Long Smock Poems
Long Smock Poems. Below are the most popular long Smock by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Smock poems by poem length and keyword.
She was an orphan with an ax to grind wanting nothing from no one.
Gifted with flaming red hair and freckles she was quite the eye full
Each day she ducked around in rubber flip flops picking remnant leaves
and discarded petals from the ground, in her neighbor's backyard, .
One tiny bud
cute little boutonniere
fell to the ground
Like herself this tiny petal had seen better days. Tucking it in her smock
she scrambled on her knees in another patch to find more of them.
another petal,
she began to melt
beneath a fractal sun
Juniper Bleeding Berries they nicknamed her cuz her lips were always bloody and chewed. Also known as the hairy red fairy, they poked and taunted in a jail called Reyhanli.
she found a bleeding red one
mad as hell
with a shake of the trellis
she spilled out the rose petals one by one. Without a sound they fell, never stood a chance. Picking up an handful of soft crumbled petals she tucked them in her smock. Bet they felt misplaced there in her sandy pocket, Like herself she thought as she left the others behind, to mulch and rot inside the ground.
For Vera, Leanna and Leslie
Today in church I was rapt as I listened to the words of the pastor,
As she spoke about the death and glorious resurrection of the Master!
But I must confess that my mind ran amok and wandered,
As I reminisced about Easters past upon which I pondered.
I recalled Easters of yore when our little girls were small.
How they anticipated the Easter Bunny, ready to have a ball!
Their mother, Vera, was an extremely talented seamstress,
Who made for each of them a gorgeous lacy smock and dress!
She insisted that they have new shoes, gloves and fancy bonnet,
Trimmed with lots of lace and colorful flowers upon it!
Vera wore an outfit including new shoes and hat with dressy flora,
And I of course had to wear a suit and tie and a ridiculous fedora!
Off we marched to church and Sunday School in our fine attire,
To hear the awesome Easter Story and a cantata by the choir.
After, a repast was prepared by Vera with ham and sweet pertaters,
With other tasty fixin's including a salad of garden-fresh termaters!
The girls relished the chocolate bunnies and eggs that they found!
I recall so many Easters with my family when joy would abound!
Fast forward to today when the girls from home have flown,
As they carry on those traditions with families of their own.
Alas, we lost our dear Vera this past July but I have this one consolation;
Today she celebrated Easter with CHRIST HIMSELF in great jubilation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
She paints freely
Whenever she is around
Then draws briefly
Either a smile or frown
She's good at building texture
Less is more where it counts
She paints by numbers
When she's out and about
She wears a smock
So there's less of a mess
But when it comes to abstract hearts
No promises are kept
Mistakes are hard to erase
When using an angry oil base
She paints by numbers
Helping to cut to the chase
She makes you feel
Life is but surreal
With you as her medium
Nailed to her easel
Using you as her landscape
In her brushstrokes of give and take
She paints by numbers
The only way she can keep life straight
1950’s poodle skirts made a brief come back.
kids in the eighties thought it was funny, a fact.
my own daughter had some scotty dog clothes too
not knowing they were old, thinking they were new.
I half expect those smock tops of the seventies to return.
and the mushroom kitchen appendages – vases for your fern.
nancy sinatra’s white boots have made a resurgence at school.
they are worn by a teacher who clomps around like a mule.
someone said to me last week “Polyester will never return”.
we had to threaten that material, and finally match it to burn.
it will show up one of these days as a trampoline or something.
nothing is ever new, said the fabric-studying-professor king.
Lined face and hands of leather
Her body punished by blazing-hot weather
She'd worked the fields for 50-plus years
Her energy drained, along with the swamps
~For the kibbutz whose ideals she held so dear...
Shopworn and spent in her shapeless frock
Offered a menial job in a kitchen smock
She volunteered to teach immigrants Hebrew instead
The time had come to depend on her mind, she said...
Her classroom had no board, just tables and chairs
Nor was there a breath of fresh air in there
The temperature outside nearly one-hundred ten
Inside just two fans --Can you imagine?
Yet she taught us to converse from the very first
In just a month, we could handle most situations
We could shop for clothes and order food too
Buy tickets for a ride on the bus or in the train station
She taught most of us to speak Hebrew fluently
Her lessons with our objectives meshed congruently
Her name was Tsiporah; it means 'a sweet bird'
Her language teaching the sweetest music we'd ever heard
October 06, 2019
Favorite Teacher or Professor Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
untitled poem
by Javascript
The future is lying 6fit beneath me
I have learnt to morn people while they are still
Alive .as dreams fads into the echoes of our nightmare.
But we still clench the hopes of our tomorrow on our fist and now our hands hold nothing but hopeless dreams
As ashes become the reality of our burnt dreams
As we smock away our dreams
Now the stench of the cigarette smile
Chocks our breath away
Leaving everything but burnt dreams behind
You see my reality is a venom whisper
I want to spite out
Before it kills me.
But someone is holding my
Mouth with a clenched fist
This reality is one were you cant pitch
Awake from.
Branded on our skin like a brill text .
I dont speak from the past
I speak from the present tense.
written by Owen thepoet @Javascript thepoet
Most of life is spent in
hope for better things yet
expectation of what is to come
or anticipation of what could be
and while this is good, even necessary...
Focusing on the few
more “memorable” moments
misses out on much
of the spaces in-between:
Time with loved ones
time amid others
time to ourselves
time spent going places
and getting things done
time spent sitting utterly still
Such seemingly mundane spaces
on life's broad canvas
are the underpainting of the portrait
that our life becomes
the basis of the character we create
moment-by-moment
day-by-day
While more exciting times
are mere small fragments
on their own, a sad display
an infinitesimal, tiny sample
of the grander scene of life
So slow down, dear ones
Breathe deeply, remembering that
rushing only leads to rudeness
Instead of slopping through
these middling spaces...
Correct some of their ugliness by
brushing them with beauty, a little each day
Carefully choosing each word and action-
coloring them with kindness
Be honest, but without cruelty
Stop tolerating the intolerable
stop committing to what you don't want
stop rejecting what you truly need
life is a limited commodity
don't squander your time or anyone else's
Clothe yourself with humility
artist's smock of life
the covering that allows for
mistakes, creativity
and continual learning
Make the most of every moment
especially
the ones in-between
you might find that in the end
they were the most precious times of all
Lavender turkey eggs amid purple straw hat
With fake turquoise frosting,
She sits next to me in the hard pew
What kind of sugar ants will be parading up here now?
For I see this is real frosting she has added
A two-year-old wearing an engaging smile
Sits next to her. Not aware if they are related.
Church gets ultra-busy on Easter morning
Lots of strangers. Is that a Big bird hat?
False alarm. It is a yellow Easter basket hat.
Complete with a giant bunny that dangles down her back.
Made of faux fur, thank goodness. Little girls she sat
beside would be shrieking now if this bunny was real.
Girls cannot keep their paws off her bunny, which has googly eyes.
The next hat walking in has a jaunty cross pinned to the top of it.
The wearer appears arrogant, proud, haughty even,
A blatant contrast to Christ, who was none of these things.
Sh! Someone hisses. "Here is the minister." A hat-less man
Who immediately comments on the wonderful congregation and
The unique hats. He cannot keep his eyes off carrot hat woman.
Her creation is two meters tall - a giant blue bunny holding two bunches of dangling carrots, that take up so much of the pew, no one else can sit there. It matches her wild blue and orange flowered smock that barely covers her knees.
I wear my simple Easter hat with pride,
Cockily thinking I am both subtle and sleek.
Others begin pointing and laughing.
My Easter chick apparently got nervous
and left me several little presents.
I knew I should have made the background brown.
written by :
Owen Hamalala
My dreams are crazy and mysterious.
They appear while I am asleep (like A thief).
slips away when am awake. In my dreams,
I am the kind of person I can never
evolve to be.
A mindless roamer
In my dreams I”m like
spectator
I don’t realize its purpose in my life.
It tends to pave a way for me once in a while.
But I places my fears in front
as it takes me for a ride a roar costar.
I can’t figure out whether it’s helping me or hurting me.
In my dreams I have been pushed beyond walls
But yet in Progression
we keep moving to break more walls
I ask,
are we in false paradise
A paradise were dreams become nightmares
The breaking of sold ground
Like scattered pieces of broken Dreams
Yet to be forgotten like lost memories
They say with dreams you go to places
But with my dreams I went fast but not to far
We live a (world of dreams) of broken Promises
As memories fad.
Into nothing but ashes
My dreams are like the clouds that gather
To give rain but never rain
As I easily fade into nothing
Like the smock rising h
My dreams
I n My dreams I whisper words of hope into the stars
To rewrite this crazy night mare{crazy dreams}
A pray to the man upstairs to send me the light to light up this crazy dream of night mare
As I walk the sandy beach, a sea shell my hand will reach. Wash it off in the blue water, to give to my daughter. A chain I found under a rock, I will wear it with my smock. I found treasures for my daughter and for me, now let's go eat some crackers and brie.
Date Written:3/26/2020
Honorable Mention BRIAN'S CHOICE 10, any form, any theme Contest Judged:5/30/2020 Sponsored by: Brian Strand