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
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
Inspired by those separated by WWII, their sacrifice, and the brothers and sisters who are now joining those they lost so young...and, this day in the Ukraine once again...
I never thought I'd miss the clickety-clack;
like a tap dancing minstrel - hour on hour
the carriage would slide,
only to pause for a cigarette and more
thoughtful inspiration.
As smoke ribboned, you would write again
in its foggy veil, and I would nod off
leaving you - a misty aberration.
I cherish that now...and the earring
in my breast pocket, golden, like my memories
and my promise to return it to you
will be kept, no matter...
Your novels used to be of love,
of plane tickets to romantic beaches,
instead, you write now of beaches
where soldiers die and lovers cry.
My strength lies in your embrace
and thoughts that still hold you.
Be safe, and write of love once more.
(A fictional letter from "Harm's Way")
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
In my blooming brokenness,
I seek for a
clue of something meaningful,
but what if nothing of velvety value
ever lies within material items,
frozen in trembling time,
soaked in raining blood roses,
yet holds memories inscribed~
with blushing beams of blueberry glows,
drifting above hushed hills
sitting in the hollow hallways
in hallowed motionlessness.
Is it ironic that a golden mirror
emanates reflections
of more than just my
bronze silhouette?
It weighs heavy with seething secrets,
lost between changing seasons
and deranged emotions,
resigned in rhythmic requiems
of restrained freedom.
I remember the suppressed
sagas of silvery glass,
that stretched beyond my watery iris,
written with russet skin of fallen feathers...
and I whisper to the vermilion wallflowers
within my burgundy room,
of how I found the magical mirror
to my aching soul,
in a retail store, illuminated
by medieval chandeliers,
hanging in Victorian gloominess.
I used to sculpt crystalline chronicles
along the caramel-tinted frames,
that have seen stars of summer fade
into fragile springs,
while autumn arrived,
knocking on my conscience,
to cloak me in sparkling
champagne warmth.
But time is a relentless reminder
of how the garnet moon wanes,
and constellations of
glistening truth crack.
Now the mirror that heard
the unsung songs
beneath my marigold lipstick,
is reluctant to see the unspoken wounds,
leaving me stranded
in an accidental battle
with rhyme-less words,
for all that remains, untamed,
are hopelessly claimed strings
of familiar, once-upon-a-fairytales...
So it refracts, stands, unbothered,
like a forgotten ornament
left under a broken tree,
with weeping leaves and tainted twigs,
without a companion~
wrapped as a pleasant present
ribboned with riddles
of a weathered d r e a m …..
I have no desire to mindlessly
objectify an abandoned object
with mosaic metaphors…
Time and tide again waits for no man
tempest-tossed upon life’s billow
The hull or the dinghy
Serves as a fortress
Though steady on its keel
Knocked his wits and sense
As he vacillates between levity and despair
Caused by his unbridled folly
He rakes the moon from out of the sea
A gust of air blew
It tethered him to flee
All you see is overcast
Knots, tiller, hatch, or helm
Love’s killer patch, overwhelm
Derelict in a sense
A castaway float astray
Break the resolve
Of a man who once vowed
to never sail again
But the songs of the nymphs
Was beckoning him
Is there something alluring
or is he just lonely?
Can't find comfort in the stillness
With every beating on the mast
Fate on the tide
Because not once, not twice
But several times
he almost drowned
He was lost at sea
His curse muffled
No stir in the air
He was peeled
And like the tales of sailormen,
She suddenly appeared
Like white foam
She ribboned the blue sky
The clouds drifts idly
As if they haven’t heard
Not a stirring breeze
But her ravenous rage
Devoured him
With rapacious eagerness
Lapping at his ballast
A violent wind is no match
To a careless sail man
in the middle of a stormy sea
He tasted the saltiness
And remembered the breath of his past
As he found himself washed ashore
He was saved at last
But he was looking for more
Despite the warning from the weather lore
And like the wind,
She whips a howling dance
As sea and sky make love
She could not calm her frenetic ire
It stirred something in him
It hit him like a squall
Once again he takes the plunge
Stupid as he is
To find himself once again
Sailing in the storm
Amidst the tempestuous sea
Evening gray and morning red
He could only wish he was dead.
All hands on deck
And as he chants
Red sky in the morning
Serves as warning
Red sky at night sailors delight
Her crimson lips parted
As she said,
"Evening red and morning gray,
help the traveler on his way.
Evening gray and morning red
bring down my wrath upon his head".
In the long journey of the stream on the lap of planar plateau,
through the draping expanse of the emerald forest it slithers,
rolls over the broken contours of lowland as the surge askew
in the cascade of ribboned flow like fluidized swan feathers.
It collapses on the cleaved rocky floor, clad in reclined ferns,
as the gushing exuberance of splattered pearls of jubilation,
expressed in monotone splintering the silence of verdance,
the air in the tranquil valley ripples with the echo of elation.
Gliding with crystal waters of the bubbling champagne flow,
it dances on wave of land in dale of flowers in a looping line,
around the balanced boulders sparkling with malachite glow,
amid the patina of foliage glistened by the drizzle of sunshine.
The seamless shimmering sky on the sheathe of green canopy,
illumines the mystique shroud of diaphanous mist rising slow,
lifts the dark curtain for the dawn to rise from the horizon fiery,
in a trance I’m lured by enticing nature’s light and sound show.
Written : October 18, 2020
December 17, 2022
Contest : 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 23
Sponsored by : Mark Toney
Buying corporate profit tickets
to this June's PRIDE event
does not feel therapeutic,
where once lived public trauma.
Another annual rite
of well-bred socialization
political masturbation
with no flavor of resistance
to white-washed Capitalism's greed,
to straight Patriarchalism's need
to rapaciously breed
to gluttonously feed
on humble margins
of truly empowered
LeftBrain dominant humanity
not RightBrain depressed
demonically repressed
satanically oppressed
devilishly suppressed
Right supremely unimpressed
by deeply felt insanity
born a profanity
against Earth's Straight
White
MonoTheistic God
False idol
of patriotic
nationalistic pride
parades before
and lingers after
sins against EarthMother's uncapitalized
poor in spirited nature
Our planet's
traumatically wounded child,
x-rated
x-rayed
x-cised
by homophobic
feministphobic
Afrophobic toxins,
divinely inspired hate,
monotheistic vengeance-is-mine
militaristic fate.
This, and future, summers of inclusive love,
I would give away invitations to proud PASSION,
co-passion
compassion
compassionate integrity
passionate enquiry
of Left erect
correct cognition
greets Right flowing
enlightened growing
synergy glowing
sacred felt reconnecting
concelebrations
Of timeless
dipolar co-arising parades,
out-rageous raving displays
of globally spectral
spectacular
spiraling circular rainbows
of regenerating strings
and co-passionate things
Sacred hope promises
form ribboned resonant faith
for love
of EarthTribe's holy
co-emergent DNA diversity
deeply held
in silent summer whispers
Inviting year-round
and full
and sweaty wet PASSION plays
stories
narratives
epic songs,
starred night light
and lunar displays
Flowing Right
Left strength
universally full
uniting Color
Healthy polycultures
wealthy multicultures evoking
not revoking
compassionating
never mindlessly sedating
fully woke
out celebrating
Earth's PASSIONTribe.
He stood stalwart
watching western dusk
promising pink and red ribbon of light
crevice of Presence
between dual dark starless night
and vaguely outlined Earth's end of bright
for yet another day's journey
through spatial time,
diurnal rhyme.
Boot journeyed feet planted
centering weight and stretching spine
reaching to breach this transitional last gasp
of hope's new day,
grasping for how this time is without precedent
yet timelessly emerging
re-submitting into unto worn-dark cosmic consciousness,
narrow gap of fading pink with blue-grey veins
networking night of sky with Earth
to close this endless day.
Where was he when this time started and closed
and before?
Standing stake-out watching EarthDay's fading string
of time's co-arising light
folding in Earth's darkening rim
rolling toward him
across cold black twilight night
reaching toward his Elder future
staring blind toward endless time
glaring timeless blind back
through his prehistoric story.
At last, he inhaled deaf heaven
and blind Earth's embrace
one more time
less day turning night
breathing light in and out of dreams
through lives of sages
lost to reasoned musing memory.
Treasonally forgetting
to say farewell
and namaste
before gently closing his back yard's western door
with full will and warm co-arising intent
to thank morning's dawn
for showing up
despite his lack of eco-social grace.
His dreams drench absorbing graceful face
smiling Earth's radical revolution
with timeless eternal pace
of dusk's red ribboned grace
warning dawn's threshold of climatic race
toward upside-down political health economies.
Heaven dressing Earth's night
in moon-revolving star light,
while Earth cooperates her most regeneratively sexy synthesis
through sun revolving light's full moon consciousness;
all dressed up
with every Earth revolving
sacred place to go.
He stared through this dual dressed study
until his turn to exhale once more,
while opening dawn's eastern gathering door.
My dreams lifted from mirage, magnified so manifold,
the miniature frame of my mind could no longer hold,
but in desert wind they grew wings of soaring desire,
turning into twilight birds fluttering in the ardent air.
Through the ribboned arc of the resplendent rainbow
they sailed to the slanting horizon dipping down low,
where the setting sun’s hues of silence drizzled to lie
on the carved canvas of the color-suffused mural sky.
They flew en echelon on the cotton canopy of cloud,
the drifting design in pristine blue made them proud.
I tried to decipher the meaning of plethora of pattern,
some I could decode, but many I had failed to discern.
The birds making all the time new template of flight,
allured me to catch the kaleidoscopic sight of delight.
I couldn’t, in the end gave up, toiled the tedious try,
for they ascended high to obscurity in the remote sky.
My dreams wafted on soaring wings of summer birds,
disappeared beyond the winter's misty edge blurred.
I now wander forlorn in the middle of frozen nowhere,
trudge on dregs of time in the trail of emotion forever.
I would build nest for the birds that had flown away,
and wait, after the winter they would return someday.