Long Pajamas Poems
Long Pajamas Poems. Below are the most popular long Pajamas by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pajamas poems by poem length and keyword.
Is it so pretentious of me to want to play a child’s game?,
Come on, it’s a tale old as time,
I spy with my little eye,
Tell me what you see,
Something red?,
Something blue?,
Could you be any more boring,
My turn,
I spy with my little eye,
A big white guy in a mask,
You see him too, right?,
Well of course you do!,
You’re the one who gave him the crown,
And handed him a gun,
What’s he need that for, huh?,
Oh, and by the way, did you hear about that chick Miranda?,
I heard she used to hand out a whole list of rights that were read at every arrest,
But these guys shot her dead,
They call themselves the I.C.E.,
But I think they’re just a bunch of modern day Nazi’s,
I even saw one guy with a swastika on his neck,
But it doesn’t matter because it looked a lot like the American Flag,
Okay I’ll go again,
I spy with my little eye,
Three bullet holes through the side of that mother’s face,
Didn’t you catch it?,
You couldn’t guess it when you watched the video on repeat?,
How far right are you?,
Or wrong, I suppose,
Okay, ready,
I spy with my little eye,
A five year old boy in a bunny hat,
Maybe it’ll match the striped pajamas they throw him in once he’s made it to the camp,
Bait,
I’d guess,
But that’s normal ain’t it?,
They told me it’s okay,
That this five year old was a drug lord and a violent criminal,
The worst of the worst,
So kill him,
And then kill me,
Because this game just seems to repeat,
And all I see are families being dragged into vans and sent away,
And picked up off the streets,
So tell me,
When are you going to open your eyes and see it too?,
Because I spy with my little eye,
Terrors in the streets we are not angry enough about,
Not even close to angry enough,
And when we elected the KKK leader into office,
Shouldn’t we have anticipated he’d be handing out pointy white hats?,
And waiting until the next thing we see is the cross burning in the street,
Because this is the justice that people were after,
Anything to not have to see a woman lead,
And I spy with my little eye,
The death of me,
The death of you,
And the death of being free,
The murder of the American Dream.
Oh say can you see blood soaked
Baltimore reeking of falsified documents
blood soaked levies oh say can you see
corruption over board Atta Mohammed
and Bin Laden brought to trial on this land
oh say can you see veterans crying while
domestic abusers dine in Caribbean pajamas
oh say can you see our beautiful flag torn
tatters lifted rasing all doubt as truth balance
gravity a surety of peace no organized crime
could ever devour with falsified documents
orchestrated to assist abusers and target
the victims of domestic violence oh say can
you see Francis Scott Key galloping over the
bridge chanting the red coats are coat they
came dear and falsified documents data breach
to harm disabled veterans and their families
waarheid thee uncharted endeavor of fraud and
waste have mercy on us and on the whole world.
And our Flag was still There .
This 'Heroic' Crown of Sonnets, I am posting as seven separate Sonnets, for ease of reading. This is written with thanks to a fellow poet, who is most likely too modest to be mentioned, but whose great mastery is evident in everything he writes.
ONE
I come home, and she’s cooking in pajamas,
She’s overjoyed, she’s out of bed, at all!
She handled it with no qvetching, no dramas,
She wasn’t ill, but she was never well…
I smell rice, olive oil, garlic and onions,
She makes food simple, clean, wholesome to eat,
She weekly went to doctors – not for bunions!
She had long, skinny, happy, healthy feet!
I kiss her like I ne’er before have kissed her,
She hugs and lets me hold her by the door…
She dealt with life so wisely – how I’ve missed her!
She had to keep both feet firm on the floor.
I come home, and she’s in her fuzzy jammies,
SO beautiful, and cutting up salamis!
They always want to see them
Whenever they come home –
The movies of the “olden days”
Before they left to roam.
“Show the ones of Christmas
Or the baby ones of me
Or times on Martha’s Vineyard
On the beaches by the sea.”
We marvel at how young we were.
We gambolled in the waves,
Made faces at the camera,
And built sea-creature caves.
We laugh at all the birthdays,
Baby hands all frosted cake –
We point out all the relatives -
Who’s that, for goodness’ sake!
The Christmases of long ago
Show up with gifts galore!
We’re still in our pajamas,
Piles of wrappings on the floor!
It doesn’t seem that long ago -
Those days so far behind -
And the movies bring them back,
As we watch the past unwind.
Moonbeams slide
Control the tide
Guide Oceans apart
Eco collapsing background
A shooting star for true dreams
Never has life been so zombie-like
You are your own addict
A mutant destiny
Ocean’s apart odd people aside
Muck with her smile and ill muck with your day
Like and Love pajamas gloves
I love my woman
She has a set of kick ass legs
She has control over the saints of weakness
I love my woman
Nothing can wait ineluctable saint
Ocean’s apart odd people aside
Muck with her smile and ill muck with your day
Moonbeams slide
Control the tide
Ocean’s apart, odd people aside
An ECO-collapsing background
The only immolated truth
I am hiding in my bedroom, scared to death because my pajamas are not new.
I dare not put down my soup bowl because Bowl Licker will grab it up for stew.
I can feel him hiding under my bed, ready to grab it so I keep it beside me.
Christmas is scary, for I expect to see Christmas Cat under the tree.
Father Christmases, I say, in my most apologetic voice, hoping they all hear.
I can feel your presence, and apologize I could not get new pajamas this year.
I can hear Sausage-Swiper in the rafters, and he is free to eat all of my meat.
But keep Gryla away from us if you could, for I have had naughty little feet.
I can hear Stubby and Spoon Licker in the kitchen, slurping on our food.
They are teasing and laughing, truly in a funny Icelandic hilarious mood.
Gluggagaegir is at the window, peeping at me to open it up; he has a pup.
I dive under grandma’s homemade quilt, and cover my whole body up.
Christmas in other places might be happy, exciting, and a little bit tame.
In Iceland, we have thirteen Yule lads. Each has his own specialty fame.
If we are good, we can get candy from Skyr-Gobbler and his brothers.
But if we are bad, we can get boiled alive by Gryla. Just ask our mothers.
Hi, I'm Druzy, and I'm a big girl cuz I'm six
I'm stuck inside today...Oh, FIDDLESTICKS!!!
Mom said I can't go outside cuz it's raining
I cried and she yelled, "Druzy, stop complaining!"
Bored with games, I sat, pouting on the couch
Something pinched me, and I screamed, "Ouch!"
That's when I saw them; two witty bitty things
who were giggling and flapping little fairy wings.
One made faces at me each time I'd blink.
Said, "My name is Blythe. I always wear pink."
The other whispered that Alayna was her name
then she asked if I'd like to play a fairy game.
I kept blinking at them with my big brown eyes,
thinking, "Do they have the power to hypnotize!"
They chanted a song I had never heard
but it made me start singing like a mocking bird!
My head got really heavy and started spinning.
The little fairies were mischievously grinning.
They touched sparkling wands to my head
just as Mom said, "Druzy, it's time for bed."
I frowned, as crocodile tears were falling
The fairies said, "Druzy, please stop bawling.
Come with us to Willow Wisp On High.
We have fairy dust that will make you fly."
Blythe gently blew glittery dust in my face.
I sneezed, and my pajamas turned into pink lace.
"Now you will shrink to become our size
and we'll travel on a moonbean that we crystallize."
On this magical night I saw wonders...galore!
A dragon dancing with a beautiful sprite, and more...
But I was getting sleepy as the sun began to rise
so home I flew, surrounded by golden butterflies.
December 10, 2020
Fantasy with fictional beings contest
Caren Krutsinger-Sponsor
267 word count
Peeking out from behind the bed was a wide banded raccoon king.
I thought he was a regular raccoon, for I did not know of such a thing.
He bared his broken yellow teeth and gave me a bit of a fright.
You see I was in my pajamas, ready to turn in for the night.
How am I getting him out of here? I asked a 911 operator on the phone.
She thought it was hilarious and told me to write it up in a poem.
But he is a wild animal, I told her. And he is scary and could be mean.
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and I saw the left one was green.
He’s got a green eye! I said to the operator; there was fear in my voice.
My name is King Rickery Roo Rowdy Rollens Rugubuggy Royce.
He said this with authority, and I felt he might be rather tame.
He sat down and challenged me to a wild monopoly game.
We became good friends, King Rickery Roo and I.
He comes every once in a while when the tides are way high.
He loves my bathroom and my yellow rubber ducky too.
I do not ask, but I would guess he also uses my loo.
There’s a peace that whispers soft
when I step beneath the open sky,
trees stretching in green prayer,
branches swaying like the hands
of a thousand saints, lifting their weight
toward something higher.
In moments when I’m alone,
that wide sky pulls me in close—
a blue blanket tucked around shoulders
on a night lit only by stars.
Crickets keep time, their gentle song
finding rhythm with my heart.
I think of the quiet crack of a baseball bat,
the ball arcing high, a promise carried on the wind,
a flight so clear it feels like love.
In a way, it's the same—a swing of hope,
the reach for connection,
the leap toward something more.
And isn’t that like a prayer, too?
Those small moments when I feel Him,
like sunlight slipping through autumn leaves,
or in the crisp warmth of pajamas fresh from the line,
or the sacred stillness of a Sunday afternoon.
Nature wraps around me like comfort,
reminding me I am never truly alone,
even when no one’s near—
because in each bird’s song, each gust of wind,
each blade of grass bending beneath my feet,
there is something holy, something here.
The older I get the more I hate shoes
When I was a teen I loved to choose
Different leather pumps and high heels
Wearing shoes now is a not a big deal
I like my old mules now out of style
As my feet can be free slide in and out
And those Crocs are popular for sure
But I just can’t get into them no lure
As a teen I was a fancy sharp dresser
Now I struggle to get dressed a stressor
Summer shoes and sun dresses are ok
But can’t wait to get home and strip away
I’m so happy, blessed to live home alone
As hot flashes happen want nothing on
When I do wear pajamas I like them loose
So there is less trauma to boobs, caboose