Long Ribs Poems
Long Ribs Poems. Below are the most popular long Ribs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ribs poems by poem length and keyword.
First, understand that sorrow is a room
with no furniture, only echoes.
Every word you speak will return to you
slightly changed,
like a photograph left in sunlight.
Learn to sit still in emptiness.
Your body will protest,
it was built for movement,
for purpose,
for the illusion
of progress.
Ignore it. Stay.
Notice how grief has weight but no shape,
how it fills the spaces between your ribs
like water,
how it makes you both
heavier and more likely to float away.
Do not rush to redecorate the room.
People will offer you curtains, rugs,
paintings to cover the walls.
They mean well.
Refuse them gently.
The emptiness is not a problem to solve
but a truth to inhabit.
Sit with it.
Let it teach you the grammar of loss,
the syntax of what remains.
Eventually, and I cannot tell you when
you will notice a door you hadn't seen,
not an exit but an entrance,
leading somewhere you've never been.
You will hesitate at the threshold,
understanding that moving forward
means leaving something precious behind.
This is correct.
Step through anyway.
The room will always be there,
that echo chamber of what was.
You can visit whenever you need to,
but you no longer have to live there.
I want to swim in the golden rivers
of your heavenly haven,
wading through every swirl and twirl flowing in splendiferous streams.
Taste of your warmth courses down ruffles within my ribs,
pulsating your name in assonant motions.
In your moonlit eyes I’ve found the lost poem,
missing from my once hollow heart.
You are the metaphorical master,
with a plethora of poetic keys,
deciphering hieroglyphics syllables,
ceaselessly obscuring vehement vanity,
endured through violent torrents of torment.
In your arms I found a euphonious sanctuary,
calming stormy edges from a malignant abyss,
there I saw grey on silvery nights,
until you breathed poetry into my fingertips.
Words began to bloom amongst
deep ruby wine dahlias,
where seasons never wilt internal imagination.
I still remember the night we embraced a new year,
as fireworks lit up the highest mountains between us.
Revealing incandescent morning stars,
with your infectious smile,
I knew then, you were the acrylic home
I was sketching on sunflower panoramas.
In your voice I've already seen spring,
sowing seeds of hibiscus promises,
hydrating delicate dreams—
drifting with withering ferns and flowers,
imprinted from roots of fate,
ascending mauve memories to cloud nine,
where clipped feathers attain nirvana,
to love until the sun burns into ashes.
I was seated in an unknown place
Every corner I was greeted with was something new
The last 3 years of my life may as well have been erased
nobody wanted to talk to me, I came so late like an aftertaste
You weren't a nobody, and to you I was somebody
Thats all it took for me to be more than gaudy
You were the best thing I had experienced to date
You didn't mind that I wasn't okay
You walked me to my counsellor
I wish I could say more than that
You hated your thighs, but you loved your eyes
I could look you up and down and never find something to despise
Your self-image was shattered, what you thought you deserved splattered
Now that I’m gone and you have moved on, is that still the case?
You had the most beautiful heart but weren't ready to embrace I love you; I mean that with my ribs exposed
Reach inside, strip away my bones
Anything that made you happy was worth it to me
I’m just a steppingstone, helping you be the best you can be
I just hoped you would tread lightly, you shattered me and watched me
crumble
Hurt people hurt people
It’s not your fault
I don’t hate you
I wish to become something you exalt
It starts as a treble~
a low, warm note
curling in the hollow of my ribs,
soft as a cello waking
to its first intention.
My heart keeps time~
a quiet strum,
steady as fingers tapping
on a wooden table.
Each beat is a downstroke,
each breath a lift,
my body becoming
its own metronome.
Then the melody stirs.
Not loud~
a ribbon of subtle sound
threading through my bloodstream,
gathering color
as it rises.
I walk,
and the world joins in:
gravel clicking like castanets,
wind caressing my ear
with brushed-snare softness,
light chiming off leaves
in tiny silver bells.
The page waits~
white, expectant,
a silent staff
ready for whatever music
dares to cross it.
I lower my pen.
The first phrase drops~
a bright, ringing note
cutting through the hush,
its echo widening
until the stanza
begins its slow, sure sway.
Ink becomes tempo.
Syllables become intervals.
Emotion becomes tone~
a warm, resonant thrum
vibrating through the margins
long after the music
has settled.
When the poem finishes
and the last note fades
into the softness of the page,
the chorus loosens~
this is the chorus a poet bleeds:
the music beneath thought,
the pulse beneath language,
the quiet, persistent song
that keeps singing
even when the mouth
is still.
You had me oblivious to your antics,
as you hushed me tenderly by the creek
into your hide and seekable
soul-surrendering secret relief.
There, you cottled me into softness
with a simple chin caress,
which continued to smooth
the entire twisting course
of my delicate remorse.
My garments shifted
from their skin,
slipped into the witnessing wind.
You convinced me to sin
so remarkably, so recklessly,
for one worshipped glide
of feigned intimacy.
I bemoan my mixed senses
behind the curtain of uncertainty.
Oh, Romeo, if only I'd known you.
If only I knew that
your prestigious people-pleasing smile
was practice for the play.
That those granny pleasing manners
and Band-Aid banter
would soothe my soul to sleep.
That those jovial jokes
and caramel coated coaxing
would lead me quietly to the creek
where your meaty man hands would span
each inch of my innocence and beyond.
That your chivalrous, chiseled chest
and incandescent camper's scent
would be compressed
against my gentleness.
By this indulgence
I had relinquished your respect
and you had tossed my trust.
So dissolved the blending of lust,
and with it the end of us.
Your camouflaged fibs
of forever love
would continue deep
through the space in my ribs,
into the closing scene.
Romeo, so applause-worthy were you
on your secret stage that
Shakespeare could have cast you
just as you had cast me.
my block got bones
made of brick and breath.
she bleed through cracked hydrants,
catch cigarette ash like snowflakes,
and see like a fly to death.
her ribs? fire escapes-
bent, rust-bit, bruised.
kids dangle off ‘em like loose teeth,
their joy just one cracked step from falling.
she don’t blink.
she sees the crackhead two buildings over
lean so far out the window
it look like gravity let go on purpose.
she sees the baby-faced boy
swipe an apple from the fruit stand,
run like his momma’s belt already in mid-air.
she hears the couple across the courtyard
curse in two languages at once—
“coño, cabrón, i told you don’t touch my phone!”
plates crash like punctuation.
she know who did it. always.
remember joe? down the block?
she know it was lil ronnie shot him—
don’t matter what his momma said on the news.
she know when the baby’s daddy ain’t coming back.
she know which apartment got roaches,
and which girl been sneaking out
with borrowed lashes and somebody’s man.
she see the 13-year-olds roll up outside the laundry,
blow smoke like they men already,
moms swearing they honor students
while they tag walls with their street names in sharpie.
she see grandma on 4c
push that stroller with one hand,
baby crying, bottle hanging,
other kids yelling “nana, i’m hungry!”
while her daughter chase smoke and basslines down lenox.
she don’t talk much,
but she remember everything.
her silence ain’t peace—
it’s storage.
she carry folks’ stories
like groceries up six flights.
she don’t sleep easy. never did.
she hums lullabies in radiator heat,
carries secrets in stairwell echoes,
and if you listen close,
you might hear her say your name too.
7/27/16
Who am I to kid?
Live
Don't fib
At times I sinned
All I did
Could not be forgived
Near and far from waters with squid
And other life having fins
A shot straight to the ribs
Burnt a bridge
Because my heart was colder than a fridge
And I was tired of people being glib
While out in the fringe
Never once touched a syringe
Because it is something I forbid
Always grew up kind of off the grid
Amid
A ridge
To be truthful I became unhinged
And started to daily binge
Which didn't help any kin
Or my chances of being able to win
No you weren't in my skin
And have no idea of where I've been
As the planet continues to spin
I don't know where to really begin
Which is why I'll continue to swim
And hit the gym
Before I slid
Back to the crib
I followed through on a whim
In the wind
Then heard the sound of a violin
After all it was no longer grim
By: Dalton Ogletree
"Ballinger's pride will be the death of him,"
Was the last muttering of the old cyclops before
The poison took over. Never trust unicorn bartenders.
Young Gallimay, the town's token centaur,
Walked into this scene:
Serren's body laid across the bar.
Tempest the unicorn bartenders cleaned pint glasses. (All ladee-da.)
Two old frog friends sat in the back with lagers, blinking back at the man/horse.
Tinkerbell whizzed by with the someone's check, pregnant with her 3rd babybell.
A baby albino dire wolf slept soundly at the foot of the hat rack near his hooves.
Gallimay trotted up to the bar right beside the dead body.
"300 doubloons," said Tempest the unicorn bartender.
Gallimay gave her a look like he got hit with a frying pan.
"The dire pup," she clarified, "300 doubloons if you're interested."
Gallimay shook his head and leaned in, "Ma'am I'm here on a tip someone was poisoned to death. A text from this location saying 'I've been poisoned.'"
Gallimay looked at the body next to him
And then back at Tempest.
"What's this guy's story?"
"His name is Serren. He's a regular. Must've fell asleep."
Gallimay nudged the Cyclops' ribs.
"Hey buddy!" The body toppled
Over and hit the ground.
The Centaur took out a walkie from his vest pocket.
"I gotta 10-66 at the Imagine Inn."
"Bloody Mary?" Tempest asked Gallimay.
"Not on the job, thanks."
"No, have you talked to Bloody Mary?"
Tempest pointed her cone towards a woman at the end of the bar
Cloaked in shadows and dripping with blood.
"Mary and Serren were an item for quite awhile," Added Tempest.
Unable to help from over-hearing, Mary waved at them politely.
"Let me call you back, Ballinger," said the scarlet-soaked woman
In a barroom hush.
Tiny heart soars high in the sky
It raises above, ripping the dark clouds
And talks for hours __ to the Mage of Night
At times, it dives down deep into the blue water
And swims on the back of a butterfly fish
Sometimes rests in a fluffy coral reef__
It walks like a king
In the vast empire of my Mind
Surely, it is the sun of this perfect floral garden
Every now and then, it gets wet
By the glum autumn rains
When it walks on the barren lands
But, it gets up, open its wings
Flies again above the winds
Or slide down with a crunchy crimson leave
To sleep on a noisy pile of sacked leaves
Little Heart's harp is strange
Little heart wants everything
Though, it is enslaved
Inside a in ribs-cage
??_______________________??
Note: Mage of night means Moon (the magician)
(2nd March,2021) (For Heart Harps poetry contest)
Is a little bit of me, of him, the earth, and the air
It’s hurting deep inside, but never showing a care
It’s accepting life as it comes, whether just or unfair
It’s only consulting with the man upstairs
The Supreme seer that supplies my needs
And count my hairs
It’s accepting that I’m worth more than a fling on my back
It’s bringing forth life from clay and dirt
Suffering through pain and hurt
Labeled as Mother Earth docile and sweet
Yet, capable of full attack and bringing the heat
Androgyny is... Knowing when to bite my tongue
And making a stand for self
It knows when to love someone else and when to put them back on the shelf
Androgyny is… tasting the sweet fruits of success and accepting the ills of defeat
it’s being a lioness in the sheets
A conqueror in the streets
It’s bringing the wicked to their feet
Then switching it back to sexy and sweet
Androgyny never... Denies the desires of a physical man
But only implies there’s some of him in me and me in him
Sometimes more than he’ll ever understand
It’s realizing that he’s nothing without me and without him
Our existence breaks the chain
It’s accepting that mankind’s survival is the only reason why I got sex on the brain
Androgyny is... not about game playing, bed hopping, and bootie laying
It’s about structure, understanding, family, and praying
It’s about the fusion of man and woman that bring forth child
It’s about realizing that he and I share ribs
What’s his is mine and what’s mine is his
Full understanding is his job
But, when he denies me of that totality
He robs himself as well as God
All the elements of life in Big, little Ol’ me
But the who, what, and why completes the concept of Androgyny
Most women are strong, numerous and live long
This is my point
Only the strong survives
That’s why women truly run this joint