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You will find fun poems and rhymes here! You may contribute something yourself!  Feel free to email me at mikesmarbles@yahoo.com

Marbles In A Jar - Poem by Theresa Ann Moore

Stored on a shelf
In the garage
Is a canning jar
With a screwed on lid

Contained within are
Glass marbles
Of various sizes
Many are opaque
Some have clarity…
Many have
elongated pupils
Peering back

With playful laughter
You must have been
A regular kid
With simple joys
How times changed
As years accumulated

Like these marbles…
Hordes of memories
A collection stored
In my canning jar
Many glass globes
Have eyes that
Reveal days of joy

A few have been chipped
From being flung
There is one
When observed
Turns the world
Upside down
It is concealed deep
Within the marbles
Of my recollection


Lost Marbles

I think I've lost my marbles
I don't know where they've gone
One minutes they were with me
(Did I throw them on the lawn?)

Or perhaps they're floating in the sea
Where life is so much better
(I really don't know what I'll do
If my marbles get any wetter)

Maybe they hitched a ride
on a bus going all around
Maybe they jumped from an airplane
and shattered on the ground

I cannot find my marbles
No, not anywhere
So I guess I'll go on living my life
Free, without a care

Mighty Marbles Poem

Smooth between your fingers

Cool atop your palms

Examining their beauty

Makes you relaxed and calm

Formed from fevered sand glass

These glistening little spheres

Sparkle when you roll em

Like crystal chandeliers

Wrap em with your pointer

Curving strong and tight

Shoot em with your thumbnail

Flicking keratin might

Playing games with marbles

Is never-ending fun

On rainy days and Mondays

Beneath bright burning suns

Spread about in circles

Etched deep in dirty dirt

Colorizing ground like

Polka dots speck shirts

Crystal clears and solids

Spiraled cores galore

Sing along the wood when

Marbles spin cross a floor

They jiggle in your pocket

Bust out from paper bags

Oh when you store your marbles

Watch out for things that crack!


Ode to Marbles
By Max Mendelsohn
I love the sound of marbles   
scattered on the worn wooden floor,   
like children running away in a game of hide-and-seek.   
I love the sight of white marbles,   
blue marbles,   
green marbles, black,   
new marbles, old marbles,   
iridescent marbles,   
with glass-ribboned swirls,   
dancing round and round.   
I love the feel of marbles,   
cool, smooth,   
rolling freely in my palm,   
like smooth-sided stars   
that light up the worn world.


Janice is in the playground
playing skip rope
with two other girls.

I'm playing marbles
with Dennis and Dave
against the playground wall.

I have put
my favourite marble
out there
hoping to win the lot.

Dave crouches low
and flicks his blue marble
it hits Dennis's pink marble.

Dennis looks over
at the girls skipping
your turn Den
Dave says
standing up.

Dennis crouches down
and continues the game
his marble misses
and hits the wall
he stands up
looks at the girls again.

You can see their knickers
when they skip
he says.

Who cares
Dave says
crouching down
intent on the game.

I watch the game
hoping my marbles
don't get lost
especially the blue one
I think as lucky.

Dennis looks back
at the game.

The girls skip on
intent on their game.

I bend down
and aim and miss
and the game
is won and lost
to my and Dennis's cost.


A Handful Of Thoughts

My bag had a tiny hole in it,
are they neither here or there.
rolling in directions not seen
but I know I had a handful
less than a moment ago?
ever thought your losing your marbles.



Look at these
I show her
in my palm

three marbles
blue and green
and one red

Helen pokes
with finger
turns over

and over
then she stares
through thick lens

of glasses
at the shades
of colours

she tells me
standing back

her enlarged
girly eyes
look at me

I then move
the marbles
from my palm

to pocket
of my jeans
can I hold

one of them?
she asks me
sure I say

and get one
and place it
in her palm

a small palm
like a pink

rose petal
the marble
seems a gem

to her eyes
she moves it
with finger

round and round
red and pink

almost one
in her palm
she smells it

she rubs it
she utters

you keep it
I tell her
as a gift

she lifts her
teary eyes
upon me

you mean it?
she mutters
sure I say

she kisses
the marble
and puts it

in the small
dress pocket
and leaves it

to nest there
like an egg
then we walk

slowly up
Meadow Row
to get chips

from Neptune's
for lunch time
to eat on

the bomb site
and I wish
as we walk

I was that
red marble
resting there

in the green
dress pocket
lying there
all unseen.




I found my marble.
It was hiding behind old books
A place I never thought to look
Up high on the shelf
my little marble, a piece of myself
a clear marble with a black core
but if you squint your eyes
it would appeared to be pure black
I remember rolling it forward and back
up and down my wooden floor
until it got stuck between my door
then a rescue mission would commence
to save my marble I needed great confidence
not to get injured in the process
to my five year old self
this is what being bold was like
so this cycle repeated itself
recycling the same pattern
roll, stuck, save, repeat
but then one day I lost my marble
and then I forgot I lost it
I forgot that small part of my childhood
playing marbles on the wood
I thought it was gone for good
until I found my marble
I realised I didn't forget it at all
it was just stored away
up on a tall shelf
and when I was reunited
the memories began to reload in my brain
restoring a place in time
where losing a marble
was the biggest crime
I time with no bore
Playing with a clear marble
with a black core


I haven't found glory
on the street or in the fields,
the latter being too gory
and the former hard on my heels.

I don't have the words,
it's shaking up my nerves,
I'll take a walk.

Play low class, gamble for cash
with tiny marbles made of glass,
the gravity outweighs the mass
on this tiny marble made of gas.

I can't fly with birds,
it's shaking up my nerves,
I"ll take a walk.

I haven't found glory
on the street or in the fields,
but I'll tell you my stories
because they're real.

By Shashank Virkud- From Miracle/Whimsical

Two Marbles

Two marbles roll down a plank of wood
they begin close, but without contact
the marbles roll down, opposite directions
all of a sudden the wind changes
they roll side by side scraping each other
a knot, they separate, continuing, both going the same direction
in different paths
their paths never cross again,
they both end up at the bottom of the plank individually
but without that period of togetherness,
without their paths having crossed
they would be where they were.


Santa_Dancing.gif (5314 bytes)

Ode To A Peltier Christmas Tree by Bob Block. 

(This was saved by me from Christmas of 1997, this is in entirely written by Bob Block author of many marble books including Marbles Identification and Price Guide).

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a shooter was histing - not even the mouse.

The pouches were hung by the chimney with care.

In hopes that some marbles would soon be placed there.

And we were all snuggled asleep in our beds,

with visions of Guineas rolling over our heads.

And Swirls and Peltiers, and Lutzes and Clay,

Oh what joy to waken and find them next day!

When out on the lawn there arose such a flurry,

I called 9-1-1 and asked them to hurry.

Away from the window I flew like a flash -

Then bolted it shut, and peered through the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

Gave the luster of Clambroth to objects below.

And what did my wandering eyes spot out there?

But, a van and a wagon filled up with round spheres.

With a big, chubby driver in clothes that looked silly,

I knew right away that this would be a dilly.

For here was the Marble King, the one and the same.

And he laughed and he shouted and called out by name.

"Here's Akro, here's Onion, here's Lutzes for all,

Here's Rainbos, more Peltiers, and Chinas, just call."

Then shifting the van into one of its gears,

He flew to the roof amid our loud cheers.

And now in a twinkling I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of a Sulphide sheep's hoof.

There was laughter and shouting as I gazed at the stars,

Which looked just like Cats-eyes, all filling up jars.

Still, thinking of Handmades, I was turning around

When down the chimney he came with a bound.

He was dressed in Latticinio from his head to his foot,

and his Medals were tarnished and covered with soot.

A large Marble Bag he had flung on his back,

And here was the Marble King opening his pack.

His eyes - how they twinkled, his dimples - how merry;

His cheeks blushed like Mica, red as a cherry.

He was chubby and plump, but I bet he could shoot!

I knew any Rebels he had were a beaut!

He said not a word, but turned to the chimney,

And started to fill up the stockings, hot diggity!

With Indians, and Ribbons, and Chinas and Slags,

With Sparklers, Golden Rebels, Corkscrews, Popeye bags.

He emptied that sack of all he did carry,

Then smiled as he said "May your Christmas be merry."

Then placing his finger astride of his nose,

and giving a nod, and up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to the van, and revved up that car,

And away he took off, towards Amana, off far.

But I heard him exclaim, from his coat made of wool,

"May your Collecting be fruitful and your Marble Bags full.

Hector the Collector from Shel Silverstein

Hector the Collector

Collected bits of string,

Collected dolls with broken heads

And rusty bells that would not ring.

Pieces out of picture puzzles,

Bent-up nails and ice cream sticks,

Twists of wires, worn-out tires,

Paper bags and broken bricks.

Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,

Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot,

Leaky boats that wouldn't float

And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot.

Butter knives that had no handles,

Copper keys that fit no locks,

Rings that were too small for fingers,

Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.

Worn-out belts that had no buckles,

'Lectric trains that had no tracks,

Airplane models, broken bottles,

Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.

Hector the Collector

Loved these things with all his soul---

Loved them more than shining diamonds,

Loved them more than glistenin' gold.

Hector called to all the people,

"Come and share my treasure trunk!"

And all the silly sightless people

Came and looked...... and called it junk.

Valentines Day Poem

Marbles are red,

Marbles are blue,

Mr. Shamblin loves marbles and

I bet you do too..

(This poem was created by a few students from my 4th grade classroom at St. Stanislaus awhile ago)

The Parable of the Marbles

Once upon a time, there was a foolish boy who had a bag full of beautiful marbles. Now this boy was quite proud of his marbles. In fact, he thought so much of them that he would neither play with them himself nor would he let anyone else play with them.

He only took them out of the bag in order to count and admire them; they were never used for their intended purpose. Yet that boy carried that coveted bag of marbles everywhere he went.

Well, there was also a wise boy who wished he could have such a fine bag of marbles. So this boy worked hard and earned money to purchase a nice bag to hold marbles. Even though he had not yet earned enough with which to purchase any marbles, he had faith and purchased the marble bag.

He took special care of the bag and dreamed of the day it would contain marbles with which he could play and share with his friends.

Alas, the foolish boy with all of the marbles didn't take care of the marble bag itself, and one day the bag developed a hole in the bottom seam. Still, he paid no attention and, one by one, the marbles fell out of the bag.

It didn't take long, once the foolish boy's marble bag developed a hole, for the wise boy to begin to find those beautiful marbles, one at a time, lying unnoticed on the ground. And, one by one, he added them to his marble bag. The wise boy thus gained a fine bag full of marbles in no time at all. This boy played with the marbles and shared them with all of his friends. And he always took special care of the bag so he wouldn't lose any.

Because the foolish boy was selfish and careless, he lost all of his marbles and was left holding the bag.

Author Unknown




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