Long Poodles Poems
Long Poodles Poems. Below are the most popular long Poodles by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Poodles poems by poem length and keyword.
We all had homemade dresses for prom; well, nearly all of us.
This was back in 1970 while black and white Viet Nam War photos were on TV
Every night, we saw such sadness.
Prom was a reminder of childhood.
Back to the Bibbity Bobbity Boo of Cinderella.
We girls were wearing empire waist dresses.
It was the style, little bows at the top of our hair.
We were fancy poodles, primping in our two inch heels.
Not high ones like our mothers. We had already fallen off those.
Traded in our hip hugger bell bottoms that magical night
For dresses in chiffon, polished cotton, and satins.
We were so shiny, it is a miracle a murder of crows did not carry us off.
The boys had on their best suits; not tuxes.
We were in a small Iowa farm town.
Many of the couples would marry two weeks later after graduation.
I remember how hard the junior class worked to make it beautiful for us.
There were tin foil stars and crepe paper streamers everywhere.
A strobe light, and music piped in from the folk heroes of the time.
Peter Paul and Mary, Mama Cass, Simon and Garfunkel.
Sometimes a song by Cher or Bette Midler but not as often.
The food was fantastic. The company wonderful.
Our first semi-formal dinner. I have never forgotten it.
In one way it was like middle school which we called junior high.
The boys stood around talking and laughing, and the girls danced like mad.
It was such an innocent and fun time! Taking the Viet Nam War,
And the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Robert Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King
Out of our minds for one magical bibbity bobbity boo night.
May 1970. A memory that uplifts me to this day.
The last time I spoke to some of my classmates.
As a few were sent to Viet Nam after graduation never to return.
A crisp, cold morning in Hyde Park,
and he is waiting for his date.
As joggers jog and poodles bark,
the girl's unconscionably late.
He paces London's crocused heart,
as traffic booms in Piccadilly:
he's practicing that English art
of seeming calm, while feeling silly.
One final tryst beside the lake,
in front of the Eternal Boy:
a parting kiss, for old times' sake ...
she's stood him up? Or playing coy?
The hotel clerk purrs sympathy
when summoned on the mobile phone.
By now, she'll be in Duty Free.
Well, there it is. This Bird Has Flown.
He tries to feign the jaunty airs
of a striped suit on a sandwich sortie,
but doing drily debonaire's
not easy when you're fat and forty.
He tramps the lonely, flat green mile
to Green Park Tube's unlovely portal,
but perks up with a cheeky smile -
well, for a week he was immortal!
He shoulders his heavy mind,
hunched under a dripping umbrella
of anxieties.
Dogs avoid the puddles he makes,
minor ponds of sniffs and scuffles
that he takes with him always.
He has a pocket handkerchief
that blows his nose
when the laden air
plunders his sinus's.
His has become allergic
to himself.
Quite by chance
a new airy broom
sweeps away
the damp clogging's
of his fusty brain.
Polar bears appear
within his inner eye,
they bring oranges from Florida,
fruits that will not ripen
in his own dark and crusty world.
Folding the black saucer
of his umbrella,
he un-puckers his brow.
Head-up, he side-steps.
his musty mood.
Poodles and pugs
play in the pools of his former
bothersome drippings.
Today was a very odd day
every comment on my poems
were at least 3 and a half hours
away I only posted a few today
just to see where we were all
going as if poetry soup took all
of us on a wild vacation seated
under a giant umbrella on the
beaches of sunny California
or perhaps strolling the casinos
here in wee hours the alligators
are sleeping giant egrets perched
silence 4:31 am my peace time
my creative time however when
I post on soup it's 1:31 am odd
timing I guess even poetry soup
owners needs a vacation for Georgia
taking us all with are we there yet
I am so excited eating pringles
do we get free chips for
black jack and poker tables
speaking of chips perhaps
pringles we might get to meet
Mr. Pringles himself I can't
wait to check out the new
Bellagio hotel wow I can actually
almost hear the bells and whistles
hitting the slots running numbers
betting not a fan of gambling but
since we are here and its all free
for soupers lets do it getting to
crowded to busy for my taste
it's now 4:48 am here an yet the
night is young 1:48 am Vegas
poetry soup time this has been
an exciting journey an yet real
time it is indeed my coffee time
why it's time to feed my red toy
poodles my alarm set 5:15 am
you guys have fun enjoy poetry
soup in Las Vegas take lot's of
pictures of the MGM Caio Bella
Written by Yolanda Nicholsen
6-19-2024 at 4:31 am
Painting a picture of porcupines playing
Pincushions parked in the field
Purple and pink for this playful perception
Plans of their purpose revealed
Painful endeavors of pacified pranksters
Preparing a pie at their place
Pecan or pumpkin, pickle, pineapple
Pieces are smeared on their face
Putting the paint on some powder puff paper
Pleasure in each stroke is plied
Pausing to peer at some porpoises playing
Prancing in pansies they hide
Puzzling problems with pretzels and peanuts
Posturing people to prove
Pistachio perfume in prime presentation
Preaches that peaches will move
Polishing pastels on pre-printed pages
Prized the possessions we seek
Paisley the plumes of a peacocks posterior
Portraits now come take a peek
Pampering pelicans play the piano
Pure as a piccolos prayer
Picking a parcel of plum flavored pudding
Poetic prose fills the air
Pleats in my pants shout in proud proclamation
Puddle my pores that perspire
Poodles on playgrounds prevent prosecution
Plotting my hearts pure desire
Passion precedes every past tense of parting
Piled with a presence so true
Painting a picture while purposely dreaming
Promising my love to you
The PC’s a must, don’t you know?
A laptop, a few iPads or iPhones.
How else can we get on with lifes’s show?
Calls are fewer, texts, you betcha.
Emojis now equal to beautiful words?
Those obnoxious, electronic dog catchas!
Stop the 1950’s jabber and insulting the TV.
To all the electronics, we are down on our knees.
People no longer count, about worthless as fleas?
Don’t you know that people are sad and lonely?
But we treat them like pieces of rotting Baloney.
We may as well feed our precious iPad…Spumoni?
Stay plugged in, so unreal and not very sweet.
As your friends suddenly die, their God to meet.
And you~forgot we are not sheep, who just bleat.
You, and Miss Alexa are newlyweds, I guess.
At least, she does not have to wear a dress!
No more human world, I sadly confess!
We snicker over mindless junk at You Tube?
But hey, what goes on in our electrified noodles?
No brains, just romping pink poodles?
No need to be insulted by this sardonic poem.
I am just like you~ the iPad is now my home.
So shiny, voiceless, humanless, end of this tome.
There should be an Electronics Anonymous. for us!
Their control exerted over us is totally boundless.
Being now, minus humanity is bonkers and groundless.
12/31/20222
Day one out of the womb – had a full crop of hair,
black like my daddy’s (it later went more fair).
Early childhood – Mom kept my brown hair short
because I’d twist it into knots. What a silly sport.
Peanut butter and some gum in my hair might stick.
Never a long hair style could I ever pick.
Pre-teen years – at last I saw my dark hair grow.
Pony tails and pig tails were ways my hair might show.
Junior High, late 60’s, hair piled high like a hive.
A wonder that no bumble bees were seen in there alive.
My hair was also parted always on one side.
I’d wear curlers in a store. Did I have no pride?
High school days – hair longer. In boring math at school,
I sat there pulling off split ends. Must have looked a fool!
College days – used a cheap product from the store.
“Sun-In” gave me reddish-blonde. I used it four times more.
The 80’s – got a perm. The curls were tight. Had oodles.
Now I can have sympathy for cockapoos and poodles.
90’s – used extensions. A lot of folks I fooled.
Strawberry blonde seemed to be the color then that ruled.
New century. New color. My hair was very blonde.
There were two guys in a tram in Rio that I conned.
My friend who looked American knew every word they stated.
About my natural color those guys in Portugese debated.
They finally decided my blonde was natural.
I got a kick out of those young fellows’ folderol.
Later on, my hair got over-bleached. I showered, and
lots of strands of it crumbled right into my hand.
After that, while growing out dark roots about two years,
I wore a wig until uncolored hair went past my ears.
A co-worker , not knowing I wore a wig at school,
told me that my hair had never looked so cool!
By 2010, my hair was in a rut.
Only one side of it grew, so I’d always get it cut.
Turned 60 and got cancer. Ate better to be stronger.
Miraculously my hair AND nails grew a whole lot longer.
Since then till now, my daughter’s been my dear beautician.
She keeps the gray away and my hair in good condition.
Were my hair not dyed, salt and pepper it would be.
I love my gold-like hair, thick, and long and wavy.
Some people think a woman of my age should wear a shorter “do.”
Decades it took to get this look, so NO (and I’ll keep my cute bangs too!)
Puppy Loving Santa had a house full of dishes, water bowls and pups.
He had to keep his breakables up high, especially his own coffee cups.
For when he was zooming around at night in his beautiful red sleigh,
He had to keep awake, so he did not fall out and disappoint the day.
Puppy Loving Santa had cocker spaniels, great Danes, and poodles too.
Mrs. Claus liked cats and had suggested two of them and a cockatoo.
There would be no room for the elves, Santa said with alarm.
So Mrs. Claus built the elves an exclusive Welcome to North Pole Barn.
You are so handy! Puppy Loving Santa said to his handy-dandy wife.
Remind me to keep you and cherish you for the rest of my life.
By the way, honey, if you run out of things to build today.
I could use sixty-seven dog houses, and could you please add a bit of hay?
They come in many different sizes
Different colors, different cuts
All purebred from Poodle planet
No mixing of Martian mutts
Innocently enough we let them into our homes
Now with too many it is to little to late
We've been taken captive without even knowing
By Poodles from Outer Space
Soon, very soon to take over it all
Ruling the world of common man
Getting us to do their bidding at every call
Has all along been their dastardly plan
Leading us to believe that we are the Masters
But what is really behind the bark
And what's up with all the tail wagging
Just waiting it out while playing their cards
And the crazed frenzy in all of the yapping
That they do while roaming in packs
Is just giving away their location
So the Mother Ship knows where they are at
As it continues to circle our planet
In the unassuming shape of a Milk-Bone
The Alien Poodles are in cahoots with Purina
Google it, you'll see I'm not wrong
Years ago they first landed in France
Where quickly they blended in
From there is where they ventured out
Into all the major Continents
Now in every corner of the world
In all of its crooks and crannies
Saying hello to those in the know wherever they go
By their Planet's greeting...the sniffing of fanny
Yes, they are Poodles from Outer Space
So toss that dog a bone
If you ever wonder who is in charge
And who it is that's owned...
I have 3 Poodles that own me...
I swear they're Aliens...
i welcome you
to the end of us
Dawn
a new day to
begin again
fingers
against the window
you softly press
A touch of wind
A silhouette
in the air
these are
your raindrops
what are you crying for
Please don't cry anymore
only foot steps
chase you
for i am startled
and still in place
Demples
and a feeling
of home
behind your
flower vase
love
is departure
The wonders
you think of
standing still
in a garden
City lights
her clouds
are dipping low
the one place
she belongs
she doesn't
want to go
these are
your raindrops
what are you crying for
Please don't cry anymore
she likes
bite sized
penut butter
cookies
sneaker doodles
kittens
and french poodles
she's got
a pointed nose
that says
The suns been out
she's always here
she never droughts