Long Pants Poems
Long Pants Poems. Below are the most popular long Pants by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pants poems by poem length and keyword.
Howling at the Pink Super Moon
On a moonlit late night
The Pink Supermoon
Casting a baleful light
On the world below
While inside
Sam Adams sat drinking
In a depraved bar
In a den of iniquity
In an evil part of the city
On the left side
Of society
Drinking up a storm
With his buddies
Johnny Walker, Jack Daniels
Jim Beam, and Mr. Evan
And Old Granddad looked on
Encouraging him to drink
One scotch, one bourbon, and one beer
He was just an unhinged lunatic
Dreaming of howling at the full moon
Watching the world walk by
Looking at all the fine-looking babes
Walking by the street
Thinking wild, erotic thoughts
Of endless wild libertine passions
He looked up
At the naked dancing ladies
Dancing up a storm
With an attitude
A Z tude
That could kill
When into the bar
Walked the most beautiful women
In the Universe
So wild, so free
So wonderfully alive
He did not know what to do
As this vision of delight
Sauntered through the bar
In skin-tight leather pants
Looked so fine
That his eyeballs hurt
Finally, he had to say something
he gathered up my manly courage
He walked up to her
She looked at him
Instantly bewitched his soul
With a devilish grin
He lost all reason
And became a raving lunatic
Unhinged lunatic
Under the lunatic light of the full moon
Of the blood-red lights of the moon
Full of wild passions
The lustful beast stirs again
And starts running and running
Howling at the moon
Riding into the new dawn
On a demented Harley Davis cycle
With two naked babes on his back
Riding into the sun
90 miles per second
At the speed of thought
He disappears into the lunatic light
Of the full moon
Sam Adams woke up alone,
In his bed
The naked babes
Having disappeared
From his demented dreams
Saying,
“Man, that was quite a night
I better not go there again”
The wild beast
Laughs
He has heard that before
And joins him
In howling at the Pink moon
In the fading light
Of the lost last night
Of the newly damned
It wasn't my fault I didn't get it done
This has been a truly horrible day
I'm telling you it sure hasn't been fun.
Oh I tried my best to do it your way
The instructions got caught up in the wind
This has been a truly horrible day
Lost from the start, with nowhere to begin
My frustration makes a whole lot of sense
The instructions got caught up in the wind.
The next thing, I'm sitting on a fence
The white pickets ripped a hole my pants
My frustration makes a whole lot of sense
You're thinking this is, just a song and dance
It wasn't my fault I didn't get it done
The white pickets ripped a hole in my pants
I'm telling you it sure hasn't been fun
Excuses Contest
Inspirational Quotes
"NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE, THE WORD ITSELF SAYS, 'I'M POSSIBLE!'" ~ Audrey Hepburn
I saw Mount Everest touch the sky,
and felt my feet had conquered high.
Demons of sadness, grief and sorrow,
whispered deep: "No hope for tomorrow."
People stared like I was ghost and gloom,
my limbs were lost upon a battlefield tomb.
Each door was closed, each path with thorn,
everything seemed lost, the spirit worn.
But in my chest a fire did stay,
with courage, will, I found the way.
For "NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE" rings true,
the word itself cries "I'M POSSIBLE" to you.
So why should I hear echoes of "you can't"?
When dreams were sewn within my pants.
Storms came sneaking, stole my breath,
death zone winds called out to death.
Yet step by step, through pain and ice,
I climbed that world’s most cruel device.
And now I sit atop the crown,
feet on Everest, and won’t back down.
My heart beats loud and makes this decree:
"A MAN MAY BREAK, BUT HE WILL NEVER BE DEFEATED."
I know there are many examples of gender equality issues
but I wish to write about women's pant pockets
be they jeans or other pants . . .
the pockets in women's pants are tiny and useless
but men's pockets are large enough for a wallet, a cell, keys
and maybe things we do not even want to know about
why do men deserve big useful pockets and women don't ?
not all women want to carry a big fat wallet
with our life story within . . .
nor carry a purse to put that wallet in
that resembles carry on luggage
We want pockets, big pockets in our jeans, our pants
and how about those fake pockets designers think we need
those totally useless, pointless fake pockets, sigh
Women of the world are demanding useful pockets in their pants
is that too much to ask for ?
___________________________
February 6, 2020
Poetry/Verse/Women's Pant Pockets
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1223-637-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Gender Equality
sponsor, Kia Michael Neumann
Sixth Place
I wake up and I think what am I doing here?
Why here? Why the bitter cold Midwest in the winter?
Why not California or Florida, Georgia or Texas?
Why this icy, cold, air-inducing asthma tundra?
It is so cold out there. Only 18 degrees today, sometimes less,
Zero degrees sometimes, minus six degrees other times.
Why I am I here? I toy with the idea of calling in sick.
I am an older worker, if I start doing this will they replace me with two youngers?
I could make up an excuse and call in late; but then, I would probably forget the excuse that I used. Remember last time? It must be ugly-cold out there. My feet are freezing!
Okay, Brain tells us, calm down. Be calm. Take deep breaths. Concentrate on your clothes.
What about warm socks? You could wear two pairs of pants;
you can double those socks.
Your winter boots are pretty warm.
I run to my bedroom and pull on anything and everything,
Wishing I could find two fluffy socks that match, but I cannot.
Black with white giant dots and neon-red and green that blink might be obviously too different even for me.
I sit down for a second, take a drink of my coffee, look down at my shirt.
It looks like someone stabbed me to death and I had black blood.
The Oreo cookie that I dunked in the coffee is everywhere on my shirt.
And it was just washed. I look like a train wreck! I change the shirt, and sit to reflect.
I am so hot! So very hot. I cannot believe how hot I am.
Listen, Brain says, start taking off some clothes.
Maybe six shirts were too many. I take off two of them.
My husband comes around the corner and asks “Why are you still here?”
A primal scream turns into a roar, and I chase him back into his office. Ready to go now. All well.
I send him an email asking him to buy me some fluffy socks that match.
it has been a long time since you've seen me
you wonder if i can still write with my left hand
you looked for me on the beach side
all you found was a pair of pants with empty pockets
you searched for me on the sound side
all you could find was a couple of used up pens and some badly damaged pads
the footprints have been all washed up
the cell phone has been abandoned and badly damaged by the elements
you do not notice me on the balcony of the penthouse suite watching you search for me
you do not discover me me waving at you as you look around with sad and brokenhearted confusion
if i give you more creations to entertain the passion's palate, would you yearn for more if i pointed to the right
will you see me again
SEED OF ABRAHAM
HABITUAL attendance stacks the odds?
God makes no MISTAKES.
The stars twinkle day and night,
MYRIAD upon MYRIAD for so long.
Flowing robes, jutting HUMBLED chests
Caressing the torah, oh lovely scroll
Kicks those sinners in the pants
Dare they to DISOBEY the law
The blues: don’t dare to rearrange
Our lives so PEDESTAL perfect,
My mother so proud on the day,
I swore allegiance to my FATHER’S heritage.
God starts swatting those stars, like flies,
Extinguishing the cigarette butts,
Lassoing lies and stealing thunderclaps.
He kisses the newborn stars in his see-through palms.
They fly like butterflies, like fun confetti, like grains of sand.
Sky kisses at the border of heaven, the first stop.
Second heaven screams and stomps.
The third heaven awaits its lovely SPRING flowers.
3/7/2017
Julia Ward's Someone, or Something Replaceable Contest
Galatians 3:29 If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed,
and heirs according to the promise (NIV)
When you can’t wait to retire
and deem death your only true ally,
When children get on your nerves
and you rush through
the family dinner to be left alone,
When a sermon tries your patience
and a speech makes you restive,
When you keep hankering
after the days of yore
and find solace
in the dusk of the day,
When you are obsessed by
the thoughts of just going away
somewhere and getting lost,
When the closeness
of the closest ones
get too close for comfort,
When you find there’s nothing
left to prove anything to anyone,
When no joke tickles your funny bone
And you fret no more
over a bad hair day,
When you forget to zip your pants
and just shrug off when pointed –
May be it’s time to
dog-ear the page of your life
and close the book!
~"Introspective" contest by Lewis Raynes.
My crushes are so numerable, it is crazy to try to remember them all.
When I love you it’s in a full blown puppy way, in your lap with Tarzan’s call.
Sky King, Mighty Mouse, Bugs Bunny, The Pink Panther, Howdy Doody.
Yes, I know it is dating me. I also crush on things sweet and fruity.
Cobbler, filled donuts, eclairs, turnovers, any kind of pie especially cherry.
I loved being outside picking fruit, peas, beans, and all kinds of berry.
I crushed on mushrooms fresh from the woods full of tiny ants.
When I got a bit older I crushed on bell bottoms, the hippy pants.
Crush on Elvis, Johnny Cash, John Wayne, Maureen Sullivan and others.
Cannot get enough of Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, and Agatha Christie.
Love all things shiny dazzling – rhinestones, aluminum foil, names like Trixie.
Attracted beyond belief to Tina Turner, Cher, Bette Midler and Adam Lambert.
A hippie throwback with a green thumb; I love to wear a three tiered skirt.
TV is not my thing at all, but I love to paint, swim, dance, play racquetball.
I love what I love, and I mean for the rest of my life, flat out in a puppy way.
So if you want to be my friend, make sure it’s forever because I don’t play.
Cinderella hatched a sneaky plan,
make a prince her one and only man,
to look sexy for the ball,
a fairy answered her call,
completed...her secret master plan.
----------------------------
With her stepsisters so very beastie.
plain Cinderella needed to brake free,
she had to bag a sexy prince,
so she took every yard and inch,
her name now starts with an S, not a C.
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The giant said fee fi fo fum,
my nose can smell a stinky bum.
In dark, jack quietly hid,
but he squirted like a squid,
pants filled with the body's outcome.
---------------------
Young jacks mum called him such a weirdo,
when tossing the beans out the window,
in the sunny morning light,
she got a fright from the sight,
and then praised young jack as a hero.