Quarried Poems | Examples

Old Rock Stone

Quarried figures who guard the shore
Dead eyes linger on a world before

Soul Drifter

I can not dwell on where I've been
Or where ten years I'll be
The roads are gone, the rivers dry
Nameless faces I see

For if the path led straight back home
I wouldn't know the way
The cobbled stones, the quarried hill
My mind begins to sway

When sunrise turns to ashen waste
And trees, they fail to leaf
You'll find my soul amidst the stars
My poems, what's left of me

05/04/25

......day before Mom's Angel Anniversary

Indigo Angel

In the lines of your quarried face
are granite truths and pastel mysteries
part time jester - full time thief of hearts
doubting the existence of great gifts,
tears in the fabric self worth.

In the violet crag of your word,
the echoes of a billion wizened steps
sunflower soul - harboring underground seeds
lightning bolt anger marbled with hummingbird heart beats
a moth dusted soul seeking something ocean blue deep-
something more than shallow phrases and rat nibbled deeds.

You're parched rose praying for thundercloud attention
yearning for a different flavor of strength
a heart minted with the firmament of god
to know for certain that angels tend to her day.

From your ruby colored throat, there's gentle night songs
and the hooves of tragedies approaching.

Friday Night Lights

Faster than a precipitous squall, ivy spreads and climbs the wall.  It's quarried a landlocked structure in Nepal. Through the cracks wails an ominous battlefield call. The preamble of turnacets tied tight by medics to stall as profanities ptyalise saturating gauze deep red with gall.  Hanging the jaws in fascinated appall , rubberneckers congest the receiving friends' line snaking  down the hall.  Perturbation too thick to order from short to tall, the shoulders stacked by chaos wearing a one size fits  all shawl.  So barbwire a  must install to tear  then rake  camouflaged skin off words that underneath crawl. To limit the insidious minifies the  onslaught threatening to befall. Protecting the house sometimes requires merciless law taking only two at high noon to draw.

Palimpsest

Beneath the graffiti littered by the years
and the fatigue signed by a thousand cares
Through the scratchings of so many tears
that were summoned or caught you unawares
Under the mottles by done days quarried   
and the shadows writ by a jealous sun  
where disappointments linger unburied  
and age is making its relentless run

My tired eyes can still trace your first face 
by the thievery of time irreducible

The Necessity

She built a sailing ship from quarried limestone.
Vacancy for about a thousand restless crows.
Year after year "the necessity" steadily progressed.
Twenty-four and SEVEN without yearn for prayer or rest.

She was elegant and beautiful like white virgin gold.
but years of pauper toil always demand a royal toll.
Thinning soul and hunched bones she hungrily attacked.
Through drought, whirlwinds and DEVELISH thunderclaps.

She placed half a carrot atop the limestone mast.
by far the brightest jewel of her black powder past.
Dragging the beating vessel 'neath seagull serenade.
A pinch of salted MEMORIES left melting in the rain.

She slowly crawled aboard... a parrot's diary in hand.
Waiting for black waters to swallow up the burning path.
The necessity was launched with a bleeding of champagne. 
A christening of a new constellation called the death of PAIN.

Porthgain Harbour

This rusting chain is witness to an age
When slate was quarried from these ancient cliffs
And where one hundred quarrymen earned a wage.
This harbour, filled with steamboats, schooners, skiffs,
Became a hive of industry, back when
Demand for road-stone, roofing slates and bricks
Was at its peak, then never seen again.
In modern times it’s in the tourist mix;
From far and wide they come; their aim – “The Shed”—
A posh fish restaurant.  Book in advance,
Secure your table, or disappointed
And hungry be, and float in fresh fish trance.
The smell of fish and chips wafts from the galley.
Move on, quick! Away!  We dare not dally.

Not Now

For long we have sailed in the river of sadness
When and how questions caressing the lips
The nostrils sniffing the odor of violence

Like a country in which average age is deceased
We waited for the day this will be abolished
Smoke of restless wailing to heavens
We wished but to see it end

Beauty too rich
Now nothing but like a withered flower
Face panel beaten with his merciless blows

What wrong did she do?
From where is the anger to punish innocent souls?
With the libido that consider no compatibility

Then yes but not now
Our young girls and women need peace
We now say no to gender based violence

Let tears of joy erode wrinkles off our sad faces
Out of the jungle of fear into the world of hope
A world quarried with women empowerment
Coated in the gold coat of girl education improvement

Atop Old Penistone

Atop old Penistone 

From bumpy stony track to peak the summit
No ledges, drops from which to plummet
A quarried mound that boasts sweet heather 
Loyal and strong despite the weather

The climb to top, a meagre stroll
But views abound, sights to extol
Bilberries aplenty on summer day
Rich pickings from a lush array

On one gray stone, a single rose is laid
where envied views boast hills of jade
In memory of a beloved view
Recalled by one faithful and true

Down slopy rubble on rugged track
A tarn exists amid the crags
A mirrored well by fallen sky
For calm reflection to stay awhile 

And on to sepulchered random rock
Sculptured by time, turn back the clock
Grand memories of those since gone
Each tilted stone bears one loved name

Proud Penistone portal to the way
Not much to see, I hear you say
But look awhile on peaty ground 
Penistone hill, not just a mound













A vantage point of contoured green 
 
In memory of a beloved view

Michelangelo's David

Michelangelo’s David

Extol the grace of mortal man
fashioned by Buonarroti’s hands.
What priceless handsome figure made,
the youthful David, bold and brave.
A statue of a human form,
anatomized, perfectly norm.
Giant, quarried, pure white stone,
shaped in fashioned style of Rome.
Standing, heroic, nude male,
ready to take on huge assail.
Pure wisdom and firm sinew
in glory of a naked view.
Amazing how each crease and fold,
is captured as a movement told.

2/21/19

2019 Poetry Marathon Final Placement / Sponsor: Mark Toney 9th place
written 1/21/17

This Present Mine To Own

The day now split
  drifts off unpromised,
  the dream remains with me

Our words as jewels 
  now treasured pawn,
  their tickets burning free

The nights by measure
  mornings fled,
  those times you woke and lied

My heart remains
  my own to wed,
  your wound still deep inside

From spells you cast
   upon our gift, 
  and quarried into stone

The past is black,
  the future gone,
  —this present mine to own

(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2017)

Love Power Anatomy

There is a body stronger than the flesh alone
it is the body of your love, that temple built of desire's stone
quarried from the chaos of your erotic emotions, shaped by destiny's moan,
where neurotic nerves, psychotic passions, fanatical faith and romantic rose chrome
are imported from the four corners of your heart, brought to the mount of your soul zone
upon here, obedience and freedom, submission and domination chalk and chisel to the bone,
the flame of Shekinah seduces spirit within and without your psychic cyclone
as age becomes an aggregate of obsession's ascensions and avalanches in cycles for you to atone,
Egyptian magicians and Phoenician mariners could only dream of your pulsing fortune,
what do magic rites and the mines of Ophir have to entice with compared to your throne
Hiram, the builder of holy royal bastions would seek the secrets of your star storm home -

J.A.B.

Exposing the Soul

The fallen sons slipped off Creation’s lens.
To taste the sting from our own tree and fruit.
Their giants quarried till no place to stand.
Before these day’s deceiving shades of gray,
The prophet’s shutters opened wide to write.
Foretold of hate in focus driving nails.
Our Pilate’s wash in Silver Halide’s bowl.
For only one Son’s blood can fill the baths,
His saving grace developing the soul.
And now reflecting every color’s hue,
Presented flawless under Father’s sight.
This world to turn and from you it will take.
Endure this to the end and ride the light.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Bellowserma Forest

A grand forest of majesty
Rests at the outer reaches
Of this grand land of mystery.
‘Tis mammoth in scale,
Thus overwhelming in scope.

Dense thickets stand guard
At the forest’s edge,
While not far beyond,
Oversized mushrooms wedge
Themselves among ancient
Quarried stone slabs.

For, within the forest proper
Is a once-forbidden ruin dubbed,
‘Bellowserma Stopper.’
It's intended purpose is no more,
And it's once-hidden eldritch lore
May be lost forever more.

Infinite emerald vines bind
And constrict the earthen remains.
Nature’s plans, here, are most unkind
In regards to the crafty hands
Of mankind.

Unspoken Words

Girl charming and docile, in love went wild,
Extremely loving and emotional, ever since a child,
The boy in mention on contrary was quite a shy,
Passion equally deep, but he showed it mild,
Quarried perfidy, came crashing dreams so high !

Silence a slow killer, alas he could conceive !
Daily meet eye to eye, a very sweet deceive,
Unspoken words, her patience was at its peak,
It was too late for him to make believe,
Affection her death bed, survival very bleak !  










Written on 21/6/14
Contest- Story poem
Sponsor- Carol Eastman

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