Long Manicure Poems
Long Manicure Poems. Below are the most popular long Manicure by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Manicure poems by poem length and keyword.
Take away the coil
Preparing my soil
Ready to get dirty & toil
Time to take heed
Actions not read
We need to feed the seed
Plant & fertilise
Surprise for the rise
Male or other we summarise
Digs & water showers
With TLC bet it towers
Under God the hope it flowers
The bigger it spans
Female are the plans
Growth fast with 9+ poniter fans
To turn them not lost
From heat to quick frost
Budding season can come at a cost
Shoots from every node
All plants follows code
Gardening boosts the buds to explode
Meticulous pick & prune
Ripening real soon
Final tip. Final pick. Full moon
Manicure to cure
Holds weight, I'm sure
Protection & time must endure
No jokes, my folks
A deep scent soaks
Eager to see how it smokes
~~ I Lovingly Remember~~
I remember being in my crib, hugging my Teddy Bear.
I remember, Mother reading poetry to me.
I remember, dancing and talking to myself, in a tall mirror.
And I remember, getting my first manicure, leather school bag,
with my initials, embossed in gold.
I remember, so well, the scary black-outs in WW II.
I remember, my very first Holy Communion.
I remember, rolling down tall hills of fluffy snow.
I even remember, my first diamond ring, set in rose-gold.
I remember, the joy of walking my playful dog.
But my favorite memory.………is still yet to come!
And on this busy day before a blessed Thanksgiving,
Please SHARE one or two of yours, that is in your memory shining!
Thank you!
With Holiday Hugs….
Panagiota xx
My windowpane whispers the outer world’s language.
Wisps of wind howl through barren trees, whistling against my chamber’s cold edges—a delicate soundtrack to the restitching of my being that a frosty winter night permits.
Spring fostered overgrowth.
Summer hacked through it with a hatchet, leaving Fall to tend the wounds— to decay and decay and decay.
I plunge my mutilated hands into icy tap water, each sting and tingle alive with vivid memory.
My candle’s flame dances with my measured inhales and exhales,
its crackle harmonizing with the wind’s low howl.
I hunch over the incandescence- the only warm-toned brushstroke in my deep blue cave.
It’s enough light to see where the year has sliced my appendages and what is worth tending.
I stitch my splitting fingers one by one.
The faces I once touched with diamond edges flicker in the candlelight as thread pulls through skin.
The thorns I wove myself into for the glimmering berry at the vine’s end wrap my wrists in phantom pain as I change my bandages.
Each winter I arrive at the same wisdom.
Do not take off your leather gloves at the first sight of longer days.
But how sweet it feels to touch even if it draws blood.
I set the needle down and flex my hands before me, as if admiring a fresh manicure
not healed but cared for from another year of living.
I blow out the fire out with a huff and crawl into my now completely cobalt nook.
Closing my eyes not to awake until the dark loosens its grip
Until frost unlatches the windowpane and the winds shake and rattle through lush leaves
and light relearns my name.
I sleep with mended hands on my chest,
palms still tender,
dreaming of sap rising,
of gloves folded neatly by the door,
waiting to be ran past again and again.
In days of old when men were bold
And they didn’t use moisturiser....
They shaved with a sword,
slapped whisky on their chin
And didn’t use aftershave in an atomiser
The scraped the dirt off with a shell, they reeked a good manly smell
They combed their hair with the jaw bone of an ass...
Not now oh no, their hairdryer is so big
You need a drying license to use it
there’s even an exam you have to pass
They broke their nails with hard work
A beer or two they do not shirk
But now it’s a wine bar and a manicure...
Oh where are the days when a man was a man
And not a female male that’s for sure
We woman must share the blame
We wanted equality
But then we took it too far...
Now we’re down the pub while they cook the tea
And we are the ones having a jar
There was nothing as nice as a man opening the door
To let a lady walk though
Not today’s man we find,
we have to stand behind
And open and hold the door for them to pass too...
When men were the ones we looked to for help
They always came through for us girls
No now I’m afraid,
they are busy at home
Baking cup cakes and tying ribbons for little girls...
In days of old when me were bold
And didn’t use a consealer
Proud to show off their scars
And not refuse a date,
To use their face mask and their skin peeler...
Girls we must shoulder some of the responsibility
We wanted to be more equal to our men
Now we get the tattoos,
Drink pints and pints of booze
Wear jack boots, party till dawn and even then...
Bring me back a real man,
I’ll do all that I can
To keep him happy in his manliness...
I’ll work at it hard and teach him well
Even if I have to I’ll pick out his dress…
© ~GG~ 28/12/2012
Please do not be upset all you men out there I was cleaning my bathroom, I have to grown sons and a husband. I was moving all the products while I cleaned the shelves and out of 15 different bottles and potions I found three were mine and one of those was my toothbrush. I borrowed my son’s hairdryer to dry some moister because I wanted to re-grout behind the sink. I had to ask him how to use it because it was digital…………….dah xx
Oh! My gosh. What is it with the girly girl
Adventure?
They say looking great is a lure
To capture
An amore. To me that's a whole other
Venture.
I am such an amateur.
I am not looking for any more pressure.
Now on to the brochure
Which supposedly has the beauty cure.
Their prices are not high on expenditures
It features
Hair cut to style which includes shampoo,
Dry, make over, manicure,
And pedicure
All done at our leisure.
For our listening pleasure
All work will be done to the overture
Of Bach which some deemed as torture.
Any way the end result was everyone comes
Out a beautiful relaxed creature
Who has been in hiding like a lost treasure.
We are supposedly feeling less insecure,
And more sure,
Of our future.
I need a picture.
ILLUSION OF THE HALF NAKED TIGER
The fiery furious big cat unchained:
"I can't change even if I change I'm unchanged",
Striped with fur even if I forsook my identity,
Saffron-faced riding in it's majesty,
Yawning like a famished ferocious beast,
Mighty roars announces the time to feast.
What remedy can twist the sinews of your heart?
Survival hunting in the wild shapes your acts,
Your eyes burn bright as the fiery furnace,
Not all dare challenge your governance,
Not all dare your terrible terrors clasp
Staunch bravery bellowed by every heartbeat you grasp.
When the skies water the earth with tears,
Throwing down spears of rain, you strike fears,
Staring with your two golden daggers,
Disguise yourself in crowded grasslands
to hide your fearsome war-paint of stripes.
Your claws swipe off and skip a manicure;
Not all of your terrible tear can a man cure.
Illusion, trickery, sneaky spine-chilling,
Dark-hidden wild of the legendary feline,
ever deceiving, beckoning, causing preys fleeing;
These 're labels of your skin; beautiful & terrifying.
But a Tiger is in every man who "roars" when excited,
famished or emotion engulfed and agitated.
You can only hide or dry your skin and outlooks,
Don't be tricked, the same beast inside still lurks.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© 11th January, 2021.
Who wants to be the King of the castle when you can be the Queen?
I believe that us women are capable of anything
We can reach for the stars if we want to
I’m in my soft girl era right now
I’m living the soft life
A day at the spa will get the job done
After a long day a pedicure and manicure can take the edge away
I’m not fighting with anyone
I’m blocking all the hate and bad energy away
I’m putting myself first and living in my feminine energy
Soft life is the lifestyle
I’m glad I’m embracing the woman they I was meant to be
Soft skin
Long hair and smells so elegantly
Soft life is where I want to be
I embrace the soft life
It is definitely meant for me
I might be made to endure a hard life but I deserve a soft life
Polish
by Michael R. Burch
Your fingers end in talons—
the ones you trim to hide
the predator inside.
Ten thousand creatures sacrificed;
but really, what's the loss?
Apply a splash of gloss.
You picked the perfect color
to mirror nature's law:
red, like tooth and claw.
I thought about titling or subtitling this one “A mini-ode to manicure” but thought better of it. Please note that this poem is not about female predators or lipstick and nail polish, per se, but the way the human race “glosses over” its predatory nature. We may appear to be “civilized” with our constant grooming and high fashion, but what are we doing to the planet and its other inhabitants? I suspect many animals facing climate change/global warming and possible extinction would prefer less "civilization."
Through the gates of purple twilight under sea,
sound of sirens moving with the kelp forest silently.
In play of that light swarms of fish in synchronicity,
attracting passage into central deep intentionally.
Low adown a different light like fountain of gold,
a open theater of majestic brilliance to unfold.
On an coral altar a coiled Mermaid so fair,
glistering shine by emerald eloquent glare.
Large gorgeous eyes slim and dark pearly hair,
tender bosom marble sculpture fair.
Transitory dreams seem surrounding her,
singing of a time that is to come to bare.
That false hearts and broken vows,
bouncing back by natural balance ploughs.
Some live long minutes need truest to dare,
assisting foes in their greatest vain to prepare.
That the blind ignorance of waste has its price,
and invisible viruses spreading to entice.
Where isolation and self pity will proceed,
credited indulgence and its deed.
The despised truth and its manicure,
trivial perception enslaved in poor.
Mother earth and her salty tears,
dire souls need to overcome its fears.
If love is the living water salty and sweet high,
it will touch the impossibility to amplify.
The shores of new worlds still to explore,
the mind wants to know what is beyond for more.
Divine thoughts should be applied even in vain,
then motions are constant in the ocean of the brain.
The living oceans are the soul’s true resources,
the body of water and its delicate courses.
Bwana wanna boogie on safari.
Bwana wanna porter fetch his gun.
Bwana wanna bag a bloody trophy.
Bwana wanna kill it just for fun.
Bwana wanna rumble through the jungle.
Bwana wanna rummage through the bush.
Bwana wanna buy a pagan baby.
Bwana wanna snag himself some tush.
Bwana wanna colonize the tropics.
Bwana wanna rule from pole to pole.
Bwana wanna civilize the heathen.
Bwana wanna circumcise their soul.
Bwana wanna drink his gin and tonic.
Bwana wanna party like a sport.
Bwana wanna play a little polo.
Bwana wanna build a tennis court.
Bwana wanna condo in the suburbs.
Bwana wanna manicure his lawn.
Bwana wanna customize his kitchen.
Bwana wanna throw some burgers on.
Bwana wanna watch a game on Sunday.
Bwana wanna drive an SUV.
Bwana wanna bear the white man’s burden.
Bwana wanna live like you and me.