Long Plain jane Poems
Long Plain jane Poems. Below are the most popular long Plain jane by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Plain jane poems by poem length and keyword.
It was a long summer and the bees did their job,
For the trees were filled with apples, hanging like little knobs.
Oh, those orbs, they looked so delicious and red,
I gathered so many, I had to put the bushels in the shed.
They would be the source of a season of treats,
And anyone who wanted, could have their fill of the eats.
Cakes were baked, Crisps were done too,
I even tried my hand at fresh applesauce, before the season was through.
I did apple salads and baked apples as well,
But it was the pies that got adulation, so of those I will tell.
Paring and slicing in an expedient way,
The apples were ready, shortly before midday.
Then with a mixture of flour, sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg,
I make them into a filling, that would even make a king beg.
I've tried so many kinds of pastry to fill,
From filo and puff, to rolled out traditional.
And I have to say whilst patting myself on the back,
They all taste great, flavor they do not lack.
The traditional pie is the one most people enjoy,
I have tried to improve on it, since I was a boy.
I learned how to make it at Mom's left hand,
Roll out the crust, the filling never canned.
Pats of butter on top before you cover,
Make for a pie that will be loved world over.
Then to seal the pie, brush it with melted butter, and cut some slits,
Pop it in the oven, and just wait for it.
The tantalizing aromas just make me wild,
Just as they did, when I was a child.
The moment the pie comes out I can see,
That another triumph has been made perfectly.
The dome is golden, the apples are done,
Now, only to wait for it to cool, before we can enjoy some.
Some like it ala mode...with ice cream you know,
But I'm a plain Jane, and for me it's not the right combo.
So I just have a slice that's warm on the plate,
And will my appetite, begin to sate.
It is one of my favorite desserts,
Of this I will always my willingness assert.
The only thing that troubles me,
Is all the bushels left to peel, when I have time free.
But I will do them, and into the freezer they are thrust,
Waiting for me to them into another pie, as so often I must.
off the top of my head i could say alottle bit bout things better left dead
kinda like the travesties the people for the poeple continue to ongo like tennis to from
fro and back an forth as long as we go hand in claw into the damaged land then seemingly
all things fall as planned so i go against the flow by being as different as possible
ino longer wish to buck a system desined to coerce me into submission
just as i cant support a government or hyerarchy that will not could not fathom on how to
support me
but i'll take my licks dished by peers with stick made of a rolling tongue
i'll laugh then cry, shudder and die only to re-birth myself as a creature
of renewed health wealth and state of mind,lessness
because without the hateful parade of all the dismayed i would have no ammunitions for my
decision to no longer trust you or me or any thing else that seems to be real to me off
the top of my head i lust in trusting the world is better off dead
so to this pain and atrocities i theewedd
until something stronger than you or i comes tobe i,ll still be plain jane old me longing
to be free of poeples visions of me or what they think of we
cause no matter what comes or go what you or they say at the end of my day
its not who iam but what they think and so lost in minding others p,s n q,s
they dont notice whats to lose so stand confused point snicker
i,ll be your accused and off the top i could fathom worse fates than laying down
to a bruised ego and i,ll stay calm outside while you stagger away without a soul
for the last time you tighten your grip only to lose your hold
so my thanks to the masses of passives
without you there would be no
me foreveralways v.c.
Form:
You can't Punk my metal, you can't Punk my metal/
You may steal my ouija board from the cemetery/
But, you can never punk my metal/
You can't Punk my metal, my verses are stainless/
All my opponents are like zombies, they're brainless/
Their verses are painless, you don't feel a thing/
But every time I speak, you feel it in your veins/
Adrenaline high, my songs are do or die/
Trying to imitate my style, you can't even try/
My word play is something that you can not explain/
All these metal wannabe are just Plain Jane/
I'm changing the game, you a pawn in the way/
This King will take your Queen, it's nothing you can say/
You just trying to stay afloat, I'm the skipper on this boat/
You can either demote, or bow down and devote/
I'm coming to your town, and I'm coming with a vengeance/
Vengeful... No time for repentance/
Sinful... No time to just listen/
You can't Punk my metal so just stop pretending/
I am the superior, exterior and the ulterior/
You can not compare, it's clear that you're inferior/
The best to ever do it, the greatest to ever try it/
If I think it, it appear, all I gotta do is write it/
I spit nothing but fire, like a full submachine gun/
My verses are true, they're not repetitious/
We don't like your metal, but that's none of my business/
You a punk rocker, you should be a TikToker/
With these metal head actors, who deserve them an Oscar/
Imposters, give the people what they deserve/
And retire while you still can, hurry up I urge/
It's really your only option before you get eradicated/
You killing the metal game and my fans hate it/
I'm killing the metal game and everyone loves it/
I'm exposing all frauds, and you got busted/
Nomadic Hearts
Seems just yesterday simple Jane's heart kept perfect time. Ticking, never losing a beat. Days seemed good. Nights seemed hopeful.
The streets of her town, barren of big city chaos, knew calm. Knew boring. Knew best the general store, two-pump Texaco station, weekdays by habit, weekends by...
McDonalds was big at one end of town, KFC at the other. Frosty Freeze in the middle. On the outskirts of town, Lucky's Bar stayed alive into the wee hours.
Biker guy liked her. Told her she was pretty, deserved wind in her hair. She bought it. He delivered it. Both regretted it.
He biked down to Mexico. She hitched into NY. Wrote home: I'm a Kelly Girl!
Life remained livable, even with her heart still roaming, exposed and vulnerable. Then, Burt came along. Young, educated smoothie. Wall Street predator by day, trophy hunter by night. Simple Jane, unfortunately got in his sights. One night. Two nights. No nights.
Atop her apartment roof, that place all the lonely people frequent, she visited every night. Lights of the city meant something. She didn't know what.
Hers was a wounded heart. Plain Jane knew it, far too many others as well. Still, finally, she found some special moments of rest. Time wound her back up. More ticking. Important ticking. Love ticking. Until it didn't.
Tag on scruffy mutt's collar said Reggie, another frequent roof visitor. Gave her licks and wags. He crouched beside her, watched the stars together-every night. ?til the winter snows came.
Reggie still visits the roof. Wanders about sniffing. Can't find plain Jane, but when he lies down at the edge of the roof, some say her reflection is still there in his eyes.
You’re going as far as I throw you,
Soon as I jumped off the porch, I was Goku.
Soon as I knew you were a fan, I was for you
gets real like a gender reveal, I adore you.
Hole-in-one, I do this for the sport,
Get me a deal, never get a divorce.
Hop on the beat, I’ma leave in a Porsche,
High as a plane, need a plain Jane.
All in your raps is the same thing,
Tote guns? I got more stories
Than Forrest Gump got the potion.
The devil emojis, you send them to me how I get them so often?
When I'm getting top, I'm with Jocelyn.
I’ma start from the bottom, but I'm getting all of it.
Can’t see me, I’m behind tint.
I ain't going to catch no attempt.
I ain't vibin' with an itch,
I will never be a simp.
I’m pulling green like I’m pushing the OG,
Dismiss all these hoes, leave 'em lonely.
I gotta move, I ain’t posted.
I got G.O.D. with me, keep it on me.
The bigger the opponent, the harder they falling.
I’m obviously on one I always get off it.
I got a bone to pick who I’m rolling with?
Loyalty more I ain’t got no friends.
Only play pretend who you dancing with?
Get a nasty twist every time that you on a trip.
I be talking 'bout life is a bitxh,
Never tit for tat I ain’t got time for that.
I be laughing every time I hit the gas,
What you know 'bout me getting a chick with an ass?
Every time you miss me, it's like skipping a class.
Yeah, weight the track I give it motion.
Left her on read, no emotion.
Chasing the bread I be boasting.
The weary ploughman shuffles
along the deserted bridle path,
his day-long work completed,
furrows wound around his piece of land,
just arable enough to provide his daily bread.
His dreary shack is cold and bare,
just a few essentials. Oh, once it thrived,
but that, alas, was quite a long past.
Slow movements help him light his fire,
and hang inside the hearth a pot full
of vegetables harvested from small plots
that once was a sort of garden of his wife.
Waiting for his meagre repast, he sits.
upon a decrepit sofa, thinking of the furrows
and what he could sow there provided
he manages to find the seeds and tubers
for the next Thanksgiving Day.
Furrows, furrows everywhere, so very like
the furrows of his weary days gone by.
The day when he was barely ten years old,
came home to find his drunkard of a father
dead at last from cirrhosis of the liver.
Left school and began to till the land
under the caring eyes of his once-battered mother.
The day he met plain Jane, shy and speechless,
they walked along the banks of a lonely stream,
never uttering a word, never holding hands
until the day they finally got married.
Then, the worst furrow of all, the day his child
Was born prematurely stillborn. That day
he could not mourn. Only his wife cried.
Until some years later she too followed her child.
And still, he would not mourn, bottled-up grief.
Yet he had one firm conviction.
The paths of life lead slowly to the last furrow,
there to find, at last, eternal peace.
Seven days and lonely at night
Was a Princess called Snow White
On her doorstep there was
Little guy dwarves
All different to view from sight
So on Monday night she did walk
To Dopey's bedroom for a talk
The conversation was slow
Up sticks did she go
At her topless body he did gawk
When Tuesday evening came around
She tiptoed without a sound
Beside Bashful she sat
Blimey, not again, no chat
His eyes on me will never abound
Oh my! it's Wednesday again
Am I beautiful or just plain Jane
I better go to the Doc
Do I look good in this frock
Am I letting my shapely shapes wane
It's Thursday and I better nurse Sneezy
Whose chest has become rather wheezy
To him I won't kiss
No matter his wish
I have no desire to become queasy
Thankfully Friday has been reached
It's the weekend long lies are now preached
For Sleepy I'll never wake
No booty will he shake
My cheeks he'll never see peached
Saturday has finally come along
Even Grumpy now sings the same song
With a song and a cheer
Shared over a few beers
No chance you'll get into my thong
Have I saved Sunday to be the best
Is Happy better than the rest
His smile tells me so
For more than his cheeks glow
At last a loving grin at my breasts
Oh I need to be loved ever since
Like the weeks I had with my Prince
For many many nights
He knew to love me right
When I walked, you could see my legs wince
.
.
Seven days and lonely at night
Was a Princess called Snow White
On her doorstep there was
Little guy dwarves
All different to view from sight
So on Monday night she did walk
To Dopey's bedroom for a talk
The conversation was slow
Up sticks did she go
At her topless body he did gawk
When Tuesday evening came around
She tiptoed without a sound
Beside bashful she sat
Blimey, not again, no chat
His eyes on me will never abound
Oh my! it's Wednesday again
Am I beautiful or just plain Jane
I better go to the Doc
Do I look good in this frock
Am I letting my shapely shapes wane
It's Thursday and I better nurse Sneezy
Whose chest has become rather wheezy
To him I won't kiss
No matter his wish
I have no desire to become queasy
Thankfully Friday has been reached
It's the weekend long lies are now preached
For Sleepy I'll never wake
No booty will he shake
My cheeks he'll never see peached
Saturday has finally come along
Even Grumpy now sings the same song
With a song and a cheer
Shared over a few beers
No chance you'll get into my thong
Have I saved Sunday to be the best
Is Happy better than the rest
His smile tells me so
For more than his cheeks glow
At last a loving grin at my breasts
Oh I need to be loved ever since
Like the weeks I had with my Prince
For many many nights
He knew to love me right
When I walked, you could see my legs wince
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/humour-6.php
She rode the train to glory,
Her star was shining throughout the territory,
They called her the princess with red hair,
Her eyes were blue and skin so fair,
When she danced on stage the cowboys whistled,
While all the women folk bristled.
Her given name was Nancy Smith,
A plain-Jane name given by kith,
One day a broken mirror caught her beauty,
She then changed her name to Redonna Agouti,
Her hand-bills listed her as the dancing Italian,
A countess who two-stepped with the battalion.
Redonna's heart and soul was with dancing,
Her famous legs wouldn't quit prancing,
She was the queen of the gaudy stage,
Wearing her purple plume in a suspended cage,
She caught the eye of a cowboy named Ranger,
She fell in love at first sight with this stranger.
He asked her to dance a waltz with him,
They kept dancing until the gaslights were dim,
Both of them were smitten with the love bug,
Before the night was over he gave her a hug,
Ranger proposed after the first kiss,
Redonna said yes since she was in bliss.
The Italian countess and cowboy were married,
For forty happy years until they were buried,
Their tombstones lay side-by-side,
With a drawing each of a groom and bride,
And her engraved inscription read,
Nancy Smith Smith, Loving Wife of Ranger Smith.
She rode the train to glory...
November 10, 2017
Choose a Topic Contest
Subject: (A) Love and Romance
This is a tale of rags to riches
About a young girl called Franny Britches
Franny was the youngest child and the only girl
She had four older brothers Billy ,Bobby ,Bert and Earl
Her parents worked very hard but were very poor
Though extremely rich in love and laughter the family were for sure!
Franny was a thumb sucker in her younger years
Resulting in terrible bucked teeth and being teased by her peers
Franny loved to write never without her pen and old worn book
Sitting alone for hours under her favourite maple tree beside a little brook
No-one ever knew what was written in her book ….though were warned
It was for Frannys eyes only if you peeked you’d be scorned!!
Franny did have two friends Daisy and Mary-Jane
They met when toddlers and life friends they would remain
She suffered years of bullying about her teeth
It was constant, never ending without relief
Years passed a successful wealthy woman Franny became
She had her teeth fixed now no longer a plain Jane
It was years of poems Franny wrote in that tatty worn old book
About all those sad years of bullying that she had withstood
Franny became a highly regarded published poet ,author and activist
Writing on anti-bullying that all those years had taught her
The poet that I write of is the renowned “Frances Le’Britch”’
Writing for the “bullied and bully” so all lives can be enriched!!