Long Zoomed Poems
Long Zoomed Poems. Below are the most popular long Zoomed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Zoomed poems by poem length and keyword.
Anxious, i started getting dressed, feeling great and on my way
to visit a friend few blocks away.
I hopped on my new mountain bike and zoomed down
on a downhill not so busy street near by our small town.
It always gives me a thrill to ride as fast, passion such.
Feeling the air rush past me with the lightest of touch.
On the sidewalk, a group of friends were laughing together.
I heard one of them yell, "Where are you going Heather."
I turned my back, I waved and let out a small giggle.
In moments, off and over a parked car. I did niggle.
As I laid sprawled out behind its rear bumper,
my friends ran over giggling. " You're a great jumper.
My pride was bruised, though I made an effort not to show.
It was like being ran over by a speeding train, you know.
He packed his snacks with reckless cheer,
three pine-cones gone before first gear;
he zoomed uphill without a care~
this squirrel’s bound for mountain air.
He stopped to pose by every pine,
claimed each tall peak as “truly mine,”
took selfies with his windswept hair~
this squirrel’s bound for mountain air.
He chased a goat up rocky ground,
then waved at hikers all around;
the switchbacks spun him everywhere~
this squirrel’s bound for mountain air.
And when he reached the summit’s crest,
he puffed his chest and squeaked, “I’m blessed!”
then glided down with style to spare~
Do you remember the cradle and the
smiling loving face;
The comfort and attention
In a warm embrace?
Do you recall when running;
Freely with no fear?
No worries then that time when...
Was certainly not here.
T’was when you were a child
Grown up from mothers breast
Think back when you were young-
Wasn’t it the best?!
Recollect how it made you feel
To skip, to jump and climb
How the past did not grasp
Mature paradigm
Living in the moment
You did this naturally
Though here we’re yet to forget
And once again just be
Time is was so sneaky
How it zoomed so fast
As memories repeating
Perchance a time to last.
THE FAMOUS ACORN HEIST OF ‘23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a squirrel named Hank,
Who rode on a Harley, quite swank.
To the food bank he quickly sped,
With a heist planned in his head,
For acorns, he thought he could prank.
He zoomed past the trees with a whoop and cheer.
His goggles and scarf made it most clear.
He burst through the door with a grin.
“Just a snack for my ride, no break in.
Not to worry. I won’t harm you. Have no fear.”
Ahh, but the food bank staff were quite astute
They were wise to his ridiculous, nutty pursuit.
The joke was on our furry friend,
For the food bank, they send,
Hank home with a bag of healthy fruit!
We’re all in the same boat, but fools make it sink:
I see their dreams translate to a sea of red ink
I felt I couldn’t take the sham any more
So I flew to Rhode Island and drove to the shore.
I chartered a vessel in an ocean inlet
For miles between Newport and Narragansett
The captain suggested a Calamari run
But squids are slimy and I was paying for fun.
The water was greased, smooth as a lake
And ten minutes out, I felt my reel take
I caught a “barn door”: a large fish with a pull:
I needed help, I had my hands full.
(bridge)
The “drags screamed” as other reels zoomed out
So I had to let my fish go, ashamed of my shout.
But I will tell my grandkids about the day:
a big bass almost yanked me into the bay.
Seagulls, like thieves, hovered over our wake.
White sails on silver; it made my heart ache.
I felt the beat of wavelets on fiberglass.
I smelled cedar and pine, sea air and sea grass
The sun got low, and the light danced like raves
Gold and violet hues met the islands and waves.
There were stars on the water when we tied to the dock
I sighed to myself; I must return to the flock.
Now I'm back in the scrum, some think I'm the threat.
It's sad how folks are caught in the net:
Some are hooked on politics, even dox your name.
As the vortex, the whirlpool, pulls us all down the drain.
Activists tell us that we're either victims or oppress
Misguided cliches weigh on my chest
They hook us with promises, I despair and yet,
They can't take away my Narragansett sunset.
I remember the islands, and Rhode Island main:
When the "bite was on fire," and I threw off the chain.
They say you can't be saved unless you want to be saved.
They say you can't be brave unless you want to be brave.
It's natural for you to feel afraid
or cry when one is put into a grave.
They say the best things in life are never easy,
the truth is the worst ways in life are never easy.
It's a struggle to the top before you get the result,
it's a struggle at the bottom and life is difficult.
You were once a sperm that zoomed
and an egg that didn't move.
So it's in our nature to be active and achieve,
it's also in our nature to stay still and receive.
That sperm won an unbelievable race against millions,
so you can do anything regardless of opinions,
because you're special,
you are already one in a million.
So don't let life get you down,
come on don't be fed up,
you can do whatever you want to do,
all you need to do is believe in you.
It’s one in the morning.
I zoomed into Lisa’s room
and threw myself on the bed where she lay reading
in a near virtuoso, Fosbury flop.
She bounced, jostled by my mechanical bed wave.
“I hate goodbyes,” I said, indignantly.
“You’re not strong on hellos” she said, not looking up.
“They’re so bone-marrow deep,” I went on, “they steal hope away.”
“Did that sound pretentious?” I asked her silence, a minute later, somewhat self-consciously.
Lisa took the yellow, #2-pencil out of her mouth—just long enough to answer.
When she studies, she chews on them, seemingly eating them like french fries.
“Yeah,” she says, “but I get cha.”
“I know,” I said, smiling at the ceiling, because in a rooted and real way, she always has.
I’d be a different person if we’d never met.
I feel very grateful for that.
“Your boy’s flown?” She asked, using her pencil to hold her page and finally looking up.
It was an ironic, near-rhetorical question, she knows he’s gone and she knows I know she knows he’s gone.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
.
.
Songs for this:
4am by girl in red
Don't Stop The Music by Rihanna
blushing! by BETWEEN FRIENDS
We met over oysters and scallops in the French Quarter
of a mismatched ether.
She sent pictures - her in a mirror, beside a mirror,
partly hidden by a mirror, naked under glass
(I still have that one).
She liked to reflect and be reflected.
I admired her self-regard, her low-minded succulence,
Her high-handed high-heeled slipperiness.
Raw fresh oysters and Dom Perignon for breakfast and lunch.
Scallops seared in butter on a crostini and a
Sauvignon Blanc for supper.
This minimalist diet kept her svelte, prim, and of course
most improper. I thought of her as a swim without a swimmer,
splashes of her revealing her lovely lips, and they were indeed
lovely,
red but not scarlet more a sea anemone rouge
as it fades to a pink laced coral.
The camera may garnish but it cannot hide
that kind of salty lusciousness
caught fresh every morning.
I likened her to a glistening slickness to be sipped or guzzled
Her words slipped through you like Gaelic eels.
Her neck undulated as a dolphins caress
as she swallowed her catch and zoomed.
I confess to an occasional shame-faced queasiness;
and then oyster and scallops are best consumed
over the internet where too much of them
cannot sour the stomach or tease you softly
with a squirmy aftertaste.
Yet I still imagine her in a mirror again
her teeth as pearly as pearls, yet snip-snip sharp
and as pointy as stiletto’s rent through a fished-up
filet of heart.
Written Nov. 10, 2012
Gail’s Note: Not for the Faint of Heart
Rated PG-13 (Poetic Grossness – 13 out of 20)
What part of this is true?
Answer posted at the end.
I was at the hospital.
It was a quarter past two.
I was waiting for my husband.
There was nothing to do.
The emergency was over.
His gall bladder was out.
He was coming back home
Better off, no doubt.
The next day our daughter cooked
A special meal for her dad.
To celebrate the ending
of what could have been sad.
Instead we were all at the table
Treating my hubby like a star
When he eyed the counter
And asked, “Where is the jar?”
My daughter’s eye caught mine
And she instantly knew
That this was no ordinary
Meat and Potato stew.
She ran into the bathroom
Her face turning green
As she quickly zoomed
Bypassing her scream.
And while she was retching
I quickly followed behind
And while she was queching
I spoke to ease her mind.
“Your meal is bladder free.
The jar’s on the garage shelf.
Come, look with me.
You can see for yourself.”
And when she saw the jar
Her eyes met mine.
I could tell she was beginning
To feel just fine.
She went back to the kitchen
And I did some retching myself
Because I had just fibbed
About that jar on the shelf.
The bladder in that jar
Was an old one of mine
And dad’s had been cooked
With potatoes, carrots, and wine.
So the moral of this tale
Is to say, “Thanks, but I’ll pass,”
When given a memento of yourself
From the hospital staff.
Answer: Person who had the gall bladder removed was my cousin. The hospital really gave him his gall bladder to take home in a jar. He really set it on the kitchen counter. (Ugh!) His wife made him move it to the garage.
I always told you “I love you”;
Even our hearts knew
But you rejected and sealed it with glue.
Whenever I called from the hub,
Your phone you set “Do Not Disturb”
Yet I overlooked that snob.
When you needed money,
You’d call me “Sweet Honey”
After receiving, you’d stop being bonnie.
I bought you a flower on Valentine’s day
You told me you’d accept it in May
“Someone else has given me,” you’d say.
So you boomed and zoomed about with him
He at last messed up your gorgeous trim
And then you thought of my lovely dream:
I don’t love you anymore, woman!
Go find another man
I already have my marriage to plan.