Long Underwear Poems
Long Underwear Poems. Below are the most popular long Underwear by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Underwear poems by poem length and keyword.
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
A dreamlike sound to my ears
That irreplaceable new car smell
Not known for many years
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
I'm driving a brand new jalopy
With all the bells and whistles
My mood is feeling really free
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
Musta died and gone upstairs
Slapped myself, yup I'm awake
Sitting in my underwear
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
Jumped up at the stroke of six
Forgot my knickers so here I sit
I'm now in a terrible fix
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
People start to gather around
To know if I like my new jalopy
Hope they don't look down
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
Drove off with a confident air
Enjoying my moment of ecstasy
Wind messing up my hair
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
Moments like these are rare
So very few times in a lifetime
Noticing all the stares
Instead of a clunck it's a clanck
A dreamlike sound to my ears
That oh so yummy new car smell
Missed it for too many years
Did…I…. tell you my father had a horse?
This story is true, you know that, of cause
Well, one day, we found her, with her legs in the air
Chewing a pair of my dad’s old smelly underwear
The poor old nag had broke out in a sweat
The old fart decided to take her to the vet
So off they set off down the farm trail
She moved a little faster than a French escargot snail
At the end of the farm she began to bolt
For twenty meters like a young colt
They had reached Ascot where a horse race was about to start
And behind her she dragged my dad the old fart
It was not long before they were on the race track
With my father flapping like a half mask flag at the back
The gun sounded and the horses began to race
But all slowed down behind the old nag at a steady pace.
No matter now much the jockeys gave their horses the nudge
They wouldn’t take over, they wouldn’t budge
She eventually won 1st prize
And dad 2nd with a bruised pride
While dad lay there out of breath on the ground
They presented him with a cheque of two thousand eight hundred pound
Later the vet told dad she would have never been beat
For the old nag surprisingly was on heat.
*A Horse is A Horse Of Course... Contest by Tirzah Conway*
My summer break. . . I’ve slept in late;
I wake to find a yellow glare
of sunshine through my open blinds.
And night of rain has left me heir to lethargy,
for once I’m dressed,
I barely make it down each stair.
I trudge out to the patio
to lounge in my umbrella chair.
I cannot sit there very long.
My clothes stick to me everywhere.
Humidity has made her play
for Mr. Sun, and their affair
is heating up to maximum.
Their passion now has robbed my air.
Listlessly I rise to strip
down to bra and underwear;
I figure since the yard is fenced,
what the heck! My top I’ll bare.
I set the sprinkler on me too
and sit, eyes closed, without a care.
I hear a sound; next thing I know
my eyes meet those of a frightened stare.
Giggling comes from above my fence
while I grab a shirt to hide my “pair.”
In air so slow, the boy runs fast,
and as he flees, I’m well aware
that I just played a major role
in neighbor boys’ Truth or Dare!
(by the way, pure fiction, did I fool anyone?)
When the darkness of night is no more and the sunlight of a new day comes knocking on your door
Rubbing your eyes, giving a big yawn, lay in bed listening to the birds’ chorus of dawn
Are you thinking to yourself, “I will get up in an hour”, or do you jump out of bed and head straight for the shower
Warm in your pyjamas, bed socks on your feet, wrapped up in your quilt to keep in the heat
The house is all quiet; not a sound from the kids, not a peep
Slowly your eyes close and you fall back to sleep
You jump up from your slumber with a stretch; you are awake
But you have slept for too long. What a mistake.
You did not the alarm clock ringing. Oh, what a fool You are late for work and the children are late for school
Rushing out the door without doing your hair and your skirt tucked into your underwear
You are late for work, so an apology message to the boss you send
The reply that you got back is that we don’t work at the weekend
This morning weighs more than it should
a preponderance of sorrow and joy
about what I have and what I lost
and the moon to the west hides before the storm.
Astronomers say the universe, too, weighs
more than it should. It bears a dark presence.
I know I must let go of the love I’ve known
to put it in its time and place.
A side street lies in front of my house—
I’ve travelled many highways and roads
I’ll never forget.
I’ll always remember what brought me here.
Thunder rumbles over the hills
on a quiet morning as I sit at my laptop.
I write after I watch a video
of Ben Folds composing a song
for an orchestra in time minutes.
He lays melodies for the string section
upon melodies for woodwinds and brass
and he sings as the composition
comes to life.
My memories whisper as the screen fades
Clouds obscure the sky
and I long for much-needed rain.
A small sliver of atmosphere
hugs the earth and bears the change
just below vast darkness and bands of stars.
Rain patters the window as I sit
in a dim room and write
and I embrace what I compose
allowing my poem to possess
before I turn on the light.
The clothes dryer in the back hallway hums
as I wear my underwear and robe.
As the world around me lives and dies
I am looking for stars.
*Ben Folds— a pop music performer, pianist, and composure of classical music
The site of every creature in skirt
gives him fever
and overworks his liver
with the thousands of feminine perfumes inhaled.
His magical touch
and mercurial mind,
intertwine their soft spots
like a weaver.
Every night,
he is blessed with a diva
and his sweet mouth
filled with honey
makes her his part-time lover.
To avoid biological consequences
he casts a spell on her ova
getting exact results
and retaining his trophies.
Even when his calculations fail,
he overlooks with a careless smile.
What then can stop his trade,
when he transacts in a market
of a never ending supply?
Impresses with his rover
lavishing promises of holidays in Geneva
and impacts the belief
that he'll give them all, forever.
But he'll start sniffing the next underwear
even before its over;
is the favorite game of chess
played by the Casanova.
Sometimes studying the mirror I'm overcome with chagrin
Feeling disappointed by this shell I'm dwelling in.
With my slightly too thick midriff there above my underwear,
I'm more the rotund apple than alluring luscious pear,
Making ludicrous comparisons to girls with waspy waists,
And my nose, Lord, Pinocchio's, upon my pleasant face
With its odd small accompanying hump placed what!...To accentuate?
Later, however, on better days, my focus redirects
To reviewing my favorite qualities, and what I see reflects
A somewhat shapely figure; Legs lean, well-formed and strong;
Lovely eyes, lips and breasts, and lashes that are long.
So I'm obliged to acknowledge with accepting certainty
My temple, though flawed, was gifted by God
(And there's always rhinoplasty)!
For the "I Am" Poetry Contest of Frank H.
For as long as I can remember
Me madda was de head voodoo club member
She taught me how to make love potion
To mess with der woman emotion
So me meet dis lovely girl
Seeing ‘er, give me a mighty trill
Me make a love potion I confess
From a piece of ‘er nighty dress
Mix it wit da loose hairs I find spare
From me teet and ‘er underwear
Put a drop a me sista’s joojoo
Me perform de dance from de club voodoo
Throw in me madda’s secret potion
And give me girl as a hand and face lotion
For a year everyting sweet
Me girl an animal love treat
Until one day I notice de hair
Growing on her hands and ‘er face
De one me puck from me teet and her underwear
She look like she not from de human race
‘er back bend, knuckles drag upun de floor
Der woman get a whole lot a chunky
She want me twenty five times a day, me sore
Each day me see her she look more like a monkey
O’ Madda your potion no work, why you lie?
Your son he been abused, he sore and he cry
Dis woman ruin your son life
He wake up to find she is his wife…
Comfort zone, comfort zone
Touch the screen, turn it on
It’s my favorite thing
Ting-a-ling, bing-a-ping
Once I left my comfort zone
Couldn’t find a way back home
So I took the wrong road
Doing not what I was told
And I knocked the wrong door
Stepped on marble cold floor
Met some refugees there
In blue and yellow underwear
They poured me a cup of tea
And invited me to be
One of them, to get money
When the weather is sunny
Wrapped in flags, we could get
Quite a fortune from that
Sorry its not the plot
That would suit an old sod
Like myself, I replied
Thanks, but I’ll better hide
Then I borrowed the charger
Soon my world became larger
Comfort zone, comfort zone
Fully charged my old phone
It’s for me tolls the bell
And I do what it tells.
Dear diary, it has been a great day.
I found a penny on the carpet,
played with it awhile and then made a wish.
I won’t tell you what it is but,
maybe the dog will disappear.
Mom’s got a new ‘puter,
I tried it out when she went to work,
I used her credit card to buy some
gourmet cat treats.
That online shopping sure is easy,
so, I bought some for my friends too;
the whole neighborhood gon’na love me now!
They must be pretty tasty at
$22.00 an ounce.
It sure was nice of her to leave
herself logged on,
when she bought my new litter box.
I know I probably don’t deserve it
‘cause I accidentally shredded her
new underwear last week,
while playing with it;
clearly I’m forgiven.
That new cat in the neighborhood
has it bad for me;
this morning, Mom let one of those
“cuss’ords” rip, when she saw a
dead robin on the front porch;
Oscar is always bringing me meat.
Frankly, it’s barbaric,
I am a domestic feline;
he doesn’t realize
I only eat canned food.
Once he tastes those treats
he'll stop that.
Okay so, I got’ta go now and
grab Butch’s supper.