Long Darning Poems
Long Darning Poems. Below are the most popular long Darning by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Darning poems by poem length and keyword.
I WISH I'D LEARNED TO SEW
I wish I’d learned to sew
My mother asks me how
How I’ve survived till now…
I tell her I don’t know
I’m feeling so forlorn
My socks got old and worn
So I’ve thrown them in the bin
I cannot take it in
And yes I know how cold my toes will be
Those socks were so lovely
Now my feet feel so chilly
I'm sad my darning skills have let me down
And now my feet are icy
(Original lyrics were written by Don Mclean)
******
A tribute to my penguin socks
I’ve walked all over you, but that’s all in the past
I knew that our relationship wasn’t strong enough to last
You’d always been part of a matching pair
But the thinning fabric I can no longer repair
I’m finding it extremely difficult to finally let go
But the hole in my heel was just too huge to sew
I’ve had this pair of socks for about 4 years thye were my absolute favourite ones and had cute penguins on the them… but the threads were so worn so thin they have disintegrated and yesterday my heel went through and they cannot be repaired and are now confined to the waste bin … its poetic licence about not being able to sew as I have mended them many times in the past
11-16-17
It is said, that Eleanor Rigby died in a church...
And was buried along with her name
That's because, Father McKenzie got his hands dirty
At the church, late one night, when nobody came
As the father was darning his socks at night
Eleanor had come in and she sat on a pew
Then she whispered softly in the father's ear
"Father, the devil had sent me...to you"
He never seen her face before...
She must have been one of those lonely people
So he locked the doors and grabbed her hand
And he took her to the dungeon in his steeple
He kept her there until she died
Twenty five years she was enslaved
No one had ever heard of her...never
But on a tombstone "Eleanor Rigby" was engraved
Eleanor Rigby Who Was She Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jerry T. Curtis
8-7-2019
Tasked to continue smooth function of cult compound
Sixteen svelte helpers of mindless vibrant physiche
Hurl their determination found in daily frequency
Milking cows, picking fruit, darning gowns
Draped swathes of cotton smother love worthy curves
Bunches clutched in fervent fists denote proactive
Chores suppress boredom, hours fast elapsing
Hushed among bustle, humbly built church
Rhythmic teat pinching hands press in prayer's commit
Wrists sturdy obedient, cream transform churning
Hundred shelled peas, obligated with urgency
Bound by scripture, called upon to submit
Duty is God's Will, blessed purpose supports hordes
Beauty unrecognised hair spun buns traditional
Released flaxen waterfall for richeous ritual
Sacramental fodder, holiest of whores
Chosen childless worship circle of dedicated wombs
Esteem rodeo results in offspring from Minister
Fallen garland bruised petalled begins her
Observance unto sermons emtombed
31st December
Cursed Yearning
. for public domain
Thread and Weave
Her fingers, more attuned to the thread and the weave,
through years of darning our socks and sewing patches,
by touch alone told her the difference between
silk and satin, which we children could not see clear.
The palms of her hands felt the quality of cloth
of our backsides when we were guilty of sloth,
but never she judged her children's rough texture
was unfit for stitching, was not worth a whisker.
We were the burlap, that often scraped her fine skin,
that brought her to so many tears, then and again,
but "doing hard time" she softened our crusty fabric
for Mother to enjoy our comforting embrace.
The Development of
Doctor Wolfgang Sinister
Story by Stem and Kirch Fortissimo
Ensembles of the
Powerful Sounds of Musicians
(Masters of there Crafts)
Professors Pernis Ptilorhynchus and Professor Falco Apivorus
Formed the "Minion" a Non for profit charity for
the interest of Honey Lovers throughout the world.
They often warned people of the differences between
honey for people(consumers): honey that's toxic.
The Professor warned many people to be aware of
the evil : Doctor Trigona Hypogea,: who's villanous brew
consists of a process meat from dead animals, which they
then mix with sugary plant products to create a sweet
substance that resembles honey. Curses! Curses! spoke
one member of "the Minion" who strokes the ego of both
Professors.While there's no definitive proof of it being toxic,
the idea of consuming honey derived from rotting meat is
generally unpalatable to most people.
One day darning a recessionary period in human history
when funds and moral had ran low, both professors sough
funding to continue there work. They were up right and honest, but they couldn't achieve there goals and were doomed to dismantle.
Then evil came upon them, a shadowy figure
appeared before them, asking them to sell there soul to him
might he fund there projects. They refused him . Professor
Apivorus needed more from this person and went to see him at
a place called Bingo Mountain. A place were lavender and flowers were
grow to attract bees of all kinds. The Shadowy figure told the Professor he'd help him as long as he was fair, and kind. Asking why he's used those words the Shadowey Figure just said "as sweet as necaters is to the bee: honey is sweet to the man who admires it's taste: the sweet sticky things!"
The Professor told him I know you use corn syurp in your product
challenging all sacred honey producers to speak ill of you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I open the sewing basket, letting my eyes and hands run over the tools she had used—the scissors, the darning egg, the pinking shears, the pins, the tattered, tomato-shaped pincushion, and spools of thread. I gaze at the metal spool-shaped bobbins remembering how, as a small child, I flushed them down the toilet creating quite a ruckus. I finger her antique thimbles recalling her numb fingers and hands. Despite her diminishing eyesight, she quilts until her last day, painstakingly feeling the fabric, cutting the shapes, and hand stitching the pieces together silently suffering from the pricks and misery her needle sometimes inflicted. When tiny drops of cerise colored blood dripped from her fingers nary a tear emerges from her eyes.
I close the basket and walk through her sewing room, white silence enveloping it. The faceless dress form patiently waits for her return, an unfinished garment draped over its shoulders. The sewing machine sits idle, its motor no longer whirring and the needle no longer punching through the fabric with its steady, rhythmic chuka, chuka, chuka sound.
echoes pierce silence
sound of mother’s spirit
I know in my heart
Appassionato Memo
Corporation Status
Pending approval
due to completive pestering
we recognize the following conditions to make
it easier for the fans of the sport to follow.
"Professional Guildiing " has been adopted as a term
to ensure combatants meeting a certain criteria
can be recognized
not as champions but as worthy contenders.
This medal can be worn by the contender to
brag throughout the company.
It will guarantee Seven title
matches through out the year.
The title of "Contentions Best" can be
exchanged throughout a
certain periods darning the year.
It's a seven match guarantee.
The trophy it self represents the
actually guarantee. Meaning
if Combatants number one has
used three opportunism during
the year; the combat that retrieves the trophy will
use only what's remaining on the prize.
the trophy can be stripped: the trophy can be traded.
The trophy can be defended.
The trophy can be made more interesting.
(Terms undefined-pending on bout conditions)
Championship bartering can also cause
the trophy holder to be included
or excluded from certain events
to guarantee or to excluded types of bouts.
The fans are used to decribe the interest of
the trophy holder.
Enhancing the spectacle, while increasing interest and ticket sales.
The Contenders Pride Trophy is not a championship
it is an oppurtunity to become champion. Creating an edge were the championship can be seen as more prestigious in the eyes of those who like more competion.
Dawning needles darning needles
Everything prefab hole in my heart
I've always said no one cooks meat from scratch
Everyone so in a hurry in fact now no one knows where one is at
Put it in a microwave
Push super X times 2 quick and fast
No time for Grandpa
Nothing left for Grandma
Darn ole socks torn in the drawer
Children leave their holey shirts on the living room floor
One good thing bout' being old
You only have to listen to God and no one else, cause...
of those darn old socks in the Maplewood cedar drawer
No one has time anymore no time for each other
07/31/14
from anthology "Poetry to Bridge Generations Contemporary Age and Poems"
by James Edward Lee Sr.
She Silently Reminded herself
---------------------------------
By: Aria Au-Contralto
-------------------------
-------------------------
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The words people most wish to hear when they already know something is wrong are honest, grounding confirmations that remove isolation and validate their reality----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
-
A wedge to separate
Her goals had been that
blatant and obvious
the dysfunction of newness
can have those seeking
something or someone
in a better position to gain
either the trust or possession
of the heart of someone
worthy of having.
Unrealistic Expectations believing
friends and folk in general would
magically change their behavior
to support you will someone
or have the decency to tell you
she's cheating
not playing some word game
but to just say it in plain
bone chilling words
Waiting for them to share
is how they usually start
unraveling and causing
the discomfort of putting you
in your place.A clinker or a clam is
what musicians call it when you strike
the wrong note darning a performance.
maybe she choose the wrong man might
the right one would find her.
Or she is overwhelmed by attention and
using her general knowledge of people
she thinks that she can keep things stable long enough
to make it through.
Tympani, thy tyranny.
Prisoner of the noise:
Soulless is this symphony!
Deepen, O my ploys!
Tangled in an oak tree s roots?
Tide rushing in fast?
Succor, sailors? Little boots!
Life preserver, cast!
Where do pining poems go?
Carrion, feed thy crow.
All lost souls to heaven go?
Hell, thy rows to hoe.
Blessed are the blasphemers?
Not entirely, sir.
How the hungry tiger purrs!
Vision, now to blur!
Old diner, thy jukebox.
Play simple tunes for folk.
O Elysian fields, thy phlox.
Dinosaur egg, yolk.
But, in times of warning?
The panic bell is best.
Sweaters wool, thy darning.
Pirate treasure, thy chest.
Sorted out? Without a doubt.
World unfriendly, be.
Cursed demons, give a shout.
Sunken in the sea.
Hope, be with the poet!
Grant shelter to the bard!
Otherwise, you know it!
Fry deeply, O my lard...