Long Pageants Poems
Long Pageants Poems. Below are the most popular long Pageants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pageants poems by poem length and keyword.
Nature held a Beauty Pageant
Guess who was crowned a crest?
A flowery green meadow was the stage and rostrum
Watch who won the contest.
Well, the peacock from India was crowned beauty King
The bird of paradise from New Guinea became Beauty queen.
And last but not least was the Indian tiger, runner up
But care he for beauty that he might as well sup?
And what care any of them
for accolades, crown or cup?
Other contestants were the gorgeous leopards
and the flimsy beauteous butterflies
They'll be crowned
next time around.
For beauty tis rich in supplies.
But nature-lovers alone applauded the flamboyant winners
who gaily stood upon the flora
They did come out with 'flying colors'
Around them nature's beauty an aura.
Miss world bird of paradise yet unaware of her placing
The peacock endowed by God a crown
They might never know of this showcasing
At our staring, gawping, they might just frown!
Then there are those unsung unawarded yet perfect beauties
both among mortals and animals
who join no display contests nor pageants
yet are undeniably glamorous nonetheless
for beauty ain't exclusive
to önly beauty contestants.
What did I do, what Karma is this
Where is the power, the glory, the bliss,
I didn't sign up for this constant pain,
I'm losing my mojo, going insane.
I gave up a bunch, my whole pampered life,
The glittering lights, a model for wife,
A media in love, fans all around,
Success beyond words to truly astound.
The Don was the man, the king of the heap,
The world's superstars in my presence would steep,
Invites and connections too many to count,
Politicians included my patronage tantamount.
My wealth and prestige more radiant than gold,
Everyone buying whatever I sold,
From Casinos to Pageants, Hotels by the score,
Anything Trump they just wanted more.
And now what is this my world full of grind,
My presence and words despised and maligned,
Melania so mad I tiptoe at night,
To then sleep alone, a truly sad sight.
But what my recourse, I've little to say
What I would do, what would I pay
To rewind the clock, swallow my pride,
Stick to my golf and from politics hide.
Too late for all that, I'm in to my neck
Just hoping and praying to avert a train wreck,
History's blunt it favors the winners,
No pity or quarter for ambitious beginners.
So here's the game plan, my only real shot
To well clear my name and wipe out this blot,
Another four years that's what I so need
For me to yet prove that I truly can lead.
And lead I sure will despite that grim bunch,
I'll use my fine guile peppered with hunch
To ram home the point beyond any doubt,
That I am the one with God-given clout.
The in thing to say now, everyone calls themselves pan or bi or trans
Annoying to me, for they have not experienced any abuse for it.
I have had three friends murdered, because they were trans.
Anyway, the police think this is the reason they were killed.
In the Bible-thumping belt where a book means more than a child.
Some religious leaders are preaching against anyone who is trans.
I was sitting in the front pew, wishing I wore dresses when I noticed.
Announcing I had a crush on the minister’s daughter, was a mistake.
Being only eight at the time, I did not realize how I would be bullied.
How many people would advise my mother to make a man out of me.
I could never be a man, I was a girl, accidentally living in a girl’s body.
I was trans before trans was accepted, I was ostracized.
Luckily, I had a mother who recognized I was being me.
That God had made me, and God did not make mistakes.
She began to buy me dresses and entered me into beauty pageants.
I now work as an advocate for other trans people.
Men and women who were thrown out of their parents’ homes
Because of prejudice and hatred toward people who live their truth.
I am proud to stand up for the trans people of the world.
I am excited to be part of their success story.
The fresh round-faced babe wears a teeny ribbon in her hair
Did they attach it with a bit of glue or what?
It is the only indicator she might be a she.
Little girls in Sunday school have ribbons on their socks,
Their collars, the edges of lace on their dresses
Their satin sheen shines up nicely, sprucing them a bit
Boys are not eager to get ribbons unless they are Iowa 4-H boys
Entering their livestock – lambs, calf, sow or steer in a fair
The white green and yellow ribbons do not mean much
But the blue and purple ribbons give them much to smile about
Girls are growing up, entering pageants, wearing a fat vertical ribbon
Saying Miss New Jersey, Corn Queen, or Pancake Princess
Brides dangle ribbons under their bridal bouquet
Ribbons are memories, tucked away in albums,
Brought out to admire when nostalgia prances about.
"As-salamu-alaikum,"
That is Arabic
for "Peace be upon you."
Like most beauty pageants,
I long for world peace, too.
I want no trouble; I wish you
Nothing but peace.
I sure hope you know
The kind I mean...
What? Do I want a piece of you?
Come on now, don't be silly.
Drop those dukes, my guy.
I am a peaceful man.
A lover, not a fighter.
Don't go grab a piece either!
No sir, I want no shootouts!
I'd rather live in peace and harmony.
I'm no bird-flipper; that's not my style.
I'd rather flash
Peace signs to you.
I prefer a firm handshake.
Over throwing and parrying hooks
Do not wage war with me.
I want no beef with you.
I've consumed more than my share.
Instead, can we at least try
Being vegetarians?
If you extend your hand
Right or left, I'd shake it
And wish you a nice life.
War is hell, it's a fact not lost on those
Suited and booted to fight in it.
Like shy kids in class reluctant to raise
Their hands to answer the teacher's questions,
They'd rather not be sent off to the trenches.
No one volunteers to be the sacrificial lamb
For the greater good, for glory, for legacy,
Not even for country. They'd rather not experience
The sheer ugliness and the crippling aftermath of war.
They'd rather not hear the dreadful sounds of gunfire.
Given the choice between war and peace,
There's absolutely no doubt which option
Soldiers would choose. Like beauty pageants,
They also cry for world peace.
They'd rather not step over bullet-ridden dead bodies
In a pool of blood, with guts hanging out of bellies
Images likely to haunt their dreams.
Soldiers are achingly human; they have real fears, too.
They'd rather be somewhere else than on the battlefield!
All Ukraine wanted was to be left alone to continue
Existing as a sovereign nation. They never asked for war.
Russia invaded Ukraine, bringing war to their doorstep.
The world is now watching David fight back Goliath,
And we know all too well how that story ends, don't we?
Given the choice between war and peace
There's absolutely no doubt which option
Soldiers would choose. Like beauty pageants,
They also cry for world peace.
World Peace Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Robert James Liguori
Date written: 03/09/2022
AH GREET OH
Ah greet oh, you masters of stealth,
In your cloaks of deception, nightly amassing wealth.
With a handshake & a nod, in shadowy corners you trade,
Your morals as slippery as the last meal you made.4
Ah greet oh, you architects of towering falsehoods,
Building facades beneath the watchful woods.
For every loophole, a trumpet blares,
While honesty quietly fades, lost in its snares.8
Ah greet oh, pageants of the plastic ideal,
Where beauty’s a creation, crafted with zeal.
From cheeks to curves, you sculpt & you shape,
Chasing a form that’s bought, then escapes.¹²
To the saviors of souls, standing in clinics so bright,
With choices so heavy, they tremble in fright.
A nod to your bravery, in the dimmest of light,
Balancing wrongs, asserting what’s right.¹6
Ah greet oh, merchants of our daily fears,
Profiting from the living, exploiting our tears.
Your names carved in shadows & deals in the night,
Leaving behind a mark, indelible & the hood in fright²°
Leaders in agbada, whose truths twist and sway,
Promises fly like kites, on the wind they play.
I applaud your dance, so delicate and fine,
Waltzing on dreams, on that thin silver line.²4
I greet you all, with my two hands raised high,
I see your shadow games, where you all lie.
For in each shadowed act and every part,
Lies a glimmer of hope, perhaps a fresh start.²8
To change, to reshape, to rethink your place,
In this grand decor, in this vast space.
As we dance and weave, in both light and night,
May our actions find a path toward what’s right.³²
May we chuckle at our folly, at this grand charade,
And greet each new dawn, unafraid, unfrayed.
In jest & in truth, through all when we come & go,
To you, to me, to us, ah greet oh! ³6
VICK MANUEL POETRY{VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©?4th March 2024.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On this day
I am so proud to be a woman
Phenomenal woman
Empowered
Impacted amazing
Turning dreams into reality
Making things happen
Driving our own boats
We are the captains
Entrepreneurs
Doctors, nurses,curers
A woman of many hats
Taking them off
Putting them on
Admiring the ability
It makes them strong
No longer alone
We hold the power
Round of applause
The ladies of the hour
All races black white Hispanic
And so much more
Opportunities are awaiting at the door
Sophisticated
Yea we rock
We are no longer at the bottom Always coming out on top
We pop but pop differently
We are amazing
Winning pageants
Tennis records breaking
Venus and Serena
You all are magic
Achieve your dreams
Catch it grab it
Make it a habit
To want success
Give it your all be your best
We are of flesh
We have tough skin
We are out here trying to win
We are making it without
It's women's day hear me out
Equal opportunities we can work any job
They use to say we couldn't because it was to hard
We proved them wrong
We have executives
Calling our phones
Little girls ?? believing in themselves
Gaining confidence
In a cruel world
Pure as a pair of pearls
Opening up their mouths
Not afraid to use their voice
Letting everyone know what you do with your life is your choice
Mother's making it happen raising Kings and queens teaching them alot
Building up their self esteem
Different non profit organizations
Helping those in need
Giving from the heart
Women making a difference
Giving others a chance
Joyful jumping breaking out in a dance
Today we celebrate you
Queens on this day
Among the land of the living
It is such an honor a day for us Women
Written by: Concetta Hardnett
03/08/2020
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
The Real Christmas
From Black Friday to Christmas Eve,
presents to purchase and wrap.
Office and family parties, visits to relatives
platters of food and gallons of alcohol.
Trees dressed to the nines in dangling baubles
and twinkling lights.
Continuous Christmas carols blaring from radios
and loud speakers.
Wreaths and decorations to adorn tables,
night stands, credenzas, book shelves.
Lights hung in strings so large that rows
of houses look like runways for planes.
Inflatable Santas, snowmen, reindeer and nutcrackers
compete for space in yards.
Nativities, pageants, plays special music
consume congregations.
Is this the real Christmas?
Or perhaps it is-
A silent night, two thousand years ago
in a dimly lit cave.
A babe wrapped in woolen clothes
lying in a sheep’s feeding trough.
Only shepherds and loving parents
in attendance.
An infant destined to change history.
The future savior of the world.