Long Bibs Poems
Long Bibs Poems. Below are the most popular long Bibs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bibs poems by poem length and keyword.
In our town lived a crazy old crone
with no spouse, and her kids were all grown.
Once frightened by rats,
she bought a few cats,
so no longer did she live alone.
As it turns out, the cats were so nice
that they wouldn’t attack even mice!
They wanted instead
to only be fed
yummy foods like her chicken fried rice.
At her table, the old lady set
two tall stools. Yes, that woman would let
the two cats dine with her,
wearing bibs so their fur
from the sauces would never get wet.
The old woman now lives happily
knitting clothes for her cat “family.”
While asleep on her bed,
the cats purr on her head
while the rats in the house still run free.
Jan. 14, 2018 For Line Gauthier's 'CRAZY CAT LADY: RHYME' Contest
It's sad to say but we're pathetic today; cuz we're
childishly crying at the crib
We're screaming, and shouting and drooling at the mouth.
I swear we all need bibs.
Tear stained faces contorted and grimly unsorted; that
mindfully should be hid.
Aren't shunned in rooms to rid, but in plain sight and
"unrightfully" out in the mid
Where ration should be; with raw emotions stand we __
boldly in its stead.
To act with restraint would've actually been noble, but
a tantrum is what we did.
"But Takers are forsakers, and giving to those fakers
can be more than givers can take"!
We are not amusement for you to play with___ but of those
you should not toy or kid.
Good riddance to you and an unhappy farewell is the one
true thing we could bid.
Hit the door; for you're neither friend nor foe, but
merely unfinished poorly formed dough.
We had good notion to be in high motion; and completely
out of rears.
What happened today was uncalled for, and the absurdity
of all my years.
I never thought that something of this sort could bring
on such bouts of tears.
Yet gracious enough it's limit draws near, as warm
thoughts do appear.
Out from the wonderful voice of cheer; and all its
other peers.
To beckon us__ bring on those smiles and lift those tight
wrinkled chins.
As this day closes and comes to an end, we can't let
gloom and sorrows win.
But be inclined to bide our time with better things
__in mind.
So Let us calm our nerves and think of all thats'
preserved __as the crackers and red wine is served.
Alas! we settled us down and had a second go round
til we uttered not a sound.
What gotten into us; must have gone stir crazy,
or completely out of our heads.
To be hooping, hollering, and galloping like horses
up here; crying at the crib.
She sits in her old four door car
Jittery as a stick shift
All day every day
An old fashion woman
Smoking a pack of Camels
With all the windows rolled up
Goldfish
Staring out
Blowing bubbles in her dirty bowl
To the trolling park people
Who step from their slick driverless SUVs
Into the woods
With their dogs properly leashed
If only they knew
The poetry she was writing
Rhymes flicked away
To her spy ashtray
Who are they
Anyway?
No better than her
As she
Hides
From her lost job gonner kids and Fentanyl bibs
Q will show her the way
She ain’t so alone
With her hours of boredom
And Trump Putin and Xi
Khamenei
Saved like treasure
In her crumpled hands
She’s noting the march of our deaths
Every day
Out here in the open
Not the other way around
As I had intended for this poem
There’ll be a time
Soon
When she unleashes her door
And gets out
Breathes the same air
Armed by the unholy words
Take back what is yours.
I am taking care of my 11-month-old grandson. I love every-minute and he's stolen my heart. I've seen the growth within him with lots of love and affection he gets. He is crawling and into everything. I never realized how many things needed for this small infant.
Car seat or they won't let you leave the hospital without one
As many diapers as you think you'll need
Diaper bag that handles everything you need on the go
Baby changing table, diaper change as quick as you can they get pretty squirmy
Wipes for their sensitive skin
Diaper rash ointment relieves baby's painful rash
Grocery store plastic bags, fantastic for disposing all those stinky diapers
Baby bath tub, there is such a sweet smell of a freshly bathed baby
No tears baby soap
Washcloths
Baby bath towels hooded or non-hooded
Sleepers with buttons and snaps, they are so much easier to put on
Swaddle or baby blankets, wrapped snug arms from wiggling free
Nail clippers, he loves scratching the back of my arms and face
Baby brush
Baby comb
Thermometer
Baby clothes, they'll grow out of it so fast
Socks
Shoes
Bottles
Formula or milk for hungry
Bottle brush
Baby teething ring to relieve sore gums
Baby binkis it tends to calm them when they are not feeding
Baby dishes
Baby spoon
Variety of baby food and cereal
Juices
Highchair
Bibs
A rocking chair to rock and kiss them good night.
Bassinet or Crib
Crib sheets
Toys, age appropriate for learning
Baby walker, fantastic to keep them busy for a little while
Stroller, a must when you walk or shop
Baby proof your whole house, once they start crawling, they are into everything
Camera, time goes so fast you'll want to remember it all.
7/29/2019
A dream worth living for
Born in the image of an unspoiled soul
Newborn stretches it's small limbs
Hungers, cries, crawls, and walks
A new peaceful dawn, a new world unfurled
5/14/2019
Poetry Contest: Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
Princess Martina Matilda Marianna Mouse,
held the most wondrous parties in any house;
with the finest imported Cheshire and Brie,
served up with green olives and black tea.
In her finest satins and imported lace,
this fair princess with a divine face
would serve her guests with ecstatic glee
though if you preferred you could have Chablis.
Truly she told the most wonderful jokes,
sure to split the sides of any bloke;
the room did light up when she arrived;
her fondue she flavored with the finest chives.
Fresh homemade breads were dipped in her pot;
Maestro Mouse always dripped cheese on his ascot.
She now provides bibs for their dining ease,
when eating her luscious liquid cheese.
Her Asiago will tickle your empty tum-tum;
sometimes she serves Jamaican Spiced Rum.
There's Cantal and Bel, Blue and Havarti;
Stilton, Provolone Reggiano and Testouri.
Her goal in life is to ultimately see,
everyone in the world enjoying great cheese.
And there's nothing like her Truffle Delights,
which she serves at parties on Saturday night.
A most generous hostess, Martina takes pride
in serving the disabled at the curbside;
no one ever goes hungry with Martina around,
she also gives etiquette lessons in town.
Remembering Mrs. Sully always makes my face break out into smiling mode.
Her face was as craggy as a grave, there was an aluminum tooth on the left.
When she smiled, it gleamed with pure happiness, making her stories even better.
When I first met her, her ferocious stories kept my gentle side terrified, for hours.
I thought she was the Hansel and Gretel witch, because she looked like my vision of her.
There was a unique smell around Mrs. Sully, an earthy, vegetable-type smell.
She was always in her garden, killing snakes, big black ones, with large mouths.
She relished showing us how she whacked them with her hoe, hacking them to pieces.
Although short, stooped over and old, she was a force no snake wanted to encounter.
Her stories were full of spit and vim, anger, and devilishly mean murders and such.
If you decided to share a story, she did not hear it, she did not pause if you wanted to talk.
You had to walk along beside her, acting like wearing two or three house dresses
over each other under a pair of overalls was normal, seeing the bibs and lace stick out like crazy.
Her expertise was incessant talking, not waiting for social cues or societal nonsense like that.
She knew about all the hangings that had ever happened in the county, and relished telling
About them in full-force detail, hoping to keep us on our toes, ripe with worry.
All you have to do is mention the words Mrs. Sully, and the old-timers smile, remembering
Those awful hangings, and what happened after the rope was yanked, because we all knew.
Sometimes I swear I see her in her old black hat, pulled down nearly to her eyes,
Stooped carriage, pushing a rusty brown wheelbarrow full of produce, from one farm to another.
We were lucky, our house was smack in the middle, so we would run out and hear the tale of the day.
She owned two properties, a block and a half from each other, one of them had goats.
If we were really lucky, she would have one of her mean goats on a little leash and we could walk our block with it, as it butted us with its angry head.
Rumors said the goats slept in the house with her. It did not matter to me, she was a character
I will never forget her, sometimes picturing that amazing aluminum tooth, which told excellent
Stories. Stories I do not dare tell my own sweet grandchildren, as they stay up too late already.
Let's SEE What's in the laundry hamper?
" One a soiled cloth diapers
a fierce icky stinkysocks
some noxious obnoxious unclean towels
horrid stinking under-shorts
unappetizing horrible awful grubby baby bibs
Oh, my some mephitic nauseating obscene panties.
Musty nauseating odious under shirts
soiled squalid uncleanly pants and jeans
awful dirty filthy blouses and dresses
guess I’d better presoak and presort some of this mess???
9/27/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
this fool with his
drool baby drip spewing
bull nobody
asked for it no one
here for it (hands over ears for it)
so exhausted
tired fuming, the mediocre
mosh pit, little boys with ties
tongued to the language of men,
women know, have always known,
how to speak it, boys do not
know, the tongues of women
never learned how to learn
the world was already
theirs, left soft, for the taking
was too easy now they sit
with bibs
eating sea roaches
calling it haute cuisine,
buttered-up shellfish
on a baby bib
when half the world
is allergic
still, anaphylactic
we sit, drooling from it
waiting
for
their
desolate
epiphanies
Words are arbitrary,
Who says that is a W?
But who NAMED it?
Could not a W have been written as a Y?
Once upon a time, when someone created an alphabet?
Could not a 7 have been an S?
Liberating words.
Angry words.
Feeling words.
Written words.
On cave walls, parchment, canvas, paper.
Who says graffiti is not words? It very well might be.
Just because you cannot decipher, does not mean the words are not there.
Words passed down help us bring history to the ancestors without leaving anything out.
Words written down help us go back and have a do-over if we are unsure what was said.
Words. Glorious words.
I needed my children to love them.
Because I did.
When they were toddlers I began an intense word game that covered the house.
Everything was labelled. Door had a sign that said door. Pencil had a sign that said pencil.
I labelled toothbrushes, cups, bibs, bottles, drums, toys, dolls, and sometimes my husband.
I put DADDY on him.
I do not remember if I worded myself.
It was a long time ago.
The floor had a floor note but it did not last long.
The refrigerator had three notes taped together because I wrote big
And I had pre-chopped my word notes the same size.
Words.
A form of telling and communicating
That is not only good for a listener.
Words.
What would a song be without them?
How boring books would be if they were lacking.
Words.
The best invention of all, if you ask me.
I could lie twas Salma
Who made I edit my note
A love note it was a rem1
Reminder with a Coordinate
Coordinates do come home
I pleaded heard turning into ice
Starlet breezing without a care
Re-ignited the flames of drama
Mtanga an African love story..
At the stadium of heroes Gee Tanga
Led you the way in a Month of love
Kaayan did I utter your name the 4thM
Kensoul you make trainers dreams of No
Of Mo love M1 when all are beautiful Wooo
Aromas of well cooked Warriors of colour
#aKFS peace day
All K's Forces are Special
NGO Na Ngao ya kidavida
Volt and Coat of Arms..
Isn't a Verso genxermais pillar
Not to be found at Kemets Border..
Champe for a cause..
Cast aside were you
TanaTeru Glory of Sion..
#RiuKeyLifeBirthings
An eruption magmation
A living machine eyes all around
Who saw The Lord of Host
Twas You MyKinsman Isaiah son Of Amoz
Who will help us but US
Inspire with a punch held high
As them kids cover up in Bibs
Am a GJDeon Arma Water Bird..
#Staring at the scorching Sun
#UshakaBayete2022 codeZed 254