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.
Once upon a time...
Once upon a time, in France, a storyteller fella
Wrote of a girl named Cinderella,
Meant as a fairy tale romance.
Her daddy died when she was young, and she was forced to share his riches
With three monumental b****es,
A most unhappy circumstance.
For years her stepmom and stepsibs made her perform a menial's duty,
And as she blossomed into beauty,
They grew more hateful, mean, and cruel.
Each night they dined on fine cuisine and wore lace dresses with silk sashes,
While she wore rags begrimed with ashes,
And got just crusts of bread and gruel.
Then one day a herald from the king demanded entry
To the homes of landed gentry,
They were invited one and all.
It was the prince's eighteenth birthday, and the king and queen were harried
Because their son was not yet married.
Ergo, the reason for the ball.
The stepsisters primped and preened and wild excitement they exuded,
When Cindy asked to be included, they gaped at her as if appalled.
Stepmother sneered, "Look here, I'll show you!"
With self-righteous indignation,
"Your name's not on the invitation.
Just we elite are so installed."
So Cinderella went downstairs to seek some solace in the kitchen,
But 'stead of sittin' there and b****in', she started dancing with a broom.
She whirled and twirled around the floor,
Or else she'd stand there, gently swaying,
As if an orchestra was playing
Pretending they were bride and groom.
And then a flash, a crash of thunder, and to Cindy's stunned amazement,
There gliding through the kitchen casement,
A pudgy lady dressed in blue.
She said, "Hello, my dear, no fear, I'm here to grant your secret wishes,
I'll wave my wand and clear the dishes,
And make a princess out of you!"
She waved and tapped and flicked and zapped,
And what she seemed to make the air do
Was give her make-up, nails, and hair-do,
And then to make the look complete,
Out of those rags so soiled and worn and far too torn to drown a cat in,
A gown of gossamer and satin, and crystal slippers on her feet.
Without this timely intervention, Cindy's tale might have been tragic.
Could she have managed without magic,
And her dilemma be resolved?
But everybody knows what happened with a gourd and six white mice,
And how a smudgy scullery maid was made to clean up really nice,
When a fairy got involved.
To be continued...
I read these letters I've written,
One was to be continued,
I must have been dreaming,
It made no sense.
Dreaming.
No one has three dresses,
the couple are strangers.
I'll never find them anyway,
the list.
Dreaming no more.
You do,
I do.
Why didn't he say some words like we do?
All was there,
no dress,
no shiny shoes,
no list,
no dreaming.
All was good.
Me,
You,
This Preacher,
His witnesses.
Witness His counsel he said,
What counsel?
Dreaming.
I'm young again.
We're Counsel.
You,
Me,
A Preacher,
His Words.
His Counsel,
Our love on paper to witness.
Dreaming no more.
I'm dreaming no more.
*Image of Montreal Mount Royal Pixabay.
Montreal in the Fall
Well, sis, deal with it while bro throws a fit,
I stand, mom fusses with the new dresses,
Bro's frown much bigger, her smile, his trigger,
He stomps to changing. I glide to wearing,
I spin with pleasure. He grabs another,
On to school supplies, mom's past will surprise,
Laptop, iPad end, paper, and the pen,
My bro's ignited, gets mom excited,
Bro ditches his frown, mom gets back her clown,
Mom's costly exchange, bro's sneaky shortchange,
Top brand names he gets, don't worry, dad's cheques,
At Pig's Farm, oh yea, an ice cream cafe,
Kenny acted up. Teasing had buildup,
My names' Evelyn, he says, Evil-Lynn,
Kenny is evil, Evil Ken-evil,
A workaholic, like dad, real quick,
Mom, the careerist, turned "Mommie Dearest,"
Act nice little ones. Twosome meets gruesome,
We all bust, laughing, "Got-cha," we're cracking,
Montreal, we shopped, price and snow, mom opt,
Twas no snow, twas sad, shopped with mom, we're glad.
Long drive and bro's sad, girls spoke French, his bad,
Sorta English, mine's, was deaf, he spoke sign,
Monsters, together, slept on my brother.
2022 August 21
Scraped, friendly freckled face falls to benchtop
Starchy spud plays poker, blank slate envelope
Lost costume spotted cape, super elixir escapade
Layers on shiny raised scars, recovery escalates
Sticking plaster, milky soak soothes, heat tempered
Compost bound bandaid quells Hell unrelented
Derma learns renewal, Nurse dresses fire sore victim
Tugged taut rawness fades, subsiding symptom
Nerida never administers synthetic medicine
She reassures peel press is healing essence
Piano punctuations plod, then pace, parade
Figaro notes frolick over keys, aural first aid
Choral cure prays perfect circle curse moon miracle
Stroking fingers fuse potato to patient, glue
Discarded skin glimmers in kitchen, hopeful sunbeam
Her burn potion infuses through bloodstream
6th May
Quick Recovery
She lights up the entire surrounding.
She's absolutely the genuine article.
I tell you, she's out of my league.
Adorable, with a touch of intrigue;
She smiles and waves at me as she quietly comes and goes.
Neither a swagger nor bragger.
She's not a pink, white, or red rose,
But forces one to stare at her pose.
She's short-lived, but arresting.
Beautiful and captivating,
She's classy, a real 'looker'.
But often missing in action
Because her season is brief.
Tall, colorful, and alive,
With the look of royalty.
Yet she fits well among commoners.
Gracing the entry of our flower garden,
She's embraced by yesterday
with a never-ending story.
She dresses in purple,
And looks stunning.
Her name is Iris.
060522PSCtest, Purple Flowers, Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
2P
Inspired by by the brilliant TV show, "Justified": Episode 12, "Fathers and Sons" of Season 1.
Enigma for the ages
By Michelle Morris
12/01/2023
She enters silently
The room is half-lit and still
There is a peace in her resolve
There is an iron to her will
She takes off her wedding band
She kisses him invitingly
He takes her in his arms
The loving then begins
Slow and tender moments
Retracing bodies known
History being repeated
Love and lust and longing
They have known many years
They have shared joy and misery
Echoing through the labyrinth
Of lost love, regret and tears
Adulthood is confusing
Grown-ups make mistakes
They don't always set an example
They don't willingly accept the stakes
When hearts and souls combine
It is often for a lifetime
Things aren't as simple as they seem
But not as complicated as we'd like
Facing our inner demons
Accepting our fallibility
Means loving the earnest sinner
Who crosses lines so willingly
But hearts and minds are mysterious
They remain an enigma for the ages
After all those deep felt experiences
We walk away, back to our cages
So, she dresses silently
She glances a last goodbye
Puts back that wedding ring
Upon a hand that holds his sighs
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Cath is totally besotted with her five pussycats,
their cute ears stick out from under blue hats.
She dresses them in brightly colored plastic suits,
and on their paws they wear red wellington boots.
Cath’s kittens, all have colorful jackets to wear,
She takes the cats ’walkies’, oh how people stare.
When Cath gets them home she brushes their fur,
with their tails held high they all gently purr.
She minces best fillet steak for their dinner,
whilst the pussies get fat, old Cath gets thinner.
Spinster Cath’s never been a mother or a wife,
so her adorable cats have taken over her life.
One day little Archie ran out of the door -
he’d never been out on his own before,
Sadly poor Archie didn’t get very far
as the cute little cat was killed by a car.
Cath arranged for him to be mounted and stuffed
when she saw the result she was really chuffed!
Dear Archie now lies in such sweet repose
and Cath just can’t resist tickling his pink nose.
Crazy cat Lady Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier
01/06/18
1959, Chariton, Iowa, sixty miles south of Des Moines
I was prancing around proudly showing off my snow people pin.
Husband and wife, glitzy with glitter, I was so excited.
I wore it to school on my coat. Tried to pin it onto my dress.
The teacher ordered me to take it back to the cloakroom.
Too much of a distraction. I was irritated. Second grade. Sheesh!
We did not have breaks those days, so I could not sneak a peek.
I was in a foul mood by lunch. My mom suggested I leave it at home.
Yes, we walked home and had soup and grilled cheese back in the day.
I refused, because it was mine, and I adored it.
Something from Aunt Marjorie.
She always bought us the best gifts; and I was kind of a peacock about it.
Kept touching it, to make sure it was on my coat,
the whole block back to school.
A winter storm came up and threw buckets of snow down onto us after lunch.
School was called off early. We were warned to put on our slacks.
Girls were allowed to wear slacks to and from, but only under dresses.
We put on our slacks and raced each other home, my twin and I.
We were laughing with pure happiness when we arrived.
And there were hot chocolate chip cookies! I remember being so pleased!
Until I realized my snow people pin was gone.
I wanted to retrace my steps to school, but my mother would not allow it.
You would catch pneumonia she told me. My day ruined. I have never forgotten my gorgeous, wonderful, glitzy, glittery snow people pin.
Written 12-06-2020
Contest: Story from Your Childhood
Sponsor: L. Milton Hanks
Modest woman moderate woman
Your inner beauty strikes me
Like the tongue of noble eloquence
More than gold even refined gold
Or our purged fulgent silver.
Black woman proud woman
Your pride is not haughty
But a humble pride of eaglets;
Your black eyes are so glittering
As the eyes of our dark rivers
Filled with messages of peace
That banish the broody turmoil
From those panting hearts
Of your foreigned offsprings.
Gentle mother diligent mother
Your kindness kindles the fires
Of my heart –
Your dexterity dresses
The table of our ageless history
And the thought of your being
– Oh kind mother! –
Makes the most delicious menu
For my heart.
I remember your naked feet
Fast and fair as a pigeon’s limbs
Treading the invisible paths
Almost covered by shrubs
Small shrubs misted by the prime mist.
I remember the wood from the wood
The water from the water
And manifold items from jungle alleys
Borne by your delicate hands
And upon your soft black-haired head.
I remember the constant match
To markets and to farms
And your bright face smeared with
The ash dust
Making you more beautiful
Than any woman whose feet
Ever touched the naked earth.
I remember those burdens
Upon your cheerful kin-souls
And babies strapped to your backs
Babes full of unspoken words
To unborn others in patient wombs
Waiting in an endless turn –
Indeed, mother is dove!
A black dove and a dark huntress
A hunter’s gift from the maker?
Mother is like a weaver-bird
Building a big foot-like nest
Filled with corn and warmth
A bundle of eagle-flight
Mother is dove
And the hunter calls her
The clan’s eternal dove.
Oh, mother loving woman
Gentle as our black horizon
To you we humbly come
From these far and lonely lands
Hoping to grace our love and beauty
Before that jealous grave
Makes her temporary feast.
the other women are askance
a flapper has moved into the neighborhood
not on her own, but with parents
they cannot control her
she wears short dresses
this is 1921
her skirts are no longer than her knees!
She is flippant, reckless, risqué,
she has bobbed her hair
the other woman gasp their disapproval
she listen to jazz
smokes cigarettes in public
she flaunts brash behavior
I heard she drinks alcohol! some whispered
the rest of the women are shocked
most had no idea that she is also having casual sex
none of them knew about that
they were jealous of her confidence
her misbehaviors stoking their rumor fire
as she stoked their husbands