Best Trousers Poems
From outfield judging eyes await your plight,
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven.
Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled...
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like blood boiled, fever'd swing loyal,
now away to skies, all eyes on prized swat.
Faithfully she watched from merciful stands,
clouds roll away from fancy, fated rush.
His chance to meet life, alone in her hands,
though startled by a bat's powerful crush.
Will you strike true in life's bewilder'g plan,
carried on shoulders of heavenly fans?
Categories:
trousers, allegory, crush, endurance, passion,
Form:
Sonnet
Categories:
trousers, character, humorous,
Form:
Light Verse
Oh yes, the college girls
come and go
speaking of Ani De Franco.
And yes, I too
measure out my days
with coffee spoons,
a hundred years later
and nothing has changed,
only the numbers of the dead
and the deranged
have increased exponentially
with deadly technology.
Like the Caesars of old
the power brokers of now
stamp out the vestiges
of an older order.
And yes, i sit like an elderly sentry
on the cusp of two centuries
and views of the world expecting
nothing better
than what has come before.
And yes, oh yes, seeing the gullibility
and the tomfoolery
of a world where you can be convinced
with very little effort
that up is down and that
right is left holding the bag repeatedly
and speaking ever more deletedly
to fewer and fewer ears.
What has changed?
What has changed except the names
used to describe the same old games
of a gang of aggressive primates.
Some are cannon fodder
used to divert the lion
and parade and preen
when they are lucky to escape.
Some are keen
to produce more spawn
so that we can do the same
old con again.
Some are at the center
protected and gifted
by a willing populace,
unwilling to risk
their own neck
as long as some one else will.
And some, with rolled up trousers
sit on the edge knowing
what is right
but lacking the will
to say so
and creating for ourselves
the post of sentry
to ease the burden
of a nagging conscience.
Just sitting here
watching the college girls
come and go
speaking of Ani DeFranco.
Categories:
trousers, introspection, on writing and
Form:
Free verse
stormy cotton cloud
billowing fresh emerald green
shrouds the old cynic
Categories:
trousers, fashion, green,
Form:
Haiku
Sagging trousers
Low waist
Fine taste
Written July 9th, 2015
© Dr. Upma A. Sharma
For contest by Judy Konos
Categories:
trousers, fashion, fun,
Form:
Footle
i bust my trousers
and my shirt buttons fly off- -
picks up a dumb bell
*I hope to lose my belly - but I say that every year...
for Tracie's New Year haiku contest
Categories:
trousers, hope, new year,
Form:
Haiku
A lady so much older than I
Deftly signalled a path from her thigh
Like a wrinkle in thyme
Something started to climb
Hmmph! I forgot to zip up my fly!
Categories:
trousers, age, culture, funny, imagination,
Form:
Limerick
Seams burst
the flatulent
filled blubber
seeps out
drowns out
the hope I once had
rips itself from the
confines
of a world that
impresses
and dresses
its people in
slim lifeless
shapes
and exposes
scared faces
shocked
at what they shouldn’t see
at what the mirror sees
and shames away from
Categories:
trousers, angst, depression
Form:
Free verse
Trousers are ashtrays
Traveler's affectation
Embracing the dirt.
Categories:
trousers, fashion, image, sympathy,
Form:
Haiku
SHORT TROUSERS
When I was young in trousers short,
Children laughed at my knobbly knees.
I asked my mother why she bought
Short trousers in the winter’s freeze.
Fresh air was good for me she thought.
But Dad wore full length all year long
Which didn’t seem to me quite fair.
He was quite healthy, fit and strong
Without his knees exposed to air.
I said it was unjust, all wrong
But now, commuting on the train,
Day after day in sultry heat,
I find long trousers are a pain.
Sometimes I wish I could retreat
To childhood and wear shorts again.
20th November 2020
Quintain/Sicilian contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet
Categories:
trousers, childhood,
Form:
Quintain (Sicilian)
Humble stone was intolerably warm,
That ice block was numbing cold,
Those nails were pining to pierce,
The poisonous worms and snakes in jungle,
Were ready to sink in their stocks,
I was to sit,squat,walkand run in these environs,
I squirmed to think,
What would have happened if,
We as a civilization,
Not invented our present avatar,
Below the waist garments,
Admirably represented by trousers,
In fact the day we developed awareness,
Of our crotches and what is contained therein,
We came to grab something to hide,
That we can now tailor and more,
Shows that we have not only leaped,
A mile in physical security,
But also developed abashed ness with abundant clarity.
Categories:
trousers,
Form:
Free verse
When out with friends she laughs with her friends
He is loud, impossible to ignore tells them how to bark the dog down
He jeers at females, lowlifes! Till he cooks, cleans and irons
He calls them useless at her every beck and call
He pushes the bar girls around she makes him do all that
And his peers admire him her peers ask her how
He is the ultimate alpha she learnt how to roar like a lion
Categories:
trousers, husband, wife,
Form:
Free verse
Shouldn’t I assert A Maverick of a Woman?
From behind surrendering a man,
With a pistol purse prodding his back
And a warning not to look back.
Soon her determined fingers in his right pocket
From same fishing out a locket…
Jeez! The Guy is in dreamy love
And she about to tamper with A Dove!
“No, it has to be his trousers left pocket”.
But from ransacked same extracts a socket
“God! The Guy is an electrician
And I this couldn’t discern; A Non Magician…
Alright vamoose, looking not back
Unless you safe wisdom lack!”
Categories:
trousers, adventure, evil, men, money,
Form:
Rhyme
Standups can crack up audiences for hours
Especially when entering the stage without trousers
It wasn't intentional
Nor is it conventional
But surely the crowd won't throw cauliflowers
Categories:
trousers, fun,
Form:
Limerick
MANLY TROUSERS PRESSED INTO EJACTULATING SPATS THIS man of god large belly and buttons with a big gollywog voice \his madness of conviction for personal interpretation //behind psychosis and need for control.
ticks and rolls his eyes his lips rubberish proclaiming righteousness:
for dullards — persuasive. ]\
Both sides feed the madness; one side — a voice of God!
the other; REPENT so intelligence prevails,
while the spirit and soul snitches
weak mindsEAT confused souls.
the grey light of not KNOWING,
our lightheaded twic twoc inlgy attacks
a need for clarity.
a world spins unknowingly as though
consciousness is ether.
i too admit it is oppressive
how man espouses thoughts into reality!
lot of his physiognomy;
their manly trousers pressed into
ejaculating spats.
blind eye leads to face — well-runed.
THIS dance!
This trance! Silence breakers.
An old man in beige, like a janitor
in the back bedroom of a barrio waiting on the lid to drop.
the priest is dropping his trousers.
NARCOTICS: the ancient gods and our feelings towards them
a lance of fire – a brain with a mother’s milk.
a protective shield, thanks to the invention of machine
purity also possible for many.
NEED to know needs to know callousness accepts.
conduit and refined quartz weather radar connects,
the asphalt bridge crossing a broad river of chemicals
A DREAM, a heaven’s journeY.
The soul journeys through a desert of twisted words, a
psychic bubble where five guys in sandals watch a laser show
but not really see a cartoon mouse
and a smiley guy climbing the mountain that houses
a naked reptile with a webbed hand that flings
its claws.
Of kindness
:: 12.21.2020 ::
Categories:
trousers, poetry,
Form:
Free verse