Long Loom Poems
Long Loom Poems. Below are the most popular long Loom by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loom poems by poem length and keyword.
Hidden under crop circle
resembling an ampersand
hides sheathed silo - obscured,
said symbol adorned every armband
of national socialist, yet weapons
of mass destruction) bland
lee, blatantly ignored global pact
prepared from this once (bajillion
years ago) geologic bottomland
repurposed for a bomb bin able
(made in good ole US of A) brand
to release payload
upon given command
i.e. at moments notice,
the notorious brigand
usurped entire communications broadband
to stow and let loose by,
thee once upon a time pokey cowhand,
now chief of state tyrant,
sans military industrial complex edifice
where deadly warheads demand
did and trumpeted by "FAKE EVIL"
apprentice madly (ad libbing)
gesticulating, & expostulating to DISBAND
at once - to no effect
falling on deaf ears
as Doomsday Clock rhythmically
minutely gourmandises
cannibalizing entire webbed
world, whose former slender
(now stubby) baby grand
piano playing butter fingers
primed to press miniature
Taj Mahal shaped hand,...
(now a pause for infowars
commercial identification about Homeland
security threatened by migrant husband
and wife, especially terror unleashed
from baby, whose hood
loom doth not expand
much taller than kickstand),
Regular noteworthy poetic program resumes:
...but biological chattering multiplicand
the fiercest most critical operand
linkedin with scheme
asper deadly retaliatory reprimand
against leader of free world,
a hot headed note tory us
donning wig by handmaiden Shetland
knitwear, which Total Mortal Kombat
every man, woman and will soon understand!
KA-BOOM! Into a bajillion
(to the power of Googleplex)
goes civilization and discontents,
and since World War II
accursed with self destructive hex
hmm...mebbe terrestrial for
another species similar to T-Rex.
The Pond was drained,
revealing umpteen minnows;
they wriggle in the residual water
turning in silvered arabesques
choregraphed by a water-rippling wind.
Large ocean-going gulls descend out of a troubled sky,
they walk among the writhing small fry
pluck out the little fish
employing just the tip of their great beaks
as if sensible of the delicacy of such morsels.
Dark clouds loom foretelling a storm,
strange but the gulls do not fly off
to feast on Lake Erie’s plentiful bounty,
the linger here on this little pond
like diners at a buffet
skewering only these unseasoned sprats,
while squalls ferment the Great Lakes
and bigger fish fly freely
through the cresting waves.
?? "Storm After the Quiet"
The window rattles with the sudden gale,
The lightning flashes bright across the room,
I watch the branches toss, unsteady, frail.
The rain descends like nails upon the shale,
Dispelling silence, breaking winter gloom,
The window rattles with the sudden gale.
No distant stars this heavy dark unveil,
Only the thunder that seals every tomb,
I watch the branches toss, unsteady, frail.
A frightful, lonely sound begins to wail,
The wind pushes past the window’s loom,
The window rattles with the sudden gale.
I wrap myself within a warmer shawl,
Waiting for morning to reclaim the bloom,
I watch the branches toss, unsteady, frail.
Until the darkness ceases to prevail,
And daylight pushes back the midnight gloom,
The window rattles with the sudden gale,
I watch the branches toss, unsteady, frail.
The Loom of Life
By Franklin Price
01/23/2022
I can feel your presence near me
As I move from room to room
Further threads of life I'm weaving
On our still shared marriage loom
It's a lonely place without you
Though I see you all around
From the pictures hanging on the walls
To the plants within the ground
From the china in the cabinet
To the rugs upon the floor
Your touch exists here everywhere
You're still in my heart, and more
You're the one who made our house a home
A place of comfort in our life
Not even in a million years
Could I have found a better wife
From your window there in Heaven
Don't look down on me and cry
Memories of you make me happy
We'll be together by and by
Until then, I'll keep on weaving
For our family, friends and heirs
Weeping sometimes 'cause I miss you
I'm your husband who still cares
When I no longer work the loom
I'll meet you in the promised land
I'll love you 'til forever
The wedding band's still on my hand
The Voyage of Life: Childhood, painting, 1840, Thomas Cole
**********************************************************************************************************
The Voyage of Life: Childhood
A gentle dawn, a tender hue,
Where innocence begins anew.
The river flows, a silver gleam,
A baby born within a dream.
The small boat sets out from a cave,
Symbol of man`s source, from earth brave,
And streams down in a weather fair
Amidst greens under divine stare.
The boat`s prow holding an hour glass
Marks dawn of life and how time pass
In the voyage of human life,
As in diverse phases man strives.
At first, a lush shore, a bright start,
Delights the tranquil, happy heart;
With eager eyes, he gazes wide,
Where future currents softly glide.
The world unfolds, a vibrant scene,
A tapestry not ever seen,
Each flower bud, each hissing breeze,
A symphony amidst the trees.
No heavy thought, no weary sigh,
Beneath the vast and azure sky;
The babe floats on, with spirits light,
Bathed in the sun's pure, golden light.
He laughs and plays, without a doubt,
As life's unfolding paths branch out.
A nascent spirit, brave and bold,
A story waiting to be told.
The gentle slope, the banks so green,
The fairest sight he's ever seen,
He trusts the stream, its steady pull,
His little world so beautiful.
No shadows loom, no darkened fear,
Just all that's lovely, holding dear,
The child's pure gaze, so clear and true,
Reflects the skies of azure blue.
The journey starts, a quiet grace,
On this serene, watery space
A time of dreaming, pure and free,
In a parental modest lee.
His heart a bud, about to bloom,
Dispels any whisper of gloom,
He sails along, with gentle sway,
Towards the promise of the day.
The river's song, a lullaby,
Beneath a vast and watchful eye,
The childhood phase, a fleeting art,
Engraved forever in the heart.
Speaking quite frankly, I must say,
The burden of time grows heavier each day.
Reason stares cruelly, but I can only view blankly.
Growing angrier, shortsighted, and cranky.
In the past three hundred and sixty-five days,
Each moment seems to bestow the weight that stays.
Tasks pile up, deadlines loom,
Tick-tock of the clock as impending doom.
Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months,
And before I realize it, another year confronts.
I cannot escape it, no matter how I try.
The burden of time only multiplies.
My youth is long gone, never to return.
Anile age creeps in, and I start to yearn.
For the days when time seemed to fly by,
When life was simple, I didn't need to try.
But now, with each passing moment, I feel the strain.
The weight of my responsibilities drives me insane.
He stood tall and strong
A rock where someone could rest
A place of solace and contemplation
After a lengthy, trying test
...then, he fell
She was absolutely perfect
The picture of peace and shelter
Circumstances rose and fell
At the fire of God that seemed to melt her
...then, she fell
A leader that commanded attention
When he walked in any room
He balanced politics and religion
Like a weaver handles the loom
...then, he was no more
An inspiration to all in a world of despair
She brought food, clothing, shelter to the poor
She loved on orphan children and vagrants
Like Jesus, opening giant ornate doors
...then, she was no more
Funny how TRUTH ruins everything in her wake
The uncovering of what was held dear
Shows the worshiper that isolation
Is that best way to hold fear, near
...until, we are all human
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-02-2026.3
I Am That I Am
The architecture of the flesh
may fail,
The skin unstitched, a frayed
and fragile veil,
Where silver staples close the
crimson seam,
And hold the borders of a
fractured dream.
We sit within the sterile, quiet
room,
Where shadows stretch and
heavy doubts loom,
Measuring life in sips of clear-lit
glass,
Waiting for the wilderness to
pass.
Yet in this crucible of ache and
bone,
A sovereign sanctuary is made
known.
I am the anchor in the shifting
deep,
The vigil kept while weary
angels sleep.
I am the breath that steadies
through the dark,
The sudden, iridescent, blinding
spark,
That turns a ruin to a holy space,
And paints a window on a
broken face.
No longer tethered to the grief
we hold,
Nor to the phantom weight of
old despair,
I am the vastness where the
storm dissolves,
The axis where the wheeling
world revolves.
Unmade by time, untouched by
mortal scar,
I am the light, the lantern, and
the star-
The timeless current flowing
deep within,
Where endings fade, and all true
things begin.
Soft squish of boots,
gurgling footprints following
a plodding tread.
The riverbed speaks
as it enters the mud
writes also, a drainage of rivulets
cursively signs the rivers name
over and over again.
As my dark form appears
sleepy herons wing-beat air
What am I doing here,
here where twilight shades loom
so damp and charcoal gray?
Yesterday, rowing a boat
a liquid sunlight upon the water,
seeing this nook of land,
the way it was so like an aperture,
a place emerging and opening
a piece of hinterland
where a person could walk
on its melding surface.
At this darkening hour
walking to where a skiff was yesterday
looking out from this small inlet
only to spy another opening,
an elemental herons dreamscape
not noticed before.
all the beauty and wonder
a vision of dreams
a natural spectacular
slipped through a seam
making smiles for miles
you lit up our days
as your voice rang out
souls lost were saved
your anger is deep
at the harshness of life
I’ve seen crying for days
for a strangers plight
a heart on a platter
is what you give out
at injustice your rage
cant be sold for a shout
I have cried with laughter
at the oddest times
on a rainy night
at the witching line
I have watched you create
a scripture of hours
I watch as your smile
adorned the wildflowers
I could cry for the pain
that’s burning my heart
I could rage at the night
while I rip it apart
But I push that aside
for the love that I feel
couldn’t be stronger
or anymore real
your a flower on my moon
a star in my night sky
I sit here and wonder
will I let my heart cry
the tribute you’ve given
I send back to you
for the butterfly days
and the wildflowers too
at the ebb of the tide
as light hits the moon
flowers are dancing
as spring threads your loom
all the beauty and wonder
of a walking dream
the moonbeams are quiet
as she slips through a stream
Namaste