Long Obelisk Poems
Long Obelisk Poems. Below are the most popular long Obelisk by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Obelisk poems by poem length and keyword.
…obliterated night of the seven seasons
tickets and thickets and trains collide
into the cliché of licking tongues
wed to the bred moan of capitalism
(grinning gothic gremlin) smile of a nurse
before the coma saturates the elliptical
thought of the ghost mutes trepidation
(ride the crest of the adder’s riddle)
infested with scales of karma flaking
magic merging with the indifferent
Earth (and the sky implodes anxiety)
--a voice says crawl back to childhood—
innocence is an oblivious death-sentence
terminated without punctuation (again her)
approval is a mark of degeneration (descend
-ing) linked aphasia is the coded dance of night
…sour taste in the heart as the mouth spouts
…verbs of deeds painted like profanity
…I see her riding the obelisk of risk
…until the tendrils lie
shivered awake by mourning nothingness
thrown back within the iris of truth
drowning in the colors of reason…
God is not a building dedicated to one faith
that icon of a dead Christ that’s a myth that man makes…
Because men must define the unknown in stone a human façade or by words in a black book bound by dead flesh to govern the human race or enslave the human heart…
God is not your TV your priest your dollar marks God is not your evangelistic thieves crying for money or power built on the backs of the infirm the fragile of mind…
God does not milk the geriatric frail of body and heart God is not your soul but you are part of it, a divinity a degree of energy bound to all in a universal conscience God is…
Something you cannot understand but it sits beside you all the same God is the constant awareness of a universe living the grand I am
Unseen the Innermost reality you cannot define God outside the pages of a man made black book God is not humanity nor is it removed alone and aloof
It is between all there is and what will be or have been God is in the details god is the sublime or God is colorless in creation of all and nothing God is as simple…
As the grace of wind across this earths ragged face or as violent and as mysterious as the death of a neutron star God is with you and without burnt…
Offerings God is and is not good nor evil for that is human design God is just a thought in a vast mind of the cosmos or a simple electric spark…
More vast and complex or as simple as a human cell God is a black hole in deepest of space God is not an obelisk or engraved imagery nor a myth…
That man makes divinity creation is something you cannot understand but yet know intimately as the voice in your soul…
God is a simple
as the wind across
your human face
or as complex as eternity!
Wall clock,
Cinderella got out,
Big Ben's pale attraction,
King Saul highest in York and London,
On dial, his twelve hands juggle,
Hypnosis,
Vineyard blood,
My arrows,
Strings of psalms,
Split arrowheads of dwarfs,
Big Ben's dogs,
Pursue Lady Rowena of Ivanhoe,
Titanic is broken,
Icebreaker from orca,
Sign of Jonah,
Canker on the tower,
Dark hole,
Toxic stepmother,
Fake freedom,
Make gunsight on Sarah (of Tobias) for the gnomes,
But my gold apple of the eye above and over,
Olive oil and Jonathan's honey,
Far like close against who shoots on,
Flame on the town,
Sky fall,
Christmas star only,
Michael knight helps these young women,
Against the red dragon,
To stay in Love,
"Who Is like the Lord?!"
Angel's name in the hand of Mother of God,
This boy, precursor
For Lamb and Lion,
Not a Teuton,
Robin Hood in New York and Chicago,
Monte Cristo at Lyon,
The voice in Moscow,
Wilderness of snow,
Service like an arrow of the Word,
David's stone going like a forerunner before,
When David arrives, He will return with the sword,
And with Cinderella's crystal shoe and Life crown,
For crows and doves, between children of Noah,
Town of the world,
Square of fake Concord,
The Pharaoh's obelisk by Napoleon,
Shady hand on dial clock from the catacombs of lodge,
This Jezebel collusion against the vineyard of Naboth and brother Joseph,
Like a nuclear-armed rocket,
Time stolen,
When Big Ben is loose, fall,
Against only Noah's bow,
With the arrow from the natural rainforest,
Fire of Mowgli,
Good outlaw among wolves,
Confessor on the cross,
Star from the Orient,
Say to the leaders of nations:
"Don't return to fox Herod",
And to Shere Khan Herod: "Don't be with Herodias, dame Terror",
Writing to the seven angels of the churches
By Revelation of John,
Cultures from Noah on Light give all colors,
Worthy and noble communion to Blood and Body,
One who has no sword sell his cloak and buy one,
In sackcloth therefore Elijah and Enoch.
Nature's Treasures
She sees their crowns had impressively grown
Taller than the obelisk now merely ancient stone
Deepest green like emeralds set on her mystic ring
Forever cognizant and nurtured by a life-giving spring
A gentle presence caresses leaves fervently breathing
Reaching toward heaven imbibing celestial blessing
Over her heart a talisman deciphers cryptic rune
Trees are endowments from beyond the moon
Without trees and grasses fostered by a star...
Planet Earth may inevitably mirror God of War!
***This is an expanded version of the previously posted
poem Cognizant Gems, now with a different title,
"Nature's Treasures"***
10/25/2022
6:20 P.M.
Aboard Rhapsody of the Seas
Limassol, Cyprus
Time's flowing tributary; the future changes the past.
Our burial cortege concludes its course at the graveyard.
Falling leaves collapse, crafting new fates; feel the weight of dust.
Some are wagered in a pitcher with burnt bones and ash charred
We tread the twisting trails, yet in the end, all come this way.
The funeral site was bleak and hushed with death and decay.
Where death reigns and no one recalls who under earth lay.
I find peace in the abyss, grasp sky, and haze through the grave.
The woods are gray guiding the cars and assuaging the crave
Nothing appears in the night when it is too brief to save.
With outworn obelisk, only the moss knows the rent draft
You have rote recall for this wreath, yet no time in this yard.
Trusting that I would rest here, bereft of any rich ray.
Leaving behind all my hard-gained assets by a name waive.
1st Place contest winner
Written: February 22, 2023
Writing Challenge - G Words - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
This poem form is the Fragmented Rhyme invented and Conceived by Constance La France. It has 14 lines with indentation, and a rhyme scheme, as follows: ABABCCCDDDABCD
Written: August 14, 2025, for Contest Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
*******
I writhed in the womb of a necrotic hush,
a stygian silence where barghests lurk—
My slack-jawed soul, sodden with oblivion lull,
clanged against the obelisk of despair.
The wound, a molten mouth of aurora,
sizzled with sacred suction—
a fipple of fire, ineffable and fecund,
where pestilence pirouetted with puissance.
I danced—yes, I danced—
in the desiccation of my demise,
a gavotte of soulfulness,
My blood is a rubicund aria of rapture.
Alabaster bones bore the torque of truth,
Each fracture is a triptych of ephemera and flame.
I was a poltergeist of my former self,
grappling through the noosphere multivocal maze.
The stench of bygone hexes clung to lava rock,
But I, stalwart and sinewed with mettle.
careened past the clamor of puerile pabulum,
past the gossamer glamor of grief.
I was broken—yes—
but bold enough to resuscitate,
to regale the necromancy of my rebirth,
to supplant sorrow with the sacred sizzle of self.
Now I stand, an empyrean echo,
a veridical vestige of velvet versatility—
my heart, a burnished niche of noble hope,
My spirit resembles a smooth, celestial sunset.
Let the world scrutinize my scars,
They are not grotesque—they are garrulous.
They speak in tongues of alchemy and amaranthine ache,
a quixotic quiddity, a quintessence of comeback.
This is constructed in the CUBE16 style I created several years ago.
As conscripts March
and war is nigh,
fear grips men’s hearts.
Stern looks belie.
Their ears are filled
with rifle shot.
The one for them
they hear it not.
As battles rage,
lives beckon risk.
Anticipate
dread’s obelisk.
Fierce battles end,
then quiet falls.
The lofty brave
feel dreadful palls.
Does war resolve
the burning hate,
or does it let
the rage abate?
War never is
an ending place.
It soon approves
a new hot space.
As calm returns,
its time is short.
Those wanting war
will soon extort.
Can peace exist
where boots now trod?
Peace has one source.
The grace of God.
(In Paris in 1904, Lily - deserted wife
of composer Claude Debussy - recounts
her suicide attempt among the statues.)
What do you do?
I couldn't bring myself
to write a "you're untrue"
type letter. It wouldn't do.
They're coming
back from Jersey now,
he and his fat old woman.
What did I do?
How did I let him down?
I would take him back
in a heartbeat,
despite this indiscreet
and ugly business,
the talk of the town.
What did I lack?
Next Wednesday marks five.
If I'm still alive,
I'll pass it alone.
He's got his old crone.
How did it come to this?
How did I miss?
He begged me
to be his wife.
If not, he'd take his life.
What does anything mean?
I didn't have a plan.
Just insupportable pain.
I wandered about in the rain,
nursing the revolver in my purse.
I passed the Madeleine
and Strasbourg, in black,
and knew I wasn't going back.
Between the Obelisk and Brest
I held the damn thing
to my chest.
The rest's a blur.
I woke up here in the Hotel Dieu.
They said it's lodged,
the lump of lead,
behind my heart.
It has to stay there.
Far too near
a vertebra to operate.
At any rate,
I'll wear his souvenir
until I'm dead.
Today’s trip was all in North Dakota…from Minot to Grand Forks
On our way to a city named f Lakota
we made a stop in the little town of Rugby, North Dakota.
Rugby has a valued place in the hearts and minds of cartographic esoterica…because Rugby, North Dakota is known
as the geographical center of North America.
Rugby’s celebration of this fact is subtle…
apparently this distinguished fact Rugby is not one to flaunt.
Its true they built a rock obelisk to commemorate this fact
but it sits outside a Mexican restaurant.
As we stopped to take a picture…and were searching for the best shot
another car with tourists just like us pulled into the parking lot.
This is how we met Pat and Sherry…which on this trip has become a familiar scenario.
They were returning form their place in Texas…to their home in Ontario.
We took each other’s photos…made sure to catch each other’s smiles
And then we stood around, as travelers do,
and talked with one another for a while.
And though we started out two sets of strangers…
two unlikely pairs…
we shared with them a little about our life, our travels…
and they shared with us…a little about theirs.
After spending a few minutes together at the beginning this day
we wished each other safe travels…and all went on our way.
And now Pat and Sherry…hold a place in our Great Northern Trip esoterica…
friends we made while standing…in the center of North America
He walks right through the wall and bounces of the air,
the ideal is the greatest reality as compulsive fair.
Some minds nail the ideal to the cross for depart,
as the ideal once is dissolved from a love drunken heart.
Then those ideals will have wrinkle and aching pain,
when those star fetched orientations shine in vain.
The danger of fanatic idealism ends in self pity,
even when the intellect feels so witty.
The reality of the ideal a soap opera for sure,
experience out of this is the parody to endure.
Fixed ideals the narrow obelisk of will,
haunting graveyards at midnight still.
For some it’s plenty to live by,
the idea and the love to lie.
Welcome divine ideal and destroyer of the world,
when greatness becomes emptiness unfurled.
The modern world ruled by ideals to find,
the tragedy of who is who lost in human kind.
The over stimulated fatalisms as art,
with no intolerance from the heart.
Millions of ‘ifs’ at the twilight dawn beach,
because nature has that magical promise reach.