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.
They came in singing and the beagle jumped off the couch.
Ran straight to the door, yipping with excitement. It was beginning.
Are we the first? Melinda asked. The kids were laden with presents
Glad they were, kid’s cousins would whisk them away soon enough.
Got in fast hugs and kisses, and they began tearing off their scarves.
Hats, coats, mittens, landing on the floor next to their boots.
In an hour, the whole living room would be covered with happy people.
My husband was hiding upstairs in the bathroom. Big brave grandpa!
Saw the little one taking a sugar cookie; good for him. I applauded that.
His mother wanted to help me. I am finished, I told her. Ready to sit.
The kitchen smells were making me salivate, and I am not a big eater.
The next family came in with three more kids.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Grandpa shouted “Hey! Hey! Hey!”
as they scrambled up the stairs past him.
“Hi Grandpa!” Charlotte said.
Giving him a grin that satisfied him the rest of the year.
Christmas at our house, and they just kept coming.
Relatives and friends, telling stories, laughing, joking, hugging.
It is the most glorious day of the year for both of us. I love Christmas!
(not a nice poem)
Evil Woman
You are part of me,
I wish that were not true.
Even now,
I long to be lost.
I have heard today
again,
yet one more,
reason to believe,
your level of hate,
had no end.
You took from me,
everything that you gave.
It was never mine at all.
You traded me in,
for sin…
and gained,
evil in your bed,
hell in your future.
Children sacrificed for reasons,
personal and specific.
Handed over,
like baggage at a claim.
Left on the curb,
to be picked up by strangers,
that have use of cast offs,
like colorful scarves.
I am not angry anymore.
I pity you.
I have grown passed,
the ability for your reach,
to touch…
I have been washed…
clean by grace.
I pray,
He…
saves you too.
bright! bright! bright!
and cold
if i touch my nose to the picturesque windowpane
i’ll surely see the light
this Finter uproariously has censored
my two day habit of nature walks
wrapped in layers, scarves and woolen socks
a shock to reigning leaves of gold
the South and North locked in uncivil war
with similar flocks of weather-cocks
our country vast with flames, rain, blizzards
and but a little sun
who will win today
headlocked in this political haze
snowmen with bolder-arms
could melt upon the congress floor
wet with united tears
divided under scrutiny
we weather it out in cushy chairs
our tushies need repair
11/13/2019
Finter - combo Fall and Winter
Marija was blatantly alluring which is what attracted him in the first place.
Her name was not exotic, but her attitude was.
Her whimsical manners and masterful life steps were a joy to watch.
There was a quirkiness about her that drew all of us in, even the women.
She was a Romanian gypsy queen who danced with scarves
And sparkled with silver shimmering spangles.
Mesmerized, we watched her from every corner of the room.
Who is she? My uncle Jim wanted to know, asking everyone.
I knew then that his carousing days were over.
She was masterful, I will give her that.
A free standing, freewheeling, free spirit of a woman.
Sensual, sexual, and seriously seductive.
My uncle had been a lone wolf for nigh onto thirty years.
We watched him that night, seeing the tremendous effect Marija had over him.
Indicative of the effect she would have on him for the rest of his life actually.
A thousand different notes one hears
from the flute-like whistle of the thrush
to the chirp and twitter of the sparrow,
blended all into a single song;
Earth's welcoming of spring.
Sat there,
basking in the sunlight,
(the first in several weeks)
Spring's weather,
a hint of the summer to come.
Around us,
the wind whispers gently,
"Rejoice humble grass, it's time to break free"
and trees hurriedly recreate their leaves.
Spring is a time of freedom and growth,
as the horse which slept in its stable
hemmed in by the bitter cold
now roams the fields, completely free.
Amidst it,
dove white lilies and orange tulips thrive.
Nurtured by the glorious spring showers,
they sway and dance in its breeze.
Layered in scarves, gloves and a coat,
winter's icy embrace locking up her body,
nevertheless, under the frosted willow tree,
her eyes carry hope of that time
a mere three months beyond January.
Upon the ground
(To be sung to the tune of “As Time Goes By” from the movie “Casablanca”)
In this October mist
I know you must insist
The leaves will fall around
In colors right before your eyes
Upon the ground
The temperature will chill
These sunny days so still
A pumpkin patch you will be found
They grow along a vine of green
Upon the ground
Pine cones and scarecrows
Wreathes upon the gate
Warm sugar cookies
Resting on a plate
Scarves plaid and woolen, oh we cannot wait
For autumn’s wondrous sound
The gardens now are bare
Though still a smile we share
This season always does astound
Our footprints as we walk we leave
Upon the ground
For the: Change the Record Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Natasha L. Scragg
Magic
Growing up I was enthralled.
Tricks with cards, funny boxes, scarves that looked like flowers.
Disappearing monkeys, ladies sawed in half, locks without keys…
I wanted to go back stage,
pull back the curtain, and see.
But I did not!
“…as much as I wanted to know every thing…”
I also knew…
the secret.
If you know something, you can never un-know it again.
Say that to yourself, out loud. Twice.
So maybe, you will remember, when you need to.
You have to lose something to gain something.
The trade is not always worth the bargain,
Or the bargain, has so much less value,
there is no leverage in the effort of trying
to keep the mystery…
alive.
I wished to hold the wonder of my life.
Perhaps, not forever, but for now.
Some things are better measured carefully,
as the unseen loss invites chaos of the heart.
Show no tears, and laugh loudly.
Enjoy the show.
Winter’s High Noon Tease
Shinning in regal glory,
the heat of the sun was cooled down
by misty winds sneaking through
and passing around
outstretched arms
of naked winter trees—leaves gone
to who knows where.
Stunned by it all, we stood there;
goose bumped and shivering.
The trees also stood there—stone faces
of leafless wooden skeletons—
mocking a juxtaposed purgatorial
moment in nature.
Cold, confused and conquered,
we wrapped the remaining warmth
of our chilled, chided challenge
in woven scarves of defeat;
and with great urgency, we scurried inside:
seeking our homemade heat.
September 6- date for returning to school,
I am going to embrace it with joy;
grateful and ready to accept each rule,
and ev'ry experience . . . girl and boy.
I inform mom that I need lot's of stuff,
and a brand new hair style to flip and fluff;
and a trendy backpack to overstuff.
I tell my dad I need some tech supplies,
a laptop, printer and maybe a cell;
oh sure dad, of course, I can compromise.
get me this please- so this girl can feel swell.
I need stuff too like pencils, markers, pens,
notebooks- scissors, rulers to share with friends;
style for gathering in library dens.
Oh yes, need school clothes like tops and cute jeans,
skirts, dresses, leggings, shoes, socks scarves, and hats;
remember, I like things in pinks and greens,
I can just see trendy me having chats.
Oh, mom and dad, yes, I plan to study,
I will find a smart school study buddy;
dad, I read it's bad to over-study !
_______________________
September 04, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Back to School in Canada
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1485-366-04
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Back to School
sponsor, Francine Roberts, Judged 09/20/2022
Snow Angels, Snowpeople, and Evergreen Trees
When winter comes, children know how to have fun.
Laughing and catching snowflakes with their tongues
Or lying flat on their backs with arms flapping up and down
While swinging their legs in and out in unison,
Then carefully standing up to step out of the area
To marvel upon the angel shapes they’ve created.
Or roll sticky snow into balls piled upon each
To form snowpeople with stickily arms and no feet,
And coal chunk eyes and smiling lips, and buttoned-up chests
And old scarves wrapped around their necks,
With carrots for their noses and old, worn-out hats on their heads;
That almost made them look real, so the children nodded and said.
And evergreen trees they love to decorate to the hilt,
With pretty ornaments, hanging icicles, and tinsel strings,
And swirls and twirls of twinkling lights wrapped around the tree
And a star of wonder, shining innocently, adorning the top,
With presents underneath wrapped in colourful tissue paper.
The first one to sleep is the first one to rise, come Christmas morning.
***