Best Jeans Poems
That day by the lake,
tattered jeans and old t-shirts,
my hand in your back pocket as we walked,
your thumb
hooked over the top of my waistband.
It was hot,
...damned hot.
You tilted your hat at a silly angle and laughed,
I looked over and thought
'Hot,
...damned hot'
Smiles exchanged and then a kiss,
I think I melted inside.
We took turns walking backwards
holding both hands
drinking in the sight of each other.
Of course we fell,
you to the floor
and me...
completely in love.
Making a frame with my hands,
a captured moment,
'smile for the camera'
and what a smile it was.
Sitting together in the long grass,
both our hats at silly angles,
you made a frame in front of us,
as I kissed your cheek,
and captured a memory.
Images stored safely in my jeans pocket,
not the one with the hole,
that day by the lake...
it was perfect.
Only now I realise
one camera never worked.
The image of you, still vibrant
as that day,
but the one of us
you made with your hands
faded to barely a whisper.
That day by the lake
we both fell...
but only one fell in love.
"I've rode the range now fer nigh on sixty years,
Brandin' dogies and ropin' them wily Hereford steers.
When I come to the end of the trail, I don't want no big scenes.
Boys, jes' wrap me in my hoss's blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"I don't want you fellers carryin' on and bellerin' when I'm gone.
Jes' say a few kind words, git back in the saddle and carry on!
Think of me now and then when you're chewin' yer bacon and beans.
'Jes promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Promise me you'll take good care of my faithful hoss, Old Dan,
And let him tag along on roundups on the range when you can.
I love cowboyin', but boys you know I ain't a man of means.
Jes' wrap this poor old soul in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Buck, you kin have my scruffy boots and old sweat-stained hat.
Rusty, you take my saddle - Red, you kin have my 44-caliber gat.
Them's my worldly goods 'cept fer these jeans that's worn to smithereens,
But promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in them jeans!"
"I'd like to be planted on that knoll yonder 'neath that ponderosa pine.
If you kin scare up a preacher to send me on my way, that'll do jes' fine.
I've been a cowpoke since I was fourteen - I reckon it's in my genes.
Boys, promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
Entry for Line Gauthier's "Cowboy Poem Contest"
My jeans are all piled into three groups
From thin to as wide as hoola-hoops
Diets are such tedium
Finally back at medium
Efforts to get there would shock our troops
With nineteen pounds lost in just six weeks
I’m once again proud of my rear cheeks
I can credit V-8 juice
For help making my jeans loose
Thin jeans require costlier techniques
*Entry for Nette Onclaud’s “It’s in the Jeans” contest
By Carolyn Devonshire
June 10, 2011
Old men in blue jeans
Dungarees – that’s what they were called,
heavy, blue denim, metal button fly -
form that followed function. The “cuffs” were
rolled up because inseam sizing and “pre-worn”
softened and frayed only occurred if you got
them from an older sibling.
Time has a way of softening things, Dungarees
included. They shaped themselves to your needs,
became one with your movements, stayed with you
through the tough times, went to town with you,
wore the scars and tears of youth moving forward,
taught the lessons of toughness and tenderness,
of reliable, responsible, dependability.
The clothes did not make the man, the man gave
meaning to the clothes, imbued them with his ethic,
his love, his success and failures, stood with him
in welcome rains and barren fields. The jeans,
flannel shirts, boots, weathered face - caught
between an ever present grin and grimace -
awaited each sunrise with a purpose.
The blue jeans are now faded by age,
highlighted by wear and tear, creased
in the rutted way of old roads – necessary
but untended. They offer the comfort of memory’s
warm embrace, the unspoken bond of a friendship
shaped by the demands of life.
They still walk together, these old men and their
blue jeans, more slowly but no less proudly,
for they have grown old together and know
that “the clothes did not make them men”.
John G. Lawless
1/1/2015
two sneakers frayed jeans sweatshirt with hood
thrown overnight on the floor
waiting lazily just for
another chance at glory
and story
time fame
(Re Old Poems)
A gaggle of girls lounging in the sun,
In the green grass many pairs of legs, stretched out
clad in their blue jeans.
My old pair, many memories...
In them I dug into the garden soil,
planting my spring flowers; my jeans grubby.
A girl gamboling in the rain,
water soaking into her and every pore of fibre
of her blue, old jeans.
Many moons ago, my jeans
touching his knees;
they remember the feel of his bare hands,
as he smoothly traced the lines of those blue jeans.
The hems got frayed, threads hung loose...
They'd seen better days, blotches of old paint,
colors that stayed.
Spent many autumns, growing old with me
My rough old jeans.
I looked far, into the dipping sky,
The soaring waves, breaking into foam,
Turn to the grey hills, as I spread my wings,
braving my last journey,
for the bird to be finally home.
..
Written for nette's contest 'Blue Jeans'
She wears her kindness,
a full length gown
as if it were a pair of baby blue jeans
soft in color, tough in its fabric.
She is adorned in silk
refracts incoming ideas
produces her own.
Like the shimmer
of this same silk
she is brilliant!
Her embrace is boundless.
Her exuberance unmatched.
She is "music".
Paints with the bold strokes of her guitar,
the perfect pitch of her voice, natures smile.
She is an original,
nothing like you.
She is passionate,
exactly like you.
She offers all this, more.
Chooses you.
"I love her with every fiber..."
Often I wonder.
With so many beautiful words
attaching themselves so easily to women
why would any man ever need to lie...
Sept/26/2014
You tightly-jeaned fellas
outlining your phallus
leave me amazed and a-ponder
I'm amused but bemused:
are there girls who have use
for what resembles a wee anaconda?
Do they worship your shrine
or it’s all in your mind
fed with waccies instead of good food?
It's decidedly viable
to have one more pliable
than the texture of old antique wood
Cold water well spiced
with big blocks of ice
may bring tears to your 'dmiring eyes
but your nuts in a wink
will shiver and shrink
from grotesque to a palatable size
FOR NETTE'S "IT'S IN THE JEANS" CONTEST
DELYSIA
The young man stood at the bus stop waiting for the bus
Along came the sexiest looking young lady he ever saw
She had on tight, stretched blue denims that marked her curves
Her shape was as the Coca Cola bottle as the saying goes
“Hi princess, can I be of any assistance to get your jeans off
I can imagine it will be a challenge for you without some help”
Smiling and blushing the young lady pass her hands over her hips
Letting the young man imaginations run wild like wild stallions
The bus came and he let her go up ahead of him, like a gentleman
She went into the nearest seat, he sat beside her claiming his territory
“So, may I come home with you so we can discard this intrusion to your beauty?”
“Well, since you ask so nicely and you are such a gentleman, of course you may”
They got off at her stop and she led the way to her apartment’s door
His eyes never leaving her blue denim clad sexy voluptuous curves
What a treat I have tonight he thought, I will make her want me over and over
I will slowly peel off that tight blue jeans while kissing every inch of her
“Can I get you something to drink,” she ask. “Yes, may I have a cold beer please?”
He sips his beer, she her tonic wine, while they try to get more acquainted
With every word he says he draws closer, destroying the space between them
Finally he touches her, peeling the jeans away, the prize within his grasp
He is kissing her all over her face, lips and neck. Not looking from the face down
Suddenly he looked to where his hands were busy. Hello! He is thinking. Where
are all the curves?
What is this I am seeing? All the loose skin kept in by the tight blue sexy denim was
hanging
Things did fall apart, all pun intended, because the young man ran like the devil was
after him
She looked in the mirror
and giggled with pleasure
to see that she wore
her old clothes from her teens.
But then she recalled
that she wore them in pregnancy -
laughing out loud,
she still loved her old jeans.
Jack Horne for Nette's 'It's in the Jeans.'
To trade through the Pacific Ocean
An undeniable dream for nations
Never mind pollution and all its ramifications
The Pearl, China’s third longest river
As blue jeans take the world
Their warmth should make us shiver.
The ecosystem easily raped and plundered
By blue jeans, have you never wondered?
The River Pearl what a glorious name
Its river bed with shell like rocks once aflame
The iridescent pear-like colours true
But dying now because of 'blue'.
The waters from the factories run black
Some recycled, but corporations never look back
The waste-dyed waters piped into the rivers life
Polluting and poisoning - rampant and rife
Piped into the fields this black river of death
The crops cannot grow, people gasping for breath
The smog that sits over the Pearl waters dyed black
Will take all you have, is there no going back?
The famous white dolphins will soon be gone
They lived in this river the pearlesence now gone
They die every day as do the crops on the shore
Won’t some-one stand up and cry out ...NO MORE!!!!
© 10/07/2013 GG
The third longest river in china The Pearl River is so badly polluted from the industries on its river banks including the blue dye from the denim factories that all the life in it is now dying, as are the crops on the rivers banks watered by this polluted water.
Five days of blue jeans.
Five days of bare feet.
My mini-vacation
is surely a treat.
It's sunny and warm
and summer is near.
The chair on the deck
is calling "Come here !"
All thoughts of my job
are pushed out of my mind.
If this isn't heaven
it's the closest I'll find.
With coffee and book,
jeans and bare feet,
onto the deck
the morning to greet.
Toenails are painted,
twinkling in the sun.
Rest and relaxation,
my idea of fun.
~~~~by Francine Roberts~~~~
06/06/2011
for nette onclaud's "It's in the Jeans" contest
About This Poem
It's In The Jeans
The young man stood at the bus stop waiting for the bus
Along came the sexiest looking young lady he ever saw
She had on tight, stretched blue denims that marked her curves
Her shape was as the Coca Cola bottle as the saying goes
“Hi princess, can I be of any assistance to get your jeans off
I can imagine it will be a challenge for you without some help”
Smiling and blushing the young lady pass her hands over her hips
Letting the young man imaginations run wild like wild stallions
The bus came and he let her go up ahead of him, like a gentleman
She went into the nearest seat, he sat beside her claiming his territory
“So, may I come home with you so we can discard this intrusion to your beauty?”
“Well, since you ask so nicely and you are such a gentleman, of course you may”
They got off at her stop and she led the way to her apartment’s door
His eyes never leaving her blue denim clad sexy voluptuous curves
What a treat I have tonight he thought, I will make her want me over and over
I will slowly peel off that tight blue jeans while kissing every inch of her
“Can I get you something to drink,” she ask. “Yes, may I have a cold beer please?”
He sips his beer, she her tonic wine, while they try to get more acquainted
With every word he says he draws closer, destroying the space between them
Finally he touches her, peeling the jeans away, the prize within his grasp
He is kissing her all over her face, lips and neck. Not looking from the face down
Suddenly he looked to where his hands were busy. Hello! He is thinking. Where
are all the curves?
What is this I am seeing? All the loose skin kept in by the tight blue sexy denim was
hanging
Things did fall apart, all pun intended, because the young man ran like the devil was
after him
No matter the what, when, or where,
jeans compliment what you wear.
The chic cheek,
country sleek
new Frankie, Brazil Roxx seek stare.
The high roller’s dream, boots to mate.
Smooth curved hips most appreciate.
That slow, I don’t care
teasing derriere,
a mind of its own to undulate.
A walk slowly hypnotizing,
eyes with focus tantalizing,
the promise is there.
I don’t know from where,
It’s the jeans I’m realizing.
For Nette’s “It’s in the jeans” contest
Jun 7 2011 Charles Henderson
God do I need a man?
I know I need a pair of pants
Levi Jeans
Like the one advertised
on Alicia Keys.
Pants that fit me right
Close to my skin
But not too tight.
Let me move about
Day and night
Blue black
and out of sight.
But do I need a man?
Do I need a man?
No!
Not if I have a pair of pants
Levi Jeans
Like the one advertised
on Alicia Keys...