Long Loomed Poems
Long Loomed Poems. Below are the most popular long Loomed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loomed poems by poem length and keyword.
The cemetery was fresh and vivid green
when we took our bikes down the paths of it -
past stones and trees and mausoleums and grass as far as we could see,
carefree on that muggy summer afternoon,
perspiration glistening on our arms and on our faces
as we sought to stay on the shady side of each well-traveled lane.
Instinctively we followed Dale, our older red-haired fun-loving brother,
turning here and there; it didn’t matter. We had no destination,
no gravesites of friends or relatives to visit.
Sometimes we would spot an interesting tombstone,
jump off our bikes and take a closer look at it.
We were just kids, out of school for summer with no real obligations.
Our lives were a clean slate, not like the worn and broken headstones
we spotted sometimes on the cemetery’s edge, the older area’s grave stones
whose names were hard to read and dates went as far back as the 1800’s.
Those were emblems of an ancient past for us.
It was 1965! We were the modern generation and the future loomed
as large for us
as those many squared city blocks the cemetery measured.
Flash forward two decades to 1984. I was married with two small kids
and back in my hometown; things around me seeming so much smaller,
and the future loomed not quite so large ahead of me this time.
Most of my sisters were married but leading separate lives in different states.
We all had pressing obligations, so our reunion could not be a long one.
No longer were my sisters and I carefree, and we were not riding bikes.
We rode in cars that followed one another in a line;
the cemetery was cold and dismal grey that December day
as we gathered around the unearthed sod,
staring, unbelieving, into the giant hole that was to be the final resting place
for the brother whom we’d once followed so gleefully
along the shady paths of vivid green
Sitting in his favourite cafe
Latte in hand
Engrossed in the words
In his familiar newspaper land
Startled by a loud rumble
Dark clouds loomed above
The heavens suddenly opened
His thoughts turned to his true love
She was a free spirit
He was conservative
Their differences worked beautifully
Compromise and consideration being the alternative
She loved the rain and how it made her feel
She was at one with the rain
She showed him how to embrace it
He never viewed the rain the same
A lifetime together walking in the rain
Playful they laughed and danced
They swam in the wild raw ocean
A time of precious love and romance
He achingly missed her
Though felt blessed to have had those years
She was and will always be his one and only
His memories welled his eyes with tears
Jolted back to reality
Composed once again
With a smile and a happy heart
He stepped out into the pouring rain
"Humor can alter any situation and help us cope at the very instant we are laughing." –Allen Klein
A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOR BLUNTS THE SHARP BLADES OF REALITY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I lay on the table, a modern-day sacrificial lamb,
pillow cradling my head, a fortress of foam and fabric.
Then came Velcro, the sticky embrace of a high-tech straitjacket,
my legs and wrists secured like a reluctant burrito.
Into the tube I slid, a terrified astronaut on a mission,
the ceiling loomed, a metallic sky, almost kissing my nose.
I clenched my hands until they turned white pondering
“Is this what it feels like to be a sardine in a can?
The sounds began, a symphony of whirs and clicks,
the MRI’s own version of a pop concert—
I imagined it had a fan club, “Team Tube,” with its own T-shirts
while I lay there, a star in a very narrow universe.
I tried counting, “one, two, three.” But sigh…
my thoughts were spinning like socks in a dryer.
I imagined bystanders strolling by, pointing and staring.
“Behold! Look at the sweating patient in the tube!”
The minutes crawled, like a snail on a treadmill.
“Perhaps I should have brought snacks
or at least a good book.” But alas, I was tethered,
a captive audience to my own claustrophobic anxiety.
So I lay still, the sounds swirling,
I chuckled softly, because if this is life,
then I might as well enjoy the ride,
even if it’s a little cramped and a little weird.
After all, who needs a spa day when you can have an MRI,
a slow, relaxing rollercoaster ride into the belly of the beast.
Oh, the absurdity of my situation, and the irony of it all—
Here I was, a human pretzel, searching for sanity inside the MRI.
Then, suddenly, the whirring ceased, the ceiling pulled back.
I emerged, a superhero in a hospital gown,
Velcro stripped away, ready to conquer the world
with a newfound appreciation for open spaces.
Poem written for “A Good Sense Of Humor Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality Poetry Contest,” Natasha L. Scragg, sponsor, July 29, 2025.
The night was perfect
on this unsinkable boat
as the man in the crow’s nest
kept watch.
He fumbled to find
his binoculars,
but they were gone.
“It’s okay,” he said,
vowing he’d do
the best that he could.
The vessel sailed,
The Atlantic
dark as the sky;
the waning crescent moon
had already set.
The surface of the water
was as smooth as a mirror,
and as he blinked his eyes
he envisioned couples dancing
in opulence below deck.
Some mate had told him,
they’d make the crossing
in record time.
He thought of his wife and children
waiting back home,
thinking once he’d make shore
he’d wire them to say
it was a glorious journey, indeed.
Until something loomed ahead
like a ghost.
He squinted and squinted
to see what it could be.
He thought that it could be
something or nothing;
the mate had told him
the waters were clear,
but when he notified
the captain,
it was too late.
He and 1500 others died
that April night,
but some lived
to tell the tale.
Three nights later
the stars shone on his grave
on the shores of Newfoundland.
Across the aisle, a chasm loomed,
Reagan smiled, O’Neill boomed.
The Gipper’s charm, the Speaker’s grit—
Two titans clashed but never quit.
Ideals at war—left against right,
Taxes and spending, day and night.
Yet through the storm, respect held fast,
A bridge of trust, built to last.
Barbs and backslaps, sharp yet kind,
Irish fire, Hollywood's shine.
Deals in smoke, with laughter's ring,
A gentler time, when truth could sing.
For common good, they found a way
To heal the rifts and clear the fray.
Through fiery words and firm debate,
They shaped the nation’s course and fate.
So raise a glass, let lessons soar:
To Reagan’s wit, Tip’s Irish roar.
May leaders learn from their accord—
In compromise lies our reward.
Road work had been finished
for the winter on an asphalt strip
north of town near a nature preserve.
I said good-bye to the hotel owner
and he invited me back
although the town was a lifetime away
from my home. We shook hands.
The town wore its history well
with a façade of an old west town
complete with a jail and post office
on its main street, as if it wanted
to live that life again.
Picture postcards were sold in a drug store
to be packed away and taken home.
Gates of fences aligning themselves
on either side of a highway
spoke of the last cattle drive.
I realized this was the west
where cowboys lived and died.
Reflections stirred of how we gave of our lives
for our dreams and for the ones we loved.
Hasn’t it always been this way?
Sandhills loomed to my side as I drove
on a two-lane east to another town
where I could see another historic site
then get onto the interstate and drive
to the next assignment.
The sky above the open land was an ocean
as I drove east toward the sun.
It loomed dark inside so I ventured out.
The snowstorm left us powerless.
I can barely lift my shovel in protest
As the bobcat steamrolls ahead.
Stop trudging over my work!
But the driver could care less.
He is paid an hourly rate.
My daughter thinks he is cool,
Or his vehicle is,
The yellow throne upon which he
Reigns, above it all.
Mighty, and high,
Traversing ice and branches and
Frozen feelings.
He plows through moments frosted over,
Ones I cannot retrieve
No matter how hard I dig in.
I pick through the remnants of the damage exacted.
I claw at what melts...
And come up with this.
In my urban habitat,
On a bridge’s ramp,
Heard a noise like rat-a-tat,
Giving me a cramp.
Taxi driver passed my way,
Pointing to my wheel;
Couldn’t hear, with traffic’s fray,
What miles would soon reveal.
Soon I felt familiar thumps –
Oh no! My tire is flat!
Riding over highway bumps
Tempts rubber to go splat.
Slowly rolled to a garage
Where they made a switch.
Gratitude in me loomed large,
But isn’t life a *****?
Just in case we think it’s not,
There’s plenty to remind us
That even days that hit the spot
Hide havoc, which will find us.
Could have been a whole lot worse
If fate did so conspire;
Still, my day became adverse
When I blew out my tire.
How innocent can we begin?
How icy cold can we get?
Thousands of miles away
Yet my story remained static
As I lit a fire up in the night
I set fire to my foes
A true monster hunter
With a heavy load to bear
And as we fell deeper into despair
And grew stronger as a team
I reached out for a sign
That never came to be
I left my teenage years behind me
And emerged lonelier than I'd ever been
The world began to slow
And the end loomed near
The guillotine fell
And severed all we believed in
I gripped onto the idea of hope
Though the rope sliced into my hand
The world slowed down
As I watched my past repeat
You flew across the country
As disease claimed my friend
The summer sun shone eternal
As we embraced the time we had
Cool waves against warm air
As we burnt ourselves against each other
I took my first steps in a strange land
The nights were lonelier than ever before
The days passed completely alone
And I found solace in an old habit
Summer's last onslaught of heat
Drenched my clothes as I carved my path
A sea of wyverns cast its waves upon my shore
And I let my socks get soaked
I severed my past for a new future
I'd truly thought it was correct
I lost out to lust one last time
Before I let the reaper make his call
As regret washed over my sands
I chose to fight the best I could
But the world of autumn colors before me
Fell victim to complete gray in time
I'm spiraling through turbulent winds
And stealing each moment I can in the candlelight
I'm clamoring to rebuild what I destroyed
In the hopes that an answer will become clear
she was taken by surprise as she reached a pinnacle of confusion
rather used to hitting the wall this time a mirror blocked her way
‘back to square one’ it seemed to suggest but edgy as she was
it mocked her because she was used to running in skewed circles
whenever an obstacle loomed and there were too many to brace for
‘surely a curved ball reflection’ with magnification and highlights
of the hardship and irritation that had followed her many shadows
‘multiple personalities’ they said but she preferred creative contempt
had struggled with lateral thinking but decided to look at the frame
to halt for a moment from restlessness and in built deconstruction
something began to shift and teased her to inspect the hidden rabbet
bevelled surrounds might level her attempts to crash again in terror
although anger and paranoia had always been perversely comforting
and she was aware of the dangers of rising to futile levels of hope
curious with nothing to loose though she gathered a last bit of courage
tools of efforts were blunt and rusty she had been screwed for too long
and no stretch of imagination could have prepared her the surprise
at first she thought that she had stumbled on a safe full of treasures
a pot of gold maybe or ancient charted conveyance of how to proceed
instead she walked through a secret passage and never looked back
08th August 2020