Long Marbled Poems
Long Marbled Poems. Below are the most popular long Marbled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marbled poems by poem length and keyword.
The ovens sigh, the knives confess,
we season sin with gentleness.
Each soul, when carved, reveals a taste—
the butcher’s art, the baker’s waste.
The world’s our larder, stocked with schemes,
its saints are sweeter than they seem;
the sinners, tough—but well-marbled,
faith rendered down, ambition garbled.
O mercy, what a menu night!
The moon a lid, the stars alight—
each heart a roast of mortal heat,
each dream a spice too rare to eat.
So lift the cleaver, kiss the flame,
for hunger never dies of shame;
and whisper, as the bones release,
It isn’t m-rder—only peace.
:: 02.04.2026 ::
Yosemite’s Ephemeral Autumn Falls
Bald giants of swift water smoothed pale granite
Mark deep clefts for tumbling summer snowmelt
Rush released from frozen streams once frostbit
Silver swells - Ribbon Falls in pure ice melt -
Ephemeral streams slowed beneath Orion’s belt.
Thin tulle mist from autumn’s gossamer Bridal Veil
Flutters, bathing stony arms embrace of Royal Arch,
Quaking Aspen in Alder Creek covers Misty Trails
Witness near the Staircase wildflowers parched -
Golden leaves on steep slopes from the western larch.
Sheer barren faces only seep crystalline tears
As rivers flow to shallow autumnal rivulets
And Fire Falls wait for wintery floods to reappear
When somber quartz welcomes new Cascades reset
Catching torrent tides, flashing in a fiery sunset.
Wild Cat eyes the Sentinel in thirsting, dried up rills
That thinly coat plutonic rock in a glacial train
Only a trickle floats lazy scarlet sent over these hills
No tumbling drops tickle Waterwheel to turn with rain
While Snow Creek laments in narrow runnels refrain.
No gushing rivers plunge in roaring thunder veils
Nor scramble down Yosemite’s plainly marbled face
Scant silvered dews spill over on Nevada’s trails
For soon the breathing winter storms many falls erase
Till joyful spring redeems autumn in this magic place.
A tribute to the magnificence of Yosemite during autumn.
(Voice of a Broken Lineage)
Before your first cry kissed Florida’s air,
Two weary souls crossed oceans of despair—
Your parents, Cuban hearts in exile,
Arrived in 1956, not with riches,
But with hope wrapped in trembling hands.
They fled the storm, not to breed silence—
But to gift you a voice sharp as justice.
And yet, what song do you sing now,
Marco of the marbled throne?
Where is your mother’s ache?
Where is your father’s fire?
Buried beneath lobby gold and foreign war drums?
You wear America like armor,
But it shields you from your roots.
You sip from cups filled with blood and denial,
While Gaza cries and Cuba weeps.
Did you forget the sweat of your lineage,
Chasing shadows of power with blind eyes?
You are not a prince—you are a pawn,
Dancing for the architects of ruin.
You hated your own kin for survival.
But survival at the price of memory
Is not wisdom—it is moral slavery.
Money speaks louder than heritage now.
But what will you say to your soul
When it demands an answer?
Power deceives.
But time uncovers.
And one day,
You will be judged by the child you once were—
And the ancestors who never left your blood.
Shall we acquiesce to mornings first glow in flight
To the flags of yellow golden daffodils lined in a row
Flowing over mothers’ soft hills on new born grass
Like tiny soldiers at attention on the milky dawn
Elsewhere over the marbled planet surface blue
Where baby dolphins jump from the womb
From their home of salted liquid depths
Only to land in a splash to ocean’s laughter
Harmonized with giggles from children on a day trip
Watching with wide eyes from somewhere ever after
If not on the iron boat deck wide awake
Surely students would be beneath the waters deep
Out at sea is no place for little children, trip or not
Should a storm arise upon the morning
Ships are known to sink without a warning
No matter what the acquiescence inclinations are
No matter how delightful nature seems to be
Or how high the dolphins leap to leave the sea
Safety should always be our first consideration
Regarding such destinations and flights in levity
*Note: (If only dolphins and children could fly away to distant destinations. If only flowers could retain their yellow. What a different world this would be.
Oh how I do love cats.
Not rats or bats,
Spats or hats;
(although I do own a chapeau or two).
I love cats of all sizes, colors and shapes;
even though they get in a lot of scrapes.
I love calicos, tabbies, marbled too;
I really love a Persian Blue.
I love them whether they have boots or socks;
I adore all their furry frocks.
Short-haired, long-haired, cats are great;
With cats, I love to celebrate.
They bring such joy and elation;
but, when they get in an altercation,
I calm them with my guitar strings;
cats do love to hear folks sing.
They stop to listen to my songs,
but they definitely don’t like drums or gongs.
So I sing and they calm down;
quite tranquil then’s, my kitty-crowd.
The Integrity travels a quarter million miles,
The farthest point humankind has now reached;
A flight path record in decades will sing,
When it launched at the dusk of April first.
In the night when the countdown hits zero,
At Kennedy Space Center, the rocket fires its intro;
Tearing Orion into the deep dark,
As four souls leave their only known planet.
That moment the engines strum one last time,
The ship slips from Earth's grip and sight;
Watching the sphere shrink in the window frame,
Till it's just a marbled blue note of light.
Sensing the shift of the Moon's pull,
That takes over the rhyme and symphony;
The astronauts look back at their homeland,
Hearing from Earth again is a melody.
On the far side of the Moon,
They are in total radio silence —
Just them and the stars, with the Moon between them
And the pull of a cosmos beyond human sense.
At thirty times the speed of sound, Orion hits the atmosphere,
Orange and white flowers slow the song down;
The crackling, fiery heat plays its chord,
Treble clef curve makes splashdown safe and sound..
She still paces around the churchyard
without a hat on her blown tresses;
an autumn cloak rustling beneath a gray cloudscape
that somehow, her eyes wander on,
not because she relishes the flick
of icy leaves...not because silk orchids lay
on a marbled cross: rather,
her thoughts gather among dry thistles to wail
upon a crypt nestled by life’s hammock of dust.
The lull from breezes affirms such quietude
of her beloved now resting on potter’s field,
sealed by the finality of death : this instant crash
through night's byway pinning him down down the abyss...
And the mist spills into another hour
unrelenting in bowed silence,
as if he loved her essence more in ghastly ruins.
Broken Wing's Could You, Please Contest
Submitted 10/20/2017
Originally Written 10/17/2017
Pale brimstone
emerge on days windblown
hover flower to flower
ducking Spring's sudden shower;
Common butterflies so blue
each season,two generations new,
small heath,argus,marbled white
and speckled brown,so slow in flight;
Winter's caterpillars green and small
fragile miracles,to enthrall.
Once,summer green
Then,autumn gold
Bedecked the ancient tree-
Now,in silhouette,laid bare
Mistletoed in winter frieze;
Flurries of snow,fine & dry
On its branches lie
White stars,scurry and shift
In piles of patterned drifts.
No breeze tonight
Trees pose statuesque
Flowers icily still
Time slows to a stop
Grasses stand to attention's call
Thought holds on pause
Air has that feel of fall
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name ichthyschiro
Crown Princess :
On wedding night,crown prince whispered on ears of his beloved crown princess.
Listen to me (as in believe me),
These minarates of my white marbled Palace are nothing compared to you
The beauty of these white ornamental pieces is nothing in comparison to your beauty of innocence,Simplicity & Purity of Heart and Soul.
I am your Real man ,
I donot need status,money or any property from you in return of my true love.
I want your loving,caring & sincere hands to make my new family.
The things like Note,Poetry,song,walk
Which is valueable infront of you
Also fascinate me.
I am living a dreaming life
You will remain with me from today till the last breath of my life to the Heaven.
You are that blessing from my God for whom I pray deep in all times.
From today onwords ,you are the ruler of my heart.
Without you, even the heartbeat
moved on slow speed,
Since I found you,
I am tied with you..
My heart is flying..
Listen, my beloved, Believe me, these stars of skies,
are nothing compared to you..
From today onwards, You are the ruler of my heart
Look, my dreams after passing through Your dreams
Are telling the nights that we have turned into those mornings
Which are now true.
Listen, my beloved, these sceneries of both the worlds are nothing compared to You
From today onwards, You are the ruler of my heart
From today ,the crown is yours..
You become Crown princess of my Ornamental Palace.
And then you are my Future Queen of Heart.
I Will be the warrior to fight for our love,
We will fly together ,fly higher that the Dove,
I Will be yours ,save you from dangers
I will take all the Pain,for to me they are no stronger.
You will be the Queen in the Kingdom of my Heart.
And then I will be the king so we will never be apart.
You will be my Majesty,I will serve you forever,
And for all the times ,I will leave you never.
By Aliza Kashmala Kiran
Think of me as the eyes of late nightfall
crawl through a wafting sill
where lone moon cuddles dimmed glow
before she quietly slowly lays
herself on a cradle of clouds
as whistle of barn owl and incantations groans.
When dusk explodes into ash
upon fairways that lap,
think of me
mysteriously walking on the ledge
of our winding grassland
picking bluebells in wanderlust.
And when candles snuff the lampshades
think of me,
like the velvet skin of dusk fall
circling in a world of marbled thoughts
until you etch the back of my spine
to lullaby the sourness of truant dreams.
The stars play game-spy with the wind
rowing into a wave of dewy cruise;
I enter into your own lenses, a search light
that becomes the harbour of some peace
while echoes of unknown voices speak...
It is at this juncture when you, perhaps,
might think of me
lending a gentle taste of assurance
that the next hours will stir a brightened sun.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
contest 259 Brian Strand