Long Scarves Poems
Long Scarves Poems. Below are the most popular long Scarves by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Scarves poems by poem length and keyword.
Why do you keep up this ambiance? I asked Sadie.
Her house was a Bohemian’s catchall place.
A cobweb full of delightful piles and paints.
Half finished canvases, beautiful embroidered scarves.
See? She is not a witch, I told my persnickety girlfriend.
Ooh! She said. “Is that a cobweb?” It was; inside the house.
Sadie brought in the tea kettle and mentioned Earl Gray.
My girlfriend ran off screaming, due to the kettle’s teeth.
I love things that are whimsical and fun; so, I stayed.
Sharing a delightful afternoon with a recluse who is hilarious.
I went back many more times; but did not convey it to others.
Sadie liked her reputation as the neighborhood witch.
It goes along with my rune readings and my soothsaying.
She taught me this, palmistry and how to read auras.
You have the gift of second sight, she told me.
You knew your friend would run out screaming.
I could not deny it. I knew that she knew that I knew.
I was now smiling as widely as her crazy teapot.
Sadie was my best teacher; I was proud to know her.
We still commune, even though she is beyond the veil.
Argyle socks, kilts,
Scottish tartan scarves
and Knox — aye
Mary, Queen Mary
shall you marry Darnly
for love? Nay...
Torches, kilts and song.
Heather in hands, waving
but Knox knocks their merry
socks off, eccentrically calling
Mary, a Jezebel queen.
Stuart clings to her Catholicity,
as she permits worshipping
as Protestants — not good
enough for Knox. Of kilts and tales
told, no dancing, singing or drinking fold —
bearded and bold John rattles.
Knox’s mentor burned at the stake.
His ire, his hand raised, will not accept
the same fate, so he rains down hellfire.
Kilts and bagpipes, boots marching,
music playing. Aye, Mary Queen of Scotland
with drumsticks banging, the pretty thing
rules with her heart...loses her head.
3/22/2021
Julia Ward’s Scotland
Let’s venture to the Gypsy Wagon Retreat.
I had no idea what it was, but it sounded great.
Because I am a hippie, and I like Bohemian things.
Their colors, scarves, free spirited thinking, and their joy.
We arrived on a Monday morning; it was a peaceful place.
There were bluebirds which is rare, I hardly ever see them.
We were welcomed by a woman who gave us a free reading.
My cards were outstanding, my friend’s was maybe a bit better.
Let me know if you think you will need anything else, she said.
She fed us a nice vegetable dish for supper, and we had iced tea.
It was a peaceful place. We both sat in silence, enjoying the ambiance.
I have never been anywhere half this relaxing. This vacation was a joy.
Oh no! It’s those pushy snow pigs the cow lamented loudly.
You mean the knitters who announce their wares proudly?
Oh, yes, the cat replied. They are selling mittens and caps.
Can’t we buy those things online on one of those Amazon apps?
Let’s not be so hasty the rooster said, coming in crowing.
Those warm fuzzy caps come in handy when it is snowing.
Geese flying over in the shape of an inverted vee
Yelled down “Happy sale day, Ms. Sow and McPhee.”
The horse ran to their side to see what they were selling.
There was an old farmer there and he was hopping and yelling.
That’s too much!! I only have twenty-eight dollars and two cents.
Geese landed and bought all the scarves, but they caught on a fence.
The geese are all strangled! A hen said. They are all dead.
McPhee and Ms Sow did not mind. Their haul had put them in the red.
The farmer was astounded, and had to go without a cap.
I guess he’ll have to buy one on that Amazon app.
Once upon a time in faraway land,
There lived little Candy with dreams so grand;
She dreamt she was princess Cinderella,
Or sometimes became small Thumbelina;
One night, she danced with leprechauns and dwarves,
Sometimes wearing sombreros, sometimes scarves;
Her dreamy princess dress sparkled with gems,
As she glided around crystal items;
Once, when Candy was sleeping in the hall,
Dreaming of princes dancing at her ball;
In crept a wicked elf, he was so bad,
He loathed her smile and wished to make her sad;
He cast an evil spell on her nice dreams,
From then on, her laughter turned to mad screams;
She grew up day by day, afraid to sleep,
Recalling the dream world she could not keep;
Now, Candy was trapped in horrid nightmares,
The elf felt sordid pleasure in her scares;
Then one day, a beggar knocked on her door,
Candy was too kind to simply ignore;
She, though looking weary with sleepless eyes,
Fed him, who was a wizard in disguise;
The gentle wizard saw her deep sadness,
And asked her the reason of her distress;
She sighed and thought of all her lovely dreams,
"My dreams are lost", she cried, her tears in streams;
The wise wizard then saw the impish elf,
That guy had stolen his wand from his shelf;
Soon he was caught and the spell was broken,
Her fairytale dreams brought joy unspoken;
Candy jumped and danced, now that she could sleep,
She thanked the wizard, now she need not weep;
The elf had to serve the wizard for life,
That was his punishment for causing strife;
Little Candy got back her dreams and smile,
She'd be a princess again, for a while.
02/03/17
Glancing at the glaring green of Summer,
wanting to wake the leaves and snow,
get on with aging’s beauty and bone-chilling
sacrifice of warmth. That is when I wrap
my flesh in scarves, boot-up my strength
to taste flakes and kick-up variegated fall
of shapes. A plot of hearty pumpkins; blink
of time; it’s childhood scent and scoop.
Engaged in Starbucks’ hook of latte, festive
espresso, pumpkin, and seasonal spices.
Don’t let me get started on those finger snacks.
Candy corn and Diet Coke, go together; we
go together, naturally, having an October birthday.
Shouldn’t…I can feel the finger wags; and the scolding.
Poetry written for a week, at a time, with no rests.
Lyrical chattering, children of mine; I should leap
to my feet. It’s one-something and I still need to eat.
Imagine if I had a sunshine factory
I would made the sunshine almost every day
Winter is beautiful in its winter coat,but we
freeze and get the flu
Achoooo........achoooooo.....
No, it is better without the gloves and scarves
Imagine if I had a sunshine factory
I would made the sunshine almost every day
The sun would shine like gold on the blu sky
Yes, almost every day ...
If I woke up sad and tired, I would turn the sun
up a small notch
and share a lovely sunny day with you
Waiting for you: SUN
A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Today on the eve of Christmas,
Santa’s sleigh has scattered gifts like twinkling stars across every home,
At dawn, everyone greets with merry Christmas,
Their embraces warm and tight, like cozy scarves against winter’s chill.
Today marks the birthday of our dear friend.
In the autumn garden, fallen flowers and leaves carpet the earth in shades of green,
Amidst the cool breeze, a single red rose stands poised,
Waiting patiently for Santa’s arrival.
Santa’s gift, a gentle touch, paints a rosy glow on our friend’s cheeks,
Joy blooms within, as they accept a heartfelt Happy Birthday,
The church doors open wide, candles flicker like tiny flames of hope,
Prayers rise softly, seeking blessings from the divine.
I had a cat that marked his territory right
into our TV – fried the whole thing
But I will not graffiti my alleyways with
crude phalli,
Spewing armchair warrior slogans across the concrete
My best friend growing up was a real whore,
in the kiss-and-tell sort of way
A real ladies’ man... He was a real bastard,
I’ll tell you that
But I will not line the walls of my den with
taxidermied lovers
Nor will I cage my dove for fear of a hawk.
Does the absence of glimmering swords
Take away from the radiance of her smile?
And what good are these powerful minarets,
Without the sweet, sweet song that echoes across them?
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket.
I have not fallen in love with a fish in a
bucket that will dart away
Never to be seen, if she ever touches the
sea again...
Which raises the question: why the bucket?
I have no interest in the bucket.
I have no interest in being the fisherman.
I bait no hooks and reel no lines.
I would much rather be a sea horse.
We can all learn a thing or two from the sea
horse.
So enough with this nonsense of honor and
chivalry
Enough of this predefined manliness and
rhetorical dick-waving
Enough of cages and lures and foxes in the
chicken coop
I see a lioness and her fawn under acacia
shadows
While my thirty-something year-old
compatriot playboys
Are on the prowl for pretty young things in
search of a fantasy
Wearing cravates of woven chest hair resting
over shirts not quite buttoned,
With Ralph the Polo Player getting bigger
and bigger
I have no fur coats, and I won’t sport any swag
I have no car horn to honk at your skirts,
No sly comments to mutter as you pass
No scarves to force around your heads
No honor to vest in your purity
I have only my faith in love
And whatever flaws that may bring
So what is it then,
to be a man?
PEACE ON EARTH
Peter paints the deep blue sky,
as if at the rise of creation.
He brushes the circumference
of a brand new world.
With tears, Max moves his sweeping
brush, as if tidying up the base
of the gifted Statue of Liberty.
Her height rises into the heavens.
Peter gives depth to the earth.
Bodies of water and continents,
brought to life. The bottom third
of the canvas displays the stars
and stripes of the American flag,
carpet-like - the world’s welcome.
Each star, meticulously placed,
sparkling around our beloved planet.
Before the artist signs his masterpiece,
with simply - MAX,
Lady Liberty’s torch glows like the sun,
over New York City. This artist who
saved her from her deteriorating fate,
who painted each fallen fireman -
gifting their families with painted portraits.
Max, born in Germany, raised in China.
Max, a patriot of the United States.
Max, a gentle man, sweet and kind.
He turns around and waves,
he shook my hand. His brushstrokes
inhabit the Statue of Liberty.
He stands ten feet tall,
even with withering bones.
A class act, all displayed in his lovely painting,
Peace On Earth.
9/17/2017
Enter Your Own Competition
Sponsor: Cecilia Hopkins-Drewer
My Competition: Celebration Of Art
Art: Peter Max’s Peace On Earth
Criterion hoping to achieve: Bring to life a painting of an old or new master artist.
Peter Max is an American artist known for using bright colors in his work. Max synthesized the "Summer of Love" into artworks from canvas to mugs, clocks, scarves, clothes, and cruise ships. Reference: Wikipedia