Long Papery Poems
Long Papery Poems. Below are the most popular long Papery by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Papery poems by poem length and keyword.
IMPERFECT ROSE*
the imperfect rose,
once vivacious and colorful under the summer sun,
its petals are now wilted, its colors faded and gone.
its time has passed
its dance is done.
the imperfect rose cries many petals,
last vestiges of her beauty wait for the wind to carry them to their rest.
each petal papery and thin
lies on the lush green grass, its veins blushing
glowing pink in the setting sun and to silence it doth humbly acquiesce.
even in decay, the imperfect rose holds a certain grace,
a reminder of glory days now past.
rose petals may be temporary
but are eternal in memories of love and sharing
enough to weather the storm, to outlast.
the imperfect rose
has thorns that make one bleed.
forgive the rose of its imperfections with compassion
for of her thorns the imperfect rose doth gladly concede~
we are all petals of imperfection, might you accede?
*Note:I originally posted this poem at Poetry Soup in June 2025 then deleted it. It’s my original creation and was not plagiarized (poetrysoup.com/poem/imperfect_rose_1738035)
few children's hurray
papery plants' butterflies
pixies on flowers
all boys dressed as gnomes
girls all in fairies fashion
Sunday party's on
halogen shines sweet
as Sunlight shines in bright day
arranged in a room
Date:20/06/2016
Little People - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Oh! How I despise dawn’s blushing optimism
and dried hydrangea blooms sepia skinned and papery thin.
Humdrum hands beat doldrums drum.
Why won’t the summer solstice light this darkness?
A gnawing hollow where my heart should be.
Where cinder clouds float in negative space
memories collect like nesting sparrows beneath eaves.
I stray, a waif lost with my armful of loss.
Your death did steal my breath and heartbeat like a thief
while October’s wind trembled aspens like harp strings.
(Ten Poem Titles)
The Corruption Of My Lust For Life
Autumn Side Of September
Mundane Matters Of Mortals
Theft Of My Will To Survive
In Woes And Throes Of Sorrow
A Vanilla Dove
Escape Of The Bluesman’s Song
The Sham Of My Humanity
Death Is The Bane Of My Existence
The Shedding Trees Of Autumn
Cruising southwards to LA from Sac
a midnight filled with songs ‘n Luna,
light-etching hills in a black infernal…
It was a leviathan’s back on which I
felt the tires unrolling a chilled grief ~
Owlish-full, a hypnotic moon, ‘n Dido
reminiscing tunefully about surrender
negating white flags and loves forlorn...
Inside the eye, a wispy face smiled hi
and gently slid open a papery fusuma...
Dazed, I held her gaze, so undead
Round face framed in softest ether
exhaling cool peppermint to inhale ~
Amaranth rains of fleeting gardenia,
mildly-scented dawn's astral gloam ***
(11/2/2020)
Let the gaze fold, softly shut,
a moment held—
a slow tide of breath that enters and leaves.
Within you, gently,
not demanding or rushed,
who is left there to judge?
For in this stillness the past can hold no claim.
Is it your imagination,
or the drift of fallen leaves
like papery whispers outside the door?
They gather, dry and scattered,
smelling of dust and worry—
magnetic forms of the lower mind.
You have been here before,
cloaked in yesterday’s echoes,
ruminating on the creases of time
carved like ancient riverbeds
onto an aging, fragile face.
Look out to the unveiled skies
and see the light moving across
without apology—
this endless flow where truth is found,
and the ego’s frantic season
is stripped away as illusion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Suspended like a cataract’s pale lens,
*the cold-hearted orb rules the night~
its blue-gray light pooling
into the hollow of his heart.
Fourteen envelopes stacked like unmarked graves.
He fingers the topmost seal, the wax brittle as hope~
the moon bleaching
their blue edges to bone.
What ghosts swim in this lunar milk?
No answers come~
only the ache of his ink
confessing:
These are *letters I’ve written, never meaning to send~
each a whispered confession,
unspoken prayers of my soul
paper cathedrals
built on the fault line of my heart.
small, papery ghosts, haunted by the weight
of unspoken things~
each a brittle testament,
a love that breathes only in the amber of my memory.
each one unfolded
read in the stillness of lunar milk.
each page I lift,
the moonlight dissects each I’m sorry
each one swirls in specks of dust
where your absence hangs.
I see your ghost in every autumn leaf.
I remember our nights on sheets of *white satin.
Silence and regret are suffocating me.
Come home…
he rewrites in paragraphs
…till dawn bleeds gray.
I …
am obtuse angle -
once lost … wandering
an indigent urchin of Valhalla’s streets
a smudge on the heavenly lens
and yet …
made worthy by the art of
your papery hands
as they place gilded cobbles ‘neath my feet
tear-washed and baptized
to tread where gods devoured their days
spinning men’s dreams to thistle
and puffing them gone …
all for granted -
all aged by apathy and arrogance
their own vile victims …
you have brought me to know -
to find wonderment
and to see for myself, their ruin
a calamity of conceit
that we tiny things paid dearly for
we bottom-pocket contrivances
tenders of oblivion
meant only to kiss the toes of what
they deemed precious …
and still, strolls here now in their stead
one such costless creature
but priceless too
for the sake of the one path they
could never weave
a gold-shine track paved to immortal
existence by the
care and kindness of gentle fingers -
hands aged by the tares of three lifetimes
yet soft with gentleness …
your simple act of humility and grace
and the sacrifice that is never
a sacrifice -
the only key to The Gate
and the one treasure that in all
their divine majesty
escaped them …
love.
Copyright © 2025 Gregory Richard Barden
( photographic art of Mom’s and my hands created by Yours Truly - filtering effects at Prisma / Lightroom )
sun …
glints off sweaty trickles as
they plop … plop …
little lad’s littler fingers tickling a
tide pool’s papery face
things of mysterious intention, darting
there to here to there …
wide eyes wider in amazement
tiny thrums quick’ning
dividing breaths
like swells divide the time
and tides …
a splash and a grasp, tightening
some small watery beast
cold-red cheeks blooming wide to
parody the dazzled bay
grins and giggles to mock the black-backs
for this shrimpy monster, squirming
is the prize of a wee fist
gamboling its way to
proffer some mad-mommy shrieks -
slimy and squiggly and
oh, so wondrous!
hunter, home from the hill
Ahab and his white sea demon
perfectly prideful,
invested surety of a silly smile
warmed by the sooty
afternoon …
sun.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, June 9, 2024
Let insecurities flow with the pen
Carve pain into joy; shame to change
Polish your fears on a golden papery
Flourish your uniqueness to the universe
Tap into your soul you'll found more
Escape the cares of the world share your scars
Simonize brokenness to transform this world
Create to mend ravish broken hearts
Sanctify unlit smog away chatty away
Run from your dome; till your tome done
Pain into arcane don't wait again
Doubt is a reason to compose something new
Convey your tears your to peers to heal fears
Self boast your life alive again
Press on your weary to greatness
A field afire
papery petals glow like ruby votive candles
a collection of cupped solar flames
vowed to shine despite the dew before dawn
evaporating any doubt the sun would rise
the mist would lift
consoling one in darkness
Rising up where wildflowers past have fallen
victim to soil fallow and shallow
your Spring growth resurrects my hope
as your resurgent blooms stretch to the heavens
I awaken thawed from the frost of loss
regenerated by dreams
of undying love sacrifice and joy
O poppy blood red
vast your bed a symbol of life and death
and imagination.. you inspire me with your irony
your roots belie a feathery foliage
anchored though airy
light and looking like you might take flight
but spirited blossoms stand an army of angels
earthbound and blushing
My breath stops when I gaze upon you — yet
when I walk among your thronging whorls
grazed by your grace
my chest rises and falls
my bloodstream set ablaze
by the grandeur of your inner light
my heart rejoices with the voices of breezes
aswirl with a swish through your scarlet banners of peace
We share a savor for new-day chardonnay skies
tender the warm tinge before summer’s singe
rhythmic air moves us with singsong sighs
a swaying dance of sepaled celebrants
with nary a fresh bud trod upon
crimson and sunrise spirit and flesh
raising palms and psalms in thanks and praise
festive in rebirth and remembrance
where tears fall not as rain but as
c o n f e t t i
as my heart carries the bouquet of your immortal beauty
like a bride on her May wedding day
Susan Ashley
March 11, 2022
*Dedicated to my father who gently passed on June 10, 2021.
You are loved and missed dearly, dad
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Spring Showers or Spring Flowers
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
*nary: not, or not any
(Image: Glow with pride: Express.co.uk)