Long Dressers Poems
Long Dressers Poems. Below are the most popular long Dressers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dressers poems by poem length and keyword.
Deep within impermanence and continuity of change
Seeds lie shielded waiting and protected for the moment
They trust that the cupid cupule holds the bow and arrows
Firmly based in the grasp of nature and uncharted destiny
Sheltered for the generation of life's resilient circulation
Encased in a rough nutshell of inevitable wheels of life
Resides with un-shattered purpose a simple magic miracle
A gem more powerful than the chronicle of human nature
One day she says I'll be a forest in the budding aspiration
Of hope and kindness that spread with wind and fortune
The elements will nurture me until I'm ready to stand tall
For now I must be grateful for my budding tender youth
I don't grow fast but when my roots grip fertile undergrowth
My canopy gives wings to dreams and certitude of aspirations
Love is the meaning of the fertile soil gracing my surroundings
Founded in heaven I grant my strength to future generations
Equipped with a kernel of truth and change along the lineage
Core and essence transform vile lies from the sediment of time
Sometimes you close your eyes and trample on my saplings
But I'm a survivor and take care knowing that I'm truly loved
Surely you can cut the branches and try to break my promise
Craft treasure chests or dressers from my hardened resolve
Put another log on the fire and watch me rising from hot ashes
Build turrets for your fortresses of power and castles onto sand
Sometimes I drift in raging waters unable to steer my voyage
Float in the ocean and yet when spring resumes I'm here again
Smoothed and ground in the knowledge that my acorns live
Whatever weather may embrace my nascent children's fate
I can't complain for when I hand over the torch and novelty
When I'm old and felled down to size by turbulence and storms
I can rest assured that fires and drought did not snuff my passion
And that my final passage opens opportunities from start to end
13th April 2020
The trees lining the streets are filled with cherry blossoms
Mother Nature is letting us know that spring arrival is going to be awesome
Enjoying a walk along the breakwater bustling with people enjoying the new day's sun
After a long winter, it is wonderful to be able to get out and have some fun
Flowers will soon bring a wide variety of colours as they spring up from the ground
A tour of our dressers for shorts and tee shirts that need to be found
Lawnmowers are about to rise from their winter hibernation
Hair cuts for our lawns are soon to be our new form of recreation
Even our timepieces will be busy springing ahead
Let's get off our social devices and spend more of our day outdoors instead
Gather up the family and go enjoy some ice cream
Bid farewell to winter and go blow off some steam
Books to the library
photos to family.
Paint cans and lumber
from renovations years ago.
Most of the furniture
including the piano.
Fastest way to do this
is rent a dumpster.
On the internet
nothing’s permanent,
nothing's gonna happen.
Photosynthesis, evaporation
as if your spirit disappears
when the sun appears.
It’s a burden lifted
not to have to persevere.
Edits
for clarity
and brevity.
One owes the reader
a respite from
the tonnage of
fructifying English.
To drown one’s book is devoutly to be wished.
Coupla trumpets,
big comfy couch,
four beds and dressers
and the contents of closets.
Tools we don’t use,
surge protectors and chargers,
lawn and patio accoutrements,
table settings for ten.
Lamplit underground,
the stray branch,
synchronized chaos,
a red fez.
One canary,
map of Antarctica,
three deaf little otoliths,
six or seven sybils.
Extra salt and pepper shakers,
sharpies and crayons,
a printer and a scanner,
the Bible and Koran.
Kaput calculators and computers,
subscriptions and prescriptions,
a host of vitamins
and the ghosts of ancestors.
Time itself
but not nature.
Wealth
and most of culture
but not my health.
That I’ll keep,
and sleep—practice
for perfect rest.
Window Dressers
Running
different
than reigning
Politicians
shortly
find
Chasing the vote
versus
crossing the moat
Very few
able
— fewer to thrive
**********
Narrative Rewarded
Like weight training
for an athlete
poetry makes you strong
Each word a rep
till failure
to bring your lines along
A verses strength
increases
when flexed the story bold
With narrative
enrichened
— the poetry like gold
************
Venture Forth
My treasure hidden
beyond the waves
the horizon
beckons on
Through pounding surf
and giant seas
a voice
is calling strong
I set my sail
the closest reach
with tiller
in both hands
On faith alone
round jagged reefs
I trust
in who I am
Through longish days
and longer nights
my course
uncharted stays
The mainsail up
the jib reset
one albatross
relays
That fortune comes
but once in life
to those who hear
its call
And venture forth
through unknown winds
into
— the raging squall
***********
Spiritual Chrysalis
Losing oneself
to find oneself
Emptiness cowers
— catharsis begins
********
Devil At The Gate
Loyal
when it suits you
Faithful
when it’s safe
Committed
to the mirrored self
Devil
at the gate
Back turned
to the prophet
Fealty
starts to burn
Treason
left on high display
Shame
— at every turn
********
Poet & Prophet
Today
is all that matters
Memory
your biggest foe
Mining the pathway
to future promise
Excuse and weakness
grow
Time an illusion
a crutch for the weak
To hobble and stumble
in constant retreat
This moment recurring
endemic when willed
the poet and prophet
— forever instilled
*********
Never To Return
If the past is empty inside you
— the future will be lost
*********
Resistance Ignored
The world
quickly bored
at the recital
of misfortune
And most
willingly avoids
the sight
of distress
The path
of resistance
ignored
at its peril
All character
only tempered
when put
— to the test
(The New Room: June, 2026)
Nurse Narcolept’
Give "poetry" a go She said
She said, you won’t never look back
take a lie down on my couch She said
She said, give my poetry a go
she pulled me in deep
the agony was infernally slow
Nurse Narcolept’
and her whip
traced my outline
in a steady stream
of purrfectly pert poems
such an odd sensation
my hands and tongue tied
poetically biting the bit
there was no turning
which way or that
white square or black
right or left
what’s left of right
let alone finding
the most decent
indecent way back
from the craziness of It
the mind caressing the
anima animus id
the cool cats all watching
whisper under
their hormonal horror whiskers
run Dick Run
for those cross-dressers
voyeuristically entangled
run Jane Run
oh what fun
doesn’t walk like a duck
absolutely no quack
lethally tap dancing
gang'star across keys rat-a-tat-tat
no need for a gun
Candide Diderot. ‘24
News for Andy/Iggy Pop
how clever a peck on the cheek, a kiss on the head
a hug with a boa constriction for the parents i love.
how cruel this fate of social isolation, to stunt the breath
of this illusion, that i might have them more and more times.
the kiss off of a mother’s day and all things pretty and wrinkled.
a jolly show of faces — did i once think the actors could slink
through a small or large screen. we haggle with time, dressing
up in effects, wrapping backgrounds, like furs, around caricatures
of ourselves — astronauts, cross-dressers, punk. my mom
holds a very dry martini — six olives on a skewer in empty glass.
we kin do amuse one another and the claustrophobic togetherness
where a normal situation would have us wandering, appetizering,
sidewinder-chitchatting, fobbing the keys of a remote control,
checking seconds and minutes for appropriateness of slipping
out the door — that of course, for bored spouses, who love
the in and out of screen time and beg to screen all holidays this way
while a bored housewife wants for the drive that spurs one on
toward childhood — a link between life and death, playful
joy of trinkets and melodious voices soothed by the setting years;
the wrinkle of time sells all anger, judgment, unkindness —
the baggage that weighs down elephants, the infantile crawl
of bondage. Now the rocking of Brumbies, snail’s pace of sunset
grace of a gray nest, cascading shoulders, ears out of tune
but pure-gold’s love — the plinking strings of a plentitude heart.
Mom and Dad cheer with glistening glasses, their merry martinis
marvel at their wealth — one olive, three olivettes grin at them.
5/11/2020
Non-rhyming couplets
I have this lucky shirt…I feel the luck in this shirt is strong…
I’ve worn it many times and every time I wear it…luck has come along.
I wore it on the first leg of our trip to North Carolina.
It’s like being enveloped by and old friend….
And since it’s luck worked that first day… the next morning…I put it on again.
In my defense our car was air conditioned…I didn’t sweat
and for 10 hours I felt the luck through my shirt flow…
So it was an easy decision the next morning…to wear that shirt two days in a row.
(In case you’re wondering if I am a complete slob let me clear the air….
Yes, I wore the same shorts and shirt…but I changed my underwear!)
All this reminded me of a time years ago In the mountains of NC
when Damien and Taylor (our two eldest grandchildren) spent two weeks with Deborah and me.
We didn’t notice this until we looked at the photos later
something that, to this day, still disconcerts…
but in every photo Damien and Taylor were wearing the same shirt!
They brought two weeks of clothing
Stacked in their dressers…each day to be swapped
but each night Deborah washed their dirty clothes then neatly stacked them back on top.
Each morning, without thinking, Damien and Taylor would reach into their drawer…
and put on the very same shirt they wore the day before.
So in every photo taken in each and every frame
due to Deborah’s loving cleanliness…Damien and Taylor were dressed the same.
As I put my lucky shirt into the dirty clothes…to be washed for the 100th time again…
I wondered if, perhaps, Damien and Taylor also had lucky shirts back then.
Which makes me wonder when it comes to our apparel..and our sense of fashion too…
If re-wearing clothes that are not dirty and do not smell…it’s something fellas do.
Which brings me to the reason for this poem:
Beginning with these two weeks in NC
and then on our 48 day road trip…let me take a moment to assert
Do not judge me too critically…
if in almost every photo
I’m wearing the same shirt.