Long Looped Poems
Long Looped Poems. Below are the most popular long Looped by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Looped poems by poem length and keyword.
I Cooked the Book that Would Not Tap
A Doomsday, a nightmare gone wrong,
My hand shot with pain and didn’t stop,
Bandages hid the wound I wove for kong,
The silence echoed round the wheel fop.
I screamed with tears which said the news,
When sirenes had been screened for writ,
Draughts unveiled the blood for reviews,
That cared enough to dare read the fit.
Arching, the doctor stood vacant and here,
Physicalism bent metaphor until she looped,
Analogy personified emphatic nature’s fear,
When realism criticised cubisms’ truly trooped.
Critical realism still made no ontological sense,
My metaphysical slippers knew no god,
Subjectivism objected to empirical arms tense,
When constructivism departed from my odd.
I could not write to epistemology for methodology,
‘Cos clearly my relativity had got it substantive.
Moral absolutism saw humankind as pedagogy,
Still, not yet a guess, a list, a bond, gift, a plaintiff.
Rationalism was not a natural phenomenon, fair,
No predicates set my entities alight to condition,
The proposition adjunct to abstract and layer,
I imagined the mathematics that truly supposition.
This OR that, tip AND rat, not for me or negation
FOR ALL humanities THERE EXISTS a surreal,
Mere, underneath my formula, nude propagation,
Creating the sum of me that axiomed regal’s legal.
Logic. Logic, just pure blooded logic. Critical,
Crucial. Conscience, not questioning the cost, fact,
Never asking for terms or claim, the carer brutal,
The dame. The lame as mentioning the act.
Structural.
Rhoda Monihan
Perched high upon the escarpment
of sandstone rubble, the boy sat,
shaded from the rising of the sun
in the shadow of Kings.
Sharp eyed he preyed
upon the tourist below, and to his God Allah.
His path was a treacherous one
looped and twisting like the snakes of ochre gold
shone cresting the brow of Ramesses
in the unearthly Valley of the Kings;
far from the osprey and marsh grass
of the beloved Nile.
Below the boy, on a zigzag path
between the mouth-like openings to the netherworld,
tourists swarm, ants on a mound of honey stone
suckers of sweetness, oblivious,
as they had done for centuries.
He sat as his father before him
hunkered down knees to chest
the vulture heraldic creature of Upper Egypt
death eater, little had changed except
now the robbers wore blue jeans and not the hajab.
He had earned his small bit
of the twentieth century..hawking
L,
Boom, boom, boom
a dozen pressed upon a dozen
drawn, I am
to the sound
etched
and sculpted
not wanting to pass
the heart and her songs
carried towards me
like crosses of past
naming names
but the rest are all the same
boom boom boom
badda boom boom boom
clickety clickety clack
there's no turning back
minds open, legs splayed
fingers trailing
spines tingle as pages turn
torn with the wrappings
meaning melts, delving deep
words looped and alluded
an interlude of skin
drawn, I am
boom boom boom
outside of the desire
hearts begin to swoon
Bill and Blanche set off, to the 'Yorkshire Show' they did go
T'was a yearly trip, and they would always show.
Each time Bill says to Blanche ‘On that elicopter I’d like to ride.’
Blanche always replied’ but it's twenty quid Bill’ and then she and Bill sighed.
'Twenty quid is twenty quid Bill, you always told me that'
‘Tha’s right me old love,’ and he’d give his wallet a pat.
The next year Bill looked, at the elicopter, and he tried once more
‘I’m seventy-five Blanche, there not much time left for me to soar.’
‘Bill, it’s twenty quid, and twenty quid is twenty quid.
So we’ll not go on the elicopter ride, of that idea you must get rid.’
Bill looked at the elicopter and agreed twenty quid was twenty quid
Of that one idea though, he could never really get rid.
Bill was desperate to ride on that elicopter whirring thing
The pilot overheard the couple, and then he made Bill’s heart sing.
I’ll take you on board, but not one word must you say
If you keep TOTALLY quiet, not one pound or penny will you pay.
Bill and Blanche climbed on board ,for the ride of their life
Not one word did Bill utter, nor his terrified wife.
The pilot looped the loop, he dived and twisted and turned
Not one word did the pilot hear, yet even his stomach churned.
He landed and spoke to Bill and he said ‘I am impressed’
I twisted and I turned and I really tried my best.
Bill said to the pilot ‘Well I nearly gave in lad, and I nearly spoke’
‘Twas when the wife fell out, but you know us Yorkshire folk.’
I watched her spiral down; I nearly shouted, but thought that’s absurd
‘And tha knows twenty quid is twenty quid lad, and you said NOT one word.’
©~GG~17/11/2012
Taken from a joke sent to me by Jack Horne and continuing the theme Harry uses of Yorkshire Humour.
Quid Slang name for pound sterling
Yorkshire folk drop their 'h's
Old John's birthday was fast approaching, he'd be seventy-two
And his family asked him nicely what he would like to do
"Do you fancy a nice picnic or sightseeing on a train?"
"No thanks" said Old John "I'd like to wing walk on a plane ".
His family thought he was joking, in fun they all did mock
They said "It will be freezing, and you might die of shock"
He said" I have no fear, and everything will be just fine
I found it on a website, and I've booked it on the line".
His family they were mortified and thought that he was joking
But one week from today Old John he'll be high flying
A week later at the airfield Old John was quite ecstatic
His family on the other hand were all starting to panic.
He had his safety briefing and then put on all his gear
Now he was raring to go, Old John he showed no fear
He climbed up onto the wing and then he got strapped in
The pilot gave him the thumbs up and soon they were flying.
Up into the air now, they banked to the left and right
His family they all agreed it was one awesome sight
The pilot signalled to Old John, it was the grand finale
This is what Old John had wanted all his family to see.
The plane it dived then looped the loop, it was incredible to see
Old John was already thinking of what his next stunt could be
The plane then landed safely his family they were all so proud
Old Johns ears were still ringing; the wind had been so loud.
He'd felt the cold biting wind pressing hard against his face
Jokingly he asked his family if it was still in one place
His wife she then kissed him and asked, "How do you feel"?
Old John said, "I'm starving now, I'm ready for a big meal".
His son then asked him, what his next bold venture would be
Old John laughed out loudly and said "A shark cage in the sea
My life I see as a book with pages that are not written yet
I always confront my fears or there will be blank pages of regret".
It was a less-than-happy Lovers' Day.
I'd never seen the like in all my life.
So, while the cat's away, the mice will play,
for someone sent a present to my wife!
I'd stayed late at the office (after all,
we had the Prenton contract to complete).
I hadn't found the time to text, or call.
We'd made no firm arrangements where to eat.
It was a cake. "I Love You", looped in pink.
I felt like I was living out some song
by Kenny Rogers. What else could I think?
Conclusions that are jumped to, can be wrong.
Yes, I'd deceived myself, for it was she
who'd bought the cake, and cut it - just for me!
I slumbered, nestled in the bed,
trapped in a horror, steeped in dread.
I’d had that awful dream again;
long tendrils probed inside my brain.
They’d severed my umbilic cord,
and left a dead, unfeeling gourd.
My matter splashed, my brainpan scooped,
and now a magic marker looped
in creepy patterns on my skin:
cruel eyes, slit nose, a horrid grin.
But worse, I saw the glint of steel,
and winced at how that blade would feel.
I could not scream, nor could I shout;
although I tried, no sound came out.
Whew! Two firm hands shook me awake,
then, “Mom, this is the one I’ll take.”
————-
for the 12-16 Lines of a Scary Halloween Rhyme Poetry Contest
sponsored by Tania Kitchin
written on 10/13/22
Looped of love
Cast upon a sea of symphonic scent
Cashmere soft and storm cloud kissed
Ventures forth on fingered strings
Spent alone in shuttered mist
“Curtains drawn in crayon colors…stitched on gold locket seams”
Worn of worries, frayed edges weave
Reaching deep into heart felt fear
Bland the noise, served in muted tones
Staring off to nowhere…near
“Tears now fill thy cup…once overflowing in melodic dreams”
Broken desires, a tangled spun web
Knotted by a lingering memory’s hold
Skin still warm of tanned defiance
Fractures locked out in the cold
“Heaved in piles of shoveled excess…soon to be forgotten silent on the street”
Music floods into porous caverns
Echoing a fragrant caring song
On syncopated bar chord promises
To hold you with arms forever strong
“And I play for you in the key of my heart…looped of love in constant repeat”
I dreamed I was inside a bulb—
a cathedral of filament and glass—
not dead
not born…..
but shumming**.
Glass walls curved like time
sealed but translucent
my fingers curled around voltage
like a secret
God was transcending.
The socket hummed a lullaby
of static.
Every breath of mine made sparks
the air electric
with grief
and longing.
I saw myself outside the bulb
in a room wallpapered with eyes—
each iris twitching
like a seismograph.
They watched
as I shimmered like an angel
in a jar of fire
as if I were proof
of something
too holy
or too hideous
to name.
The room beyond
glistened with wallpapered surveillance—
each gaze a blink
each blink
a test of identity
a hymn of entropy
and wonder.
I touched the glass—
cool as frozen memory
thin as a promise—
and the world on the other side
shuddered
like a dream woken
too soon
My thoughts turned tungsten—
spiraled
stubborn
resisting
the spark of enlightenment
or extinction
I spoke
and the words bent back
like boomerangs
buzzing
with static regret
A child approached
barefoot
real
impossibly tender…..
She looked like someone
I might have loved
if time had taken pity.
She placed her palm on the bulb—
her skin against my sorrow
the warmth of it
startling
as mercy
a forgiveness.
“Why are you in there?”
she asked
or perhaps
thought—
her voice the color
of candlelight.
I tried to answer
but my vocal cords was hardwired
my tongue
a fuse
My words came back
distorted
looped
charred
as if language
were combustible.
For a moment
I flickered
between purpose
and obliteration
Then
the ceiling cracked open
like a wound
and light poured down—
not to reveal
like revelation
like judgment—
to burn away
the questions
And I understood—
not everything illuminated
is meant to be seen
not all vision
is freedom…..
Some truths
are meant to flicker
fragile and holy
inside the bulb of the soul
unspoken
unchosen
alive.
================
**Shumming: Shimmering Humming
Billy Carts and Marbles
Yes, we all played marbles when we were just kids,
Had a big ‘Tom Bowler’ and a bag full of migs.
Held onto your marble with fingers and thumb
No fudging allowed, and your eye was the plumb.
Picked out your opponent and stayed on the line,
Connect with a’ kisser’ that marbles now mine.
I also had swappies, a hand full of cards
Would take them to school and start bargaining hard.
I ‘ll swap you this one, if you swap me that
Get a pair or a set, so long as they matched.
We all had so many by end of the day
Then sort out our stacks, or just put them away.
Outside we played hopscotch, a tor we would find
Drew lines on the concrete, or dirt, did not mind.
Throw into the big squares then, hop up and down
On one leg, but out, if your foot touched the ground,
Or stood on the lines so we learned how to leap
Right into the square, not just fall in a heap.
A Billy cart made from old pram wheels and wood
Collected from tips, we brought home what we could.
With rope we would tie on, to steer the front wheels
Attached to the T Bar, would brake with your heels.
Then, down the big hill we would really fly fast
But if one just fell off, all have a good laugh.
On wet days we stayed in and played our board games
Tiddly Winks or Ludo, the boys had their trains.
But often outside in our gumboots would go
To play in the rain or built men in the snow.
For hours in raincoats all riding our bikes,
But if it was windy, released our stringed kites.
A skipping rope featured, also a big hoop
Even boys had a go when we looped the loop.
Kiss-Chasey when older, to catch out the one
A peck on the cheek, oh what innocent fun.
Our days filled with something, “I’m bored” never said
Up early each morning, then early too bed.
That bush school I went to, my memories still dwell
The Three R’s we learnt there, plus we all could spell.
At school Monday morning, the flag we would raise
Sing ‘God Save the Queen’ with respect would we praise.
Oh yes, I remember with fondness recall
Those days of my childhood; how we had it all.
Christine ©