Long Sleeves Poems
Long Sleeves Poems. Below are the most popular long Sleeves by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sleeves poems by poem length and keyword.
Her chopsticks are at the ready.
Her hands are good and steady.
She likes to knit her noodles!
The task has just begun...
She starts off with a mango Welt
With pride, with zest, with tang.
It's a mesmerising watch
While the wiggling noodles hang.
Next. She's on to saucy Stocking Stitch.
Her garment sure does grow!
Knit one - Purl one - Knit two together
On each tasty row.
And this main course is called
" Knit Purl Chopstick Cha "
With a curry Cabled centre,
With sides of paprika Purl and Knit korma.
And as an extra tasty treat
BBQ Rib Raglan is on the menu.
Trust me! This kind of cuisine
Can't be found in any old venue!
From there on, the sleeves do drop
Like the soy sauce shaken a top.
Neatly Knitted are the Ribs.
Who voted for fish and chips?
To finish this fine course...
Knit - Slip - Knit - Pass Slip Stitch over.
This will make the button holes
For the chocolate to melt all over.
And on completion, these knitted noodles
Slide straight on down her throat...
Before we've had a chance to prove her skill
This talent to others gloat!
early morning change
too soon for you
made it back to paint
charades of you
i awoke from lies
to touch her lips
inside an empty glass
her morning stained kisses
i stood a challenge until
her lipstick read
happy valentines
i love you still
illusion become the truth
when you don't know what to do
pressed the iron against her sleeves
tortured me softly and said
i don't want to leave
her notes speak volumes
that letters cannot
whistles from the stove top
I guess her coffees hot
I miss what i haven't forgot
stood a challenge until
she said
happy valentines
I love you still
written in purple gloss
the person i thought i lost
if it were any other day
I'd heart you still
"january, february, and those days beyond"
As in sheets, sheared time is laid
forever dream-weaving in sweet sage
lasting breaths to aching pleas
sleeves of soul sway in the breeze
Falling leaves are grazing check
caressing gentle as softly sleeps
Lillie’s teasing arising to greet
milking petals beneath my feet
Kisses brush my mouth to seep
eternal passion from nights weep
supplicating to familiar eyes
saying adieu before the sigh
Magical life is drifting behind
unknown ages splendor-ed in kind
closing windows,and dropping the drapes
eternity comes as my loom is shaped
Fantasy remade into the real
unicorns prancing in the fields
faeries are skipping and jumping rope
every turn a boon,a fulfillment of hope
Wishes aplenty are winking from trees
A man on the moon is in love with the sea
And resting at peace in yonder light
a future is dreaming,what we’ll never sight
In Cathedrals these magical beings advise
and peace is no dream,its breathing new life
The squeak of rubber is the crunch of snow
Under the steps of my winter boots
As I walk through the Below Zero
And when the day breaks
The air itself is as white as if
One is looking through mesh of a screen door
The cold so cold it can be seen
In-between
Smells like candle wax on my sleeves
The tree limbs criss crossed like milky yarn
Unraveled across the sky
And the tattle of thistle and sunflower seed
Slides from my hands
Down the silo of a bird feeder stand
Stuck in the snow like a stake
I leave this trail of food
True
For the finches drained of their color
And the black-capped chickadees
That sing and chirp despite it all
A pitch of song that lifts the woods
To attention
Harassing the foxes
That prance upon smuggling moles
With their noses
Always pointed toward attack
Exactly to the North Pole
No one knows how or why
But can you imagine the divine advantage
Those foxes have over the flesh and blood
Of their tiny prey?
But I am here for a certain squirrel
That I’ve been helping all season
I don’t know if he’s a young kid with a disability
Or an old man on his last leg
But half his fur fell off in December
And his one hind leg
Is as bare a bone as a devoured chicken wing
It seems to stick straight up
Stuck in position
He can only drag through the deep snow
And cling to the base of trees
He’s half the size of others
His exposed backbone wrinkled like a lizard
Some days he doesn’t show up at all
But other days
There he is
Surprise!
Still struggling to survive
Don’t tell me
Creatures are not feeling and thinking
Afraid of death and agony
Or even dreaming of joy they once knew
The best I can do
With my own waning power
Is to favor him
With a simple toss of human compassion
A kernel of chance
And spend the day
Watching through my window
Wondering and worrying about him
Living.
November
Falling leaves crunching beneath booted feet
Crispy mornings filled with pumpkin spice and doughnuts
Soft, warm sweaters covering sleeves
A misty frost across the once green garden plants
Warm, sleepy feet touching down on cold tiles
A flash of color cascading across the ridges that peak
Gentle giants lumbering up through the mountains…
In hopes of finding that winter’s hide away
Whispers of red, gold and amber…
Abiding across the edges of emerald pine
Alive with colors that can only be seen in the month
That arrives with Thanksgiving wonders.
Thanksgiving reminds us all to remember
The year’s blessings, gifts, talents and experiences…
All that we have to be thankful for –
Hope, faith and love that abounds within each one.
Thanksgiving is that perfect moment in time…
To share our joy and peace, our sincerity and serenity,
All that we love and care most about…
Especially Jesus, our Savoir and Lord!
©2018 by Regina Riddle
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeves
No collar,braces and rolled up sleeves,
Leather buckled trouser belt;
Number forty-six with Gran he dwelt.
A curled up moustache,
His manner stiff and harsh;
Horse artillery in a younger day
A shilling a day his rate of pay.
His hens roamed at the end of the patch
Each day free to root and scratch;
Collecting eggs from his homemade coop
His aging back acquired a stoop.
Fresh,brown and range free
Daily for breakfast or tea;
He killed a chicken as a special treat,
Plucking now a forgotten feat.
A waist-coated old stager
Known to all as the Sargeant Major;
Old fashioned,a bit of a tartar-
Made my Gran a domestic martyr.
Can’t keep my mind steady
Paranoid about where I’m headed
Asking me why I changed
I tried not to
But at the time
It seemed inevitable
Leaving spectators to judge my heart
Tell me was it credible
Rumors become curtesy of lynching’s
Secular thoughts
trapped in traditional dimensions
Trying to make it to a new year
Upon completion of duel semesters
But I can’t with draw from beefing
With these crooked city officials
Going through what I’m going through
I look to the future
And wonder how I’ll make it financially
My conscience is ignoring the thought
Leaving the reality of the subject
To answer me
I’m paying my taxes
Yet still in courtrooms
I’m awaiting legal faxes
Brutalized and feeling less than human
Thinking to myself, “I’ll stack my riches”
And in twenty years you’ll see a new man
Sleeping with a pistol
Awaking by every wind that whistles
it's become less considerable
to maintain a comfort at ease
Contemplating going to war against individuals
I know I can’t beat
But my refusal to allow them
To bring me to my knees
Has brought warmth to my shoulders and sleeves
Caught up in traffic can I escape detainment
It appears that I missed a court arraignment
Maybe it’s my suffering that you call entertainment
Got a phone call from a love
In Wisconsin, running in the snow
Said she was wondering how I was
Wishing me a happy new years
And wondering how things were going
In the open Monroe
She giggled and told me
She was reminiscing of us cuddled up
Snacking on cheese curdles
She laughed and said I miss you
I laughed and said
I see you still smile like an untouched pearl
It’s cotton sleeves and naked shoulders, since
the balmy southern evening’s close and warm.
“Aida” underneath the stars tonight!
Bassoons and oboes, eager to perform,
are practising brief runs. The moon is huge
against umbrella pines, and tiny bats
are flickering, silent in the smooth mauve sky.
Italian stewards, nature’s diplomats,
escort the pretty women to their seats.
Expensive perfume lingers in the air.
Coquettish earrings glitter fetchingly,
their wearers feigning sang froid (but aware!)
These Roman nights! Life is so gracious here.
To live like this – who’d ever want to die?
Ars longa, vita brevis. Raise a beer.
Tonight, Rome is eternal. So am I.
When I am old
Sadly to say
I found many wrinkles
And senile plaques
Scattered on my body
But suddenly
To my delight and astonishment
I saw two scars
Two childhood scars are fading away
They have been ugly spots
To be covered with long sleeves or pants
One was bitten by a dog
One was hurt by falling into a drain
Each one carried a strange story
And a childhood memory
But now I have gathered
Some scars in my heart
Which cannot be overelooked
During my career and marriage life
I was bullied by some colleagues
I was ill-treated by my sister-in-law
Scars in the heart
Though cannot be seen
Will not fade away
While scars in history
Can be read in books
Easily forgotten
And sufferings continue
Pity the young generations
And our loved ones
Two towns not different
from each other and yet
they have become indelible
and their preciousness inestimable,
they are two thoughts of equal devotion;
on one I spent lively and spontaneous days
of my brief youth that was given to passion:
going to school, playing soccer in a distant field,
On the other, I rolled up my sleeves and worked hard.
Two towns with friendly people showing a frown
when faced with many hardships
and a few questionable rewards;
and that incited me to be a fervent dreamer,
someone who allowed imagination and dreams
create something beyond belief that shocked my peers.
I could have been a notorious painter,
or even an applauded composer,
but those aspirations vanished as fog at the arrival of dawn...
boarding an airplane, taking me far from my birthplace
while the Vietnam war raged on
and hippies sang songs of rebellion and peace,
and with drums and guitars, they rambled on
being deluded that freedom was won without arms and courage
by smoking weed and getting drunk: that didn't change their tune.
Two towns not different from each other
have remained engraved into a youngster's memory
and they can't be taken apart, or single out by animosity
having been stumbling blocks but also inspiring as well;
did I wish to leave my motherland and not tell
how tragic and how appalling was my farewell...
uncertain of a future not so brighter in color?