Sleeved Poems | Examples

Carnival Night Was Special

Carnival Nights Poetry Contest
Robert James Liguori

There was a special carnival set in my memory
Rides, games, and food, cherished, and a prelude to our first kiss
And a second date where we watched Rambo: First Blood
But on that night, he held me in his arms dearly and lifted my spirits
Where the moon and stars looked down and smiled at us
And I remember passing a cow with big brown eyes
She proudly wore a blue ribbon garland around her neck 
And as we exchanged glances, my eyes peered at my blue ribbon
He was standing right next to me, as the cow seemingly knew
As we closed the first chapter, the sights and sounds sing in my heart
Circus clowns, cotton candy lady, acrobats, and little kids playing
But it was my man, future husband, that my eyes were really on
Those blue jeans, long-sleeved white dress shirt, cowboy hat, paint that night
A true gentleman, he was, he handed a prize teddy bear to a little kid
Where the little girl clutched the brown furry one happily and beamed at mom
These montages are now old but forever golden beam the big top of my heart 
I always remember those words, "ma'am, do you want to go on another ride?"

Real World Sedative Huitain

Knew just what she wanted to say,
that’s what she steadfastly believed;
Jazzed to write this poet at play,
clever words with rhythm are weaved;
No longer with that spirit sleeved
ghost whispers change the narrative;
Prose brighter than you had conceived
free from the real world’s sedative.

SARTORIAL SELF-PORTRAIT

SARTORIAL SELF-PORTRAIT

Even as a young man,
I dressed just like my dad.
‘Clothes are what defines you,’
Was a saying my mother had.

But now I’ve retired from the city,
Perhaps it’s time to break free.
So I’m looking through my wardrobe
To find out what defines me.

Here’s a row of pin-striped suits,
Three-piece, in the main.
With waistcoats with a pocket,
For a watch on the end of a chain.

And now the shirts, all white of course,
With collars that detach.
Long sleeves with fancy cuff links
And a smart tie pin to match.

There’s a lingering smell of moth balls
As I move along the rails.
Especially in the section
Where I keep my top hat and tails.

Even at home I wear a tie,
Though, to help me to relax,
I have a long-sleeved cardigan
And a pair of well-cut slacks.

But, right at the end, in a cover,
To make sure it doesn’t fade,
A memory of a brief interlude,
When I wasn’t quite so staid.

A reminder of my salad days,
When I lived life with a passion.
I’ve kept those flares for fifty years,
In case they come back in fashion.

I Won't Wear it

we got new red shirts from the PTA on Monday
It was comfy, so I wore it to school on Tuesday.
Then I texted McBride, my bestie.
Wear your new red shirt, I said, we can be twins.

She texted back “Do not wear that shirt!
It is for the birthday celebration in September!”
“Too late,” I replied. “I am at school.”
I get there two hours before most of the others.

She texted me “change that shirt!”
After peeking into my closets I saw all my shirts are long-sleeved.
The heat index yesterday was a hundred and ten.
She called me and asked what slacks I was wearing.

I said “I am wearing denim blue pedal pushers.”
This is old-school talk for “capris”.
She said “I am bringing you a shirt!”
“I won’t wear it!” I told her.

When she arrived she made me pull it out of the bag.
It was ALL of my favorite neon colors!
pinks, greens, oranges, yellows, reds.
I whipped my red shirt off and handed it to her.

Embrace The Day

Embrace the Day

Before manscaping with my hair trimmer,
my arm hair army wrapped further,
further around my cylindrical arms,
like wheat stalks before the harvest.
All atilt in a summertime wind
where the view of the soil has grown dim,
rustling above farmer-sized arms
swollen from trips to the local, town gym.
Some near black, some unwieldy, and some 
white-paper white.
I’m short sleeved today, and
I’m feeling right, and freshly groomed.
My arms now swing freely on arcs,
and rise up to greet the sun.
It was a bitter winter,
which tamped my goodwill, I think, as I
embrace the day.

Elasticated Waistbands

Elasticated waistbands, at what age?
Comfortable trousers are all the rage.
For a mature figure and the oversized,
Some teenager's just take the rise.

Long-sleeved shirts in summer months
Cover the arms sags and bumps.
Dignity for the middle-aged
Whose bodies have maybe decayed.

Maxi dresses shade ankles and thighs,
Better days sometimes denied.
So, cover up your soft white bits,
As you get older have clothes that fit.

Take pleasure in your bulging figure
As you have grown with consummate vigour.
'Bought and paid for' is the phrase,
Now elasticated waistbands get teenage praise.

Train

Through shoeless feet I feel
The ground trembling
I thrust my fist into the air
And pump it up and down
The blast of the horn drives me back a step
I yell, but my voice will not rise above the beast’s roar
My heart’s beat begins to match the rhythm from the sound
Of its massive wheels and my head swoons as I watch the cars gently roll from side to side…Powerful and terrifying
It seems to lift me off my feet and pull me closer
I am afraid the steel monster will devour me
My legs will not let me back away  
At last I see the bright red caboose
I wave my arms wildly and in answer
To my exaggerated welcome
A grey sleeved arm
Slips out the window
The gloved hand waves 
The roar subsides 
The trembling vanishes
On weakened knees
 I cross the tracks

Sunburned

I should've worn a longer-sleeved shirt--
then maybe now my arms wouldn't hurt!

Thought We Were Modern In 70s

In the seventies we thought we were modern
Utmost chic, sassy, on the cutting edge.
With our bell bottom slacks
And our bell sleeved shirts and dresses
Perhaps we were.
Everyone had the same pattern.
It was fun to see which fabrics others would select.
Paisleys and florals were vividly popular!
The polka dotted fabrics stayed back in the fifties.
But stripes were definitely a choice.

I Love Being Hot

We did not have air conditioning when I was a child
I spent my time outdoors in the summer,
browning like a cinnamon roll
I loved it!

We have air conditioning now, but I drive my car without it
I prefer to have the windows open
Until the temperature gets to ninety-five
Or I am on a loud freeway.

I am the only person I know who can sit in the sun eight hours
Wearing long-sleeved tops and blue jeans.
The others run inside, screaming for water.
I stay put, wallowing in the sunshine like a joyful unfixed tom cat.

The Sound of World Peace

Photo Artist : Akirakusaka 
Author of Poem:  Mystic Rose 


 
I stood there in a field of tall tall grass light pouring softly from the moon 
beneath my feet, earth was getting ready for a dormant state of mind 
I watched the dandelion puffs huddle amidst the dark and wondered, 
what it would be like if we finally achieved world peace...
My gauzy gown of gray floated in the wind.  As I hugged myself 
real tight, I started to pray to the moon that it would not withdraw 
its liquid light of gold.  World peace had been sleeved for too long 
and now I wanted to see it, before I grew old...
Laced in a field of nature I rounded up all my hopes and wishes 
then I blew the dandelion puffs one by one like a brave child; 
Yesterday I danced on a hot sidewalk with a skipping rope by the sun 
tonight I dance on a patch of cool damp earth, hoping the battle is won 
I cupped my ear to the sound of silence and sure enough it sounded 
like a cease fired moment of nothing, a sound never heard before 
one I knew nothing about, the sound of world peace.

Sponsor Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Contest Name Your Peace Message to the World

LOST AND FOUND

I’m lost, the snow’s so deep, red scarf left as a mark, but gone,
I need to nap, a busy night, Santa and Rudolph will miss me
Sleep, I must sleep, so tie my shoe around a tree with thorn,
Must prepare for dread, for what lies ahead, a villager passing heard
My sleepy voice, and from beneath a steep pile of snow peeped out
A blue sleeved arm and shoe-less foot, so he awakened me,
I would freeze in this bitter breeze, a hot glass of milk is
What you need, the stranger said, so tearfully I did explain,
I feared a wolf with fang, poor tired Santa forgot to head count, 
Please help, all I know is address North Pole, so elf and stranger
Walked hand in hand, leaving footprints in the snow like sand, 
Was this stranger assigned, of course we know he was, with speedy swirl, 
Found themselves in Santa’s house, beside his spouse, address North Pole. 
A miracle Santa declared and looked around, but no-one was there!





Competition Entry: Footprints
Dated: 02/05/2021
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire

Sunny South

Parkas mark the change
heat coming out the vents
helping keep the warmth of
the summer indoors.
Beautiful sunny skies greet
the long pants and long-
sleeved shirts for those who
venture out form behind
closed doors with closed
blinds.  Warm cocoa, hot
coffee, steaming tea fog the
air at the picnic table. The
gents have met for a game
of checkers at the park,
the slight breeze keeping
their collars up.  Fall has 
arrived in Florida, no change
of color, no threat of snow,
only the change of dress to
acknowledge the temp going
below 70 in the Sunny South.

The Heart and the Flamingo

I saw a heart on a Large pink to scarlet web-footed wading bird with down-bent bill,
The heart was pink and so very hard to see, but I knew it was there,
Because it was in my little Minnie’s smile.

Her favorite long sleeved shirts have hearts on them,
Underneath she wears a short-sleeved cotton one; for comfort,
Today's undershirt had the wading bird on it!

4 years old, happy with her
Heart and Flamingo and Playful smile.

©david byrne Jan 2021

Nostalgia

There it stands, desolate and alone
That roofless shell where the winds
Still whisper of the past
When  scampering children's squeals
 And wheeling seabirds' cries
Rose thinly through the air.
A thatched croft  from which a healthy living was scraped
A shirt-sleeved man, braces showing,
 Bald pate bunneted against the sun,
Bent over to tend his plot
An aproned woman cheerfully shooing away the hens
To collect the eggs for the evening meal
Beside a silvery sea stretching
To the horizon
 Hiding the city lights and its imagined pleasures
Until those dreams drew the young away
Watched sadly  by  the elderly pair
Their exodus damning
The island to its desolation
Where still  the birds' cries squeal 
And the wind  through the grass softly whispers
 Surrounding the now  silent croft
 In the salt sharp air
What homely  pleasures such a life once offered 
Now the graveyard of fading memories
While the once busy city streets
Stand empty drained of life
As the virus continues to take its toll

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