Long Catwalks Poems
Long Catwalks Poems. Below are the most popular long Catwalks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Catwalks poems by poem length and keyword.
Cats got yo tongue,
catwalks, runs stalks prowls;
Meow!
Catheads catalog catlike people.
Meow, yet they smell cationic;
Cats got yo tongue!
Catlings catmints containments within parsnips;
Catnaper catcher of meow winks;
And does a catfish eat mice;
Cats got yo tongue!
And does a dog walk down a catwalk;
Does a catbird tweet-tweet...
And does a catchup ever get behind;
Do cats wear shoes with their catsuit;
Does a catboat sink or floats;;
Catcall the caterer chatter-chatter-
Cats got yo tongue;
MEOW!
8/4/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2019
Hot humid heatwave
Discomfort percolates long;
Sudden drenching rain
~~~~~~~~~
Sexy curvy strides
Vibrant elegance catwalks;
Hungry eyes focus
~~~~~~~~~
Two stray cats fighting
Furious body language here;
Small tigers draw blood
~~~~~~~~~
Ancient atmosphere
Old tea house in the city;
Strange calligraphy
~~~~~~~~~
Bus-stop commotion
Two drunken men in a brawl;
Tipsy foreign tongues
~~~~~~~~~
Temple bells sounding
Distant chanting rituals heard;
Prayer for our times
~~~~~~~~~
Late night wordplay moves
Missing lines stray on the verge;
Nothing much to say
~~~~~~~~~
Abrupt morning rain
Disrupts our simple routine;
Extra sleepy dreams
~~~~~~~~~
Here journeys begin
Trace cryptic constellations;
Dream upon a dream
~~~~~~~~~
Joy and peace appeal
Insidious intent conspires;
Clash of conflicts hurl
~~~~~~~~~
Little red-dot nation
Multi-lingual harmony;
Hypertensive calm
~~~~~~~~~
Beware of conflicts
Sensitive notions preside;
Keep the status quo
~~~~~~~~~
The Singapore wave
Echoes of the Kallang roar;
SEA Games here in June
~~~~~~~~~
Pretty play on stilts
Comely countenance lights May;
Orchard Road hazard
~~~~~~~~~
Listen to dawn light
Hurl dazzling colours that play;
Blurry eyes awake
~~~~~~~~~
Moment of madness
Reason clowning with passion;
Edgy concoctions
~~~~~~~~~
Being one with you
So many years of pure joy;
Love writes fond passage
~~~~~~~~~
May masquerades well
Contradicts odd intentions;
Old memories curl
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
12 May 2015
Singapore
Stubbs Park is decorously rampant,
its paths scamper here and there
like unruly children.
Perhaps its topographical language
once spoke of bridges
for the landscapers have run riot
planting arching spans
between and over
many of its hillocks and humps.
If you are in meditative mood,
these diminutive bridges
can lead you away and home again
in the compact unwinding
of a few gardened acres.
The catwalks of Stubbs park
can connect you to gaps in your life
as yet uncrossed for want of a bridge,
they can lead you astray also
until you figure out the right questions
to ask of yourself,
or perhaps more to the point
they can leisurely pass over
some idle hours
between breakfast and lunch.
let white roses be planted for lady "tee"
to grace her foot steps,
white berries fused in her garden
to press you sweet wine
snowy snow snows the earth
that your pink sapphire shoes
you used to walk on me
the ages we swam passed
the bee's hive we ate
it sting we sheltered
for our love was a seal
from sky to sky we flew high
the cloud was our heavenly clothing,
a scarf to the skylines
nature attires at pinnacle
then the heavenly doves
spray your paths whites roses
to tender your catwalks
on the day you gave your favour
then the heavenly doves
pick for you white berries
such sweetening pure
purity is heavenly front line row,
trumpet call melodies
heavenly robes descending
angels singing rejoicing
heavenly bell ringing
white throne party
judgment appealing
saints singing
hallelujah
better days
ahead.
a white
letter to lady "tee"
from a pure n open
heart gee
I ponder
throw away
my ancient
machine
of writing...
Rumple
the papers,
accomplices
of mine
tare ...
I even
stop
writing...!
but how :?
the words
pass by
my head
as models
on the catwalks ...
demanding attention!
I desire on going
complete blind...
(I perceive poorly!),
not to assimilate anymore
colors, paintings ...!
but my mind
have secret files
containing
all beauties
of the world !
I stopped eating...
Never
I was hungry ...
I stopped drinking,
I saw myself free
from headquarters ...
I am further
healthy than
before...
My literally hunger
rose ...!
nor devouring
mountain ranges of ideas
going hungry
of verses ...
nor drinking
an amazon
of words,
satisfy my my
hungriness for poetry ...!
Pink Is Having a Moment
with
the new pink cricket ball,
pink soccer boots,
Yes, it's True Folks! It's a fair game!
But,
no World Cup team
is clad in pink—
they think it's too tame,
or maybe too bold,
a distraction
which amounts to the same.
Pink in fashion
is always arriving fresh,
and returning.
In nature, though,
it's as old as a daybreak
and twice as enduring.
Pink panthers,
pink flamingos,
pink slips, pink gin,
pink carnations in a lapel,
powdered pink wigs on
pink elephants after midnight,
drifting through Versailles
in clouds of rose-red perfume mist;
gate-crashing catwalks,
then riding away
in the Shock of the New—
A Shiny Pink Cadillac.
But don't expect
the pink moment,
to last very long.
It'll be left
as a glinting hint
subdued in the background.
Blushing in sunsets,
hiding in seashells,
lounging lazily
inside ripe watermelons,
lingering in galloping galahs,
coral reef fish fins flaps,
and the inner demure curves
of a conch shell.
It will fade from fashion
around the end of July.
Pink's moment will pass.
Yet, somewhere, out there—
A rose will ignore them,
a flamingo will stand on one leg,
and the evening sky
will blush
without permission!
and
the world will discover
Pink isss It!
all over again.
Not a single crumbling house will remain.
People on the pavements, hawkers, garbage,
Only then, a city painted on a scroll, ding-dong.
For the household fish to be cut,
a ash-boti is needed,
not a knife or a dagger.
This city, you see, was once,
in primordial times,
a forest, where deer and tigers
also lived. Keep thinking about it.
Catwalks on the ramp,
soft, gentle feet, within the dreams
of sitting beside the lotus pond,
rural Bengal is becoming far too genteel,
chairs, tables, curtains,
birthday cakes,
Bhadra-month Bhadu Puja, people
dancing and singing, swaying their waists
in courtyards,
a little rice, a little money.
I keep gazing at the pond,
the afternoon pond.
I am an old-fashioned man.
Sparrows and mynas, walking in tiny steps,
squirrels racing past,
the inarticulate map of nature.
I don't know why I am so frightened,
I don't know why I am so delighted,
I don't know, the birthing room, the constellations,
I am thinking about the price of everyday things,
thinking about an ordinary life,
thinking about an ordinary world.
Just now, I had a cup of tea,
a cigarette
If I were to collage next year
I’d place bronze across gold
and third over first,
stick paper upon electric,
paste glutton below thirst.
If I were to sculpt next year
I’d chisel women into boardrooms,
chip away white to reveal colour,
smooth borders, fences and walls,
curve catwalks with something fuller.
If I were to paint next year
I’d splash rainbows over churches
and shade Xs in boxes to stay,
I’d smudge pay gaps, titles and labels,
etch over surgeries, filters and Black Friday.
But if I were to sketch last year,
using invisible ink I’d draw a stage, ruined,
without watercolour I’d wax a bridge, rammed apart,
in fine liner I’d retouch a city’s cycle path, attacked,
keeping a vanishing point in sight and restart.
So if art was time, and I free to design,
I’d graffiti the White House
with handprints the paint of all races,
I’d stencil love above hate,
and erase hurtful mouths from all faces.
I Planned of
throwing away
the eld
machine
of writing,
crumple
the papers
accomplices
of mine
fetish...
until stop
writing...!
but how :?
the words
pass by
my head
as models
on the catwalks...
demanding attention!
I had conceived over blinding myself
completely...
(I sight poorly!),
not to sight anymore
colors, paintings...!
but my mind
have files
secrets with
all beauties
of the world !
I stopped eating,
never
I was hungry...
I stopped drinking,
I found myself free
from headquarters...
I am further health than
before...
my hunger
literary has increased...!
not further devouring
mountain ranges of ideas
pass my hunger
of verses...
thus drinking
an Amazon
of words,
I never killed my
thirst for poetry...!
Stubbs Park is decorously rampant,
its paths scamper here and there
like unruly children.
The original landscapers ran riot,
for they planted arching spans
between and over
many of its grassy hillocks,
its trickling brooks.
If you are in meditative mood,
these diminutive bridges
can lead you away and home again
in the compact unwinding
of a few gardened acres.
Catwalks may connect you
to gaps in your life
ones yet uncrossed for want of a bridge’
They can lead you astray also
until you figure out the right questions
to ask of yourself.
Perhaps more to the point
folks can leisurely pass over
some idle hours
between breakfast and lunch.
On a summer evening
your long shadow
can walk over the park
in a few strides.
You may recall then that all your steps
have been
bridges over time,
a landscaping of a life -
and just a walk in the park.