Long Pillowcase Poems
Long Pillowcase Poems. Below are the most popular long Pillowcase by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pillowcase poems by poem length and keyword.
He will leave me low
he will leave me not ...
oh, flower, do your petals know?
If I sleep with him, sparks won't keep; knowing my truth,
he'll cut me loose. Each day and night, I plot and plan to
avoid sleeping snuggled with my man. He has love's need
to cuddle bed deep but I know he'll either laugh or weep.
Flower, to him I'll confide I'm ever wishin' that a garage
door sealed my kitchen. Smiling, I'll say I sleep-eat;
wake with berries in my hair and bits of eclair. I'll tell
him lowering sheets may expose chip bits and also relief
there are no dips. I'll say I eat unaware and can't be
woken, but will he run after I've spoken?
Once I've told of sleep crumbs, I have to tell him I sleep
sucking my tongue. Putting another smile on my face, I'll
say my fingertips rub my pillowcase. I wasn't breast fed
so, I fell in this mold and my tongue noise is loud, I'm told.
The pillowcase must be my mother's skin and sucking my
way of drinking in.
Flower, will he cuddle in my bed, knowing I'll chew, suck
and rub near his head? I'll leave out that scratching the
end of my spine makes me go pee, every time.
He will leave me low,
he will leave me not,
he will leave .... running with all he's got.
On many beds there is a spread
(Or blankets may be used instead)
To cover pillowcase and sheet;
It makes the bedroom nice and neat.
I know not everyone agrees.
In life, there are no guarantees
That what appeals to someone’s taste
Will be by everyone embraced.
For surely many find it strange
To smooth the sheets and rearrange
The pillows and to place on top
What needs removing ‘fore you flop.
To some an unmade bed, I guess,
Is not perceived to be a mess
But rather someplace, it would seem,
All set to delve into a dream.
Yet I would feel a heap of guilt
If daily I’d not lay my quilt
To be peeled back when sleep seems sweet
And in the morning, thus repeat.
It’s been a year now since we were like family,
We talk sometimes now, but are so far from how close we use to be,
When I drive by your estate, the one I spent so many nights in,
I think of when we were just two inseparable kids,
It shouldn’t hurt this much to see you moving on,
But when you left it hurt enough to write this song,
You’re making inside jokes, just like we use to do,
In June 2024, I thought I’d never have to miss you,
We said going to different schools, wouldn’t change our friendship,
Yet the moment we left that classroom, your tone began to shift,
I thought I’d found my maid of honour for my wedding day,
But you were just another lesson, the hardest one I had to face,
It shouldn’t hurt this much to see you moving on,
But when you left it hurt enough to write this song,
You’re making inside jokes just like we used to do,
In June 2024, I thought I’d never have to miss you,
Opened, delivered, texting dry,
Until you left without a goodbye,
You will never know about the tears I’ve cried,
Each one hitting the pillowcase, shows how much I have tried,
I tried to keep our friendship, you were just like family,
Now a year later, you still mean so much to me,
It shouldn’t hurt this much to see you moving on,
But when you left it hurt enough to write this song,
You’re making inside jokes just like we use to do,
In June 2024, I thought I’d never have to miss you,
In June 2024, I thought I’d never lose you.
Music and romance are camarilla comrades,
just like poems are my shield and arrows.
But not all lullabies of lovers,
harmonise like a street choir of angels.
If love resembles the weather,
then poetry is like a snowflake.
Its fragile abstract nature
can betray the innocence of a poetic heart -
serenading in slaughtered symphonies of silence.
When lust burns in assailable impurity,
love suffers in small doses,
performing a masquerade concealing truthful tones.
So what is the purpose of poetry if it offers no remedy?
Whispering winds form hailstorms in my mind,
wondering if there is a sanctuary
for lonely spirits suffering as seasonally sad souls.
In the midst of melancholic misfortune,
I wish to drown in tepid tides of holy water,
because fate is frozen in winter wanderlust.
Heartache taught me how to be a poet,
each scar inflicted from profound lies and cries.
But what is the purpose of poetry if there is no muse?
In the perception of imagination,
I search for the one
who left frozen tears on my pillowcase.
But her eyes see celestite waves kissing
ecru shorelines under blue pearlescent skies,
blessed with the radiance of saffron sunshine,
in the heavenly harmony of relaxing music.
So, I wonder why she resides in ebony emotions,
refusing to dance, lost in lyrical lament.
Some spirits evolve into envious entities,
but mine just misses the rose window to her soul.
When wine dark skies glare in misery and gloom,
composing ashen clouds to pour in plentiful rain,
I feel the chills of an Antarctic iced leaf on an ice covered lake,
but maintain an evergreen glow,
hoping to forever illuminate like cathartic moonlight -
reflecting upon her bronze fibers.
Opposites attract like fireflies in the night.
I am the bridge and you are the chorus.
so I follow footprints in the snow,
under the guidance of devotary sincere stars.
In the hope we will make melodies at midnight -
merging into rivers of unassailable purity
And If I can't be a poet, then I'll become a poem.
I cannot predict how my ink will spill,
so will you guide each verse to give it a purpose,
breathing my words into life?
Will you love me more than poetry?
Kissing all those diamond promises
into my rhinestone heart -
or will you massacre the music,
abandoning me like an unfinished symphony.
Every word is a choice
The notebook page is hungry
She needs verbs
Her blank page excites me
Verbs are my favorites too
I give her a teaspoonful of jumping, dancing, and twirling
She gulps that down with gusto
Gives me a nod
I feed her a tablespoon of whirling, skipping and hopping
Followed by a cup of adjectives
I like her to have a balanced diet
Exciting, thrilling, beautiful, marvelous, entertaining
More adjectives? Black, salty, red, inky, personable
Where are my nouns? The page asks.
I ponder. Dragon? Unicorn? Witch? Pillow case?
She laughs
Pillowcase it is.
I take out my pen.
A ninety-two year-old whirling twirling pillowcase was having
An exciting, marvelous, beautiful entertaining visit, wowing
The other women in the next church pew.
Little things that made her laugh, ways that she came to me
Lilies by her photograph, beauty beyond beauty
Poems on her pillowcase, smiles to bring the dawn in
Pain etched deep within her face, the sorrow, now I mourn
Kindness to all living things, mercy for the broken
Dahlias before diamond rings, love of life unspoken
Lazy walks down mazy lanes, all our leaves were falling
Hazy thoughts, love-crazy brains, memories I recall
That love, that love, stronger than the sun
That love, that love, a love for only one,
My love for you just goes on and on
That love is still this love.
Now my mind's in reverie, here comes our song again
Fire in your eyes for me, feel the passion heal the pain
Heart by heart, and soul by soul you took my rhythm from me
Traded for my stride you stole you burned your love print on me.
That love for me, stronger than the sun
That love for me, love for only one
My love for you just goes on and on
That love will always be this love.
Act Three - the nap
Naptime was uneventful. The girls didn’t show up. The dog snores. He drools. The pillowcase is a brownish, water stained, Picasso-esque masterpiece.
Act Four - table for three
Dogs are omnivorous, they will eat anything that hits the floor. The cat is more selective. It will use a single claw to remind him of its likes and dislikes. If it is rare steak the cat will use several claws and a paw to guide his hand from plate to gaping maw. The dog will pretend it is sleeping and drool in anticipation. If he opens a can of tuna he believes that the cat will have an ****** as it claws his leg. The three of them eat a highly protein(aka-meat)-centric diet.
John G. Lawless
©4/28/2023
I am the wind
You cannot see me ,but you can feel me
breezin' gently through your hair
Brushin' slightly across your cheek
Whisperin' softly 'neath your ear
I am the wind , whirling , howling
roaring fiercely against the desert sand
which sifts silently through
the hourglass of your soul.
I will not fail you, nor leave your side
till you smell fresh rain again
and soak under cascading waterfalls.
I am the wind ,extinguishing wild fire
which scars the lifeline of your palm.
I am the wind , blowing fragrance
in the honey of each meadow
where you lay down beneath a half sun .
I breathe warmth where your cold fingers
gather forget-me -not petals, that fall ever so slow
with every drip drop of my fluetish tapping sound.
I am the wind , I will carry you to places , far...
I'd tickle your lips with fluttering feathers of early doves
that soar above your mirthful past.
I'd strip your thought bare till I touch your heart.
I am the wind wafting by your pillowcase
I play within your dreams ,with each seductive move
I capture the hour of a star.
I linger in the depths that once were dark
I pour rose-scented zephyr in the alleys of your night
Then I leave , I leave to return closer
Closer enough to let my song reveil your sight.
For Personification Contest ,sponsored by Lewis Raynes.
All I want is a warm safe space
where I can sit and unwind;
Comfort can sometimes be a place;
Put a slower rhythm in my pace
go where I can leave it all behind,
all I want is a warm safe space;
Disappearing without a trace
when I dissolve into my mind,
comfort can sometimes be a place;
Secured within a lover’s embrace
it’s a feeling that cannot be defined;
All I want is a warm safe space;
Instantly in a positive headspace
a cafe filed with the vibe ‘Be Kind’,
comfort can sometimes be a place;
Wishing each night into my pillowcase
it cannot be that difficult to find;
All I want is a warm safe space,
comfort can sometimes be a place.
at night I float deep in my dreams
I drift among the blinking stars
in the night sky
I hang on a crescent moon
then fall, fall, fall, fall
to find myself in a magical garden
lush, green, and alive
the flowers whisper my name
reaching out they caress my cheek,
my lips, my hair, my arms
such a rich vivid tapestry of colors
with petals like velvet
and leaves emerald or forest hued
I am meandering, wandering
a cobbled path, on and on, and on
until, I come to an old brick house
where a woman is watering flowers
and humming a familiar tune
I know this house,
this woman
this tune
I start running towards her calling
MOTHER . . .
suddenly I am in my bed
weeping, weeping
my tears
watering the flowers on my pillowcase
____________________________
April 22, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/watering the garden of dreams
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1245-689-03
All Rights Reserved, 20202, Constance La France
Title Chosen #5 Watering The Garden Of Dreams
Written for the contest, Pick-A-Title, Vol 16 - Free Verse 2
sponsor, Edward Ibeh
Fourth Place