Long Coveralls Poems
Long Coveralls Poems. Below are the most popular long Coveralls by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coveralls poems by poem length and keyword.
The lady down the lane
Kept daisies by her windowpane
Clad in sun splashed coveralls
Her hair, a silver waterfall
Proudly she wore her bluebell bonnets
As she composed her floral sonnets
We would smile a shy hello
Her name, I never got to know
Now - dusty silence coats her stair
The bones of color, stripped and bare
Abandoned seedlings, parched segments
So largely felt, those little dents
A 'For Sale' sign sits on the lawn
I guess seasons - and gardens - move on
Yet, sometimes I see, through stained-glass rain
Daises by her windowpane.
3/20/20
For 'The Lady Down the Lane' contest
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Scarecrow
You'll find me
in paddy fields and gardens;
even on front porches.
I'm a decoy, as lonely as can be.
I look frozen in time,
mimicking Jesus
crucified on the cross,
but I swear I mean no disrespect,
you religious zealots!
Blame farmers and gardeners!
They make me look this way!
They live to humiliate me;
dressing me up like a ragamuffin,
stuffing straw inside my coveralls,
placing a dumb-looking hat
atop my head; you name it!
Yes, I know I look ridiculous.
I wish I'd put
my perennially outstretched arms down.
Don't be scared of me, kids,
I speak no evil
I don't speak at all,
and I do not harm anything
that breathes air
Yet you humans choose to avoid me
like the plague
but come Halloween,
you all love me for just a day!
Go figure.
Yeah, I see some of you
staring at me, chuckling;
whispering amongst yourselves
about me having no brain
in the "Wizard of Oz" movie.
In my defense,
It was a misrepresentation!
I don't speak, but I'm not that dumb!
I know how to do my thankless job
and do it well.
I scare off all the birds
that peck at newly cast
seeds of growing crops, don't I?
Not so brainless now, am I?
Date written: 05/15/2020
A mass of emerald and ochre leaves,
sway upon the light summer breeze.
Suction of boots to big, wrenched from the muck,
grunting, banging, the metal bucket thunks.
The old farmer in his coveralls stands at the fence,
watching the struggling girl, bucket bangs, eyes wince.
'Ya wanna ta' feed um' he urges her on,
huffing, puffing, nose wrinkled of odors not fond.
A glorious glint of green and blue plumage,
is all that's needed to encourage.
Shrieking cries they emit, she jumps in fright,
screaming, slipping, sliding, then caught in plight.
Stuck in the mud, smelling quite rotten,
are boots too big, long forgotten.
Every day I am leaping higher
Jumping from brown blocks and green pipes.
From the pluck of fire flowers steams this passion that I pursue So adamantly.
Question mark filled boxes highlighted yellow.
Flickering on and off.
The alchemy of white gloves, stomping and flipping the backs of turtles.
Small mushroom men with small feet.
Flying bullets of unusual size.
Large man eating plants.
I no longer fear the height of odd shaped trees, and small collapsing bridges.
What I fear most are the walls of empty castles.
Flying bullets and funny shaped ghost.
Soon to attack soon as I turn my back.
Lava filled pits. Huge block castles.
Torn blue coveralls. Dull and weathered black boots.
The slip of a shoe and everything I know comes to an end.
Still,
I travel land, sea, desert, space.
No matter what adversity,
In search of a princess that I love so adamantly.
No matter how long the journey
As I sit upon these old porch steps, that I have always known
A weathered stoop, with gray floorboards, that shake with every wind
These creaks and groans, the flaws and chips, ... familiar to my hand
I have come to some conclusion,,,
I've come to understand,
how well I know each board, each slat, the shape, the size,
the warps, the cracks, ...each rusty nail, ....
but not the facts of you.
Oh yes, ... I've seen a glimpse or two,
in photographs. I have a few
I see a robust man, in yellowed hues, of vintage stock...
By a house, a barn, where land is strewn with stones to move.
You stand behind a horse and plow, in coveralls,... a mustache. too.
I do recall, so vaguely gray, as gray as the paint beneath my hand...
a jolly man, a wrinkled face,
with a smile, a laugh, a loving way
A dream I have, or is it real?
Is that me when I was two,... sitting here, beside you then?
Or is it just my wish to know... more than just a trace of you?
I never knew the man you were, your hopes your dreams...
the thousand schemes that brought you to these rocky slopes
so far from where your hopes began
Where the steep cliffs rose and seas were blue.
Today, beyond these furrowed rows,...
tall grasses grow in amber waves
The eyes will wander, and shadows grow
I ponder how it came to be....
that I am me,....
who came from you;
a man I never knew.
_____________________________________________________________
(To watch the youtube video recitation:)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hF4GCLqf9_o
Ironed Shadows
by Odin Roark
Her hands lay smooth
the coveralls worn thin
now wrinkled
once charged with earth
Mended armor from
courageous prices paid
embossed with crosshatched mending
stands raised in triumph
A home plate remembered
by innocence long abandoned
players made humble from
a boy's first slide for life
Vapors rise
from sprinkled droplets of water
beneath handled hot steel
making ready once more
the crusted wafer-thin reason
for kneeling to a non-questioned answers
Facing coerced submission to other games
a purple-robed relentless hand
feeds rewards from gilded plate
accompanied by whispering silver tongue
Such are the scoring points of yet another kind
Youth's pure white
once starched crisp
ever ready for combat
now labors thread bare
atop shoulders and arms
riding the reach for caramel-lathered memories
chased down with silver chaliced promises from still wider mouths
Where goes the love-smooth ironing hand now?
Costumes of rumpled thread
made anew by hot-pressed caresses
now like the ether of memory
drift up past the seeing eyes into untethered emptiness
Tread carefully
lest you become wrinkle-free expediency
sliding voraciously into digital home plates
forever kneeling faithfully before promised obsolescent rewards
delivered smilingly from reflective platters
tarnishing quickly
I’m proud to serve, that’s true as hell,
But sometimes I wonder why we’re here to rebel—
Not against the mission, not against the fight,
But the brass and the game that fogs up the right.
They say it’s a brotherhood, shoulder to shoulder,
But I see ‘em slicked up, gettin' rank over the bolder.
The ones who dodge grime, fresh-pressed and clean,
In their service dress blues, their polished-up sheen.
Some troops in coveralls, sweat-stained and tired,
Running two shifts while the "heroes" retired,
To volunteer for cake duty, handin' out smiles,
While we’re on the line, racking up miles.
The shop’s down to bone, mission load is high,
And we’re the ones grindin’ while the brown-nosers fly.
They get the medals and accolades—so absurd,
For fixing their collars and kissing up to the third.
I don’t care for the politics, the backroom cheers,
I don’t work for the lapel pins or selective ears.
But there’s pride in the dirt, in the scuffed-up boots,
Where real service lives, where honor takes roots.
I’ll keep pulling weight, watch their parades pass,
Nods and awards for a well-polished brass.
And yeah, it gets old, watching them rise,
When the dirty and smelly, they pass right by.
But proud to serve—I don’t need their praise,
For a job well done, for these long hard days.
Just wonderin’ sometimes why it’s this way—
When the heart of the mission is the boots in the fray.
Love isn't just a single word
or feeling
Said to tickle an ear and
leave you reeling
Nor is love abstract and
void of care
But what one envisions and
does all year
We convey our love by
things that we do
When a loved one is hurting
we hurt too
Love is conveyed by deeds
not merely said
And connects us all with a
common thread
Love is single soul
embedded in two separate
bodies
That keeps the heart
beating for many centuries
Love isn't a feeling for a
short period
For Its care is countless and
myriad
Love is a word some find
difficult to say
But it leaves an enormous
price to pay
Love is feeling of endless
sacrifice
That can never be bought
with no price
Love is bond that binds two
souls
Its a great gift that must be
extols
Love is a shield that not
only blinds our heart from
hate
But distance our soul from
all forms of irate
Love means when one
hurts us, we forgive
Not five years later to bring
up and relive
Love takes our soul to
where it belong
for it keeps no record of
wrong
Love means to give without
asking
For it makes living on earth
basking
Love is boundless and
priceless
Its limitation is endless
Love sometimes forces on
us a ling wait
But love never delegates us
power to dictate
Love is that master key to
the door of happiness
Its the bricks that forms the
mantle of success
We don't have to agree
with each other to love
For God gave me what I
was unworthy of
What's held in your heart
your mouth will speak
So before speaking do a
mental critique
love is never idle or to be
cast in mothballs
I see love as a servant in
coveralls
In short, Love is GODS
nature in procreation
For it's the genesis of
human creation
Ironed Shadows
Her hands lay smooth
the coveralls worn thin
now wrinkled
once charged with earth
Mended armor from
courageous prices paid
embossed with crosshatched mending
stands raised in triumph
A home plate remembered
by innocence long abandoned
players made humble from
a boy's first slide for life
Vapors rise
from sprinkled droplets of water
beneath handled hot steel
making ready once more
the crusted yet unknowing weave
for kneeling of a different kind
Facing forced submission to other games
a purple-robed relentless hand
feeds rewards from gilded plate
accompanied by quiet silver tongue
Such are the scoring points of yet another kind
Youth's pure white
once starched crisp
ever ready for combat
now labors thread bare
atop the shoulders and arms
riding the reach for caramel-lathered memories
chased down with silver chaliced promises of still further kinds
Where is the love-smooth ironing hand now?
Costumes of rumpled thread
made anew by ironed caresses
now like the ether of memory
drift up past the seeing eyes into untethered emptiness
Tread carefully
lest you become wrinkle-free expediency
sliding voraciously into digital home plates
forever kneeling faithfully before promised obsolescent rewards
delivered smilingly from tarnished silver platters
Walking my tiger home alone
In the background and unknown
With a rag I polish a club
Then you take it with a snub
I walk around keeping stats
Wet my finger for wind on flats
Calculate yards from here to there
So dimpled ball will stay in the air
As fast as you behind I lag
The difference is I carry your bag
All in white in bright coveralls
Marking the spot to place your balls
On the green is usually where
Sometimes you don't I won't go there
Have no problem choosing the club
Throwing it back an uneasy rub
I go the distance for eighteen
Making sure you make the green
Many tournaments you have won
Some are due to the work I've done
Raise the cup enjoy the win
I can take it on the chin
Beside you like some garden gnome
Here I'm walking my Tiger home