Long Lookers Poems
Long Lookers Poems. Below are the most popular long Lookers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lookers poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep breathing walkers
stretch across the blue grass of early day.
The park is a Florida basin under river roots.
A native cracker jammed down in a no-name Ford
listens to a country station that’s mega-nasal,
tin-star shaped and boozy.
Alligators break the dark circular water,
try again to feed on egrets,
as usual the birds are too strong to be plucked.
Later on, a guy with a big belly and low belt
will grandstand for the daily on-lookers
while throwing chickens at them.
This early I am just down in the mouth,
still surfacing.
Restless night and my legs got jailed
by lidless dreams. Now the back of my neck
tingles as old sweat refries itself.
I’m here taking the soft wet breeze
making out with a cold one inside a soda bottle
waiting for the man
who will show-up like a pond swimmer,
weed clinging to his billowing tactical shorts.
Only I and Frick and Frack over there
supposedly walking and talking
see that the park is all too clear-cut
and faking it.
When the ankle-deep mist rises,
it will be certain that we are waiting for some,
and another much cooler tomorrow.
What would sly look like
would there be any foxiness
and the
what image brought to mind
a million clones
with black tie and white shirts
over used and unpretentious
would unused words
believe they are better
than the rest
Exquisite a diamond wall
that magnifies
exploding stars
as easy
lies back in oversized loungers
Enigma in a crowd frustrated
as it tries to explain itself
Love surrounded
has a sign around its neck
please no questions
Fear backed into a corner
startled
by surprise as he bashes
through the door
Life and death
share a joke
as on lookers
try to avoid there gaze
As and ifs
Ats and is's
Gather in a pack
Dream looks around the room
unsure its even there
Hope waits patiently at the door
Sentence starts a conga
as words take there place
And poem sees its face
How dare you spit upon his garb!
This peaceful bredda who by nature only loves,
When you should have been his Rasta queen
Your ghastly behaviour drew a scene
And I- woman just like you
Hang my head in shame
As you defile our name.
Selassie-I know seh di Rasta man took a deep breath
To honour his philosophy,
But like a lamb to the slaughter,
he was reduced
In front of the whole community.
He sought calm in his Rasta chant
Swallowed his pride,
Turned the next cheek, and with human dignity.
Yet that pouncing Jezebel
Delilah,
Demon picknie,
Shameless femininity
Minimized her king,
Cared nothing that he is masculine.
She is no empress
and certainly not a Ital-dawtah!
She mocked and cursed him
Bullied him and sullied his character.
Vilified him as the on-lookers magnified
Scorned, mistreated and humiliated.
But when upon each other their backs were turned
The fury in the lion roared
And in that moment, he went against his Rasta chant
And knocked her out flat on her face.
I won’t apologize for feeling appeased
For you are a disgrace to the female race!
It was always you
By Michelle Morris
17/12/2025
Did you ever watch a movie
And see the hero before he knows it?
He tries and fails and keeps trying
Gets up each time he falls
Resists dying
Keeps fighting
Keeps moving
Keeps learning
Keeps proving
Keeps racing
Keeps pacing
Keeps rising
Keeps striving
Keeps growing
Keeps changing
Until he knows it
Because it's a journey
It's a quest we have to take
You leave comfort and knowing
You embrace pain and growing
You might think you're failing
You keep struggling but hoping
You hold on to your faith
You feel like your fingernails will break
But you f* do it
You keep on doing it
You pray and you curse
You scream and you hurt
But you keep on
Because you have a will
You have a purpose
You have a goal
Your dream pushes you
It has to because no one else will
Those people on the sidelines
Forget them because they are lookers
They're not doers
They don't understand it
They don't have courage
They don't know purpose
They don't have passion
They are happy with their unhappiness
They are content to be nothing
They are content to feel nothing
But we are not here for contentment
We are here to strive and to thrive
We are here to build legacies
Legacies that remain as beacons
Beacons of hope
Beacons of light
Beacons of faith
Beacons of right
And even if you're in it
And you don't know it yet
You're the hero
It was always you
Don't forget it
Don't regret it
Don't stop trying
Don't stop striving
You're the hero
It was always you
One day you'll see it
One day you'll know
© Michelle Morris, 2025
The scents of cherry blossoms start to fill the air. I see dainty petals hanging like precious jewels whilst over them are on-lookers clouds of white. I stop and pause a while to watch them caress like lovers in a sacred rendezvous. My heart melts as~
cotton clouds descend
to kiss pearly pink blossoms
in celestial tryst
25 March 2021
For Springtime Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by M. L. Kiser
Notes: I took this photo ( Live/ no filter) yesterday while I was strolling beside a park in Busan, South Korea. It inspired me to write this first Haibun.
We were both operating together,
vibrating at an oscillating frequency -
short-band radio signals reaching
no greater than brief steps away.
It was love, but it was also that infinitesimally
narrow gap between heaven and hell.
A bulbous red on/off button,
the size of a large tomato or small planet,
kept our brains alert
to any nuclear explosions
that might otherwise have destroyed
those thin strings of real intimacy we could
have accidently blundered into.
In the end, slips of the tongue
led to neither truth nor lies,
only figures of speech.
Friends and on-lookers
watched as we turned off
all the early warning signs, one by one -
then to no one's great surprise,
we were done.
we knew at dusk that the day of the dead was officially on fire
a skeleton couple rose up from two different pyres
the audience was startled in place as they began to dance
they were soon surrounded by lookers, Old Emma and Lance
They had been married over sixty-two years, one onlooker said
It was a fine evening to watch them, on the Day of the Dead
They did the tango, the Watutsi, and a chicken dance too
Their keen dancing did not stop until a quarter after two
They were best friends in life, we knew they’d be back
This was said by Lance’s best man, he called himself Mack
My wife is gone too, but she does not dance any more.
We felt sorry for him, we could see he was sad at his core.
(Lesley Ann Down was an actress in
the Golden Age of live TV drama.)
We live in an age of midgets.
There are no seers now, only lookers,
no values left, apart from digits.
Cash is the hook, and we’re all hookers,
no Carmen Joneses, only Bridgets.
Did you have to learn the equation
(“have to”? – what an odd suggestion!)
which represents acceleration?
It’s printed now, beside the question.
No gravity, just gravitation.
Subtitle writers, now, can’t spell,
and language teachers know no grammar.
When banks are hiring tellers, well,
in Alabaster, Alabama,
they sing aloud, “You Never Can Tell”.
Let’s get somewhat more sarcastic.
Our carpenters just never get wood.
Today our craftsmen just squirt mastic,
then, as any moron could,
they clip on bits of precut plastic.
We’ve got police (I like this best!)
who, far from being Texas Rangers,
have never passed exams or tests,
and can’t, by law, face any dangers,
or run rash risks, like make arrests.
No Richard Rodgers, Buddy Holly,
no more Stoller (as in Lieber),
but ‘tis the season to be jolly –
after all, there’s Justin Bieber!
Hence, loathéd melancholy!
It’s so much chaos in the
world and folk are just mad.
When that happens all hell
breaks loose.
Then on lookers say, why
are they so mad and angry?
Is there a reason for such
madness?
In most case, you're Darn
right.
Being mad is not the culprit,
what one “does” in anger is.
Get mad at injustices of the
world and start a revolution.
Don't sit and stew on it and let
it become something vicious.
When that happens it's like
poison in your veins.
We must not let “our” valid
reason to be mad or angry
cause us to do something
foolish.
Let anger influence you to
to do something good for the
betterment of us all.
3-16-19
Alexis Y.
I've just given birth to my calf,
My cute little baby giraffe.
He fell to the ground
With a gushing sound;
Nearby were on-lookers and staff.
I must say that I'm very proud!
So giddy, I could laugh aloud.
To see how he tries
A plan to soon rise-
With trying, then falling, he plowed!
Half-hour had gone by, then success,
The clapping applauded his stress.
So wobbly, but fine-
A great thumbs-up sign!
My calf, I bent down to caress.
The humans who cheered at the zoo
For my baby boy who came through
So quickly to stand-
From this- are they banned?
Not standing for months is cuckoo!