Long Looms Poems
Long Looms Poems. Below are the most popular long Looms by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Looms poems by poem length and keyword.
Red rooster too late, heralds dawn done.
"Cock, a doodle do" is too late. Morn is sprung and dusted.
Like grandfather clock that chimes gongs in seconds past the hour,
Like funeral bell that tolls life gone and passed,
Like thunder, too late after lightning flash,
"I'm back" announced to lonely room.
Too late, Cock: fate let down.
But, regret no more, failed cock.
Tomorrow looms with better yarn.
Twist your fate with twine resolved,
Set watch fast, to tempt fate's call in spooky pre-time.
Set alarms to snare wake-up calls on destiny's wild field.
Seize the moment; Make it happen; Be there; Be you, Be 'I am'.
Glow, share, hum, delight, sing, radiate and celebrate your being.
Make each day dawn and shine with hay,
Charge your fate with quicker blink, quiver full of aims, bow primed, and
Eyes that spring wide open, with first glimmer of hope sprung up.
Cock, a doodle do
Cock, a lover pet
Cock, a stranger meet
Cock, a journey go
Cock, a poem pen
Cock, a lesson kindle
Cock, a joy absorb
Cock, a friend embrace
Cock, a dream fulfill
Cock, a hope hoopla
To the further side of broken hell waits beyond
the crushing breaker’s yard of broken heart
another cracking crush enchantment flowing spell of love
My angel you will fly once more and free in currents’
surfing flight absolved from plight and undertow
that drags you down and under waves of tears for now
When riptides shatter severed tegument relentlessly
assaulting broken shards of razor corralled reefs and
dessicated hopeless dreams let go flow with the tides
There is no self-fulfilling wave no levitating automatic exit
route from whirl pools’ rocky bottom’s bounce not yet
a path of happy permanent impermanence when chaos looms
My mooring treasure you will feel the joy and laughter dancing
splashing soul and mind again when waters turn beyond the
breakers when compassionate caress evolves from agony
To the further side of hell and broken meaning from
demeaning trials and tribulations awaits for you a gentle breeze
another crack at life and compassionate swim in the ocean
06th February 2017
An angry sky looms outside
as I sit beneath the window ajar.
The breeze of spring flutters in by my side.
I hear a blackbird sing from afar.
It's early morning as I sip my tea,
just watching the little garden of mine.
An array of colors spread fathomlessly
about the space so fine.
I look forward to getting out upon my land
to mow and hoe the lawn 'til anew.
The smells of cut grass and earth in the nails of my hand.
Just lots of pretty breathing flowers; weeds are but a few.
Then I can sit amongst my window once more
and gaze upon the new face of my garden so vivid.
Where I smile subtly at the finished work in amour.
As I watch the flowering bulbs not so timid.
(Dedicated to all booklovers who have lost their loved ones to the scourge of the termite hordes - I did)
I thought I was a bibliophile
and indulged in pedantic boasts
I'd speak of ancient tomes and stuff
revel in Academia's toasts
horror of horrors I discovered
a lover of books beyond compare
who beat me hollow at my game
whose fame and honour I cannot share
the greediest booklover of all
who mulls all words into a hill
I hate to say that to this day
I have never beaten Termite Jill
when ole Termite Jill gets just a sniff
a book or paper placed someplace
she hies herself with fearsome glee
leaving for her ilk a homing trace
and from now on you could search in vain
to try and trace out Termite Jill
In nooks and crannies, desks and shelves
but till her deed's done, you never will
and when she's chewed on till bursting gut
she lets her hungry kin-folk feed
and then when done you can be sure
they'll spawn a more ravenous seed
a million Termite Jills will be born
you cannot add their growing sum
a million more and then some more
a progression ad infinitum
a termite apocalypse looms anon
spells doom to the literal world
The termite minions move ahead
Jill's dance has the Tandava Twirl
so who now is the bibliophile
who undoubtedly fits the bill
not me the voracious reader
but the rampant, raging Termite Jill
The cloud of darkness hangs over me
I try to be positive but I cannot see
I’m tired and lonely and have no care
I only look forward to a daily despair
My best foot forward and I fall into an abyss
How much more can I take of this
Inner pain looms surrounded by countless doubt
This loveless heart that makes me cry and shout
That trapped sense can make you want to runaway
But no matter where you go it’s with you the next day
The weight of your problems will never be small
Your constantly beaten with no will at all
Breathing tears and always tasting sorrow
Forever in fear of yesterday today and tomorrow
In the disarray of tumbled stone
The garden lay outstretched in bloom
Inviting the traveled and wearied guest
To blaze the trail to obliging rest
Fleeing the disparity from toil and strife
We search for a place of harmonious life
A hermitage of solace and repose
We find peace for the castaway within the thorny rose
Our flowering soul unfolds in bloom
With the budding delight of love that looms
In amaranth vines and wildflowers hue
Unraveling our silence embracing its debut
The perfect union of calm and hush does decree
A beauteous portrait of wild bird song tranquility
Its song, its joy gives countenance and grace
While the warming sun caresses our blissful face
The golden stillness of this refuge imparts
The serene garden where gratitude adorns the heart
August 20, 2019
Favorite Word Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cooke
The creepy wood weaves evil tricks
of werewolves in furry britches.
The blood moon, descending in ticks,
highlights silhouettes of witches.
Wait! Did you see that?
The gloom looms as of ill fortune
and darkness covers, shadows fall
forming blackness fanned by torchon
accenting drear dementors’ pall.
Wait! Did you feel that?
Not-quite living leap open graves,
and scourge the earth walking, as dead.
Their strange song corrupts and depraves.
Halloween night brings fear and dread.
Wait! Did you hear that?
Suffering through the pangs of writer's block
A blank page awaits my poetic ink
Like a rose waiting to bloom
The words will become the budding link
Forming poetic petals where beauty looms
The first letter hits the page
And my poetic canvas will impart
imagery and meaning, setting the stage
For a beautiful work of art
I plunge into the finer details
Trying to fine tune my rhymes
And then I will unveil
this canvas, and my words will chime
I gather up my words patiently
Towards my artistic goal
It's a joy that sets me free
And a work of art to satisfy my soul
--
5-19-18
Theme- I Gather Up My Words
Contest: Let Your Pen Drip
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Faithfully, so faithfully we cling to her
As though she were the thistle and we a burr
She exposes herself to those who listen
Those who trust that all Heavenly stars glisten
She comforts those who sorrowfully grieve
and offers salvation; to our souls a reprieve
In whispers, soft whispers we humbly pray
Giving thanks for reasons we wake each day
When sadness looms on our faces as a frown
She reminds us that a carpenter wore a crown
She swims inside our hearts on tranquil lakes
Offering a safe haven when fear brings quakes
Humbly, so humbly we rise from bended knee
When she grants us a glimpse of eternity
She springs eternal without limit or scope
This encouraging grace, referred to as "Hope"
Faithfully, so faithfully do we believe
She offers salvation; to our souls a reprieve
Written: June 26, 2023
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The morning's rising sun looms above the hills.
My breath catches in my throat and fulfills.
Warblers are an attractive bonus to the garden.
Their delicate melodies offer a lovely lyrical pardon.
The oak vine is adorned with crimson clematis.
Its aromatic splendor is a sight that grabs us.
A waltz in the breeze, with feathers fluttering.
As butterflies cope with a wind dance spluttering.
Yet, alas, it's late, and my task needs to start.
I reluctantly step away from the natural art.
I find comfort in the morning serenade.
Calm before the time of the promenade.
The sun's golden rays kiss my face,
Guiding me forward with gentle grace
In the day's tasks that lie ahead,
But in my heart, nature's song is still spread.
Though my steps may be heavy, my spirit is light.
The morning symphony will carry me through the fight.
The melodies of birds linger in my ears.
Their harmonies calm any fears.
The beauty of nature is a constant reminder.
That there's much into life than merely a grinder.
So as I start my work with a cumbrous heart,
I'll hold onto the morning symphony's art.