Long Lapel Poems
Long Lapel Poems. Below are the most popular long Lapel by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Lapel poems by poem length and keyword.
I Am Your Shadow
You literally crawl out of your bed before the sun has come up,
Stretching reluctantly, knowing it’s another day on this island earth.
So you drag yourself to the john down the hallway a bit,
And urinate dutifully and automatically staring straight ahead,
With thoughts of coffee germinating behind vague-viewing eyes,
Which are not blinking due to not being fully cognizant
Of your inherent location in the universe at the moment.
But you move on in life anyway as if this morning ride
Is your last dance with the fickle sun rising strong outside,
Like a lantern-laden ship drawing nearer to port.
The mirror in your messy boudoir of silks and sarongs,
Reflects an exhausted young woman in need of repair,
For the hours of menial employment ahead for the day
Will perpetuate those lines, those creases of savage age.
But green money must be earned with a smile,
For the butcher will not give his meat freely, nor the potter his hands.
You scratch again the itch on your leg, the rash behind your knee,
And your customer buys two of each, and now
There is green money in your hands for the till.
The hour of sad afternoon arrives and it is time to find a thrill,
The day is swearing obscenities at you from behind open windows;
It is time to find boot-leg love on the run behind a garden trellis,
Maybe with a mustached stranger wearing blue suspenders?
Maybe with me your reliable shadow in a myriad of plodding walks at sunrise?
Maybe with death himself, as he offers his business card
Smiling with a carnation in his drooping lapel?
(the first day of March)
Am I as lonely as that cloud?
I kneel this early time of day.
The traffic’s quite thin now, not loud,
while I am crouching, seem to pray!
St David’s Day is here, with chills.
That cloud looks down on Wales and hills.
I’m kneeling down upon this grass
to pluck the yellow one to pin
on my lapel now; no feet pass.
I’m brooding here on Wordsworth’s spin
on words that conjure on this hill
my single golden daffodil.
(1 Mar 2024)
(William Wordsworth, English poet, 1770-1850: “I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud”, in which he saw a "host of golden daffodils"; this is the same pattern and rhyme scheme)
Black flower
Sprouting from the rocky soil of the slums.
Powering through the cool concrete tombs.
Sweeping the devil from Eve's main street.
Floating fast away from the carnal grate.
Sipping from the grail, God's sweet rain.
Now, you're blooming like an ebony pearl.
Despite the deep stain of steepening struggle...
It was all about your spirited heart and grit.
You'll not be a flower on a teary clown's lapel.
You're a sparkling star atop a gem-kissed hill.
Pinprick temptation awaits-don't drift astray.
Doubters and detractors are fleet and persistent.
Forge iron discipline within the hue of good faith.
On occasion, flash petals like battle axe blades.
Thrashing mind ogres into a cracked nonexistence.
Do honor your sextant soul...
Never drift back into the abyss
of the concrete's snake-eyed grip...
Black flower.
On Saturday, the nation will
Join forces east to west
To protest this administration,
Easy to detest.
Called “No Kings” with no explanation
Offered or required,
There will be large-scale gatherings
This “leader” has inspired.
To show support, I thought I’d buy
Some “No Kings” merchandise –
A hat or tee or even
Some lapel pins would suffice.
The quickest way to find this
Would be Amazon, for sure.
No matter what you think about it,
Speed’s its biggest lure.
So I was shocked when, on the site,
Most “No Kings” items shown
Could not or would not be delivered
(Cue the sad trombone…)
Until at least the 28th
Or after; either case
Would get here past the point
When “No Kings” day had taken place.
I don’t think it is paranoid
To see Jeff Bezos’ role,
For when it comes to Amazon,
He’s kind of in control.
Ironically, this underscores
How vital is this cause,
For when greed and power rule, we’ve learned,
The kings make all the laws.
Every Father's smile
is more brilliant than the sun that shines forever in the sky;
Here on earth I've only had one father and as far as I can recall
he was the most tender loving hearted man I ever met
When I was small he lovingly guided me, sharing his wisdom,
he helped me grow into the woman I am today;
I realize that Fatherhood was a gift that was bestowed on me
so I never took for granted his loving doting ways
He was my first hero, the guardian of my hopes and dreams
he always sheltered me from the outside world
I thank God for the father I had growing up, for I lacked of nothing
so when he died I pinned a gold angel on his lapel
and accepted the fact that God, needed an angel to guard His lair
Late at night when I cannot sleep I close me eyes and think of him,
and suddenly, I feel him everywhere !
Love is a tender kiss made from a magic spell
wrapping you softly with undeniable charm
it sits simultaneously attached to your lapel
hearing your hearbeat so tender and warm
it blows you away in a thousand different ways
no common sense or logical consent or decision
can take your wings away and never counting days
it delivers you to canvass with artistic precision;
Love is a moment in time its a diamond of shine
saving you from yourself it shows you the way
when it finds you, there is no yours or mine
only a togetherness that makes you want to stay
Love is a tender kiss made from honey and dew
wrapped in cellophane with a thousand I love u's
Written by: Pixie Dust
11/27/2019
And Grandpa, you have to wear a tux, my little grand-princess said.
I thought she was crazy, daft in the head.
I was miffed, corn-waggled, flabbergasted at least.
Honey, you don’t put a tux on the king of the beasts!
How could I rustle through the banyan trees in a tux?
How could I flex mu muscles? Wouldn’t it be a flux?
How could I jump from branch to branch, from limb to limb?
In clothes like that, what kind of running shape would I be in?
Honey, I said, gently, you do not understand. I cannot do it. I simply cannot.
She turned her amber brown eyes on me, and hit my damned sweet spot.
I had loved those eyes since the second she was born and handed to me.
I was her grandpa, her hero, her guardian, her mother’s dad, you see.
So I said I would attend her wedding wearing a tux with a red rose in my lapel.
After all the other stuff I’d been through in my life it might not be hell.
Actually, I looked so fine in this tux that I decided to wear it daily after that.
It brought me a harem of women who named me the “Tuxedo Le’ Cat”.
St Patrick’s day cat wore a tam to die for.
We saw him the second he sauntered into the door.
The pub would never be the same, he was glamor and more.
A fine dapper Irish cat, who serenaded us with folklore.
He has such fashion sense! The females all cried.
He gave us a stomping dance, a jig, and a slide.
St Patrick’s day cat with coral roses on his lapel.
Showed us the way out of our daily hell-to-hell.
We followed him to Dublin singing an Irish ditty.
The felines all followed, screaming how he was pretty.
St Patrick’s day cat ruined it that day for other Toms.
I did not see him myself, but have heard from his moms.
Pink Is Having a Moment
with
the new pink cricket ball,
pink soccer boots,
Yes, it's True Folks! It's a fair game!
But,
no World Cup team
is clad in pink—
they think it's too tame,
or maybe too bold,
a distraction
which amounts to the same.
Pink in fashion
is always arriving fresh,
and returning.
In nature, though,
it's as old as a daybreak
and twice as enduring.
Pink panthers,
pink flamingos,
pink slips, pink gin,
pink carnations in a lapel,
powdered pink wigs on
pink elephants after midnight,
drifting through Versailles
in clouds of rose-red perfume mist;
gate-crashing catwalks,
then riding away
in the Shock of the New—
A Shiny Pink Cadillac.
But don't expect
the pink moment,
to last very long.
It'll be left
as a glinting hint
subdued in the background.
Blushing in sunsets,
hiding in seashells,
lounging lazily
inside ripe watermelons,
lingering in galloping galahs,
coral reef fish fins flaps,
and the inner demure curves
of a conch shell.
It will fade from fashion
around the end of July.
Pink's moment will pass.
Yet, somewhere, out there—
A rose will ignore them,
a flamingo will stand on one leg,
and the evening sky
will blush
without permission!
and
the world will discover
Pink isss It!
all over again.
Adorable Michelle
A blonde bombshell
A chic mademoiselle
Moved like a gazelle
Vicious rumours ripe to dispel
Everything between heaven and hell
Around on the carousel from rebel to infidel
Jealous wagging tongues, wasn’t hard to tell
Really she was into music and aquarelle
French cuisine with béchamel and caramel
Strolling shores collecting seashell
Cultivating roses, pimpernel and bluebell
Fell hard for some guy with a rose at his lapel
Who wrote her a crude villanelle
Penned using an old fashioned inkwell
And it worked as a potent love spell
Before the dinner bell
Had her up in a motel
Watching Emmanuel
Drinking chilled zinfandel
AP: 1st place 2021