Long Barrette Poems
Long Barrette Poems. Below are the most popular long Barrette by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Barrette poems by poem length and keyword.
I enter the room breathlessly,
Somehow anticipating that tonight will change everything.
I sit quietly among strangers lost in their own worlds.
Cell phones buzzing, coffee steaming.
We all glance at watches,
Even some that aren't wearing any.
The air is electric as everyone is keenly aware
That tonight has the power to change the world.
I know that my love has not arrived yet,
Although I have never met or talked to him before.
A tired looking woman beckons me from the back room
And robotically I answer her call.
And in another room full of people and chaos,
I immediately see HIM.
He is perfect, though not at all what I expected.
Our eyes lock briefly, I smile and wave.
I'm wishing I had a mirror and had taken the time to "freshen up."
Other women in the room are as obsessed with him as I am.
I grab the barrette from my hair,
And like every ingenue I've ever seen on TV, I shake loose my curls coquettishly.
I think I have caught his eye, but suddenly his entourage rushes him from the room.
My heart slows a bit and I feel the color draining from my face.
Someone is holding my arm, sensing my weakness.
"He'll be back in a minute, why don't you sit down?"
I sit and for the first time, I notice HER.
Glowing, happy, giggling . . . the center of everyone's attention.
And the game just became REAL!
For it is she who stole my last love.
We make small talk, pretending no animosity exists.
Until a door opens, and HE is back.
New clothes, blue to match his eyes,
And I can't keep a little gasp from escaping my lips.
Of course, he flies right into the arms of my nemesis.
I move in, touching his arm, briefly holding his hand.
Even brazenly stroking his dark curls when SHE looks away.
And I see him respond -- glances in my direction, guarded smiles.
I am lost in a world where only he and I exist.
The room and everyone in it disappears and the two of us are floating away.
Without warning, I realize she must have seen our exchange.
And the room and everyone in it comes back into focus.
I look at my nemesis. She looks back at me.
"Would you like to hold him?" she says, seemingly without guile.
I cannot help myself. "YES!" I say, a little too quickly and loudly.
Unselfishly, my daughter-in-law gives him up. At last, my newborn grandson and I can start our love story.
7/14/2015
The cracker crisp Maine air
rang with the rooster’s revel.
Moving day, time to clean the hens shed.
Monstrous three story hatchery,
thousands of burnt umber; beauties a laying.
Lace edged bobby socks, red Keds, barrettes, T-shirt and short;
and off to the hen house, pony tail bouncing.
Immersed in the acrid reek of chicken dew;
Blue jean boys, Georgie, Wayne,
Aunt Donna and pony tail girl [me];
wade through squawk, cluck and doodle.
The boys were more than sure this
horrific chore was a girl eraser.
The mini-men had their gawk, on not at all convinced that this
pretty little missy was going to be up for the job!
And up they must go all those dirty, sticky cluckers!
Up they all must go! Sunny side up!
Up, up, with the upside down
their pointer pecker heads darting
toward gapes between sock and pantleg.
Their leathery legs in the grip of my small pink hands.
Winging flapping with all their might
as if they could fly the three of us
right up the poop covered stairs!
Oh but these Betty's were beauties.
And each omelet laying pecker
each shoelace eating Grande dame,
each button and barrette bobbing bird
wings flapping, feathers flying,
with their deep brown questioning eyes
must be moved! UP, up to the second floor
of that p-you-trfying hen house in the heat
of a windless Maine August.
“Get along with you three!”
Aunt Donna screams spitting feathers
above the din. “Up stairs
with the whole damn lot of them!”
The boys eye the girl and with a tilt of my chin
and scrawny pecker in each diminutive hand;
we troop gingerly, over the sawdust refuse strewn floor,
up the tangled trio go, up!
For they weren't going to get rid of me that easily
no man ever has [wink].
*More for Carry and Bob
ice cream cookies
loving the double creamy filling
every bite is nostalgic like a waterslide sky
the taste is the splash of joy that whole feeling brings
super duper is brought to life
ice cream cookies
loving the double creamy filling
every bite is nostalgic like a waterslide sky
watching her smile as she plays with her vanilla barrette in chocolate moments
in awe of how she so properly represents the jordache look without knowing
ice cream cookies
loving the double creamy filling
every bite is nostalgic like a waterslide sky
the lovely lady sharing these cookies with me was just diagnosed with advanced stage leukemia
she has been my friend in a happy bubble since birth
ice cream cookies
loving the double creamy filling
every bite is nostalgic like a waterslide sky
i hold her in my arms as the lets the reality sink in
my heart breaks thinking about the day that both the ice cream cookies and the lovely lady that i share them with will both soon be gone
ice cream cookies
loving the double creamy filling
every bite is nostalgic like a waterslide sky
i put a pack of vanilla ice cream cookies that i saved over the years in her vanilla casket
i thought for a sec that i saw her smile as she was being lowered into the ground
ice cream cookies
loved the double creamy filling
every bite was nostalgic like a waterslide sky
the lovely lady that i shared them with was names Vanilla Harper Rae
the pack buried with her had exactly 32 vanilla ice cream cookies in it
EnJoy Them In Heaven, Sweet Vanilla Rae
Every moment that we shared, you ALWAYS made my day
With a cosmopolitan tabloid draped upon her lap,
A girls sits at her vanity wearing an underdress unstrapped.
The woman on the page portrays perfection with a pleasing smile,
Upon her curvy contoured shape she draped in an haute couture new style.
Staring at the pulchritudinous picture which whispers what she must,
See in the mirror to reflect the woman with the hair a barrette has trussed.
Curly locks spring from the girl's head and bounce as her head lifts,
To gaze upon the looking glass and compare her phenotypical gifts.
Her hands cradle her chalky cheekbones while her puckered lips begin to pout,
As she sees a girl and not the woman who radiates divinity, without a doubt.
Perchance one day we'll look in mirrors and see what is really there,
Instead of seeing what ought to be, unblemished by the venom of Vanity Fair.
Perchance one day women can look at reflections without having to think,
Of pounding cakes of makeup paint to make them better-looking before the sink.
Perhaps one day men can look at reflections without having to think,
Of six-packs abs that look like metal slabs and exploded pecs that never shrink.
Perchance one day the hypnotic television will portray people who are real,
Instead of pictures of soulless statues who stand intent on affecting how we feel.
Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder when what we hold is social value,
Which we're told through modes of media to be more like them and less like you.
Star crossed champions of mirth
Wild hair and wild eyes, both
To the world they say with arms raised to the sky,
"What a pity, for we dearly love to laugh!"
Arm in arm, singing their favorite show tunes
But in the voices of Donald Duck and Calamity Jane
Gallivanting through the city, doing the Charleston in the street
These two have no interest or talent for growing up
And made the world lighter because of it
Willy Wonka in his purple jacket,
Holding the door for her with his cane,
Him with those dreamy eyes
Pale eyes that swim in her perpetual smile
A smile, a voice and a soul that lit up everything for miles
She sits, glowing in the window,
Like a princess in the white room, wearing her little barrette
But she isn't well at all
And so she left this world, Roseannadanna did, one morning
And the twinkle in his eye twinkled off into space
With her dimples, impromptu cartwheels and spinning skirts
Four years wasn't enough to fill up the laughing box
The glass elevator is lonely looking down on the world
Wait, wait, wait, BAM!
Would she want him sinking there in his spats?
A wop, bam, boo! No, choose instead to keep that wicked grin
Dance down the aisle of the plane, show that funny funny face
Embrace each Saturday Night gone by
To Gene and Gilda, geniuses of love and light hearts
Pop the cork on the champagne and roller skate through this life!
~For Heather Ober's Famous Couples/Duos Poetry
Contest
Mommy and Daddy drove out to get their new baby n a winter storm
They were on the road for an hour because there was ice on the road.
We did not know if we were getting a brother, a sister, or a puppy.
Grandpa had suggested puppy; we were stuck on this idea actually.
They came home from the hospital on a much nicer day.
Daddy was carrying a baby wrapped in a blue and white blanket.
You have a new baby brother, they told us.
My identical twin and I fought over him at first.
Catlike mewing and whining got to me. I decided she could have him.
He had curls and fat cheeks and said funny things when he turned two.
He was the most amazing wonderful creature in the world then.
At three he was getting into our things and messing up our room.
I was ready to trade him for a puppy, snow cone, barrette or a dime.
At five he got his first bike. At twelve, my twin and I got our first bike.
I said it was not fair,, but he was a “boy”, so our father thought it was.
At nineteen I had a new baby; my brother came over a lot to see her.
At eleven, he loved her – carrying her around, feeding her the bottle.
He rode his bike to my house every day in the summer to see her.
This is when I got to know him and got close to him for the first time.
I recognized his sweetness and his giving nature,
and I was proud he was my brother.
What Did We Get Stuck in 2012
The doctors in the OR had a busy time this year
Freeing things that got stuck in rectum, nose or ear
Or any other orifice that lies within our bod
The list of all the things they found is really kind of odd
Within the ear, a button, a toothpick and hairpin
A screwdriver and a drinking straw were also found therein
A key, a piece of paper, a little plastic dart
A fly and an eraser were also lodged in part
Within the nose a Dixie cup, barrette and colored pencil
A nickel, BB pellets, and a small plastic utensil
A screw, a bead, a pick-up stick and a little plastic toy
Two nostrils filled with magnets in just one little boy
Within the throat a lemon seed, maxi pad and thimble
A key-chain ring, a toy plane, some kids are really nimble
Within the rectum, a loaf of bread, a crayon and a lighter
A small hand wrench, a vial of salts, were stuck there even tighter
And I won’t even mention what was found in some who-hoos
Or even try to question the things that some girls use
And the men are no exception when it comes to getting stuck
You’d be surprised what they used to size, and then ran out of luck
And wouldn’t you love to hear the stories these patients told the staff
And see the faces of the docs as they tried so not to laugh
Uncle Mike's Wisdom of the Web
"Babies are bits of stardust
blown from the hand of God."
Quote by _ Larry Barrette
Into our family, an angel has been born,
and I take pause from my sad deep mournful forlorn;
even, now baby makes sounds so musically,
an angel has been born, into our family.
And I love this sweet girl, she makes us all happy,
even, when taking a sleeping beauty nappy;
and one day our angel girl will swirl, whirl and twirl,
she makes us all happy, and I love this sweet girl.
Such a well dressed baby- we aunts do this and that,
she loves stories, music and playing pitty-pat;
oh, will she be a princess or tomboy maybe,
we aunts do this and that- such a well dressed baby.
It took just one little soul, to mend the broken,
with the birth of this baby girl God has spoken;
and I can imagine on green paths we will stroll,
to mend the broken, it took just one little soul.
__________________
September 05, 2022
Poetry/Swap Quatrain/Baby Angel Born
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1485-512-05
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Swap Quatrain
sponsor, Emile Pinet, Judged 10/20/2022
When warm and gentle winds
flutter and lull the lustruous lilacs
so discontent of the primroses,
the drooping willows
deepen in their sorrows,
and as in an angelic apparition:
there comes into view
a friendly ballerina dressed in blue
to perform an ardent ballet
in her red dancing shoes that match
her golden,glazing barrette...
unlikely a hand-manipulated marionette!
Unpretentious and pretty ballerina,
invent another unrealistic aurora...
like the one that appears in the northern sky,
to make believe that is still daytime:
to attune your mood to a symphonic music
that can be enjoyed by us!
When the blue-jays refuse to sing,
use your rhythmic swing
to overwhelm us with sheer delight;
this sentimental season
repletes with amazing surprises:
to render and choose,
to keep in our thoughts and heart
the purpose of true reason!
Irresistible and elegant ballerina,
perform a dance rarely seen by critics...
be of a joyful spirit without nostalgia,
be remarkable in your gestures and steps;
a daisy opens its petals at sunrise,
invulnerable joy carries you to crimson skies...
to increase your strenght and make you shine
more than the radiant sun above the horizon...
Yepper-doddle, today I’ll use my own noddle.
My prized antique frame sustained a despised bust.
Wanting to show my man the tough dough in my crust,
I found strong glue and told that goo I was nonplussed.
Next, I grabbed frame, soda and sat on my sofa.
Three tries – no prize, so with both eyes quite wide,
I called the glue a boob lube, dumb as a square loop,
and threatened to incise its worthless insides.
I rose, fetched pose and a calming balm libation,
then returned to pestering with less sweltering.
Glue applied, both sides, I made my hands a vice
and, well fries n’ flies, I squeezed degrees of might.
Bullet sweat, my muscles clinched like a barrette,
I pressed longer than tourists eating pullets.
Then when gingerly, tenderly letting go –
glue thoroughly, tauntingly offended me -
son of a bee, ugly as his glue-mom-harlot,
refused to seam my antique frame back to its gleam.
Past bummed, I stood to sweetly summon my husband,
but my feet stuck to carpet, mucked as a tar pit.
CayCay Jennings
October 16, 2018