Long Loosened Poems
Long Loosened Poems. Below are the most popular long Loosened by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loosened poems by poem length and keyword.
Time was when I dwelt on you,
My heart had when felt for you,
With loosened will’s belt for you,
And mind not keen to melt for you…
With old breeze subduing in me,
Memories thawing in me,
A new crease creeping in me,
I feel not like meeting you.
Time was I died to greet you,
Was desperate to treat you,
And ready to interpret you,
No more now keen to meet you.
Time ‘tis now you no more care,
Care, no time for me to spare,
And it being hard to bear,
I’m not now keen to meet you.
As rain I once wished to drench you,
In heart of mine O to bench you,
With no such wish to quench due,
I’m no more keen to meet you.
I’ve nigh but forgotten me,
Know not what hath gotten me,
Love all but molten in me,
I feel not like meeting you.
I once wished to sing for you,
Make life eternal spring for you,
Me, no more me, you not you,
There’s no use meeting you.
____________________________
Continued in Part III
Quatrains (rhyme and refrain) |05.03.2024| lost love
We run.
From sunrise to blinking streetlights,
from dreams scribbled in planners
to goals chased on sleepless nights.
We run as if stillness were failure,
as if pausing meant falling behind.
Life becomes a race with no finish line,
only clocks that glare
and calendars that never forgive.
We trade laughter for deadlines,
breaths for expectations,
moments for a future
that keeps moving further away.
But what if—just for a moment—
we let ourselves notice
the little things that make us truly happy?
The warmth of cooking a meal,
the music that makes our hearts rise,
the laughter that lingers
because it belongs to no one but us.
What if we remembered
we cannot know how many sunrises remain,
and the box we build around our lives
does not need to contain us yet?
But what if—just for a moment—
we stepped out of the noise?
What if we loosened our grip
on what comes next
and held what is already here?
Because life is also
fields that sway with the wind,
grass brushing against your skin
as if reminding you to feel.
It is open skies that change colours
without asking permission,
and oceans that breathe steadily,
teaching us how to do the same.
When life grows heavy,
it doesn’t always ask us to be stronger.
Sometimes it whispers:
stop.
breathe.
look.
Look at the world still blooming
despite everything.
At the warmth of sunlight resting on your face.
At familiar voices,
gentle laughter,
hands that love you quietly
while you rush past.
You are alive
in this singular, fragile moment—
a moment that will never return
in quite the same way again.
We are not machines built to chase endlessly.
We are stories meant to be felt.
And this life—this one, fleeting and beautiful—
is not meant to be survived,
but lived.
So step out of the race.
Even briefly.
Let your heart catch up to you.
Breathe in the air.
Lift your eyes.
Seize the day.
Open the box of your life
and let it hold more than tasks—
let it hold joy, wonder, and you.
You are not behind.
You are here.
And that—
that is everything.
The year was 1680 and I was travelling,
I sat in the carriage looking out the window;
The coachman was driving the horses quickly,
As a storm was approaching us from behind.
Thunder was booming and rolled over the forest,
Already raindrops were falling on the glass;
The sky was overcast with dark shifting clouds,
And everything was getting dull and gloomy.
This road was so deserted and remote from civilization,
I must admit that I was afraid.
Suddenly the carriage lurched and was falling over,
It bounced through the foliage, twisting and turning;
And then it stopped and all was quiet and still,
The coachman was dead and the horses also.
Struggling, I managed to climb back up to the road,
My corseted body, full overskirt of pink satin;
And parchment petticoat unsuitable for climbing,
The bun on my head loosened and my hair fell.
Oh dear, it was so dark and misty on the road ahead.
But I started to walk in the inkiness.
The forest around me was pitch black and frightening,
But there, through the trees a light was burning;
The rain was coming down in torrents that blinded me,
As I stumbled forward through the tangled trees.
A wood cabin was hidden in green lush vegetation,
It looked so secluded and isolated and lonely;
But I found myself banging on the door loudly,
As sheets of rain poured on me from up above.
And then the door slowly opened and light spilled out,
And I stood there dripping wet, and . . . .
________________________
August 22, 2015
Poetry/Narrative/Cabin in the Forest
Copyright Protected, ID 15-702-939-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Like the oyster keeping its mouth fastened with pearl,
Her locket was calm with pearl of secret, treasured;
Link has loosened somewhere? Nerve got numbed? Sudden whirl…?
Once psychologically bound has now leisured...?
She held it to her heart; right hand clasping it tight,
Haven't her life-time dreams and hopes lie bundled in?
Horror dreams had woken her sometimes at mid-night,
She looked for it first, than anything else, with grin...!
She knew her neighbor, who got one from her sweetheart,
That when got broke how soon her life got upside-down...!
Her vowed life with her spouse turned true hell; torn apart;
Aren't all these, yet, omens-tinged and fate playing clown...?
Shouldn't broken locket be fixed like other gifts?
Should broken locket be cause for endless love-rifts...???
28 June 2022
One In Five Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Another man has passed away,
Another soul has passed away without casting a silhouette.
Another son is growing into another man,
Who will one day pass away like all those before him.
To the deceased man, living had just been a burden,
He is now called 'downtrodden'.
But those who call him so
Have never been thus tagged in their glorious lives.
To the deceased man, life was a chain of systems,
Where the chain could neither be loosened nor broken.
To others, only his body mattered and when he tried to speak out,
It was nobody's concern in this tremendous town.
To the deceased man's family, death is nothing but a mere turmoil.
They have more crucial jobs to do,
They must run the machines and feed the system.
Smoke in the lungs can never be a headache for the downtrodden.
If the man were just another machine,
That machine might not be washed with pure, scented water.
But it would be both calm and content,
Never to be called 'downtrodden'.
in one week i will die here
what is the definition of fear
erased and omitted are things and negatively effect me
i reflect on the good stuff and dissipated is any envy
i have seen many oceans
i have driven many roads
i have written many a poem
i have carried numerous loads
obstacles overcome presented new chapters of delight
the settings of many new environments have really loosened me light
i have flown with the birds
i have bodysurfed with the fish
i have experienced many flavors
i have even benefited from plenty favors
then came your beautiful being flipping my world every which way
you forced me to look
you forced me to grow
you inspired me to book
you inspired me to look up from below
you are my first
you are my last
you are my New Future rooted, watered and founded by our past
there is no clear definition of fear
alleviated and obliterated are all that bind me down via the shedded skin of dead weight
thank you for loving me and for making the latter part of my life really great....
I sit here and I linger,
with this set of woven fingers
A heart beating quickly, quickly
as I realize how sickly
it all the sudden was
bt then I loosened them because
there was something that was nagging
in my head I heard it begging
I should keep them sewn up tight
I think I did it out of spite
After all why should I have to choose
the only thing I had to lose
was the money in this pair of jeans
but their not mine so that just means
the other thing would be your trust
and along with that your love and lust
I suppose I should have stayed and lingered
with my tightly woven fingers
Form:
Grouping here to plan retreat,
the redcoat officers smelled defeat:
the boards complained beneath their feet,
on entering Wright's Tavern.
They game was up. They understood.
All that remained was noise and blood,
and limping back as best they could,
the fifteen miles to Boston.
Pungent smoke and powder smells,
irregulars' derisive yells,
and fifteen miles of living hell
now stretching out before them.
The King's Own's torn, depleted line,
drawn up before Wright's tavern sign:
this sight would come back to the mind
in years to come, in England:
But now, the urgency was such
that no-one pondered very much
on Tyrant George's loosened clutch:
plans needed improvising.
Back east the shattered remnants flowed,
along the Cambridge Turnpike Road,
to quit the New World for the Old:
America was rising.
sometimes we wish the freedom of sunset's pink clouds
that cross the sky in ribbons
sometimes one urge piles on top of another,
the gathering bounty of spring
like
an urge to run through April rain, overcoming arthritic pain,
an idle wanderer within
an urge to shake off the Blues like Jello loosened from its mold
an urge to spring clean clutter, messy like seaweed draped
over a walrus
an urge to stifle stress that sizzles like bacon frying,
displacing contentment
an urge to flush a slush pile of "to do's" that gag sleep
an urge to watch birds at the feeder, tutored travelers
chattily sharing stories
an urge to inhale the solemnity of church to void
the wounds
of striving
no longer subdued by the clean clasps of cold,
nature nudges newness into empty spaces
for winter leaving lifts the script of cold unforgiving,
like a child reciting rhymes
Poem composed April 17, 2023
In The Stillness of Night
Kevin Davis 2025
In the stillness of night, where shadows play,
A whispering spirit had found its way.
Cloaked in the wonders of the unknown,
It wrapped around me tightly I've never known.
Though it claimed to be friendly, I still felt fear,
Yet a deep curiosity drew me ever so near.
Through walls and ceilings, it danced with glee,
This specter a puzzle, an unknown riddle to me.
And when it revealed to me a familiar face,
My father’s kind eyes held a warm embrace.
Yet in this familiar form, I questioned the grain,
Was this just a trick played gayly in my brain?
His laughter rang out, a melody so sweet,
“Child, I’m here to show you life’s heartbeat.
In the chaos and turmoil, don't forget how to play,
For the weight of the world can’t bear your sway.”
Each word like a lantern, shining through fog,
Illuminated paths as I sat on the log.
“Find joy in the small, in laughter and cheer,
Let worries dissolve, for they linger so near.”
He spoke of the love that transcends the earth,
Of moments that matter, and the joy of rebirth.
Proudly, he fluttered like a leaf on the breeze,
Reminding me gently, “Live simply with ease.”
As dawn’s early light began to appear,
I woke from the dream, my heart full of cheer.
Though physical ties may have loosened their grip,
The lessons of love from my spirit-filled trip.
Now, I stride through each day with a lighter heart,
Finding joy in the little things, playing my part.
For my father’s reminder still rings crystal clear,
In every sweet moment, he’s always so near.
So, as I journey, with a nod to the past,
I’ll cherish each smile, each laugh meant to last.
For though life may twist in an ominous loom,
His spirit, forever, will light up the room.