Hems Poems | Examples

Why Do Ghost's Wear Clothes

I passed the elm at eventide,
Its arms were bare, its breath was wide,
And there beneath the twilight sky 
I thought I saw a woman roam.

Her gown was thin as woven mist,
A memory the dark had kissed;
No rustle made, no shadow cast—
She moved as moonlight through the grass.

Do ghosts wear gowns like we once wore,
With hems that brush the oaken floor?
Do buttons cling and silks remain
When souls have slipped the cords of life?

Perhaps they wear what dreams devise—
Not stitched by hand, but born of skies.
A shawl of dusk, a veil of rain,
The hush of snow against the pane.

She turned to me but made no sound,
And yet my heart was loosely bound—
By what, I cannot quite define:
A lace of loss, a thread of time.

If ghosts wear clothes, they must be spun
From things undone, from lives begun.

Precious Gems

 The moon invites romantic hearts
 To ride moonbeams as kissing starts
 The heavens sewn in gleaming hems
 The stars they shine like precious gems

 From galaxies light years away
 The stars are there, and there to stay
 Adorned like queens in diadems
 The stars they shine like precious gems

 A star was seen, it brightly shone
 A king was born, divine his throne
 From there came many faithful stems
 The stars they shine like precious gems

 Throughout the heavens stars disperse
 The muse of poets find a verse
 Gleaming words in many poems
 The stars they shine like precious gems

In Marked Territory

In Marked Territory 10-28-24 - Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Marked Territory

Midnight tightly clasps the darkness,
Like a wounded heart,
In between topaz edges of twilight
 And pastels of first light.

Jealous of its cosmos
Shoos away the master of the day
 Turning the face of the daystar
  To other skies
To claim small hours.

Guardian of vanishing infinities
Speaks 
Indigo borders
 For moonlight
   Moonbows
    And wishes on the first brave star
Where waves of the galaxy
Break 
Over unseen edges of stellar sands.

Lit only by celestial lanterns
Enchanter 
Conjures sovereign spells
Declaring jurisdiction over platinum roses
And
Lover’s sighs 
That wax then wane under polar stars.

Night rules this welkin magic,
A sorcerer hiding a book of spells,
This realm under the starry arch
 The moonrise
  The nebulae decorating the firmament,
Where gravity hems in epiphanies.

The Heavens

Carved arches of rainbows competed with the sunbeam clouds.
Stairs from the seen scenes to the unseen secrets sped in shrouds.
Galaxies and constellations like lightning bolts shined and shunned.
Between snow-white clouds, seraphims and cherubims hummed.

I saw the souls of saints around the thrones of the Trinity.
They sang and danced, adorned in robes of divinity.
The hems of the cloaks of the father, the son, and the spirit
Flowed and glowed through the realm, joys implicit and explicit.

Amidst hills, seas, oceans, and valleys, in the velvet green
On the edge of the yard of Eden, Adam and Eve were seen.
The seasons of spring, summer, winter, and autumn looked blended.
With plants, trees, flowers, and fruits, the heavenscape seemed splendid.

The merge of God’s glory and joy of beings is heaven.
Love, peace, kindness, goodness, and fullness there bind everyone.

crafty christine

Crafty Christine has a magical way with a sewing machine
She is also great with crafts, she may be the queen
She puts things together in a fun, fine way.
Recipients of her gifts say “hip hip hooray!”

She can take old denim and make aprons that glow.
With hems of silver, they put on a fine show.
Her quilts are amazing, better than any we’ve seen.
Crafty Christine is the queen, yes, she is the queen!

Her concoctions and designs are legends around here.
We stand back, amazed, said her neighbors dear.
She can take a backyard and turn it into a park fit for a queen.
We are all impressed by our clever, crafty Christine.

A Confession of Recipes

If you're reading this, honey 
it means the diner is burning,

It's not a typo or a misprint,
but a message:

Witches are wisdom-embedded
women who have seen worse things
than the business end of a newt's behind

I once made a man cry with desire
on a whim by telling him who he was
at twenty-five, I hadn't yet realized

it's really just a trick of language
to be specific
pick the bits of a person, hanging 
like snagged teeth on stems
of last night's arugula

reading their cards like tarot on credit
serve the assessment of them
with a side of sugar they'll call it magic, 
make you marry if you're good at it—knowing 
when to grind the spices is the icing

sin of men or Saigon cinnamon no matter
witches as women, as wisdom get better 
in time, in the garden, in the kitchen
slow-cooking rhymes that melt men's masks
over jasmine rice, like loose meat

so the young girls feeding at our hems 
can remember the recipe

Balsams- POTD

In tastefully lined up pots in a row,	
Multi colored balsams in clusters grow.
A visual treat to adoring eyes,
But never a haunt frequented by bees.

Balsams do not need much care, yet may fade,
If not allowed a little shade.
Flimsy they are of delicate stems,
With light green leaves of serrated hems.

Growing in my neatly laid up yard,
They invariably make me glad.
Gleaming in the first rays of summer sun,
By their simple beauty, my heart they have won.

Unlike the charming red, red rose
Hardly any poet, on them, odes compose
They have no scent,  yet as a colorful throng,
In my courtyard, proudly they belong

When the flowers wither, pods appear
In time for self- dissemination, prepare
When fully ripe, the pods explode
And seeds fly as birdies from their nest to explore!

Thus, Nature’s ways are so amazing
Even in plants there's an inherent training
For seeds to leave the comfort of their pods
And find their own space fighting all odds!

Simple Days of Summer

Simple days of Summer
convey simple moments:
a humming hummingbird,
dancing dandelion,
a hazy morning, blurred.

Simple days of Summer
whisper of simple times:
sharing a root beer float,
going to the movies,
fishing from a friend's boat.

Simple days of Summer
conjure simple pleasures:
antiquated book stores,
picnics on a bronze beach,
bare feet on polished floors.

Simple days of Summer
tickle simple senses:
sweet homemade lemonade, 
slushy, syruped snow cones,
denim shorts with hems frayed.

Garden Swing

I love to sail on waves of sky
where breaths of clouds are rushing by,
where tall trees toss their leafy heads
way above the garden beds.

I love to swing with the birds at dawn
when sky cracks open and day is born,
when hems of fur on the robes of night
gently brush the morning light.

I ride on a swing. I swoop and fly.
I kick at falling leaves.
I call to a magpie as she dips by, 
and feel the whoosh of the breeze.

A Lifetime

A rotted old house deep in the South
Was where I learned to shut my mouth
And keep my stockings high and my hems low
And take care of babies and learn to sew

And the very first thing I stitched together
Was made of cotton that had heathered
Was a pair of pants like my Papa wore
“For wearin’ ‘round the house!” my Mama swore

When I was ten I was grown enough
To wear layered dresses and shoulder puffs
To gussy up when I went out for a walk
And to court a man with dainty talk

I got old enough to leave the nest
And my Papa found one out in the west
A farmer’s boy with corn agrow
And I didn’t care enough to say no

Six babies to him I gives
Ain’t none of which who lives
I didn’t much care for them anyways
But now he works much longer days

But when he’d come home and go to bed
I’d creep around the dark farmstead
And saddle up his horse to ride
I felt like such a man astride

He done worked himself to death
On that horse he drew his last breath
The preacher offered three hundred
And my horse and I were sundered

Now as I sit, old and gray
I think about the final day
And maybe the Lord will let me be
Out of these bones and finally free.

Ode To the Wind That Has Caressed Her

Spontaneous,
All caressing,
Wind,
That she has loved,
As much as a glass,
Of champagne,
In evenings splendor,
That has sighingly,
Caressed,
Her wild sweet laughter,
Her hairs golden tenderness,
Warm and chill winds,
That has caressed,
Her hems,
Her voluptuousness,
Her sad and joyous soul,
Amorous wind,
That has caressed,
Her champagne love,
Upon margarita and chill shores,
Moonlit wind,
That has caressed,
Her exotic and ethereal being,
Mango wind,
That has kissed,
And embraced,
Her sweet vineyard charm,
That she loves,
As much as a glass of wine,
In midnights candle,
As she salsas,
like a ballerina,
All caressing,
Summer,
and autumn wind,
that she loved,
As much as jazz,
You are like jazz,
Under the stars,
That she lovingly danced,
And dances within,
Shimmering,
And sweetly
Reynaldo Casison

Ode To a Billowing Skirts Hem

The hem of her skirt,
Billows,
With her fond sweetness,
As she upon her stilletos,
Balances,
Within,
A diamond stillness,

Her hem,
Sighs,
With a nostalgia,
Of romance,
In the undulant wind,

Waves of surreal petals,
As the moon,
With its exotic flowers,
Singers,
And dancers,
Blush,
With a serenity,
Of rhythms,
That kiss,
With adorations,
And loves,
Firmly tender wings,
Her Beauty and hems,
Vast loveliness
Reynaldo Casison

Ode To Thigh High Boots Upon a Dancer

Thigh high boots,
Upon her golden,
Dancer legs,
How lovely,
To,
Adorn,
Such beauties,
To caress,
And kiss,
The shore,
Of,
Her heavenly,
Thighs,
Where nightingale hymns,
Drift,
To,
Sigh,

From what vistas,
Did she gather,
Your leathers,
Exotic honey,

Thigh high boots,
Upon,
a, 
lovely,
Dancer,
Depths of cabaret nights,
Horizons,
Of,
Sensuous hems,
You steady,
Her loveliness,
Her gallop,
And sway,
Elegant as candles,
Sweet as margarita evenings
Reynaldo Casison

Ladies Dressed Like Gypsies

Its the ladies,
Dressed like gypsies,
That feel the moon,
With romance,
In their fibers,
That desire to dance,
With love,

Its the ladies,
Dressed like gypsies,
That make the nightingales,
And flowers sigh,
In the warmth,
Of gardens and moons,

Its the ladies,
Dressed like gypsies,
That are so sweet,
And tender,
And ofcourse exotic,
That cherish the hymns,
The sensuousness,
Of a long lazy evening,
Where their hems,
Can sway, unwind, and relax
Reynaldo Casison

Ode To a Whistler

The whistler,
In the moonblossomed,
Evening,
Hums along,
Like a modest star,
His own company,
And melody,
With the golden leaves,
Bound to nothing,
But his own romance,

A drifter of drifters,
A gypsy of gypsies,
He and she,
Is like a great and sweet,
Actress,
With astonishing range,
Improvising,
Waves,
Delighting,
Windkissed flowers,
And unsung holidays,

The whistler,
As he hums along,
The shores of soul,
Dawn, and evenings,
With his holiday presents,
Of melodies,
Windcaressed,
Through the haze,
Is cool as the mallards,
Upon sunset lakes,
A jazz wanderer,
Romancing hems,
And crescents
Reynaldo Casison

• Short Hems Poems
• Famous Hems Poems
• Best Hems Poems
• Read Hems Poems
• Long Hems Poems
• Hems Quotes