Long Folded up Poems
Long Folded up Poems. Below are the most popular long Folded up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Folded up poems by poem length and keyword.
Roll Call
______________________
I heard the final roll call,
saw a 21 gun salute,
as Soldiers stood in unison
for something absolute.
They came to say goodbye,
with honor and such pride
as they stood there in uniform
in each other to confide.
Another good one is gone,
a soul laid to peaceful rest
thanks and praise and metals
bestowed upon their chest.
The trumpets softly playing,
as the tears are being shed
the voices of friends and loved ones
the final words being said.
The Stars and Stripes of old glory,
being folded up with care
and gently given with respect
to the loved one waiting there.
For with such admiration,
they are buried with this honor
to always be remembered
Brother, Sister, Mother, and Father.
6/23/14
When it's cold out there
like ice and I'm folded up
in warm sheets, opening myself
to the usual process of turning you over,
Go on boy.
It's good when the flow's uncomplicated,
like sunshine and smooth leather hands,
how you unfold in the heat
of the sun.
I promise I'll smile,
when it's all said and done
like I did when you tugged my sleeve,
pulling at my layers,
the taste of your lips,
your life, your heat.
Go your own way boy,
I need to unwrap myself
like a spider from your arms
to hunt in the whispering wind.
See what’s outside
to get wrapped up again.
Get out there boy,
Swim all the rivers you can,
touch sand and smell life,
you don't need me.
'Cause you're the man
in these streets.
Let me be the queen
of my world.
Lay it all down boy,
Don't ever look back.
In a year I'll be someone else,
a shadow of your expectations
because I wasn't what you'd created
in your mind, an angel.
Don't you know boy,
How we can't cage this in?
How we can't transcend the need
to run out our opposite ends?
So look long and hard
before you leave boy.
Deep into dark brown eyes.
I'm not your love to turn bitter
as hot coals grow cold,
nor am I the epitome
of your regrets.
I'm already be gone boy,
somewhere letting small hours between
us remain as they were
to unfold like a staircase to eternity.
Somewhere out there,
your friend.
I see them but I don’t hear them,
I feel them but I don’t penetrate them.
They say that I am the main character in the show
And I make their heart glow, my spirit is soaring
but my body needs feeding, and my nutrition is getting low
Every day they make money off me but they never patronize me
My appetite is boiling over in the fireside but I am still enjoying the ride with a painful bliss hanging by my side
The restaurants are closed and the woodpeckers are digging
at my door they are spreading dust in the air and knocking on the pudding pans with a message folded up in their long pointed beaks
They pass by me to and fro with mean looks on their faces
Hurling stones at me with destiny trapped underneath their broken trees
Dried cracked lips and torn up fingernails, and center bones sticking
from my flesh, their handmade gown hanging from the
empty throne reminds me that the clown has moved out of the town. reality is sinking in and my body frame is very thin anorexia nervosa is setting in. I did not plan it but my body has slowly transitioned to it no hostess and no resources. My arms are still strong and my courage is bolder then than ten men gallivanting in the lower den with a strong fleet rising up to the heavens. I see them but I don’t hear them, I feel them but I don’t penetrate them. The morning has just come alive and the people are browsing around without a solid frown, they are still amazed with the sun as it drains the energy from their head and penetrate the living dead. Things are slowly coming around and the message is circulating around, mesmerizing the entire town and the normal is squeezing out the abnormal. Obese men and women walking in the street with protruded stomach and healthy guts look around without much fuss. They have gain excessive weight in the middle of stressful gate. Their mind is in several different places and they are trying to stay in the races.
The wind is standing still and there is nothing in the flour mill but suddenly the dark clouds start shifting from side to side and the skies greeted me with an awesome smile. I see them but I don’t hear them. I feel them but I don’t penetrate them.
Wet streets, like wet streets after rain
hitting pavement like the slacking
of vexed heels before the squabble
of sun battling cloud, sun to win.
Rapid transit, like transience,
like de-coherence with the fade
of transition. Which one? Which one?
This is much like how the dance goes,
your eyes to my skin, to my lips.
In multitudes of shades just like
the weather, touching beyond it-
physicality. Remember.
It’s glitter, glitter hard to sweep
away. Everything echoes,
how long? And will it forever?
And does forever stand quiet
as shadow juxtaposed beside
forgotten dreams that fade away
to nothing? Like yin to the yang
of expedited packages
full of things we don’t remember
ordering. Discarded knick knacks,
antithesis of you. Because
I can imagine with faultless
precision the feel of your breath
on my cheek, the taste of your kiss.
a thing going something like salt
of the sea entwined with sweetness
and heat. I was here. You were there
beside me squeezing my small hand
on the beach, while I thought of ways
I’d start a poem about you.
With a hidden innuendo
like wet streets folded up into
a reference to the city
I love. The one where I met you.
In the cerulean fervent sky
my songbird of yearning soared high,
glided in the rippling amorous breeze
that wafted your fragrance to me,
until the splitting storm surged
and crushed the wings of longing.
The crippled bird lost the flight,
folded up the collapsed wings,
painfully wrinkled like fallen dry leaf,
drifting in the niche of my mangled mind
that turned into a ruined nest,
made of shattered stem called emotion.
In the frosty stillness of winter
the singing bird became silent,
its aborted flight of abandoned passion
could no longer find the sparkling sky,
tears froze in blue crevasse of glacial gloom,
the pain of broken heart congealed confined.
Someday under the bejeweled night sky,
traveling down the memory lane
you would remember me as a fading star
that lost its orbit and got sucked up
by the blue hole of dense despair
and disappeared from your sky forever.
October 30, 2021
Contest : Blue
Sponsor : Mystic Rose Rose
Fog is a folded shadow cast on a concrete wall
Dim lights fall to the dirty pavement drains
As rain sweeps up around the gutter rims
Along the open cracks a mist fills in
In currents rippled, diamond tumbled days
To the streets as steaming sheets of white
Streams gather into water falls they carry off
Thin channels form umbrella shadows black
Mimic life, silhouette solid images of passers-by
In puddles muddied at a time designated by the weather
Prevailing conditions as predicted become a ripple
A wrinkle as a shield deploys
Informed by such knowledge born before the storm
Precipitation bounces over plastic sheets of linen
Stretched to their limits, thoughts, images
Roll over a framework of skeletal remains
Metal on plastic for their protection
Dancing down about their feet are rubber boots
Fog creates a film, a mist, a cloud on glass
A gestured finger, invisibly smooth to its touch
Rolls over wet forget-me-nots as surface tension
Prints a name remembered only by the window
Separates smoke from mirror
In a single stroke it disappears
Imagine that
Tributaries run randomly, continue to the river
Streams rush with white, clear as diamonds bright
The sun is blotted out by gray meanderings
Gathered false images shimmer in the mud
As they become the puddles
Rain separates, splits into currents
Channels water falls into the ocean
Cascading over umbrellas folded up
And over linen as is there luck
Streets receive so much information
Feet still get wet beneath umbrellas progress
Before the flood comes in to drown the innocent
Old ticket stubs and sea-salt still tangle in my hair,
I opened up a drawer and summer breathed in there.
The calendar says different, but my pockets disagree,
that summer in my closet won't let go of me.
I keep finding summer in the pockets of things I packed away.
So I'm heading where the sun still remembers my face.
Not leaving, just not ready to give up the light,
I'm off to find some days, that fit what I'm wearing tonight.
Everybody's shutting down; everybody's turning in,
Everybody's zipping jackets; keeping chills in the bin.
But my skin still swears it's somewhere deep in July.
So I'll cherish some days that don't want to say goodbye.
I keep finding summer in the pockets of things I packed away.
so I'm heading where the sun still remembers my face,
Not running, just not yet ready to turn out the lights,
I'm off to find old days that fit what I'm wearing tonight.
There's a faded little wristband I can't bring myself to throw,
from that midnight by the river, with nowhere else to go.
I can almost hear your laughter as we dipped our toes,
to let our clothes fall to the sand—landing where heaven knows.
I keep finding summer in the pockets of things I packed away.
So I'm heading where the sun still remembers my face.
Not leaving, just not ready to turn out the light,
I'm off to find days that fit what I'm wearing tonight.
Maybe somewhere south of here, the daylight lingers late,
where the sun has no curfew, and the night can wait.
I'll follow every sunset till its final ember dies,
with a little stolen summer folded up inside.
Let the leaves fall behind me, let the calendar keep score.
Some things refuse to die on time—they linger at the door.
I'm not chasing forever; I'm not begging back what's gone—
Just lend me one more summer day, enough to carry on.
When Old Man Winter finally catches me, further down the line.
When the cold seep through the cracks; I won't pretend I'm fine.
I'll reach into my pocket to hold that old ticket in my hand,
and remember summer's somewhere, still warming up the sand.
Then my summer clothes, will still fit like they used to.
They'll still feel warm and loose against my skin,
still flow in the warm breeze on somewhere beach.
Just waiting for me to come by and step back in.
If your mind now Frightens You —
Do not conclude the Light
It has folded up its Silver Wings
And vanished from your Sight —
The Brain is but a timid Room
That echoes when alone —
It magnifies your Whispered Fears
And crowns it with a Throne —
But Fear is only Sound and Shade —
A guest that begs to stay —
It cannot sign the Deeds of You
Nor steal your Name away —
The Heart still walks a Secret Path
Where Mercy learns your Face —
And waits beside the trembling Gate
With infinite Embrace —
So if your Mind should frighten You —
It proves the Soul is near —
For only those who can not hope
Are startled by Despair.
On the wings of winter afloat abandoned in northern wind,
the wilted leaves of longing waft away rustling recluse,
my frosted nest clings captive to the skeletal tree,
I count in heartbeat the footsteps of frozen twilight hour.
The elan of earnestness turns into arctic embrace,
as you fly away to the sun shine sky of indigo incognito.
In the frosted debris of desolation in the glacial nest,
I hibernate in memory with the frozen feather you leave.
The lonely bird languishes with the wings twisted in torment,
folded up within the mangled manor of the marooned mind.
I can’t fly in the wake of your evanescent flight,
my heart’s fervent warmth dissipates unfelt.
The latent desire to span the sky sinks in the sad eyes,
the feelings fail to touch the remote reminiscence,
as I find the defoliated trees dance in the snow sonata,
attuned to the melody of the song of winter wonders.
The winter blizzard blowing in my wanton world
immobilizes the weary wings of my frigid fervor,
brings the breath of old times through the frosted door of mind,
in my winter slumber I dream you will return in spring.
I pleasure dove into my treasure trove
Of keepsakes and mementos
I snoop around here about every ten years
And am always amazed at how quickly the time goes
There are pictures and things, an old mood ring,
Ticket stubs and newspaper clippings;
Blue tipped matches, old ID badges,
Birth announcements and all the memories that they bring
When I dove in this time I found an old rhyme
That I had written but was half complete
I promptly opened it and now here I sit
Thinking to finish it might be real neat
It reads:
I am a young man but I have a real plan
About the way I wish to live my life
I hope that my stories contain lots of glories
And I can make a career out of doing things that I like
I know that I am young; my journey just begun
And it is too soon to create a Bucket List
But I hope to one day, when I am older and grey
Come back and check off the things that I’ve missed
So I reviewed that old list and all the things it consists
As a teardrop formed in my eye
For I just had to laugh, I hadn’t even done half
And I’ve only a few years left yet to try
So I folded up that poem and stuck it back in its home
Without having completed the verse
I will come back to it here in a couple more years
But there are some things that I have to do first
NOTE: I wrote this for a contest but when I went back and re-read the rules I discovered it has far too many lines ... but I like the poem so I am posting it here, I just won't enter it into the contest. Thanks for the inspiration though.