Long Off the rack Poems

Long Off the rack Poems. Below are the most popular long Off the rack by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Off the rack poems by poem length and keyword.


Outgrowing Self-Loathing

My suit of self-loathing no longer fits
The mirror of compassion tells me so
Years of bad-intentions held back growth 
After a time, the length of my sleeves bind
I didn’t realize I’ve become over-sized

These angry pants are fit for a small child
How silly I look with cuffs choking wrists
How I’ve loved my painfully straight jacket
Like it or not, the right suit still waits
No one other than I can disrobe loathing

The best cloak is the one from the womb
It takes skill to unstitch a childish blazer
It takes care to unhem pants outgrown
It takes love to go out in my birthday suit
Let tatters of anxiety fall down the chute

Self-loathing keeps me from disrobing
But, I’m not ready to shed my suit yet
The manly scissors that cuts are too heavy
After self-loathing is bare understanding
Forgive the man unstitching childishness

Let go of short-comings without clinging
Take the macho suit off the rack with care
Try on that fitted suit made for just me 
Wear it till love fills the over-sized space 
Take it all off till nakedness feels nice 

Matthew 24:18
"Whoever is in the field must not turn back to get his cloak."


Premium Member Dating In Socks and Crocs

I decide to take the plunge, internet dating is all the rage
My loneliness grows, I decide it’s time I try to engage 
I join several dating sites, cynical of what I may find
Hoping it’s someone sweet, who’s honest and kind

I write my profile and describe myself as stylish and chic
Smiling with a chuckle, right now I am not dressed for my pic
I go to my closet; the fancy date dresses are way in the back
I move all the comfy clothes as I take the sexy ones off the rack

I narrow it down to two dresses, one glittery red and one slinky black
I grab a pair of heels, spiked red leather and with sexy strappy backs
My face is now make-up, red lipstick, blue liner and false fake lashes
I set up my camera and tripod, hoping it takes my pic and flashes

A week goes by and I have several hits and messages on my profile page
I find one I like, he seems nice and honest, or it could all be staged
We chat awhile and then he invites me to talk to him over zoom
I agree to video chat in a few hours, as I stare at the dresses in my room

I get all made up, wearing my red dress, spiked heels, flashy fake rocks
As I try to walk, I take the heels off and put on my fuzzy socks and crocs
We video chat, really hitting it off, until he asks to see my sexy shoes
I panic, as drop my tablet, it crashes, lands at my feet, I am not amused 

I grab my tablet, my face is red with embarrassment, maybe he didn’t see?
He laughs as he tells me, he now knows I am the one, it was meant to be
He's holding up his foot, below his suit, he’s wearing shorts and fuzzy socks
and says he loves that I can be glamorous while wearing socks and crocs
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member When One Door Closes

Author's note: This is a sort of postscript, dear reader, to "My Life Upon the Wicked Stage"

When I think of how my life's turned out,
I can say without restraints,
This simple boy from far West Texas did just fine.
There've been some bumps along the way, of course,
But all in all I've no complaints,
And any failures or successes all are mine.

When I retired from teaching,
Oh, so many years ago,
To seek my fame and fortune on the stage,
I quickly learned how fleeting fame is,
How feeble fickle fortune's glow,
Still, I've no guilty conscience to assuage.

I make a decent margarita,
I read and speak un peu Français,
My suits and shirts are off the rack from JC Penney.
I rent a one-bedroom apartment,
I drive an ancient Chevrolet,
And of stocks and IRAs, there aren't any.

But when the muse of poetry
Sought me out and said, "Hey, Jim,
I propose the role of poet you embrace.
If you let the page become your stage,
Your acting bulb need never dim,
And we can help to make the world a better place."

Sure, my life has had its ups and downs,
But, as I said, I can't complain,
I've my health, good friends, some money in the bank.
My dream is now to write a play or novel,
And if that goal I should attain,
I'll have this practice posting poetry to thank.
Form: Rhyme

Who, Why, What, Where, When

Who, Why, What, Where, When?

Take a meme, and make it clean by belief, engagement, 
God meme, Santa Claus or denim jeans are fundamentals, 
They offer a magic carpet to all partakers into fulfilment, 
When we endorse the concepts behind these credentials. 

Like god, belief in Jesus is optional, warranty undelivered, 
On two levels: as the son of god, and as the son of man, 
The latter being the term more frequented by gospel word, 
When he emerged as the people’s hero, up for a ban. 

Richard Carrier believes that Jesus never existed at all, 
Historically, but he doesn’t speak much of psychosomatics, 
Which assumes contemporary phrasing and a high call, 
To spread medical remedies and to dismiss ecclesiastics.
 
Crucifixion was the punishment method used back then, 
Just as the electric chair is used today in the United States, 
And very many people were crucified each week, like Ben, 
Some who’d changed their name to Jesus, or “demonstrates”. 

Jesus in the Israeli language meant saviour of the people, 
Meaning intrinsically from the Roman government seed, 
Trying to figure out how to make progressivism capable, 
So they asserted themselves in the court case of creed. 

So, if we take the storyline stat, then what does it emit, 
Did Mary and Joseph name the boy on their first day? 
To call him then by an off the rack name - “Jesus” bit, 
Which indicated that he would create medical sway. 

If Jesus crucified as god never happened, that's fine, 
If Jesus was not born virgin god incarnate, then ok, 
But if a Nazarene boy fit the bill as Jesus the myth, rhyme,  
Then don't claim that he needed this mould to thus say. 

And don't presume you don't have a faith to propel you, 
That is, if you believe that a man died for his human acts, 
Towards the poor and the sick who upon old age, chase, 
Were only encouraged to commit suicide as bad facts. 

Reading the text, many Jesus’s were crucified at this time, 
So the canonical gospels may not consider just one healer:
Therefore if you think this then life can be not sublime, 
And so whether you're called this or that is not clever.
Form: Quatrain

Test scraps between Black Caps and Stokesy's chaps


Leisurely walk around Lords non stop pop of champagne cork

Scorecard dork does chalk the first over from Will O’Rourke

Another flowering Kiwi tree who gets the ball to talk & fork

While towering style of Kyle with guile & wile gall fans gawk


Doff your hat to Matt who really is all that aficionados squawk

Smith another hawk with similar riff for this tiff swing will stalk

Serious talent apparent not transparent with delirious torque

Balk one last refrain from the reign of Kane the Kiwi bulwark


If it grips rips what pips seeing Glenn Phillips flips & fillips

Golden arm charm can disarm like when baby Joe in skips

With Kane masters and pastors of snips missing the slips

Nudges nurdles overcomes hurdles as fans lick their lips

Never ruffled by kerfuffles silky shuffles and wristy whips

Express bouncer nips & dips caress the ball off their hips

Finesse not largesse witness their prowess heavenly sips


Zach having been so cack defence so slack got the sack

No coming back picked from the pack Gay to have a crack

Not out of whack got the knack this season has got a stack

Trust plucky Ducky again gets lucky no vastly ghastly hack


Stokesy becomes like Wokesy bat & ball gets us off the rack 

Dirty Harry not shirty silly willy nilly hill billy flirty is like smack 

In Ashes dung Tongue among the flashes of changing tack

No Josh tosh stung with gung ho bolts flung stumps thwack  

Tongue climbs a rung with pace he brung others made us yack 

 
Golly after much flak jolly Ollie the wally again leads the attack

After scold behold in from the cold part of fold & in the black

Coz after Oz fires our tyres flat just old hat we need a new jack


If not too chatty no cheeky drag on sneaky f*g or fatty snack 

Hopefully no folly he will be fit on the track give us bit we lack

No off his trolley verbal volley Ollie could be return of the Mac
Form: Rhyme


Premium Member My Memories of 2018

As I come to the end of the year
it's always good to take a look back
see the ups, the downs and their effects
learn from mistakes to get off the rack

Many lovely holidays we did enjoy
the highlands in January at Crieff Hydro
then in April to lovely sunny Madeira
so relaxing taking life real slow

Learn to grow in God's word come July
great week at Keswick convention no less
then October took us to Pitlochry town
the enchanted forest there simply no stress

Throughout the year many Hospital calls
my PSA kept down under control
my stammer took the slide once again
so dry my tongue many words own goal

Such a blessing all my friends on here
too many to name they know who they are
so encouraging and inspiring all over the globe
their pens come to the fore from near and far

My greatest support is my Christine
at my back keeping me going strong
but my blessed saviour Jesus always close
stands with me always to eternally belong
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Cindi

Cindi! Cindi!
Wipe your tears, Cindi!
You’ve been given no rights.
Somewhere life made a wrong turn.
Your heart is made of glass.
Your reputation shattered,
when dear, old daddy, departed.

She wasn’t a princely wife.
She brought her bratty baggage,
tolerated your twinkle-eyes and laugh.

Attic locked up tight,
every squeaking mouse in sight -
they start to look tasty
when your tummy is empty.

The click when it is still dark,
she flies into the room,
throws you a broom,
and down to the cinders you go…
when it is still dark.
You’re afraid of the dark.

The herald invited everyone
except you.
You were locked in the closet
with the broom.
If you made a sound
you would be doomed.

Cindi! Cindi! Wipe your tears.
I’m here to make wishes come true.
Those tasty mice will drive you.
The pumpkin will transport you.
I know you think I’ve lost my mind.

Your shattered heart will bind together,
become shoes of glass - don’t lose them,
don’t give away your heart.

Cindi, choose from off the rack.
Each stunning gown is your size,
just choose the style, length and color -
you’re about to have a ball!
Trust your fairy godmother!
Form: Narrative

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