Quarries Poems | Examples

Listen to the Wind

The wind is blowing softly like words spoken
in ancient temples built of stone, sharply hewn
from quarries dug in highland hills made barren 
by creatures come to claim the woodland cedars,
for sacrifice and beauty they were chosen
to entrance us in the tapestry of weavers,
the goddesses of destiny and devotion
to the patterns of the silken threads, attuned~
the Fates decree, and who are we to question?

Listen to the wind as it swirls around decayed
headstones, hear it laughing like a ghost of yore,
or is it stirring trouble like a goblin crazed,
come to torment those awaiting somber tidings
of life once colored joyful, but now unglazed
by pale spectors and surly death's grim reapers,
and so the seasons tumble onward through decades,
dumb to pleasure, love or laughter, ever after
in a place where hopeless drudgery remains~

Listen to the wind now wailing winter's warning.

oCARINA AND pLASTIC cLARNET

They sought wordage enough to establish the foundations 
were they would afford enough and would venture into
the actual creation of an organization that
would look at today and sum up the facts of existence and
not only decide on the type of stone to create the statues and
trophies: but take the tractors and horses and the men to
the pits: quarries and mountain sides
find the stones , extract thee stones find the model and
carve .Association Membership Systems to afford
Union Parties and Galas.
Encourage membership. To
Have language that encourages
interest into the functions of structural detail.
Movement within the firm
so that promotions and demotions.
Trends and changes
income and analysis
Sussession:Stewartship and Stability
(Meddling)and Anti Meddling Processes
Unbeat and Positive.
( were you a clam poacher or
did you poach the clams? )
Lauage sepARTIONAL TERMS AND DISTINCTION)

Unrequited

I was once a Romeo
In gallant quest of romantic love.
For sake of which I wandered far afield,
Past mills and quarries, foundries and farms 
Where good folk tend their business 
And useful things get done. 
As spring gave way to winter, 
I found the climate daunting, 
With freeze and thaw displacing by upheaval 
My belief in happily ever after.
My confirmations became suspicioned, 
And my satisfaction curiosified.
My ratifications were soon dutifully amended 
And my achievements ambitioned
To a more sensible view of reality.
Having suffered hard time in the punishment block,
Where one’s thoughts then tend 
To either stagnate or germinate,
I arrived at this one eternal paradox: 
Only fools dare ever fall in love,
While only love can save the foolish from themselves.

Concurrently speaking

Cid once said that I was his Final Fantasy
Cid lied...or did he?
I am thinking of all the sweet cucumber melon frits I have eaten.
And as a strenuous Soul once said to the Earth Goddess, "I am impeccable.", I roared back, "Impudity."

For I once was a seagull, high in dementia. Now I'm a porecilan pear just barely stinging TO dementia; my collar bone has no quarries. I am alone in this vast world unraveling, unwavering itself as a steady snail's pace at me, unto me. Unto ME.
For why in the world am I in such worry, Fizzle-Mc-Drizzle? Why am I seeing myself grope and sweep and sweat the night away into musty odors fit like a king of Barnaely?

Have I no compassion? The voice I hear as my echoing consciousness from Spirit World seems to think so.

For what world have I come from, strange inaudible Titan Atlas and Atticus still murmuring over the book, "To kill a Mockingbird?" Am I THAT preconscious?

Have I no compassion? The voice I hear inside my echoing head seems to think so from Spirit World. 
 Oh! Spitit Word...! Oh, of WGAT?

By Whatever Means

“By Whatever Means” 

Halos are us
shining examples
of fallen poetry

gauntlets warm 
hearts pumping blood
dog catchers of thieves

lives stolen 
then retrieved 

by whatever means

our quarries
captive, then fed 
to Cerberus

Halos are us
shining examples
of fallen poetry

lives stolen
then retrieved

by whatever means

(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)

Quiet Hush-

Quiet questions quarries
The quiet quotes quilts questionably
Those the quiet queue quizzes qualms qualls quantity silent yet so quiet...


1/4/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022

The Quiet-

the quiet question quarries 
the quiet quarter queers queasily
the quiet quote quilts questionably
the quiet quit queries questioningly
the quiet queue quizzes qualm quails quaintly silent yet quiet

10/13/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2020

A Spotted Fawn

Rolling hills, alive with hydrangea and thyme
  O'er cavernous quarries of sapphire and lime
Darting monarchs, tiger swallowtails
  Artwork on the wing, a-lighting in the dale

A tender, spotted fawn startles awake
  My awkward footsteps her slumber shakes
She pirouettes away, with virtuoso leaps
  Each elegant stride, mine forever to keep


        
                  July 05, 2020
      Strand Completely New (5) Contest
              Sponsor: Brian Strand

Pen Journeys

Continuum of creative action
Inspired by views of space quarries
Create a strong magnetic attraction
Of the thinkers of far-out stories.

And they’re opposites in the cortex
But companions in a what-if vortex,
Spinning worlds of imaginations
For present and future generations.

A sci-fi teller can look to the stars
And send your mind on fictitious trips;
Beyond moons, or rings or canals on Mars
And the finite reach of SpaceX ships.

Natural Legacy

Jimmy misses the hikes with his dad
Going to the Pennines, Lake District and Wales
Exploring old quarries and mines
Finding wartime plane wrecks
Marvelling at man built reservoirs and dams
Risking life and limb climbing vertical peaks
Going to see cliffs at St Bees and Robin Hood’s Bay
Collecting varied rock samples from hikes
Enjoying the natural world in varied settings
Jimmy and his dad did this thru the 70s and 80s
Timeless memories that he remembers now
And carries on the hiking and exploring
His dad instilled in him decades ago




CC 191 2020 
JIMMY BOOM SEMTEX

Mates

Mates 
I remember with joy my youth
My dad was my best mate
Taking me to the hills and mountains
We would hike all day long
Going to old mines and quarries
Exploring deep valleys
Climbing steep peaks
Finding old warplane wrecks
Those days I treasure
With my best mate my dad
My best mate
Who’s gone from this world
RIP my dad my best mate

Creativity In Visual Arts--

CREATIVITY IN VISUAL ARTS

What is this creativity in visual arts
Where is it found, I believe it’s lost;
I don't believe that galleries are narrow?
For the paths they’ve taken now lost;
Water colored scenery of broken lovers quarries;
Galleries are broad  pictures beyond belief.;
Are you upset by how tolerant they are?
Does it tear you apart to see the galleries so all-inclusive?

Exhibitions are not unromantic!
People goocking exceptionally total fanatics
Do exhibitions make you shiver?
Mystic elephants painted without his liver;
They paint a white line on a white wall;
I see spill black paint on the floor;
Are museums populated anymore

CREATIVITY IN VISUAL ARTS

I cannot help but stop and look at the yellow stitchery.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the stitchery,
Gently it goes - the cowardly, the yellowish, the white-liver part
CREATIVITY IN VISUAL ARTS


3/5/19

If You Pull a Long Face - Part X

IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : PART X

IF you pull a long face
For ten straight nights starting today
You bet you'd look like Canada Bernache
Though fat chance like swan in Norway

But if you pull a very very long face
Your rivals might not like it in the Sea-Ay-Yeah
And might seek to shorten the nautical-mile face
To a right and proper mile-long face all in a day

Yet if you keep pulling that mile-long face
The wilds of the Siberian Goulag would you slay
After long lone nights the firing-squad to face
Notes from the Underground your mind mainstay

Then if you pull the lone long face
In Algerian quarries Who will your ransom pay
Thirty-thousand ducats El Manchot to brace
Battling windmills in Castillian Quixotic disarray

So if you must pull the longingly long face
Your chef-d'œuvre will-o'-the-wisp bright stay
Your day of glory on the Internet mere pittance
Think of all the great works slush piles overlay

© T. Wignesan - Paris, January 5, 2019

Parthenon At Midnight

The harvest specter
of Artemis levitates
in midnight sky
beyond a temple's frail bones.

Her aura imbues the marrow
as haunted zephyrs breathe imperial runes
culled from quarries
in the scintillating saffron 
emblazoning Apollo's halcyon.

Atop graveyards of heroes
pillars weep dry pebbles to Aegean eminence,
from Alexander's subjugated Persians
to Agamemnon’s trickery
on the plains of Troy.

When marble shadows lengthen
and drift in her shifting light
the moon goddess
stills all whispers
as she mourns the spectacle of bravura
retreating to dust.

6/20/18

Stone

Again I dreamed of being in Paris last night.

I could not see me,
but I could see the city,
unchanged.

All the stone walls and 
gray white stone of heavy buildings
that rose long ago 
from the minds of builders
and the quarries of stone.

Again I looked for a telephone.
I wanted to call for someone 
I knew long ago.
Call to warn them that 
things can happen.

Even in Paris.

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