Long Socks Poems
Long Socks Poems. Below are the most popular long Socks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Socks poems by poem length and keyword.
Haphazardly, yet dastardly
Chaotic but organized, that bastard, he
With vengeance unjust and supersized
In an earthquake, he is the aftershock
You think it’s done, but wait! SURPRISE!
World’s rocked and socks knocked off
You can’t ditch this itch, what a crock!
Some may mock, but he is an iceberg
What you see seems just the average jerk
When underneath is all berserk!
A quirky perk to fool hapless foes
Off guard he throws, keep on your toes
For your weakness he already knows
So goes the life of the thorn in a rose
To impose strife and scorn I suppose
Being born so forlorn your only purpose here
Is to STRIKE FEAR AND MAKE THEM PUCKER
I mean… really just a pesky little bloodsucker
That’s besides the point though.
Since he’s the BEST of the pests in this jest
And will NEVER REST for his quest
He is OBCESSED and full of zest
I can attest since I can hear him buzzing
Because when it comes to push and shoving
This nasty little good for nothing
Will not be content and will not relent
Until he gets under the skin that holds the scent
He will torment! And when he gets the win,
Oh you’ll be sorry as he flies away in VICTORY
Then his epic story will be ….. SMACK.
Hmm… perhaps not so all powerful foe.
Damn mosquito.
Culicidae (Scientific name for mosquito,
and super sneaky secret villain name in this case!)
I lie in bed, almost asleep,
But my mind has other ideas
And begins to mull over
Everything in my life!
Suddenly, I am wide awake.
I turn on my side and fluff my pillow
To get more comfortable.
I resolve not to think about anything,
Make my mind a blank!
But my feet are cold! I sit up
And pick up socks from the floor
And pull them on. That’s better!
I stretch out flat on my back
And try relaxing all my muscles
From the top of my head down,
As I’ve been taught. Doesn’t work!
I turn on my side and curl up.
I breathe deeply - once, twice -
Oh! Oh! Oh! A cramp
In my calf pulls me upright, and
I leap out of bed onto the icy floor.
Flexing my foot and leg, I limp
Painfully back and forth
Around the room.
I approach the bed again,
With trepidation, and smooth the
Blankets and pillow just right,
Wooing sleep. But no! Still,
Questions float through my head –
“Did I…?”“How will …?”,
“If I organize it this way, then…”
“Stop! Stop! Stop!”
I tell myself. I try humming
To drown out my thoughts!
Now I’m too warm. I toss off
A blanket and throw the socks
Back on the floor,
Untangle my blankets
And punch my pillow! It’s no use.
I get up, tie on my robe,
And go downstairs to the kitchen
To make a cup of chamomile.
While I’m waiting for the tea
I eat two crackers,
And some ice cream
I spoon right from the container.
I carry my cup carefully into
The dark living room, settle
Myself on the couch by the window,
And watch the patterns
Made by the wind and trees
In the park across the street.
The steaming tea, the monotony and
Dark hypnotize me,
And finally I relax.
I trudge wearily up the stairs,
Crawl back into bed,
Pull up my blankets,
And fall well and soundly asleep!
John
Is 65 and a tall man
Dressed in a white suit and tie
With nice tennis shoes fuzzy socks
And some hair plopped on top.
Mary is 24 with blond hair and a smile so fun
Her sweetness tosses like sugar
Across the party of every room
She enters.
Her contagious smile has been erased
Behind her virus mask
Yet still gloriously escapes
Through her crinkled blue eyes
Her heaving cheek bones and that guttural ha! laugh.
Down the aisle they walk together
Between all the seated people
Mary steadying John by the arm
Whispering to his agitated face
With the palm of her hand and several Kleenexes
His heavy weight leaning
Into her strength and beauty.
John
Lives comfortably in a nice house
Enjoys retiree health care and a full pension
For his immediate family
Until he dies.
Mary
Has no health care
No 401(k) vacation or sick time
Makes $12.50/hour
And lives in a little ground floor apartment
In the middle of the city with a cat.
She can’t help herself
Happy anyway.
He staggers
She swaggers.
The two reach John’s mother
Up front
Cloaked in a beautiful blue dress
Surrounded by candles and photographs
Her hands clenched around a bouquet of flowers
A half smile
No longer blocked by a mask
As she lies asleep in her coffin.
Mary holds John up by the waist
His mask hinged to his jaw and ears
While he makes muffled squeals
And pokes his mother’s body.
Mary turns him around
Draws him back to his pew
Everyone sitting six feet apart
Crying
More for John than his mother.
Mary takes it in stride
For she cleans his behind after accidents
Lifts him up from sidewalks after he’s fallen
Feeds him food from a spoon
Wipes his chin
And when he screams at the top of his lungs
She tries to remind him
The old comfort of his forgotten name
John John
But that never works
Yet when she says it’s Mary Mary
He sometimes recognizes something
Far away
And can quiet for her
There is no Medicare reimbursement for this
She
Alone as an angel
Drives home for the night
In a beat up car
Her magic performed
Poorer
But richer
Than what any CEO could ever imagine in space.
At our house we had what was called an ‘odd sock drawer,
A place which the whole family could keep odd socks to store.
Quite often the matching sock was to be seen no more.
When the drawer became quite full Mum declared war.
She bought a sizable pack of large safety pins.
And threw the contents of odd socks out, to fill a few bins.
Each of us was given quite a few pins. No more sox would be odd.
Pinned together as we take them off when the last step was trod.
Into the wash they go still tightly pinned together.
Now through thick and thin and any type of weather,
Those pesky socks can’t come apart even if they try.
The dryer doesn’t like their pins so it’s out on the line to dry.
Cheers for Mum she fought the battle with a wink and a nod,
She won the war. Now we have no more socks that are odd.
Now we can fill that draw with anything else that we please.
It seems to be getting filled with miscellaneous keys.
Keys that have been lying around and don’t seem to fit any door.
A place where the whole family could keep odd keys to store.
I wonder how long it will take her to find a solution for odd keys.
Any suggestions accepted. Use the comment section please.
these were adorable snow boots but they leaked
my socks are wet now and I think I’m getting frostbite
It is at least a hundred yards back to the house
why did I have to buy beauty instead of sturdy?
each step in this deep snow is miserable
My teeth are chattering now
Why does anyone live in Minnesota in January?
I cannot wait to get inside
I made it alive, my icy cold socks are plastered to my toes
I have difficulty pulling them off
I put two socks on each of my feet
Put on my cozy pajamas and start a fire in the fire place
Out the window I can see the snow
It is gloriously pretty from inside.
Twinkles and glistens, sparkles with bluing.
Maybe everyone should live in Minnesota.
You say you’ll love her till the day you die
But when she feels unwanted and broken inside
Will you hold her and tell her she’s enough
When she’s tired of pretending to be tough
Will you love her when she’s a mess
Her hair in a bun, her face not at its best
When she is cranky, mean and sour
Will you make her laugh for an hour?
When she wears funky socks on her feet
Will you love her when she isn’t neat?
And when she wants peace and quiet
Will you love her in the deafening silence?
When her hands tremble and shake with anxiety
When she’s being tormented by society
Will you stand with her, in the loud mess
Will you love her when she’s deep in distress?
When her skin becomes wrinkled and dry
And her joints crack and groan with a sigh
Will you help her rest, relax and heal
Will you love her even when you have to kneel?
You need a smart phone to get your number.
Take a picture of the square with the code,
answer the text message, “yes I am here”.
My number D106, better take a seat.
The interracial gay couple next to me, are awfully
grabby for 8:45 am, just mind your own business.
But, why doesn’t the white guy have any shoes on,
and why just socks, that when purchased were probably white.
Now serving D100
The rather large lady to my left requires two seats.
Whats the deal with women and tights and what’s is
the largest size available, in purple?
Her perfume choice, ode to yesterday’s cigarettes.
Now serving D101
Mr, I work for the highway department, walks buy and takes a seat.
Neon yellow shirt and jeans say, we were washed four or
five days ago and worn everyday since.
Presumably his wife, who doesn’t do laundry often, sits beside him.
Now serving D102
Two Asian men enter followed by a teenager, maybe a son.
He reads the billboard and explains the process.
Both men remove their phones and follow his instructions.
Three seat together is going to be hard to find.
Now serving D103
Across the way, a family of four, teenage daughter wearing pjs.
A Halloween motif with Michael Myer’s masked face.
Since it’s only mid September, aren’t we rushing the season a bit?
Then again, given the black lipstick and nail polish, maybe not.
Now seeing D104
Now, the shoeless gay guy gets up and jumps at the ceiling.
He’s trying to remove the cobweb hanging in front of the monitor.
Nice try, but at maybe 5’5”, LeBron James he is not.
His partner urges him to return to his seat.
Now serving D105
You know they sent you a notice: Renew by mail.
It even allowed you to do it on line, save a stamp.
But no, the picture was out of date, nearly eight years ago.
So here your sarcastic ass sits.
Now serving D106 “Thank the Lord!”
She’s behind the glass, the remnants of Covid.
Her lips are moving, but no sound is coming through.
I point to my ears and shrug. She increases her volume.
Yes, wish to renew my drivers license.
Sign the application where highlighted and $24.
Wow, 4 bucks cheaper in person, what a deal.
Picture taken, temporary printed, permanent in 30 days.
Outside finally and look down, what a horrible picture.
The hooting bird in the tree is singing a bountiful tune; the heat is spinning around in the air with a message that is clear, and the building straining under its weight is waiting to hear the final debate. Walls cascading upon walls lay flat on the sun burnt ground and dust walk about in the street, with boots like soldier man facing an eternal defeat.
Tearful eyes peeps through shadowy glass window whose pane is stained with blood trying to put the puzzle together as they watched the terrified crowds running for shelter.
The mountain is crawling on its back and the rivers are dancing in new socks. Water gushes down the merciless stream in rubber boots sweeping away everything in its path. It forces the village women that beat their laundry on stones to parachute to higher grounds. And somewhere beyond the distance the wailing voices of worshipers resonates from the temple.
Sacred sounds penetrating the heaven causing concrete gods to tumble from the sky at the wink of the sinner man’s cry. The giant structure blocked the street heaping up piles of concrete burying dogs underneath and crushing man’s passion on the concrete.
I can hear the hooting once more, and the wood pecker knocking at the door, leaves are scattered all around and it seems as if winter is visiting summer in the town with pencils, pens and hats trembling in one hand. It took a while to figure out what was going on, and I kept staring at the unforgiving sky. I tried to reason with it but there was no compassion inside. I listened to the ridicule and smile.
A sudden brush of wind brushes over my face and warm my spirit with grace. I could hear a familiar voice around but that person could not be found. It’s one of those days when the sun and the moon caress in the horizon and the stars are in harmony.And all of a sudden reality embraces you and look you straight in the eyes, and say, you have survived!
I think the dryer ate my socks.
I cannot find a pair.
Whatever will my tootsies wear?
No sign of socks
on my floor,
in my drawer,
or behind my door!
It seems so weird they just disappeared!
I thought I spied one under the bed,
it was just my Calico cat instead.
I asked the dryer their whereabouts.
Did he know?
I had my doubts.
Were they stuck with static to a dress?
This tumbling machine would not confess.
I begged my crocs,
“Have you seen my socks?”
“We plead the fifth,” they replied.
"Had my dryer lied?
I pleaded with the hamper to tell me the truth.
Where oh where is the old sock sleuth?
Droopy
sporty,
smelly and
black.
TELL THE DRYER I WANT THEM BACK!
Run Bacon run, the sound come echoing from the gun, run bacon run there is nothing to fear hold on to the third and the fifth gear. The oil is in the hip, grease your joints before you take that dip.
Meringue and carhop is no match for the crown. His body is on fire, and his passion is rolling with desire. The cow is on heat and the miracle is underneath my feet. He is running around in the sty so come catch the bull before it dies; the herd is waiting at the crossing with guitar and drums getting ready for that final home run.
Run bacon run, tie up your belly and run, take off your socks and shoes and anchor your feet in the ground before the mid-day news. Take up your baggage and run before you hear the final gun.
They are no match for your ingenuity, your originality and your brevity the crowd is pressing on with courage, ambition and perseverance but the dictator is hiding in the room and you have to remove him before noon.
Run bacon run the race is not yet done, this weekend promises to be fun if you stay in your lane and follow your gut feeling. You have got to know how to roll the dice and you got to know how to run on ice, you must keep your feet firm on the ground and follow the beam on the screen.
Run bacon run, you have three more laps before it’s done, the universe is watching you, and the crowd is patronizing you.Run bacon run, and take control of the track, the president and prime-ministers are in the stands, they are tossing money and playing lot, and way up in the gallery the Saudi dignitaries are getting jittery and the referees are moving around the field taking notes and observing the “goats”. They have thrown a lot of money in this race and anxiety is swelling in their face but they were not in a hurry, for the estimated glory.
Beacon is turning the corner and the crowd is roaring louder, bacon is getting is on the home stretch and it is pulling away in depth. The eastern stand is on fire and it is dancing with pleasure while the northern stand is cruising with the breeze and water is dripping from their knees, they are also on fire.
The western stand is burning with desire and the bacon has just crossed the finishing line in a striking distance of more than fifty meters. I have got to take the bacon home to cool down this internal fire, and give the niceties their final desire.
Run Beacon run!