Long Slimmed Poems
Long Slimmed Poems. Below are the most popular long Slimmed by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Slimmed poems by poem length and keyword.
O’ little Bonsai, looking elegant!
Ah, you are quiescent!
How do you feel when trimmed?
Discontented for being slimmed?
I feel a conscious impulse - carries
Back to mother earth’s hands.
I wished I would be a great bower,
For passers-by and for birds a big tower.
It’s not my silence,
But sadness that cast on my face.
Deprived of my original charm,
And last as a showy in the living room.
People wonder at my pretty figure.
But never realize that I have lost my vigor.
My stature makes them exuberant.
But never recognize that I am poignant.
Contest : BRIAN'S Choice U, any form, any theme
Contest judged on: 25/05/2020
Sponsored by : Brian Strand
winner : Honorable Mention
There doesn't seem to be enough humour here
That's where Jester Jack earns his pay
Been commissioned by the jolly police
To spread joy and giggles each day
He's provides this service totally free of charge
There's no reason to change that now
He also reaps such happy benefits
Creating laughter is his vow
Ain't a serious bone in his slimmed down body
Though some say he's still overweight
It goes with being a jolly old elf
Or a happy-go-lucky primate
So next time you need a pick me up my friend
Click on me, I'm online all day long
I'll try to chase your worries away
With a cheery word and a song!
© Jack Ellison 2013
You don’t know
what you cherish,
like kissing
grandpa, two girls
against his cheeks.
He appears younger
than you thought
at the time, and I’m
in the prime of my youth,
shirt and skirt so sprightly,
my sis not her shapely-self,
still finding her way. I
recently slimmed down;
not the first time. Back when
both grams were living,
one thought I was too little;
kin don’t mean to do that.
Even now, a couple of people
have said it’s good to have meat
on the bones; rolling eyes.
I never gave thought
to the features, the blessed face,
how we must have been good
for his soul. We visited once
a year. I was a teen, my sis
a pre. She’d not come
into her own yet. Didn’t matter;
it doesn’t, to most grandparents.
They just moisten their eyes
with all the grand-love they get.
It’s not until we are around the same
age, that we understand
how much it must have mattered -
a photo masterpiece!
I combed cool waters of your baby blue
crystalline Jewel as you waded waterfall
waves washing my stellar rainbow rays
arching it melted into the warm womb
of transducing tangoing Earth
Her Violet Flame devoured us both
as nectared dewdrops to fuel the fire
our soma swirling into ecstatic orange
oxytocined crane flowers whispering
wisdoms to a hundred yellow butterflies
fluttering and flirting
They circled a sunken Atlantean apex
atop where you ruled anew with Baconian
brown locks surrounded by sirens serving
savoury silver sardines, oolite oyster shells
sang solos as dolphins dived, oceanic mouthed
In Ancient Egypt you followed my runcinate
rulings or indigo sorrow siglums, sighing
becoming slimmed seeker who served
Thoth well whilst wreathing my wounded
worthiness and fallow fallopian tubes
at pyramidal plumed midnight hour
In our Grecian lifetime you draped alabaster
urns lighting my marble mantelpiece
I watched breath enter your nebulae nostrils
as you crafted provincial proverbs instructing
slaves to whiten your garb with lemons from
our sculpted garden
On lavender Celtic hills we exchanged kilts
not knowing whose waist was whose
barefoot we flaunted sleek sharp sapphire
studded swords dancing necessary wild wars
Who remembered and who forgot
where in ether our nestling niche napped
as games of betrayal, fear or doubt
doubled into involuting circles and spirals
each tried to neck THE VOID as naked
excuse for not excavating heaving Heart
How much escaping, escapades, evolutionary
clocks cloak our cusps or cues or custard
synchronicities
how many summer summit starlings must
seek to sing of sorrow or of wolves, withering
willows, watermelons on this Planet of
coloured curriculums
holding dear our distinctive designs where
lacy lament is but another aperture into Space
I seek not to know !
A strange woman blasted into the family reunion
Came in loud and crass; obnoxious. Showing off.
No one knew her.
I was selected to ask her to leave.
Mom! She said.
It was one of my foster children from way back when.
I did not recognize her.
She had been a porker but she had slimmed up
And gotten two feet taller.
She picked me up off my feet, hugging me with a huge hug.
My husband stood up, concerned when she carried me to the old person’s table.
“Veronica!” he said, acting delighted.
I was not fooled; he never liked this one.
“I can give you some diet tips,” she said, setting me down in the middle of the desserts.
I have lost sixty-seven pounds," she told him. "Looks like you
found most of them."
In fear, other relatives began to leave the reunion.
Our family is full people with tempers.
No one wanted to hear more and they forgot I had married a pussy cat.
I began devouring a dainty sliver of coconut cake.
“Sixty eight calories,” she declared firmly.
I had a piece of pecan pie in my mouth now.
“Sugar entices cancer to consume our colon,” she said.
I knew I looked as happy as my husband who flounced off.
I picked up a spoon and began digging into the pan of lemon delight.
I guess the more nervous I become, the more I eat.
Veronica was rattling off warnings, advice and diet tips the whole time.
No one had ever cleared out our family reunion this fast.
I kind of admired her new-found confidence.
She sat unnoticed in the corner,
Strumming her guitar with quiet fervor.
Her name was called, and like a spark,
She ran toward us, youthful and stark.
Her hair, untamed, yet free with flair,
A boyish shirt and casual air.
Slimmed face, petite, with Asian eyes,
A modest flower beneath open skies.
Like a seed, her presence grew with time,
February passed, an ordinary climb.
She stood among us, shared her part,
Stories flowing, heart to heart.
I came to know her as my sister small,
And I, her brother, guiding through it all.
I was the director; she played her role,
But now I’m the bee, and she’s my soul.
At first, I sought another bloom,
But her uniqueness brightened the room.
I confessed, though her petals cried,
A fragile beauty she could not hide.
Love, like a plant, grew strong within,
By August, the waiting would begin.
She sat with me in a cozy café,
Sipped her drink, her shyness in display.
Why her, of all the flowers near?
Her charm so simple, her essence clear.
She loves purple, a playful hue,
And in her simplicity, I found my truth.
This poem is but an introduction,
A love story born of pure affection.
Each passing day, my heart proclaims,
Her beauty, her spirit, etched in my veins.
A name engraved, a melody to enjoy,
Three letters long—my heart’s Joy.
Purple and simple, yet endlessly rare,
Forever my love, beyond compare.