Long Marcus Poems
Long Marcus Poems. Below are the most popular long Marcus by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Marcus poems by poem length and keyword.
"Amid the jagged shadows of mossy leafless boughs"- Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Encompassed by autumn's gloam
Naked limbs reach for the sky
But it's just the season in which they call home
As they endure till spring is nigh
In the tangled obscurity of distant thought
We may find our season of gloom
Lost within memories the winds have brought
From melancholy to the joy of a spring bloom
These sentiments are not rooted in the mind
But float freely as through them we browse
And answers we seek we may yet find,
"Amid the jagged shadows of mossy leafless boughs"
11-26-19
Writing Challenge 3, November - Any Form
Sponsor: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode
“The soul becomes dyed with the colour of its thoughts.”
-- Marcus Aurelius --
Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change
People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.
People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names
The list could go on
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou,
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew
George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise
Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle,
But obviously greatness can be done.
We can rise above this stigma
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
It's mine
She is known as Honorable Queen Mother Nanny. The lady was so sweet as sugar candy.
Enhancing the fight, smiling with much delight, knowing her cause was right.
She was the awesomely true Westward Maroon liberation queen in the highest esteem.
Hailing from Ghana's Gold Coast as an Ashanti or Akan—"A free woman!"
His Excellency the Right Honorable Marcus Mosiah Garvey Jr. "Visionary Diasporan."
Founder, Universal ***** Improvement Association and African Communities League.
Created the Black Star Liner, forging the link between African and North America
Desiring to take his people back to their ancestral African roots, starting with Liberia.
The heroic grandfather, The Honorable Paul Bogle, says, "No taxation without representation!"
National Jamaican hero, Stony Gut Baptist Church deacon, and Morant Bay "Victor!"
Usually referred to as a "Shaka Zulu Pickney," an ancestral famed freedom fighter.
Proverbial singer Bob Marley uplifts his grace in the song "So Much Things to Say."
Faces printed on currency show the value of national and cultural pride—"None to hide!"
Standing on many shoulders, such strengthening standard-bearers, faithfully abiding!
Walking in the dark ghostly night
During the black stillness of twilight
Into the forest of superstitious fear
Burning eyes through you do sear
A fuliginous mist hung in the air
Obscured things that werent there
Atmosphere held a sinister feel
Fueling fears how will you deal
Secrets held on this eves hallow
Bodies hid in graves so shallow
Sending through you such chills
Behind the spooky haunted hills
When you hear a thumping sound
Jumping in fright you turn around
Thinking this could be your ending
Doomed feelings now are pending
Screeching screams of night owls
Werewolves deep guttural growls
Make your skin feel it's crawling
Leaving you there standing bawling
~No one escape from life alive you see~
So stay at home and you'll be free
~Even the dead tell stories of fright~
On this Ghoulish monsters night
"No one escapes from life alive"
~Michael Crichton~
"Even the dead tell stories"
~Marcus Sedgwick~
Haha my sad attempt at scary!;)
The Demon’s Curse: Hell, to Pay
Sind was a picture-perfect town built on a dark, 93-year-old secret. Deep inside the woods sat the old "Wishing Well." Tourists tossed coins into the water, unaware that far below, behind a heavy golden door, sat a demon named Marcus. For nearly a century, thirty-eight town elders and their descendants kept him locked away. They tortured him to harvest the gold trapped in the well, funding the town's luxury. Over decades of agony, Marcus whispered a rhythmic curse into the stone:
Do not steal from the wishing well spirit,
Don’t open the black door and lock me in,
For there is a curse,
For when I get out,
There will be hell to pay.
Through the years, Marcus waited patiently. He knew that the more gold the townspeople used, the deeper they were falling into hell. He just needed a single, solid soul to do the right thing. Finally, she arrived. Guided by the well, a young woman found the key and unlocked Marcus from his torment.
Free at last, Marcus surged out of the well to hunt his captors. He rounded up the descendants of the thirty-eight elders, closing the ring around them. One by one, he threw them all down into the dark, watery abyss, trapping them behind the door so they could finally pay their own way out. Blowing his flute he sent his curse
Glam became a voodoo artist; by reading the holy book backward twice in the middle of the forest for forty nights so he could challenge the demon.
Then Glam and three others and prayed a spell in the middle of the night on a log fire. Then played the flute. He unlocked a door and he beckoned a demon called Sire Marcus Barracus to assist him. Glam overpowered Marcus and stole the key of the door. Then stole, hair, nails, and umbilical cords of their victims. He put it in a grave and mortuary to steal their gold in heaven. They also stole the all-seeing eye so he knew exactly where to look amongst other things. All he knew was he needed perform a ritual, he needed a pure souls. He had no idea what he was doing as he was literate.
He didn’t know how to arrange such an act. He and the others ended up putting their bodies in a mortuary too. Then Marcus didn’t know how to explain to him, as he was horrified. All Marcus did was ask him to sign a contract and pay him for use of such items. Which he never did until now thirty-five years later. Now Marcus managed to get through to them what he tried to advise them back then. As they have used up all the gold they stole and fallen into hell. And don’t know what to do now.
The sneaky dead souls come through the door
Making deals
They wanted resurrection, health and beauty
Glam and Manzoor and Abid was greed
Suraya and Khalida were jealousy and beauty
Saying T is to blame for their misfortune
And began their reign of terror
They crossed the demon’s hand with silver
The demon wanted proof
They played dirty hoping to fool the demon
With lies and deception
They took out loans
They signed the contract
Now there’s no proof to their accusations
And must pay the fines and heavy debt.
If you are in Dire and Dare 5 Reply
Bell toils
Nine coins is the cost
When the deed is done.
Marcus take away.
All of a sudden black soil like fell in my lap. I got a shock what’s this. I will take it when you pay. After the deed is done. Marcus went away. I was left wondering what it was. Then in the morning I saw a large bell toil. Marcus came and picked up coins and walked away. The black soil turned to gold coins. I had paid.
He also said: if you don’t pay it will build on your grave. I felt uneasy but ok. I have to do things properly he showed me someone covered in it. Who didn’t pay.
OUR EFFERVESCENCE
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Line of inquiry: "conjoined with the whole we play our life role exuding a scent granting love consent.
Marcus had a secret only a few of the townspeople knew. His touch could coax the most stubborn of seeds to sprout and the most withered of plants to bloom. The scent he exuded was reputed to be mystical, one imbued with a powerful blend of love and consent, one of divine affection and unity. His was not mere gardening prowess; it was a divinely given gift and one that shaped his life in ways he’d not imagined as a young boy.
On a hot summer afternoon, Elara—lost and withered looking—wandered into Marcus’ garden. He gave her a cup of sparkling water, its cooling effervescence refreshing her. A drop of it spilt on a wilted daisy. To Elara’s amazement, its petals immediately unfurled, revealing a bright yellow center.
Confounded, Elara asked Marcus, "How can you possibly do that? I don’t understand."
He hesitated, unsure if she could actually understand. "It's a gift from the Divine," he said, "a sparkling effervescence similar to that found in the pure waters of the nearby stream. It’s one given to those who wish to connect with their souls.”
A puzzled Elara continued visiting Marcus, over time her curiosity growing and her worldly fears dissipating. Although a loner, Marcus welcomed her believing their connection was divinely ordained.
“We are conjoined not by flesh,” he began one day,
“but by the Divine, sharing the Holy Spirit—
an effervescence, a sacred bond.
Severing this holy bond
invites disconnection and decay
much like a withering leaf on autumn’s breath.
But when conjoined, this sacred space,
wraps itself around us all,
a warm, aromatic shawl.
We are filled with the fragrance of unity,
satisfying surrender, perfumed purpose, and
the sweet aroma of unconditional Love.
When we listen and sup with the Divine,
we’re nourished by the alchemy of this connection,
the effervescent champagne of life, bubbling with Love.
Encourage, nay, celebrate this unity,” dear one,
“this sacred conjoining of all that is,
and all that ever will be.”
am I just this fleeting moment
a ripple in time's flow
shackled to one body
must follow when it goes
or is there more to 'being'
an eternal flame that burns
and though my mortal flesh must die
the soul within returns
most now say we have 'one shot'
so live a life that's full
and while, in part, I see their point
I hate to think that's all
with countless years in history's wake
and many yet to come
my impact on the universe
so very close to none?
I need to feel there's so much more
some meaning or some goal
a reason why, a wider plan
that paints a bigger 'whole'
so I'll take the path that makes most sense
there's more to life than seems
and maybe I'm just passing through
... a ghost in this machine
Written: February 16, 2024
"Be not careless in deeds, nor confused in words, nor rambling in thought".
Quote by Marcus Aurelius
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We remain drawn to places we recognize well.
A mirage of lovely sights where dreams swell.
Rumbling rain clouds—odd swirls—rise at the pond.
Whirling thrill, an ecstatic genesis, swirling beyond.
Standing face to face, level with the moon.
Do poets and stargazers witness novel swoons?
In fierce verdict, the moon has closed its eyes.
If the sun stops beaming, how will moonlight arise?
The clouds cover the stars, and ideas sparkle.
Moon may decode terms by light dots in partial
You may be a flame or a mirror; both emit light.
Yet a flame must endure, rambling as glass blight.
Never shall the sun set, nor the moon rise.
Now it's time to detect without any prize.
Return the favor to those who wronged me.
Pursuing revenge, this tale is timeless history.
There is an outcome to every deed.
We are bound by Newton's laws of flow heed.
Entrails broken down resolve the algorithm.
Gaze upon your rambling in the same rhythm.
Sample my gilded projectile—hear the blast.
That inspires fear and mystery—peace is the cast.
Witness the radiant beams piercing overnight.
That stumbles in the blink—of an eyesight.
They draw to ramble in the void space.
With shades of deep, melancholic grace.
Antagonism elicits rambling to grow and thrill.
A mute bird flies and glides in their quill.