Long Jacket Poems
Long Jacket Poems. Below are the most popular long Jacket by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jacket poems by poem length and keyword.
The space between us
In this mortal world
Feels like sorrow in the sun
The pull to be ok
While being alone
Makes me long to run
...from love
I can see hope
Zipping my jacket
In a ceaseless stroke
Every last drop
Of borrowed courage
Landing on the words He spoke
...in the beginning
I'm not saying joy failed
Or that life Is grief gravy
On a buttermilk biscuit
It's just that my tummy
Rumbles with hunger
That never allows me to quit
....desiring
Restoration looks different
Than imagination painted
In the pendulum swing
The settled scale
Makes it hard to tell
What feeling the dark will bring
...to light
In my dreams, you appear
As a familiar friend
With contact, pure and free
No thrill of butterflies
Or fingers clawing to keep
The gift you've given to me
...a promise
Written by Trudy Schrader on 03-22-2026
The missus brings me high test coffee...
A cold wintry January 53rd, 2021
at Highland Manor apartments
picturesque snow covered landscape
safely ensconced within Unit B44,
we (yours truly and wife)
occupy bedroom and
television room respectively
comfortably numb and toasty warm
at sixty degrees Fahrenheit
courtesy climate controlled environment.
I practice crafting poetry
(seeking posthumous fame)
while the spouse busies herself
channel surfing putting
down remote control
after espying satisfactory movie
(Fatal Attractions),
about which she knows
every single detail,
and can rattle offer personal tidbits
about cast of actors and actresses.
Aforementioned regular routine
predictable until
onset rites of spring,
where warm weather perfect balm
to allow, enable and provide
antidote to existential woes
coping with being quarantined,
though sensing optimism
regarding president Joe Biden
green lighting living social pursuits
possibly revisiting
following favorite pastime.
Recalling contra dancing
as palliative against bashfulness
life as high school wallflower served me
without any budding female friendships
until lo… agent tulle nudge, yes
my mother over mollycoddled
then uprooted me
mein kampf familiar
bedrock level road terrain,
which venue offered groundswell
to blossom forth into
golden sterling resplendent rod
of natural equipoise,
(an unbiased opinion) and balance
with freestyle improvisational swinging motions
unchained from moors of formality
lit figurative saint elmo’s
Sesame Street Big Bird
winging fiery dance
allowing, enabling and
providing shy awkward self
during his young adulthood
to cast away four ever
self embroidered handsome
straight as an arrow
naturally high as a kite young guy
buzzfeeding like yellow jacket
liberating spontaneity
that je ne sais quoi joie vivre
clamoring headlong toward pollination
healthy packing heat overflowing
testosterone bin laden well nigh
erupting pistol (stay man)
toward opposite gender,
whereby bravado donned as key
to hoe field of whet dreams
fostering initial albeit late blooming
roll in the hay hormonally
rooted rutting squeal!
Lip stick and pinned up hair and filters. Pouting and peace signs. Toilet selfie and different floral dresses, the flowers unfurled and colours of passion. Forced expressions and emoji captions. This is what I see on social media.
Who can tell what is real about it, all the girls look the same and they look like girls. They go to the same coffee shops which are all equally unique and similar. They snapchat and show that they are social. The projections are their ideal I suppose and also their tangible reality. I don't know any of them. I met a lot of people in my life but I don't know the people in these photos. I feel disconnected.
I feel like they are trying to tell me something, or the world, or tell their world something. Show all their followers how they are active and free and happy and living and beautiful. Is this a paradox, living in a projection that you control and eliminating your whole self for these moments.
Did you want me to think about you? Do you want to be seen? All I see is lipstick and hair. I don't know you and that makes this feel intrusive. Why are you in my thoughts? You post photos of your friends, I don't know who they are, all I see is lipstick and hair.
Yeh maybe she is hot, and I do like that guys jacket. I was just passing the time pressing the screen of this phone which is a mystical portal to the world, my magical glass ball.
I don't normally pay attention to you. I am usually spending more time on my own projection, but I guess I noticed you today. It was the lipstick, and you had your hair pinned back. I would say hello, if I could remember your name.
how beautiful the day
harmonizing tweets
bright and unbundled
the sun sips her coffee
smiling down…just you
wait…she says…i
have a treat today
Spring is on the way
she warms her child
rubbing gently her arms
kissing her forehead
her child holds out
her arms to the sides
and spins…the tears
of the sun gush
she dusts
off her child’s jacket
sunflower petals strewn
on the streets…
comely and calamitous
a trusting face uplifts…
the sun stares straight ahead
with potential energy and poise
she won’t disparage her child
telling her an unfair fairy tale
for
tomorrow’s not promised
3/3/2022
Brian Strand’s Freed Verse
her arms had waisted away
her hands were cuffed
shackles incised her wrists
her eyes weren’t motionless
but all she could see was a wall
and she felt like an infernal image
of rage damned water welling up
with no release for tears
and solid incarceration
all she had done was to think
share her thoughts of reason
with valid precision and rational logic
had peacefully presented emotion
and felt she had been doing no harm
not an ounce of corruption
but the scales of injustice weighed
heavily and not in her favour
they had not blindfolded her
to never leave any doubt
that she would be able to see
the indisputable claim of the straight jacket
which covered her naked torso
her hair by now long and unkempt
nails like claws unable to reach
the foul wounds dug into her skin
infested by vermin and vile contempt
her gaze had turned inward
on a downward spiral of defeat
but she had nothing to confess
could not betray anyone
had she wanted to do so
and nevertheless she was grateful
that she knew nothing to part with
ironically she was in full control
of being completely out of control
a scrawny residue of former pride
she was way past hunger
the last scraps of fat had vanished
and yet so far she was a survivor
although confusion was taking a toll
her brain was wired into meshed pulp
until finally she was so thin
that she could move her delicate forearms
maybe her captors were not so clever after all
at first and at last she was able to turn
and glimpse one ray of hope through
a window with no hinges attached
and a new field of vision appeared
on the periphery central to her escape
she slipped the fetters
and knew that looking out for the truth
had been worth the wait
as she disappeared without trace
04th August 2021
Imagism Poetry Contest
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Saunters along, nonchalance
Dimpled craggy chin, cracks a wrinkled grin
eye slits that see beneath, within
casino cards, in his jacket coat
his past, a lot said and wrote
whiskey drinks, smoke filled rooms
pallid, dubious men, the mark, fate looms
poker face that smile beguiles
“Frank the Devils Croupier”
deft hands, cards flew across the table
they all did fall, to card magic
his taipan strikes, fast and slick
was coined get “Dizzy” legendary
Texas Holdems sudden death
High rollers, anxieties shallow breaths
Turn card, tails flick, fat cats wile then wait
fish and whales swim through the losers gate
So the millionaires did agree
to pay Frank royally
retirement from the game
So if your up for a yarn do stop
At “Get Dizzy I’m All In” Coffee Shop
drinking taipan coffee shots, he’s that guy
smiles at people walking by
Entered “Bring a Character to Life” Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Richard Lamourex
Dated 25/08/2019
Placed 3rd with thanks
I take off my jacket, it’s been a warm day
and the heat has followed me into the house.
I should be already on my way to Cleveland
to a poetry slam, I did promise half-heartedly,
but slamming poets means a headache
after a long drive.
There’s lead and gun smoke on my fingers.
should have washed them at the range,
but the fat-wise owner wanted to
about all the paperwork he has to do now.
He has a young feller who does
all the inventory and selling,
he on the other hand, just sits on a stool all day.
Sometimes he will stroke his grey bead
and fart, but mostly he just sits;
He could be a poet.
Poetry is an art-form. It’s good to keep
reminding myself of that,
otherwise I might get the idea
that it’s just about complaining,
ing about things most poets don’t understand,
like life in general, guns and of course
poetry.
There’s a spider in my shoe mum
There’s a spider in my shoe
He really is quite big mum
And I don’t know what to do
You silly boy just pick it up
And give your shoe a shake
It’s just a little spider
How much effort can it take
Don’t think I’ll shake him off mum
Can’t pick him up or hit him
He’s really very big mum
And my shoes they nearly fit him
Oh don’t be such a baby
Stop acting like a fool
Please hurry up and do it
Or you’ll soon be late for school
But mum, he’s really massive
I’m terrified, what’s more
He just picked up my jacket
And he’s thrown it on the floor
Alright, lets have a look then
Oh my, this one is bad
It really is enormous
Run upstairs and get your dad
"WHITE"
White is a vacant colour
there is no substance
there is no depth
there is no surface
to check beneath ...
White is a base colour
Ground Zero where light drowns
a doorless holding cell for murdered souls
who wait and wonder lost
no escape routes, a captive place
on a blank page, where thoughts walk around in circles
in white shrouds with wobbling blancmange gazes
looking for their lost life story's words ink invisible
erased forever swallowed in White’s nothingness
White is not pure
Poppies powdered frost
Opium of an empty mind
Cocaine cut in lines
across a wordless page
a non-dimensional space
where sinners meet their lost God
in their white drugged vapid snowstorm brains
White is the torture of Endlessnism
a straight jacket padded room
no windows, doors, no floor
just never ending light switched on
a patient NeuroCell Nootropic sea
floating, no there is no surface, no memory
to check beneath the white pills
clouds that do not storm nor free
screams no longer dream in colour
White has sucked them in,
no memories, White is blind can’t see
White is powerless with no sovereign, no dominion
nothing but Eternity
White is a vacant colour
there is no substance
there is no depth
there is no surface
to check beneath …
White Noise
Writer's block
Delete
(Lovejoy-Burton/Jan 2018)
i make myself a mexican pizza
i make myself a mexican omelette
i make myself some frijoles charros con queso
i make myself some taquitos extra stuffed
i get two bottled waters ice cold out of the fridge
i cut on the tv to channel fuzz circa 1980
i stare into space wondering why i made all of this food in the dark
i get the call that i knew was coming from my sister
Mom just took her last breath this morning, 3:32am
i throw on some clothes
i throw on some shoes
i throw on a jacket, thermal lined
i grab a hat and put it on
i head out of my apartment door and to my car
i wonder if i really should be driving
i drive the direction of my Raising Place
i feel like i am heading for the equator while staring into space
i get to the Main Root
i drive in a makeshift circle
i get to the Main Root
i drive in a makeshift circle
i get to the Main Root
i drive in a makeshift circle
i get to the Main Root
i drive in a makeshift circle
i get to the Main Root
i drive in a makeshift circle
i finally turn into the dreaded driveway
i walk into the eerie spotlight with all eyes on me, but all is quiet
i hear and i see nothing
i head to my sister's old room where Mom's deathbed was placed
she is so thin and so weak
her mouth is open like she fought for breath until the very end
i tell Mom I Love Her one last time
a rain of quiet fall into my sister's old room
i sit there with my sister in the Company of Mom one....last....time
and....then....they....cover....Her....up....and....take....Her....away.....