Long Tee shirt Poems
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We have crossed over the bridge, looking back from where we begin; we have crossed over the bridge and have paid dearly for our sins. The sins of lust burn with shame as we try to wrap up this promiscuous game; the days get longer, the night gets shorter and another month jumps onto the fleet.
The devil is strumming his guitar in the back while the ancient alter is spewing out poisonous gas. The scene looks magnificent from afar but danger is looming in the sky waiting for the clouds to roll by. We have been there for a long time, counting down the days when the wind would blow in our way.
The streets are littered with matter and the crows are hanging over the gutter, the grasshopper is jumping about in the bed and volcano erupts exposing the dead.
Thousands of them lined up in the streets, with long guns stretched across their back marching together in a unified manner while the general refused to give up power.
Several ultimatums were given to him but his eyes did not blink and so he held his grounds on a burning throne. The heat was so hot; he had to exchange his military clothes for a silk gown and a gymnastic pose.
We continued our journey across the bridge with a flip-flop on our feet and tee-shirt and jeans to cover our body that were exposed to the burning heat.
Down in the village it was overcast but we continue to press before it gets dark, we had no money or food to eat, we had to beg as we progressed along the street; some people had compassion on us but most of the time we ran out of luck. As the night bears down on us, we found someone that we could trust. She opened her hearts and took us in and gave us a nice shower, a healthy dinner and sends us on our way the next day.
We got some change to ride the bus and we got to our destination without a fuss and so we had to part ways when we reached the city center. I walked through the gate and for the first time I felt detached from someone that was holding on to my frock and bad mouthing me behind my back.
Now I have the space to breathe fresh air and connect to my heart that is so dear; I can still hear your voice mumbling on the air and I want to listen to what you have to share. I can feel your presence far and near. This was a narrow escape.
38.4154017°, -76.5341214°
A waterwheel, raceway, grinding stones (bedstone and runner stone), gears, shafts, and a hopper for grain, Diet. The crested honey buzzard is a specialist feeder, living mainly on the larvae of social bees and wasps, and eating bits of comb and honey(qilaat)Inuit The People at Funks Pond.Analog-to-digital conversion.absolute event.a combination of shutter speed aperture
that determines the amount of light reaching the camera's sensor. manufactured by Kurtis Kraft in 1949 and 1950.Punganur Made cars and had a Milling Mill on the Creek. in the 1930's they built Sports cars and sold hovercrafts in the 1933 the sold shares of there company to the public. They became famous when the wife woman began infusing honey with vanilla beans:infused honey is made by adding whole Vanilla Beans to our raw and unfiltered honey. It's a perfect balance of sweet and vanilla taste.They shut down the company
and moved all the equipment to an undisclosed place Selling the Motor Company to Frank Muntez
Expenditures/costs negotiated/spent before filming begins, including source material rights (for adaptations) and salaries for director, producer screenwriter, and actors.
Whammy Bar ( Little Black Egg.....)
Funks Pond(revamp)
(RUMOR HAS IT) Ernest T. Bass was involved in an interracial relationship with black model Donyale Luna_ they had a child in 1967 he never recognized the child. In 2001 his unrecognized granddaughter began tossing stones at a Mall in Mississauga Canada. It was said she was sing "The Creeks to Dry" skip along in bootie shorts, a white tee shirt and a sleeveless blue jean vest. It was said that she had large beetle bugs in her purse. Crazy! Crazy! Crazy!)
Written By: Pro.Tuum Proximus Maritus
and Doctor Uxor Eius Est
of Wobble Board Fame Inc.
Red Cow Music and Lyric Company
British White Recording Academy
Belgium Blue Sound Prep Inc.
all Produced and Ex-Produced
By Black Angus "Jumpan-Pumpin"
with permission by Star Anise Leather Co. LLC
Copyright Pending
Patent approved
"Cheezey-greazy sour Dill
with Yeasty rolls: Man thats
deliisous!"
Written By:
Huba Datl Chol
Circa 1969
Revised the other day(2023)
Gold Dredging
Early morning first light
Camped on the rugged, mountainous terrain
Out of our warm sleeping bags and tent we crawl
To the smells of pine and clean fresh air of the mountain
Wood starts a sizzling, spitting, crackling campfire
For early morning hot coffee and a warm breakfast
I Dress in tee shirt and swim suit,
Hubby is in his wet suit
We walked down to the creek
Pull the dredge into the creek and get it started
When he hits bedrock where gold might be hiding
I stand beside the sleuth watching the
Gravel run over the riffles
I make sure the riffles stay clean
So the heavy gold
Will deposit behind them and on the mat
I see the flash of color and utter excitement
I yell, “We've hit gold,” impatient
With my tweezers and small jar
For safekeeping and
I keep on cleaning
When the day is done, tired, wet, and weary as a drowned rat
We clean the miners mat into a bucket
By the campfire we sit and pan our gold from the black sand
After the hard day’s work we undertook, it is wonderful
To see all the sparkling gold dust in my pan
The same warm excited feeling
I felt when my husband placed
My gold wedding band on my finger
12/27/2014
Picture it.
3:00 AM
Niagara Falls, Canada
We are rudely awakened
by an intermittent buzzing
very loud
irritating, nerve grating.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Fire alarm,” he answers.
We get up, wide awake now.
“Maybe it’s just a drill,”
he says, hopefully.
A disembodied voice
“Please remain calm, please stay
in your room while we investigate.”
The message is repeated at intervals.
He goes back to bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“It’s probably a false alarm,”
he answers. I wonder.
I’m thinking that if it’s real
we’re wasting precious time.
We’re on the ninth floor.
I’m thinking of the arthritis
in my knees, knowing we would
not be allowed to use the elevators.
I get dressed, make coffee,
immediately apply my makeup,
check my hair.
The word is passed along the halls
“Evacuate, evacuate the hotel!”
I grab my purse, jewelry,
camera and poetry notebook.
He puts shoes on bare feet,
exits the room wearing only
a tee-shirt and sweat pants.
The stairs are crowded with people
in various stages of undress:
Fuzzy slippers, long sleep shirts,
flip-flops, nylon jogging shorts
flimsy gowns, satin boxers.
A moving mass, silently descending.
Outside, hundreds milled around,
quietly watching the fire trucks
parked at the curb, motors running,
red lights flashing.
I un-sheath my camera, begin
capturing the moment.
When the all-clear sounds,
he starts back upstairs.
“I’m going back to bed,”
he announces, and begins
the climb back upstairs.
“Not me,” I say, “I’ll see you later.”
I find a chair in the lobby,
sit down to watch drama unfold.
A couple from Toronto had
walked down from the 22nd
floor, she with a cane
(hip replacement surgery).
A young woman from Louisiana
with Aloette Cosmetics,
roses in arms,
waiting for the shuttle bus.
Families with small children.
A bride, whose new husband
had walked off without her
gives him an angry message,
a rude gesture, a divorce threat.
Free Starbucks coffee supplied
by the hotel, followed by a bill,
shoved under the door,
seven hundred sixty-three dollars.
“For three nights!” he rages.
“It was worth it,” I say,
“I wouldn’t have missed it!”
I passed through the moment hoping that you were there and had something profound to share, but I wait the morning out standing in the biting cold and the air penetrate my body without remorse or apology.
My hands and feet suddenly became numb, and I couldn’t feel my lips, my jaw or my gum, my legs and my nose were heavy as led, but on the other side, fire was burning in my bed and the strange sounds were filtering through the chimney. I searched everywhere but I could not find you.
My body began to shiver because my clothing was improper; I had on tee-shirt and Jeans and a scarf to cover my neck; cold sank deep into my flesh but deep down inside my heart was blazing.
A short while ago the sun was shining in the east and the cranes were pulling up worms and dropping them all around and the wind blew passionately in my back and sweat drips patiently from my face. In seconds the sweat turned to ice and the temperature began to fall in the place. Oh, what passion awaits you in the sun, oh what glory is saturated in the moon; the sea bears its bosom in the moon, and I hope that you will come and see me soon.
Oh, spirit of the sea come and dance with me, the morning keeps slipping away from me, but I hear that you have something profound to share with me.
The rain is sprinkling lightly in the valley wetting the earth with a package from the sky as the clouds passes gallantly by and the birds mingling among the weeds and embracing the budding roots parachuting through the bushes and tangling up their feet in the fruit tree.
You see that giant wheel up there it is silently moving around the atmosphere; its root is buried deep into the ground one man with a mission designed it to the entertain the town, but the business was short, and it broke the young architect heart.
The invention turned wild and parachuted in the sky, but Ferris was no match for Eiffel. The Ferris wheels rolls on and the Eiffel tower is still standing strong.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Wait Up Baby
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: February/1989
The water/smooth
feathered
white suede
winter hat
was tilted
"Ace/Duece,"
to his head,
in the heat
of
summer -
His gait
was that
of a
Stepping
"Dap/Daddy."
He wore
a black
short/waist
zipUp
leather jacket,
Dark
teardrop
sUnGlasses,
a white
T-Shirt;
black
faded/Jeans,
&
black
patant/leather
(keen toed)
Stacey Adam
Shoes -
The
cigarette
that burned
between his
left index
& middle
finger,
Were
like
a
short fuse
(ready to explode) -
Explode
on who
he called,
"HisLady"
she was
walk'n
strides
&
strides
ahead
of
him -
"Say,
he shouted,!
I'm talk'n
to U
Damn/It.
Wait-Up
baaaaaby!
U/B
walk'n
to
fast."
She
was almost
out of
his
hearing
range,
&
his
dap-daddy
step
&
slurred
speech -
She wore
a
black
silk Tee/Shirt;
black/leather
jacket,
white mini
skirt with
BlaCk
knee/high......
high heel
winter boots
&
black nylons
N
the heat
of
summer -
Under
her
right arm,
was
a large
portable
stereo,
blasting
out
AciDrOck,
The cigarette
that
burned
between her
left index
&
middle finger,
was a
short fuse
(ready to explode)
Explode
on any one
who stood
N
her way -
Shhhhhhhit!
she wailed,
exhaling
smoke dragons
from
her mouth -
"Why kaint/choo
keep up
daaaaamn!"
she screamed,
shaking her
shoulder
length
brunette hair,
with a
blonde streak
down
the center
of
her head -
She
never looked
back
at
dap-daddy,
&
he never
stopped
shouting,
"Say,
I'm talk'n
to
you damn/it,
wait up baaaaby!
you be
walk'n too
fast!"
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
I used to get my haircut, at the local RSL
Gunther was the Barber, he knew my hair real well
for 20 years he cut it, short back and sides or trim
whenever my hair got too long, I went round to him
The RSL grew bigger, not the special place we knew
with a big hotel as part of it, dress regulations too
no more for the working man, with blue tee shirt and thongs
or even the old Digger, didn’t feel like he belonged
It was now a money maker, not the place it had been when
you’d always meet someone you knew, a place for working men
They still had darts and pool of course, if you wanted a game
but smoking banned, and count your beers, it just wasn’t the same
now Gunther’s place was not as busy, as once it would have been
they pushed his shop outside the doors, the entrance hardly seen
one day he said he’d had enough, it was time for him to go
another nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know
to find another Barber, now that was quite a chore
these places they all had “Hairdresser”, written on their door
the women all talked kids and shops, and clothes that they’d seen there
no sport, no racing, no latest tips, unless they were in your hair
never had a woman cut my hair, or a man with streaks in his
and the very first that did, I thought she took the pizz
when she said, I don’t have a cutthroat, so I can’t shave your neck
maybe your wife can do it, when you get home, like ‘eck
as if I’d let my loving wife, get that close to my throat
with a cutthroat razor, I’m not a silly goat
I don’t think she would let it slip, she still loves me, although,
it would be the last nail in the coffin, of the life I used to know.
She don't care which kind of beer, but it must be cold
But her favorite has always been the Bull
Her hobbies include, but not limited to, chewing tobacco, arm wrestling and
going punch for punch in the arm with men
After a few beers, she likes trashing the good names of Barbie and Ken
She wears her favorite tee shirt that reads I'm single because I haven't found the
right guy
They say there's someone for everyone, but in her case, that's a lie
I wish in my lifetime, that we had never met
Her real name is Maxxine, but she is known as a Bubbalette
In the winter is flannel shirts, and BVD long underwear underneath
I took her out to lunch, she removes the chew from her mouth and places it on
the table, than asks for a prayer before we eat
She is the president of the David Hasselhoff fan club
She told me for him she would pledge all her love
If she gets married, it will be a honeymoon in a single wide, the groom will be
named Chet
He will be a Bubba, how perfect, she's a Bubbalette
Country folk appreciate her for who she is, the chewing tobacco and all
She stands at the counter at Burger King, she pays the cashier with money she
takes from her bra
She is at a red light, opens her car door and empties her spit jar on the street
Her freezer recently went out, she had a barbecue to get rid of the deer meat
Her motto is, no matter what in life, love who you are, have no regrets
Go ahead, I predict the only one to love you, will be you, you're a Bubbalette
Her normal attire is Levis 501 jeans and wife beater shirts
She doesn't shave her legs, she will never wear a skirt
She decided to join the Navy and fly fighter jets
Her call sign will be Bubbalette
Ayla at Two
With a fistful of raisins and
Chocolate-flavored goatee,
Your favorite Dora tee shirt
Splotched red from your spaghetti lunch,
We sit on the floor together as
You climb on up for a quick fix of Mommy,
A moment of squeeze,
And I gather you up
As you tell of something wonderful
In your lovely language of syllabic sound and
I tell you I know
Because I do.
You smile at me then,
Your grin like the wedge of a tangerine,
Sweet and juicy and
Pretty enough to eat, so I do.
I gobble you up until
You scramble away giggling,
Sated for the moment,
Busy feet wandering on
To other happenstance and adventure.
Tireless fingers,
Testing, trying,
Reckoning your world within the
Workings of a brand-new beguiling toy.
Your sunny, funny little face,
Scrunched up in concentration
Until you get it,
And you laugh your jingle-bell laugh,
Rejoicing in doing it,
Getting it, mastering it,
Mistress of the World at last.
You say, “Look, Mommy! See, Mommy!”
(Your conquest only real if Mommy sees.)
But with the swiftness of infancy,
You suddenly wail and cry out loud
When you couldn’t get it to go again,
It stopped without reason or repose.
So, I scoop you up,
The second time in as many breath-beats
And my heart swells,
Too big for the space it’s allotted because
Knowing I, too, need the consolation,
You gently pat my back as I hold you,
Head on my shoulder,
Tears abated for now,
And after a time of
Rocking and swaying you say,
“I wuf you, Mommy,”
And the moment turns
Perfection into itself,
Immaculate,
As it boasts its way
Through us,
Bursting in the center of
Our one heart.
BOASTER RAP
Sometimes the guys used to sit around chugging bird-beer
Boasting of chicks they’d held dear.
Some British guy started in... Well, I was going out with some nice birds
We said - Oh man, don’t use those British words!
Listen, there was this chick once, lemme tell ya the tale.
She liked to chatter all day and flirt
But man she was one piece of tail
Her name was Robin - always wore a sexy red tee shirt,
And hey, I knew this Rhode Island who was always looking for a roll in the hay
Claimed she was a-looking for her eggs.... oh yeah
Well Man, birds of feather flock together ( Shocking ! )
We sure did a lot of flocking
Till she flew the coop with some guy, some pal
Who was a helluva snappy dresser - always kinda formal
Evening dress coats - used to swim in cold water a lot you know?
Crazy swimming dude, liked winter, ice and snow
She was forever trying to get me to build a nest
I said no way baby and strutted my colourful stuff – the finest.
Shucks, it wasn’t gonna be permanent, but I could wing it with her
Then go south, take a powder, disappear
For a while, you know - bit of diving and soaring -
And maybe sometimes scoring
British guy came back with this comment, like I never heard
Oh really? Well I have had a Rough-faced Shag
And a Northern Screamer and a Wagtail who really knew how to wag.
But now I concentrate on only one bird, my T-bird.
These Brits always try to over-awe.
You know, that really sticks in my craw