Long Toes Poems
Long Toes Poems. Below are the most popular long Toes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Toes poems by poem length and keyword.
Summer
did arrive today
A beautiful sunrise
an azure blue sky
A gentle breeze
as the Sun beams down
Banishing
Vanishing
Winter’s frown
Taking a walk
On the promenade
Smiling faces
Such happy souls
Look forward to dipping
their winter white toes
Though cold it will be
in the sparkling blue sea
At the end of the day
With their bright red noses
How sore they will be
no sun cream one supposes
But happy are they
on this first summer’s day
For tomorrow it may rain
in the UK ~ by sea
Written 14th May 2022 after the warmest day this year...
Contest A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
Sponsor Brian Strand
N/A
traced the silver wing
the pointed beak
eyes that dot the skies
gold star,
flowers with beating petals
a forest feather gumption
between a parrot’s toes
gripping tight
the marriage knot
his love sought blueberries
a fight of
juicy treats, and carrots
the orange consumption of gasoline
under the bower, a fleet of butterflies
they clench beholden teeth
they break mid air and spoon goodbye
what do they seek but the succulence of heaven
in haste, a quill dipped in birdshot ink
5/29/2018
I want this cold Winter to be over-
longing to hear all the little birds sing;
just love beautiful Spring with skies azure,
I wish to be in forests green ambling;
and dipping my toes in a stream babbling,
and picking the wild flowers unfolding.
Over the meadows wild the north winds fly-
making all the small white daisies tremble,
Summer is knocking- Spring I say goodbye;
I do enjoy hot steamy days blissful,
and bright red roses hanging so graceful;
and butterflies in my garden jungle.
All the trees lay down their emerald gowns-
there is a great whirling of gold and red,
all the Fall leaves are now crinkled browns;
migrating birds fly high with their wings spread,
and rain is falling on my garden dead;
and Winter is coming soon- that I dread.
How pretty the first filigree snowflakes,
soon, I will be making Christmas fruitcakes!
____________________________
January 20, 2018
Poetry/Urban Sonnet/Come, Come Sweet Seasons
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1112-561-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
As one walks along the seafront
tune in to the waves breaking forth
especially as the winds are in full force
there's a sound so loud it feels hoarse
Across the world the sounds not the same
so many oceans have their own voice
a perspective so different from one another
listen in depth so then you have a choice
In my native Scotland on the Clyde
the wind was causing waves to crash
with sounds aggressive but true
which tells you stay calm, no rash
Walking along a very hot seafront
Fuerteventura Island was my place
watching waves speak words so still
makes one ponder to find my space
Stroll along the Indian Ocean
the waters running over my toes
listening intently ear ever open
here in South Africa cover my woes
(Quote:
"I was born with the ability to hear the sea speak, she had so much to say, it broke my heart." - Anon. )
night's black
its soiled dresses
its greasy fingers
its weird chimpanzees
they all get reassured
at your open door
with the signs and symptoms
of the river shore
a lily restive
at the core
of the deep well
now swelling
out of the prison
for a morning burst
ah what an intense urge
the grassy upsurge
the open door
the signals to soar
casting aside
all ifs and buts
all locks and blocks
for the cluster of bees
smell of toasted bread
a stretched hand
melting the grey
unlocking from chairs and tables
blossoming tulips
singing flocks of swans
a stir in the wings of birds
a lark at the window pane
a star at the dancing dawn
an island of long necked cranes
the door leading to the flood
to the star-studded horses
in the toes and blood
walking the smooth wind
with the pencil fulfilling
a beginning
We have to go shopping for a new personality,
then to go with it, a new body would be mandatory;
a bit different from potatoes, veg and brussels,
perhaps we'll be fortunate to get some better muscles.
You may not wish to change at all, eyebrows -
nice and dark, not joined, above dark eyes, bedroom
brown - we' ll have a pair of those and painted toes,
looking at boobs, 90cm will do - is that really you?
There's a rack of private parts, the size comes in
fits and starts, don't forget the butterfly tattoo,
has to be in indigo blue, abs and pecs straining;
it's done, everything new - even then you're complaining.
Eyebrows hanging over the trolley, boobs all the rage,
could have been more selective, no need of big sausage.
There are mini-bunnies in between my fleshy toes
They live there in miniature rose bush that glows.
I watch them sometimes, amazed at their grimes.
Hopping between my big toe with green slimes.
Carrying passels of baby bunnies on their warm backs.
They visit each other, and laugh with tiny little hacks.
I sleep with my feet reposing in lettuce and worse.
Wanting them to eat up, and there are carrots in my purse.
Rewarding them for their yard work, glad that they glow.
Happy that their favorite thing in summer is to mow.
For they get out their lawn mowers and get all of the hair.
Off of my legs, that has been growing down there.
I wished to be light for someone.
The hope in their despair.
The hand that's reaching out to them
when no one else would care.
But who would be a part of it
My foolish selfish play?
Still I haven’t found the one,
till this very day.
And then I had the thought one eve,
what if I’m not needed?
What if all my efforts just
Lead them to be defeated
Since I don’t understand their pain
In fact I find it weird
What if all I end up as
Is someone to be feared?
And so I then decided
To meddle not with those
Who seemed to be depressed
Or always on their toes
For I would leave them worse
Then they’d been when I came
By never interfering
Their life would stay the same
But is that really good enough
I began to ask myself
Should I strip myself of helpfulness
And put it on the shelf?
Or should I risk their well being
In my quest to do some good
I might just leave them better off
Well, do you think I should?
Two demons escape their fate
From swimming in the fiery lake
They'd grown tired of the heated pool
Needing to dip their toes into something cool
So it was out of flesh and bone
They made for themselves a sailing boat
Without a word they bade hell leave
Sailing off to humanities sea
They sailed by and it's just as well
Dante's nine circles of hell
They found nothing funny along the way
But to Dante himself they both did wave
When their boat broke the surface
They both grew rather nervous
The first thing they saw was a fiery ball
Thinking they'd made a u-turn and were both back home
But the atmosphere was way to cool
The shrugging demons never knew
Not owning any winter gear
Not sure they were going to like it here
They headed out in search of some
Good old fashion satanic fun
When what happened to catch their demonic eyes
But the Sodom and Gomorrah of todays city life
They both felt at home, they fit right in
To the debauchery and rampant sin
The only difference with these human fools
Is not a one of them has a clue
All the while thinking they are free
Tied up tight onto Satan's leash
Paying the ever so heavy cost
Of a man who is...but doesn't know he's lost
The demons had seen all this before
That's why they got so easily bored
Yes, this they'd seen and done it all
So they placed a person to person call
The boys both had to really dance
When it comes to Satan there's no second chance
So after six hundred and sixty six days
They got back in their boat and sailed away
Antiques and Curios
A collection of Antiques and curios,
Covered in dust on a cellar floor.
Things once made for a purpose,
No longer of use anymore.
Record Player with wind-up handle,
Once sung out the old Seventy-eights.
A music box with broken spring,
Film scores of the all-time greats.
Gas mask, unused in a chest,
A wartime ration book, stained, slightly torn.
Hobnail working boots, coal black,
Scuffed at the toes, well worn.
An old encyclopedia, open at page 12,
Dwarf stars, Meteors and Asteroid,
The mysteries of our Solar system
and a Comet we may need to avoid.
Vintage clothes in leather suitcase,
Fashionable back in the year.
Someone would probably buy them,
For the right price, not too dear.
Pots and Pans of Copper and Tin,
Ornamental handles and lid.
Hard to imagine they were ever used,
But, by the signs of wear, someone did.
A collection of old newspapers,
Bismarck disabled and sunk,
A periodical about holy orders,
The life and times of a Monk.
Moth eaten Teddy Bear, only one eye,
Tracks for a blue clockwork train.
Toy soldiers of lead, standing proud,
Down somebody’s memory lane.
I began to feel rather intrusive,
An invasion of a man’s private life;
Never to know treasures keeper,
Was he at war, leaving children and wife.
An assemblage of curiosities,
To move them would feel such a crime.
I will leave everything undisturbed,
Treasured by someone of the time.