Long Sleeved Poems
Long Sleeved Poems. Below are the most popular long Sleeved by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sleeved poems by poem length and keyword.
The enlistment oath he took gravely to fulfill his obligation,
To defend the Constitution and to honorably serve his nation
He always looked sharp, wearing the Air Force blue with pride,
Adhering to the values of God and country was his constant guide.
He always prepared meticulously for every stand-by inspection.
From head to toe he was a model of military perfection.
For this inspection his accessories were carefully selected.
Everything must be perfect, not one detail was neglected.
It took a great deal of time to see that he was properly dressed.
Sharp military creases for his long-sleeved shirt were pressed.
His jacket and trousers were professionally steamed and cleaned.
Strings and lint from his uniform were carefully gleaned.
The creases in his trousers were as sharp as a razor blade.
Rows of ribbons for honors won were upon his breast displayed.
His metal insignia were polished, and, oh, how they glowed!
Now, all was in readiness for inspection and in its proper mode.
The gallant airman was not preparing to march in a parade.
Alas, he was dressed in funereal clothes and in his coffin laid.
For this, his final inspection, he was immaculately dressed.
'Tis for certain that his Creator will surely be impressed!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
I’m lost, the snow’s so deep, red scarf left as a mark, but gone,
I need to nap, a busy night, Santa and Rudolph will miss me
Sleep, I must sleep, so tie my shoe around a tree with thorn,
Must prepare for dread, for what lies ahead, a villager passing heard
My sleepy voice, and from beneath a steep pile of snow peeped out
A blue sleeved arm and shoe-less foot, so he awakened me,
I would freeze in this bitter breeze, a hot glass of milk is
What you need, the stranger said, so tearfully I did explain,
I feared a wolf with fang, poor tired Santa forgot to head count,
Please help, all I know is address North Pole, so elf and stranger
Walked hand in hand, leaving footprints in the snow like sand,
Was this stranger assigned, of course we know he was, with speedy swirl,
Found themselves in Santa’s house, beside his spouse, address North Pole.
A miracle Santa declared and looked around, but no-one was there!
Competition Entry: Footprints
Dated: 02/05/2021
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
Carnival Nights Poetry Contest
Robert James Liguori
There was a special carnival set in my memory
Rides, games, and food, cherished, and a prelude to our first kiss
And a second date where we watched Rambo: First Blood
But on that night, he held me in his arms dearly and lifted my spirits
Where the moon and stars looked down and smiled at us
And I remember passing a cow with big brown eyes
She proudly wore a blue ribbon garland around her neck
And as we exchanged glances, my eyes peered at my blue ribbon
He was standing right next to me, as the cow seemingly knew
As we closed the first chapter, the sights and sounds sing in my heart
Circus clowns, cotton candy lady, acrobats, and little kids playing
But it was my man, future husband, that my eyes were really on
Those blue jeans, long-sleeved white dress shirt, cowboy hat, paint that night
A true gentleman, he was, he handed a prize teddy bear to a little kid
Where the little girl clutched the brown furry one happily and beamed at mom
These montages are now old but forever golden beam the big top of my heart
I always remember those words, "ma'am, do you want to go on another ride?"
Look in my closet and what will you see?
First is the shoe holder hung on the side of its door.
It holds shoes sometimes not matched up and some I rarely wore!
Tightly pressed together are many clothes you’ll see.
I think you’ll find them hung here quite haphazardly.
There are lovely tops and sweaters in many style and hues.
Many are clothes from which an average sized woman could choose.
See the cute black velvet-feeling top I’m looking at now
with its many white-faced cats saying “Are you kitten me right meow?”
A nice, red button-down Christmas sweater has black beads for trim.
It hangs close by a bunch of leggings ready for the gym.
A sweater that’s embroidered with flowers pink and blue
hangs near a long-sleeved dress with flowers on it too.
A practical black shawl is hung above a pair
of faded blue jeans which at times are too tight to wear.
A Rudolph top so playful hangs nearby an aqua suit.
A modest skirt this suit has and a scarf that is so cute.
Another skirted suit outfit has black stripes over gold.
Near it is a dark blue dress with a slit up the side quite bold.
Oh, here’s another suit of gold and checkered in design.
The pairs of jeans in here (if you can locate them) must number at least nine.
A leopard leather jacket with sexy pants so tight
is near a flared-out, long, bright skirt and a blouse that’s white.
A long blue fluffy bath robe hangs aside a purple-dotted top.
There are so many other things, I think I soon should stop.
On the shelf above the clothes are many purses; in a box
are lots of different types of belts and some holiday socks.
You’ve seen enough by now. But oh, my summer clothes!
They’re in a spare room’s closet. No time to show you those.
Burlap and Satin
He labors in the field 'neath blazing sun
below a sky of blue with clouds of white;
his wagon and his farming tools at hand.
With burlap hat and ragged shirt undone,
from dawn to dusk he works the blessed land;
brings life to fertile soil with brawn and might.
His heart is happy in the time he spends
to make a good life for his new-found bride:
to be together, come the sun or rain.
To share in living on the crops he tends,
and bear the long hot days, sore muscles, pain
his work demands in order to provide.
And now he has an angel by his side
attending him throughout his labored days.
Her hours are long with indoor duties too.
And in the evening, both at rest, abide
the coming of the next day to renew
their modest joys of life in simple ways.
So often through the day, she is right there
beside a window, safe indoors to see,
with cat against her satiny-sleeved arm,
her dear strong man, if he is taking care
to work the field without her fear of harm.
His angel in disguise…dear wife is she.
February 12, 2015
Burlap and Satin
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Burlap and Satin
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Judged: 03/30/2018
~1st Place~
Contest: Angels
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron
Judged: 01/01/2016
~1st Place~
Contest: An Angel in Disguise
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst
Judged: 03/20/2015
Iambic Pentameter, Rhyme Scheme: a-b-c-a-c-b
Play a song for me
get out the old record player, no cds
look through the protected sleeved LPs
of all our old memories.
These twilight years
hold so many recollected dreams
easily recalling the heartaches of the years
when the laughter faded into flowing streams.
Choose a song, some familiar melody
one shared and love from times gone by
and we can slow dance to the pleasantry
in the love of you and I.
What song will it be
what words would they express
to revive love's magic revelry
in this life in which we are blessed.
Play it again
let the reality be relived
still holding onto to my best friend
we still have much more love to give.
Play me a song
any old one will do
we know where we belong
dancing alone together, just me and you.
She personifies the rift between town
and gown in the city,
pageant pretty, in pale pinks pellet,
lace sleeved adorned,
like a primrose she stands prominent
a gringo cigarette in one hand
Mexico’s flag in the other,
her country ‘tis of thee
like the contrafactum
of an earlier English anthem
God Save the King,
American democracy
she paints her de facto
her homeland in turmoil,
under an anthropomorphized sun
lest the moon’s clash in her own sky
Olmec ruins, laid foundation
stone heads, deep-rooted cacti
leaving behind the natural nation
she’ll advance athwart
contra the cold chicken coop
industrialization’s smokestacks,
the iconic River Rouge Plant
ugliness versus beauty
a glossy façade?
homesick for her pagan past
A young girl
with brown hair
braided back
holds before
her a parasol
striped in two shades of blue
At her neck is
the lacy collar of
an elegant long-sleeved
Ivory colored blouse
Seen in profile
her face is turned
slightly
downward
as if she is
in quiet reflection
Behind her
is sky light blue
but directly
in front of her
is the expanse
of a large cloud
enveloping half the sky
Four white butterflies
seem to dance
behind her
One beige butterfly
and a small blue one
have alighted on her
bell-shaped beige skirt
swept outward
That skirt is an upside
down lily
floating above
ground,
for her entire
lower body
has become the flower
which has lifted
toward sky and cloud!
The maiden
hovers above
blue dandelion-like blooms.
I imagine her f l o a t i n g off
into her own
imagination,
for she is as light as
the fluff of the
strange blue dandelions
which I can imagine
blowing away
with puffs
of my breath
and
a wish
hanging in the air
humidity’s heaviness . . .
the river’s slow crawl
On the Mississippi lies the beautiful little city where I once lived. How many times I trudged up inclined streets; or leaning forward, red-faced and panting, pressed up slopes with all my might, feet on pedals of my purple Sting-ray bike, urging myself not to dismount prior to reaching glorious level ground! The damp beneath my clothing in those days was a given. Simply stopped to rest. . . sipping pop underneath a tree, I would often feel rivulets of sweat that trickled down beneath my underarms, a surfeit which caused circle stains to appear beneath the arms of short-sleeved shirts or on Sundays, beneath the flowered dresses that I wore to church. However, despite the heat’s discomfort, it was summer, after all!
counting down the days
until the school bell’s last ring -
a fling with summer
Released from stifling classrooms for vacation, I eagerly embraced the sun. . .and how I played! Kickball with the neighbors, visits to the city pool with my sisters and friends, bike rides to parks or into town, where I spent my allowance on records and treats, and hours racing eagerly through the pages of Nancy Drew books in front of a cooling fan - all these things consumed me.
It was in the month of August, and more than a decade of muggy summers later that I found myself transplanted in a desert. As if thrust into a giant pre-set oven with a noose about my neck, I learned firsthand the meaning of “slow roast.” Here, in the new and different place where I've now lived most of my adult life, the heat can leave one with a burn like acid watered down, a deep sensation lingering in skin long after sun has left the sky. Perspiration may just evaporate before it has a chance to wend its way along the body’s contours. Discomfort notwithstanding, there’s no pain. Acclimated to these summers now, I find that it is easier for me to breathe in August heat than it was the first time I’d ever encountered it. Released from stifling work, I go outside into the oven, pen in suntanned hand!
sunshine reflections
so many summers have passed
writing till twilight
There it stands, desolate and alone
That roofless shell where the winds
Still whisper of the past
When scampering children's squeals
And wheeling seabirds' cries
Rose thinly through the air.
A thatched croft from which a healthy living was scraped
A shirt-sleeved man, braces showing,
Bald pate bunneted against the sun,
Bent over to tend his plot
An aproned woman cheerfully shooing away the hens
To collect the eggs for the evening meal
Beside a silvery sea stretching
To the horizon
Hiding the city lights and its imagined pleasures
Until those dreams drew the young away
Watched sadly by the elderly pair
Their exodus damning
The island to its desolation
Where still the birds' cries squeal
And the wind through the grass softly whispers
Surrounding the now silent croft
In the salt sharp air
What homely pleasures such a life once offered
Now the graveyard of fading memories
While the once busy city streets
Stand empty drained of life
As the virus continues to take its toll