Long Frocks Poems
Long Frocks Poems. Below are the most popular long Frocks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Frocks poems by poem length and keyword.
I see him stumbling around looking for something to hold on to but there was nothing there except the open thin air and a bunch of bureaucrats wearing thin frocks walking around on wet grass with fake greetings and a forced smile that caught us by surprise.
Bob has been in the news and this has left everyone confused he is running for office again, midths the barrage of criticism running down his spine weakening his legs and making him look like the walking dead. At first, he looks like a robot coming out of a hut, and then it appears like a man in despair. There was no one around to cover him except for gravity and his own sanity.
Bob is fun to be around but this time his attitude makes me frown, he does some weird things, like walking with his nose pointed in the air and use his finger to show you the clock.
Sometimes he is agitated and his temper cuts deep causing everyone to proceed with caution while he rolls the dice and shuffles the cards. He is a nice person to be around but the mood swings will drag you down; yesterday I invited him for tea, we had a small talk and it left my aunt weeping in the dark, what is really going on with Bob?
Bob is a very good man but sometimes he looks very sad; he has a very tight schedule and attends more than ten meeting in a given day, heaven knows how he stands up while going through the gate.
He knows his work quite well and he can talk up a storm from hell and still remain true. I watched him come and go and how he presents himself while he rides the big ship, and the ceremony he attended with the mercenaries hiding in the bushes and the guard of honor marching every hour to pay their respect to Bob.
He wasn’t quite in it, he was always looking for something to hold on to but the air propels him along and John, his closest friend, stood next to him and pushes him on.
I could sense a silent annoyance rising up in john’s emotions, as he reached for support while climbing the steps. He attempts to hold john several times from his back but John shrugs and show him the way with a polite gesture.
They and had a cup of tea towards the end, and spend some time feeling out each other. What was said, I really don’t know but the cluster bombs exploded and close that chapter. The tennis match was a blessing in disguise, and it is an indication of how the story will end, I love happy endings.
I can still hear the rumbling and drilling sound of the machine rubbing against the trees, and the dust absorbing the penitent wisdom of the futile murder scene. The loop bends solemnly underneath the fence and the rope swinging pitifully from the mercury head. I can still hear desperate voices calling out for help as I watched the traffic parachuting a hundred miles per hour along the forbidden edge, and the music playing softly in the deep resonating a message that is very unique. I kept following the sound hoping that it would take me where nature is bound but the cloud hanging above the mystical ocean without questions has suddenly become my innate passion and discovered the hidden wealth bottled up within me.
I stood on top of the pinnacle, and watched them scrambling around tirelessly in the open dessert, and the sweltering heat hitting against their bareback and perspiration dripping from their make shift frocks. As far as the light in my eyes could reach I behold glimpses of shadows strolling in long line across the desert resting occasionally on borrowed time. As the night presses upon their head, torches of hope pushes them along relentlessly into the open bed but destiny opens is arm.
It’s not the sound that perplexed me, it is the messages that it saturated in the air round about me, and the distance sounds disseminating in the open space is preparing me for another race, and in the middle of it all
my spirit still stands tall. The wind drifts slowly along with the blind folded figure head singing a deceptive song, the drilling is in the rhythm the knocking is in the singing, and the hymn is wearing a shoe that has screws.
The chronicle has disappeared, and the hopping, and the skipping the mocking and the jeering reappeared, a decade of unused stones piled up in a sitting gown wearing a brand new crown. They come from Denmark and they come from France and in the middle of Viking spree the Norwegians, sweated in the third degree. I could have penetrated the sound from the musical clowns but the timeless music from the street ascended into the hills, and captures the moment with a sudden chill and the merciless wind arose from the ground and cover the street with human bones.
See them gather around you, observing everything that you do, see them on top of the tree, listening to your heart beat and measuring your speech.
See them sitting underneath the tree talking about your destiny, The wire is running around you and a pudding pan is sitting next to the door and the sharks are slowly creeping up on the shore.
Look out for the bulldozer and the practicing medical doctor; he has a clinic across the street, an office in the basement and a house rising towards the heavens.
He spends his time in the corner bar and on Sunday’s he cuts the lawn; he has a house keeper and a butler and a young man to play the violin when his emotions grow dim. He is an artist and a practicing physician.He plays golf on Monday morning and sees his parents in the evenings; he is a jack of all trade but a master of none.
See them driving around the town in big vans and luxury cars giving handouts to pigs and goats and a box cutter wheeling at vendors' throat.
I can see them from afar walking around the garage searching in the corners, throwing out tries and lubricated oil. Old rusty muffler piling upon muffler and old radiators spilling corrosive water. They are testing the old cars with a wrench and a screw driver and an artificial bulldozer.
See them standing around the back wearing old pants and old frocks, spreading out on the floor and knocking on doors. More than a hundred of them standing at attention walking around in the back yard looking for a brawl and the pigeons kept flying around the tree moving straw from the wild berries.
Then came in the big birds flirting in the tree top, with thunderous voice screaming at each other. They are dropping pebbles, walnuts, almond and cherries on the ground and the beggars are gathering around the town. What strange phenomena lurking around, grumbling in the background.
See them going up in the air, you can see them everywhere, gas balloon surveying the moon and the high priest floating in the sky recording everything they hear.
See them gathering in the street making rhythm with their feet, the ring camera is running around and Santa clause is coming to town. See them looking at you from the window.
The Earth lies flat on its bare back and gazed at the universe with its empty guts with worms crawling from its side and the lava bubbling up inside.
It has been there for more than a year, seeking out a path but something is stuck into its guts and draining an unusual substance inside. If you examine it from a far, you could tell from a distance that something was about to break and you have to find a pinhole to release it before the mountains start to shake.
The children are having a jolly good time rolling and frolicking on the ground not knowing were destiny is bound. Everything looks normal as can be and the birds are signing a global melody. They are flying form tree to tree picking feather from the other birds back mating in the sun and dabbling in hot pleasures.
See them soaring way up in the sky,flopping their strong wings as the clouds' rolls by, they are sending a message back on earth that nature is mature and the two headed shark is living on the ocean floor.It is that wooded feeling you get when the breeze is blowing the waves and you are almost out of breath, the sky is frozen and the mountains breaks its silence and I speak.
Why do you stand so far apart and leave me wandering in the dark, why do you empty the garbage in the streets, wrapping your fuzzy tail on the land and singing the beggarman's song . I have been watching the sun coming up and going down squeezing the energy out of the town and I have to lay low when there is now where else to go and all you see in front of you is the Earth with its brown crust saluting you and the cars rolling by with hopes welled up in their engine.
Something's has electrocuted a hole beneath the earth, turning over a mountain of dirt, the temperature is increasing and the earth is baking. If you walk barefooted on the ground your heels will get brunt in a simple turn.
You see that whole section over there it is marked with a kind of memories and if you go closer you will feel heat and destiny will change your heart beat. Something is standing in the shadows imaging' my movement over here. The Earth's surface is hot you have to start wearing frocks.
The bird on the hill wakes up early in the morning pulling and shaking the awning giving rise to a tempestuous heat that resides in the deep.
It is not one of those cool mornings when everything is in perfect harmony, the stock market is going up and down and the clown is running all over the town, while the distilled water that come from the head starts spilling over in the bed and I stood there waiting for the sun to rise.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still; it keeps moving from floor to floor knocking on the doors, looking for someone to join the pack. It mixes pepper with sugar and sauté honey and vinegar, while piecing together every single argument and scrubbing the dial pad with sediment brought out from the bag. The corn soup is too thick to share, you have to water it down with beer and the morning bears its punishment.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still, it flies from tree to tree increasing the temperature to a hundred degrees. It bellows out loud in the morning chastising men and women of their sins while the sniper waited for the chance to take a shot at it from a distance but the bird on the hill deciphers their tricks and hid in the cockpit.
It has a lot of feathers bundle all together and a gate leading to the shore that lies just behind the door and they waited there with great anticipation.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still, it flew in the middle of the hearing and broke up the benevolent proceedings and when it was done it gave everyone a massage cream to rub in joints and shoulder.
It flew back on top of the hill and starts flying around kicking up a dust storm all over the town, it landed in the middle of the court house stirring up a ferocious storm that sends the jury, the lawyers and judges back to the county to complete the journey.
I stood and watch it unfold in front of my face as the situation enters the final phase, horse on tracks, women in frocks and nude men crouching around the back with their hands covering their privacy and a ribbon stretch across their faces.
The bird on the hill cannot keep still it is waiting for its partner to come back from a trip.
In Dickensian time
Upon sunset hour
Overshadowing Thames
Is London Tower
Blackened cobble streets
Shimmer in the rain
Big Ben at Westminster
Chimes an eight bells refrain
At Euston Station
A passenger alights
On Platform 3
And enters the caff
for a nice cup of tea
At the local tavern
Behind steamy windows
The opportunists sit
Gleaning local gossip
Ever watchful to ensnare
Any hapless stranger
come wandering there
Covent Garden
still well lit
As lamplighters
carry out their remit
Striding with ladders
about old London town
With a cheery wave
and a purposeful frown
Patrolling policemen
in forbidding places
Echoing footfalls
as boots make paces
A courting couple shelters
under the arches
Oblivious to passerby's
and dray cart horses
A hackney driver cracks his whip
As high stepping hooves
on cobbles clip
From Westminster
stove pipe hatted M.P.s from
parliament sitting
enter a members club
to continue their
political discourses
unremitting
Mudlark urchins ankle deep
in moonshine glow
watch chugging steam boats
along the Thames flow
Billingsgate Market's
straw boated and
stripe aproned men
are found sluicing
with brooms in hand
the blood drenched ground
Along the West End thoroughfares
Come wealthy patrons
in open carriages with lantern flares
wearing evening attire
Bejewelled ladies in fanciful frocks
And around bare shoulders
Stoles of mink and silver fox
They ascend the red carpeted stairs
And look towards the royal box
A pretty young street seller
of violets and roses
with straw basket on hip
proffers up the scented poses
A peasouper fog blankets from
Thames to chimney tops
As a trader hooks his shutters down
Outside his haberdashery shop
Across London Bridge the East End rabble
Trail homeward to Hackney, Bethnal Green
and Whitechapel
From an open pub door
streams a music hall tune
played on an accordion
in a crowded tap room
Wending amongst the walkers
in the Strand
run beggarly children
with outstretched hand.
And......
Charles Dickens
walks the streets
at night
taking note
of every sight.
There is a strange cool breeze blowing from the East and
it is telling me that the journey is complete.I have to
put on my Sunday best before I journey to the West.
The strange sun heat is circulating around the galaxy
with a message that makes me feel extremely unhappy
It is crossing from border to border and it is creating
a mysterious disorder.The beaches are getting hot
and the sun is burning their backs.There is no need to go to the
beach you can get a tan before the day is complete
I just wonder what is going on in the air, something
is happening that is causing me to fear
The sun is falling, the heat is raising and the people are swearing
Hot backs, hot frocks, and hot stockings hanging
on the door steps.
The people are moving about, and they began to shout
You can hear the agony in their voices
And the broken melody when they sart to sing,
they are standing on the bridges
And they are crying out for mankind's sin
The futile tale of the banana boat lining upon
The shore while the scorching heat is tearing up its
sails before they cross the rails.It batters
against the wind, with broken sails held together
by six inches nails, cords and strings wraped around
them while destiny creeps slowly around the bend.
The sky stands still and the heavens crys and
forward a woeful sigh.The seagulls have
Disappeared and the mountain stand bare
with a rythm that is very hard to imagine
They tell me to dance before daylight goes out
They tell me to dance before the ocean starts
to shout they say to dance when you are in doubt
The sun heat is creating havock in the street
And the traffic is creating a miserable sound and
black birds in the trees are dancing around to
the honking horns and chaos in the street
The trees are perishing in the heat and the
Fish are burning up in the sea, the dessert sun is
getting stronger and the universe is getting bigger
Heaven is weaping around the corner and the
open river bed is waiting patiently for mercy
To fall into its woeful gut.
The heaven is wrapped up into the sun
And the villian is on the run.
Alice lay reflecting on the adventures she had
The characters she met there - good and bad
The lessons she learned in Wonderland,
The tea party that wasn't so grand...
Once again she began to ponder
What about life outside Earth and beyond her?
A sudden gust blasted open her door
And swept her away to the unknown once more!
And what would dear Alice this time face?
A journey up and away through outer space.
To her shock and dismay, no stars were close.
A vast dark void made her feel morose.
Although she felt this time would be wasted
She was about to face more than she anticipated!
She saw a faint ring and she felt a pull
Drawing her into the not so dull.
She whooshed through the wormhole with awe and surprise
The colours, the magic, filling her eyes!
Her frocks fabrics latched on to a box.
The speed through this hole stole her shoes and socks.
She zigged. She zagged. And she blacked out.
She felt hands hold her cheeks and she heard a shout.
"Are you okay? I'm The Doctor, and you?"
"Where am I Doctor? Doctor...Who?"
"Just the Doctor,' he answered with a Cheshire Cat grin,
'You got caught on my TARDIS so I let you in."
"My name is Alice. Are you related to Hatter?
Or the Knave of Hearts? Well, it doesn't matter."
"I've read about you!' He excitedly stated.
'This is amazing! And for you, I've waited."
"For me?' Alice asked. 'I don't understand..."
"Why Alice, you've been in Wonderland!
You're not afraid to ask questions, nor a stranger to change.
You've been out of your world in the realms of strange.
The TARDIS and I need a companion like you.
For you've no fear of the bizarre and new.
Join me now on a galactic quest.
Discover forms, explore planets you'll like the best.
The Daleks and Cybermens egos brood.
One of the friendliest kinds are the Ood.
I've travelled far, many eras away
From what once was my homeland - Gallifrey.
Oh yes young Alice, your mind will expand
With the universe in the reach of your hand!
When the time is right, then back you'll go
To your part of Earth that you think you know."
Wiz Away
I entered the empty funeral hall.
Am I not at the correct memorial gathering in visitation room H?
“Excuse me, sir, but is this the memorial for Mr. Wizby?
There is not a posting besides the entrance.”
“Never fear, you will soon behold…”
What? I think, seeing nothing around me—not a flower vase or a picture.
“Never fear”, the director says once more.
Odd, I think.
A knock and a rumble of voices echo outside this room.
What’s up? when guests—who are they? prance along the waxed floor, strange masks floating about a sea of wild frocks.
“Who may you all be?”I ask, bewildered—is that a ferret wrapped like a scarf?about the pig-tailed girl with dirty feet?
A falcon perches on the threadbare arm of a midget.
“Who may you all be?”I ask, yet again.
A tall, bespeckled man cartwheels to my side.
”We are the Pennywhistle Circus, who knew of old Wizby well.
Pray, who may you be?”
“I am Ian, his grandson.”
Cartwheel-Man bird-whistles to a bearded portly man standing next to the door. He holds a foggy beaker in his gloved hand and a stethoscope dangles from his neck amid a snowy beard.
“Ah, Binky! So glad you have come!”
“Reggie, I see you have grown taller since last I saw you.”
“Ah, Binky! The marvelous elixir you gifted me was a welcome surprise.
Alas, my pet lizard partook of the vial, growing beyond measure, and thus, died.”
“Everyone, gather near, as Mr. Wizby is finally here.”
Wrapped in peacock feathers, Wiz was quite a sight.
Porcupine quills crowned his pink bald head.
The midget sidled near to pluck a feather, unraveling
old Wiz.
“Oh, dear!” chortled Cartwheel-Man.
Ferret-Scarf poked his wiggling body amid the dancing feathers bathing the room. Midget-Man’s falcon perched atop old Wiz.
What folly is this?” a voice graveled out from once-dead old Wiz
“You take my death lightly, so “poof, be gone, as I am the Magic-Man.”
Wiz leapt into a pile of frocks and masques, shouting
“I have returned, never fear, Wizby lives on for yet
another year.”
How fast time has fled in limitless wingspan
How months and years have merged into eons
Bringing such changes, so awesome and spectacular
I have come swinging open the iron gates
Of the Netherworld where I have been asleep
For over the last four centuries from now
From my prolonged slumber, I am just awake
With my memory intact as in the days
I walked the London streets on my way to Globe theatre
And roamed through the streets of Stratford on Avon
Here, I stand stunned like a Rip wan winkle
Wistfully staring at a world so strange
Wondering how in place of shacks, skyscrapers stand!
How the serene villages into bustling habitats made!
How the frilled frocks into jeans and shirts changed!
Seeing the changes that have come over now
I can only remain perplexed and “tongue tied”,
An expression I used long time back, but still in vogue
Happy I am to revisit the literate of the world
Especially members of my own clan;
My friends of Poetry Soup who wield their pen
To see words are latticed like filmy cobwebs
In diverse poetic forms, on themes and subjects varied
And in rhyming sonnets, my favorite poetic form
Though I stand in a remote and distant tract of time
So happy you still remember me and hail me as an immortal bard
And you name the young lovers- 'Romeo and Juliet'
And write on their amorous romance in honeyed rhyme
You call selfish and cunning people as ‘Iago’
And exclaim on being betrayed- “You too Brutus”
When you are confronted with problems insurmountable
Like Hamlet, you ask the million-dollar question-
“To be or not to be”
My friends, this is my parting words to you
You may live by fame as I do
Through verse, your name you eternalize!
When dead and in solitary vaults you lie
May your verses ring clear in umpteen hearts
And produce echoes that time cannot stifle.
Jan. 13.2023
~Placed First~
Shakespeare in 2023 Poetry Contest
Sponsor- Anoucheka Gangabissoon