Long Unsewn Poems

Long Unsewn Poems. Below are the most popular long Unsewn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Unsewn poems by poem length and keyword.


Empty Baby

What sort of life
Is taken away
Without a word
Without a say

From a life unknown
Unsewn to her side
Just left to slide
Into an unknown tomb

Ripped from the womb
That lies empty
Surrounded by plenty
Of long, happy lives

So we strive
To burn our hurt, our rage
Turn over another page
And move on from the grief

Spilt out from that brief
Elapse of time
But I don’t feel fine,
Or know how to remember

How to dismember
This event from my mind
And I yearn to find
A memory to create

And abate
These feelings that I’ve left you alone
On your own
With no love surrounding you

No future to renew
No reality born
Just torn
From our empty lives

I’m so sorry (I will never forget you)
Form: Rhyme


Depression's Attire

Depression is a coat I wear constantly now
It used to hang in the closet now and then
I’d take it out to see if it fits and put it back
Its drab colors are enticing when I’m bare
I’d take it off misbelieving I still could 
It was too costly to wear all the time
After what I’ve been through the size fits
Now, I can’t make the coat unzip 

I see others in the spotlight strutting bare
With a coat on I swelter in joy’s lamp
I used to say just in case it pours inside
Then I'd run to the closet like a model
But, it's now knitted in skin in any weather
Now I know I'll wear it for my open casket
Its corduroy will no longer shroud my joys
Its diagnosis will be unsewn then

Even with no rain, I am bundled up
The soggy jacket knows me too well 
It has stitched itself into my persona 
It repels me from happiness at times
With no choice, I’ll act presentable
It never disappoints despite catcalls
That coat that never falls on the runway
So, I’ll make depression a fashion show
Form: Persona

Aurum Cointreau

Euphoric in some strange delight
I just want to be yours alone
Under aurum cointreau twilight

You shine through my sull eyes, leadlight
For you, my sin, I pray, atone
Euphoric in some strange delight

Claim my soul with willing foreright
Devour me all, skin and bone
Under aurum cointreau twilight

Taste my ill tears and heal my blight
Carmine covenant, song I drone
Euphoric in some strange delight

Your lips of saccharine starlight
Drink scarlet of my heart unsewn
Under aurum cointreau twilight

Kiss me beneath milky moonlight
Just tell me that I’m yours alone
Euphoric in some strange delight
Under aurum cointreau twilight

Premium Member Collecting Dimes

In one day, I will be ready
to tackle what needs attention:
the unfinished projects,
the unsewn socks
my son gave
to me

In twelve hours, I will be ready
to write the symphony
that will make you
stop and look
at me

In six hours, I will weed the garden
of what is stronger than me,
whether it deserves to grow,
or not

I was here first!

I cannot compete,
so, I will tap dance
and look lovely
for those still watching
in the back rows

I found myself
in the forgotten shadows
of America

Listen!
I'm still here!

Even the stars tick in time

In three hours, I hope less,
the words will freeze her letters,
her letters will melt her lines,
her lines will spill over
into puddles

I am still collecting dimes
© CC Bloom  Create an image from this poem.

Premium Member A Memory of Reminiscing In the Sewing Room

Sewing machine long idle, gathered dust
inside the room my sister liked the best.
Old fabric pieces lay where they’d been left.
I let my hand upon soft velvet rest.

I lit a candle like she used to do
nights of our youth when she’d gone there to keep
her mind off her young groom who’d gone to war
and not returned. Sometimes I’d hear her weep.

The war years seemed like only yesterday
when mother , then my sister, passed away.
All those years she’d sewn for pay, heart-broken!
She’d chosen  - with our mom - alone to stay.

My fingers lingered on the velvet meant
to have been worn by her so as to spark
romance with her  lost love. Unsewn it lay.
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.

April 28, 2018 for Viv Wigley's  One nine and sixteen poetry contest
(total fiction except I have a sister who loved to sew!)
Form: Quatrain


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