Long Freckles Poems
Long Freckles Poems. Below are the most popular long Freckles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Freckles poems by poem length and keyword.
Her name was Griselda, and she was a sassy, super confident witch.
She could perform magic potion that threw prissy snakes into a ditch.
Her ideas were monumental, super fantastic, funnier than any of mine.
She taught me so many crazy things, I was in trouble lots of the time.
When mother was around, Griselda got scarce, so she never did see.
A blotchy mess of ketchup on the ceiling? Mom always blamed me.
Griselda’s laugh was full throttled, with a little of a donkey’s heehaw.
She'd come back when the door shut and ask, “Do you think she saw?"
Could never get mad at her; she had a charisma that knocked me flat.
About five foot seven, skinny, with red curls that were amazingly fat.
Her face covered in freckles, and a smile that made it impossible for me
To get upset with Griselda no matter how much trouble she would be.
Popping in and out daily many times from when I was five to six.
We played pranks on my brother, who demanded our spells we un-fix.
At four he was terrified of Griselda and me, when we got all wound up.
We'd conjure magic like mad, using it on my brother and our black pup.
The pup Beauregard always knew when Griselda was in the house.
He would tiptoe away more quietly than the tiniest scared little mouse.
After my sixth birthday party, I am very disappointed and sad to say
Griselda faded away and I have not seen her even one more tiny day.
Spooky the tuff Little Ghost liked to BOO,
Knew he was scarier than scary that’s true,
Enjoyed scaring people out of their wits,
Often did he do this, used to go on a blitz
Letting them think he was a bat out of hell,
Oh, come on, that’s why his comics sold so well.
Wore his black little doiby hat, looked so debonair,
His freckles gave him a look of attitude and flair.
Being from Brooklyn his accent was dissimilar,
So, his Derby hat he pronounced doiby,
And his girlfriend Pearl he called Poil.
But Spooky wasn’t all that bad like, ‘The Ghostly trio,’
He was a bit cocky though and did have an ego.
Poil pleaded with him not to scare
People, she had vivid red hair
And in it wore a black bow ooh la, la
She was pretty, other ghosts flirted with her, aha.
As for Casper the Friendly Ghost, he and
Spooky were cousins, Spooky constantly teased
His cousin that he was Mr nice guy to everyone
But Casper enjoyed making friends, a whole ton.
He was visible to humans but for them was still a ghost.
Casper leaves his uncles the ghostly trio who were morose,
And the cute ghost-child goes out into the world
To find friends, but be it animal or human he meets,
They all scream A GHOST, and run away, Casper
Was distraught and tried to commit suicide, not realizing
He was already dead, then quite amazingly,
Meets two children who take him to their mum,
Who reacts with fear, but then welcomes him to their home.
Mom sends the three to school with a kiss the next day,
Casper was as happy as a lark, and what more can I say,
He now looks like his friends, dressed and clothed
Like a human child – Casper this personable
Ghost was ecstatic,
His translucence accepted and no longer feared,
Casper to the whole world has become a cartoon
Character so endeared.
Information from internet Harvey Comics Database Wiki
My dear Love-in-a-mist, if ask this brain
Who was indeed insane: Abel or Kane?
Two brothers who loved one beautiful girl,
So long blond hair, thick with many a curl
No need clothes at all to cover her body
Shining like telling: “Put your hands to me
To see if am I alive or just your dream!
Under sun -melting just an ice-cream.
But tricking shadows or shades of gray
Give her this power to trouble each day;
So, only the god of the rain can touch me.
All tribes even if try, cannot ever feel free
And never can see this freedom in the mist.
Think, for them it's almost like, I don't exist.
Maybe one climbs a mountain of happiness
To count the freckles on this heavenly face.
Somebody said Beauty will save the world;
I must ask again and again my good Lord,
If in this war, Beauty will win, or the beast?
Love-in-a-mist missing in mission to East!
It’s Howdy Doody Time!
It’s Howdy Doody Time!
If you know this rhyme so nifty,
Your childhood was probably in a fifty.
Remember the advertisers promoting color TV?
This was when we all had black and white, you and me.
Howdy had forty-eight freckles representing each state of the USA.
Watching him on the tube was what most of us did every day.
Remember Buffalo Bob, Howdy’s Sidekick?
He amused all of us children, he was honest, not slick.
We bought Wonder bread, because they spouted that it was good muster.
Most of us wanted the ballots they printed, to vote for Phineas T. Bluster.
Chief Thunderthud and Chief Featherman kept us honest, us kids.
J. Cornelius Cobb, the shopkeeper kept clowns on the skids.
If you remember anything, this one chant should be incredibly clear.
Let's give a rousing cheer, because Howdy Doody is here!
Twenty-three ...
The freckles on your nape,
Tiny islands of wonder on your silky dermis ...
I have traveled every one, many times.
Day-after-day I sit here at the desk behind yours,
Oblivious to whatever algebraic nonsense is being purveyed on the board,
Utterly fascinated by every little detail about you and yours -
How you squeak at the end of every sentence,
The way you tuck your chocolate brown tresses behind your ear,
How your neck curves so perfectly into your shoulders,
The way you reach back to play with the clasp of your pendant,
And how every-so-often on a good day, a really, really good day,
You rest your right hand on your left shoulder,
And wiggle your fingers like a fan, in a private wave ... to ME!
(Well, I like to pretend it's a wave to me, though we rarely speak).
Oh, the romantic fantasies I have concocted here,
Sitting behind you every day ... adoring you ...
The dragons I've slayed, the battlements I've scaled, the wars I've won!
I have memorized your wardrobe and counted the buttons on each,
I can name the perfumes you wear - seven in all ...
Every tidbit you speak is like sacred manna from heaven,
And I a starving angel, enraptured.
You sit here, within arm's reach,
Yet you are worlds away.
Someday, perhaps ...
Someday.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "I'm Crushing On You" Poetry Contest, Julie Leigh Rodeheaver, Judge & Sponsor.
Going in circles like our conversations that are waiting for an answer
Like the jog down memory lane reminiscing over the best times as if yesterday were just seconds away
Pastel shimmer not too much glimmer but still enough to stand out like the freckles on your face I wish I could kiss every one
I prayed for this moment and now that it is approaching, I am praying for intercession
I know I can be the man God wants me to be and the man my family sees, but I can’t do it alone
That is why I continue to pray for our future and surround myself with those who will be around as long as this ring
I haven’t bought flowers for you in a long time because I was saving up for something
Please accept this ring as part of my promise and apology
p.s. imagine if roses were gold and this ring was still a ghost…
little hairs on her knees,
always hard to shave, I suppose
the mascara smear
below her right eye
after she laughs
at a bad joke in the breakroom,
the fork she ate the pasta salad with,
now in the sink,
the splattered freckles
on deep-bronzed shoulders
I ignore these specifics
I maintain focus
on more important things
I make my deadlines,
I watch the news,
my kitchen is always clean,
I wear sunscreen,
I trim my beard accordingly,
I am always emotionally prepared
to evade sentimentality
wherever possible
Dorinda is always late,
her bun slightly left-of-center,
she should wear more green
and maroon to compliment
her hazel eyes, but she doesn't
I find satisfaction in work,
the constant rush,
standing just close enough to her
in the elevator every day,
up and down for five minutes
is enough
Dorinda always smells
like tangerines and vanilla
the quiet of shared space,
that is enough for intimacy
in our elevator
before the moaning of traffic,
before the smell of leftover curry
waiting for me at home,
clean silverware,
a well-kept bed
The Thief of Time
We arrive in the sun; it’s warm and so bright
We throw down our bags and go out in the light.
We are kissed by the breeze rustling through our hair
As our cheeks blush in the sun, we are willing to share.
It surrounds us and warms us, freckles pepper the skin
In the brightness and warmth we are still standing in.
Not a minute to waste before the sun sets
We stand pulling coats off, and our arms we outstretch.
The days are before us well that’s what we think
Before long though we see the first days sun sink.
It comes around quick it rises the next morn
One day gone a new one is born.
All too quick the seventh morning is here
The holiday is ending that much is clear.
We waited so long to be kissed by the sun
To unwind and relax and to have some good fun.
The time is gone we feel robbed, there was not any
The clock stole it away the days were not many.
Its over where did it go we didn’t get to do much
Just enjoyed each others company and food and such and such….
I didnt know I needed you.
Or that this feeling existed.
I didn’t know I was only part of a person,
Do you feel it, too?
Your heart looks like heaven,
I think.
But, theres something about you,
Isn't there?
I’m pushing at an invisible door,
My bleeding lungs pleading
To let me breathe you in completely
Connect your freckles with my kisses
My fingertips trace sweet words across your perfect body..
But, you’re forever just out of my reach.
A wall built of perpetual anxiety prevents making us complete.
I cry out your name and the taste of copper fills my mouth.
And I cant help but wonder “will i just get lost in the crowd?”
“Did it matter? Was it real?
These questions they haunt me,
the villian screaming in my ear at 2AM Continues to taunt me
He pounds his fist repeatedly into my temple to remind me im not loved.
How dare I rest, he’ll hiss.
I just nod, and submit.
I’ll admit
I’ve
Thought
About it
The moment where
The ground underneath my feet
Reverses
My life
An old film strip
Burning up after the last breath
With the weight
Embedded to my bones
Of mere existence
Leaking from
My skin
Like bubbles racing to the surface
Sharp points
Of windshield glass
Like freckles on my face
Numbing
The feeling
Of lukewarm red
That makes me
Look like
A morbid drip painting
The scissors
They hold cut the one restraint
Holding my body here
Making me
A puddled mess
Of a being
Crushed
Up against
The hardtop
Where my future aspirations
Wishes and dreams
Are now just stains on asphalt