Long Ribbon Poems
Long Ribbon Poems. Below are the most popular long Ribbon by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ribbon poems by poem length and keyword.
Against the dark vastness of the sky
Beautifully marbled disc of blue;
Through viewport a scintilla I spy
Thin ribbon of the very same hue.
But eons ago what Mike Good saw
Myriad life forms which survived there
Couldn't be sustained without a Law
Keep intact the diaphanous air.
The fragile canopy soon was rent,
Noxious gasses into skies flung.
As evil, greedy men all laws bent,
The ribbon was a cancerous lung.
The Thin Blue Ribbon was speckled now;
Atmospheric holes just had to stop.
Universal Law just could not bow
And so was formed the Galactic Cop.
The Cops keep their vigil from space,
Guarding the mantle from being torn,
Ensuring clean air on the Earth's face -
A Galactic Thin Blue Line was born!
So now, like my ancestor Mike Good
I see the Thin Ribbon, swell with pride.
If the Thin Line for Ribbon not stood
Mother Earth would have long ago died!
~ 05 May 2016~
Looking back at the Earth, I can't really describe how beautiful it is from 300 miles up. Looking down, you can tell it's a planet. The sky is black. There's just a thin blue ribbon, what we see as blue sky on Earth. You realize how small it is and how fragile the planet is. ~ Astronaut Mike Good~
- The Descendants of Mike Good preserve the Thin Blue Line by donning the Badge of Courage bearing the Thin Blue Line of Law Enforcement Agencies.-
absence was noticeable like the wood yet blessed with nails of plenty
hellfire snuffed out gossiping walls abandoned
vacancy in one's upper regions merely invites painful issues
focus compliments across the forsaken
propped-stand sits Vellums of ex-calf-hides that's flat-parched-rolled
of late scrolled deeds tied scarlet ribbon like a pious girl's hair ditty
furnishing and wall hangings the whole household
all except the mirror mirror on the wall
widow-black then Sister Golden Hair America
methinks it's the wind howling reshuffling some untruths
how does one tease battleship grey adrift weigh anchor
realtor waits parched deed to house and land sits for a signing encore
am I adding that one-size-fits-most-everyone to the bill of sale
again he picked golden she picked Beethoven
that night if truth is not in the heart you'll find it here
back of the mirrored wall bed case Emperors Concerto no America
exacting soul of equal heartbeat climbs a facial grin decent suave farewell
behold a view bears true of song close to his heart forever buried
lunch graveside Filipino traditions his song copied pivotal choice trends
mirror to luster pure strand of gold for an emperor is now placed on hold
Don't come to us at Rainbow Bridge
You who declawed us are banned forever.
You are more than welcome at
Couch bridge, however.
There you may go and caress your
old couches, pet them kiss them.
Weep over our teeny scratches.
All couches do is hold bodies.
God did not create couches.
He created us, we his fur angels.
And with The with nails God gave us...
That now came back,
We Have postd a sign..."Banned. Cat haters."
Nails are our only protection.
Dogs, our compatriots here, will not
allow you in at all.
They know your superiority to us, your
disdain, your empty soul.
No~you will not be near any lost animal
you once had.
God, our father, created you and I?
The world, your children, the sun and sky.
He also has banned you from the Bridge.
God the Father love all animals..
They are not selfish!
Animals weigh as much as your hand
They can never damage you as a fellow human can.
So your name is on the condemned list
at Rainbow Bridge
On Thanksgiving, we watch you~
So busy gnawing to our beloved turkeys.
How proud of yourself you are!
No animal here is!
We all know your names.
There was a stir here too. You won't
honor an old ladies burial...but you
honor dog and cat cremations?
Her burial will be too costly, you say.
Goodness, you paid hundreds caring for
us....and that little old lady...not her.
You are in trouble with God too.
He values her, more than us.
She will join us, soon.
We will love her while you love drool and
spend thousands on your devices.
By,
The DeClawed Cats@ Rainbow Bridge
5/10/2019
2pm PST
the firmament
generously bled violet
at the moment of truth;
our love-light,
a diamond
brightly sparkling in the dark.
granted we've tasted both
the nectar and bitterness of a world
that tried to obliterate
the steadfast foundation we built,
yet, we stubbornly grasped...
onto the rope of endurance;
your knuckles white
and bleeding into mine,
w i t h s t a n d i n g
the sinews of the passing years,
where weaker threads
would snap and fray apart.
we learned
to map and anchor
the rhythm of our trepidations
deep within the soul...
it's a bond time can't erase.
we are but two travelers
on life's serpentine road.
now look where...
the lilac blossoms glow...
a promise
sealed by everything
we survived;
no longer merely a ghost-light,
or a dream,
but a ribbon tied...
around a jacaranda tree.
As you chase the melting mirage in the desert storm
I look at your evasive eyes permanently petrified,
see the void vision fixed in the personal frame.
As the shroud of devious dust spreads on sneaky you,
you wane in the waste land,
like the shrivelled shadow of the skeletal tree,
green once, but I know, you've lost your roots,
turned into a stubborn wooden entity.
Layer on layer the dubious design of deception
morphs into motif of masquerade mask,
the chameleon skin fashions your face
with the smoke screen, I can't see through.
The epitome of pretense creates the cloak of charade,
thwarts the rays of reality,
so, you make obscure onyx world of your own,
don't discern you turn into an ambiguous antique,
but I know, for I walk in the museum of masked people.
You build the bastion of enveloping emptiness
of abysmal abyss of your vagabond valley,
no window opens on the secluded sapphire sky.
The eradicated sunburst sequined sense
doesn't illumine your insipid isolation.
Your fixated mind remains fossilized in dark dereliction,
becomes slate slice of starless night.
You don't know why all the dreams disappear,
but I know, no rainbow ribbon wraps
your remote opaque heart,
for an obstinate object you become.
The ubiquitous vivacity ingrained in every story
gets the dormant light of the absolute truth,
yet each one is a tree on the thicket of diversity,
each one is a flower in the garden of plurality.
I did not ask to be a twin-room for a ghost.
But here you are,
tucked behind the soft tissue of my lungs,
moving when I move,
a second pulse thrumming in the hollows
where the logic used to live.
This is not a ribbon tied to a finger.
It is a graft.
It is the way the skin of a fruit
scars over a puncture—
the metal is gone, but the shape of the blade
is written into the sugar.
I feel you in the radiator’s hiss,
a phantom heat that doesn't warm the room
but scalds the blood.
It is a terrifying symmetry;
when you bruise, I taste copper.
When you turn in your sleep,
miles of dark highway away,
the sheets beneath me go cold
as if the North Star just lost its place.
I am tired of carrying two lives
on one set of tired feet.
I tried to unthread you once,
but the needle came back wet with my own history.
I realized then:
to pull the string is to unravel the sweater.
To lose the tie is to lose the throat.
So I keep the ache.
I wear it like a heavy, velvet coat
in the middle of July.
I let you breathe my air
because I no longer remember
which breath was mine to begin with.
We are two mirrors
shattered in the same earthquake,
each shard still trying
to reflect a sky
that we broke together.
B-R-E-A-T-H - OF - L-O-V-E
Summer sun or winter freeze pulls heartstrings in trapeze. . .
Cotton soft to gnarled callus vows have thread along my way
embroidering ribbon actions to pliant swings of reactions
like a darting fish thrilled to catch a passer-by knees.
Two pairs of eye sew webs to bridge affection display,
pines teeming green crown my arrested heart--
tachycardic I am... each time I hear your sound.
Has breath of love tickled my nerves to interaction?
Like a bee I'm drawn to your sweet ambiance 'round
hoping by miracle it will birth me a fresh start.
Scents that streams from bulbs swirl on wafting wind--
Ah! They all fell to shame for your breath of love tames.
Once a rebel soul that long been thriving for satisfaction
with breath of love that resuscitates, I mend my flame
channeling muse to stroke the peak density of mind.
Slender February breeze taunt my fingers
to type rhymes that shy edge of reason.
Eternally plunge in surrender
I-- filled with breath of love ships my horizons
to script stories in shades that lingers. . .
______________________________________________
***Sponsor Shadow Hamilton
Contest Name your Favourite Old Poem
++Placed 3rd++
©O.E. Guilermo
12:31 pm, February 07, 2015
The cigar box reposed upon the closet shelf for nigh on fifty years.
Oft his family wondered what it held. Perhaps some treasured souvenirs?
The old man, a veteran, had fought in the European Theater of Operations.
He never talked about that nor did he ever boast of any special decorations.
Alas, he mustered for that final call of the roll to begin his eternal bourne.
His passing left behind a loving family and a grateful nation to mourn.
Rifle shots echoed o'er the hills - the clarion sound of "Taps" was played.
The Chaplain rendered words of hope and in hallowed clay he was laid.
His son sorted through his Dad's things learning facts he never knew.
Neatly folded in a trunk was his army uniform looking almost new.
He found hundreds of ribbon-bound V-mail letters to his beloved wife,
Expressing his love and hope for their life together beyond the terrible strife.
He was curious about the cigar box and pulled it down from the shelf.
There he found treasured things that his Dad had kept to himself.
His dog tags on a chain, faded snapshots of his wife and old army pals,
Staff sergeant chevrons, his honorable discharge and some old decals.
He choked back tears of pride as he discovered the coveted Silver Star,
And the citation that read of his bravery for heroic actions on the Saar!
There was also a Purple Heart and two Bronze Star Medals he had earned.
He was in awe of his humble but heroic Dad and the things he had learned!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Christmas decor has begun to bore
Season's diminishing returns must not ignore
Ingenious craft stagnates; no longer hearts implore
Straggling trinkets of blithe, Christmas lore
To be quickly discarded or saved for dated encore
Spent wreaths fading yellow on every crest, door
Stray needles scattered around porch and floor
Mellowed holly berries dangle in sickly, twined ward
Scaly, shedding Christmas tree barnacled to lifeless moor;
Sticky resin seeping from each, tapped-out pore
Once sturdy timber now dry pulp to strip and core
Empty boxes lie around crumpled and gored
Treasured contents have long been pilfered, scored
Pretty wrapping paper no longer beauty doth afford
Shattered, punctured and recklessly torn
Ribbon strands now loose, tinseled chord
Decorative bows plucked; in dark, dank closet stored
Pageantry and festivity shorn; colloquial vestiges restored
Common fabric now doth the hearth and porch adorn
Two rats can have over a million descendants
In eighteen months, talk about prolific
Don't know about all youse guys out there
But this guy finds that quite horrific
You'd produce enough gas for an atomic bomb
If you farted for 6 years and 9 months
Know a guy that could produce enough gas
For an atomic bomb by farting just once
Tigers have striped skin as well as striped fur
Now how damn interesting is that
A Ronald MacDonald once robbed Wendy's
I would guess he got his order fast
Tipping at Iceland is considered an insult
Sounds really civilized to me
The longest flight of a chicken is 13 seconds
It crash landed and broke a knee
Ribbon worms eat themselves if they can't find food
Now that's pretty desperate to me
Guess they start at the bum and work their way up
Don't think I've ever felt THAT hungry
Bob Hope and Billy Joel were both once boxers
Now I don't mean the doggy type
Chained dogs are 3 times more likely to bite us
Guess they have a reason to gripe
Clocks made before 1660 had only an hour hand
The world didn't have seconds back then
A jiffy is the time it takes for light to travel
One centimetre in a vacuum, I'm overwhelmed
Mahatma Gandhi wrote for advice on diet and exercise
To strongman Charles Atlas, I kid you not
Whoopi Goldberg's real name is Caryn Johnson
That can't be, we all love Whoopi a lot
Who said "I’ve watched a lot of baseball on the radio"
Yup! Good old President Gerald Ford
Way back, people threw eggs at the bride and groom
A custom that today would be deplored
© Jack Ellison 2015