Short Denim Poems
Short Denim Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Denim by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Denim by length and keyword.
Hope floats
Perseverance
Rising above
Feet beating path like drummer
In grey concrete jungle thriving
Unaliving denim doubts
March prances along wearing green
Shamrock shirts and denim jeans
So cold one day and hot the other
I dare say like a bipolar spring lover
(Nay Say No. 4)
Standing or slouching
He is so fly -- when
buttoned and stretched ~
Oh my, so pleasing to the eye
Is it your beloved?
No my dear it’s my blue jeans!
Call me common;
at least I’m reliable.
Rugged though I may be,
I grow more relaxed with time.
Call me rebel;
I strive for equality.
Freer still with Spandex,
my grin gets indigo-stretched.
Listen to poem:
Serge de Nîmes
a tough, rough twill for workwear
made blue to fade and scuff—
to weather as souls are bared
a second skin
unpretentious, in fashion
yet rebellious and rough—
mocking the myth of clothing
Appealing blues
Indigo skies, striking eyes
Cobalt harmonizing
Falling into glowing hues
Dazzling azure
Sturdy and fervent, breathing
strength beyond gentle songs
Tough as a lonesome cowboy
Denim faded
from time’s winding down leaving
rust in the seams as gears
grind against the folds and tucks
where memories
were safely stored for decades
rewound and replayed like
clips from a movie of life.
loose threads, holes and worn spots
faded naturally
his story told in these old genes
left unworn for so long
beloved denim lives on
hidden beneath the casket lid
11/11/2017
KNIT YOUR FABRIC - Poetry Contest
Nette Onclaud
Boomers from here to anon,
What turned us all on?
Our blue jeans of love,
Marched for peaceful doves,
Sun baking for brown.
Skin blotches do cast frown,
Our denim survives,
Silvers staying alive,
So far, so good, I'm stating,
Freckles still proliferating,
Feeling young never grows old,
We're boomers, do be told!
Written on 17th November, 2025
for the texture of minimalist poetry contest
by Nette Onclaud
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tough for rough stuff
workwear for casual fits
rugged for donkey years
closets still store its cool warmth
twill-woven blue
white strewn over indigo
softness toughened with dye
its glory a wardrobe song
I lionized Denim, in turn she spoke for me.
I listened to Sound, she gave me emotion.
I gazed at a picture, made her feel beautiful, she let me see whatever I wanted to see.
Oh, the things these women would do for me.
I gave Word definition, she clothed me with perception.
At times it fit me great and at times not so right
...just like denim.
Mine was black, yours was blue
An little unspoken between just us two
What did it mean? Perhaps not that much
But I do like the fact that we share things as such
Small things, of which there are more than a few
For example, ILU, which means "I Love You"
How much you may ask? Well I'll say I do
What once was an inkling since then grew and grew
I dream denim poems
That shift in the silver moonlight
Keeping ideas that form
From joyful to night fright
Sometimes they are like a bonnet
Worn to keep warm my brain
Rhymes divine and sandy sonnets
And some with no formal name
Slipping into my subconscious
Like a new bride into white lingerie
With honeymoon glow upon us
Till starry night becomes sunny day
TEXTURE OF MINIMALISM: Title - Denim
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: 16-Nov-2025
---------------------------------------------
Old dirty blues,
Lived in and once beloved.
All that dirt speaks of time -
Stains mark a living hard earned.
Faded hand prints,
Of the love lost on the way,
Dreams of home not to be --
Pocket heavy with pennies.
The boy tossed the old denim shoe over a limb,
during a summer dare.
He meant to retrieve it, but forgot.
The tree kept it the way trees keep old things.
And the sparrow, small and serious,
looked at that denim hollow
and saw a home no one else imagined.
It’s the kind of story where the world
doesn’t fix what’s broken~
it simply lets something new grow inside it.
The greatest misfortune of {us}
is that you only seem to recall
a few black pages of our relations.
Nonchalantly tossing aside the gilded chapters
that made up the volumes of our past...
Your major miscalculation...you sought to suck satin
out of a denim man.
Always a shade less than your expectation.
A texture that rouged your mental skin.
What cloth do you drape yourself in
nowadays?
It took some time, but
eventually the denim
(after much scrubbing)
of my workaday soul
cleaned-up as if stone washed.
Valuable lessons
were tucked into new pockets,
the clucking hens
of a nagging conscience
were at last silenced.
I’m spinning myself dry today,
hanging up my smoking guns.
Her face still riddles me through,
but I patch up just fine,
and know now how to zip her
out of my mind.
H. G. Wells: "If you fell down yesterday, stand up today!
You saw me blush at my latest mistake
Even laughed, for heaven’s sake
Slipping, sliding, into the mud
Twisting, turning, I knew this wasn’t good
Everyone somehow, holds on by their pants
Rolling, strolling, with old Levi fakes
Dusting down denim, in just a few shakes
All I need now, is to take this next chance
You’ll soon find out, I’ve got what it takes.
We cannot come now the ladybug sang with accord.
We are smelling the starch on the ironing board.
The baby mouse agreed, she loved the smell of starch too.
And she liked the stiffness of the jeans her mom ironed all blue.
They sat next to the baskets watching Mrs. Mouse work.
She ironed for the McGuffries, the Geedogs and Mr. McLerk.
The iron’s steam wafted in the air, filling the lungs of the two.
Who loved the aroma every time she reached for a denim of blue.