Long Loosens Poems
Long Loosens Poems. Below are the most popular long Loosens by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Loosens poems by poem length and keyword.
Crumbling is a failure in structure, form, and art.
It's where time at last begins to play its part.
What age makes weak is hard to see when growing old.
Until hands lose their grip on what you can't hold.
We do not lose our knowledge once and for all;
it falls in fragments, grain-by-grain, in the pall.
To crumble is to learn what entropy proves true:
all things grow disordered—back to the dust they knew.
The mind, like stone, holds its shape tight within,
till doubt erodes the edges and cracks let light in.
Age does not take away the crumbs in one broom sweep;
the crumbles tumble slowly—each loss a memory we keep.
Understanding builds like sandcastles, to fragile art;
one crack, and doubt pours through the frail rampart.
What crumbling shows along time's long winding path,
is that nothing endures as keepsakes in the aftermath.
Listen closely —you can hear the soft crumbs fall—
a mantra of truth, that none of it was ours at all.
So let the crumbling loosen what you once knew;
opening space within, for something strange and new.
Crumbling, murmuring, blundering through time,
teaches the grace of slower, wiser rhyme;
loosens our grip on what's failing anyway,
to free up space for what's arriving today.
What falls away makes room for come what may,
making hay in the sunshine, all along the way
as a crisp, crumble topping, made fresh today;
if we don’t let the rain set in, and stay.
My tongue curls in on itself,
an unreasonable fist
too stubborn to unclench.
Pulling punches, muscle memory
it never owned, saves
what little flesh hasn’t folded
to thicker skin in the game.
Yet here it is, unraveling,
slowly surrendering to necessity—
callused, unwelcome softening
in a mouth that remembers
nothing gentle, nothing easy.
The grip loosens only to recoil,
a reflex meant to protect,
now an ill-fit for the words
meant for escape—
stripped of venom, too tired
to be anything, but honest.
And still, the flesh twists,
contorts to dodge old habits,
words that never leave clean—
teeth sink in, a reminder
of what stays hidden underneath
a thickening hide, each
unspoken syllable
recoiling back, gaining weight
until the tongue
is too heavy to lift—
its heft like a bruised knuckle,
an echo of every blow held back,
then finally, the weight snaps,
and the tongue lashes out,
too late, too raw—
spitting truth like broken teeth,
each word a splintered bone,
sharp enough to bleed,
but swallowed back down,
leaving nothing behind but the taste
of iron and regret—
a quiet that crushes the chest
with all the words that could have saved it.
a thought strikes a match
nothing much, a little flame
moths alter their course
someone whispers, what if this—
the curtain catches the light
a balloon inflates
sky requires another sun
string loosens, goes slack
already counting the stars
on the backs of envelopes
morning finds the chairs
still facing yesterday's stage
confetti in shoes
someone refolds promises
along familiar creases
after all, a spade
fits superbly well in hand
soil under the nails
the gate can't bend or unhinge
rain dons handle with slippers
no trumpets today
the kettle attends to rain
a chipped cup, still warm
someone has darned the elbow
of the coat we nearly threw
He holds me like he’ll lose me,
Like I’m a memory away,
Like I’m only temporary,
And if he loosens his grip, I’ll slip away
Far into his mind he found a state of mind,
A place I’d stay forever,
A place he’ll always find
You see me in the smoke and glass,
The dagger in the cloak
That when he comes to terms with it, he knows that he let go.
The foolish man found nothing,
When he loosened his firm grip,
When he opened his eyes, there was only dust and he awoke from his trip
I’m not fully a memory, not fully a dream,
I’m the nymph he sees when stirring- when he’s only half asleep.
I told you not to worry, not to get attached,
But you ignored it and found a fabrication, something that would last.
He held me like he’d lose me,
I’m a memory away,
I’m only temporary,
So he watched me slip away…
I stand by the stream
listening to the sound of flowing water.
the gentle invitation it offers
is a soft unraveling
of everything the day held too tightly.
it murmurs over stones
in a language older than sorrow,
each syllable a cool blue note
slipping into the air.
there is a tenderness in it,
a steadiness
that smooths the edges of thought
and loosens the knots beneath my ribs.
the stream keeps moving,
silver-bright, unhurried,
teaching the me
how to breathe again.
and as it trickles and flows,
its gathers calm around me~
a quiet presence
that feels like being held
by something patient
and endlessly kind.
thought loosens its grip first~
a single thread slipping from the spool of waking.
then the room tilts, quietly,
as if the walls have grown tired of holding shape.
shadows gather in corners
where I’ve hidden the parts of myself I never name.
they shift, rearrange, becoming silhouettes of choices I almost made.
a door shimmers into being, breathing in slow, steady waves,
its frame throbbing like a heartbeat I misplaced in sleep.
when I reach for it,
my hand passes through as though time forgot me.
the floor dissolves into a gossamer veil,
a place where gravity loses its conviction.
I fall inward, not down, past my unspoken fears—
until the dream whispers the only truth i trust:
embrace the void
Line of inquiry: “to veil light we cloaked it in bliss then intellect and lower mind fused together as magnetism in form where truth we seek to find."
I begin with a brush~
the soft kind used for artifacts
too fragile to name.
The soil is memory,
packed tight around the thing
I tried for years not to touch.
At first, it is only a glint~
a shard of something once whole,
a brightness dulled by time’s sediment.
I lift it carefully, this fragment of self
I once buried beneath the practiced weight
of being who I thought I had to be.
To veil light, I cloaked it in bliss~
the easy kind, the surface shimmer
that keeps the deeper radiance
from burning too true.
Then intellect and lower mind
fused together, a magnetism in form,
pulling me toward every polished illusion
I mistook for truth.
But here, in this quiet excavation,
the ego loosens, a garment slipping
from the shoulders of a long-held fear.
I brush away more soil, and the glint grows~
not blinding, but honest.
A small pulse of light that remembers me
even when I forgot myself.
In a small room that promises a large candor the doors are locked from inside,
not to keep others out, but to let the self get exposed fully. The tiles are cold,
the mirror unforgiving, the light too bright for a reason. Everything unnecessary
is shed without ritual. What remains feels bright and true. Once inside, time
loosens its clutch. The body conducts its routine procedures while the mind drifts
unperceived, longing for the sparkling freshness. The mirror watches without attachment,
reflecting the body exactly as it is, not as it was awhile ago, not what it would be
later. The steam rises like a thick white screen, blurring the edges of the wall tiles
and the mirror. Within the pulsating heat, the body is nameless. It is just
flesh and shape. Then, the valve turns. The stimulating silence that follows
is the most gripping swathing vibration the body feels in the morning. A soft fabric
waiting patiently soaks up without complaint, remembers nothing. If insight has
a fabric, it might be this, pliable and practical, always within reach. As the light is
switched off, the door closes for the room to return to its waiting mode for the next
occupant for makeover.
locked room’s fogged mirror
lets soiled body learn again
how to look anew
Anaemia
Who cares for her once glorious dreams
Utopia is the new reality
Dopamine-starved citizens gaze forlornly
As blood feverishly flows out
From her gaping wounds
Siamese twins of hunger and anger
Starving her of peace and progress
In a land of high Testosterone
Security gone AWOL
Citizens on their own
Slowly but steadily
Life ebbs out
Deprived of nutrients and water
Homeland turned fiefdom by renegades
Despising folks, they make foes
Pious laughter loosens frown
of frail freedom
Blood-sapping East wind
Turns grasslands into deserts
Bruised and beaten by the day
Body and soul in dread of dawn
Conquer battlefields of the mind
With riots of laughter
This Mephistophelian theatre
With broken social ligaments and
Ruptured moral tendons
Will one day get a transfusion of a new life
Or die slowly and solemnly
of Anaemia
So grateful I am that life is still so kind
Despite the catastrophes that came by
We’re still here, safe, healthy and alive
God is so good! He’s always by our side.
God keeps pouring His countless blessings
He protects, guides, so faithful –His love remains
Midst my inequities, frail body and soul
I am blessed. He answered all my prayers.
I prayed especially for a chance to visit my family again
Been locked down here for years, I've sorely missed them
Luckily, I was given a short break as pandemic loosens
I went back home safely. Huge event was there waiting.
Grand Clan Reunion was held for the very first time
Many relatives attended near and across the miles
Our biggest hugs for those we haven’t seen in decades
Such a great joy! It's my best blessing for 2022 year!
Nov. 26, 2022 9.10pm
Oct. 21-23 was our Grand Clan Reunion. I was given only 6 days break from work. Very short but this was the best blessing for me this year 2022. I was still sick of severe cough when I went back home but I recovered because of the love and care of my family and relatives especially my mom. Amazingly, I was able to do my parts assigned by the host (my uncle) in the 3-days program.