Long Leggings Poems
Long Leggings Poems. Below are the most popular long Leggings by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Leggings poems by poem length and keyword.
limp roses
blue boots, vinyl, knee length
hair extensions braided like sun-rings
pleasure knick knacks
perfume bottles
lacey things that hug the bodice
under garments, lipstick smudged
stained dentures
wrappers like scattered seed
brothel trash bin overflowing
young man slinks from the shadows
picks up plum colored leggings
"I knew her.
My family thought me at church.
But there's different ways of worship."
brothel walls, graffiti gloom
seem to whisper
lost shuddering joy
gasping delights
restless yearning
sighs that slip to groans
I see a bedspring mattress 'gainst the wall
charred remains
smoked rawness
air, dust brown heavy
like her legend
powerless voices quiet
when the brothel closed
sheared
unapologetic
in the hellish heat of gold.
Poem composed: February 17, 2021
So many days later and these days have now turned into years so much so that it looks like time is turning grey
She is the good to balance out my bad so one could say these are my silver linings, up floating in the clouds when we are vibing together
Simplistic conversation with complicated silence, no matter the situation we conquer time so I know we have what some would call timeless
This must be why every time you are lying next to me and your smile seems to hold me as my arms protect you time seems to matter less
They say less is more, life is about the little things, and happiness is found within yourself
So, please forgive me if I space out when you start to tell me about your day, because it’s not that I don’t care
I am just trying to capture every moment and picture you give me before I get lost in the way you turn away right before you smile, or the way you eyes
sparkle in broad daylight, and I could never forget how excited you are to see me when you get home from work
I had to find myself in order to find you because you always have to dig through the dirt before you find the treasure
My queen who always has a natural glow like an iridescent gold
Hair tied up or in a bun with your favorite pair of leggings on with a matching tank, I know you like to dress up but even when you don’t I can still see her gold
Tonight was a special night and I am the romantic type so for this 14th day of the second month I wrote you a couple of notes in poka’dot balloons
Just a few things to let you know I noticed you and the feelings we get seem to match when we are together and when we are apart
Pop one balloon a day to see a little something I appreciate about you
p.s. are you floating with me when you read my notes in a balloon…
Strutting down York Avenue,
Appearing in a hurry,
His face is beatific,
Showing not a drop of worry.
With one child in his hand grasp
And another at his chest,
He seems a modern father
But he stands out from the rest.
It isn’t for his man-bun,
Rather for the clothes he wears –
Not jeans or sweats or khakis,
For it’s leggings earning stares.
Today’s had printed donuts
Looking fattening and sweet,
While yesterday’s were swirled
With every color you might meet.
I wonder as his kids grow up
If they’ll think he looks cool
Or, as I perceived when others gaped,
More like a kingdom’s fool.
Purple Butterflies and Raindrops on Roses
Open my eyes. See the window covered in tiny beads of wet. Hear the raindrops on roses that line the building. That isn't right. Why can I hear the soft beating of rain? Smell sulfur and smoke and ozone? I turn my head.
Soft, cotton leggings of pink and white, hug chubby, adolescent knees tight.
A long tailed pale pink shirt with white ruffles on the neck line, hem, and arms, Picturing Sponge Bob Square pants and his BFF Patrick Star.
Tiny white sandals with pink plastic flowers.
Purple butterfly clips hanging onto blonde pigtails on each side of her head. Kindergarten lunch hour.
It looks as if the butterflies are struggling to lift her up by her blonde curls to fly her far away.
Bright sky blue eyes…eye? Eye.
Empty orb but for the black blood, framed by stark white bone instead of long, flirting lashes.
Like a candle crying tears of wax,dripping red,
Veiling pale cheeks and freckles. I turn my head.
Raindrops now streaming down the window, each one rushing toward something…frantic, panic. Wash it away! Wash it away! Wash it away!
Soft, cotton leggings of pink and white, hug chubby, adolescent knees…
that will never again kneel by a bedside to pray.
Red polka dots on white sandals, one covered in congealing Salisbury steak gravy and spilled milk.
If only her purple butterflies had flown her away from school today… taken her to the fairies to sing and play.
A high pitched tone, raindrops now slowly, plop…plop…or is that blood dripping?
The ceasing rain and silence merge.
The stillness after gun fire is the loudest noise ever heard.
There’s a woman I pass in the mornings
Who prefers not to nod a hello,
Not unusual for a New Yorker;
That’s the way that these things often go.
She seems close to my age, but walks slower
And her clothing is baggy and loose,
Unlike most of us out there with leggings,
Which she’d likely not wear, I deduce.
Yet this morning I passed her and noticed,
As I swiveled for a double-take,
That her t-shirt was very familiar
And quite certainly not a mistake.
For it once nestled, folded quite nicely,
In a drawer with the rest of my tees,
But I’d donated it to the thrift shop
Where I bring things that no longer please.
I was glad to see somebody wear it
Who’d appraised it with different eyes,
Yet I wondered why I hadn’t kept it
As an exercise shirt in my size.
Today’s my daughter’s birthday.
She has so-called “special needs.”
Each year, she gives a list of gifts
She wants; my husband heeds.
I also add some extra things
I think might hit the spot.
A word search book of rock & roll
She seemed to like a lot.
A t-shirt with her birthday year,
Some leggings with designs,
But there is one thing after which
She always always pines.
A teddy bear! She owns so many
She needs not one more,
Yet that’s the gift above all others
She is waiting for.
And luckily for her, her brother
Found a “birthday bear.”
With party hat and cupcake,
It’s a bear beyond compare.
Her group home made a party
Which she loved, Hawaiian style,
But her birthday bear was what produced
The biggest birthday smile!
Daddy!
You had to drive me to school everyday and pick me up.
I was only six and we had noschool buses.
One wintry afternoon, I came out, a blizzard whirled all about.
Wearing no boots or leggings, ah~ but were more than loving.
Dressed in your overcoat, suit, gleaming cufflinks and Borsalino hat,
You came in my direction and carrying an alpaca blanket.
Like Sir Galahad, you scooped me up, and carried me to the car.
You never let me get into a cold car, did you?
The grand car was running and toasty warm.
You carefully set me down on the back seat.
I felt like your little Princess, being covered me with that fur
blanket and your love.
In that car, which was shiny, classy and beautiful.
The girls at school teased me mercilessly after this.
Teasing me, that they were better because they took a bus?
Their Dads worked for others and could not leave!
You had your own business and worked from early morn till night.
These same girls who teased me, did not seem to mind when you
picked each one up for a party of mine!
And never complained when you bought and delivered the classroom
Christmas tree, seven feet tall!
****So for you, Daddy, I want this in writing!****
You were one, class act! And although in heaven your daughter, is mightily proud of you, and that is a loving fact.
MY WISHES, TO A FATHER, ELEGANT AND SO GRAND,
SO LOVING,
BLESSED CHRISTMAS TIDINGS!
From your grateful daughter,
Panagiota
12-5-2020
7am PST
I got a call from an angel
Floating on a cloud.
I made her laugh with the last message I sent her.
Misinterpreted messages lost in the light of the sun.
With ears at attention there was a brief silence.
Walking through the hall of infatuation.
She made me smile.
My hearts done none stop jumping jacks since the first time I saw her smile.
I told her about a dream I had.
Changing into something a bit more subtle.
We back peddled to the day we first met.
Just before the first date, but right after the third date.
The first moment that felt like we ascended.
The way time always seems to fly when were together.
The songs that describe exactly what it feels like to deeply understand.
The breaks between the bass where our hearts completely zoned out in a full day dream.
Knowing the words to every song that played.
Selectively introverted to the world around.
A mixed bag in the variables of comfort.
An audience of denim in a world filled with leggings.
Even in silence I send my prayers.
To an angel whom answers, as well as makes calls of her own
Silly Sandee Stardust shuffled when she walked
around the garden while she talked and talked.
She said she preferred using her tiny feet
because she enjoyed sniffing the sweet
scent of red roses and striped, orange lilies,
but knew not to go near the hot pepper chilis.
Though she admired their bright color, red,
Sandee had tasted one in the garden bed.
Oh, my... I'd never seen her fly so fast
to drink buttercup dew until the burning passed.
No one could miss seeing this faerie, so fair
because of her colorful clothing, chosen with care.
Pinks and greens were her favorite of all hues.
She wore snappy leggings of yellow and blues.
Her prismatic wardrobe highlighted her gold wings,
and everyone listens when this wee faerie sings.
Rosebuds in her hair, big brown eyes like a bug...
Sandee is a sweetheart, who gives everyone a hug.
Taped to the door’s plexiglass pane, a portrait
Of a Savior with ardent heart burning
Sunlight invades with the turning of hinges
Untethering the hospitality of Tony, the lone waiter
His Brazilian arms are swinging doors, open to embrace
He wore fishnet leggings to the Halloween Jamboree
Leather corset paired with his jet black hair,
Moving with grace at the age of seventy
To the right of the register towering above
The marble counter, the burnout teen dreams
Of welding underwater. A master of sparks
Under the pressure of the indomitable sea
Within his perspective the walls contort,
Xanax whispers in voices of an angel’s Hark
“They won’t know if the register’s short”
Behind the oven is the maestro of cheese and painted tomato
Luis whistles and sings ballads in the tongues of banda
Smiling at nothing with teeth all jagged and yellow
Welcoming all who wander with an “Ah mi amigo, ¿como estas?”
A jolly grin and laughing lungs lift a belly made of pizza dough
The oiled gears of a restaurant’s engine, fueled by cervezas
Joe rides into the shop he owns on his jet black Harley
To work with the line cooks in his leather steel toed boots
He was once Philly cop, and he may still be stuck in center city
He never lets his gun leave the secure embrace of his belt loop
Yet under such a Italian-American macho man brovato
Lies the soul of a tender soul that loves to cook for his community
Across the street, sunflowers raise their winter withered heads
The sizzling steak sandwiches sing in a chorus of cholesterol
The leather booths welcome anyone escaping the World’s dread
So come to Carmines, a source of solace for any and all