls rising to the ceiling in mahogany trim. Candle holders with lit candles between each arch to match the elegant enormous Swarovski crystal chandeliers glittered brightly above them, to a brilliance of the evening ball. The fragrance of perfumes, colognes, and fine cuisine fill the air.
The ballroom is full of singles and couple, wearing their finest long gowns, and tails, their white ties and gloves, dancing to the music of the orchestra while others feast on desserts and champagne.
My Prince stands with the other gents waiting for me to make an entrance.
I’m anxious to show off my sleeveless flowing gown, made out of white silk chiffon, embellished with lace and scattered pearls. I feel like the belle of the ball.
My Prince comes up to me and ask, “May I have this dance.” He fills my dance card, reaches out for my hand, and leads me to the dance floor, while my heart is beating faster than the music. The orchestra starts playing a slow waltz, the intoxicating turning movements and the one, two, three, steps of the waltzing speed brings intimating pleasure of ecstasy that is hard to ignore.
The evening comes to an end and my Prince walks me to the door and kisses my hand Goodnight.
11/24/2014
Morning comes alive and the sound of fire crackers erupted in the skies; the traffic began to flow smoothly and I could hear a distance sound resonating in the background and as I get closer to my destination, I felt a strange sensation around me and something preying upon my dignity and the sound gets louder and louder.
It is one of those familiar tunes that gets on your nerves and presses you against the wall and pull the words from your lips and before you know it the big gate opens and the crowd rushes in to listen to the final verdict.
Everyone saddles up in their winter gears wearing turtle neck sweater to trap the cold air and decorative silk scarf to make them look bold. I saw more than a hundred men walking courageously down the marble tiled corridor wearing slick pants suit and a special shoe that cries out with a creak when they walked along the marbled tiled floor.
I didn’t know which way to turn so I followed the men everywhere they go and I ended up at the constitution chamber and a group of people were sitting patiently waiting for me. My heart was beating faster than before as if I was going to a wedding that had some misgiving but when the security guard came and open the side door the stage was already for the proceedings to begin and the dressed men walks in and sits quietly.
Solemn is the king that render his will and matchless is the bride whose pride was taken just before midnight and the blood stained bed with torn up sheet evidence the struggle that ensued when she tried to escape through the gate.
The flamboyant crowd erupts just before the proceeding was about to begin and the wind start to blow rooting out strong trees from the ground and the people start to scream and suddenly, I woke up from my dream when the wind enters the flamboyant hall way.
She stood there in all her naked beauty,
the man approached her with reverence,
as he stood in front of her drinking in
her exquisite womanhood with awe struck wonder.
Gently he runs his fingers up and down her
searching out her body and crevices.
Pausing here and there lightly stroking
finding her hidden imperfections.
Taking out his hammer and chisel
he gently chips away her blemishes.
Smoothing the marble surface as he goes.
At last satisfied he stands back admiringly.
She glows in the fading sunlight,
seeming to come to life as dusk falls.
the sculptor sighs with pleasure.
It was worth the many hours of work
When I found you in bed, you had just died.
I wept; my grieving lodged inside my head;
you clearly were gone—I was horrified!
As you lay still in bed, utterly dead,
the huge shock I felt could not be denied,
as tears gave way to muffled sobs and dread.
Mother, I always had longed for your love:
you loved the one who never for you wept.
When your tired spirit had risen above,
I knew my tears were hopelessly inept;
meanwhile, we all assembled to remove
your slumbering corpse as it quietly slept.
Hours passed when we all gathered for your wake,
a solemn event that was neither good
nor sane as we all tried (for pity's sake!)
to offer our condolences if we could.
You laid there like marble—no more awake.
A victim of fate, I felt like deadwood.
The final day arrived: the ceremony
was on Sunday, which was dark and sunless;
dream-like, bizarre, and strange, all was eerie.
Distraught, I was overwhelmed and bloodless!
As they gave your last rite and obsequy,
I, too, died more than words could ever express.
The sound of army boots marching upon marble tiles
that leads into a corridor near the towers
and the echoes of screaming children
brought me to my knees and I found myself
in an unusual place staring in space
I am staring down the corridors of hell
I wake up thinking that I was dead
I must have had a bad dream for
Everything around me was surreal
I couldn’t explain how I got from the
the train to the square but lots of
people had gather there and a special
event was happening there, a rally was
about to begin and some people were
getting ready to sing and nightfall suddenly
Arise he spirits of the dead
awake out of your slumber
arise and join the band and
march through the street lined
with gold and replenish your weary souls
You have been sleeping for a hundred year
while the devil is creating havoc over here
arise and come to the square, there is lot s of things to
do over here, the rapture has come and gone
and left many furlong on the dry lawn
Pick from where you left off
before they throw you in the dark
the grave has no power over you
loosen yourself to love and it will protect you
arise ye sleeping soul, and meet me at
the square and you will be made whole
The morning sun burst though the skies
spreading its radiance upon the earth
and filled the street with laughter as the people
were awaken from a deep slumber
morning compose a strange hymn and the people
begin to sing, and they wrap the morning
around their waist and threw their hands in the air
and give praise.
GRIST MILLER
The grist miller Christopher lives near river Dee.
Marble pillar at his gate stands rigid steady.
He enjoys feast,
cooking ground grist,
eats lot on clay pot, cold or hot, but not greedy.
To preserve seeds miller uses pest-killer.
With customers he is perfect dealer.
Machine whirls, roars loud,
grinds with high pitch sound.
Christopher feels proud being a grist miller.
06/07/18
The Grist Mill Contest by craig cornish
Taped to the door’s plexiglass pane, a portrait
Of a Savior with ardent heart burning
Sunlight invades with the turning of hinges
Untethering the hospitality of Tony, the lone waiter
His Brazilian arms are swinging doors, open to embrace
He wore fishnet leggings to the Halloween Jamboree
Leather corset paired with his jet black hair,
Moving with grace at the age of seventy
To the right of the register towering above
The marble counter, the burnout teen dreams
Of welding underwater. A master of sparks
Under the pressure of the indomitable sea
Within his perspective the walls contort,
Xanax whispers in voices of an angel’s Hark
“They won’t know if the register’s short”
Behind the oven is the maestro of cheese and painted tomato
Luis whistles and sings ballads in the tongues of banda
Smiling at nothing with teeth all jagged and yellow
Welcoming all who wander with an “Ah mi amigo, ¿como estas?”
A jolly grin and laughing lungs lift a belly made of pizza dough
The oiled gears of a restaurant’s engine, fueled by cervezas
Joe rides into the shop he owns on his jet black Harley
To work with the line cooks in his leather steel toed boots
He was once Philly cop, and he may still be stuck in center city
He never lets his gun leave the secure embrace of his belt loop
Yet under such a Italian-American macho man brovato
Lies the soul of a tender soul that loves to cook for his community
Across the street, sunflowers raise their winter withered heads
The sizzling steak sandwiches sing in a chorus of cholesterol
The leather booths welcome anyone escaping the World’s dread
So come to Carmines, a source of solace for any and all
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
There with her beautiful heart, lies in state!
O dear life has wearied you to boredom.
In its wild, wild pursuit you are ensnared,
Only your name survives as a post-mortem
But your true virtues they have never fared.
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
There with her beautiful heart, lies in state!
Rest you beneath a fine marble stone slab
All achromatic hues as a grey shroud match with
Black monument, a sculpt roman epitaph tablet;
Upon your head a beautiful crown of wreath.
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
There with her beautiful heart, lies in state!
No man is willing to walk the narrow way
To your burial site marked by a weird post
So lonely and drear even in the light of day,
By night hearts hunted within by your ghost.
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
There with her beautiful heart, lies in state!
How have you slept on in your prime
When is it yet the fall of flourishing spring?
Were you flayed by sickness or aged by time?
Lo, a murder by man, of your heart a stabbing!
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
There with her beautiful heart, lies in state!
In your innocence, you did not foresee
Their burning lust to devour your chastity
By day feign your friend; by night plot their prey
In shadows with a dagger ripped your heart severely.
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
There with her beautiful heart, lies in state!
O dear love, farewell all your merits to life
For we shall mourn, our sorrow to be unending
On this worldly plane; hurt, sore, ache shall be rife
Adieu, by your death we hope for a new beginning!
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
Love, O Love is now laid a wreath
There with her beautiful heart, lies in state!