Long Apron Poems
Long Apron Poems. Below are the most popular long Apron by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Apron poems by poem length and keyword.
On spewing wave, our departing ride
Crazed currents crack, an azure slide
Freedom mingles in sea foam seethe
Cobra throat coast gulps river relieve
Estuary entry rests, rushing ruthless
Canoe oar dip downtempo soothe us
Convulsing closing, seen from stern
To mayhem mouth we shan’t return
Silver silt filters salt, lake lap littoral
Ranges ahead etch graduating blues
Drift beside reeds, bird pews hymnal
Harp strum seraphim strike chords
Nacreous nematodes writhe towards
Tiny sun centre lace tutus feverfew
Pirouette pirogue wet on dawn dew
Papery apron snapdragon bonnets
Bloom ten a stem syllable sonnets
Cut log capsule covets its heritage
Forested foothills fix ship wreckage
Fir hands welcome hung hammock
Cosy ocean recoil, mountains titanic
Sixth of November
- upstream -
Back in the days when fences were constructed to lean on
I had my fathers smile my mother's apron now they're gone
Along with brother's camera and his filming laughter reels
Along with sister's bumbling ways and admiration reals ...
Fences are made to keep in or keep out. Sometimes
Erecting them can be a way of protecting or rejecting
No one knows the power of a fence more then those who
Crossed the holocaust fences and survived. Fences can be
Easing posts for friendship or wired spokes with big fat
Signs that say " Keep Out" it all depends what side your on
Back in the days when my dad build a fence for grapes and vines
I knew what belonged to other people and what was truly mine
Along with my cat, my bird, my three ring binder and my fence
Along with my heart and my soul, I knew what to let in, hence ?
Written by Mystic Rose
Inspired by Harry Horseman
She carried no Fever — in her Cheek —
No Scarlet in her Breath —
Her Pulse was civil — as the Clock —
That tidily counts Death —
The Kitchens knew her gentle Hand —
The Spoon — obedient — stirred —
The Custard kept its secret sweet —
The Ice — no Warning — heard —
They named her not for what she was —
But for what followed near —
A Phantom riding in her wake —
A whispered Atmosphere —
She felt no Thorn within her Blood —
No Ash upon her Tongue —
Yet Houses folded — one by one —
Where once her Apron hung —
O Woman — Well — yet feared as Plague —
How silent is the Crime —
To harbor what one does not feel —
And answer — still — for Time —
An Island kept her like a Thought
The City would not claim —
North Brother held her solitude —
And History — her name —
Was she a Vessel — unaware —
Or Willful with her Art?
The Science spoke of unseen Germs —
The Law — of Public Heart —
Between the Body and the State —
She stood — without a plea —
The Woman who was always Well —
Yet never — could be — Free —
A seasonal malaise plasters
stray tendrils of wayward thought.
Another dreary gray day hovers.
Vacant is the sky, as empty as the
surface of an unwritten page.
On days such as these the mind strays
through the attic’s dusty remnants.
Times freezes mid tick.
Stale…and salt less..simpering day,
humming to the background noise of distant stars.
Age has brought with it a leathery sensation,
as crusty, picked over bundles of brashness
failing to ignite the fires of laggard thought.
Severing the ties, the starched cotton strings
of apron which held the crumbs of motherhood,
hopefully, causes a rising of, if not a phoenix...
perhaps, a cardinal of a different Spring.
Juices from a dry well, well, perhaps not dry?
Crisp, precise, if unpunctual, cookie fortunes
flutter upward, on curled strips of sugar coated white.
Who is to say, who is to be, the center
the jam in the depressed hollow of my life?
Let the mind soar for a settlement of glee.
Let it roar for the loss of flexibility and
trumpet a coming of age so rare…
for it is not madness which hovers
in the grey of dawn, or the wet bleak day,
but, the elegant solace of silver strands
their tendrils spreading unhindered
cuddled among the cue, not vacant at all.
Waiting…waiting to breathe.
WHAT MEN WANT
I went for a walk, tripped and bumped my head,
I got up, buttoned my coat, it was freezing cold,
Began snowing outside I was told
Walking in the mall, in my head,
Heard, two men chatting, looking my way
She can put her slippers any night or day
Under my bed!
This I distinctly heard, how absurd!
Couldn’t wait to tell my friends at work
Wore a smirk
On my face as I gathered Emily, Sue and Jane,
“ I can read the minds of men”
Jane held up her hands,
Yes, I said all your fingers intact, all ten,
Do you think I’ve gone mad,
Yes said Sue, just a tad!
Their boss passed and they greeted him,
Guess what I said, I am getting a raise
Today, they laughed, but my boss
Called me in and gave me a raise,
I came out of his office with thumbs up, yup,
It was confirmed by Mr Blaze!
The girls were astounded as I revealed
The thoughts of Peter, Sam and Eddie
The one I couldn’t repeat belonged to Freddie!
Sam had a crush on Jane and Eddie
Though Emily was great
And Sue, well I told her that Peter was about,
To propose which he did, but I had a nagging doubt,
That my gift was a temporary measure,
So used it as much as I could, what a treasure!
The night before, read my husband’s mind
That he wanted me to cook Kleftico
So before going home I went to find
What my husband had in mind.
Arrived home put my dainty apron on,
And began to cook, chilled the wine
And we were ready to dine,
Hubby arrived – Mmmm something smells nice,
Lifted the lid of the pot in the oven
And gave me a kiss and then my overworked
Mind heard him say,
Kleftico, red wind and if she wore
Her sexy black nightie, what a perfect night
So I took it out ready to wear
But after dinner tripped on a stair,
Fell down and bumped my head
Hard, there I lay eagle spread
On the floor, hubby picked me up
And saw my nightie on the bed,
How could you read my mind, he said,
But the bump on my head,
Reversed my gift, really did I,
You certainly did, perhaps it’s
The bump on your head, he said!
The sparkling goodness imprisons an autumn sun
And takes me back to the tender days when I was very young
When I'd help my Mama pluck them off the ground
Tart fallen pippin apples which the warm brisk winds had found
We'd stack them in her apron hammock bed
And when we'd gathered enough, into the house we'd head
Right to the kitchen sink to sort, and wash
And I would stand upon a chair to watch
Then gently laid on a towel, they'd shine till they were gleaming
We'd sit, and chat, she'd peel and we'd talk about every little thing
She would open the Crisco can, and the flour canister
And soon, before my very eyes, the pie dough would appear
She would roll the dough, and let me have a try
She would break off a piece for my miniature pie...
Side by side, she would show me how
Her patience was amazing....as I struggled to follow
The petals of peeled slices, layered out into rows
Sprinkled with her spices, added sugar and butter bows
Popped carefully into a piping oven, not quite an hour or so...
We'd watch them turn a golden brown...filling up my nose
With a cinnamon sweet fragrance, that would make my child's mouth drool
She would finally remove them, hot and gold, slightly letting them cool
Would top their goodness with heaping mounds of vanilla ice cream too!
Ahhh....sweet are the memories of those awesome pie ala modes...
Are you watching me Mom?...on those autumn days when I have shown
My grandchild how to peel, and slice, and roll, and bake her own??....
Characters in action
Talents in multiplication
Shapes and sizes of many version
Skills on display with tension
Over the top ropes one would gape
Under the ropes one can escape
Apron of thick mattress
Arena of countless matches
Highlighted are dressed to kill
Fronting the crowd that fill
Seats of spectators that cheer
Feats of competitors, not jeer
Matches roll with blunder
Rumbling and grappling like thunder
Crutches and splints spread over
Bodies of the bruised fall over
Grueling matches live on
Under any pressure show must go on
It's not "business as usual" that linger
Players of theatrics in danger
Venues are slated by dates
Participants stipulated as mates
Previews of expected bouts
Reviews that excite and shouts
Year after year is the Rumble
Inside the ring that crumble
Event that sounds so noble
Fame, not fortune that bubble
A prelude to Wrestlemania
An interlude of regalia
A shot coveted in spotlight
A spot asserted with delight
Let's get ready to rumble!...
A parched wind
still circles the dust devils
corralling them
in funneled fury.
The old rooster
atop the barn
squeaks
as the weather changes
as do the joints
in the old blue jeans.
Hard black coffee
bubbles on the stove,
her apron hangs
a memory
on the chair,
an old screen door
shudders,
slams shut,
an old dog curses
the dust.
Bowed heads watch
as he laces his boots,
reaches for that
damned hat,
sips the last of the coffee
runs his fingers
across the hanging apron
whispers
“I love you”,
sets off to worship
in the shrine
of their lives.
©5/7/2018
for Laura Loo – Best Free Verse Poem In May 2018 Poetry Contest
The houses were gone, no roads made of stone,
just the familiar dry, adobe scene,
Linton shook his head,”I gotta get home,
don’t care if it’s barley past three!”
He reached his cottage, his mind pondering,
found his wife inside putting soup on,
couldn’t help but smile at her swollen belly
pressing forwards against her white apron.
She said,”Dear, what ever brings you home now?
The other men are still out on the range.”
Linton shook his head, and let out a sight,
said,”My love, it’s been a very strange day.”
He told her of stone roads, and massive houses,
of the strange boy, the police, and the whores,
when he mentioned them, she shielding her stomach,
said,”We don’t take about those days any more!”
He said,”Just as well, cause the more I think,
the more I’m worried I might have gone mad.”
She smiled,”I think you’ve had too much sun,
go lie down if you’re feeling that bad.”
Linton did so, then said, as he relaxed,
“The day didn’t leave me completely insane.
My love what do you think, if we have a girl,
of choosing ‘Norma’ to use as her name?”
Now Children the pink and purple pails are for the girls, blue and green for the boys
We are going berry picking down by the stone wall Mr. Bethel said we could pick his berries
too
The stone wall off limits to the Webb household, Bobby, Joe and Jim had the scars to prove it
Oh, “MOM“, (coil in fear, no crop) Thank-you What did Millie say; Are we going to make pies?
Ma’am didn’t know sign language, of course we will tell her she can wear the number 2 apron
Dotty, George, and I started running to the end of our property Slow down They’re
excited “Mom”
I know Alice listen you older kids will be paired up with the younger ones: Alice, George and
Harry
Virginia, William and Dorothy; Joe Jim and Robert; Rebecca you’re the best signer, You and
Mildred
Alice, yes Harry why did Ma’am say we could call her “MOM” my voice shakes when I say
Mom
I think all of us feel that way; but make hay while the sun shines, What? Just let her be
MOM today
Pick them ,don’t eat them Wow, Al ,that’s what Becky just said to Millie look Millie said they’re
so sweet
You can read that from over here Yep Millie and Becky have been teaching me. You know
what this means
Easy: I Love you too Where is George? Over there George your not suppose to be on that
side of the wall
It’s sprinkling , my pails almost full come on George let’s go back to “Mom” Alice go get the
other children
This is the first time since I’ve been here that we were all together, laughing and talking
while Mom smiled
As we got to the steps of the porch the sky opened sheets of rain a bolt of lighting , a sonic
boom of thunder