Long Dresses Poems
Long Dresses Poems. Below are the most popular long Dresses by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dresses poems by poem length and keyword.
In old fuzzy slippers, she makes her children's lunches
wondering and worrying if her husband has any hunches
of where she goes or what she does while he works each day
or that she spends her time thinking, "While the cat's away..."
In worn bedroom slippers, she kisses each darling cheek
a good mother is always loving. Role models should be meek
She hurries her young ones to the bus and off to school
aware of the ticking hands of the clock, but playing it cool
Doting mother, affectionate wife, in fuzzy slippered shoes
but there is another pair, the sexy ones she'll soon choose
Tucked in the closet are ones she keeps hidden, anticipating
how they make her feel, and the man who will be waiting
In black stiletto heels, she becomes quite a capricious flirt
Her husband has no clue. Oh, how much he would be hurt
if he knew of those sexy shoes and tight-fitting slinky dresses
the perfume she wears for him, the way she curls her tresses
And when the deed is done, she slinks her way back home
to bathe her secret sins away in a tub of bubbles and foam
Into those well worn slippers, she will slide her cunning feet
to welcome home her family, with a smile so sugary sweet
August 1, 2017
Two Pair of Shoes
for John Lawless
Lip stick and pinned up hair and filters. Pouting and peace signs. Toilet selfie and different floral dresses, the flowers unfurled and colours of passion. Forced expressions and emoji captions. This is what I see on social media.
Who can tell what is real about it, all the girls look the same and they look like girls. They go to the same coffee shops which are all equally unique and similar. They snapchat and show that they are social. The projections are their ideal I suppose and also their tangible reality. I don't know any of them. I met a lot of people in my life but I don't know the people in these photos. I feel disconnected.
I feel like they are trying to tell me something, or the world, or tell their world something. Show all their followers how they are active and free and happy and living and beautiful. Is this a paradox, living in a projection that you control and eliminating your whole self for these moments.
Did you want me to think about you? Do you want to be seen? All I see is lipstick and hair. I don't know you and that makes this feel intrusive. Why are you in my thoughts? You post photos of your friends, I don't know who they are, all I see is lipstick and hair.
Yeh maybe she is hot, and I do like that guys jacket. I was just passing the time pressing the screen of this phone which is a mystical portal to the world, my magical glass ball.
I don't normally pay attention to you. I am usually spending more time on my own projection, but I guess I noticed you today. It was the lipstick, and you had your hair pinned back. I would say hello, if I could remember your name.
The room is lit in candles, the ground covered in rose petals.
A soft light carries her to the center.
She is seen by all.
Dresses flow across black and white floors.
Men in their black tie.
Masks in different shapes, in assorted colors.
Lace is draped from the ceiling.
The vastness danced in rainbow from the chandelier crystals.
The orchestra is playing a loving tune.
As he sees the lovely maiden in the middle of the crowd.
They all waltz about him as he makes his way to her.
She is oblivious to his sight as she takes in what’s around her.
This grand ballroom is abundant on this all hallow’s eve night.
Her corset tight around her waist, her mask covers her face.
Lips are as red as the blood that runs beneath her skin.
The view of the dancers swirling around her bewildered her mind.
She turns around and see him coming towards her, his hand reached out.
She slowly moves forward and places her hand in his.
They dance as they look into each other’s eyes
Nothing can separate them as they are now entranced with each other
They spin and spin until he freezes in front of the grand mirror.
As he moves her in front of him, she looks and see nothing but her.
Now she’s frighten as she is alone in the reflection.
The room is full, but no one is near her.
She fears this is a room lavished with ghosts,
But she doesn’t realize that it’s a place overflowing with vampires.
Polka dot flowers and polka dot bells.
Polka dot everything, for me and sweet Nells.
Polka dot hilarity. Polka dotted laugh.
Polka dot it is. Polka dotted calf.
Can you believe in my new spic span polka dotted world?
Polka dot magic, clean and quickly lovingly unfurled?
Polka dot skin, and I am one who should know.
Freckles and age spots, truly make me glow.
Polka dot dresses and polka dots on ties.
Polka dot magic in front of my green eyes.
Polka dots forever, let’s elect them president.
With a polka dot cabinet, who are heaven-sent.
Polka dot walls and polka dot floors.
Polka dot entities, from worlds rarely seen outdoors.
Polka dot eclipses, and brown and blue polka dotted eyes.
Polka dots on ants and polka dots on flies.
Polka dot flowers and polka dot bells.
Polka dot everything, for me and sweet Nells.
Contest: Polka Dots Written Jan 10, 2019 Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
I thought Pedro was playing a joke,
lying so still out there in the dewy grass,
just outside of Mr. Anderson rusty red barn, as if he'd croaked.
Hopping closer, careful not to raise suspicion about my upright posture,
I noticed Pedro's furry chest barely moving,
the whiskers 'round his nose barely quivering,
and instantly sweat ran down the black streak of my back.
I'll have to reveal my special skill to save this darn cat!
I've seen it done in movies, in plays, even in books!
By ladies in dresses in June,
And swindlers in bars among loons,
But never, never by a 'coon!
So up I hoisted my poor fallen friend
And sauntered to the back door of Mr. Anderson's den.
Though looking around
No one was to be found.
So I laid Pedro on the couch and called 911.
Crowning the Virgin Mary
I was only six years old and was
chosen by the first grade nun,
To place a garland of roses on the
Vigin Mary in May.
It really was an honor and a blessing.
Mom had pictures made of this event.
As little girls, we all were so lovely.
Dressed in lovely dresses and real shoes.
We never dressed like boys.
I had to climb a rather tall ladder.
Sister Antoinette helped my unsteady
feet
I was so very frightened.
But~ it was quite ethereal to see
the Madonna's face.
Another nun played the piano for us.
They all sang as I was walking up the
stairs to heaven with a garland of roses for
Mary's head.
"Oh, Mary we crown thee with blossoms
today,
Queen of the Angels, Queen of the May."
Yes, those were the days,most unique.
God and the saints were allowed in school.
We were taught to live by the golden rule.
Our world,today, thick-headed as can be,
Slammed the door in God's face.
And ignorantly searches for peace in the
human race?
Worse, many have no idea of immortality.
Take a view of the news, you will find,
Great evil forever emphasized, over the
good men, do.
God's word never read,just words of fallible
mortal men.
Churches, synagogues our new killing fields?
Yes, that's the result we pay, for turning in
disobedience from God's most Holy face!
Panagiota Romios
5/3/2018
12:30am PST
Question any advice from a friend at 1:12 a.m.
— it’s probably unsound—
but better than staring at the ceiling with your thoughts.
The solution to existential dread is just… outfits and vibes.
Last night, as I slept like a baby - or a log - or a baby log -
I dreamt of vintage Gap dresses and 80s ivory pink glam glitter cocktail frocks.
Sometimes the only available response to civilization is
to buy an imaginary vintage Gap dress and call it coping.
And for some reason, I dreamt, briefly, of Trump as Jesus.
If sleep fails to restore the mind, at least it deals vivid
images to decorate our unconscious unease.
Trump thinks of himself as Jesus—but the question is:
Has Trump actually read the Bible?
Maybe Trump doesn’t know what happened to Jesus.
Spoiler: the Romans got cross with him.
Some jokes are so stupid—they have to be true.
.
.
A song for this:
Dreams by The Cranberries
.
note: You don’t have to read the Bible, you could stream the movie:
The Bible (1966) directed by John Huston
Alexander Graham Bell
It was fine, quiet winter´s day I listened to distant noise,
dogs bark -you can´t avoid this in the Algarve-
smoke from chimneys straight up before disbursing and disappearing.
A few clouds drift about looking like wedding dresses of the unmarried,
The sun is a golden coin captain hook would kill to obtain.
I smell grilled sardine, and a cat on a fence is watching me.
I sternly tell myself to go for a walk before it gets too cold
But blithely ignore the inner voice.
As I drift on a slothful cumulus, my phone rings
I answer the voice says, sorry, the wrong number.
Sleeping beauty slept for a long time
A hundred years in all and woke up fine
Who’d not with a kiss
From the luscious lips
Of a prince who looked simply divine.
She wondered why everything had changed
All cherished things had been rearranged
Ladies wore strange dresses
Had re-styled tresses
It wasn’t the home she’d known on the range.
* * *
Cinderella’s sisters were both green eyed
Cindy’s a beauty, it can’t be denied
They wished that she was gone
So their hearts would be won
No chance, as they’d both make an ugly bride.
When the prince came by bearing a glass shoe
The sisters thought he’d choose one of the two
But what a big shock
The both of them got
Cinder’s foot fitted and they cried boo-hoo.
* * *
Contrary Mary grew flowers galore
They made her sneeze lots, and her nose sore
Every ah-tissue
Became an issue
When the family couldn’t sleep, for her snore.
They decided to get themselves ear plugs
It didn’t work, as they had no such luck
She grunted and groaned
And loudly she moaned
So they gave up, and slept out in their truck.
* * *
Peppa pig had a taste for liquorice
Ate it all day long, until he felt sick
It ruined his teeth
Till he couldn’t eat
Poor Peppa pig went as thin as a stick.
He went along to see the pig dentist
Who said his teeth had to be cemented
It took all day long
To right the pig’s wrong
No more liquorice, dentist commented.
* * *
When Humpty Dumpty got himself a fix
He promised not to get up to his tricks
Not sit on a wall
Never have a fall
And to always walk with a pair of sticks.
That did not work as the sticks took a slip
Had another big fall and broke a hip
He got patched up fine
Then joined a dance line
And poor old Humpty ended up in bits.
* * *
The cat who owned dogs was boasting loudly the other day.
That she had the means to convert them with her ample pay.
She made them wear whisker masks that made them look like cats.
Then she indoctrinated them into an army that chased big rats.
The dogs stood behind her and waited for her whistle command.
She made them wear clothes that would have suited a mariachi band.
The cat who owned dogs was a disgrace with neighbors on her block.
They did not like dogs living in pens there, around the clock.
We like to meow a merry melody once in a while one of them said.
But when the beagles begin to howl with us, our pretty tone is dead.
And when the Great Danes begin their bark from the gates of hell,
It’s something that makes us angry, even worse than the dogs’ smell.
The cat who owned dogs liked getting on her neighbor’s nerves.
She pranced around in pretty dresses, showing off her curves.
She stole their husbands and had litters almost three a year.
She is not a terrific neighbor a friend, in case that is not clear.