Long Chic Poems
Long Chic Poems. Below are the most popular long Chic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chic poems by poem length and keyword.
My best friend and I have nothing in common at first sight
She is a well-put together band box of classy chic
Yet we are always in sync, agreeing as we listen to each other
My pajamas have not been in the wash for days, neither has my hair.
We can sit for hours in silence, neither of us talking
I breathe easier when we are together
Feeling relaxed and warm, saying nothing
Yet understanding we would fight giant spiders for each other
“I would lop off his head,” she says during a TV show.
Laughter bubbles up from my tummy bottom.
He wouldn’t bother me, I tell her. I never bathe.
We cannot stop laughing.
Aardvark, audience, aim, address.
Double creature feature, sign sore stress.
Poets, penury, paucity, peak.
Prophets of the pack never wet the beak...
Carrion chic? Run raw revile.
Roundabout the dugout, crocodile!
Reptilian art in forgotten caves.
Knolly, unholy, goal, giant graves...
Mercy saves. Greed kills. No pain pills.
Mighty steel walls hemming in the hills.
Lemming, when you fall, do you see doom?
Certain curtain call, boulder seals tomb...
Flickering foxfire, foregone fate.
Heaven and Hell, horror and hate.
Tormented tornado and tired typhoon.
Chemicals dissolving in my spoon...
Queen of Carthage Dido, homebody high!
Stay with me forever in the bye and bye!
Fair as a naga queen in angry mood!
Hit it with wit if it's talking rude!
Buoyant like the hopes of a matador!
Quicken with thy cape, vampire! Be sure.
Yellow priestess, ritual sleek!
Alliance Black Abyss, plant one on my cheek...
our porch is a mess
falling apart
I do not notice it
until the week before we have company
too late to do anything about it now
when did the three pieces of gingerbread fall off?
Where are the missing wind chimes?
I note that it is rather shabby
Some of the boards are warped,
pieces of the railing are falling in
We are not the prissy types
some people would be horrified by this shabbiness
You have heard of shabby chic?
This is shabby EKE!
dead mouse I just noticed
We have hobbies, interests,
Jazzing up our dilapidated porch
is the last thing I want to do.
I do however get rid of the dead rodent.
For Chloe, three slices of black Forrest Ham.
Her tired meows that ache, her kitten teeth blackened
And I pet her with a heroin chic hand.
I hear of children with hair that falls out like broom straw,
Lilac bruises littering their knobby knees
And I hear that they are forgotten in 2008.
We are adults now, for those that didn't perish
But we may still bounce from hotel to shelter
Or take cover in the Churches for sinners.
I still think of that feline friend.
The memory jolts me there, every night.
It is all I have; all I can give.
You see that was my ration for the day
And the hunger is eating my ribs.
Mother, she gives Chloe the iron boot
By tossing her to the Giant wilderness
I sob for what feels like fifty lifetimes.
I never see Little Chloe again.
I'm too tired to care -
too worn to wear that
chic shirt
which matches my shoes
that you seem to care so much about
I'm too drained to change at all
Truthfully,
I'm more than tired -
an exhaustion born
from a wired brain
too tormented to sleep -
Too terrified to be burned alive
in this frigid fire pit again
and again -
but too afraid to end it
Too scared to survive,
too frozen to finish it,
too weary to wrap it up
Too frightened to fix this
sinking ship,
too panicked to patch it up,
yet
too spooked to let it sink
What I'm trying to say is
I'm trapped
Haunted by each torturous moment
I feel too powerless to pry myself from
I think we're all too concerned
with our own prying
to feel courageous enough
to pry into another's life
and aid them in prying
just enough courage
to live another day
That's all you need
Sometimes just a pinpoint of light
on this ever growing galaxy
Just enough
I think that's what God gives
Just enough
I spotted her in the enchanted forest, where the trees whisper tales,
She stood there smiling, like an ephemeral and mysterious star,
Exuding an ethereal elegance, in a white veil that swayed gently,
Tassels like little bells adorned her chic and graceful dress.
Her beauty was an old sweet song that penetrated the soul,
Her aura was a living canvas, a painting that drew curious gazes,
In a moment, a flash eternalized the moment, a gentle touch,
But she responded with a sting, leaving a painful mark on the skin.
I search for the story of this Lily of the Valley in the vast cyberspace,
Ah, what a sublime name and what a captivating presence she hides,
But a deeper look reveals the truth hidden beneath the surface,
Sweet poison under the surface's shine, a play of illusions.
A careful look unveils the secrets beneath the delicate petals,
Like an influencer hiding poison in the pink pearls of her necklace,
The first impression is not always the one that lasts forever,
She is the mistress of illusion, a mix of beauty and hidden danger.
Allow me to introduce
The charming letter
Lower case c
For she’s as cute as cute can be;
Corinthian, compact and curvy,
Companioned between b and d
She keeps her shape confidently
When transformed to case, upper
A large C with calligrapher’s
Flourish, grows up
Chic and sexy.
Sometimes she calls a
Crystal clear c
Rules over the oceans of vowels
Making i follow e
But sometimes, she’s wispy
And cirrus, sounding soft
Like an S
Wise counsel at the end of advice.
When she teams up with K
She loses her say,
Maybe she craves to cut loose –
Sccchhhhhhhhhh – she’s carelessly
Left hidden in scissors
Scene of a crime
Accused, she sits silent
In her indictment.
Socially mobile with h,
She follows her cue and
Takes up her place in the
Chorus of the church choir pew
She is centred
As middle c
And of music, she’s
The finale.
She wears her sadness like a sombrero
Others laughing at her expense
Her life resembles a broken arrow
Still soaring in defense
She cooks, cleans and rocks babies
With a loving heart and calming smile
Her spirit defeated by a vicious rabies
A controlled substance in a vial
A colossal balloon destined to be popped
With her dedication it never will
If it were pierced, it couldn't be stopped
A bowling ball tempting a hill
Invisible stilts beneath her high heels
Making difficult her every step
With balance and grace, she turns her wheels
Adding a delightful pep
Her sky blue eyes and gift of gab
Distract others from seeing her Hell
Country chic perfume, just a dab
A pleasant deterring smell
Always on time, accountably prepared
Spreading joy to those around
Falling apart, she comes home bare
Where pain is the only sound
There's nothing left at the end of her day
She survives on crumbs alone
Given others what she didn't have to give away
Humbly satisfied with the seeds she's sewn
seems like ole man winter
aint finished doing business
whereat get dem self up
in fine fetters and cuss
madly jabbing, gesticulating,
and damning e pluribus
conveniently, deliberately,
and selectively forgetting unum
until...cupboards bare wren, emergency food stash
mice eaten, and refrigerator empty
and there you stand with a growling tum
hmm...perhaps hastening to the wine cellar
scrambling for a jug of rum
which ample downing might be
a panacea to hibernate,
and deeply slum
burr until dawg days of summer,
when fruit trees bursting,
and being alive feels plum
ripe with nary a worry in the world,
oh...mebbe best to telephone mum
(real name Chrys Anthem),
and share cornucopia
as life for thee goes hum
ming along swimmingly
and haint nuttin tuff heal glum
about, now take another sip
and breathe in from
smorgasbord mother nature didst spread
vibrant flora and fauna
sights and sounds rhythmically,
poetically, and hypnotically drum,
where the prevailing mood
finds one markedly chum
me scales fall from ones's eyes,
a former bummed out skool of hard knocks alum,
now just kick back and become seduced
while listening to chic chick hens roost
scampering, grunting,
and buzzing capers moost
pleasant since renaissance
of spring finally loosed.
The tulips in the vase,
a clan of lassies fair.
Their buds they hold the gold,
the pollen of their youth
and promise sunrise told,
the tulips in the vase,
they lounge in waisted glass
with petals kidskin sleek
in shades as warm as fire,
oh, glamor girls trés chic.
The tulips in the vase,
romantic redheads bloom.
Their teacup tepals filled;
ideas nouveau riche
with secrets sunset spilled,
the tulips in the vase
as Venus feeds their dreams.
Demure, in damsels’ dupe,
a still-life painting prop—
enslaved for art they droop.