Long Ribboned Poems
Long Ribboned Poems. Below are the most popular long Ribboned by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ribboned poems by poem length and keyword.
Tomorrow a foreboding — where a shovel and daisy thrive.
Prepare yourself with the wind of the sea and coconut-salt.
Stand upon the dock where the ribboned sky cuts the dark,
and call to your sailor who heartily drinks your honeysuckle ink.
Seal words of love in a bottle, one last shot of absinthe.
Tie with the bow from your crimson hair and kiss with your tears.
Tomorrow’s ship drowns a slow death.
The seaweed a trap that steals his kind-breath.
A sailor shall hit the rocks, the sandbar of hard knocks.
Tomorrow will be too late to land upon your pallor-lips.
He sleeps with sirens - their nightmare shrieks deafen his ears,
for he cannot stand to hear the pounding of each scrape of dirt
upon your wooden bed with silken sheets and coins for eyes.
Tomorrow’s ship drowns a slow death.
The seaweed a trap that steals his kind-breath.
11/6/2018
Sponsor - Edward Ibeh
Is it still there, swaying in the
Chicago air?
I dream of myself with dark,
ribboned braids, being just seven.
And swinging my tanned legs as
hard as I Could,,trying to kiss God's
cheek in heaven.
Oh to be seven again!
When free speech reigned.
Girls had cap guns and trains.
We played games of all kinds,
No PC police to say,"No, No"
"No cowboy and Indian games.
Choose marbles, they are PC tame"
(Yes and so maddeningly lame!)
Nobody hit one another.
We were of all nationalities!
All colors and yes, were sisters
and brothers.
No such freedom for Children today.
They must, bow, kneel and kiss
whatever pressure groups say!
They are trying to make girls into
boys and boys into girls.
One androgynous nation under
no God at all?
Where all are "whichevers" and
Freedom has taken it's fall!
We use color to get our way.
That white man is pure evil they say.
So we beat them good, though they
did nothing to us.
It's the sign of the times.
All white women and men must
Bite the dust?
Sadly, sadly, our freedoms down
the toilet go.
To the SS Socialism Ship we blindly go.
Cheering for free everything.
You will never hear another
Liberty Bell Ring!
October 23, 2019
Pocket-Memories
by Odin Roark
Layers of love are never lost
Even after a good bath
How long had it been?
A mantle of dust
A bit of sand
Some fish oil residue
“gives special character”
He used to say
So many days now past
Magnifying ants
Imagined horror stints
Trimming a yolk branch
For slingshot accuracy
Screwdriving Erector Set connections
Gutting deep-lake spinner catches
Leather punching favorite belts
Ah the looking back
Now like new once more
Everything tucked back in
Servitude getting momentary rest
As a hand-me-down’s rebirth
Awaits new challenges
It’s peaceful under here
Dark and warm
Haven’t been this clean forever
Kind of eerie
Like narrow canyons awaiting sunrise
Loved being cocooned back in my box
Wrapped in red and white
Yellow ribboned for giving
All set to surprise
Soon
His grandson’s pocket-memories will begin
As that’s what Swiss Army Knives are for…
Passing to the next
What makes growing up never ending
Garden Dream
Within this heart a sheltered loom
of woven thoughts in ribboned faire
Where marigolds sing melodies
a soft caress your flowing hair
As hummingbirds ignite your smile
upon a floating shade of blue
and cherry blossoms paint the sky
in nectar worn as sweet perfume
I open this, my chambered soul
so you may rest in perfect ease
Beneath an arbor’s shaded bliss
to linger on a fragrant breeze
For deep within this garden dream,
illumined by the sun above
I pray that you will stay awhile
to share these blooms of perfect love
Good morning Soupers
Heart Sutra
The moonlight, the firelight,
the scent of your cologne.
Enchanting, oh!
Our toes in amorous games
do play, shadow dancing.
The flames act as our footlights
and so......
As the first frost descends on
the one last, California rose.
Such unspeakable solace in my
intimate desire grows.
I lean on the tartan plaid coverlet
to kiss that Olympian nose.
Then...place my velvet-ribboned
pony tailed head, so gratefully upon
your crescent chest.
Just to hear the wind chimes of your
heart.
We, both so magically magnificent
and masterpieces of God's finest art.
Always together and never apart!
Your forever~
Panagiota
from your first born, when you grab a dusting of talc, crushed with late night feeds, stirring in bouncing and stories on a knee,
adding a layer of stumbled steps, with a batter thickly made of learning to say “No”, doughy rings of crossed arm tantrums,
glazed slowly with parent’s evenings and bringing first dates home (sprinkled with questions from Dad) before adding candles for sweet sixteens and exam results,
packaged carefully in a ribboned box to protect from life in a university dorm, your tears adding moisture to an increasingly distant mixture,
silver lace can be wrapped around to celebrate a wedding, supporting that newly added layer of Mr and Mrs, matching mortar boards made from icing, surrounded by love heart shaped chews,
you buy an electric whisk when your hands hurt from stirring, still rustling up cookies for grandchildren using grandma’s special sugar, butter and flour,
until you go back to the trusted cookbook, scattering gold dust over fifth birthday cakes, dyed icing and sponge into the colours of a superhero – a grandchild’s eyes bigger than their belly,
your cakes gradually change from pottery to silk, from gold to diamond, for your anniversaries past, you contemplate making a Victoria sponge in black, allow yourself to grieve your husband’s last,
until a great grandchild grins and brings you a cupcake all aglow, revealing a one hundredth birthday candle which is your very own to blow
Time keeps crawling
Time thaws fleeting days
Days with daisy hope
Days where you fall
Fall to rise again
Fall in perfumed dreams
Dreams forgotten
Dreams lost in silence
Silence that sings
Silence with secrets
Secrets unquestionable
Secrets unfathomable
Unfathomable reality
Unfathomable clarity
Clarity with no remorse
Clarity of seven stars
Stars of lavender love
Stars of silver hymns
Hymns of forsaken flowers
Hymns whispered in rhymes
Rhymes left unwritten
Rhymes with no rhythm
Rhythm of bleeding ink
Rhythm of whistling waves
Waves of healing
Waves of cleansing
Cleansing yesterday’s pain
Cleansing masks of shame
Shame rinsed in mauve rain
Shame with shimmering stains
Stains of rosy red
Stains from emerald emotions
Emotions that made me hush
Emotions from tokens of love
Love painted in prose
Love within my heart
Heart ribboned with sunsets
Heart reflecting clementine sky
Sky sequined in sapphires
Sky quilted in rubies
Rubies within summer blues
Rubies mirror twilight hues
Hues of moonlit souvenirs
Hues of untangled strings
Strings of faith
Strings of words
Words mean nothing
Words mean everything
Everything…
Nothing…
When you are
an agonizing
echo from a
benevolent voice,
life exhales in
mahogany haze,
spreading across the
lachrymose meadows as
scarred rivulets of
sandalwood scents,
where ceramic
rhymes slumber in
watercolor coffins
with opaque metaphors,
weaving hoaxed
hymns of the nascent
heavens within these
mortal hues.
I'm a bronze brushstroke
of origami colours,
pinned to the weary
wall as the state
of forsaken art,
splattered in acrylic-
resembling sombre
diamonds that
knit ebony pixels
of my onyx heart,
scattered across the
blistered brims,
framed from
fate crossed palms;
doused in poisoned
henna depicted
in dismay, to portray
the painting of despair
within my splitting mind.
Isn't the monochromatic
shade of an aesthetic
mural a clementine
symmetry, where ruby psalms
stained with black peonies,
bleed thistle-ribboned
tales from an orchid's silence?
Not every artist
can mold
peace from a
pastel palette
filled with poignant
petals engrossed
in purple pain,
but poetic fingers
can sculpt an evergreen
masterpiece through
crisp flakes of
tumbling torment,
carried through
arctic mists.
But is there a
teal-azure texture
to create a
timeless tapestry
interlaced with
lavender musings?
As melancholy soars
beyond roseate realms
like a moon-winged butterfly,
fluttering across
cantaloupe sunsets,
etching heartbeats of
hope in harp's periwinkle pigments,
when twinkling jewels
lose their shine,
leaving tales untold
to waltz with
forlorn silhouettes-
dwelling in a gallery of grief.
For, in the calligraphic
corners of chaos,
I’ve found healing,
between ethereal pages
within a cathartic labyrinth.
“Peace is found amidst seclusion. When zealous zephyrs emanate lilac light for lovers, longing for a poetic paradise” ~ Poet
Close your eyes, lend your ears~
to the Universe…
In silence you will hear
the turquoise seas
call my name
every full moon,
carrying tunes of
teal green breeze,
manipulating my mermaid psyche
to fabricate a mystical island,
from scattered sandbanks
afloat lyrical lagoons.
Tonight, the winds keep
talking about you and I;
truth behind your fate,
an unwritten destiny of a planned
hideaway to a poetic beachside,
where a delicate rose
dressed in thornless moon rays,
awakened my desire to sail away,
but I know when
time comes,
you’ll be gone.
Nothing stays constant
in this inconsistent world
where sleep is the only comfort.
Yet, my heart still
grieves over your death,
as you’re the phantom
in my dreams,
and the balmy
breeze of life
wants you to know,
my soul longs to see you,
reflecting our
enclasped silhouettes,
across silvery ripples,
whilst I allow zealous zephyrs
to read you
these unspoken poems
infused with
suppressed sentiments,
while opium dusts
of stars intoxicate
my mind to embrace us,
to whom, I’ve been weaving
colorful confessions,
in rhythmic notions.
Close your eyes,
lend your thoughts
to the rising sun,
I am not silent anymore,
I am silence,
strong enough to allow you
to take me by the hand;
swim against satanic tides.
For I’ve heard sea birds
sing soothingly;
there’s always
a ribboned ray of rosemary
light at the cusp of loneliness~
to the ones that allow their eyes
to see beyond eclipsed realms.
Remember you’ll find paradise
in dimmed spheres,
evoked from
savage sunbeams,
but aren’t we
the architects
that can cast away
shipwrecked lies?
to welcome sacred nightfalls
savored in infinite saffron streams
of cosmic delight,
navigating forever, as
soulmates meant to be,
reunited within
an everlasting embrace,
where iridescent rain pours~
a planktonic spell upon
edges of sea-glass,
piercing through
this aquatic spirit.
A bitter, bitter, bitter, blow,
As Coronavirus shuts down Padstow,
Nurses wear masks and patients wear gowns,
As the global pandemic attacks Cornish towns,
Just a small virus which decides to invade,
Means empty beaches and not much town trade,
With locals afraid they might succumb,
Tourists are told, stay away, do not come,
Once happy throngs in the streets were seen,
Now a ghost-town patrolled by Covid-19,
No ribboned Obby Oss’s parading this year,
No crowds enjoying a pasty with beer,
The fishing boats stay within the harbour wall,
As restaurants stay closed and fish prices fall,
With 20/20 vision and hindsight combined,
Padstow’s ‘new normal’, it will have to find …