Long Pompoms Poems
Long Pompoms Poems. Below are the most popular long Pompoms by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pompoms poems by poem length and keyword.
Let's Hear It
Growing up a teen in the 60s
A Baby boomer baby I'm known
High school was like stepping into another world
Of fun sports to join, watch, and stir
Class spirit Homecoming football games
Proms with the big white mums glittering on chiffon dresses
Basketball, volleyball, track, and cheerleading
With pompoms in my hands, loud cheers, and chants
Summer swimming, surfing, and lying out on the beach
Getting that golden amber tan was always fun
Miniskirts, tight sweaters, scarfs, and boots
Sock hops parties, and vinyl records,
Bowling, and parking at the drive in theater
College turned things around
I looked at life different
Studying and working to fund my hobbies
My passion became my job a business that I dearly love
2/5/2016
Good morning Poison Squirrels,
Today I am going to address your bowel problems
My class groans.
We don’t like to think about them.
We are teens.
Your mouth chews up food, right? Asks Mr. Lee.
Our science teacher is way too cheery in the morning.
One student out of thirty-one nods.
Mr. Lee focuses on her.
Saliva lubricates the food then sends it down the esophagus.
He draws a saxophone-looking cartoon on the board.
Muscles of the esophagus propels the food into your tummy!
He says this with a flourish, and shakes a couple of red pompoms.
One girl laughs. Same girl.
She must be gunning for an A.
Your stomach muscles breaks the food down into smaller pieces.
Actually, turns it into a paste much like poi, it is called chyme.
“Why don’t we call it poi?” asks a student who never is interested.
“That’s an interesting question!” Mr. Lee says.
“A very interesting question.”
A small giggle starts from somewhere.
He gives me a sharp look, and I realize it was from my throat.
“Sorry,” I say, not meaning it at all.
He nods.
As if I was serious.
Maybe I can still keep my C
“Next we have the small intestines,” says Mr. Lee.
He has continued to draw on his cartoon.
Does anybody know what organs add the digestive juices?
“OOOOHHHH!” someone says in a disgusting way. Dang it! It was me!
“Liver?” Miss I-shall-get-my-A says.
Science guy nods.
“Anybody else?” He asks hopefully.
“Heart?” our other class clown says.
There is a shriek of laughter.
Actually, several.
Now I wish I had said that.
Mr. Lee is not looking quite as happy.
“Pancreas?” Another brown-nose yells out.
Mr. Lee nods. “And Gallbladder,” he adds.
The drawing looks almost done, and he is getting toward the bottom.
“The large intestine is next,” he says.
“Anybody care to guess how long it is?”
“Seventy five feet?” the clown yells out.
We all laugh.
Mr. Lee is looking a whole lot less happy.
We finally get down to the part where the rectum evacuates.the waste.
I wisely put a hand over my traitorous mouth.
Too fragile stems hold heliotrope heads
Taffeta flaunted purple pompoms preposterous
Let us lie on the grass, smoke cigarettes
Aft petal papering conjure new year's purpose
Behold from below the branches spread
Frilly dusk shock puffs, dancing shuffle clusters
Obscure wombs become Wilde, paraded
Lying Spring in Winter cherry bloom discovered
Crushed plums, ostrich plumage cabaret
Bud watching binoculars magnify trivial matters
Syrup decay drips paint over Dorian Gray
Individuals strive beside their neighbours' status
Berating stoney belief in banal morality
Seven deadly virtues bruise a perfect husband
Ademant magenta silken siren Cheveley
Upsets good sense in serpent gaudy diamonds
9th June 2022
Written for Contest:
Purple Flowers
Sponsor:
Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
Winter Roses - Mystic 11-8-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Winter Roses
white winter roses
amid the wrath of blizzards ~
born in summer wombs
seeds baptized by rain
birthed in warm breaths of sunlight ~
autumnal surprise
frosty solstice queen
dressed in a gown with sequins ~
winks with aurora
pink frost party dress
hues of jewel tones glitter ~
cold winter thriller
magical snowbells
descendants of vernal joy ~
wears chilly bloomers
peppermint ice roams
with soft pompoms like snowballs ~
stays to kiss springtime
polestar spreads her seeds
as tempest breath turns sultry ~
artic roses sleep
mystical flower
a rose blooms at the manger ~
yuletide miracles
My pearl heart rests
in the chiffon sands
of forsaken memories,
like an open oyster shell,
engrossed in saffron-streaked
serenades,
while embracing. shifting shades
of an
apricot-feathered sunset,
the sky sings for
your magnolia magic~
unraveling clapping
rays of glittery pompoms
celebrating the
rising of champagne crescent.
There, I find secret
keys to the golden
g a t e s of your soul.
I gaze beyond the
sparkling crest of
the honeyed horizon,
as cantaloupe lines
of waning gloaming~
slowly tip-toe
towards the
whistling waves,
ferrying Poseidon’s
souvenirs draped
in sapphire strings,
like scattered
sea-shells singing
songs to rippling
runes of cosmic love.
And this poem shall remain
within porcelain pages;
mermaid memoir of
a mystical romance untold.
As I was reading Red Fish Blue Fish One Fish Two Fish to a bunch of bouncy kindergarteners
I could not help but feel pleased at their attentiveness. They were mesmerized. Was it my voice, my cadence, just the fact that they loved me?
I was not sure until I gave them the coloring sheets.
All ran to their tables shrieking with delight except Lulabelle.
Lulabelle walked up to me and began twirling the red and purple pompoms on my sweater.
My sweater that had two clowns on it and a bunch of different colored pompoms in a
juggle formation.
I held my breath until she had finished,
then I ran for some scissors, and snipped off the red and purple pompoms.
If I had been more cognizant or had looked in a mirror a bit more carefully,
I might have realized where these pompoms had landed.
You have already figured it out, right?
Little Yellow Bus
First day of school yellow bus stopping at the mailbox,
Bouncing down country roads - pausing next to city sidewalks.
Nothing seems to stop you not autumn rain nor early sleet
Morning and by afternoon you travel busy roads and streets.
Traffic never phases you - just motor on,
Following appointed routes - this your daily marathon.
Girls with pompoms, boys with bats, runners from a track meet,
Students ride of every age filling up your empty seats.
Do you sigh when you rest within the bus brickyard
Or dream the school year yet to come riding lanes and boulevards?
Waiting for your arrival, bus stop routine day-to-day,
Sometimes have to remember you don’t come on Saturdays! Hooray!
9-11-20
Contest: Fall-Autumn Rhyme
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Little Yellow Bus
First day of school yellow bus stopping at the mailbox,
Bouncing down country roads - pausing next to city sidewalks.
Nothing seems to stop you not autumn rain nor sleet
Morning and by afternoon you travel busy roads and streets.
Traffic never phases you - you just motor on,
Following appointed routes - this your daily marathon.
Girls with pompoms, boys with bats, runners from a track meet,
Students ride of every age filling up your empty seats.
Stopping at the bus stop, not all cars stop too
Speeding past your warning, they haven’t got a clue.
Do you sigh when you rest within the bus brickyard
Or dream the school year yet to come riding lanes and boulevards?
First ride giggles, last ride whispers – all the in between –
Forgotten lunches, mittens, scarves – life’s signature you see.
We wait for your arrival, bus stop routine day-to-day,
Sometimes need to remember, you don’t come on Saturdays! Hooray!
pimpernel on my thighs
eloquence and delectation
conversations with the wise
reveal to me which death i must die.
lily in the valley
bravery passion and determination
whatever has to be done
is a puzzling bird song
eyes lifted skyward past the sun
sensitive tranquil and confident
imagination manifests the role
your humanity learned to adore
suspended in the 'not' time
zeal energy and the wish fulfilled
feelings don't get shut down
nor are they the skin of a reticent sound
kissing the pompon undefined
foregoing forbearing sacrificial
the soul has no power in the self
until it is recognized by it
sunflowers begin a perfect day
poised energized and glowing
outside is all within
happiness is on the other side of fear
waterlilies basking in the moonlight
resplendent unobscured polished
dreaming up another dawn
reveals to me which death i must die.
As dark canvas unfurls bit by bit
Randomly gulping down acrylic paints of dusk
To satisfy his own thirst, not for long, to sprawl
Into a magical cosmos - flapping his dark wings atop
Swirling soft fair clouds that rock and roll
Through gray-black, myriad dazzling stars so
Idyllic, and artistically spilt sparkling stardust
Charm the sky as if shiny pompoms and buttons;
Night sky lights up my gloomy mind:
In its artsy glory, I savour a tick of tranquil clock;
Glowing bright, stars and moon transmit rays of
Harmony. Aw! tiny drops of opals and diamonds
Thrown arbitrarily at pitch-dark canvas as if
Showcasing splash liquid art - so bright and brilliant;
Knitting a charcoal-black fabric of captivating stars and moon,
Yay! our night sky is shining, inspiring my bardic pupils.
Date: 01/13/2023
Lipogram Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Emile Pinet