Long Fashion Poems
Long Fashion Poems. Below are the most popular long Fashion by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fashion poems by poem length and keyword.
A slow romping sound
bassey and engaging
a clear crisp rhythmic
groove.
Traditions developed
under the influence of
Modern Musiciceir
some who were past their prime
some who music neglected
some who were proud famous
with Phanez across the world!
These influencers
Smart and On time
using sounds that people
Love and sounds that people
will love.
" I love the rhythm
I love the song
but those
lyrics
needs ah changing around
making a story out of
the lyrics
might draw us to some
sort of troubling
refocus
and clarify
" Under Wooden Bridges"
the bassoons began to play
I introduced my flutist
to the bassoonist
and lett nature have it's way.
They will sort the strans to
exaserbate the exsisting tensions.
(after the novel)
I don’t care about fashion
I just try to keep warm
I’ve heard all about passion
Sounds like a great big storm
I stay out of the freeway
No I don’t venture there
Oh, yes, I once saw a truck swerve
Around an old wheelchair
Why don’t you just try to disprove
those white noise blues?
Some people whimper
Some people bang
Some people act as if they had no shame
Some people curse you
When you don’t join the game
I sense your reluctance
In matters this tame
Why don’t you just try to disprove
those white noise blues?
Now I first noticed the tricycle
As I joined the right lane
Vehicles started dodging
The scene was insane
State officials were puzzled
A hot dog vendor went broke
A horse chewed through its muzzle
A gay midget told jokes
Why don’t you just try to disprove
those white noise blues?
So now I’ve got it together
And I’ve got it apart
They say you can’t raise a white flag
Over a broken heart
Tell that to the soldier
With his gangrened limbs
You entrenched on your sofa,
Sure wouldn’t want to be him!
Why don’t you just try to disprove
those white noise blues?
This can't be my age!
I am still young at heart
The life of a party
Though hitting the bed by ten
Gained a few kilos of weight
But can fit into my youthful jeans
Grew sluggish and shorter in height
Although ready for a morning jog
Have to wear glasses now
As the print size has become smaller
A few grays in my hair don't tell my age
Merely a fashion statement
That adds a touch of elegance to my carriage
My knees hurt from the cold not stiffness
The reflection in the mirror shows what I'm not
An elderly haggard lady
With baggy wrinkled eyes and sagging jowls
As my passions still drive me forward
And I am still living my dream
For age is just a number
It's only the spirit that counts.
I turn on my computer,
It leads me far away.
To all the places I need to go,
And some I wish to stay.
The pictures on the sides,
across, the bottom and the top…
They fill up the entire screen by any memes,
and, some I wish they’d stop…
Lovely dresses every color,
every shade and design.
They fit the perfect people
as if they were all “fine”?
Bright like butterflies,
drifting in the wind.
In styles for fairy people,
crisp, and sweet and thin...
The discounts they are measurable,
If half of all, is good?
So I place things in the box,
And wish, as if I really could! ($)
Not for me, don’t you see,
I…am trying hard.
Turn off the cart,
right from the start…
and keep your visa card.
I watch the news on PBS
The rare times I’m inclined,
For their reporters are, to me,
Well-spoken and refined.
Election times are when I turn
To listen to their panel
And there’s no need to ever feel
I need to change the channel.
Gwen Ifill was an anchor there,
As classy as they come.
The news of her demise has left me
Sad, surprised and numb.
Her absence from the station
Led, as far as I could tell,
To some viewer speculation
That she wasn’t feeling well.
For I’d bet the chance to talk
After the candidates debated
Would be one she’d never miss unless
She’d had to be sedated.
I’ll not soon forget Gwen Ifill
With her funky specs of blue.
She performed in brilliant fashion,
Which is what she’d meant to do.
Pepper the pink and red poodle with her nose in the air
Walked down the runway without a concern or care
She knew the peons were watching her swag
But barely gave them even the hint of a wag
These dogs are beneath me, I am the great one, she thought
Pepper the Perfect did what she needed, did what she ought
She marched down that runway in an elegant way.
Not caring about the mongrels who were watching that day
Her reds and her pinks were made by famous fashion designer Glee.
He only designed for a few actresses and film stars as important as she.
Pepper had given him his start, and she did this as a favor to him.
He had asked her to smile, but that would have cost extra with vim.
Nostalgia lives in all of us; to our minds it brings
Enchanting recollections of very special things
Which we sometimes cling to, but these memories are flitting wings.
Butterfly wings! Lovely they may be, but these old times have gone away.
Eventually we must move on – and make new memories!
Grasp every opportunity that comes to you each day.
Invent new things to do. Open your eyes. See what’s carried by the breeze:
New butterflies - bright and beautiful - are sure to come along.
Nab those precious butterflies. Bring them to your loved ones before they flee.
Immerse yourself in loving life; sing a brand new song!
Nurture in yourself a caring and sharing spirit. Enjoy harmony.
Giving to others, you will feel more alive,
So fashion new beginnings, and with happiness ever thrive.
Jan. 29, 2021
for John Hamilton's New Beginnings Poetry Contest
There're things much worse than being alone.
Like a stream of cold words cutting to the bone.
Or bruises blooming like lilacs on the face of innocents.
There's always a steel-toed skunk in a field of mint.
Nobody wants to spend their precious days
navigating paths of eggshell. and broken glass.
You don't notice the petals or bells anymore, only the horn of the coming train crash.
Day upon day you dust off the mask
because that's what dusters are expert at.
They put on rose-scented glasses and tap shoes.
Sashay into yet another flinch-battered day.
Hoping there's a patch of robin egg blue.
To temper that vast quilt of blackish decay.
One thing is always in fashion,
that polka-dot pattern of escalation.
Pinnacle of pins and green desperation.
A shallow pond of apology and reconciliation.
Things turn sweet to sour at the speed of light.
A honeymoon never shows you its darkest side.
Once there were diamonds, now there's only slag -
It's past time for a nonchalant lift off that icy crag.
Need a hem? Go find Mrs. Seamstress Fox.
Lost some weight? Throw that in this box.
I will take it to her, it will shake your argyle socks.
At how quickly she will fix things, Mrs. S.T. Fox.
She will cut off the extra length and make you a pocket.
With enough material left for her to fashion a locket.
She has a fast-moving Singer machine, faster than a rocket.
She could even add steampunk if you have a copper socket.
I sing her praises because I have seen what she can do.
She will make short work of whatever, in green or in blue.
She can make a collar, a dress, a ruffle, a jacket or a coat.
While you wait, she might make you a root beer float.
Sorry but no one can compare
its not what you like, its not what you wear
its not about that stuff you put in your hair
trying to make a false you
to make your beauty so untrue
now your like the others too
is that really what you need
to follow but not to lead
to be about your status, your stand
to follow the fashion like a command
to think your diffrent, to think your unique
but now your nothing but just another girl on the street
to think that I thought it was love
that you were some angel from up above
i was wrong in my track of thought
i was blind in my line of sight
to think i would have fought
because you were my light
You think I can be replaced?
be exchanged for something new?
you must think im such a waste
if i dont mean so much to you
go ahead and give it a try
if you think im like any other guy
because once your heart feels that tear
you'll see that no one can compare
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