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Long Rose Poems | Long Rose Poetry

Long Rose Poems. Below are the most popular long Rose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rose poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Terry Trainor | Details |

A Trip to Heaven

Sitting working in my private room a grandfather clock ticks and tocks so very loudly,
Like a metronome tuned into my mind my eyes become heavy my lids slowly begin to close,
My mind drifts into very dark places, jet black places with a tiny white dot way off,
I walk towards the dot and after miles and miles it started to grow so much brighter.

Looking behind to see where I started there was nothing just the darkest of dark black,
I have no choice but to keep on walking towards the white dot now confused and scared,
After hours and hours I reach the dot but it is not a dot now it is a new bright world,
There were green fields greener than I have ever seen the trees had heavy velvet leaves.

People walked towards me they were smiling they were happy I wanted to shake their hands,
But they hugged me and held me and talked so kindly my troubles and worries disappeared,
Young children skipping, my new friends laughing it seemed I had known them all my life,
Being with these people was pure happiness we walked up to a white mansion we went inside.

A beautiful girl came running out to meet us she stood in front of me and gave me a rose,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen it was frosted and gilded and drops of dew fell,
A man with grey hair and a white suit sat by a piano and began to play the sweetest tune,
I leaned on it's shiny surface and could feel the beat of soft hammers on wire, pure music.

All smiled and clapped when this maestro had finished my friends giggled as they saw my joy,
They asked lovely questions nice questions I enjoyed answering as they made me feel good,
We got up and began to walk back to the place where I had first met my wonderful friends,
We talked we laughed everything was about nice things I could feel the smile on my face.

Then the man with grey hair and the white suit said it was time that I made my way home,
Still smiling I desperately wanted to stay forever he saw this and said to have patience,
They stood in line by the entrance each person hugged and kissed me tears ran down my face,
The next thing I knew I was in my private room the grandfather clock still going tick tock.

I thought about my wonderful dream those wonderful people and still felt very warm inside,
It was all so very real and was very disappointed knowing it was just a lovely sweet dream,
Those people in that beautiful garden blessed with such loveliness they seemed so very real,
Standing up and stretching I saw something by the door it was a beautiful rose frosted and dewy,
It was the reddest rose I have ever seen.


Long poem by Norey Bailey | Details |

Sweetest Breakup

Caught a Flight out of town 
Hadn’t seen you in while
Wondered if you’d still look the same
Still want me to be ya number one dame
At one time you offered me your last name
Then in a blink ya mind changed
No hurt feelings 
Some times dealings can get touchy
But I loved you too much to see 
See that neither of us was really ready
Still kicking it like our bad days don’t have a place on a calendar page
Still licking and kissing like if the sun rose then the moon set 3 times consecutively it
still would only be the beginning to a race that has no ending
Still wondering if ya heart is still pending the transactions of vows
But as of today you no longer are allowed
No longer endowed with the riches of this misses
No longer enriched with the bliss of my lipgloss kiss
I’m No longer available to answer your call has been missed
Don’t even remember the names of our imaginary kids that I gave birth to on our way to the
top of superstardom and you were such a good dad changing diapers and making bottles not
time for postpartum
I forgot about the whip I bought you on our 20 year anniversary to the hall filled with
our closest friends our imaginary kids and both sides of our family
I didn’t even dream up a thought of how you would look when ya sexy grey grew in ya goat t
and you aged like pinot noir 
Nope I promise I didn’t let my hopes and dreams get that far
I only got to the 2 days reserved on my Microsoft outlook saying “going to see my baby” in
the subject line
Didn’t even realize this would be the last time
You was there to pick me up the embrace was in the best taste with the golden touch
 single rose to arouse my nose you took the luggage filled with mine and your clothes
yes…clothes you left when you left 
clothes that I remembered not to forget on my trip cause when I came home I just wanted to
forget that you ever did exist
butterflies in my stomach from the first time we kissed
you was talking about plans you made and all the places we had to hit
all ya friends wanted to shake my hand and all them jealous chicks you went to school wit
wanted to see if I was that bytch
 and yes I did bring my cutest fits
with them shoes that only look cute but really hurt like shiit
got my hair colored pressed and clipped bikini waxed and all that just in case we took a swim
but anyway where was I, yeah the sweetest breakup had began
in the car just quiet holding hands
playing jams like you’re all in need to get by
 by mr meth and mary blidge then sweetest thing 






Long poem by Akash Yadav | Details |

The Scenes: The First Gladiators of Rome

i. At the centre of the world: Back in the Roman days of yore-- A voice echoed, that decreed To a crowd of commons, lost and unsure: "Our rivers run dried, the Wrath of Gods, Needs must be pacified By human blood, our slaves shall shed, Our warriors will provide-- Thus merciful Heavens shall send rain-- Be at peace with Man again''. ii. And on the said day, adorned with masters, Stately Lords of highest rank and score, Awaited by the general crowd, Fiercer men and more, A scaffold was drawn, even as The sand blew a wind in every watchful eye, Making less some cheer of each human That wistfully searched the sky... Yes, this very spoken day, The sky that hued nor tanned, Saw three armed men striding the List-- The mightiest of this land-- One stood like a boulder, Crixus was his name, With him along, Thracian Spartacus-- A slave that rose to fame, Both against a third, a towering Beast, 'The Shadow' called Theokales, iii. Old and young, rich and rugged-- Uneasily was each seated Some worn out voice, cried ''Now Fight!'', Another one repeated "Fight now!", thus began all audience, And now it began...: The first few blows went to them Whose blades reeked with a stain; They'd done it--or thought they had When the heart-torn beast once fell-- Not for long--then to rise again As death would from Hell... His choppy face became a smile, His gruesome sword and shield Came like a blizzard--a tempest harsh-- More blood bathe the field... A barbarous show in the rink: One, and two, and mightier blows Were mete and dole on them throughout They bled--Crixus lay in a dross (Lo! The skies had clouds about!): But Thracian hauled-up to his last-- He rose too, after many a fall-- The strength in him seemed failing him When a fallen Crixus gave a call: (Having lifted-up his head-gear, And held it in the Sun, Such, that the glare would blind the Beast), A sinister deed had savagely begun: He hacked him--got him to his knees (While "Kill!", shouted the multitude)-- He crossed his blades, brought 'em down-- The lauding masters bellowed in forsoothe: A ''slash!'' had filled-in the silenced sound, A headless cadaver fell to the ground... iv. Thus did end with reeking blood and sand A deed that did just start; They were pleased, that were to be, In this very art.... Glistening eyes 'mid festoons of thund'rous cheer, And amid rain, Watched Thracian--his sword upheld, That stood-by the one he'd slain...


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

My Love Intended

My love intended for the girl of my dreams,
she walks from side to side,
not knowing that I walk alone.

She is beautiful than any other thing in this simple world,
everything around her shakes and trembles
as she walks on by without a spare of a passing glance.

The wine is drunk
the last cigarette smoked,
the pain of heartache gone away.

It feels good to see her go my way,
to take the pain with her away from me,
as I sit in the wayward cafe on the river of ashes.

A beautiful girl she is mine,
but that course of life shall no surpass mine,
and my heart beats and takes me away
in hope of falling in love.

Irony of love and hate,
it is similar in many ways,
as I sit and think of her.

She angers me,
but when the vail of anger falls over my eyes,
the passion of love enters my mind.

Come now, take me away,
hold me in your beauty,
and love me with your gentle body.

Go into the gardens,
where the nightingales sing,
and sit at the patio's crossway.

Watch the artists paint pictures of the garden,
watch the writers write about the garden,
and watch us go and pick flowers in the garden.

The air smooth and wind breeze calms the nerves,
the pain of my sorrowed heart is soothed,
by her sweet intellegence and beauty.

Her eyes, orbs of blazing sunlight,
blind me with the beauty of her beauteous face,
her lips and skin smooth and pure.

She is glorious,
My love she is the dream girl,
who comes and takes my nightmares away from me.

As I sit on the park benches,
I light my last cigarette,
and reminicse on the days with my love.

I close my tired eyes only for a moment,
and the moment is gone,
my beauty is gone.

The tears are all gone,
the pain has gone,
the feelings of everlasting love are all gone.

Where did it all go?
Where did my beauty go?
Where did my love go?

All gone now, all gone now,
as I grow old,
the feeling of death takes me by surprise.

The park bench is cold,
the cigarette is burnt out,
I am longing for a drink.

I lay in a wayward cafe
drink a coffee and talk to myself
discussing a book of poetry.

Looking over to the right
I am blinded by beauty once again
this time this is no dream.

Alas, my dream girl came
that appeared in my sunny pleasure dome,
who has walked barefoot in the gardens of my mind.

She sat with me,
I looked at her
and we smiled together.

We held hands together,
and dreamed together,
forever and ever.

Love everlasting,
everything everlasting,
cigarettes smoked together.

A cloud over our heads
in the shape of a heart
my love.


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

Ode to Mi Corazon

As I pull weeds from cracks in sidewalks
Yout sit on top of thrones made of solid gold
And I pay no mind to the women around me,
Only to your beauty do I hold an Ode.

I see my fair Spanish lady
my daring, sweet rose with thorns,
That run up and down her spine.
As she stops in the daily parade
Waving at the peasants,
She looks at me and summons her guards
Too take me away.

Her beauty is unbearable.
I cannot take not being with her
For a single moment in my life.
Her hair,
Black like coal,
Her smile is bright, as the first rays of the Red Sun
In the dawn.
Her lips painted with ruby lipstick,
her silk laced dress and shawl wrap around her,
Like a beautiful butterfly in her cocoon.
Her skin of olive, dark color and her green eyes.
My God, those sweet and piercing green eyes
Oh, how they hit my soul and make me shiver with excitment.
She is intoxicating and I am intoxicated in her beauty.

She is like an angel, a Latina beauty who walks the streets paved gold,
As I walk the cracked, cobblestone walkways.
She shines in the Spanish sun, like a dimoand in the ruff
As you blow the dust off her sweet brow,
she glows and sparkles with extordinary excellence.

She is beautiful and sweet and kind.
She loves me, but her father minds.
I am only a peasant, and she royalty.
Can our love ever be together in one holy matrimony?
I pray to the Lord, of all that is good,
Please give me a sign that she loves me.

Soon a storm came over,
blowing me down to the ground
And a cloud of dust swallowed me whole.
A great Conquistador on a great white stallion
pulled me up and told me that she wanted to see me.
I shacked with nervous of joy as I followed the warrior.

She was there, under a palm tree
Near a beautiful beach in Barcelona.
She smiled and a glow covered me with passion.
I hugged her and kissed her upon her sweet lips.
I tasted virginity and she tasted loyalty.
We both tasted beauty and harmony.
As the warrior left us,
We made love upon a vigin white sheet,
Soon covered with a flowing river of red.
She moaned with exticy and love was in the air.
The Ode to my sweet Spaniad, Mi Corazon!

We lay there in each others arms
Looking up at a clear night sky
The twilight glimmered ever so softly
And a shooting star blazed across the sky
I kissed her and she kissed me.
I whispered in her, "My love forever"
And she pushed me back upon the sheets
and we made sweet and ever lasting love again.
As we looked in each other's almond colored eyes.
I said to her, in a soft voice, Mi Corazon.


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

Pursue Love

Pursue love,
the love that has no meaning,
the silver ports of the moon,
shine so bright,
that it blinds you in the twilight
she is beautiful and she is divine
she is the song sang by the sweet nightingales
in the gardens of worthy, overgrowning and blooming roses,
like wildfire grow tall and the thornes of the vines
tangle around her feet and drag her ever so slightly
throughout the garden of beauty.
As the roses lay along a table,
as she sits at the table
and she waits for me, the wordman
to come to the dinner table at the stroke of nine
and sit with her,
start a scene or two of romantic setting,
to pursue love in her name.
Love is around us,
the candlelight shines and reflects in her silk hair,
as her evening dress glitters and shines
and her bossom shows itself in the nightsky
as we lay together,
we pursue a dream together,
forever we live together forever,
as we stand upon the belcony of Romeo and Juliet's love scene
we swim in a pool of sweet divine care and love,
we swallow grapes and drink wine
hand and hand on Persian rugs and virgin white cloth sheets,
we dance to a simple, yet sweet Chopin's masterpiece
of his beautiful nocturnes,
which make such a sweet and romantic song in our heads.

We stomp out the flames
as we dance the night away,
and you lay in my arms,
and I kiss you upon your lovely head,
and you hold my hand,
and I hold you tight
never thinking of letting your love go away from me,
I would take my own life,
before I lose your love.
See us together,
it is a painting that lasts lifetimes,
that needs no touch-ups.
I care for you and love you!
Love me, I know you will.

My sweet and loving portrait lady,
who in reality is more beautiful than a fully bloomed rose
that sits on its green stem,
in the garden of beauty that sits outside my window.
Come up to my chambers
as I picked roses for you and pettles litter the atmosphere
as love's tension grows
and suspence brings us together,
let us make love tonight
seal the passion
and pursue love once and for all.

Then shall we wake with the first rays of the blazing of the morning sun,
I shall wake next to your beauty and glory,
and I shall point my attention to the heavens
and thank the Gods for sending you on the open road,
toward my chamber door, I call my heart.
Then we shall dress, and walk the pathways
in the garden of beauty
and I shall pick a bauquet of roses
and we shall sit by the lake and pursue our love
for one another
and nothing, not one earthquake shall shake us apart.

-9/26/2013-


Long poem by Chris Boskovski | Details |

My Beautiful Penelope

Oh my sweet and beautiful Penelope
Oh how beautiful you are, and when I see you come down
to the pearl gates of immortality and come down to see me,
as we join hands and walk the shorelines
I see you my beautiful Penelope, she you who walks through beauty,
We shall join in immortality.
Your heart built of stone and paved in golden
you born out of the beauty of a rose and maturity of a lady
you are the one who never sings a depressing and low melody.

My Beautiful Penelope,
The one beautiful lady form Napoli
Oh, how you walk in such glory.
See me look over you and hear my heart beat
for you, I love you, see me for I care about you.
Take it from me, for I shall take you by the hand
and as our shadows rise to meet us in the morning
I can make love to you, then we shall love the night away.
My beautiful Penelope, as I take you through the twilight
we dream of shooting stars falling from the evening skies,
as we hold each other close,
take me and I shall take you and bring each other together,
and fuse us together with a sweet and loving kiss.

She is my beauty and I love her
she takes me by the hand and curels me to her warm chest.
Cares for me,
Makes me laugh,
Makes me feel good and uplifts my soul
everytime I lay my almond eyes upon her beauteous body.
My beautiful Penelope, oh how I see the glory in your blue eyes,
your luxurious, long flowing hair colored golden
like the rays of the morning sun.

Dare to care
about such beauty in her eyes?
Dare to care
about such beauty in her cries,
as she tells me of her suicide struggles?
I hold you close to me
and I hope you to be
my love for all eternity.
See me and I see you to tell me about you and your day,
as you come home and say,
That you love me.
And I shall say I love you too,
with a zealous attitude in my voice
I shall take you into our room and you shall tell me about your day.
You shall tell me, under the shadows of the trees, the houses, the red rocks.
I shall show you love in a handful of roses,
deliver you a bouquet of roses and violets,
as we see the breeding lilacs grow tall,
we shall lay in the grasslands and look up at the clouds,
that shape themselves into beautiful paintings in the glorious blue sea
we call the sky.

Oh My beautiful Penelope
my glorious maiden lady,
who sings such beauty in her melody
that it brings tears to nightingales' eyes.
My beautiful Penelope, you are my love
here are a dozen roses for you to express and show my love for you,
my beautiful Penelope.
Love is eternal with you.


Long poem by KAUSHAL SABOO | Details |

LIFE: A RACE

'Quit! Give Up! You Are Beaten'
They Shout At Me And Plead
'There's Just Too Much Against You Now'
This Time You Cant Succeed'

And As I Start To Hang My Head
In Front Of Failure's Face
My Downward Fall Is Broken By
The Memory Of That Skating Race! 

And Hope Refills My Weekend Will, 
As I Recall That Scene, 
For Just The Thought Of That Short Race, 
Re-Energied My Being

They All Line Up So Full Of Hope, 
Each Thought To Win That Race, 
Or Tie For First, Or If Not That
Atleast Take Second Place

And Fathers Watched From Off Side
Each Cheering For His Son, 
And Each Boy Helped To Show His Dad, 
That He Would Be The One

The Whistle Blew And Off They Went, 
Young Hearts And Hope Afire.
To Win And Be The Hero There, 
Was Each Boy's Desire.

And One Boy In Particular, 
Whose Dad Was In Crowd, 
Was Running Near The Lead And Thought 
'My Dad Will Be So Proud! '

But As He Speeded Down The Field, 
Across A Shallow Dip, 
The Little Boy Who Thought To Win, 
Lost His Step And Slipped.

So Down He Fell And With Him His Hope, 
He Couldn't Win It Now, 
Embrassed, Sad, He Only Wished, 
To Disappear Some How. 

But As He Fell His Dad Stood Up, 
And Showed His Anxious Face, 
Which To The Boy So Clearly Said, 
'Get Up And Win The Race! '

He Quickly Rose No Damage Done, 
Behind A Bit, That's All-
And Ran With All His Mind And Might, 
To Make Up For His Fall.

So Anxious To Restore Himself, 
To Catch Up And To Win, 
His Mind Went Faster Than His Legs, 
He Slipped And Fell Again.

He Wished Then He Had Quit Before, 
With Only One Disgrace.
I'm Hopeless As A Runner Now, 
I Shouldn't Try To Race.

But In The Laughing Crowd He Searched, 
And Found His Father's Face, 
That Steady Look, He Said Again, 
'Get Up And Win The Race! '

Exerting Everything He Had, 
He Gained Yards Eight To Ten, 
But Trying So Hard To Catch The Lead, 
He Slipped And Fell Again.

'Get Up.', An Echo Sounded Low.
'Get Up And Take Your Place'
You Were Not Meant For Failure Here.
'Get Up And Win The Race! '

They Cheered The Winning Runner, 
As He Crossed Line First Place, 
Head High And Proud And Happy
No Falling No Disgrace.

But When The Fallen Youngster, 
Crossed The Line Last Place, 
The Crowd Gave Him The Greater Cheer
For Finishing The Race.

And To His Dad He Sadly Say, 
'I Did Not Do Too Well'
'To Me You Won', His Father Said
'You Rose Each Time You Fell'.

For All Of Life Is Like That Race, 
With Ups And Downs And All, 
And All Of You Have To Do To Win, 
Is Rise Each Time, You Fall. 


Long poem by Mickey Pig Knuckles | Details |

Just Like The Others

" Just Like The Others "

They found her near the rivers bank
as the sun rose in the mornings rain
her body beaten and bloody with no clothes
her precious life went down the drain.

This young girl was such an angel
her feathers ripped from off her wing
they found her broken golden halo
as the church bells softly ring.

She was a families special daughter
her loving heart was full of glee
her childhood was love and laughter
she had a closeknit family.

Soon she faced her teenage years
Just Like The Others can't you see
they all had some fun with alcohol
which led to speed and ecstasy.

All teens will bow to peer pressures
she tried these things onto the next
and of course she had no creed
not until she boast of sex.

Sliding down further a twisted spiral
sadly another young wasted life
drinks, drugs and sex will take their toll
a young childs life is full of strife.

Many bad things done to fuel her habit
had caused her to lose her self control
to feed her cravings and ease the pain
this young girl has sold her soul.

She is so young and just turned twenty one
the last few years have not been kind
her pride and beauty is now all gone
the drinks and drugs have destroyed her mind.

Now she has taken to using needles
this young girl has fully given in
no more speed nor ecstasy
she is using heroin.

This young girl now street parades
in high heels and real short skirts
gaining her money for her drugs
and she is treated just like dirt.

Now there is no longer any help for her
she has thrown it all away
trying bad things unto the next
soon with her life she will pay.

Its sad to think we all have failed her
by ignoring all of the destructive signs
because we always let this happen
repeated again time after time.

We blame the media and this age
by branding the young folks all the same
citing the drugs and a drunken binge
its sad we never take the blame.

These precious youngs ones are our kids
why have we let them all fall down?
Were we too busy not to see?
To watch them flounder and slowly drown.

Yes, they found her near the rivers bank
as the sun rose in the mornings rain
her body beaten and bloody with no clothes
her precious life went down the drain...

Penned By MPK

Quote: Life Is Poetry In Motion, Great Poets Reflect Emotion.

Quote: The Best And Most Beautiful Thing In The World Can't Be Seen Or Touched.

It Must Be Felt With You Heart...


Long poem by Elaine Cecelia George of Canada | Details |

Violin

.                                              She sleeps in her rose wood bed,
                                                  under a blanket of velvet red;
                                                   old and alone and forgotten,
                                           she dreams of the love she once had.
                                              Once again she recalls his caress
                                                      on the curve of her hips
                                                                and her breast
                                                         as he moved his bow
                                                      on the strings of her soul,
                                                             playing her sound
                                                    'til his passion was spent.
                                                                        ~~~
                                           They traveled the whole world over,
                                                      to every city and town;
                                              the maestro, his bow and violin,
                                                 bringing each curtain down.
                                                                        ~~~
                                               He died in a cry of sweet refrain,
                                               clutching her strings to his heart; 
                                            as he fell to the floor in a final encore,
                                                       tearing her world apart.
                                                                        ~~~ 
                                           So she sleeps in her rose wood bed,
                                                  under a blanket of velvet red;
                                                         her strings still filled 
                                                    with the song of her soul,
                                                        etched by the maestro
                                                               that loved her
                                                               so long ago!

                                                                    ~~~~~

                                                          Author:  Elaine George


Long Poems