Long Cold feet Poems
Long Cold feet Poems. Below are the most popular long Cold feet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cold feet poems by poem length and keyword.
i'll be waiting for you on friendly hill with no friends ill be sitting down in lonesome town waitin for
thee end.memories tell me what's this all about i dont want to hear you shout i don't want to see you pout againbut the truth is were stuck together even when i dont feel better having you around but its ok to start over when i hear the sound bell strikes 12 no one can take u away from me again i'd been prescribed two Because they said i dont know what to do when i cant hear you but even when i dont i can find the antidote behind the wall i hear you call i see you crawl back into my head i know your there but they dont care they think im better off dead now i must atone for you are what caused the dread of the dead of those who died deaf but surly you can change their mind beacuased the reasons of such love should not be a crime when somone of ur worth understated by divined
when you walk by… my soldiers stay in line that any king’s kingdom heart would give up their reign as riegn for sweet grapethee vine for you are true and they strip the good of this world and i did to when i took the blade in my hand and saw myself in that man or so they say he was but i know the truth but i am here but I. AM. here…. here i stand, but does he? everything that led to this moment was blamed on me because i stayed alive but was it me or the other guy they say im lonely that no one in this world would claim to even acknowledge my presence but as they say evil i consume as it consumes me im glad ur here that is the greatest present…
I know soon your time will run out, meries of my memories will soon come in till the morning i hoped you’ll be with me because unlike the high fives you gave thell leave me hanging over the river were we used to meet when i told you the stories of my fathers abuse and my mothers cold feet. dead or alive i live this asylum i can only belive in fatalism because no optimistic belief can allow me to leave a place that is both in and outside my mind that even metaphorical happy thoughts fear to reside that sometimes i dont know whats a lie weather it came from me or someone else was it an asylum or was it a prison did they want to help me did i kill him was it a drug or was it a drink does it matter what i think could this OR WOULD THIS world just be a dream.
Oh! The ambience.
Creepy enough to make a child
cry for its mother.
The dark night, a sky pitched black,
billion fireflies and no moon.
Lying on a grass carpet,
I kept gazing.
My hands then
shivered, mind enraged;
chaos echoed, bursting it,
aiding an end.
Thus comes the nightmare.
Dreams seemed a distant delight,
delight now experienced by
a folk unknown.
My cold feet yearn for the warmth
of a fairy, once acquainted.
I urged, shed the last dried tear.
My possessions lack
a little…
Make me feel alive, muse.
Though I am gone,
bestow a heartbeat again...
An embrace before my final breath.
I am not the poet
to keep me in your thoughts.
I am a spirit
who picked up the pen.
Now, I break the quill.
Still, in my pajamas, cold, ‘tis Winter.
Purple and gray wool socks, and still, cold feet.
Yet i’d walk down into the oaks, with sun’s
light be soaked, at the Summer-plumed heartbeat.
Into the glowing moss and down the hill,
like my grand, who’d make glorious foothold
into the street. Still, alone, basking in
happiness, woolen feet waltzing, toes cold,
knuckles chapping, clapping of my steepled
fingers. dry and joyful lips, arising,
Dizzy, I'd survey the amphitheater -
steam of cold-heat, underfoot apprising.
O my soul, the crooning blue signature,
expansive, inexpensive, pensive sky.
Behold God’s goodness directed my way.
Though fibbing from inside, I do not lie.
The arms of my chair, still, caring, hold me
or i’d jetty into my imagination.
There the birds stir up woozy fairyland
with tea and serenity’s coronation.
2/10/2021
Contest: All Yours (Feb 10)
Sponsor: Brian Strand
This dirty little diner is the soul of the community.
Serving brackish coffee and dirty honey buns.
To moon-dusted customers on their morning run.
Location, location, location always trumps quality.
The place is packed with twitchy blue-collar rats.
The sniffling cook swaggers in with a greasy bandana.
Pops an egg's yellow cap with his long, dirty finger.
I know some of the patrons saw it, yet they linger.
As far as I can see,
the intestines of the ancient coffee machine
seem impossible to scrub and thoroughly clean.
The blue mooners don't seem to mind the grime or sweaty eggs.
All night and day they keep gurgling up from gutter and grate.
To slurp cuisine that may not wear an expiration date.
My turn, I place what I perceive to be the cleanest order.
A small glass of O.J. a humble bagel with cream cheese.
I slide coyly off to the side like an undercover spy.
With visions of dirty over-easy greasing my queasy mind.
I've seen more than enough horror and get cold feet.
Like a yellow-lipped roach, I scurry for the door.
Fleeing the blue moon with little guilt, without grime or grease.
It’s raining leaves and acorns
Contrast of sound
Silent shapes and colors drifting
Meanwhile the nuts
Shelling my roof, my deck, the air
Autumn whispers and flails her arms
No doubt now she’s arrived
She’s arrived in brisk fashion today
She’s armed and dangerous
and beautiful and clamorous,
turning bold and cold
and amorous.
Why do I say amorous?
Married couples will move from the sides
of their bed, to cuddle-pretend, igniting
fires in the center of their universe…
falling…falling…falling
in love, not minding the other
breathing down their neck,
the oceanic snore,
cold feet.
Cold feet, you say?
The flirtation of feet
will create giggles, in fact.
Only makes the heart grow fonder
in this autumnal swaddle.
If you're too young to understand,
well *bless your heart—
Go take a flying leap
into a crunchy, harvested,
wholesome pile of down…
down you go
in your innocence
make it last
because raking lasts,
as well—
you’ll find out soon enough
about aches and pains—
falling…
10/16/2021
used to express fondness; or sympathy for someone,
oft said in a covert and condescending way.
Enervated and energized after cold shower
the perfect tonic to gin body though o'clock
wee hours August thirty one two thousand
nineteen - natural buzz to stave off relished
sleep, thus refueled with zest able to chop
chop thru printed material (dictionary seat
of pants newpage turner with a-z characters)
and no crock, but refreshing douse of chill
kept mien ole body electric able to dial back
feeling akin to soap bar man tiredness life
came to buoy quite some hours with joy de
vivre vigor analogous to morning dove (or as
if submerged smooth as ivory into Irish Spring),
until... bubbliness peaked than plunged yours
truly into fast shuteye descent lulled into land
o' dreams courtesy double fan tussy "white
noise," until I awoke with a start, (albeit heavy
grogginess clinging fast - thick spidery whirled
wide cob webbed glommed threads) unable to
offset toe tilly stark realization bare little feet
(plaintively oinking higglety pigglety) felt like
ice cubes, whereby skimpy blanket inadequate
to allow, enable, and provide adequate quality
sleep, hence inspiration piqued to attempt cob
bullying poem gifted (thank you watermelon
pickle) despite raggedy state, not optimal state
string words together rendering sense and cents
ability birthing feeble attempt to sweat out small
medium thoughts lodged within fifty plus shades
gray atrophied matter - begetting literary stillborn
whereby intensive care unit medical team resorted
to heroic measures applying revolutionary punk
chew weighted equilibrium until state of the art
poetic license intervention wrought sudden jaw
dropping miracle – whipped courtesy last ditch
Shakespearean divine resuscitation, (plus all the
king's men and all the king's horses) rendered
dead as a doornail absolute zero metaphoric
lifeless limp bizkit verse, neither lickety split
rhyme nor reason could explain tectonic shift
witnessing pluperfect (donned with little non hex
pence booties) manifestation vital signs, but
metered metrical blue feet in toto - oz needed
close monitoring to ward off 10,000 maniacs.
October fruit ripened to the core
fishes dream of new waters
Autumn's chill opened the world
to the days of yore.
Of shadows and suns
the remnant is polished in stones
where new hopes may grow like grass.
In times like these, I think of you
and daydream in flowers
Winter! your poetry is written in the
shivering stars, and their cuddling Mother.
The sky is against the earth, blanketing
as I wait for snowflakes on my panes.
I touch your icy skin and inhale your essence.
In your wake, butterflies are born from
dying autumn leaves, dazzle, and vanish into space.
Winter! come in cold feet, and give us the chill
of awakening.
You are closer to me than a kidney is to a stone,
I love you more than your everything.
If you die before I do
I will have my own bags packed
and wherever we end up
will be just fine by me,
just as long as I can make you smile.
At night your cold feet on my back
help me dream of Polar Bears canoodling.
Sometimes your left hip creaks
in sympathy to my own cranked knee.
You are a cream for my rash
which flares up when you're not
100% around.
If you dent my S Type Jaguar once more
I will forgive you
besides it not that great, its old
though not as old as you, but you are greater.
I will forgive you
like an ingrowing toenail forgives
a too tight shoe,
or like a cold sore forgives
the soothing kiss of lip balm
You are my good right arm,
etcetera, etcetera.
© 1 day ago
I ECTED YOUR NAME IN MY
CHRISTMAS LEDGER
MADE SOME TIME FOR US
TO SPEND TOGETHER
CLEANED THE HOUSE
WIPED THE FLOORS
SCRUBBED THE ALL
THE SMUDGES FROM
OFF THE DOORS
PUT SOME MISTLETOE
OVER THE BED
THE CHORALEERS
THE GIFTS
THE CHRISTMAS TREE
COME OVER
SPEND SOME
TIME WITH ME
CHRISTMAS ISN'T NO TIME
TO SPEND ALONE
COME RIGHT OVER
AFTER YOU HANG UP
THE PHONE
BEAUTIFUL BOUQUET
THE FLOWERS
THE MEATS BEEN SIMMERING
FOR HOURS
CRANBERRY SAUCE
WHAT A TREAT
THICK WOOL STOCKINGS
FOR OUR COLD FEET
COME ON OVER
WE CAN SIP SOME COCOA
SPEND THE NIGHT
DANCE TO A CHRISTMAS SINGLE
COME ON OVER BABY
LET PRANCE AND MINGLE
BUMP UP THE NOG WITH SOME
COCNAG
JUST A LITTLE
CAUSE YOU
DON'T KNOW HOW TO ACT
TINGLE WITH SIPPES
AND LONG
PASSIONATE KISSES
GET
I have a split
Like a sundae
But in my body
I have cold feet
I wish my walls would melt away
I wish that they could see
My perspective is blank
In the middle I stray
I'm tired of talking
I just want to meet
My maker in heaven
Because no one believes
I have a split body
In a split screen world
I feel like too many people
Am I a boy or a girl
Why is my hand moving
Why aren't my legs
I'm a bit of a ghoul see
I died already when I was a kid
I didn't get to meet him when I visited
I act like I have no fear
But I can't even tell if I'm actually here
Am a dreaming of a life I could've had
It feels out of my control like that
I have a split
I don't know what to do with it
My reactions are mixed
And I can't decide
I sit on the fence
but there's 5 seats
I sit in the middle so I can
Feel myself eat
Instead of on the right
Where they can hear my cries
I have a split