Long Rolled Poems
Long Rolled Poems. Below are the most popular long Rolled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rolled poems by poem length and keyword.
I was born inside a house with no address.
The black SUVs that sit outside are numbered.
The walls keep moving.
The mirrors started showing reflections
I can't recognize,
whispering names
of whom I do not know.
The lawn in the backyard is AstroTurf.
I rolled my ankle twice while outside.
Digital warfare remains at an all-time high,
yet I still have trouble putting down my phone.
7:00 p.m.
Is that a bird
or a drone?
The clouds leave me in awe,
counting sheep
And I'm jealous of the birds—
the way they spread their wings
and simply fly.
They're free.
I wonder if the birds ever look at us
from somewhere above
and think the exact same thing:
What would it be like
to be free?
I wake in the hour of ghosts,
alongside the songs of owls
& swim through la mer d’etoiles
to the bakery
The door rings at my entrance,
flour coats the table like sand.
Culled fresh les champs de blé
for the bakery
Loaves are rolled then scored thrice
in the plentiful, cinnamon air.
Ovens hot as le desert de l’amour
at the bakery
Mother’s buy loaves in the hour of dawn,
freshly baked, for children’s lunches
to be eaten at tables d’amitié.
In the bakery,
with flour-soaked hands, my heart
beats sparrowquick at the thought
of my bread enjoyed dans le jardin des enfants
O, blessed to work at the bakery.
Our relationship rose over the horizon
We were very happy and the sun burned
You touched me in places where I enjoyed
The newness and the caresses
It was fresh
And like a crystal clear message you sound
You are the one that I'm meant to melt
And my heart filled with tender thoughts
We rolled through flowered fields in hunger
And still
The first fight and burned our memories
But then hugs and kisses and a smile
Doubt crept between those clean sheets
We tried bleach but it only made white
And then
You swept the floor with me and then mopped
The love was squeezed and wrung
And like flowers in a vase wilted
My heart shattered and burned as the last ray
Sunset
There is a presence to a Sunday morning,
an ease. People waiting on line for their
coffee seem more animated, less agitated,
friendlier….almost chatty. The traffic seems
to get along better too. No schedules demand
cut throat tactics to beat the next red light.
School buses, along with their riders, are
tucked away for the weekend. The hum of
the tires on the pavement seems almost
musical, soothing, in a movingstillness
kind of way. Joggers seem more relaxed,
their dogs less pressured to “get it done”.
Ducks idly talk to their shadows. Church
bells chime more jubilantly echoing over
the breaking day. We sit. Two old men
sipping hot coffee. Reveling in the present,
reminiscing about the past, in no hurry
for the future. An elderly woman ambles
past, smiling at the blowing leaves,
shuffling her feet in mock childhood frolic.
Cyclists relax into a near traffic-less rhythm
of wheels, spokes, gears - grinning into the
chill breeze of November. The firehouse
doors are open, the firefighters resting
between rounds, trucks sitting idle in
the bays, hoses rolled and ready. Two
squirrels play tag in front of a blue house
disappearing into piles of leaves only
to re-emerge atop a fence post. A grey
and white cat lays motionless nearby.
There is no rush to the cadence of the
churchgoers. It appears they may have
already entered into the day’s prayer.
A gentle sense of unanticipated hope
pervades the subtleties of life.
There is a presence to a Sunday morning.
John g. Lawless
11/8/2015
It matters not she said.
What we do.
No one cares.
I picked a snail off the sidewalk and hid it in the grass
knowing the four-year-old might smash it.
No one listens, she said.
No one cares.
I don’t matter.
I knew she was fishing, but I was tired of playing this game.
It is a cyclical conversation she has with everyone.
I took her daughter’s hand and we began to skip.
Stacy giggled, delighted.
I try to give her as much joy as I can.
Understanding what living with her mother must be like.
We stopped to make dandelion tiaras.
I brushed her hair and she leaned over and kissed me.
Her mother rolled her eyes. Why can’t you be serious? She asked.
Did she not realize that we were actually doing things that matter.
While all she is doing is talking about the opposite things?
The Drive-Thru Oracle
Kevin Davis, 2024
At sixteen, I turned into the glow
of a fast-food drive-thru—
stomach echoing, thoughts unfastened.
The menu board flickered,
numbers rearranging themselves,
prices breathing in and out.
I rolled to the speaker.
It watched me.
Static. Then:
“What do you want?”
“Uh… a chicken sandwich and fries.”
The night held its breath.
Grease-sweet air pressed through the window.
Then the speaker again, slower now,
as if tasting each word:
“What do you really want?”
I glanced up.
The pictures had changed—
burgers replaced by ladders,
a compass,
a pair of open hands.
“A… chicken sandwich?”
“No.”
The word vibrated in the metal pole.
“What do you want to do with your life?”
My hands tightened on the wheel.
It felt warm. Almost alive.
“When I was little, I wanted to be a fireman.
Maybe a cop. Now…”
The parking lot stretched longer than it should have.
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m sixteen,” I said.
My voice sounded borrowed.
“I haven’t lived enough.”
The speaker crackled
like something burning far away.
“That is not an answer.
What will you be?”
The answers fell out of me like coins:
“A soldier. A psychologist.
A husband. A father.
A minister. A friend.”
“Good.”
The word rang
like a bell dropped down a well.
“How will you arrive there?”
“I… don’t know.”
“Then that is your work,” it said.
“To not know.
To move.
To fail.
To gather days.
Do not begin
before you have begun.”
Above the speaker, the clown leaned closer,
its paint cracked into maps.
I smelled smoke.
Or salt.
Or time.
I opened my mouth—
—and the world snapped.
“Hi there! Can I take your order?”
Fluorescent light.
Asphalt.
A plastic clown, sun-bleached and grinning.
The menu: burgers, fries, shakes.
Nothing else.
I sat very still.
“I’m not ready to decide right now,” I said.
No one answered.
I drove forward when the car behind me honked—
past the empty pickup window,
past the blank-faced clown,
back into a night
that felt slightly unfinished.
My stomach was empty.
My life, suddenly, was not.
The sun caresses my skin on this hot summers day.
It would be wonderful for a slight rain to splash on my
skin in such a way.
I should love it if a cool breeze came floating by.
Time seems to be going by slowly these days.
I hear the words whispered from his lips.
"Don't go all shy on me now".
As his fingertips caress the length of my spine.
We lay naked on the top of the summer meadow.
A kiss on the lips, a kiss on the hips.
I saw the cranes fly, as I moved to his touch.
They flew from the edge of the pond, below us.
As we were spread out on the large quilt.
High on the peak, I with my book of prose.
Him, with his glistening body dripping beads of sweat.
I've come to these's highlands since I could remember.
This place was a staple of my childhood, in fact, this
mountain hilltop belonged to my grandparents.
His words rolled on the slight movement in the air.
" Be still", "it was our little game we played".
As he traced the nap of my neck with his tongue
And found his way to my lips, our tongues entwined
like ivy on the forest walls.
We had been friends since the age of twelve.
That's when his parents bought the adjoining land.
You taste like sweet mountain honey, " all mine".
He knew his touch inflamed my senses, as finger
tips caressed his muscles, as nails pierced his skin.
He knew he drove me crazy, as I drifted into bliss.
Though still fully aware of his every touch, every
rhythm of our heartbeats kept tempo with our inferno lust.
His every touch reminded me why I kept coming back for
the summer vacations, besides my grandparents being old.
In fact, this would be the last two days of summer pleasure.
I wouldn't want to lose my editing job, back in the city.
I felt his eager body quiver as we moved together in time.
As he pressed his hips against mine, it was all I could do.
Lovely woman, you are my summers favorite delight !!!
Jan. 7, 2013 Monday 10 pm
I haven't written one like this in about five years.
Thought I'd give it a try.
The birth place of world war II
after an invasion void of any declaration.
Stamps on history’s book by feminine hands
to ascertain the first death sentence of the same human disaster.
A time frame marked its stolen identity
signifying its absorption into the world map
when three neighbouring nations rolled dices on its existence.
Roman Catholicism is advertised by the sun
in this place where it’s the pioneer of oil refinery
and the continent’s most important reproductive clinic
to border-crossing summer birds.
The father of Europe in king Kazimierz Jagiellonczyk
married off his three seeds of fertility
who were carrying rich humus
to the germination of Europe’s greatest dynasties.
Another king flatters history when he re-based back to his origin
to honour a coronation conflicting the poles’ election.
The heart of the world of European Jews
where their rescue during the holocaust was second to none
where the first artificial language, created and sustained;
and having a patriot decorated five times on physical masculinity.
It is the home to the famous Nicolaus Copernicus
and the birth place of the globally applauded Marie Curie.
The last will and testament of the expiring country
marks the first European constitutional state.
The underground salt cathedral is significant in its global age ranking.
The Bialowieza Primeral, epitomizes the continent’s last ancient forest
and the piwnica Swidnilka ranks the first
in the pride of the continent’s aged restaurants.
Its historic medicinal use of vodkas
and the blossom to the stem end direction
of peeling Bananas ready for consumption
beautifies the grit of a nation which stood firm
even after a forty and three attempts of invasion.
The siren reels coming into the hospital bay,
Emergency staff run, a “Code 4” on the way,
Staff know that it is a serious situation,
A person in distress is coming to this location.
Out of the ambulance, a stretcher is rolled,
The patient sitting upright, wrapped from the cold.
Pale and clammy with lips and fingernails blue,
The patient is restless not knowing what to do.
A feeling of claustrophobia makes them seethe
The oxygen mask is really helping them breathe,
Confusion is common when your oxygen is low,
The patient pulls at their mask, they don’t know
The staff wear their mask of calm and control,
The patient wants them to save their soul,
Constant reassurance and underlying disease care,
Help make the patient more alert and aware
Underneath it all, staff are really scared,
Saving another person, they have been dared,
With improvement in breathing, off come the masks,
The patient survives and staff return to their tasks.
Written by Lee Ramage
July 15, 2011
For “It’s Mask Time” contest by Nette Onclaud
Won 8th Place
We met one summer evening
On a golden sandy dune.
There was something wonderful and sublime,
Something magical and spellbinding,
Infiltrating in the air that night,
As stars shone brightly high above,
Shining for you and me
Especially for you and me.
Our friends were singing merrily,
Infectious love was all around.
There, on a spit, a piglet
Was slowly spicy barbequed.
The fire roared and spluttered
While fat dripped on its fiery flames.
It was a time propitious
For mad mid-summer dreams,
So we drank our lovely Chardonnay,
And nibbled luscious roasted ribs.
We exchanged jokes and reminisces,
Laughed all night long
You and me.
At last we left together
Shoeless strolled upon the sand.
Around was moon-lit and serene.
The swell of the sea supplied a lullaby,
Euphoria filled our mien.
I closed my eyes in ecstasy:
Heard your captivating laugh.
There in a desolate sandy beach
Away from prying eyes,
We knelt down, touching our hands,
Sweaty palms against each other.
I looked into your azure eyes,
Saw the vast calm ocean
With moonlight shimmering brightly.
I smelled your perfumed skin,
Felt your lips caress my cheeks:
Waves rolled softly towards the beach
In a splendid harmony.
Was this a pleasant fairytale?
Was it an infinite dream?