Long Unrolled Poems
Long Unrolled Poems. Below are the most popular long Unrolled by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unrolled poems by poem length and keyword.
The essence of wit is brevity
which interestingly evinces chivalry
delivered verdict to hex hoar size
(once and for all) president
dons mantle of deviltry
and trumps constitutional credo
defining American elementary
particular edicts denoting, enshrining,
framing, grand honorable inalienable rights
when foolhardy lobbyists prevail
evicting execrable“enemy”
i.e. forward thinking (progressively liberal)
which subsequently might help
timid citizens to invoke probate, procure, produce cojones
in opposition against rabidly power hungry,
misogynistic courting among the body politik
fostering future feverish fortuity,
toward risking life and limb sans
Uncle Sam selfless gratuity
(especially as Benjamin Button syndrome –
reverses aging process
acquired thru heredity
gets in full swing) stamping mindset
nonestablishmentarian identity
with my Kosher blessing despite any infamy
permission to go ahead with jocularity
from a superstar coach named Kennedy
thereby garnering homespun liberty
where icon bank on direct
laudable, linkedin longevity
with unrolled Scottish grandeur
(Pomp and Circumstance broadcast)
synchronized with precise
unrolled welcome mat
yule receive granted “FAKE” feted soiree
as curtain call doth close toward
final decade of mortality
yet dismiss bing hash-tagged
a scofflaw at any opportunity
especially if legislated mandate
earmarked as priority
in tandem with the key quality
apothegm stipulates decrease sing sanity
as the hands of father time
spin (Doktor Dude Little) backward
away from present day turbidity
increasing revanchism uber victory.
AUTUMN'S AUBURN RUSTIC DUST
When with closed eyes in Autumn's eves of gold,
She breathes in the blades of orange-yellow,
Looking for that 'something' called auburn rust,
Halting mid suntanned trees hundred years old..
Who is like her, amiable yet bold?
Tenderly she walks on slivers of brown,
Silently searching through caramel paths,
Out there with the rustling leaves hundredfold..
What in the crimson world does she behold?
Slowly, she slows her slow sleepy saunter,
Carbuncle foliage unveils her face -
Jocund with an extra mile smile unrolled..
Wherefore does it shower russet-brown mould?
See, she has found her Autumn dust mellow,
Yippee! How she jumps now with joy untold!
03/16/2020
Lines to Awaken Your Muse 2 Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
Line 4: When with closed eyes in autumn's eves of gold
There's a story id like to tell,
about a strong and brave marine,
a man to be called a true hero,
for all hes been through and seen.
You see this marine was far from home,
serving his country, and fighting with pride,
doing a job only a few can do,
with those very few by his side.
One day he set out,
on a mission that's better left untold,
this marine couldn't have seen it coming,
as a series of events unrolled.
This marine was severly wounded,
and now has to live with the scars of war,
but even though he has a long road ahead,
he'll always remember what he was fighting for.
In honor of this marine,
who did more than his part,
we salute, and thank you,
with the purple heart.
The sky ironed out n da' morning divine
On a November day cold
Celestial rainbows born of peeping sunshine
Cloud dreams rush past unrolled
Under the bare leafless trees
Masqueraded hard to see
A bird lands on a branch'y trapeze
Whilst' a gusting humming bird laughs elusively
Yet in that moment prevue
A sparkle of butterflies at glance
Capturing shades of yellow and warm blue
As treetops sway to the wind of dance
A secret life in the windy air
Sultry skies in hues of grey and white
At the moment birds n' butterflies scare
The whole time sky cracking in sight
Pleading in chilly branches above
Whilst autumn boom rumble laughs merrily
Birds n' butterflies lying determinedly in love
O' plunder n' thunder strike with golden symphony
Autumn now sways in aquamarine streaks
Spreading opulently past the stars
As the night revolves the sound of birdland shrieks
End of rainbow, yonder far
dark
heavy
clouds
unrolled
and dampened
the dry
earth.
Slowly,
from behind
the cloud curtains,
with jetting
rays the
sun
came out
and brushed a
jazzy
arc
in the
sky.
Waltz Wave Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kim Merryman
Syllable count: 1,2,1,2,3,2,1,2,3,4,3,2,1,2,3,2,1,2,1.
Date: 10-06-2021
Placed : 1st
Conquistadors in Vera Cruz
found themselves a radical ruse.
If pillaging was muy, muy lento,
they just whipped out Requerimiento.
Composed in fifteen seventeen,
this document was ultra-mean.
It won more scraps than Robert E. Lee,
was deadlier than DDT.
Suppose you met an Aztec mob
that wasn’t happy to be robbed,
and far from handing on a platter
its gold and silver, wives and daughters,
was minded to contest the matter,
Requerimiento got unrolled.
In legal Latin, gooks were told
with lots of quid and quod and quaem,
exactly what was sought of them.
The royal writ was read aloud
to help the puzzled Aztec crowd.
So none may later look askance,
the dinks got every sporting chance.
All the Aztecs had to do
(clause forty-nine of section two)
was pay the pope an agent's fee,
accept infallibility,
and send some gold to line his coffers.
Who could baulk at such an offer?
Clause fifty-eight – the Spanish king
must get his cut of Aztec bling.
They’re hazy over “king” and “Spain”?
We’ll have long decades to explain.
They don’t respond? It simply means
we blow them all to smithereens.
The finer points can wait till later.
Non-compliance means they’re traitors.
We read the thing, so now we’re free
of all responsibility
for theft or damage, flood or fire,
and if perchance it should transpire
that they don’t dig what’s going down,
why, take it up with Cross and Crown.
Thank God it’s not like that today.
Before we step into the fray,
we tell them they’re a “conflict zone”,
and send in laser-guided drones.
If they accept their crude religion
is now a dead and pointless pigeon,
and take divorce and teenage moms,
then we won’t use our cluster bombs.
There’s other stuff here, on our list –
like Coca-Cola, lobbyists,
The Dukes of Hazzard, John McCain,
obesity and acid rain …
at least we don’t do like before,
and sell them, as we wade ashore
to occupy their ancient land
some junk they’ll never understand.
I write to you, dear Miss Muffet,
who once sat upon a tuffet.
It was sixty long years ago,
when your story, then, was told.
Unfortunate details would unfold
as a spider's yarn unrolled,
if you don't mind my saying so.
It's sad to know you were afraid,
on that tuffet seat where you stayed.
When I was just a child -
and you were a child (like Annebel Lee)
and for three score years it's seemed to me
that you and I were meant to be,
had fate upon me smiled.
Six decades I've had to rough it,
wondering what is a tuffet,
and wishing things went better.
While dreaming of your rose-cheeked face,
I've not heard from you a trace.
Your memory I can't erase,
so, I'm sending you this letter.
It's here that I must confess,
my ardor, I can't suppress.
In the tub, I saw you,
with a thousand adoring eyes.
I was on your boat that did capsize,
as you would not hear my cries.
Can't you ever love me too?
I'm supposing the question begs,
is it wrong to have so many legs?
I could be a good provider.
How I would love to slowly trace
the outlines of your silky lace.
Could you be open and embrace,
someone of the arachnid race?
Awaiting your reply from my ceiling place,
yours, lovingly, "A Spider".
Ohio is right here, and the rattling gold of
earth-born corn is here.
All over creation the sky is wide open
and the green and yellow stalks are swaying
right here.
Here the wind-songs are rough and ready,
yet they are as holy as any prayer.
Over there a stand of trees
where the olive frocks of summer
sway and shimmy.
The mud and dirt here is as good as any,
all just as rich as anywhere else
and the grubbing creatures in and upon it
are our wealth
These fetched-up farm fields
are sure-enough an atlas,
the roots of heaven rise below us,
time delves and sprouts here,
the sky descends to till the soil.
This is the land beyond the great river,
the sun nests here, and the stars appear
reflected in up-turned eyes.
We are the unrolled map, we are rural Ohio,
come walk over the world here,
rest on a wayside bench, linger long
or stay - right here.
Wistful yearning for an air of trustfulness
Zeus' libido was famed for its lustfulness.
Who saved thugs till all wits were withdrawn?
No farmer ever wiped dew off the lawn.
Nor is tyranny feared or known as grim.
It was a depressing one overall, and dim.
To his love-stricken spirit and melancholy.
He repents of the acts and admits his folly.
Spread the aroma of a worm-eaten shroud.
Unrolled, it breaks or oils shreds in a cloud.
Depression is feared across the nation.
I crave your love; this is my correlation.
Tell me I love you if my mood is gloomy.
I'll be distraught, yet carry that light to me.
With vile lying, you preyed on our feelings.
I'm not retaining them back—it's stealing.
Written: May 22, 2023
( Not For Any Contest)
I left my home, the world to roam
it’s been now twelve years gone.
From a boy to a man
was a dreadful short span,
as I journeyed to valleys beyond.
Now the king, he has spoken
and battle has broken,
I’m wise to the ways of the world.
Long on the sword,
as we seek our reward,
to see our flag unfurled…
Sailed by starry dark of night,
our longships cross the sea.
Where a hundred headless horsemen
guard the gates of Galilee.
Each dawn’s a daily dance of death,
through battle smoke like dragon’s breath.
With echo axe to armor chink,
each onslaught we rebuffed.
You can invite the devil for a drink
…if you think you’re man enough.
Heavy’s the head that wears the crown,
when the blood of brothers’ beckons.
Weak is the sword, as it lies on the ground.
If there’s a will, there’s a way,
there are weapons.
But once the battle has ended
and our journeys’ been made,
there’ll be air in my lungs,
and blood on my blade.
As was foretold, our flag was unrolled
in the past… now once again!
Vikings prevail, each time we sail,
in the age of wooden ships
… and iron men.
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