Long Shirts Poems
Long Shirts Poems. Below are the most popular long Shirts by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Shirts poems by poem length and keyword.
Let's SEE What's in the laundry hamper?
" One a soiled cloth diapers
a fierce icky stinkysocks
some noxious obnoxious unclean towels
horrid stinking under-shorts
unappetizing horrible awful grubby baby bibs
Oh, my some mephitic nauseating obscene panties.
Musty nauseating odious under shirts
soiled squalid uncleanly pants and jeans
awful dirty filthy blouses and dresses
guess I’d better presoak and presort some of this mess???
9/27/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
When it comes all the different aspects of my life…
Those things I hear, smell, touch, taste and see
like most people, I imagine…I love a wide variety…
I love a wide variety of food and drink
some good…some not so good for my heart.
I love a wide variety of sports…
A wide variety of music…a wide variety of art.
I love a wide variety of colors…
in the clothing that I choose
from the multicolored hats and shirts I wear…
to the rainbow laces in my shoes.
I love the wide variety nature offers…
from the diversity of her birds that fly
to the different shapes and color of her clouds
and the way she paints the sky.
I love the wide variety of her animals on the ground…
Her insects…from her butterflies to her bees.
I love the wide variety of her landscapes…
her flowers and her trees.
I love the wide variety of her seasons…
the way her spring and summer winds and zephyrs blow
from the silent whispers of her falling rain
to the gentle dancing of her snow…
I believe there are a wide variety of people
in this world…people just like me
Who when they look at every aspect of their life…
delight in its vast and wide variety.
Who wish that love of nature, of art and music
our clothing and the different foods we eat
Would spread out across the world
to the wide variety of people whom we meet.
MY PRINCESS ANN DOMINIQUE
She's my firstborn child.
She's a sweet little darling,
precious and adorable.
When she smiles,
She keeps her mum's heart drifting by.
Whilst she listened to her mum's real
classic humming lullabies.
How time flies so fast,
As Mum's little princess is now a young lady.
She's attractive, smart, motivated,
and determined.
She's focused and friendly.
She's an ambitious lady who keeps on reaching
Higher for her dream company.
She loves to wear casual mini shorts and t-shirts
And hates vanity as she's simply trendy.
She's a business lady with such integrity.
She has a big heart with an authentic intention
for the people around her.
Despite this,
She has good sales persuasion.
The comments we heard were
highly complimentary.
Above all,
Her priorities in life are Jesus and family.
Written by: Rosey RMV
06/18/2021
Flower children
colors galore
summer concerts- screaming crowds
warm beaches - California girls
surfin boys
music- noise
long hair
colored skirts
sideburns long- shirts off
blue jeans - bare feet
people power
world peace
swirling psychedelic colors- smoking magic mushrooms
the power of love- world message
entranced by the magical journey
musical bands- rock and roll hot
crowds screaming- English invasion
girls swooning- songs rockin'
flower power
sixties blast
twentynet-60's
Phyllis Babcock
A bright light engulfs the room
and suddenly disappears
ushering a blazing essence
that abruptly evolves in the atmosphere,
buttons unlatched
zippers break loose
shirts collapses over skirts
flesh dancing in flesh
flesh devouring flesh
and impatient breath
whispering soft words in her ears.
Electrified
mesmerized
enraptured
emotions bathing in emotion
exotic moment intoxicated with fear.
listen carefully and tell me what you hear?
sounds thundering beyond steep mountains
doors hammering speechless voices
debris flying high in the air,
but they lie there firing on without fear.
Lights grow dim
and a mysterious sound chime in.
Pum Pum Pum
It must be the voice of an angel
walking up and down his gigantic chest,
kindling a soft fire that rips aimlessly through their ears.
It captivates their emotion
and enflame their burning passion.
dancing and prancing
skipping and dipping
sliding and gliding
they went to the extreme.
Eyes fixed in a steadfast motion
calculating the mysterious sound
chest pressing against chest
chest pounding upon chest
spilling tears of joy all over her face.
©2013 Christine Phillips
A springtime ritual at my house is to rid my closet of old clothes.
Including outdated suits, shirts, pants, shoes, all to dispose.
Goodwill appreciates my donations in their stores to display.
It warms my soul to see folks buying stuff who have little to pay.
A week or so later my wife and I were at a local cafe sipping our tea.
.
Said she, "That guy over there is wearin' a suit that looks familiar to me;
Ain't them the duds you donated to the Goodwill Store last week?"
That piqued my interest and I discreetly turned my head to peek.
"Yep, sure is" I retorted, "Same suit, tie, shoes and fedora lid!"
"I must say! He looks a helluva lot better in that git up than you did!"
(Written 4/24/2016)
Entry for Laura Loo's "Poem Written In April 2016" Contest
Old men in blue jeans
Dungarees – that’s what they were called,
heavy, blue denim, metal button fly -
form that followed function. The “cuffs” were
rolled up because inseam sizing and “pre-worn”
softened and frayed only occurred if you got
them from an older sibling.
Time has a way of softening things, Dungarees
included. They shaped themselves to your needs,
became one with your movements, stayed with you
through the tough times, went to town with you,
wore the scars and tears of youth moving forward,
taught the lessons of toughness and tenderness,
of reliable, responsible, dependability.
The clothes did not make the man, the man gave
meaning to the clothes, imbued them with his ethic,
his love, his success and failures, stood with him
in welcome rains and barren fields. The jeans,
flannel shirts, boots, weathered face - caught
between an ever present grin and grimace -
awaited each sunrise with a purpose.
The blue jeans are now faded by age,
highlighted by wear and tear, creased
in the rutted way of old roads – necessary
but untended. They offer the comfort of memory’s
warm embrace, the unspoken bond of a friendship
shaped by the demands of life.
They still walk together, these old men and their
blue jeans, more slowly but no less proudly,
for they have grown old together and know
that “the clothes did not make them men”.
John G. Lawless
1/1/2015
Pig Patty Plop ran into the Laundry mat,
From the awful butcher she was hiding.
Tired, busy mommy was taking some shirts out,
Bubbles hit the floor, and Patty was soon sliding.
She tried to hide under a young child's chair,
But the child let out an enormous scream.
She jumped into a white plastic laundry basket,
But her enormously fat posterior was not clean.
An apron-ed butcher walked in and glared around,
A maniacal man, holding his butcher knife.
On a cell phone we called the police in town.
and they arrested him, detectives from vice.
The pig was hailed a hero, and honored in the town hall.
Saving the rest of the crew from a butcher, deranged, was he.
As a prize for saving the rest of the patrons, eleven in all,
She was allowed to take a spin in washer number thirty- three
Words from perforated ceiling tiles squawk
as megaphone filters blare
in crackled sequence
around missing stations
and call letters that aren’t acronyms
I hear these words, but shake my head
I know they are for me,
sent by well wishing advisors
wearing t-shirts imprinted
“I’m with stupid”
(and the arrows point at me)
Still I don’t heed the warnings…
I can’t, for dreams require reaching,
top shelf visions waving with
hope filled coupons
offering no discount for the heart
“Don’t want what you can not have,” they shout
As I continue to climb the frozen escalator,
cleaning my shoes on the bristles,
then checking my appearance in the sunglass
refection of a mannequin missing one arm
(and I feel happy for this plastic person)
For it has no idea how it feels
To be out of style, yesterday’s sleeves
worn of worried first impressions,
heart beat delusions and needs
at the end of the line…to check out
and yet, until the time comes for me to “check out”
I will reach for that dream, regardless of
invisible sales clerks on their eternal break,
because I will reach that register and I will ask that question
to which she just might say yes
(and then who will be wearing the t-shirt)
In the brown leaves lie my valentine memory
In the sands of the dried up river my nudity
In the scent of jasmine garden your naked gravity
Who says the river flows for ever, never
What goes on until the blood flows in the vein
Sometimes slow sometimes like the torrential rain
The images die and the images are born
In the garden you love
In the stench you scorn
Umpteen unborn too
Our lonely times are the shadows
They meet the light and give rise to the photos after photos
It is another river of both grief and glamour
The river of thought sought or unsought
Untying the knots the time forced into my spine
The memories of our valentine
Like the grapevine light and shade
Resplendent in silken sunshine
The equine entwine, thine and mine, the joyous resign
To the deep designs of the sparks and fire paradigm
Our love responded to the crimson call
Then at the summit arrived the fall
It was lightening fast
The cardiac agitation
Sweat in profusion
You breathed your last
I cannot keep away from the celebration
Every year
Wrapping the gems and jewels
In the twilight envelope
With my valentine
I can feel the face and the kiss
In the bliss of gray sky in the blue sunshine
Across the avenue
Two poems are kissing each other
Their dimples shine
You were very kind
The wet air
So true
A tissue
The sky turns blue
The scented heartbeat
In the shirts
Deep down the heart
February 14, 2018
For Valentines Day - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer