Long Rose Poems
Long Rose Poems. Below are the most popular long Rose by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rose poems by poem length and keyword.
Rare Flowers
A woman I know – always there.
A helping hand for all – works for Share.
A heart of gold – this soul doth care
for the needs of lives – nothing fair,
for them it seems – lost dreams, she is rare.
This rare flower – I see – gives voice
to what is missing – her name is Joyce,
Joyce, is ideal, is positive – is a great choice
for a world in dire - desperate need
of her to manage - homeless to feed
in this world - dominated by greed.
This rose germinates great seed,
even if one’s dreams – turned to weed –
never to see the light of day – ever again –
yet her and they, will forever remain.
B. J. “A” 2
April 22nd 2004
Another lost noon,
engraved as unforgettable
memoirs within my mind,
I’m rethinking of rewriting
and rewinding revoked
reflections of a love rekindled.
My eager heart
is now hanging in the void,
yearning to swirl
through desert dunes
to exhale one more
dandelion dream
in the same air as you,
where quill and paper
were no longer needed.
For times that I
was inking
meaningless phrases,
were buried
deep down under,
as you were softly
scribbling dewy verses
of desires upon
my desolated skin,
rescuing darkness
with starving sincerity,
illuminating and hydrating
my urges with
prolific praising,
moulding every
imperfection of mine
into an abstract art,
naming them
with prismatic gems
on the night of confession,
beneath a sky full of stars
that were burning.
I’m now left with no
adjectives to alliterate,
how this sunflower
soul’s cry bloomed
within your
healing embrace,
where hailing
emotions were eased;
I knew then,
that’s where
I’ve for so long
wanted to belong.
The whirling gusts of
greedy gardenias
may say
roses aren’t fragrant,
but why am I yearning
to be the Juliet rose
in your graceful garden,
where petals glow
like rainbow-hued stardust,
I’m on a virtual venture,
wishing I had
Aladdin’s vintage lamp;
to grant me my
dose of you and I.
If only I could ride
above Arabian valleys;
on an amethyst
magic carpet,
stitched with
crystalline crescent sequins.
If only you could feel,
I’ve been dreaming
of daisy meadows
and dahlia lawns,
where memories
are fatal,
pushing me into a
labyrinth of
mourning magnolias,
searching for
balanced brightness,
although you
still wander
through a
foreign land~
faraway from “us”.
I hear your wings
adorned with
orchestric ornaments
ascending into
the celestial fields,
leaving me in an
astral connection,
with a jar of memories,
where I still keep
falling for you,
time and time again,
as you are my
beginning and ending,
the amorous poet
that wouldn’t
take love for granted~
like the pirates of
this heart-shaped odyssey.
And I shall forever be reliving
the fabulous February,
spent in your golden presence;
although, days together
were somewhat short
and nights were long,
we will rephrase this romance
relentlessly
into an everlasting love story.
I was the satyr you embraced
who was more than a kiss in the dark
and rose in your eyes like a rising sun
to dry the wet dew of your hauntings
I was the twilight breeze to your evenings
the burning star in your celestial black sky
where your perdition tempered my surrender
you were the intoxication of my life's longing
a flavored fruit to be devoured
in your sensual secluded realm of fantasy
who drew me in like a black widow
whose fragrant essence fermented
a desired forbidden love
revealing a more excited passion
that clouded my senses
I wandered the abandoned places of my soul
grasping for a jeweled thread of possibilities
you dangled from your web of deceit
freely laughing as I reached once again
for your soft skin
covered in the balm of aromatic aroma
inviting my senses to vanish
in the banquet of your fervor
designed to fill my lips with your Lilith kiss
of revenge for those who came before
to leave nothing, between my memory
and the passing of time
but an empty husk... that was my heart
The mine drowned the holler,
many reallocated
to trailer parks along the Interstate.
The school dwindled,
ran out of children
became a garage for dead trucks,
then a beer barn, then a Meth lab,
bubbling feuds resurfaced -
shotguns aimed at open secrets.
Oxycontin mules crisscrossed cricks.
After the sheriff left with a bag of money
the missing went unreported.
The ‘Craft’
(a legend as ancient as flint arrowheads),
emerged from clapboard covens
ginseng and moonshine were sacrificed
for white powder.
Glocks flourished among the Hummel’s.
Traditions persisted
like red paint on wooden signs.
An outbreak of opaque cottage industries,
led to skins inked with blood oaths.
Old women retreated into the mountains
with their recipes.
Spirals of distant smoke
rose from iron cooking pots,
no one spoke of the children.
setting sun and that glass of wine,
a haunting song, a place to dine,
my heart searches for days now lost,
those lips and eyes that once were mine.
days now lost in the mist of past,
days that can never be recast,
that wilted rose will never bloom,
but.. scent will last ..forever last.
thoughts flicker in memory loom,
a smile, a laughter dispel gloom,
a brief moment that floats past me,
just you and me, in your bedroom.
that flowing stream by apple tree,
like birds with spring, two hearts agree,
when all is right and moon is bright,
beauty abounds in all we see!
those days are gone, nowhere in sight,
a grim silence in depth of night,
shall stay to watch the Sun go down,
dreams! in dreams shall meet albeit!
1st Placement
Written 28/05/2022
8 syllables each line, PS count,
5 stanzas with aaba, bbcb, ccdc, dded, eefe rhyme
Rubaiyat poetry contest
sotto poet
I'm afraid of these apparitions,
Getting in the way of my aspirations.
I know I need them here,
But staying here talking is my biggest fear.
What if I go nowhere?
Like a flower that never blooms,
Hiding and talking to the moon..
What if I never come out,
Of this hole I dug for myself?
But I just can't enough..
You know that I love,
To hear your voice.
It's almost like a drug.
I sit and wait,
For a day that never comes.
When will I get up,
From this place I sit in daily,
I just thought that maybe..
I would be somewhere by now.
I know you tell me to find my cloud,
That one day my day will come.
I don't mean to have doubts,
I just feel so alone, I feel so lost.
I feel so sprung up on what I've done,
And the things that I haven't.
My life has been tragic.
Recovery is a rose with thorns,
It hurts to grab it, my skin has been torn.
But now that I have it I can't let go,
No matter how hard it is to hold.
To me I saw you
you are still there
as beautiful
to be in the presence
of you.
Making all my stars fly
a summers day
to kiss you
all my dreams
even to the end
My rose
unless it gathers thorns
Like Cleopatra.
I want to be your Mark Antony
forever yours
into words
As my life passes us by
never forget the love
I have for you.
A real dream
made for a reason
It is so special
I can never find
the right words
until now.
You who suffocates my heart
The circle of my life
who has the very keys
beautiful to me as a rose
my eclipse.
my very own heart
broken in all
that a woman
should be
forever beautiful
Once, a moon rose to a Halloween night,
Gold and round, it shines upon marble slabs of stone,
And in the lonely towers vampires licked pale lips,
Through woods, shivers of a werewolf's call.
Silhouetted in the night, bloodthirst searched for life,
And marble statues, next to the lonely woodland church,
The wolves sniffed, life in death they did find,
In all the fate of eternal life being searched.
Up in the sky, soaring vampires so bold,
Suddenly were still, seeing their prey,
Diving at werewolves, all ready for the war,
Two beasts became one, on that full moon's night of death.
09/30/2019
I was born from tall prairie grass, hope, and open sky,
a whisper of wind shaping my grassy fields into place.
I remember when only buffalo knew my name,
their shadows drifting across my unbroken plain.
I felt the Trinity River carve its slow, patient path,
its muddy breath cooling my sun-struck skin.
Then John Neely Bryan walked my riverbanks,
his boots pressing the first human heartbeat into my soil.
I watched his cabin rise like a promise,
rough-hewn logs catching the dawn’s first fire.
Settlers followed, their wagons creaking like old prayers,
their wheels etching new stories into my prairie spine.
I grew from remote trading post to a thriving crossroads town;
even now, my streets are filled with the memory of dust and possibility.
The railroad arrived cutting its way through my prairie grasses,
its iron rails bringing newcomers and the throbbing of trade.
Cotton wagons from nearby prairie towns rolled across my empty shoulders,
their burlap scent mingling with Texas bluebonnets and wild sage.
I learned to stand tall and proud as decades unfurled,
brick by brick, promise by promise, ambition by ambition.
Skyscrapers rose like steel-boned giants,
their mirrored faces catching constellations in stride.
Yet beneath my pavement, the prairie still breathes,
its roots humming the old songs through the dark.
I carry the Texas heat like a memory—low, steady, eternal—
a thrum rising from the earth’s warm spine.
And through every century of becoming,
I remain what I have always been:
I am a child of the prairie, dreaming myself into sky.
My mother taught me everything I Know
About the flower,
From azaleas to zinnias
And the heavenly golden hours;
Shortly after sun up when
We sense the world profound;
And later on when nearly gone, fading
Fast when stars come ‘round.
She sang and danced with daffodils
And smiled at the scent of a rose;
Gave thanks and praise for the One who made
Periwinkles, poppies and marigolds.
My mother sewed seeds that outwitted weeds
Leaving them withering away;
Of Love-in-a-Mist with her own sweet kiss
She planted on petals each day.
While waiting for gardenias, daisy’s
And lilacs to arise;
Together we watched as nature taught
Us to open our eyes.
To the mystery below the surface,
The roots deep in the ground;
Water, sky, air connected some-where
Beauty remains unbound.
My mother taught me everything I know
More true than weeping willows cry;
How color filled buds lift hearts and souls
With sorrowful, tear filled eyes.
And that living and dying are one and the same
As light is both wave and other;
On the edge of tomorrow where love knows no sorrow
And flowers bloom bright
With my mother.