Long T shirt Poems
Long T shirt Poems. Below are the most popular long T shirt by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long T shirt poems by poem length and keyword.
November descends delicately,
crisp, crimson-gold
landing languidly midway between
'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day'
and 'Now is the winter of our discontent' -
dead center between its nurturing tree
and the leaf pile bound for burning
Casually clad in T-shirt and shorts
on my makeshift cardboard sled
middle age's gravity conveys me irreversibly
down summer's green, grassy slope
towards the snow-shrouded vale -
I find myself halfway between
where I did not want to leave
and where I do not wish to visit
Midway between the eulogy
and the forlorn trumpet playing 'Taps'
it dawns on me that life is not entirely about the
sunshine on our backs nor the coming snowbank
but about searching for the sunrise
on the far side of
the next hill
1 November 2022
41.
Ode to the Flower of May 2011
Got thee on twentieth May
At town hall's façade you lay –
I planned this day to get you
Possible that we can do
For Summer Class Finale
Notable activity
Related to a lesson
The Church – Social Dimension
In white t-shirt we look neat
When we were almost complete
Under the shade while we wait
For others who seemed so late
And without hesitation
Proceeded I election
Little yellow bloom I picked
From green grasses where it sticked
So far it's the tiniest
And obviously the humblest
Then we went to town's parish
That moment we should cherish!
-05/20/2011
(Dumarao)
*Ode to the 7 Flowers of 2011
Manon (Mary) and I, sat in the Tuileries gardens, by the Louvre Museum. Her 7 month old daughter, Devyn, on a blanket in the grass, was earnestly practicing a roll from her tummy to her back - of course, we coo’d and applauded each success.
We’d been girls together, years ago, in 5th and 6th grade - we were ‘like thieves at a fair’ back then - playing ‘la marelle’ (hopscotch) and pétanque until the boys, in early exercise of their ‘ed privilege’ ran us off the court, scattering us like birds.
She wrote me off a few years ago. But to be fair, I was missing. Growing up, my family moved around like we were on the run. I’d come back to Paris some summers and we’d check-in, but summer schedules are ephemeral and years turned into distance and a seemingly permanent silence.
Her last voice message, from 2017, is still on my phone, her voice bright, cheerful and expectant. I listen to it every once in a while, holding my phone to my ear, like a private seashell.
I was moved to China, where I’m told - thank you, Grandmère - I picked up a brash, incisive, Cantonese, ‘overly-direct’ manor, while Manon,went on to Institut Villa Pierrefeu, a finishing school in Switzerland.
Her hands move like ballerinas, her voice is as clear and refined as
Baccarat crystal, her look - bixie-cut chestnut brown hair, a white, Fontaine Zuave shirt over black, ME+EM Italian Linen Wide-Leg Trousers with Keds canvas sneakers, is Parisian simple and elegant and her posture is effortlessly perfect - she makes me feel like a scrub in my black Beatles t-shirt and jeans.
I passed Manon on an escalator, two days ago in Le Bon Marché.
I was going up, she was going down, with this little Devyn doll on her hip. The little firecracker I’d only seen on Instagram was dynamite in person. Her little expressions are bright-eyed and somehow familiar, their laughs - mother and daughter - are the same, rolling, lilting trills I know by heart.
My watch showed 69°f as we sprawled picnicking on a tree-lined embankment of the slithering green Seine. Rain clouds were gathering to the south - the river acts like a compass -which can be handy. Looking back on friendships is fun, but now we’re looking forward - which feels like home.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
My Old School by Steely Dan
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
I tried to understand the young generation
but it was a vain attempt, I cannot appreciate
discordant Rock music note young generation enjoys so much
the stage where the singer wearing outrageous attire,
the well-worn jeans and a T-shirt full of hideous images on it jumps, hops, runs, shaking tattoos, hanging on the tip of his disheveled long hair picking a guitar and yelling, the audience turns into a frenzy of excitement
the younger generation most have duller hearing and
poorer eye sight than the older; the sound of bursting explosives
and flying sparks must accompany to see and hear the ongoing summer night Rock music festival on the stage, and as they get excited the concert ambient becomes absolute madness, as if it’s the eve festival on the way to hell.
On the paths of cheap thinking, steps are lost in the dust
Of a road worn down by conformism demanding its toll,
For it's costly to step out of line, to defy the line drawn
With white chalk on the board of life, where lessons are clear,
Black or white, right or wrong, and we learn to expect
Reward or punishment like a Pavlovian reflex,
Rolling through time, becoming ideologies unwittingly,
We define ourselves by jobs, birthplaces, diplomas,
At the intersection of these lines, template ideas are born,
Mainstream and accepted by the masses, as well-behaved
As a gray suit in the university hall, where jeans
And a t-shirt are acts of rebellion, expensive as a freedom
Paid in coins of image, for the inverse of norms
Is a road paved with risks, and public choices cost.
But how not to get lost in this web of conventions?
How not to let the invisible hand push you forward,
On the worn path, free of headaches,
Where the suit is a shield and thinking, an easy shortcut?
There are many trivial subjects where cheap thinking
Finds its place, but few are those that demand depth,
Where there's no room for laziness, ideology, or conformism.
Do I do things because I believe in them, or am I carried
By the current that pushes me like a leaf on water?
In this stream of consciousness, I lose and find myself,
Seeking the melancholic magic of an authentic choice,
A dance of shadows and lights under the emerald sky,
Where every step is a question and every answer,
A discovery of a self unbound by norms.
My life’s apart
My toes I’d touch
But I could do
Without the rush
Midnight calls
Again Liquor’s saved my day
I see you not
I guess I’ve lost my way
Morning comes
My coffee’s stale
Let us
Check the mail
The door bell rings
T-shirt with no jeans
No class today
Wide awake
And I might not
Last the wait
This evenings cloud
Have shaken my doubts
I wonder
If I’ll ever make it out
Home from work
Dreary eyes
I lost my paintbrush
In my shirt
I’ve spoken soft
Worded cloth
But my quill
Has written dry
And to my dreams
My days
Might not say goodnight
Lost my wave
Astray in change
There’s no tempo in this trap
I am in dire need of a nap
"Her songs after brunch"
I’d been in a two-year relationship
He even got down on one knee and did propose
He’s still the only man ever to ever buy me a red rose
But his mother hated me I wasn’t the right one for her son
She put her oar in and caused trouble and soon the damage was done
We split – I couldn’t be bothered with men I didn’t want the hurt
I threw myself into charity work at the local hospital
Radio Lollipop is a hospital radio station especially for kids
I had my own radio show – something I would love to do again
Bob was an engineer and built studios - we became friends
One Saturday we were decorating a float for the Lord Mayor’s procession
I was wearing a tight low cut bright pink T shirt…how could he not notice me!
Started dating in June, just before Christmas we got the flu
We looked after each other at his house ...I never moved out
On Valentines Day 1989 I proposed to him – even though it wasn’t a leap year
I’d got up to get ready for work – he was still in bed.
I knelt down by the bed and asked him to marry me… he said yes! PHEW
We married two years to our very first date
Twenty-three years later we are still going strong
Jan Allison
21st September 2014
Contest:Will You Marry Me?
Sponsor Judy Konos
~awarded 1st place~
Time strokes the wrinkled canvas,
the ancient spider in twilight hour
weaves the senility web,
the empty eyes wander in the wasteland.
The hedonist psyche refuses
to gauge the grief of loss.
The face morphs into metaphor
for the past panorama dislodged,
captured in the snapshot
of the narcissist impulse congealed
in the portrait I make of me.
It’s made of latent lattice of delicate design,
lines on lines contour my body.
The vibrant epitome of expression align
with the pattern of unique look personified.
An insular captive of my mental making,
I’m an inimitable loner within me,
defined by the entrenched essence singular,
scared to face the crowded world.
I get driven by the self-obsessed urge
to uplift my sagging morale,
clothe the portrait with an apposite attire.
I open the sparse closet to select a T-shirt
with the walking punchline
“Be Brave, Be You” inscribed bold.
It makes a simple style statement
for me coming out of the lonesome shell.
1) Pick up the cat and cradle it in the crook of your arm as if holding a baby. Position forefinger and thumb on either side of the cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As the cat opens it's mouth pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in arm and repeat process.
3) Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw away soggy pill.
4) Take new pill from package and cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut and count to 10 .
5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe.
6) Kneel on floor with cat firmly wedged between knees. Hold front and rear paws ignoring low growls emitted by cat. Get partner to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail and take another pill from the package. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set aside for gluing later.
8) Wrap cat in a towel and get partner to lie on top of cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in the end of a drinking straw, force cat's mouth open with pencil and blow down the straw.
9) Check label to see if pill is harmful to humans and drink a pint of beer to take the taste away. Apply band aide to partner's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed and get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard and close door firmly on neck. Force mouth open with dessert spoon and flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges.
Drink beer, fetch bottle of Scotch, pour a shot and drink. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect, then toss back another shot.
Throw away remnant of T-shirt and put on a new one.
12) Take cat to vet and get him to give cat the pill.
Perhaps, it's the holidays,
then again, maybe not.
Perhaps, it's that time of year
when all the world seems racing around,
as if the stores will suddenly
be emptied of their inventory,
as if any other time of year
that could possibly happen.
Warm unsual December creeps in
and lays hidden within the morning fog.
Sipping coffee in a t shirt and jeans
the world is too quiet, too still
as if the universe were anticipating
waiting for something big to happen.
Perhaps, it already has
and we are blindly oblivious
failing to notice or be aware
of when it occured
and are still waiting.
The message is there, unchanged
speaking in the simplest of terms
Love one another
as I have loved you.
I hear it
do you?