It was a sleepless night
Harnessed with discomforts
Soft cushions felt like rocks of ages
Body felt as cracks of thirsty dams
Finally got up and crawled
Downstairs to the kitchen
In search of edibles
Took coffee with a chilly pie
Mesmerized by the sound of wind
I tiptoed outside to catch a sight
Got a snarl of feelings
Like a skein of thread
Stared at the night sky
Quite in sound and loud in lights
Freaky crickets chirp
From beneath grasses.
Leaning on the glass rails,
A cool breeze struck through
This had me now in jumpsuits.
Got a little comfort until sunrise
I felt chills in the morning
Had to visit a physician
The numerous beeps posed fright
Yet it was unavoidable
Multiple tests were conducted
Results revealed parasites in blood
Got a connection with a drip
I was very unwell.
Categories:
jumpsuits, 12th grade, sick,
Form: Free verse
Woodstock wild is what the musicians knew
Plain dairy farm in New York, reservation due.
I was too young, alas, or I would have been there.
Loving the music, the ambiance, wild as old dog hair.
Midriffs showing, the crowd was mostly young and thin.
Jumpsuits looked fabulous, no matter who was poured in.
People ate healthy, they were taunt and tight.
Music wafted all over the hills on this Saturday night.
Platform shoes, cowboy boots, sandals, anything went.
Some hitched rides in caravans, that were heaven-sent.
Lots of clean fun while folk music enticed the crowd.
Rolling, rocking, roaring fun, and probably sixteen times too loud.
Categories:
jumpsuits, nostalgia,
Form: Rhyme
*Image of The Farmhouse by UNS.
Hint of Autumn
Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
As light skews her southernmost sky,
A roost rouses, a rooster crows,
Henhouse's wood handle lifts up.
A replete farm inclined to rouse,
Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
Four-year-old farmhand gets busy,
Baskets of fresh eggs walked with care.
A kitchen's stove burners light up,
A toaster plugged, and cooked bread sliced,
Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
Pasteurized cow's milk fills glasses.
Patterned shirts and blue-jean jumpsuits,
Waits for the bus, two school returnees,
A leaf falls, "Guess afterschool rake?"
Sunstar wakes Aurora reacts.
2022 August 12
*5th Place*
Hint of Autumn
~~Regina McIntosh: Judged 2022 September 03
*HMS; 8 syllables per 16 lines
Categories:
jumpsuits, autumn,
Form: Quatern
I just formed the contest of me.
It is a queenly one with an obvious winner
My heart jumps with anticipation of the prizes
A clean fresh page opens into a whimsical world of wow
provocative possibilities prance like purple ponies
stretching my mind into the outer galaxies of make-believe land
The contest of me is the best thought I have had in a long time
Everything that delights me is pouring into my heart-soul
orange, pink and yellow paisley jumpsuits twist their petootsies
lava lamps, air stream trailers, palm prints on a forehead
1960’s yellow happy face, a red 1968 442, my first kiss.
Feelings I have not had for a long time embrace me
Delight me, incite me, entice me, suffice me.
I limit myself not in the least
As the noon sun falls into my cupped hands
the oak tree is smiling at my eager happiness
I am joyous
Categories:
jumpsuits, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Free verse
When positions of authority
Blatantly abuse their power
Telling you what you’re seeing
Isn’t what it appears to be
We need accountability.
When the murderers wear badges
But skip the silver bracelets
And orange jumpsuits and
Remain free to kill again
There should be accountability.
Too much has gone on
For too long to too many
Man’s law isn’t enough.
So justice can truly be served
Why isn’t there accountability?
We shouldn’t have to fight
Day in and day out
Simply for the right to breathe
We’re all human beings
Yet there’s no real accountability.
I pray each night for lives lost
At the hands of those
Who had sworn to protect
I pray God comes and restores order
So there will be accountability.
Something’s gotta give.
© 6/27/20 JJSmalls
Categories:
jumpsuits, 12th grade, 9th grade,
Form: Verse
Red ribbed tank top and panties.
Drawing and writing’s to earn commissary.
Rugged colored jumpsuits delivered daily through the bars.
A few women foaming at the mouth from drug withdrawals.
Smells of jailed prostitutes.
Some for murder or Robbing for loot.
Three toilet seats lined up, One shower curtain hung by one Rod.
Boxed alone ,dropped by family and friends,No squad
Kites passed by the male inmates through the line
Like clockwork,Under my tray Every-time
A few fights, Kept my body tight.
One eye stayed on guard all night.
Didn’t get any sleep absolutely no rest.
Until the night I earned each inmates respect
No outside letters.
No Love or a sight of light that life ahead is gonna get any better.
Held on to my dignity.
Versatility Adaptability.
Categories:
jumpsuits, growth,
Form: Rhyme
Some fly in their jumpsuits,
others are thrown naked
to a place where thoughts are fig leaves.
A few conjugate dots of light
into a body-language.
Many shoot off like toothpaste from a tube,
tugging slinky bodies behind them.
Star charts are parochial,
they map the contours of rumpled sheets.
Some run in the park with sleeping dogs.
Such travelers are hummingbirds riding rodeo bulls,
New fliers leap from sinking bodies,
fledgling wings flapping.
They fly open-mouthed and wonder
if the rest of you will ever make it.
~~
Categories:
jumpsuits, poetry,
Form: Blank verse
Written By: D. Collins 4/9/2018
The New York feds came in kicking in doors.
Frisking, then putting them down on the floor.
Snatching evidence and just about everything.
It just doesn't look good, from what I am seeing.
The "Fixer" got "Fixed" by the U.S. Attorney.
Trump quickly realized he may see a jury.
When did a raid become an "attack on the country?"
When will we learn where they hid the Russian money?
They both know what's coming. Some orange jumpsuits.
A date with "Big Bubba" and the widening of chutes.
The "Fixer" got "Fixed" so he will be no more.
And, Trump has now become a casualty of war.
Categories:
jumpsuits, farewell, journey,
Form: Sonnet
“Is Fashion Modern?” MOMA* asks
And so, in its new show,
The items on display are there
To let us know it’s so.
A pair of Levi’s, baseball caps,
Bikinis and berets,
A Wonderbra, dashikis, kilts
And suits from prior days.
A Rolex watch, Adidas, Nikes,
Mao jackets, too,
A leotard by Danskin,
Polo shirts (but not J. Crew).
Lipstick, flip flops, saris, Speedos,
Ties, stilettos, Spanx,
Jumpsuits, hoodies, Snuglis
(For which new moms owed their thanks).
My friend and I did reminisce,
While strolling the exhibit,
About the clothes like those we wore
When age did not inhibit.
*Museum of Modern Art (NYC)
Categories:
jumpsuits, clothes,
Form: Rhyme
An apple a day
So they say
Would keep me in good figure
Dresses would fit
And so would tight jeans
As well as sexy jumpsuits
Pray,
An apple a day
Would keep me looking
Like I am eighteen forever!
Such did I make of my daily mantra
My motto
My life's motivation
Realizing not
The health hazards such would bring to me!
Yes, the massive hair loss started
And caused me to resort to doctors
Every single week
More, the weakness banged on me
And even caused me to fall into the nether
At my place of work in front of everyone
And yet again
I lost all energy
And instead of feeling like eighteen
I felt like I carried a body aged eighty!
Pray, with my image I am obsessed
With looking fit and slim
As does require the posh side of society
Yes, with such I want to blend in
And be accepted
For even if I am aware of the health hazards
Of eating only an apple a day
Pray
I do still make of it
My motto, my daily mantra!
Categories:
jumpsuits, body, life,
Form: Free verse
A creature awakens
intangible in the haze;
a fleeting idea by faint, phantomlike, light.
Silver bars on charcoal clay
scarce, and inadequate
haunting, but in a soothing way.
Rustling bones chatter
a murmured chant just within earshot
lullabies for dream weavers
hushed and eerie.
Goose-pimpled skin bites back at the breeze
effortlessly gliding through
catching faint glimpses
which slip away just before taking form.
Somewhere a lantern burns
a glass walled prison.
Inmates dressed in dancing orange jumpsuits
convicted killers of predawn blues.
Light for light.
Gold for silver.
A creature retreats
intangible still
on the edge of a dream
to be forgotten by day.
Categories:
jumpsuits, blue, confusion, dance, dark,
Form: Free verse
a face in the night
who's gaze flickers
to and fro
the road ahead
and behind
then to the boy and girl
drunk or high
but most certain
they are intoxicated and
so he takes a right
into a darker province
of the night.
heart of darkness, protector of humanity – has stopped beating.
lining the streets
missing only cards
and orange jumpsuits
the taxi driver sees,
a man and his dog
tied to a leash
for a moment he thought
that it was a boy he saw
on two legs
trying to keep up
or get away
from the imposter.
he leans over
and in the compartment
he finds;
his knife
his pistol with
whip and
drags them out of the
backseat
where even
the ants don't scurry
to where bits of meat
are discarded on the ground
by then to late.
And the boy start's to
laugh
so does the girl
and they all are now
laughing and singing
and dancing and running
and crying and hopping
jumping
arms swaying
and this chorus
keys of crys
are ended by two long notes
one d sharp
the other d flat.
Categories:
jumpsuits, violence,
Form: Free verse