Long Outfits Poems
Long Outfits Poems. Below are the most popular long Outfits by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Outfits poems by poem length and keyword.
The women far outnumber
All the ticket-holding men
And they’re decked out in their jewels
They haven’t worn since who-knows-when.
Their outfits are forgiving,
Hiding several extra pounds
And their make-up makes them glow,
Although some wrinkling abounds.
They’re delighted just to be there
On an outing with some friends,
All who rush out to the bathroom
Just as soon as Act I ends.
Most obey and shut their cell phones
And their candies they unwrap,
But there’s always one whose ringtone
Jingles loudly from her lap.
When the curtain falls, they bundle
In their coats, all set to go
And with hugs they part until
Next book club, mah jongg game or show.
171 E Swedesford Rd,
Unexpected positive experience
with regular totally tubular
gnarly patron first name Maureen
hmm... if only this burbling blurb
blog could somehow
be communicated - pro bono, cuz green
legal tender (mine) scarce -
anyway earlier
today December sixteenth
two thousand and nineteen
ah, my dog how serendipitously
I did germanely, modestly,
quintessentially shepherd convenient
rhyme with reason (hubble spontaneity)
three, five, eight, plus
this line thirteen...
(you get the idea, si?)
with eyes shut tight e'en
absentmindedly maneuvering "fake"
steering wheel, while zee queen
(think four foot eleven
spouse wearing spongebob
pajama pants) profusely thanked
police seeing eye dog approaching
and barking unforeseen
drove sitting on his haunches
on driver seat cop cruiser
smack dab nabbit
on our figurative docked toured tail
emulating crash test dummy
nearly didst almost careen
into our two thousand
and nine Hyundai Sonata
gave spouse faux paw high five
while flock of seagulls,
eagles, black crows...,
attired with red and green
holiday outfits suddenly appeared clean
(white hove out blizzard)
out of thin air nearly collided
with our self driving
automobile I amazingly
gratefully dodged tween
twenty plus miles north east
back to Schwenksville,
Pennsylvania, where this mean,
(once lean twice shy)
poetry (aye sup prose) writing machine,
now exuberant poet hoping
to garner (no bull lariat) keen
punny hush meant toward anybody
including trumpeting mujahedeen
hoot aches objection, which
courtesy self typing keyboard really
cool and groovy power
(smart thinkpad) reads my mind
pressing corresponding key visible
on Lenovo external large screen.
Identical twins. Never having a name.
Referred to as the Tone Twins. Hey, Twins! Twinsie.
Assumed to be one person for the first eighteen years.
Until one could get away, leaving fast, chased by the other.
Twin A is independent, likes being alone, seeks solitude.
Her identical-looking sister draws a crowd, likes attention.
Twin A is a creator, forming poems, cartoons, and artistic works.
Her identical-looking sister believes these outliers are nonsense.
Twin A is a reader, especially likes non-fiction,
biographies, and history.
Her identical-looking sister has not picked up a book for fifty-years.
Twin A has sought her own identity her entire life, distancing herself.
Twin B, still wants to dress alike, thank you very much,
still seeking attention.
Twin A is steadily reminding herself she has escaped,
she can stop running now.
Twin B is begging her to come to her church
and wear identical outfits; but Twin A loathes church.
Twin A enjoys her flowers, her vegetables, and her life.
As does Twin B, who continues to hope they are exactly alike.
Fall glides in on the wings
of migrating monarchs,
stained glass visions seeking respite
from a tedious journey
signaling a change in our surroundings
Blushing, the complexion of November
slips from swimsuit informalities
to fawn layered outfits of earth tone lace
Singing of cool breeze melodies
on chrysanthemum dance steps
Sweetly autumn reaches,
filling every part of my heart
collecting at my feet like fallen leaves
Swirling about me on winds of fleece lined affection
tickling fancies and coaxing smiles
Maple syrup hues cling to pumpkin seed desires,
painting pathways in tinted curves,
outlined in kaleidoscope siftings,
champagne ribbons winding
to stroll with the one you adore
Fireside encounters
warm of passion’s enduring flame
a’ glow on shade drawn windows
and pine needle temptations
floating of chilled evening whispers
Wrapped in my arms, hot cider dreams
gather amidst comforting aromas,
weaving scented shadows neath wool blanket motions
and as the season changes, so do I…
I fall more in love with you
Hey, you’re looking kinda frigid
Each step you take freezes the ground
Let me warm you up by taking
You out for some warm coffee
It’ll be a sunny breezy afternoon
Where the winds hit just right.
We playing a game of cards
And showing our poker faces.
If you don’t want to go fast
We can just slow down and
Take some aesthetic pics of
Our regal and cute dates.
I like to get straight to the point
But you love to dance around it.
So let’s postpone that question
And wear matching couple outfits.
Whatever we have won’t last long
It’s crazy how we’re afraid to be alone
But want to keep what we got on the low
We’re selfish the way we treat each other
It don’t matter cause
We just tryna have fun.
The gates open as a large crowd starts rushing in
A day of pomp and pageantry is about to begin
It is the first Saturday in May at Churchill Downs home of the Kentucky Derby
Top 3-year-olds from around the world circle the track in a frenzied hurry
The jockeys with their colorful outfits mount their horses
In just a few moments they will chart their course
The crowd is a sea of black and white colors with ladies wearing exquisite hats
Mint Juleps flow freely amongst the crowd as the patrons raise their glasses
A tribute to horses and jockeys 160 thousands people join in to sing My Old Kentucky Home
In a few minutes, the race will be run and the winner will be known
The horses are released from the starting gate the wait is over the race has begun
In the end, the horse I bet on comes out on top making the race that much more fun
Barbie was the ultimate fashionista.
I received her when I was nine;
she had a shape; no ordinary baby doll.
No baby at all. It was embarrassing to dress her.
Or rather undress her.
Then we had Midge. A friend but not as pretty
Freckles toned her down a bit; she was ordinary
Whereas Barbie was always the epitome of glamour.
I have over ten thousand Pinterest Barbie pins.
None of them duplicates, so yes, she has remained
a fashionista for seventy years.
Ken came after Midge, maybe not in your world
but in mine. He came in a box, wearing a red and white striped
bathing outfit; he was the boy next door, obviously
in love with Barbie, not ordinary every day Midge.
I can remember the Barbie and Ken carrying cases.
Their cars, their houses, their spectacular outfits.
Most too costly for us.
We made their clothes.
A poem about the recent loss of my identical twin sister. I love and miss you, sis...
--------------
there were two of me
once
not in the way people mean
when they talk about reflection
or similarity
or matching outfits in photographs
i mean two heartbeats
that learned each other
before language
before memory
before the world could name us separate
you were not beside me
you were with me
woven through one another
a second nervous system
a quiet, constant knowing
i never had to reach for
blue eyes
identical to mine
but still entirely yours
and now
reality keeps insisting
i am singular
as if that is not an amputation
as if i have not been bisected
without anesthesia
in a way that leaves no clean edge
no visible place to point and say
“this is where she was.”
i walk around
with an invisible wound
something missing
mutilated
i was torn apart
and whatever held me together
went with you
people look at me
and see a whole body
but i feel
disfigured
expected to live
without a vital organ
who am i
without the person
who made me make sense
who am i
without the witness
who knew me before i became
someone existent
they tell me
you are still here
in my laugh
in my hands
in the small, indescribable things
but that feels like
being asked to accept fragments
as a whole
i don’t want traces
i want what was ripped from me
as something outside of me
someone i could turn toward
someone who could look back
and lay your head on my shoulder
not this silence
stitched over
where you used to be
nerve endings exposed
left this way
there is no buffer
to help make sense of the world
turned inside out
like all the parts meant to be protected
are suddenly visible
and still
somewhere beneath the damage
beneath the wrongness of being only one
there is a thread
that did not break
i feel it
in the quiet moments
once filled with your voice
not gone
just unreachable
like a room in a house
i no longer have the key to
there were two of me
once
and even now
in ways i cannot prove
or properly survive
there still are.
Leaving at midnight on a Greyhound, I'm excited I'll be seeing my baby sister's family for two days and watch my nephew perform in CATS. In my small safari travel bag, these things I have packed:
Deoderant and my toothbrush (will sponge off my nephew for the toothpaste)
Two pairs of different colored contact lenses (gotta match my outfits)
A bottle of contact lense solution
Undies and sports bra
A pretty blue and yellow floral summer blouse (for when I watch my nephew perform in CATS)
Blue stretch denim jeans (and white ones as well, just in case)
Fashionable blue sandals
My supplements and sleeping pills in three tiny containers
My ASEA and COSEVA (They are helping me at least a little)
My cute new pink swimsuit (in case there is a pool somewhere)
My grey short shorts for exercise (in case I find a gym)
One of my favorite t-shirts which reads "I Need More Weekends"
Flat black comfortable shoes
A long t-shirt for my nightie
My cosmetic bag with makeup, face cream, nail file and hairbrush
A jewelry bag containing decorative combs and an extra ring
A pack of gum and my mouth guard
A small notebook and some pens for hopefully writing a few poems
My latest copy of TV Guide (I don't expect I'll be able to sleep on a bus!)
A borrowed book entitled "Uncensored Health You Can Have Today"
Healthy Peatos and "I Eat Bugs" snacks (to surprise my sister)
My purse with money, phone and charger inside (that completes things; the bag is less than 15 lbs. I always travel light because my trips are alway short!)
Date Written: Aug. 1, 2019
Writing Challenge 3, July 2019 - List
Sponsor: Dear Heart
She bear balances on tiny gold pedestal.
Her hot pink rhinestone tutu flaring.
I take a photo of her big oversized butt.
A big mistake as her relatives are glaring.
They chase me through tinsel town, Beary-Wood.
What crazy outfits these bears are wearing!
I turn to stick out my tongue for I am nuts.
Which I thought was funny and really daring.
Two of them do a spectacular mime act.
They are her cousins, their talent raring.
Her auntie is running in Jimmy Choos.
Pedestrians cannot help their staring.
One runs out in front of a black limousine.
Results in a loud horn with incessant blaring.
Sixteen bears are still chasing me pretty darned hard.
Two stop to fix someone’s hair, extraordinary beautician pairing.
One yells “hold up!” a talking bear? What?
Her boyfriend wants the photo. I do not mind sharing.
Fourteen bears catch up and surround me now.
Ask for my autograph; I thank them for caring.
They thank me too, and the day is a wow!