Long Storybook Poems
Long Storybook Poems. Below are the most popular long Storybook by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Storybook poems by poem length and keyword.
Once upon a time there lived,
A beautiful girl and a man she loved.
So true was such their love,
There wasn't anyone who disapproved.
It had been love at first sight,
A fairy tale since that day.
The maiden had found the man of her dreams,
No one else needed to have a say.
They had done it all,
Candlelight dinners, shyly holding hands,
Kissing in the rain, dancing around trees,
Leaving intertwined footprints on white sands.
But it wasn't just another love story,
It was uniquely special like every other one.
They had eyes for no other but one another,
The best part of their lives had just begun.
They traveled around the world,
And she kissed her man at the seven wonders each.
People would smile at the storybook couple,
As they counted stars standing on a beach.
With her, he was the man he wished to be,
The one who wouldn't think twice,
About pulling her up to dance in a crowded train,
He'd protect her, keep her happy at any price.
He'd see through her weak smile,
All the way to the tears inside,
He'd whisper sweet things in her ear,
Hold her till all the tears dried.
Though they did have a fair share of problems,
They always came together again,
No matter what happened,
Like raindrops on a window pane.
On a rainy day, she had sat waiting,
Wondering about the surprise he had promised,
But he never came,
For the winds of fate had suddenly changed.
Five years after that day, she found herself alone,
Sitting on the porch, counting stars on her own,
As she recalled the day he had been taken from her,
'An unfortunate accident' on the next the papers had shown.
She hadn't cried on the phone, she hadn't cried on the way,
She didn't even cry when she had to identify him,
Not a single tear or a heartrending sob.
She just stared ahead with an expression so grim.
It was only when she had received his belongings,
The remnants of his last minutes, did she react.
She screamt and cried, laughed and wailed,
For among others, was a diamond ring beautifully packed.
His surprise, the laughter in his voice,
The excitement, the secrecy of the evening.
He had been right, it had left her breathless,
But he wasn't there to see the sorrow it did bring.
Even now her eyes brimmed with tears,
As she looked at the ring as it sparkled,
And thought of that time when there lived,
A beautiful girl and a man she loved.
- Miliya Parveen
Back in my day shell suits were the latest fashion
And I made sure I wore my diamond socks with a passion
The only sky I knew was the one up above my head
No dvd player, just a betamax had to do instead
The only laptop I knew was the tray my dinner was served in
No sat nat to direct us, just maps and a lot of guessing
My social network involved playing outdoors with my friends
If I had an important message there was no text for me to send
Instead I would simply go and knock on the door
And enjoy a good game of hopscotch, drawn neatly on the floor
If I wanted to listen to music I held my boom box to my ear
And I felt like a millionaire in my latest pair of L.A Gear
No ipod to shuffle or touch just my sony walkman
No google to look for answers, just the library to depend on
No Ipad, no playbook, just a good old storybook
It may even be in hardback if I had any luck
No freeview, no Virgin, I was lucky to even have colour tv
And a rubiks cube would suffice, never mind an XBOX 360
It was all about hammer time and wearing those pants
And the theme tune to Fraggle Rock I would happily chant
No cyber bullying, only cyber I knew was the tamagocchi pet
No loading plates into the dishwasher as it hadn't been invented yet
No cd player, my cassettes were the in thing
And to have a sovereign ring on every finger meant you had some bling
The A Team, crossroads, tiswas and happy days was the programmes I watched
No series links or reminders to watch programmes like Lost
No rewinding the tv or pausing whilst I nip to the loo
Instead I had to ask someone and hope that they have a clue
No Adidas for me, just my trusted bum bag
My girls world doll and scrunche's were things I just had to have
In my day the only kid I wanted was a cabbage patch kid
Not a real one so that in a hostel I can live
No PS3, no Wii, no Vita or Nintendo DS 3d
Just my good old NES on my four channel tv
Care bears, the moomins, playschool and dangermouse
No crimewatch to make me afraid to be in my house
In my days if I was rude I would get a good smack
And I couldn't dare say the clothes you just bought me were whack
No microwave dinners, No chinese takeaway for me
Saturday soup was the best, one big bowl balancing on your knee
The 80's and the 90's I enjoyed it while it did last
But every now and again I take a glimpse of the past
The big, bad wolf wears a suit of gray with a snide smile.
Standing upright, he believes himself to be debonaire
as he takes his comb from his breast pocket and slicks back his hair.
Why does he flash his pearly white fangs
and file his claws 'til they're razor sharp?
He smells the fear of docile creatures; he taunts the weak,
stalking his prey while vultures circle overhead in waiting.
The face of evil in a fairy tale with girls wearing red cloaks
and shepherd boys watching their flocks on hillsides.
Flames like daggers from his yellow eyes pierce the pastoral images.
Clear skies become dark by his phantom-like shadows.
He walks tall in black boots of Italian leather
towering higher than treetops in their eyes
beyond the echoes of his menacing laughter.
The woodland creatures cower in their hiding places,
yet hope for a glimpse of the beautiful princess
in her dazzling horse-drawn carriage crossing the forest.
Through the darkness, the ancient land shines like an emerald
with fragrant flowers in bloom; the petals strewn her path
in a storybook from a child's shelf between rainbow bookends.
Surely, heavenly showers shall rain down on the land
and good shall overcome evil with rainbows coloring the pages
as an enchanted princess in a shimmering gown rights all wrongs,
though her strength is not immediately evident.
Melodious birds fly on the outskirts of the tale,
orbiting the forest without fear, searching for the light.
The princess, oblivious to danger, dances amongst the trees
calling the shy creatures from their hiding places.
She ignores the wolf's hideous laughter in a dream-state.
Looking for her prince, she kisses a frog to no avail
then spies three little pigs with curly tails and fearful eyes.
They know the wolf too well. His gray suit coats the dreams
of their happily ever afters. Our heroine, the princess, wipes their tears,
rolls up her sleeves, and builds a brick fortress.
She bravely changes history to her story not giving in to fear.
Fear only fuels her adrenalin rush 'til the job is done.
The wolf huffs and puffs, bites and claws unable to infiltrate.
He eventually sulks off on all fours with his tail between his legs
and is never heard from again. At least, not in this storyland.
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
for Fairy Tails contest (Debbie Guzzi)
*the wolf is personified
Roman à clef tragicomedy...
overlaid with façade of fiction = Mein Kampf
No need for yours truly to dig deep,
(albeit bonafide figuratively)
by Dickens thru mine Uriah Heep,
a gnarled mass creep
ping, comprising, encompassing, glomming
abysmal existence strewn with hard times,
such that I wanna leap
out this metaphorical bleak house,
a black hole in the wall swallowing
i.e. disallowing any peep
ordinarily yawping, proliferating, flirting...
now fumfering lamely issued by keep
ping low profile super tramping cheap
trickster, our mutual
friend Matthew Scott Harris,
where lack of functioning heating unit
(think male organ if ye will)
upended, rendered, discombobulated...
scrappy body electric hominid
to experience quality sleep.
Principal reason I write
to balance and aright
unexpected largesse
(thank you dad), where
eyes suddenly got bright
and bushy tail incessantly
wagged day and night,
a sensible palliative temporarily
eased penury plight,
which cash equivalent,
viz four Benjamins alleviated quite
helpful thwarting necessity to fight
off bill collectors brandishing
armstrong lance's compelling me
to summon black knight
in shining armor lodged within white
castle amidst prickly bishop
obviously one prone easily to excite
amusing little lord Fauntleroy
groomed as heir to throne,
enthusiasm since his birth did ignite
(Aesop pose) storybook life,
where fanciful elation did take flight
buzzfeeding, droning, feasting
on par with Mister
Bumble bee in flight
sweet nectar amidst lilies of the field
analogous to stripling Adam - fine lad
eve vent chilly seeking delight.
Ah to gather rose while ye may
tis futile wishful thinking,
now at mine three
score orbitz round sun,
which libido far out at bay
prurient predilections once
spawn time wracked to lay
waste vestal virgin such as... Little Dorrit,
now... raging hormones stagnant clay
hardened, atrophied, eutrophied,
jackknifed limp bizkit
long bereft testy tickle
yar seaman quizzical,
slack jawed, and sullen at
deserted abandoned cobwebbed quay
ignored do not enter, keep out,
private property signals desiccated,
no place for Peter to take holiday
barring ingress to ply skin flute
amidst hollerin hootenanny,
perhaps convincingly explaining
welcoming Voldemort without delay.
“Not all those who wander are lost.” J.R.R Tolkien English writer
I miss the sensible in your heart
Just before you whispered your thought.
I miss the color of your soft
Just before you were blushing from a soul
Spent by the shadows,
Alive because its destiny
Is peppered with a hesitant peace,
Serenity fed by the music of grace,
A song abiding through the silence of praise,
A tenderness felt by those who express…
Joy from knowing you are as gentle as the wind
Who soothes and blesses, caressing
Every moment with a peace that extends
Light, softly flowing, always knowing
Wherever life takes me, I can be sure your memory
Will stay with me, stirring my dreams,
Stilling my fears – carrying me through
The depths of a sorrow that might have won
If I had never known, the beauty of you,
Who I keep missing, missing like the blue
In a southern sky, starry eyed, quietly twinkling through the night,
As alive as the kindness that survives, because you…
Are like a raindrop, trickling
Light over the shadow, feelings
Blessed by truth,
More beautiful than the rainbow
Who reveals God’s hues,
Sighing across the heavens,
Erasing the melancholic mood,
Sustaining hearts and souls, stirring
Life where there was once darkness,
Inspiring wonders that dream on,
Through the burdens, through the wrong,
Into the twilight, melodies praising
Where you once became the moment,
The faith on display,
In you I found the lasting taste…
Psalms, poetic kisses
On the edges of a tear,
Inviting my soul to hear,
Where the rain glimpses the earth,
Leaves rustling, in hues of autumn’s life,
Painting the world in silence,
A still life, overcome with insight,
Where yesterday tries to obtain a secret
From the beautiful dancing
Flowing with kindness, a meeting
Of heart and hope, minds learning
Just how to abide in the night,
Where moonbeams and flowery dreams
Illuminate the smiles…
Your heart, your soul, your spirit
Reflected in the stillness
Of a blessing only God could move
With the music, the notes
Journeys beyond the memories
Where I feel most content, genuine
Like a storybook grace,
Amazing and unafraid, blessed
By the moments, never betrayed
Soundless adventures from a heart
Who misses the wilds, the light
That can’t fade,
Because it sits on your grave.
I’m drowning.
I’m getting pulled under.
I can feel the water slowly filling my lungs
as I scream for help,
but that scream is muffled by the crashing waves,
crashing into me
and knocking me off my feet.
I can’t get back up.
These waves are too strong,
and I feel the weight that I carry on my shoulders
shoving me under,
keeping me down.
This weight is too much.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep gasping for air.
The water is in my eyes.
I can’t see straight.
I can’t think straight.
I don’t know which direction is up or down.
I gasp for air,
but all that I inhale is pain.
At this moment,
I decide to stop fighting the tide.
I release my breath for the last time
and give myself to the sea.
I sink without struggle.
The thrashing slows.
The sea grows quiet.
I watch the light leave from above—
and it’s peaceful.
But then I feel a new tide.
It’s different.
I realize it’s not coming from the sea around me.
It’s coming from myself.
I suddenly see all the people I care for,
the people who care for me.
I suddenly see my childhood,
all laid out in front of me like a storybook.
I see my room.
My cozy room.
The room I felt safe in.
The room I spent so much time in.
The room where I stood in front of the windows posing for a picture,
holding up a stupid peace sign with my fingers when I was seven
seeing my room for the first time.
I see my stuffed animals—
my stuffing-filled fabric
that I can’t sleep without.
And I see my parents,
who worked so hard for me to have a good life.
I can’t let this tide take me yet.
Oh how much I just want it to take me—
but I can’t.
I need to keep fighting.
Fighting this horrible current, these horrible waves.
I need to keep fighting this horrible sea
from the outside
that’s trying to seep its way in.
This tide coming from in me pulls me up.
This tide pulls me up from the waist,
and I’m so weak,
I let it take me.
This tide pulls me off the bathroom floor
and takes the pills out of my hand.
And I keep fighting.
I keep fighting the current.
I keep fighting the waves.
And now—
I carry the sea within me.
But I no longer feel as if I am drowning.
We’re not friends,
but we’re not enemies.
Sometimes the sea turns on me,
but never like before.
??
(12/01/2024)
Friday morning,
Words do fall short when I am trying to express my feelings in this written language. But anyway come to Daddy and listen to all his confessions. From the very first moment we crossed paths, I felt a connection that surpassed the ordinary; It was magical how our souls entwined, like strings on a musical instrument we aligned. they say real recognize real; it was my soul that run to yours on that day, i recooo... Aghh??????? a story that cannot be understood. There is one thing that is certain and true; Your presence is a constant source of comfort, just like a blanket so cozy on a day so chilly, wrapping me in warmth and reassurance, a feeling so golden, Rosey ??. Sthandwa, As I reflect on this ongoing journey, I can genuinely say I am grateful for the beautiful memories we've created together. Every shared experience with you feels like a page from a storybook, written with love and laughter. Je t'aime (i love you) more than words can express. Through you, i've experienced true love; imagine you stayed by my side during my toughest days, saying, "through thick and thin, i am not letting this bond break but i want our connection deepen," and instead of leaving you offered me a comforting shoulder. You've seen me at my best and held me during my worst, and your love remained a constant. I owe you alot. You trusted me with your plans since you believed in me that us together they will come to pass. With you, I've discovered the true companionship. It's not just about the grand gestures, but those everyday moments where we share dreams, fears, and laughter. Consider how you understand me without words, and how you support my aspirations with unshakable belief. You are not just my partner; you are my confidante, my biggest cheerleader, and that only person who sees a Champ in me even when the world whispers "Loser". As i continue this journey, With you by my side, I am confident that each upcoming page will be filled with love, growth, and shared adventures. I already cherish the chapters we are yet to write. Our love story, my favorite book.
??
XOXO
Truly yours.
-No copyright ©? reserved-Explicitly in the public domain.
BY Yousef Alfil.
I had never lead a good life
Grief and despair always followed me and eloped me in its tightening embrace
Surrounded in a storybook world, i was bound for the optimal role
The role to which my mother, my grandmother, my great-grandmother and all the greats after her endured
I was bound for the worst role of them all: the villain
Growing up, I followed all the rules I was given
And carried them on my shoulders like burdens
Heavy burdens
Heavy burdens that kept me tied and shackled and staring in the only reality I would ever know
When men saw me, they didn’t see degrees and hard work and value
They saw cheap meat dangling on a stick for them to devour
In high school, my smarts never mattered over the amount of cleavage I could show for an A +
In college, attending parties was just as dangerous as walking to class because the next misstep could result you drugged, injured, even dead
I have no crime rather than trying to live as a women in this world
With grace and integrity I have pushed past everything ainst and they still find ways to hold me back
To them I am defenseless, worthless, vulnerable
I have no crime but the jury still finds me guilty and I am a prisoner of my cruel horrible fate
And as I look in the book of the living
I have found all those women who have received condemnation
Cyntoia Brown, Sara Kruzan, Chrystal Kizer, Pieper Lewis, and my mother, and her mother, and all the women who came before them
But im tired for paying for the broken dishes of those who suffer from hero complex
They could only see how much sex I was good enough for or how tight my skirt could be
I am tired of living like a humanless villain as they take away my freedom
I am reclaiming back my freedom and rewritiing this story
Im taking the pen in my hand and erasing this narrative and write the words of strength and determination of who I am
Of who we are
And we are not backing down
You will hear us chanting on the streets and filling every room
Until you hear us
Because we were never villains of this tale
But if you so desperately want us too
Then beware because we will wreck your world until we fit in it
And create out storybook ending
ou’d think this was a poem of death,
since my death begins it, oddly enough,
though it all takes place in Heaven above,
after I’d gone to my eternal rest,
the weight of time and space now off my chest.
Remembered the hospital, then nothing,
until in a small town awakening,
amidst a green country, and rolling hills,
the air was sweet and fresh as my lungs filled,
quite confused as to what was happening.
The buildings were quaint, quite photogenic,
as if out of some nostalgic past age,
Like something seen on a storybook page,
set amidst verdant fields bucolic,
I suppose I should have felt some panic,
but instead there was just a quiet peace,
as if all my worries had been released.
I looked down and saw my body was young,
the wear of eighty-six years all undone,
as if all of the laws of nature had ceased.
As I got up, I saw people emerge,
looking curious as they came my way,
waited to hear what these figures might say,
and would I even understand their words?
Yet ever onwards these people did surge,
until one of them did say, “Who might you be?”
I just shrugged and said, “My name is Stanley.
Honestly, I don’t know how I got here,
but I think I must be dead, it appears…
This whole thing just seems very strange to me.”
Most of the people there just cocked their head,
looked at each other, wrapped in confusion,
like they didn’t know just where to begin,
until a young woman asked, “What is ‘dead?’”
At first I didn’t believe what she said,
Then a man in the front gave a great gasp,
cried, “Go find Philippe, and bring him hear fast!
I think this man might just be an earth-born,
I’ve never seen one appear here before!
And only Philippe is up to the task!”
I had no idea who this ‘Philippe’ was,
or why they said ‘earth-born’ like it was strange,
I could make no sense of this whole exchange,
why they all seemed so shocked by what they saw,
why they all looked at his with gaping jaws,
but somebody ran off, back through the town,
I moved to a bench where I could sit down,
the people just stood there, looked quite awe-struck
at little old me, a man of ill luck,
not exactly the type who’d been renowned.
CONTINUES IN PART II.
Millions of lives and souls untold
And to account it all
Words, lines, films
Imagination trims
A sliver of soft, scarlet ribbon
Hollywood rounds
Quills deliver
Writers flare with passion so strong
Filling minds with fantasies, reveries, histories
Tragedies
We consume it all like freshly baked bread
We feed until we are engorged and fed
A viral, universal mess
Ideas and unmade memories
Nothing more or less
My eyes remain glued to the screen
Living it all out
Tears dare to flow—to doubt
I should have thought of that
Can I truly let myself believe,
Someone else lived that!
Pound away your directors, script-writers, fighters
For miles and miles of stories remain unread
While the unknown remain in the grounds of humble malnourishment
Dead
Careers for the mind with a twist of the fable
Left us savage for the meal and the crumbs under the table
I can never let the raw truth rest
Naked, bare and empty—soothed
Nothing more or less
I cringed for originality
Observed the world through the unedited scripts
The very act, the poetry pact
The wild animal drooling in the back
I was slapped in the face by my boss who had cracked
As the reviews bloated less and less
They wanted something awful, something flaw-ful—something new
And this empty brain in agony—HISSED
I have lived in no epic battle of account
Of the collateral sufferings of my brothers
The stories the red carpet smothers
And still I ache to create
Before the other ones discover
I returned with ‘‘oh me’s’ and ‘oh my’s’’
With a work of pure genius—a storybook of lies
Nothing more or less
Little have I lacked to dream
Of contortioned pulls and dramatic fire
Stories that rarely brittle or tire
I fiddled with precious glass on edge
Foully eager for self-damage
As if it would trigger some legitimate spark
Searching for creatures and features in the dark
No one unlocked the passage that night
For the starving idea-parched malice of right
But all welcomed with open arms
A pale mannequin filled with jewels and charms
Consuming, fuming dooming
All ghosts hoping, screaming, looming
Hoping that one day they would find themselves on the big screen
Their legacy real as it can possibly get
Nothing more or less