Long Velcro Poems
Long Velcro Poems. Below are the most popular long Velcro by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Velcro poems by poem length and keyword.
I've got a story, that needs to be told,
about my mean ole granny, she's pushing "83" years old.
She came at me trippin, it was a Tuesday night,
griping up a storm bout her broken, bedroom nightlite.
She claims I attempted to cause her to trip,
with ending up on floor, and a right broken hip.
She waddled down the hall, walker leading the way,
her hair was a wreck, misplaced comb I would say.
I calmly explained light stays constantly lit,
seven days and nights, my excuse, sounding legit.
Before I could say that the little bulb just blew,
she slowly bent down, and grabbed a brown velcro shoe.
Not quite for certain of her plan of attack,
shouldn't be worried, her eyesight, rather unfit.
I went to the kitchen, quickly opened the junk drawer,
located a pack of bulbs, I had purchased a week before.
Staying out of her way, her comments, and aim,
back to her room, the nightlite I had supposedly maimed.
I quickly replaced the old bulb with new,
the light flickered once, twice, then its radiance grew.
I went back to sit, where I was before,
with granny still ranting, barely pacing the floor.
I told her, her light seems to be fine,
that she could go back to bed at any time.
Slowly she dropped the brown velcro laced shoe,
continuing to cuss at me, like a mad trucker would do.
With a final curse word, and a slam of her door,
I sat silently, grinning, and thinking, "grannies' rage", I simply adore.
"Humor can alter any situation and help us cope at the very instant we are laughing." –Allen Klein
A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOR BLUNTS THE SHARP BLADES OF REALITY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I lay on the table, a modern-day sacrificial lamb,
pillow cradling my head, a fortress of foam and fabric.
Then came Velcro, the sticky embrace of a high-tech straitjacket,
my legs and wrists secured like a reluctant burrito.
Into the tube I slid, a terrified astronaut on a mission,
the ceiling loomed, a metallic sky, almost kissing my nose.
I clenched my hands until they turned white pondering
“Is this what it feels like to be a sardine in a can?
The sounds began, a symphony of whirs and clicks,
the MRI’s own version of a pop concert—
I imagined it had a fan club, “Team Tube,” with its own T-shirts
while I lay there, a star in a very narrow universe.
I tried counting, “one, two, three.” But sigh…
my thoughts were spinning like socks in a dryer.
I imagined bystanders strolling by, pointing and staring.
“Behold! Look at the sweating patient in the tube!”
The minutes crawled, like a snail on a treadmill.
“Perhaps I should have brought snacks
or at least a good book.” But alas, I was tethered,
a captive audience to my own claustrophobic anxiety.
So I lay still, the sounds swirling,
I chuckled softly, because if this is life,
then I might as well enjoy the ride,
even if it’s a little cramped and a little weird.
After all, who needs a spa day when you can have an MRI,
a slow, relaxing rollercoaster ride into the belly of the beast.
Oh, the absurdity of my situation, and the irony of it all—
Here I was, a human pretzel, searching for sanity inside the MRI.
Then, suddenly, the whirring ceased, the ceiling pulled back.
I emerged, a superhero in a hospital gown,
Velcro stripped away, ready to conquer the world
with a newfound appreciation for open spaces.
Poem written for “A Good Sense Of Humor Blunts The Sharp Blades Of Reality Poetry Contest,” Natasha L. Scragg, sponsor, July 29, 2025.
If you’re a certain age, I’ll bet
That stuck inside your brain
The numbers of your telephone
From youth must still remain.
For way back when you memorized
That sequence, it did stick,
Like Velcro, to your brain cells;
You can summon it real quick.
There once was lots of room in there
For things we learned by heart –
Addresses, passwords, ID codes
And credit cards, to start.
But over time, the Velcro wears
And things will not adhere
Yet strangely, numbers from the past
Still stand out, loud and clear.
For all who may have dialed
UL 6 – 2955,
That number’s out of service
But in me it did survive.
As luck would have it
I chanced upon the secret
of finding things not looked for,
to enlist serendipity on cue.
The more you look the less you see.
Stop looking for, and start looking about.
Expectation kills spontaneity.
So, stop planning itineraries.
If you take a planned tour
on a planned route to see
the things you quest for,
You'll only get what you ordered on the menu.
But if you look about
and see an opportunity
in an open door off the beaten track,
you are ready to allow chance
happenings to surprise you.
Many great discoveries
in Science were made this way:
Penicillin discovered in dirty dishes, after a vacation
The micro-wave oven, when chocolate bar in pocket melted
Post-it note, a not so sticky glue
Velcro, when hiking and seeing how burrs hook onto hair
Radioactivity, when Uranium left on photo plate in drawer overnight.
Two things stand out here:
Firstly, doing something unusual, unplanned, as if by accident
Secondly, being aware that the unexpected has happened,
and taking time to investigate it.
An inquisitive mind feeds on serendipitous encounters.
The opposite of serendipity is *zemblanity:
Which is discovering unlucky expected outcomes you planned for,
when you make unhappy, unlucky and expected discoveries by design.
It is the inevitable unsurprising uncovering
of what we expected, and would rather not know.
So now you know, it is better
to look about, than to look for,
to allow serendipitous encounters
to happen more by chance.
---------------
9 May 2017
When you spend the night with friends of friends,
Your comfort level rises,
Because you have a common link
And there are no surprises.
The friends with whom you share this bond,
Like Velcro or like glue,
Provide the means for other folk
To stick so well to you.
It’s wonderful to have such pals,
‘Cause other friends they share
Are often just the ones for whom
Their stories they prepare.
And then you have a common ground
On which to sow and reap,
Connecting you both on the surface
And below, down deep.
An evening spent in company
Of friends and friends of friends
Is likely one so pleasant
That you hope it never ends.
My poems come from the heart because my soul lost its way,
My poems are written hoping that my soul could be found one day,
I sit across from myself writing poems on a mirror to a me I haven’t known since the second grade,
I don’t think I’ll ever see him again,
But I remember the way his smile radiated like sun rays,
Reading up and down the words we’d write away,
They were simple then, morse dots and dashes that weren’t legible anyway,
But it brought that kid a smile just to crayon some color to the page.
We use to just sit down for hours and waste time figuring out where to begin,
A purple crayon to anywhere we could go without pay,
A key to a door that would’ve opened if we’d had our say,
But days passed and that kid got older with time ticking away,
He traded his sweaters for hoodies and velcro for tied knots and cardigans,
His stars died out the back of his eyes,
He’d forgotten how to start again.
Walking through tall grass and broken glass,
Discarding pages of purple drawings in burning bins.
And all I can think of now is just-
Where I was when the changes started again.
My head was up in the clouds,
Down in my books,
Breaking my mental barriers with gnawed metal and dammed up brookes,
Its better than it looks.
My soul found that child down by the shore.
And now I’m here with my heart.
Wondering if they’ll ever visit.
Anymore.
A flood of unfamiliar faces,
Shoes with Velcro, not with laces,
Missing memories, times and places,
Hosting in the hospital here,
Staring at strangers? someone dear?
Is it not what it may seem?
Is it real, or do I dally with a dream?
Through haze, ghostly evocations glow.
Fair face, fresh flowers, dancing slow -
Just my imagination? I don't know.
I must've fallen in a trance -
Can't be me - I don't dance.
This beauty in my conscious stream,
Is she (was she?) real, or just a dream?
Whispering, walking in the wood,
Wishing, wondering, if she would -
Understanding, Understood.
Did, together, we once stand?
Did I ever hold her hand?
A wonderful wife, a titan team -
Is she real or do I dally with a dream?
12/30/15
It's prime time
And the difference is seperated by a fine line
Hello
All these fellows
Softer than marshmallows
Your girl keeps trying to stick to me like velcro
And continues shaking that booty like jello
This is just a demo
In case you didn't get the memo
Not against it but am very unfamiliar with techno
And flamenco
At the expo
Met mo' girls wearing stilettos
Then left those premises with one around each elbow
Later on felt like Gordon Gecko
As I passed a petco and began to head home
Down the next road
Just like that, presto
A sudden new perspective after passing an old and withered meadow
I suddenly stopped to burn some endo
From Mendo
And then found a memento
Had lots of pasta with pesto
Started coolin' and felt pretty mellow
Until these fools started being yellow
Began a trek so
I could have my intellect grow
Inside and above areas known to have an echo
By: Dalton Ogletree
A teal twilight inks cobalt silhouettes
as distant stars unveil their twinkling lights.
And shadows slink forth, melding with the night,
while a setting Sun feigns a scarlet death.
Pink clouds cluster at the horizon's edge,
garnering shades of cerise and purple.
And daylight shrinks to a amber aura,
reflected in rusty crystals of ice.
Dusk weeps dewdrops, yet grieves to no avail,
while darkness dims the last lingering light.
And brisk breezes whisk heat away in gusts:
eerily chilling both body and soul.
Long skeletal fingers anchor the sky
to a lone tree rooted in ebony.
And a marshmallow moon appears snagged,
in the netting of its velcro branches.
Creatures of the dark stir from sleep's slumber:
in the wake of a slowly sinking Sun.
And silence rules: as sound bends to its will,
all, but a cricket's, haunting, piercing, shrill.
They say Adam and Eve pranced around wearing nothing
But fig leafs and the biggest grins the world has ever seen
Imagine NO FREAKING RULES!!!
All they had to worry about were those thorny bushes
And the occasional lightning bolt accompanied by a loud booming voice
Reminding Adam, “You owe me big time for this one, my friend!”
Caine and Abel along with seven other offsprings
Were the result of a lot of hanky panky
Do you blame him??? He was the luckiest dude EVER!!!
My question is, how did they keep those fig leafs in place
Scotch Tape? Elmer's Glue? Velcro?
Also why did they need those damn things to begin with
There wasn't another living soul to be seen
Imagine today, if we walked around naked as a jaybird
The population of the world would soar from 7 billion
To well over 20 billion in a matter of nine months counting twins
I'm not saying we couldn't carry on as usual with our daily routine
But perhaps the routine would be interrupted now and then
I have a suggestion for future generations if this becomes a problem
Think of Drew Carey naked!
© Jack Ellison 2014