Long Headband Poems
Long Headband Poems. Below are the most popular long Headband by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Headband poems by poem length and keyword.
I look at her picture ... she'll never grow old.
A feathered headband on her small, downy head.
The pain will lessen, that's what we've been told
but we've so few memories of a babe , now dead.
Scarlett of name, a moniker bold,
for such a wee thing, fragile and young.
She won't grow into the name, will never grow old.
Won't learn to walk or talk or ever have fun.
I look at her picture, tears brimming my eyes.
She sleeps so peacefully in repose.
They say time will heal but I believe it's all lies.
The grief that we feel, no one really knows.
Her unbearable beauty left scars on our hearts.
On the day God reclaimed her ... we all fell apart.
Some clothes I don’t wear anymore.
Some weird patterns all over.
Or just a stain from a cursed coffee mug.
The clothes which bring me to life?
Are:
My favorite florals.
Colorful.
I don’t even like green, but still…
Something about this type of green looks good on me.
Well worn yet still soft.
When I wear that lovely jean jacket?
My eyebrows unfurl.
Frilly headband.
Button down, striped shirt.
Orange pants with a purple belt.
I have everything I need-
Except those yellow shoes from the store…
So maybe I’ll get those and donate something else…
Anything else.
Someday.
But for now, I am open to new clothes.
Dear Old T-Shirts:
You’re still nice sometimes.
“The I’ll Dance” was the father of a Mine’s good family friend.
In the main festivities of Navalmanzano, Segovia
And its pilgrimages
He did not dare to ask the girls to dance
Afraid that everyone would give him pumpkins.
-The mowers are coming
The housewives are coming
And the young women who came from Segovia and Madrid
They have gone to Mass.
-Dance “I’ll dance”.
-I don’t dance.
I have come to the pilgrimage not to dance
But to see the patting dance.
-Look, that girl you like
She has lost her headband.
-If she has lost the headband, let her lose it
It won't make me sad.
Besides, what less can a woman lose
In the dance?
I'll dance, you're afraid of falling in love
And let a female tell you that she loves you
And finally forget you.
-You are right; I fear climbing from her with her
She uphill, and down to the plain
To play with our sexes
Under the hazelnuts.
-But, that female you like
You can forget it now
Well, Secretary Melitón has passed through her
The local fool
And an outsider with a gift.
-With who?
-Yes, that gentleman from Haro, La Rioja
With whom she had a son
Born in the field.
-But, although I like happiness
Of that badly broken ass
I do not dance; another day i’ll dance
Knowing that loves and pains
Take away sleep
I, since I don't have these
I rest and sleep.
She knows her own heart, wears it well, shows it off.
People want to be with her, she has groupies.
They cannot wait to see her, every year, at the festival.
She is the pretty one with a flowered headband.
She creates while others merely chat.
Her tools are busy, as she develops new products.
A Gemini, she is always busy, never still.
Her smile is a delight, her laugh infectious as the sun.
We do not know her name, it is not important.
She is fun to watch, many come to do just that.
She makes the festival seem worthwhile.
Many buy one item from her each year.
She is always delighted when people buy her things.
Pieces of her soul she has put together in wreaths,
Dream catchers, vases, wind chimes and such
She is a beautiful, modern, lovely, kind hippie
Princess Forever’s Frosted Lake entices aurora borealis to smile down
Embracing and warming her with mystical surrealism that shines on the lake.
She gives a gentle blow, to see her magic,
which dances past her lips, and her gown,
Delighting her in the form of ethereal star breaths,
with every single breath she will take.
The day retires quickly, not taking a glimpse or
a glimmer of the Frosted Lake’s turn.
Princess Forever will float her magical soul into
a scene unbearable to day creatures.
Her headband, encrusted with opals, emeralds,
and rubies, that flash like a fire’s burn,
reflect themselves as a part of the magic that
shows off the night’s enticing inner-active features.
Ancient songs float from the outside perimeters
of the mist, ensuring a magical delight.
The fourteen-point snow reindeer takes his place on the ice,
ready for his gorgeous night princess to alight.
They twirl around the ice in flares,
flipping and swirling magic until the beginnings of daylight.
When they once again have to return to dreamland,
letting the sun and day take over the fight.
Cold black coffee
This poetic room
Green eyes slightly glossy
You know you aren't immune
Wind chimes speaking
You convince yourself you understand
A home you don't feel like critiquing
Because for once it is quiet and you still feel your headband
The headband you took off on Wednesday
Every line gets longer as your mind works too fast
You write down the messy thoughts convinced they are okay
You lost the bad thoughts, for your mind is too vast
I'd admit I don't write these, my poems aren't real
I can't tell if that's true
I see and I think, then I write and I feel
But I can't rhyme and I wish that you knew
I think I am nauseous
Stomach half full of this cold decaf coffee
Wish I knew cool stuff like how a pumpkin is monoecious
These words I don't know, can my body be wishy-washy
Book cover bent like it looks up at God
I can't know what it's begging
Maybe it can sense that I'm a fraud
I don't like reading and maybe that's upsetting
How come book covers tell a better story than my face
Don't judge by it's cover but they have and they will
Existential thoughts, I don't think I'm meant for this place
Perhaps what we call life is a side effect of some pill
Poem stanzas get too long
The more I think, the more I think
No, the repetition is not wrong
When there's dust in your eyes, two times you will blink
My body itches inside out
The silence is now ringing
Is it crickets, maybe cicadas, sanity I doubt
Can my minds music still be singing
She was an older lady.
Bedecked with jewels,
Rainbow headband.
Glitzy scarf filled with rhinestones.
Her face was lined.
Wizened.
She was a crone.
Not easily fooled.
Her voice was a rasp.
A bark. Deep. Dark.
Her tarot cards deck…
Nothing fancy.
Crystal ball, runes, palmistry.
I sat at her table
Intricate details in its scarf.
Embroidered with gold,
Exquisite intricate stitching
Looking up
I knew I was looking into the face of magic.
We both smiled, but hers was stilted.
She studied my face, and relaxed.
Recognizing a cosmic connection
And another psychic when she found one.
What do you choose? She asked me.
Indicating the variety of choices.
I stared into her Bambi brown eyes.
So wise, so thorough, so intelligently intelligent.
Please choose for me, I said.
Best reading ever!
Rat-a-tat-tat, it is the sound of the dreaded, Icelandic Yule Cat.
You have to get me a jacket or shoes or something else I plead
My mother rolls her eyes. That’s a faerie tale, she says. Her face is fat.
Come on! I say, it will eat me up, I will be ripped and bleed.
My father gives me an eye roll that says he does not believe.
Polish, what does he know of this notorious evil Yule Cat that’s near?
My grandmother told me. My chest begins to wail and heave.
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat. I can hear it and nearly faint with fear
Socks, a headband, a wrist, a shirt, a blouse, something I beg.
I can hear the masticating teeth, and I nearly die with fright.
I would get you jeans, but they will be long and narrow in the leg,
My mother says after a while, then she turns off my night light.
It is Christmas Eve, and I am too afraid to close my eyes.
I should have only asked for clothes, not toys or that autograph.
If she does not keep her promise, I will be one of many who dies.
Rat-a-tat-tat sound comes right up to my ear, hot breath, and a laugh.
Written By: D. Collins 1/2/25
As I reach my prime in my mid-sixties.
I have a vow in dragging no drama with me.
I want my heels kicked up on a sandy beach.
Getting real F'd up on umbrella drinks.
Taking a long walk to get my exercise.
Having to back up because of rising tide.
Leaving my footprint in the just cooled sand.
Wearing damn near nothing but a headband.
If you bring drama you cannot come with me.
I'm retiring to some water that is drama-free.
I will scour my toes with fine, white sand.
But drama is forbidden in Darrell's Promised Land.
Let's applaud our
Adored Lord Broad
Fame and awards
Crossing swords &
Bossing visiting hordes
Name in the frame
On Lords boards
Cooing..wasn't it grand
Tanned boy with headband
Wooing the fanned stand
No wonder we're so fond
Of this towering..glowering
Powering flowering blonde
Plumping for knees pumping
Hearts a jumping
All a flutter
Tub thumping
Jaffas he's a scrumping
Utter bowling nutter
Batters in tatters
On the ropes
Slain with disdain
Hopes in vain
Dope tropes
Broad roared
Insane hurricane
Yet again
That strength of fine
Alright divine
Line and length
Vertiginous delight
Prodigious insight
Canny..crafty will
Log in to his noggin
Didactic tactic thrill
Found going round
Was gravy..on the money
Crowned genius genesis
Hefty lefty nemesis
Davy Warner..his bunny
Gladly listened to Hadlee
Took note of what
The Goat did float
Shorten your run son
Well must embellish
Relish to hone
To still cherish..own the throne
With Jimmy his friend
Found at their home grown ground
Got their own eponymous end
Game's pantomime dame
If everything else fails
Wrist twist of the bails
Burning beacon flame
What a gusto way to go
For our dearly loved maestro
Bravado even braggadocio
Willy Wonka winning ticket
Plucky...jammy...lucky
Hero cheerio double whammy
As Broad encored..
Last ball bowled..got a wicket
Last ball faced for 6 did flick it
Helluva a way
For our stellar fella
To say goodbye
To Test cricket