Breeches Poems | Examples

Listen to the Wind

Listen to the wind outside your bedroom, 
lying in the darkness of the night.
While the storm is raging in the shadows,
hear the cries of those who daily fight.

Seasons change within the midnight breezes.
Summer turns its colors into fall..
Soon the flowers dare the autumn freezes,
as you feel the coldness in it all.

Listen to the wind with your heart open.
You will hear a message ears cannot. 
Long unwritten history will be spoken,
as truth is carried in language we forgot.

Living in a world of data breeches,
truth is something  often you must doubt. 
Close your eyes and listen to wind speeches.
The anger of the natural realm is out.

Nature is going through some changes. 
We see this in the earthquakes, floods and rains.
Perhaps, a listen to the wise, old wind will secretly, somehow, explain.

Vogon Without Regret

Glimitz!
According to your order - pronounce,
I weigh less than an ounce.
As gratchens flame and fly, to my disdain,
I wonder, have you got a light?

A conference call,
a violin,
a gently rappling, nightly nappling, finger poppling, ripe penguin,
all of them, on ice,
or would slipslod them on rice?

Catch a tory,
a chicken allegory,
seizing up, all oblong,
I don't belong,
I am more a scroodle square - don't glare.

Chattanooga,
What's it to ya?
Blampart on rye -
as I sit and sigh,
a bicycle goes by.

Oglethorpe in greeches,
idly ironing breeches;
say aloud:
I'm not unproud.
Morebly, I am constitutional.

Cribble, Crabble, my friend Jasper,
grasshoppers of alabaster,
frogs from South Chicago,
a ballpark frank for Joe,
did I stub my finger?

...or my stomach?

Saskatoony
on the half shell,
Pinkerton gets all wet.
Could I ever master
Vogon without regret?

Party for Two

Four batches of ice cream,
two cobblers with peaches,
some spicy beef chili;
must loosen my breeches.

Invited the neighbors,
but none of them came.
But it won’t get wasted
‘Cuz that’d be a shame.

No, it will get waisted, 
and it will be mine.
I’ll just row it off,
and that will be fine.

But one thing sure bummed me;
when they cancelled, I wept.
I’d tidied the house up;
the porches were swept.

That cleaning for nothing:
the floors and the stoop.
Only one thing consoles me:
another big scoop.

'tiz mine patch

.

           hoist it up mate
                    fer
              she wakes

               gotta see
                   her  
                  purty
                 shadow
              fer       see
                  her'z
                  mine 
               mangled 
               breeches



*did ya know; pirates wore patches
  to see their way in the dark. So they
  say; "covering one eye made the other
  see better at night"

Le Petomane

Joseph Pujol, Flatulist
1/6/1857 - 8/8/1945

He started working as a baker
And ended up being the same
But for nearly thirty years he 
Enjoyed international fame.
Using his natural talent
For quite a long while
He entertained the elite 
In his own unique style.

He could break wind at will
With  superb sound control 
Wore a special pair of breeches
With an appropriately placed hole
And, with a series of tubes
Could play tunes on a flute
Blow out a distant candle
Imitate a duck or coot.

He gave delight to millions 
With his travelling show
Cheered and feted wherever 
He was invited to go
He couldn’t compete with 
The noise of the first Great War
So he retired back to his shop
To become a baker once more.

So, All hail  le Petomane
The man who made of it an art,
And added respectability to,
The discreetly dropped fart.
Before  crowned heads of Europe  
At  the height of his glory
Sadly  the modern world has 
Almost forgotten his  story.

Windy Gale

The wind is blowing,
Blowing strong and boisterous 
It's the wind of change
Tiffany truffles truncation.

Gale winds bowing to the
Prayer called by the Muezzin
The wind gauge is fixated
To the North's polarity.
Algorithms has altered its course.

All runing away from the curse
Of the dying whale marooned 
In the shallow waters of the lagoon
Sneaky slithering snakes
In the hub of damnation.
Dooms days gong sounding.

Gloomy reverberations all over,
Cheering jeers from the crowd.
Breeches from the leeches of Gbongbon.
Having been ditched by the es of Ab...

Orphaned by their loss 
Enters the blame game
Characterised by sore losers
Winner's have many friends
But woe to you if you are a loser
That is the nature of the game.
(Written on the 10th April, 2015)

Fashion Rage Tm

Boy told mom name brand he wanted to wear 
Gucci, Tommy Hilfiger, Nike air 
They are all the fashion rage. 
When you earn a hefty wage 
Wal-Mart breeches and shirt is what we'll spare.

12/24/2020

Trademark~~Quintain Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick

used How Many Syllable   10  10  7  7  10

Repic

Night goes wrong gone by gone
Eleven sharpened by bell tolls
Last wipes failed in scrambled line
Shake the grip till bleached
Squeezing of faith blows a worship dirt

Night closes sins by wrong summon
Twelve pointed by curved hands
Silence gasped with dark lullaby
Trivium lied about lines and curves
Engaged big rhetoric wrapping logic 

Night designated as a place curse
No more clock numbers shown
The bell blinded all clangs
Agony straddled a hundred murmurs
Fro and prone wrecked in pieces

Ante meridian written out all loads
Sketch phobia noticed panic
Galloped dimes to the Lord
Mashed five fingers full of tones
Here you are debris clings

Belonging to the forenoon or moon
Since the first as scratches furs
Marked colors both kiss and prick
Breeches of crying goes blotto
Stoned drawing flashed hustle soul

Thrones and domes breed fleet
Grinding wave of anon pruned bristles
All red and reddish
Aware the morning lapped rest
Mopped silhouette of you

A Tree I Write Florist Inside Me-

In a kingdom full of documents
 a tree
A forlorn virtual storage
 parking paper words 
a tree 
cut down for me
 fashion into paper 
ink stains on them 
effort extensions 
and point editing
I can't read
 yet I write
 I can't see yet I fight 
open ended the pages still yet arcing
Trappings of a forest breeches the novels
Between the the leaves and the needles I can't write
Yet I read between roots and bark
I read, I write, I talk
A tree
Florists inside me

How Beautiful This World Is

How beautiful this world is
How charming everything seems
Oceans, deserts, breeches 
mountains, Forests and fields

Every bit is so pleasing
At peace
Air, water, fruit and all our food
So yummy, so tasty
We live together
With everybody
We are so content 

But earth is only half lit
Each day is followed by Night
We live in fears 
Fear of losing a loved one
Fear of losing health or wealth
Fear of winter
Fear of death
Or of being left alone

Fear of going too far
And forgetting our way back
Or fear of them going away
Fear of rain, and of earthquakes 
Of scorpions and snake
And of an enemy whose integrity is at stake

Look with an eagle eye
And world is beautiful 
But look closely with a discerning eye
It is nothing but we live in fears and worries 

May it never gets dark
May sun shine on every side

Paghunda

Imp-Each-Ment-Air-Ditty

Imp-Each-Ment-Air-Ditty

Once peach of a Teach on beach tried to preach
The art of closing the reach in a breach
The Coast-Guard drew his gun
Shot a hole in the bun
Now Teach leaks through breeches during Speech

Teach then placed bets on a horse called Leech
Before Whistle-Blower could cry « Impeach ! »
Leech took off in anger
To smite Whistle-Blower
House closed down for lack of bets on Leech

Whistle-Blower held breath to teach impeach
Upper House closed the breach to foist Leech
Said Teach : « No more bets, please ! »
Leech learned to trot with ease
Then Teach rode Leech without a screech

Teach then said : « Place all bets out-of-reach ! 
This race will take first place : Each-to-Each ! »
Twenty-two trillion debt
The pit is full and wet
Whose finger will dam dike in the breach ?

                       (to be continued)

©  T. Wignesan – Paris, December 17, 2019

Blueberry Boat

BLUEBERRY BOAT

I’m going to sea in a blueberry boat
With cellophane sails on cinnamon mast
It could be cold so I’ll take a coat
And In case of a leak some Elastoplast

We shall sail on seas of blueberry blue
with never a clash and no mismatch
You will hardly see us unless you view 
With spectacles infrared attach

When cauliflower clouds are in the sky
They shall give us a satiating entree
Then of course the dessert will be blueberry pie
With a creamy cumulus topping soufle

I’ll send you a postcard wherever we land
On finest rice paper so you can then eat
my words, I can recommend them and
You will have a conscience that’s clear and sweet

A life on the sea may not be all calm
The weather can lead you a merry dance
But in case of storms I will have no qualm
With a spare pair of blueberry underpants

So to all you jack tars I say ahoy!
With a yo ho ho and avast below!
When you’re near come across on a breeches buoy
Share blueberry rum on our little bateau

Pants

Pants

I battle with frustration.
Sometimes I want to quit.
In my never-ending effort
To find some pants that fit.

I begin with optimism
But my poor head soon is spinning,
Unhappily I discover,
They don't make pants for real women.

I don't know what they're thinking,
These makers of our toys.
Who should be making Blue Jeans.
For adolescent boys.

A woman is like a flower,
Who blooms in her own way,
And continues on to blossom 
Until her dying day.

My pants are never long enough
Unless they are to long.
No matter what size I get,
They seem to fit me wrong.

I don't want breeches tight enough
To make a sailor blush.
The dogs all bark when I walk by,
But the singing birdies hush.

So many kinds to choose from,
Could make a Bishop cuss
I don't know why buying pants,
Should stir up such a fuss.

I ask but little of this life.
And take what I can get.
But I desire this little thing,
A pair of pants that fit.

The Colour Blue

Blue it is, when turquoise sparkles its thoughts,
Blue are the skies of romance, when lovers walk, hand in hand. 
Blue, though in vivid contrast and saturation is the ocean,
Blue, very blue: forget-me-nots and periwinkles too. 
Blue skies so bright, warm and welcoming, behind the sun’s guiding light.

Blue are the skies that glow in a little child’s dream,
Blue are oceans that roar their stories of power,
Blue, still it glows over the bright red sunset when lovers kiss.
Blue is the velvet of the breeches of royal footmen, glowing all its different hues.
Blue is solemnity, colour of sadness and despair…
Blue, through all its breathtaking hues...
Colours our lives with its own radiance. 

01/05/2019
Blue contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish

I Am

lost within this labyrinth of lunacy
skipping along in someone elses shoes
pondering pale patches on my baggy pants
tortured by times fallacy of noon and moon

I am

amazed with every wave that breeches shore
thrilled by the shimmering haze of summer sun
adrift upon the clouds that shape my dreams
bemused by the brilliance of still life


©12/22/2018

#2 Marathon Poetry Contest

• Short Breeches Poems
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