Poems about loon


є 1093643

An All Around Loon

It's pretty simple you see,
I like chain-smoking, snuggling,
And drinking "caw-fee";

I belong in the sixties and I write weird poems,
I believe it's good to help someone out,
Especially when you don't know them;

I enjoy doing arts and crafts,
And keeping a bucket list,
But the things I love the most,

Are taking bathes with you,
And partaking in a good kiss


Author: Hilary V
Date: 23/12/2019

є 1088599

How to Eat Loon With a Spoon

Because I'm suprisingly monocentric on these aspects of my core
Although Deep down some seated turmoil takes the base
All this fraud takes over bastions qualifying everything
Ivory - I dream of ivory sheets

Why can't we just stay the same? Look at these flashing little lights
But reach views (this altering perspective wanes)
I shout in glee most times you see it's offered just in time for bed
This isn't right - this feels so strange

I count the tolls and volunteer a swaying arc under the sky
Ship shape (they call) lest they shove you from the decks
Bound to the past seeking what's more
Shoving these dreams right out the door - i dream of counting in the night

To those Whom may be Called the Oily Faced chaps we salute you in your service to the whimsical name
I have another though you might feel the same
It's done as Nobel as a child might think by assembling words

eat,  loon,  spoon.

Author: 45 Words About Birds
Date: 19/12/2019

є 1062053

The Loon of the Moon

He was sleepless that night, the buffoon
Who questioned himself if he was a loon,
For he desired so deeply to compose a tune
Inspired by the darling moon;
Similar to those who died so soon,
Immortalized all by fading rune.

Across his desk, did lay the rune
Interpreted by this buffoon.
He realizes in it far too soon,
That he was like the other loon
Who fell in love with the lovely moon
And also wrote a rhythmic tune.

He began to hum his heart's humble tune
And began inscribing his personal rune,
Praying that he'll be loved by the moon.
He is quite a fool, this valiant buffoon;
For he never did care if he was a loon
And either if he would be gone all too soon.

Seemingly, somehow, so soon was soon.
The buffoon had sung his final tune.
There goes the buffoon who was a loon.
He lands on the pavement, made it his rune.
That was the end of this loving buffoon,
Who jumped off, thinking of flight to the moon.

There hangs the modeled, magnificent moon,
That was never too early nor never too soon,
That was died for by our busted buffoon,
That had been dedicated several tunes,
That had been depicted in plentiful runes,
That turns gentlemen to lunatic loons.

Tonight was the night of demise of the loon.
Of the man who died for the love of the moon.
The moon's loon becomes part of the runes
Of men who loved Luna yet died too soon,
Of men who serenaded Luna with their tune,
Of men who we may call "buffoon. "

The loon became rune far too soon,
The loon who wanted to be of the moon.
He sleeps at last, the late buffoon.

loon,  moon.

Author: Maria Klara
Date: 25/11/2019

є 999817

Too Soon, Sue-Loon

Not a rainbow in the place,
Could light up that face,
The way her sun did.

loon,  sue.

Author: SomethingRascal
Date: 29/09/2019

є 729076

The Lonely Loon

The Lonely Loon ©

Long before my daily ritual begins
Your call as distinctive as any sound on the lake
Beckons me with your unique overture

Each day like clockwork I see you there
Bobbing like a cork on the shimmering lake
On guard like a sentry at Buckingham palace

As I meander down the long rocky spit
We eye each other like boxers in a ring
One step past the mythical line you have created

And you will take flight to your safe haven
We are so much alike seeking our solitude
Drawing lines in the sand that shall not be crossed

For now we cautiously examine each other's presence
Respectful of the boundaries we have set
One wrong move on my part and...

There will be a flapping of wings
Like a plane making its initial ascent
Soon you will be out of sight

Until tomorrow,
See you then my friend

Andreas Simic ©

lonely,  loon.

Author: Andreas Simic
Date: 26/01/2019

є 521750

I'm Not A Crazy Loon (Just An Honest Insane Writer)

People don't believe the things I write,
But last night things were different.
Seriously folks,
I was abducted by some beings
In a metallic spacecraft
And given a grand tour of the solar system.
You should see what's behind the sun
Or behind the pretty moon.
Oh, we had so much fun!
But that's only half the story
& now I gotta give it a rest.
They told me that next time,
They're gonna show me
The entire universe.
Nope, I'm not a crazy loon,
Just an honest insane writer.

crazy,  honest,  insane,  loon,  writer.

Author: Jonny Angel
Date: 22/07/2018

є 501674

Morning Song of the Old Loon

Distant loon cries sullen
Voice carrying through the mist
Dawn breaking in the warm valley
As the quiet of night gives way вАУ
Barely audible cooing
Travels the entire length of the campground
As weary and barely rested travelers yawn and stretch
Nature giving them the alarm siren
While also placing on faces, smiles and contentment вАУ
Three long low whistles
Signify the time for feeding has arrived
As delicate legs
Poke gently into the soft mud
¬АШS' curved neck ready to strike
Any unsuspecting fish that may be stirred
From its resting place
By those same long loon legs вАУ
Perched with a perch
The majestic dinosaur stands tall above its prey
Feathers, soft shades of blue and grey
Hide the heart of a killer
Bent on feeding its dear sweet babies
For one more day вАУ

loon,  morning,  song.

Author: Sam Temple
Date: 04/07/2018

є 460067

Clarie, duh loon.

She stood outside the apartment
Finger halfway up her nose
Scratching with her free hand
A butt loosely encased
In patchy, dirty blue jeans
Ratty sneakers with holes where
Her toes and dignity poked through

Usually a whiner, a brayer
A donkey among gently purring cats
Calling down thunder and racket
Like a motorcycle tearing circles through a lamp shop

Today, of all days, she swayed

In loose waltz time
To soft piano of a long-dead Frenchman
Curling down from speakers
Mounted in windows
Across the street

Her misshapen hips and flexing calf muscles
Lifting her up in a rude en pointe
Somehow made elegant
By a quiet ballad, a soothing moment
On a hot August morning
In Main Street
Of the hinterlands.


duh,  loon.

Author: Matthew M Lydon
Date: 27/05/2018