Long Lugged Poems
Long Lugged Poems. Below are the most popular long Lugged by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lugged poems by poem length and keyword.
That's Halloween almost over,
the masks and caps and gowns
with streets and pubs and shops and clubs
all filled with ghosts and clowns.
A thought occurred to me last night
with Christmas drawing near,
we don't do that much dressing up
at the festive time of year.
We don't see three kings from the East
with treasured gifts they lugged
(though hauling Gold, Myrrh, Frankincense
may mean that you get mugged).
We see no Angels, Shepherd lads
or choirs invisibule,
save for the kids in towels and sheets
on stage at local schools.
I think the problem may well be,
and we just are ignoring,
the dark side stuff looks really cool-
the Christian garb's just boring!
It’s quite a thing to lay a life to rest,
to place rocks over roots rotten with age,
cover leaves once green with soil, sodden from rain.
Conceived in the meeting of metal and wood,
born a size from which never to grow;
used to move seeds, heave grass and then stone,
but trapped in the molasses of time, never carrying oats of my own.
It is quite something though to be grabbed by a child,
palmed by summer sweat,
and then chosen again by that same hand as a man -
to see your farmhand’s wrinkles in your own creaking frame.
Man, beast, or object, we all age the same.
I’ve lugged more than my weight,
cracked near ruin and wrack,
then just tied together with twine to dig holes!
his summer son giggling on his back.
I’ve been thrown, stamped, battered; called all manner of names.
Left to freeze in snow by this fence, kept warm in that shed,
replaced briefly by plastic but found again, under dust and cobweb.
It’s quite a thing indeed
to rust and be painted,
to dry out and then see
as this tool of a family,
the generational uses of me.
In the avalanche, I lost track of my guiding light.
I fled my fireside. I had to evacuate my homestead.
Driven far astray by frenetic frozen fright,
I was just a cowardly racing rescuing airhead.
The wounded wooden face of my brother
lugged away by paramedics in a wheelchair.
My tomb of sleep was my 3 am druthers.
But I called 911, puzzling at my sibling’s stare.
Living and dying from underworld to mountaintop,
the EMTs raised him off the floor like a bag of potatoes.
Everything was breathing pollen and allergen nonstop.
All my raw instincts lacked right or wrong thought flows.
It’s true; I lost poetry. I abandoned my paintings, my pottery,
as though the subverting season of AI sophistry reigned supreme,
as though all creativity was randomized in a human lottery,
as though all consciousness is reduced to a particle beam.
Vacant, these weary eyes roll up in my head.
Vacant, how much long-term despondency to endure?
My brother lives and dies each day in his bed,
defenseless, like a never healing wound with no cure.
My days are distractions, a mad confusing deflection.
I vacated my poetic home, my fireside muse.
I raft the unfamiliar caregiver currents without reflection.
I can’t live forever homeless, maintaining the caregiver ruse.
Sleep now, my brother, knowing life offers you another aim.
Tap resilience from your broken body. This will clear your mind.
My pallet for tending, nourishing, and wiping deserves no acclaim.
Nobody asks for these duties. No one can ever put them behind.
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
Beyond the wave-sacked,
lie the pockmarked dunes, heaps dug
by the claws of scaly thrashers.
Here they huddle, my blood kin
flogging grim pleasures,
wolfing eggy sandwiches,
dipping tea-stained teeth into beakers.
By a shoaling shale and monochrome spray
one brine-splattered small fry.
A boyhood caught in a swirling freshet,
he whales barefoot in the flounder,
skimming the slimy kelp, stalking
a slippage of tugging surf.
Her demeanor soggy at last, mother
goads to be led to the creaking camper.
Father smokes a plug of leathery shag,
grunts upright, walks toward the sea.
A toppled thermos and leftovers
scooped up and lugged away.
Windswept, the lingerers
trudge from the chilly churn,
while a soused and hectoring bay
records a working-class holiday.
Medusa arrived like most dandelions
All over the place with a bobbly head
She was an anomaly, a work of art.
She exuded a rareness; she was unique.
I watched her fill up the dandelion patch.
She overtook her sisters and brothers.
A giant in their midst, Medusa was a catch.
I lugged strangers into my yard to see her.
She is no dandelion! Some would say.
Then what is she? They would examine her.
Some wanted to take her apart in dissection.
I sent them packing.
I stopped bringing strangers in to peer at her.
I felt I had violated her trust enough already.
The other dandelions started turning.
I photographed proof of Medusa.
Rumi Quotes
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet
Contest Judged: 10/29/2025 1:40:00 PM
( 3rd Place )
Written: October 1, 2025
Rumi's Quote Inspired:
--"the wound is the place where the light enters you"--
I lugged silence like a stone
tucked away from all sight.
Pain etched itself into my days
and left footprints...
I could no longer claim.
Then a sliver of morning
crept into the narrow crack
inside me.
Soft as a whisper
warm as returning rain.
The mark I buried deep.
The emptiness I sidestepped…
became a threshold.
From the opening, light flowed,
calm, healing;
not to strike
but to illuminate and repair.
Its presence sank into my bones
flowing where sorrow had settled.
Turning every scar into a map
of where I had been
and where I could go.
Now I keep my chest open,
not to protect, not to perform.
But for the quiet truth
that what breaks us…
also makes room
for what saves us.
I Let Out a Scream This Morning
I am practically never startled.
I have three children, a husband, a zoo full of pets and ten grandchildren.
But this morning I jumped and screamed when I came out to the porch.
Because a huge head with a puppy attached was sleeping on the couch.
The one I lugged up there for me.
I screamed, but no one came.
Not my dog.
Not my husband.
Not my ghosts.
The puppy looked curious but did not bark
Which I thought was curious.
I tiptoed down the step and remembered my phone.
So, I had to pass this giant one more time.
He looked happy to see me, tongue out.
Big eyes, a husky mix, maybe a year old.
I called my husband as I was backing out.
There is a puppy on the porch I said.
I saw my husband looking as I left the driveway.
He called me soon after.
It’s a boy dog, he said.
He was hungry. I fed him dog food and steak.
Oh, yes, he is going somewhere any time soon.
“He is NOT coming in the house,” my husband said sternly.
“Yet,” I said.
Fish are named
Lazarus and Carl Jung
they swim in the library, art studio,
that spare room
where I write, paint.
Their eyes are the size
of their stomachs.
They mouth dreams
in silence behind glass.
I stare back, envious
of graceful slow motion angel gills
immersed in a tank of tears
gathered from heaven,
capped by corporations,
lugged home from the Dollar Store
to keep the tank full….
On the other side
a breeze streams
over book shelves,
antique typewriters, canvas and paint.
Lazarus and Carl watch me
write, brush colors
and nap...
turn, twist, snore, dream,
dream more….
surreal, real,
really you? here in the deep?
Oh lovely waves of sleep. So many fish in this sea, oh, oh, yes, yes,
you, you, you …with me.
You, evaporate.
Eyes open empty and starved.
Lips spit at the sunrise
as it blinds, blocks out
infinite oceans of you.
I think it's been too long since we had a heart-to-heart. I can feel that innocent child's anger and it's tearing you apart. You thought I forgot to help you get well, and away from pain, but I promise I did not. I have just been consumed with anger and sadness. I have been so bitter about where we came from and all the past trauma that’s happened. I didn't realize that those scars would build tough tissue, and sometime in the future our barrier will weaken and all that trauma you hid, will just hit you.
So a wall we are at and this time we can't go around. We need to figure out how I let you down. I don't know the right way to start this quest, but I will not just sit back and let us take these poundings to the chest. We don't deserve to suffer in silence, alone. We are worth company, love, and laughter amongst many other feelings little you forgot we knew.
We are not bad, yes we have used ill words rash. No excuses for the things we yelled out of anger with loudness and crass. I promise I won't fail us, but we need to understand why I keep getting put back into an eight-year-old's mind. This must be about the day we decided we were not smart enough, and would never be the brightest.
You have to know, that those words were never supposed to prevent your future growth. Unknowingly, I stunted so much and caused pain without even knowing I took an invalid oath. Our words carried weight, and we lugged it around. It's time to put that sack of fear of failure on the ground. You are worth more than what you carry around.
I should have hugged you more instead of putting you down. You can be a carefree child, you don't have to be on edge. You don't need to listen to the negative voice that enters your head. You don't know something until you do, stop beating yourself up for things that were never taught to you.
You are a bright and shining star, your family may not be perfect but love them for who they are. We are all just trying to find our way, I hope you know I will always be here to support you and I encourage you to finally be free today. I love you, little girl, it's time to be a child and play.