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.
Silly ass dame
You Lame plain Jane
Fckng wacked out & insane
Still playin the same game
Even with nothin' to gain
You're the only one to blame
So don't even complain
Sayin you wanna change
But forever stay tha same
Get back in ya in lane!!
Thinkin you so smart
With 3 cells left in ya brain
Dazed out 24/7 from all tha fetty& cocaine
Putting so much faith in hollow promises
That should be taken with a grain
It's like you BEGG for tha pain!!!
Feelin each drop of that acid rain
Burnin through my skin
Down to my skeletal Frame
Tryna act normal & maintain
Ignoring these constant stabbing migraines
Success will never be obtained
Like failure been ingrained
Take every aspect of your life
And rearrange
the past mistakes steady being replayed
Walkin a straight line to Hell
N sht still feel mundane*
She isn’t a plain Jane, beautiful almond
Eyes behind amber frames reach into
Your heart, grasping your roaring waterfall
Beating love, leaving you breathless.
Her warm smile like a friend,
Feelings in tune to absorb the pain
Of barbwire words and melancholic
Quicksand.
A childlike laugh sings to your ear
With melody and harmony, causing
Knees to crumble like a house of cards.
A lithe dancing figure as entrancing
To the soul and mind as bliss
Will humanly allow. Her gait sways
Like a lioness stalking prey, slow,
Deliberate with every soft crunch
Of grass.
Skin, a light mocha with cream around pink,
Pouty, kissable lips and hair like forest sap under
An orange spring morning glow changes
Sorrow to joy, hate to love, and madness to sanity.
A woman showing every gift of wit, passion,
And peace has nature at her whim; a cool
Breeze under a sweltering sun, a fire
Place on an icy-chill winter night,
Seasons unto herself adorning the serenity
Of every landscape.
Celestial oracles call her goddess, we know
Her as Jane, a legend to men and benefactor
To womankind
Form:
Can you feel the real deal hoodoo or juju hex
One sex tech conquest & manifest wrecks perplex
Flex your cerebral cortex protest against the new Rex
Hullabaloo of voodoo we must contest & vex
Vain inane randy Deejays handy on dandy sandy decks
A bane.. vloggers..joggers & bloggers texts & trend treks
Reign of hooray Henry’s forays with oversized unwise specs
Disdain from plain Jane “ex” glowering while devouring Tex Mex
Train..campaign for brawn not brain.. divulging bulging necks & pecs
The lot have got an absurd follow the word of the herd complex
Flecks of lies flutter & splutter in the utter nutter echo chamber gutter that is “X”
Never ending..mind bending curmudgeon bludgeon chorus of Tyrannosaurus Techs!
"Wishing Well"
Plain Jane blew her wishes
down a wishing well
Lit long white bless'ed candles
dipped in holy water
Brackish
Crocodile tears from Hell
Witches hold hands together
Stand united
show and tell
Plain Jane
knows her subjects inside out
Sisters plain and simple
holding hands
united
standing by the
Wishing Well
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
ljb/llb/klb/mlb/gvlm
ak/io/to
- ALL WOMEN -
Plainly seen, undecorated but never Simple
Competition: "She Inspires Series KH Poetry Contest"
Muse: ""Plain women know more about men than beautiful ones do."
Katherine Hepburn
Sponsored: Maureen McGreavy
Deadline: Sunday 12/1/2020 12:00am
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.
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.
I'm truly sorry for those who died.
From that cheeky little FauchXi virus.
And those demonized for deflecting
the virgin big pharma prick.
I'm embarrassed to say that I thrived.
During the height of the lockdown madness.
Didn't mind wearing a diaper on my face.
I've always been a plain Jane.
It's all about the eyes anyways...or so they say-
I enjoyed the unclogged commutes.
The rock star parking.
Thinner lines at the five and dime...
Six feet of personal space at all times...
The downside was I caught the FaucXi virus... twice.
The first time was a breeze-
I got a little cocky and careless.
The second time was much more vicious.
Lost my sense of smell and taste.
I'm quickly out of breath.
As my lungs were laid to waste!
Now, the texture and color of food are paramount.
Maskless faces appear plastic now...
Some people still mask their scars.
Fear along with jealousy and greed
are the hardest things to glean...from really living.
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/
Clint's an iffy fellow, tis prestige vs the ordinaire, my dear plain Jane--hmm, partially accommodating.
Methinks you're a drop-off, my dear, picture a car dropping you off curbside while he goes looking for a fictitious parking space, but a gentleman he is uses the factual context of the 11th hour--OPS you to HAIL me.
I gather Mr. Eastwood was gifted said ticket, ... that I am guessing you so happened to be in pysical possession.
How did you know that? That would pleasure him of not being a CAD!
I forgot that you're like some madda carrie.
Mother who? You mean that Mother Teresa (rising popularity 1979).
No, that German one.
A German Mother Teresa? Was she young Adolph's school teacher.
Oh forget it! [LATER: she reveals "Mata Hari']"
Did he you call you and tell you, or are you playing Holmes?
Doc--tor 'tis Clint's gift?
Yes, but-- ... --wait ... it must be somebody of importance ... yes, but who?
Hehehe! It would be very rich for me, if I saw a glimpse of your face at this relevant juncture-------was I your suggested choice?
... Yes, Oh my? You're scary!
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.