Long Wearer Poems
Long Wearer Poems. Below are the most popular long Wearer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wearer poems by poem length and keyword.
This viral curse that wears a crown.
that takes man's breath and lays him down,
that shuts his door,
his church, his town.
Heaven did not sling this bolt,
but patient waits for earth to halt,
and turn its eyes towards the hills,
towards the skies from where help comes,
from where help came when deeper curse was laid,
laid just on one man's frame.
That breath was also given up,
that chest compressed and pierced 'til fluid flowed
when head was bowed, then body bound
and laid in rich man’s tomb.
This rightful wearer of the crown still waits
to make this world his own.
Yet not with fearful covert crown,
but thorny crown for all to see,
high lifted on his mercy tree,
our saving mercy tree.
Sapphire elixir has formed herself into a beautiful gem,
relieving mental outbursts
repelling negative thought waves that could harm
or inflict self-doubt of any kind
Sapphire properties transmutes negative thoughts
into light and happy ones.
Reaching for a dark navy stone in the form of a
pendant, ring or bracelet
influences the wearer toward happy, light, joyful moods
Sapphire has been revered by the ancients,
since the beginning of the beginning
known by the ones who know the heart's soul the best
Appreciated by those who can heal torn
Chakras, and those who can feel the earth's pain.
A magic elixir in the form of a gem that has the power
to transmute negative thought into positive healing
Healing for you, and healing for the earth.
Sapphire. The magic elixir toward great quantities of joy.
A hat can hide a head that's bald
Or one with unwashed hair.
It often makes the wearer feel
That he or she has flair.
Protection from the sun or rain
A hat can, too, provide.
The wind won't get to tresses
When a cap's tucked them inside.
Of late, I've started sporting hats
Of many styles and brims.
I choose the one that matches
What I'm wearing or my whims.
The only drawback that I find
Is when I'm dining out
Or in the theater where no racks
Or closets are about...
I have no clue where it should go
Or what to do with it,
So through the show or meal
Upon my lap it gets to sit.
A tiny price to pay, I think;
We go the extra mile
And suffer just a little bit
To strut around in style.
I am a dare-dreamer, a mask wearer
a soul bare-r (not always my own); a word-weaver.
I pull thoughts like strings. Strings of cobwebs,
cirrus, frayed dungarees, threadbare memories.
I warp and weft strings of thoughts into poems.
Sometimes I get caught in knots—
I cut myself loose of those naughty strings.
I hold kite strings. Oh and rainbows strings.
They connect my soles to realms of my soul.
At times, I lose sight of kites in the gale.
Was I irresponsible with responsibility for strings?
I think, “thoughts”, should get lost in wind and clouds
to find the eye-of-the-storm—where I rescue
kites and make a poetry page my stage
and arena. I twine strings into heavyweight rope.
Fasten it to four corners of a contest page. I enter,
incognito, with Apollo imagery and Dionysus metaphor;
a masked prize-fighter filled with creative angst.
I grin for wins in poesy masquerade parades.
When I fail, strings break off of my drama mask.
Revealed but unrecognized, am I a fractured rainbow?
My inner balcony critic reprimands:
“sunlight through raindrops must be flawless
to create flawless strings of prismatic color”! Alas,
lack of refraction leaves words white; non-prismatic.
I restring tragedy mask; ego sphere of a versateer.
I create poetry because I love to pluck things;
harp strings and heartstrings…
If I no longer make readers cry, will pen cred be lost?
Don’t think I won’t pluck nightshade petals, fly’s wings
and cello strings to make you feel my tormentia!
I’ll quiver lips of lost-in-love verse. Coax your soul
to sip pale ale of sorrow, as strawberry scent
scalds your skin. I’m not unhappy to gratify your senses.
I loop maverick string, whirl it and throw—
lasso a funhouse mirror; rein it in.
Imagination stilt-dances in looney-glass gaze.
I use muse strings to hang mirrors and ask;
who’s the puppeteer and who’s the puppet—
poet or reader?
Vintage Chanel lives rent free in my mind
the colors are deep, subtle and magical.
Over time, the originally soft textures,
become luscious like a lover's caressing touch
In college, you dress down,
you want to blend in, not stand out
gods forbid you flag entitlement
and draw envy's barbed compliments.
The simple styles bear the twin burdens
of camouflage and practicality.
In Paris, fashion can be capricious,
but elegance is a silent conversation,
with its own intricate vocabulary in drape,
line, fabric and in painstaking choice.
In places where fashion matters - Paris, Manhattan, the Hamptons,
it can signal position, the way uniforms signal authority everywhere.
A splash of fashion can not only have a fabulous effect
on how its wearer feels, it can tell important stories.
I’m told that, in back rooms, where fortunes are awarded or lost,
fashion can announce arrival, rank, and intent.
It can whisper new wealth, in upstart display
or a threadbare, silent duel with mounting debt
.
.
Songs for this:
The Way It Is by Bruce Hornsby & The Range
Read Between the Lines by The Bingtones
Books are passé’, Grandma!
No one uses them anymore
Let’s burn them all.
It was one of the hood wearers.
The older woman was shocked to her core.
She had never gotten used to the I-pads, I-pods or I-phones.
Let me show you what we do with them,
The Hood Wearer said.
He lit one on fire
Holding it up so she could see how he felt about it.
But what if the Internet goes down? The older woman asked.
She was not even a grandma, never having had children.
The Hood Wearer let out a loud laugh
Dropping the book at her feet.
She threw water on it and saved what she could
Because she had been taught to save everything
She watched him throwing other people’s books on the fire
And was amazed at how easy others had been to persuade.
It’s again that time of the year
When words bandied are ‘Love’ ‘Romance’, and ‘My Dear’
Question popped is,
“Will you be my Valentine’?
No, nothing wrong in it
That’s fine
But to find ‘genuine’ love
And not to be scoffed
Take advice from…
No, no Love Guru
But someone who has gone through
The Valentine charade
That Love parade
Yep, someone like me
I assure you
No consultation fee
Both of you may think
‘We are made for each other’
But just look around brother
See the fun
Everyone’s under the same impression
So, don’t be fooled
By the Valentine feel
You need not paint the town red
On the contrary
Ensure your relationship is on an even keel
In case of incompatibility
Rid yourself quickly
Give her up for good
And don’t say, “If only I could”
If you follow this
You’ll be in ‘permanent’ bliss
Keeping yourself out of harm’s way
For example, let’s say
The snorting father
And the charging mother
If you be both judicious and bold
You are sure to hold
Your own-
Her skin
As well as your bone
Turn to someone else
Let your charm sell
See that your new partner oozes love
Addresses you as
‘My Dove’
Remains with you
Through thick and thin
Above the Valentine din
And before I close
Do you have any questions to pose?
I know what’s passing in your mind
You want to find
Whether it’s my ‘Valentine experience’ which speaks
If it is this
What you seek
Well, only the wearer knows
Where the shoe pinches
So, the matter that clinches
If for someone’s love
You don’t pine
You’d never write
Such silly lines
Katie was upset because she lived far away
Her job was lousy, she had no money for a rainy day
She asked her brother Rich for money but he said “sorry, no”.
Her mother had to die without her, for Katie had no way to go
Two years later she sent a letter to the executor, her brother.
Please, she said, “could I please have the ruby ring of our mother?”
Rich sold the house, and forgot to share proceeds with her, not one two-bit.
He told her that his wife had the ring, and loved it, so she could not have it.
Years later she saw the ring on the finger of a woman on a bus in Lurr.
She said “My mom used to have one just like it, it is beautiful, for sure.
Ring-wearer asked, “Is your name Katie? Are you from uptown Ming?
Katie nodded her head, and the woman handed her the ruby ring.
Your brother and I once were married, she said.
But he is a selfish man, stingy even in his head.
I was coming to Ming to find you and give you this ring.
Katie felt her mother with her that day, her soul began to sing.
Only one person he trusted with his virginal wife while he was on crusade.
It was his best friend Nicolas, who was a rather handsome blade.
He gave him the key to her elaborate shiny new chastity belt.
Sure that he would only use it if an emergency was dealt.
Nicolas was honored by King Henry’s admiration and trust.
He resolved to only use that key if an emergency was thrust.
The wearer of the belt was Queen Anne, a beautiful wife.
She gave him a come hither look, but he ignored it with strife.
Queen Anne was gorgeous, prettier each day, Nicolas had to admit.
She did not like that belt, it irritated her more than a bit.
Nicolas spent years with her, more delighted and enthralled each day.
He finally had to chip that damned chastity belt up and away.
When King Henry returned from the crusades so fine,
He had sons all over the kingdom, the newest made nine.
Henry was delighted with his sons; all strapping and true blue.
He was a bit light in the belfry, just between me and you….
So sensationally super; Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel
Oppresso de liber, optimistically captivating; oratorical
Saintly passionate, succulent salmon sampler; sweetheart!
Exquisitely enchanting, enchantingly amatorious; éclat!
Playful, painstakingly passionate, pajama wearer, patient
Handsomely helpful handyman, harmonizer of happiness
Sweet as syrup, shining armor off the shelf; savoir-faire!
Red-blooded poetry connoisseur and radioactively lovable!
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Won Seventh Place Position
"Tell Me About You Contest"
June 16, 2010
Sponsored by Amy Green
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