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.
The laden fruit tree crossed my heart
Tempting me to seek another path
I refrain from satisfying the appetite
And went on fasting to end this
Vicious and painful plight.
I deny myself of everything in search of
A new beginning so I went off in a period of silence
Away from everyone and explored deep within
but instead the answer came for someone else.
I drifted in a dose on January seventh
The night was extremely cold and I padded
My self with four layers of sweaters
and four pairs of socks to keep myself warm.
In the wee hours of the early morning
The answer I seek for myself was not clear
But I know that the answer was for someone else
On this night the mystery was retold in a few words.
And someone’s was there to reconfirm.
I dreamt that I was in an open space
sitting on a big park bench and a woman messenger
In the form of a Prime Minister came to me and asked,
“Will I be reelected?”
And an angel replied, “Yes”
That messenger confirmed that a popular woman
In America will be the next president.
The messenger suddenly disappeared in thin air
I got up and walked towards the street
And saw a woman standing behind a podium
On the pavement of a busy street
Addressing a jubilant crowd.
The Messenger walked across the street
And passed a note in front of the
Woman behind the podium
She glanced at it briefly then continues
To address the jubilant crowd.
I took the note from the messenger and
went in the bushes close to a nearby bridge
Suddenly a man appeared and stood close to me
We read the message together
And this was what the note said,
“I need help with the infrastructure”
We stood in the bushes and looked up at the bridge
Cars were speeding over it but something was
Unusual at the corner of the bridge
A rusted spot was exposed
It seemed as if it was about to give way
So I left the man in the bushes
And quickly walked away.
I woke up suddenly out
of my sleep before the break of day.
©2015 Christine Phillips
A chilly, wet, spring day when the icy mud melts just enough to soak your socks before you've even gotten to the car,
And all you can think about is getting to the cafe.
There's coffee there.
Everyone goes to the cafe on slushy mornings,
When the sun shines but wind frosts the eyebrows.
Today, it's so bad I wait outside the coffee shop,
Imagining the various flavors of warmth
Rivers and tributaries of delicious comfort
That steam my nostrils as customers hustle back to their cars,
Roasted beans tempt even winter's grip, daring her not to thaw.
Ah, to gaze through that glass, where each order is taken,
Where a few modest coins give so much joy...
And then, I pass through the doors as the line lurches forward.
Chatter and laughter create summer inside
Like fireworks between flirts and a carnival of cacophony
Humanity's warmth, deeper than the coffee in which it takes root.
Soon, I too have my name in the queue,
And my dream of warmth unnumbs my icy toes.
As my name is called, I carefully caress my beloved drink betwixt my palms,
Ceremoniously seasoning it with cocoa comforts and frothy cream.
I guard this small joy,
Bravely setting foot forth,
My joy apt, and sublime.
All too briefly enjoyed.
How fleeting I remember
When struck by the tragedy of ice
That stole my coffee,
Frosted my feet,
And dunked me frigid into a muddy puddle just deep enough to breach my collar.
How I grieved as life-giving brown sparkled briefly against dawn's daylight
Freed of it's paper-cup prison
Splashing hot pain across my face even as winter soaked my back.
I remembered the cafe's smells, and laughter, and blissful exuberance
That too briefly I enjoyed
Too focused on temptation's fate, a burned tongue, and warmed belly,
And I grieved her loss as she sprinkled amongst the snow and earth,
No longer mine,
And gone forever, save for a few drops' aroma
That yet wafted my empty cup.
Sand flows much too quickly in that goldarn hour glass
I'm no spring chicken, but I'll have to take a pass
If a guy thinks he rocks
Wearing fuzzy socks and crocs
That nerdy look is just too dorky for this lass
I've had lots of men flirt with me throughout the years
But one dressed like that and I'd be laughing with tears
He'd make an impression
And from my expression
He'd be very embarrassed by guffawing jeers
There's a rumor about Batman going around
When he saw Robin wearing socks and crocs in town
He swatted him with a "ZONK!"
"Why are ya dressed like a punk?"
"Take those hideous things off or you're going down!!"
I've always admired a man who has self respect
One who dresses with class and style, I'd not reject
I'd call him a silver fox
In well-shined shoes, he walks
But in fuzzy socks and crocs, he'd look train wrecked!
Guys, if you want a lady's provocative glance
Invite her to dinner and then share a slow dance
But remember that your shoes
Will give her the helpful clues
She requires to let your flirting lead to romance
June 10th, 2021
Fuzzy Socks and Crocs Contest
Sponsored by: Francine Roberts
***********************'
The deep fake is running wild in the street, messing with the people you meet, it has turned my voice into a money making machine and exposed my well thought out dreams. Some things that I did not want you to know is used as the main highlight for the morning show and something that I whisper in my dreams are echoed in the middle of the street, the deep fake is all around and my natural voice is nowhere to be found; artificial intelligence has invaded the town.
They have dubbed the mad-man voice to sound like you, and when you speak another voice is speaking over you, the lip-syncing, is what is being done to impersonate the one that carry the dangerous gun.
There are several versions of you on the screen and no one can tell which one is you, the voices sound same but the faces are different and the smiles and the hairstyles gives it away. Sometimes you appears walking without shoe and it is hard to tell who is who, AI has clone you to wear socks and shoes and I know that’s not you.
Come let me show you the proof, the original house has no roof but AI has change it into a luxurious dwelling with gold and silver awning smiling in the middle of the morning.
It has windows that look like castles and gardens that look like paradise, the image you see on the screen is a deep fake and you must visit that place in the middle of the day and your imagination will never lead you astray.
The deep fake has turned the meeting into a circus creating bodies that does not exist and voices that running out of breath oh what deception that has risen from the pit of hell, everyone from France is waking around with straight nose that has no bridge and perfect lips that are ready to sing, is the kind that I have never seen and they only appear in my dream.
Beware of the deep fake in your school for Santa clause is coming soon; you must know the real from the unreal and separate facts from fiction. The deep fake is running errands in town.
Calling all socks!
Please, listen there's a sock monster
Who lives in our washing machine.
This is no game.
We put this out on an E-mail page.
This fills me with rage.
We don't know name,
Age,
What he or she looks like,
What color he or she is,
Or if he or she has one foot or two.
There's foul play
Going on here much to our dismay.
We put in two socks
And one disappears
Never to reappear.
I know it's a shock.
I am telling you to use the buddy system
Hopefully you'll find the green sock
That is missing or better yet you could
Solve the mystery,
Tell the untold story,
And go down in history
For bring this culprit to justice.
We expected an Amazon box,
Which had toothpaste and sandals and socks,
Plus a few odds and ends
Which, when Amazon sends,
Rarely ends up with stumbling blocks.
Yet the package, this time, never came
And we’re not really sure who to blame,
For the app said, “You’ll find
That the doorman had signed,”
But he didn’t, despite what they claim.
Finding someone to help was a chore –
Service isn’t like it was before –
But at last we were told
There’s a one-day long hold
So the whereabouts they can explore.
We will wait before calling their bluff,
Though I doubt that they’ll locate our stuff.
Once I thought they were great
But I’ve noticed, of late,
Amazon isn’t quite up to snuff.
My favorite memories seem to be,
Me barefoot, playing in water to some degree,
I loved those nights on the beach,
Where the moon was so full,
It could almost be reached,
Running in, about knee high
Without a care in the sky,
Another absolute must of mine,
Jumping in puddles and singing a rhyme,
“Muddy feet” mom would scream,
Me and water were quite a team.
I can’t forget the creek behind school,
While everyone was in class,
I thought I was cool,
Sneakers off, hopping the gate
Socks hanging low, I could barely wait,
Plopped my bare feet right in,
The cool, clear stream, their little swim,
Late at night there would always be a trace,
I was never good at keeping my game face,
“Muddy feet” I‘d hear mom yell,
She would never believe the stories I’d tell.
by: Sabina
I’m racing round the NASCAR scene,
With bugs and grit upon my gleam.
The rubber flies, the dust goes wild,
Screen’s smeared, rip it off, I cried.
Tear it Off, Rip it Off!
Shatter My Veil,
to Crystal Clear, Please!
Got no time to wipe, stop or weep,
My tear-offs are stacked ten deep!
Snatch and rip my world to clear,
Let's end the pit-stop clutch gear.
I weaved through fumes and bumper brawls,
Blasted like bullets off the walls.
My screen is chipped by flying rocks.
Ripp'n the socks off track-worn crocks.
Tear it Off, Rip it Off!
Shatter My Veil
to Crystal Clear, Please!
I'd love to see my tear-off fly.
My flimsy film sent screaming high.
Maybe I'll see Vegas, before I die.
Take me to where I'd rather lie.
I’d trade this helmet, car, and game,
For brighter lights and louder fame.
Ditch the garlands, trade the shows,
If this screaming screen just goes!
Tear it Off, Rip it Off!
Shatter My Veil
to Crystal Clear, Please!
Day Dreams
I love to have daydreams,
about the nighttime.
I believe I can see it all
clearer in the light.
I am not afraid of the monsters...
in the closet, made of laundry
and fallen clothes,
from hangars that have broken,
creating giant fangs,
in the faces
leftover in my mind,
very unkind.
There is nothing under the bed,
but my shoes and a few socks.
I wondered where that went,
and that... and that... and that???
But no, no creature here,
to feature highly on the page
of the press,
the news,
I refuse to give in,
to bend,
against the evil...
that is just there to scare,
how dare the shadows
it's just not fair.
Try again somewhere else,
you have been driven out.
There is no place here, to fear,
the unknown.
Angels all around,
in the air and on the ground.
They are everywhere they are needed.
My warning had better be heeded.
I think I'm a good diplomat,
I'm worth a prize or cup,
I stop all of our arguments
by simply shutting up.
I think I'm a good dresser,
I'm really quite a catch
although some socks have holes in
and that's why they do not match.
I think I'm an Adonis
God-like, striding on the sand
sucking in my stomach, and
my buttocks with both hands.
I think that I'm a master chef
my curry you can't beat it
the family say they're allergic
but at least the cat will eat it.
I think I'm a good vocalist
it's all part of my charm
though when I sing, the neighbours think
I'm testing smoke alarms.
I think that I'm a good lover when,
as my girl makes it plain,
I know she wants more as she says
'okay, is that it, then?'
I think I write good poetry,
the truth I may be fudging,
but maybe we should wait and see
if this gets through the judging.
For contest 'Who do you think you are', sponsor Caren Krutsinger
August 23rf, 2018