Long Loosening Poems
Long Loosening Poems. Below are the most popular long Loosening by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loosening poems by poem length and keyword.
zealous woozily throbbing
quintessentially narcotic
karaoke humble ecstasy bubbling
yawningly vibrantly
singing praises motivates
ineluctable fancy caparisoned
zestfully whooping tellingly
quaking novel kindles
heartfelt essence
blubbering yipping vocalizations
sincerely pronouncing
myriad jubilant gleefulness
describing absolute x2c
unbridled rhapsodic
obeisance loosening
inimitable fabulous communication
zeroing wakened tremendous pleasure
marinating joie de vivre
gurgling dynamically aspiring xylem
unstoppably roiling
overtly liberal fawning calculus
zinging wordy tome
proclaiming motive jangling
glorifying divine adulating
x uber rants obediently liberating
inducing fantastic crowing zestfully
warbling tenderly quiet nursing kingdom
harkening enjoyment bestirring
x unnumbered remarks
outlining linkedin impressiveness
from crocheting zany way
this poet marries juxtaposed grammar
describing atypical xfinity urging requiem
oozing libation inside
fleshly corporeal Zen wordsmith thyself
questioning messenger's (mine) jabbering
gets decoded accurately.
Nightly I see your face as you seduce my dreams
Swimming around nude in a crystal clear stream
In a secluded cavern with a waterfall entry
There is no other dream I'd choose, unconsciously
This my dear is heavenly
Endowing my mind with your epic beauty
Right now I'm in your temple
To me you are sacred
Sending waves of enticement
At which our love is truly manifested
Surrounded by trees high above the crust
At the base of mother natures grandest creation
We make love
Your entwined in my arms
I cannot let go
Kissing your lips reminds me of sugar cane
Used to make my life sweet
Not a substitute, the real deal
Finally passion I can feel
Your heart sings out and I respond punctually
Approaching, I caress your back
Moving to your shoulders
loosening the straps
Your dress hits the ground
On your back now, a sight so profound
Awaking every morning with the same feeling
Your scent is in my memory
I can feel your warmth from a distance
Fooling me beyond confusion
This crush I have will become a true love story
But for now I will sit back,
Be patient, and watch until the right moment
Jared Pickett....:JP]
There are three stages along the path
Of realization and accomplishment.
The first involves outer form,
Keeping the discipline, persevering
Even when there is no light.
The second begins when awareness dawns,
A glimpse of our true nature
Like a shy fish looking up out of the pond.
This is the stage of true faith and devotion
As this insight of inner light becomes the center.
The third stage is just more of the second,
A repeated familiarity with our basic nature
Through direct experience and awareness.
With familiarity comes a softening of the edges
A loosening at the core.
As the sublime becomes the everyday,
The shy fish now a flock of starlings
Confident in their numbers
Fluid and graceful in their murmuration,
A cloud of unknowing for all to see.
(9/22/26)
I felt the tug, the loosening air~
Oh joy! I drift without earthly care.
I popped free with a laughing spin,
a tiny pilgrim, born of wind.
My comrades joined—what giddy glee,
dancing like colorful confetti spiritually.
The autumn breeze nudged us in its stride,
we somersaulted, tumbling side by side.
We skimmed the lakes, pirouetting on our way~
a drifting troupe, an autumnal ballet.
We rode the rivers, wild and free,
a giggling, leaf-born odyssey.
The wind grew hushed; our laughter stilled~
as though some deeper call was filled.
We felt the earth’s slow pull begin~
God’s summons soft as whispered wind.
We settled down in muted grace~
content to fade, to feed this place.
Betwixt two thoughts there is a gap
No illusions therein entrap
In the time-stretched pause we then see
Ego craving is a mousetrap
The world holds its breath
between north and not-north,
a compass needle trembling
like a truth afraid to choose a side.
Ice forgets which way to fall.
Migratory birds stall mid-sky,
their wings writing question marks
across a stunned horizon.
Even the oceans hesitate
tides half-remembering old promises,
currents loosening their grip
on the maps we trusted.
In this pause,
history unbuttons itself.
Wars reconsider their reasons.
Lovers reexamine the words
they flung like stones.
What if attraction is only habit?
What if repulsion learned its name from fear?
The poles soften,
not erased, but listening.
Iron filings drift, confused,
forming unfamiliar constellations.
The earth hums a lower note,
a lullaby for spinning things.
I stand barefoot on unsure ground,
feeling gravity renegotiate its terms.
Up becomes a suggestion.
Down, a rumor.
In the silence between forces,
where no illusion tightens its grip,
we glimpse the trap for what it is
desire baited with self.
Here, in the gap between thoughts,
nothing pulls.
Nothing pushes.
And for a moment,
we are free
to choose again
what deserves our devotion,
and what we finally release.
With a longing look at yesteryear,
fast-fading memories blur and blend.
Yet, I recall a time, years ago:
when I explored life with my best friend.
Two impetuous souls, full of fun:
we ran on the energy of youth.
And we survived difficult moments:
discovering there's honor in truth.
Adventurers in a madcap world:
we unmasked the false faces of fear.
And we shared joy, laughter, and sadness:
even spilled the occasional tear.
Trust guided our emotional flow:
manipulating how we both felt.
And loosening reality's grip:
we faced whatever destiny dealt.
Two blood brothers bonded by a pledge:
spoke sacred words tethered to the heart.
And that single thread, spun years ago;
is what's kept us: from drifting apart.
Less than twenty-four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the anus of this guy
which bout with rectal obstruction
found me doubled over with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil, which akin to Drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent to cease LivingSocial would try
humph enjoining this lvii year old married male
to cede victory to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this Uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered out five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction of former thought to cease existing
though a non-bull lever in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes his recurring pain in the ass jagged torture
and asks a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
Form:
One hand reaches
Out to pluck a buttery
Yellow blossom
This eye sees the beauty
Softening my petal
Another hand grasps
My heart with intentions
Of loosening my roots
Plucking me from
The cool dark earth
This eye sees only the ugly
Hues veining through me, a weed
Needing to be retrieved
From the soil I desperately need
Still another hand reaches
Out to me, welcoming
My fertility – breathing
Exhaling enthusiasm
Releasing my precious seed
To the world who pleads
With me to write my poetry
In the soft warm breeze
Yes, I promise the truth
Is that beauty certainly
Is in the eye of the
Beholder, weather they’re
A child at heart or
A gardener with hope
Or a writer of breathtaking
Thanks to God
N/A from Your Best free verse so far 2021
April 23, 2021
less than twenty four hours after dashing off a poem
explaining why i wanted to die
found me experiencing physical duress vis a vis,
a bowel movement wherein waste unable to expel
from the anus of this guy
which bout with rectal obstruction
found me doubled over
with lower abdominal distress
whereby comfort found me unable to lie
down nor sit upright (with back padded with pillows
against the cellar brick wall),
thus severe bloating a bonus well nigh
and managed to muster the means to bare
frigid arctic vortex aire to purchase
the Acme brand Metamucil,
which akin to drano doth ply
thru the excretory tract
supposedly loosening the stools,
which optimism (product
didst earn claim to fame) generated a sigh
if that expressed intent
to cease livingsocial would try
humph enjoining
this lvii year old married male
to cede victory
to the grim reaper, who would vie
as winner de jure
to this common fellow invoking libretto
ohm resistant understudy waste not want not
allowing, enabling and providing relief,
without successful defecation
despite the oppressive urge to bolster this uriah
heap of balled up and tuckered i.e. pooped out
five foot and ten inches of lovely bones
thence mouthing retraction
of former thought to cease existing,
though a non-bull lever
in any power broker qua mankind
relief at long last
provided posterior answered prayer
yet, this scrivener scrutinizes
his recurring pain in the ass jagged torture
and asks
a rhetorical one word question "WHY"?
Mayonnaise in my mouth;
it was turkey—the first Pollack
I saw. His fault that the splatter
looked like a forgotten egg on the side.
Walking toward the waste
basket, I threw up in it after.
It tasted like sour metal
with rusty, iron edges.
At the sides of it, not worth
the gold tooth it's loosening
now. Thinking on it makes me
nervous, like it's going to be poison
soon.
I cannot avoid it, even if I wanted
to now, even though I wasn't sure
that was the kind of optimistic take
I was looking for at the time. The way
to turn even the worst of times into best
of whatever your feckless heart has—
just use it now because no one
is at the deck taking down tallies
for the sake of it. Please,
just give over; express the things
you have been saving. Hoarder of life
and things and collections of it all,
as a collector of it all, as a curator
of it all, as if you even have a stall
that would ever fit it all in, for jesus
sake. And that's all it ever would be
or ever would be not had you not hitched
it to the big part of yourself that thought
something in there was real and really in
there, ready for a real repair, as only
the cosmos can do for those that are
ready for it.
Ready for it.
Ready for it.
Ready for it.
Revise and be ready for it.