Long Touch up Poems
Long Touch up Poems. Below are the most popular long Touch up by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Touch up poems by poem length and keyword.
Pointing back
From where I sit,
this crowded street of frowning faces and lying eyes
meander past the mom and pop facades with kids in tow…
tethered by their wants
and constant whining
now glaring at me as if,
I am the problem
I wave them off in my best oceanic gesture,
casting salty aspirations to the ground around my feet…
all the while keeping my fitted
thoughts to myself
For opposite this asphalt divider
of pot holes and swept debris
she sits, twisting her chocolate hair around her finger,
staring at the clock, waiting
Wearing her favorite dress,
glistening crimson nail and lip paint
The violent sun finds my shoulders
scattering grey clouds
between the concrete and neon
folded on the structure facing my perch
A single drop of sweat rolls down my cheek,
on this day more will come
Mixed, blended, hidden or defined
by tears held back, losing the battle
I take in the second story window,
shade slightly drawn and I imagine her
Jumping excitedly at the knock,
a quick mirrored touch up and fanciful bounces,
as smiles lead her to
his rugged features and fat wallet
The engine idles, I can smell the fumes
dancing across my nostrils, sickened
Floating the steps, (they) she looks happy, then at me
her head drops, sad or thankful, probably
Engine revs, my eyes fill
as thunderstorms erupt on my face, (they) she disappears
My heart near death, beating slow
it reels on this day,
while others, in their mindless pandering
and nose followed directions, stare and point
I spit, reaching our heart encased initials
carved in the stained and tiring sidewalk
My chest throbs, legs weak and nonexistent,
transparent of hurt and glass filtered wishes
Pointing back at those who would judge, I shout…
Yes, I am the problem!
we play tag until our bedtime, run outside while it’s raining and jump in every single puddle
play hide and seek until it’s dark outside and make our own friendship bracelets
back when boys were just boys we ran away from in case they had the cheese touch, when our only care in the world was begging our moms for just five more minutes
i knock on my friends door to call her to come play downstairs with everyone,
she calls out to me that she’ll be there in a minute, she just has to fix her hair and touch up her makeup,
i think to myself about what it is she’s getting ready for, aren’t we just going to play a game of hide and seek?
it’s happening more often these days,
when did boys and our reflections become the only thing we talked about anymore?
when did the cheese touch stop being something we all feared and become the gold star we all lived for?
when did everyone suddenly figure out how to grow up?
when did the guide to girlhood arrive?
how come everyone seems to know what i had never been told?
i tell myself that its alright, ill get it eventually,
ill come back from school one day and it’ll be waiting outside my house with all the instructions i could ever need,
everything will be alright,
but then theres always that little voice that says, “maybe only the pretty girls get the invitation, maybe they have something that you don’t”
everyone else had moved on but somewhere behind them,
they left that little girl,
still jumping around in puddles, singing and dancing in the rain,
looking up every now and then to see if her memo had arrived
Your beauty rages with my feelings
Your beauty is the most compared to the structure of helix
With that one look I develop cravings
With that one hook I'm gazed as the master of cunnings
When you walk I see a flamingo
Your scent
So mending as that of Indigo
Your accent
So tempting as that of Mamacito
A top notch
Fine and fairly blended as a glass of a scotch
A shining Sword
Whenever you show up I crouch
With no make up
you are star
With no touch up
So hot as mars
You shine my nights brighter
My mornings softer
Alone I'm left wondering
Atone I start believing
The queen of all beauties
Your body is a beast
The she in all shees
I'm craving for that kiss
Did mirrors ruin our world?
Or merely persuade us
to resurface
as our mirrored selves?
Before mirrors
there were only still ponds,
waiting for the wind
to stop speaking.
A face appeared
looking upon itself,
then drifting away.
The breeze was kind;
it never let
the face linger for so long.
Polished obsidian came,
then bronze,
then silvered glass.
Each one promised
a sharper truth
of self—plain and simple.
Mirrors decked our halls
revealed in bathrooms;
handhelds to look behind;
little compact ones;
to put makeup on.
The mirror created
more than a reflection.
It quietly invented
comparisons—
with yesterday
with others.
Impossible without
first seeing
self—plain and simple.
Narcissus bent low,
believing he had found love.
Instead, he embraced
an image.
"Mirror, mirror on the wall..."
never flattered.
The Queen hated
the answer,
hated the looking glass.
Alice stepped into
to another world
through her looking-glass.
Later came
the age of the selfie
staring back from every
wondrous place,
only to be upstaged—
by that face—
in front.
Oh yes...... That face!
We look in mirrors
less as we get older!
with less selfies
looking back as well.
Then came the Corrector.
The mirror asked
"What shall we improve today?"
Lighten the hair,
Soften a few wrinkles
Ease the furrows on the brow,
Touch-up the scars
Remove the crow's feet
Reshape those lips a little?
Anything else?
The question now is:
"Who am I?"
"Who do I see there?"
in the mirror
which asks
"Which version now?"
"Oh! Corrector Mirror
on the Wall,
who's the fairest
version of all?"
"In the Corrector Mirror on the Wall!"
The free form ceramic sculpture
made by my daughter
years ago toppled off the shelf
in a storm after a thunderous
lightning clap shook the house.
The sculpture was of four witches
peering over a cauldron brewing
a magical potion.
It was a very abstract piece.
Three of the witches, shaped as dragon
heads, had broken off at the neck.
Luckily the breaks were clean.
I was heart-broken.
it meant so much to me
not as bold and glorious piece of art,
but that it was made by her
and given to me.
I thought about a seamless hidden repair
using glue and touch-up paint,
which was certainly possible.
She would never know
I had carelessly let it fall and break.
But, I would always know I had
broken it and was ever deceived her.
I would have to live with the lie.
Instead I fixed the breaks with bold gold,
adding gold necklaces to all the witches.
To rejoin the three witch necks
which had broken off,
and one extra necklace to the one
that remained attached.
She forgave me and loved the bold gold repairs
which she said added something extra from me,
for me and her to share.
WARNING: The following poem is a figment of the author's imagination and deals with fictional characters.....WOMEN! ;) (THIS IS FOR FUN, GIRLS, SO DON'T GO AND GET ALL HUFFY AND PUFFY ON ME!)
Fickle Fickle - For Every Man in a Pickle
Fickle fickle…. Broads are fickle
Get a man into a pickle
Sweet talk sweet talk…. Yes they tickle
Treat us lower than a nickle
Chat up chat up does belie
Gives us bites of ego pie
Flirty flirty… grows the storm
Disappears like the norm
Riding riding is her wave
Naughty naughty to her grave
Touch up touch up where she can
Making sure that he’s a man
Swish and sway, what a sight
Thinking she is dynamite
Tries to see how far he’ll go
Gets to third base, she says no
Fickle fickle, fizzle…. Strop
Mess with me, I’ll make you stop.
In Response to Auntie Eileen Ghali
For her Fickle Fickle poem
Form:
AI touch up is now in progress
Be careful though not to lose focus
One wrong blink and here they come
He is now she and I am now he
The worlds gone crazy its safe to say
But how on earth did it get this way?
Everyone wants to fight
Nobody wants to look to the light
AI in progress is being cheered
But when did an opinion become weird?
They lock you up now just for standing
Whilst others roam and climb a mountain
Whites vs browns is now the rhetoric
But its OK when your all wearing a Nike tick
We cheered them on, but it didn't come home
Instead this world is now all blown
Little girls lost their lives
Making bracelets for a concert in sight
They just wanted to dance, sing, laugh and play
But that was all taken away
AI in progress gets louder each time
But are we going to toe the line?
The problem is not just white vs colour
That should never have ever mattered
AI in progress is now here
But long gone are the crowds of cheers
AI in progress that is now life
AI in progress.....are you ready to fight?
AI touch up now in progress...
Be careful not to lose focus......
1. Dimple under left eye, apply air brush.
2. Extend her legs, more voluptuous. Add 4 inches from ankle to knee cap.
3. You know...I'm just not feeling the dress. Do we have one of her in that green strapless?
Men like strapless right?
4. Holy hell! Can we do something about those teeth? Yuck!
5. She needs a glow around her head. Yeah like that, like an angel. Fantastic!
6. Rosy hue around cheek bones needs touch up. She needs to blush harder, like she's
embarrassed about something...something shameful.
7. Final edit, her smile is too big, women that happy don't read magazines...what? Don't look
at me like that!
Et Voila! Our hyper-stylized over-edited fictitious standard of beauty is realized.
Ok society!
Get ready...
Set...
Conform!
(Conformity ensues)
Bonus points! We got a celebrity to do the cover shoot.
(Hey, you can only sell your soul once and chances are she already did it...Christ, stop
looking at me like that!!!)
When she takes home her free promotional copy,
She can hold up our ideal of her side by side with the mirror and think:
"Wow...these images are so different and yet...I sense a strange and *vogue familiarity...
Almost as though...just maybe...they were of the same person...
Huh...I wonder which one represents me?"
*Typo alert! Should be 'vague'...silly me