Best Denim Poems
Sure, I own a denim jacket
And, of course, a bunch of jeans.
All my closets have held denim
Since the time I hit my teens.
Back in high school and in college
There was little else to wear;
Maybe corduroy or khaki’d
Show up on my derriere.
Though my wardrobe’s now more varied
(There’s no denim skirt or vest),
Jeans are still among the choices
Every day when I get dressed.
So I owe a debt to Davis*
And his partner, Levi Strauss,
For providing me with bottoms
I can match with top or blouse.
*Jacob W. Davis
She held on to her blue jeans
From our younger, college days
With peace signs painted on each back pocket
And that worn-almost-every-day fade
But thirty years and four grown kids
Changed her girlish shape
Still those jeans hung in our closet
In a most prominent place
She dreamt of one day wearing them again
Pouring herself inside them like before
I tried to always reassure her
It’s the woman inside that I adore
Now illness has a way
Of removing unwanted pounds
Though not the way she planned it out
She could fit them on again she found
The quilt we made in her memory
Has many patches from times in her life
The peace signs on denim pockets
Are the patches that I most like
We met him at the Pride Parade joining all those who came there to unite…
He was wearing a blue denim dress and carrying a flag in colors blue and pink and white.
He proudly waved his transgender flag…a freedom that seemed to give him joy…
We weren’t sure if he was born a boy who knew he was a girl
or born a girl who knew she was a boy.
But that didn’t matter to us…or anyone else who stood there by the road…
we were all impressed with the courage and the bravery this wonderful human showed.
Because today…fear and prejudice and politics have made it difficult by far…
for a transgender human to stand up proudly…and declare to the world who they are…
Which is why we were there at the parade…to lend our love, support and happiness
to celebrate with pride…all the people in the parade…and their unique humanness.
It’s fitting that we are in Cherokee country..because many native nations,
whose traditions we so callously attempted to destroy…
believed in two-spirit people—those being born part girl…part boy.
They gave special significance to two-spirit humans…and welcomed all of them here
believing they had a special connection to the sacred spiritual sphere.
They revered two-spirit humans…who because of their two-spirit feelings
became their spiritual and ceremonial leaders…with special powers for healing
I’d like to get back to the Native Nations way of thinking…
because the only way to make this country great…
If to ensure acceptance, truth and wisdom…supplants our prejudice, fear and hate.
When you think about it who walks in better balance
than a human who can see the world from more than one side…
Which made us proud to watch this young human wave his flag…
proud he knew he was accepted…that he didn’t have to hide.
I believe we all are born with two-spirits…certainly me…and I have no doubt…you…
It’s just some people are more blessed to have a better balance between the two.
And rather than try to shame and humiliate them…I think it’s important that we…
celebrate who they are…and who they were born to be…
Because this human holds onto the hope that one day…our world will have evolved so far…
That a human won’t need to be brave or courageous…to show the world exactly who they are
perfumed pens are spurred
by rugged men
cowboys lasso
boots and denim
Awe but man! She is a looker!
Don’t know if she’s someone’s honey,
Or a chargin’ hooker.
She’s struttin’ her stuff down town in her Lees,
jeans so tight,
they’ve locked her knees..
Must be wearin’ all that makeup just to hide the pain,
a price she pays for the attention gain..
Three inch spikes and hopin’ she don’t slip,
Cause them blue jeans just bound to rip!
Squeezing into them must have been a trick,
Now to peel and pry them off,
She’ll have to use a stick…
Sure got this fellow to lookin’! Can’t say that I ain’t !
Wow! Is there such a thing as denim colored paint?!!
loose threads, holes and worn spots
faded naturally
his story told in these old genes
left unworn for so long
beloved denim lives on
hidden beneath the casket lid
11/11/2017
KNIT YOUR FABRIC - Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
(Nay Say No. 4)
Standing or slouching
He is so fly -- when
buttoned and stretched ~
Oh my, so pleasing to the eye
Is it your beloved?
No my dear it’s my blue jeans!
I lionized Denim, in turn she spoke for me.
I listened to Sound, she gave me emotion.
I gazed at a picture, made her feel beautiful, she let me see whatever I wanted to see.
Oh, the things these women would do for me.
I gave Word definition, she clothed me with perception.
At times it fit me great and at times not so right
...just like denim.
I was an ethereal shadow in the corridors, a whisper of denim and shy glances floating among them,
Invisible in their noisy bustle, a ghost with a too-polite smile, always on the edge,
Their notes flew like grenades, exploding into laughter that tore through the silence eating away at me inside,
I wore their words like a second skin, tight and stinging, yet unseen by their indifferent eyes.
You once asked if I was okay, but your gaze slipped away before the truth could crawl out,
Still, your gesture was kind compared to those who carved stories in my name without asking for mine,
I screamed, but only inside, where echoes got lost in the corners of my chest, suffocated by silence,
My mute cries reverberated in the caverns of my soul, but no one heard them, no one sought them out.
I wore invisibility like a shield slowly turning me into a shadow of my own being,
Each day I rebuilt my wall of silence, brick by brick, hope by shattered hope,
The locker room was a battlefield where my only weapon was to go unnoticed, to melt into the background.
When I disappeared, they asked, "Why didn't she say anything?" as if silence isn't something taught by those who pretend to listen,
As if my voice hadn't been muted by their passing glances and the laughter that always excluded me,
As if I hadn't tried to scream through every timid gesture, every forced smile, every unshed tear.
Now, the echoes of my silence dance in the empty corridors of their memories, unanswered questions floating in the air,
And I, the ghost I once was, look back at the invisible girl and whisper to her that one day she'll find a voice,
That there will come a time when her words will resonate so loudly they will break down the walls of imposed silence,
Filling the locker room with her long-hidden truth, transforming the echo of pain into the symphony of her own liberation.
Held you
in the light
of faded blue jean
memories
Starring down the contour of your thighs
kissing gently the dimples of your knees
starting to squeeze
your ankles too tight.
That’s when you threw me
off of you
‘round midnight
train
stopped playing
that deep blue music
we listened to
last night
stand
swore there would never be another chance
you would give me
to make it
“all-right”
Fighting each other
not letting go
Fine!
“Good-Bye”
we are through
go find another pair
that fits you
broke my zi-
pp
-er
now I’m stuck
Bad denim
tossed with socks
in a donation box.
There is but one moment,
in a lifetime of moments
That I would not trade for any other
When the fringe of the sky shone
Flushed with flesh pink
Like the tissue around a fresh wound
Before bleeding and spotting
The knees of some cowboy denim blue
Together, But separate
They were each color competing for dominance over the other
I was able to love them each individually and completely
and with my whole enveloping love
To call each by its right name
It was a moment that required all senses
And while the payment was large
It rewarded me handsomely
And before the crickets call came
and chewed time off the clock
I took it in like medicine
To heal my cracked and spidering heart
He took everything of value from me
Except a house with a busted sink
He thought I was screwed
With the denim divorce blues
He wanted to bankrupt dreams
But little did he know
Starting over is a goal
I’ve a house, making home
I’m proud to hold my own
Busted sink is remodeling gold
I started a new fancy trend
A bed and breakfast cool Inn
Women come who have clout
To figure life out
Or have a girls night with friends
The last thing he said to me
Is you’re going to be sorry
But no I am not
For happiness is a lot
I’m rich now as a free divorcee
We cannot come now the ladybug sang with accord.
We are smelling the starch on the ironing board.
The baby mouse agreed, she loved the smell of starch too.
And she liked the stiffness of the jeans her mom ironed all blue.
They sat next to the baskets watching Mrs. Mouse work.
She ironed for the McGuffries, the Geedogs and Mr. McLerk.
The iron’s steam wafted in the air, filling the lungs of the two.
Who loved the aroma every time she reached for a denim of blue.
We are so different but born the same.
We look alike but we have different names.
She was miss prim and proper and oh so grand.
I was just the opposite I wore dirty clothes and
played in the sand.
My dad took me my sister went with her mother.
We growed-up separted but knew we always
had each other.
I lived a different life and was always sad.
My life without a mother only my dad.
She lived the good life never done without.
Had everything she wanted never had to pout.
We found each other when we grew-up.
Now we're always together like two little pups.
Teresa Skyles 4/2/10
It took some time, but
eventually the denim
(after much scrubbing)
of my workaday soul
cleaned-up as if stone washed.
Valuable lessons
were tucked into new pockets,
the clucking hens
of a nagging conscience
were at last silenced.
I’m spinning myself dry today,
hanging up my smoking guns.
Her face still riddles me through,
but I patch up just fine,
and know now how to zip her
out of my mind.