Long Decors Poems
Long Decors Poems. Below are the most popular long Decors by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Decors poems by poem length and keyword.
When I sit and watch TV I am bombarded by perfection…
Everybody has bright white teeth and a silky smooth complexion.
They live in enormous houses in the country or by the shore
all decorated by the finest designers in luxurious decors.
They drive cars with foreign names meant to thrill, amaze…astound
and when not behind the wheel they have a chauffeur who drives them all around.
But when the show is over I look around and always smile at what I see
knowing my life does not quite match the one on my TV
When I look into my mirror I often have to pause
because the body and complexion I see…have their share of flaws..
The house Deborah and I live in has never given us reason to complain
even though the laundry room remains unfinished and our street floods in the rain.
Our car is nice but is not the kind that will easily astound…
and there is no chauffeur waiting…who will drive us both around…
But I’ve come to realize something about perfection as I’ve grown a little older
Perfection, a lot like beauty, lies in the eyes of the beholder.
Yesterday we had lunch with some of our grandchildren and once again I was shown
despite its imperfections…how splendid my life has grown.
Like all families we’ve had our ups and downs…
as our family constantly transforms…
But together we have ridden those highs and weathered every storm.
For the most part everyone in our family is happy
For the most part we are healthy…
As I sat with our grandchildren yesterday I had to wonder…
How did I get so wealthy?
My life might not be TV perfect…but….I am happy to admit
my real world life is perfect…at least from where I sit.
Chosen to be a perfectionist
all things in order
not out of order
the pantry is orderly
the shelves are amazing
the dishes are placed
neatly arranged with a homemade cake
perfectly amongst the race
clean clean clean away
no time wasted, non-worried faces
this is right, that is wrong
a perfect home
If it means being alone
straighten out items, neatness all around
when leaving, must come back to the cleanness
orderly you see, nothing is thrown around
If it is, you have to get down
seemed perfect in all that was done
the atmosphere is right
each day and night
shoes come off at the door
sinks are wiped down after repeated usage
no time for disorderly, nor items misplaced
a day to relax, some days are amazing
the perfectionist, having some patience
what a view being seen
overall, it's clean clean clean
neatness in appearance
nothing out of line
even the clock on the wall
cannot be the wrong time
a picture that is crooked
has to be straighten
don't keep them waiting
Some things are not outdated
not a lent on the floor
that cannot definitely be ignored
a life with the perfectionist
as time definitely goes by
sometimes asking, why? why? why?
the dinner invite, extended settings
just a piece of the delicious apple pie
the hand slightly was hit twice
barely hurt, a smile with love
no, not now, that is the dessert
just wait for the appetizers, the entrees
fancy elegant dinner plates are placed
gold silverware, decors, red flowers, and more
the table is so extraordinary
the view is so nice
the room is full of peace, love, and joy
If you're messy, you might not be invited anymore
oh well, the day has gone
all family, friends, and others went home
until the holidays come again
invitations are amongst limited
maybe next time the host will be the guest
and all, figuring out the rest.
The perfectionist.
Note:
Sometimes a perfectionist will change some guidelines.
Faith, Prayers. Jesus. Grace.
Can this be me? You?
orderly, clean, & neat.
Some people have said that cleaning can be mind relaxing. Also, a form of exercise because you're always moving. After the results, you can see the finishing.
An atmosphere that is suitable to live in.
265.
My 43rd Leaf
Removed thee from tree
It's sturdy and tall
I think not native
Looks familiar but
Do not know its name
By the Trappist monks
Who live by in there
Or just a planter
Folk or foreigner
Don't know who planted
About to enter
The souvenir shop
Where we bought some goods
About 3 o'clock
On way to the wharf
Just in front the shop
Selling souvenirs
Foods and rosaries
Decors and softdrinks
A monastery
On field trip again
But first time in there
With Crim. 2 students
A new experience
That I should treasure!
-04/01/2014
(Dumarao)
*My Toladas Collection
I don’t usually talk about a club, in the club
but last night I was chattering breathlessly, at midnight,
about how right the club had gotten its atmosphere.
I’m never quite sure, design-wise, what’s ‘now’ and what’s retro nuance.
My bf Peter said the design was “Warholism,” whatever THAT is.
I gave him a puzzled look and he said. “The Factory?” Like that meant something.
Why is he so much smarter than me? It’s unjust.
Lets wax poetically..
The drinks were priced like artifacts
but we ordered them like essentials.
A club is a machine calibrated for pleasure.
Similar to real life, but with much better lighting
plus their decors are tuned to optimistic escapism.
Last night’s club, was all chrome and blue light
making us feel like we were on a spaceflight
Clubs hit escape velocity around midnight
when everyone’s having their own garish moment
- crowds roll in on the vibe, and things warm up.
When moving on the floor started to feel like work
we escaped the ordinary for the cooler mezzanine
We arrived as our drinks were being freshened up
I tip well and they’re happy to manage my money
It was a good thing. Our generation doesn’t know
how to wait without looking like we’re waiting.
BTW: Don’t you LOVE anti-spiking drink covers?! #justbrilliant
ok, now it’s Saturday morning
My head is pounding, as if someone were striking it,
every thirty seconds or so, with a timpani malot.
“That was the LAST time..” I moan, but I was being ironic.
I know it’s not true, Peter knows it’s not true, I know, he knows,
I know it’s not true - but he gets my meaning - that’s irony.
Peter never seems to have a hangover and at times it pisses me off.
“How do you feel,” I ask him in my smallest voice - lest I awake the timpanist.
“Fine,” he says, with an enjoyable sense of righteousness.
He sips his coffee as if he has not a care.
“You’re only fine because your head is empty,” I lash out in a whisper.
.
.
A song for this:
Can't Tame Her by Zara Larsson
Tears by Sabrina Carpenter [E]
.
[E] = Explicit lyrics
Air smelling lavender lily, in splash of wild flowers.
Bowers of rustic rosebuds, first love fragrance hours.
Cloudless skies exalt blue, fuzzed in luscious green.
Daffodils of yellow beams, bloom with night jasmine.
Ephemeral path of blue birds, sync butterflies scarlet,
Fancy rejoice of dalliance, in pink and purple banquet.
Gardens cloister colored valleys , petals in avalanche
Hyacinth perfumed sunshine, glossy blossoms branch.
In transit, cold greets summer, change of fresh attire,
Juvenile mind that's young, feels like flying higher.
Kisses stolen in gentle flirts, flowing streams of nectar,
Love sings joy and dance, in promise of new laughter.
Magical burst of smiling buds, re-sprout hidden hope,
Notes of mirth in dulcet , birds weave nest to cope.
Orange foliage sets fire, as decors of art unveil.
Primrose bedecked palanquins , sway in royal gale,
Queen of nature rides in beauty, crocuses in thicket.
Resurrected winter mist,..in green life, all succulent.
Sonnets, ballads, songs, gallery of dream for ages
Timeless glory of beauty in painter and poet pages
Up from a pastel sky, nymphs walk down filigree paths
Valentine day's just gone, the season of love to last
Wild cherry blossoms of silk, greet in a pink hello
Xylophone notes chant in a stream of music flow.
Young lovers gyrate... in a romantic love affair
Zephyr wind throws a hug,...Spring is in the air.
15th March 2019
Pieces of glass shattered on the wooden floor
I maim my pointed finger; it bleeds and runs into my broken door.
Grief is timeless as it seems,
How evergreen to sculpture happiness in my dreams?
I’m beautifully made but devastatingly asking,
“What keeps you awake and keep on going?”
Life is an art that is crafted under a long process
They say it’s worthy to endure; just like how everyone else.
“You need to find hope in your disappointments and failures”
As nonchalant as mosaic, there’s beauty in life’s curvatures.
“Your insecurity is like a fake brush that loses your colors to paint”
Look how splendor the love and support around; need them to acquaint.
Just keep on going is what will keep me going.
For as long as I know that this beautiful life will keep me flowing.
Soon to be draped inside the room where decors and schemes are pretty simple,
I will be the masterpiece; a work of art that outstands like a steeple.
Don't lay the plucked flowers on my grave
for,I am not at all alive to crave
I don't want my name to be engraved
for,it had long since been waived
Stack the colorful flower pots on all corners
Sow some grass seeds round the borders
Also plant the flowering green creepers
Let them adorn the place as decors
May the flowers smile throughout the years
and let timbre of smiling flowers reach the ears
of the dancing butterflies and let them appear
and gracefully dance with full of cheers
On the center of the grave, fix a big bird feeder,
may it enthrall the blabbers and baya weavers
Also dig a small pond that is about ten meter
and fill in the pond with crystal clear water
Let it be used as the ultimate thirst quencher,
quenching innocents thirst and there's nothing better.
No need of tombstone and epitaph to honor
My grave shouldn't be a place of horror
Listening to the nature's songs at my place
my soul will ever rest in peace
Houses filled with gleaming decors,
Lights are twinkling as the carols we're singing,
There are people dancing while others are cheering,
Everyone's at joy,celebrating the birth of the king,
I've heard a loud crash,
loud enough to make my heart pound,
But not enough to make to the celebration stop,
Not enough for the loud crash to be given a while,
The joy continues for they say,"It was the birth of the king"
The sound goes louder as my heart keeps pounding,
Lights are still twinkling with the carols singing,
I hope the celebration was still for the king,
I step out of the crowd trying to find some peace,
And I was shocked,It wasn't the peace that I found,
What I found we're people trying to save their houses,
Throwing pales of water while their tears are running,
I witness the fire but can do nothing but to cry,
I feel the heat who burned-out number of houses,
I even hear the young girls' cry,
With my heart broken I try to give it a while and listen as she cry,
As I was listening I noticed she's not crying,
She's singing!
The little girl is singing,
"Saylenay,olenay,oliskay,olisbray"
The little girl whose house we're burnt by fire,
truly knows for whom the celebration was,
The little girl singing,"Silent Night,Holy Night,All is bright"
and not those who join the crowd truly knows what Christmas really is.
(Google cecil lion murder)
Some satanic soul committed awful regicide
Of Cecil, prided King of the Jungle
And that has left behind his bereaved pride
And his offspring in bloody danger
For Cecil the royal majesty of the Game reserve
Has been the victim of crazy murder!
Round the world poaching goes on.
To purses of leather
one lost its skin
One lost its feather
to hats and decors
Another lost its fur
to those mink coats
One lost its tooth
to ivory bangles gosh!
Many lost their lives
to heartless hunters
Not only are they
on animal property encroaching
They are selfishly and greedily
also poaching
Alas! Alas! Alas!
Woe to that cut throat
fine and fancy fur coat
They lost it all to ruthless
merciless, thoughtless poachers
And even if this lost was found later
and confiscated by officers
Still how do you restore
this lost and found
to their rightful owners?
How do you return
a severed tusk to the elephant?
Fur to the lynx cat?
Skinned skins to the python?
Or ripped feathers to the peacock?
And how do you restore life
to the poor dead fauna
As long as poaching is rife
Relax not in beach or sauna.
Peep at them through binoculars
instead of through guns
Shoot 'em' with cameras
instead of weapons
O' hunters shun hunting
with darned shotguns!
SHE'S ON HER WAY OUT
Little by little he takes down our tree
it was a magical place here for a while
now every bauble and light begins to plea
please bring me back next year with style
Little by little, Christmas season waves goodbye
down comes the decors, a New Year is on the fly
Its time to collect dreams hopes and promises
and bring them to the winds of a whimsical kiss
Little by little I see life like a Kit Kat Rowntree
and yes you eat the butter and skim the ghee
this year, make a promise you can keep
laugh much cry less, take love to the deep ,
Happy New Year Everyone !