Sweatpants Poems | Examples

Packing for Camp

The grandkids are heading to sleepaway camp,
Their clothing all labeled and packed,
Plus all of the extras they may or not need -
Way too much, as a matter of fact.

They bring pillows and blankets and flashlights and fans
And shin guards and sandals and cleats 
And towels and bug spray and sunscreen and stamps 
And shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and sheets.

They need rain gear and sleeping bags, books and canteens,
A laundry bag, backpack and socks,
Plus sweatshirts and jackets and underwear (lots!)
And their sneakers and rain boots and Crocs.

Of course there are bathing suits, t-shirts and shorts
And sweatpants and PJ’s and fleece,
But there are no iPads or Switches or phones
So some wonders, I guess, never cease.

The days spent at camp will fly quickly until
All that stuff gets repacked to go home,
With some missing or ruined or filthy, but that
Is a topic for some future poem.

Trapped in Words

In the airport, there’s nothing to do. 
But they’re taking off at once.
I didn’t decide to. 
The luggage just appeared. 
My feet almost got chewed off. 
But I started my poem just in time. 
I decided to feel the vibes of the day.
But then a bee flew by and I forgot.
You should write things. 
Sometimes you can forget how to read. 
So you don’t for a while. 
Stare at the lines on the paper. 
They are not words, just the helpers. 
Or throw everything away, who cares. 
Throw away those old sweatpants. 
And maybe that will inspire me. 

Capitalize That.

And This And Them Too!

Write a bit each day. 
Then I take my notebook out. 
And eat it all at once.

I was buff at fifty five

When I was fifty-five I lost weight and got into shape
Exercised to the point of near ridiculous, and looked great
My daughter said “Mom! You are buff!”
I had never been buff before
It felt terrific.

Some days I wish I was fifty-five again
I was never sick, I was super healthy
I felt great, and I was eating right
No cookies, donuts or other empty calorie foods

Not sure what happened but I have gone to pot
I think it was the cravings for chocolate and peanut butter.
I can hardly look at lettuce or celery now
Not as healthy, but comfy in my sweatpants and recliner

In October

In October 
the wind picks up 
dusting the ground with fallen multicolored leaves 
leaving bare trees to shiver 
in October 
people dress a little warmer 
and jump on hay wagons 
eager to reach pumpkin patches 
where farmers have yielded 
fields of assorted pumpkins 
in October 
horses are decorated 
pumpkins carved 
and kids dress in costumes 
ready to trick or treat 
in October 
I sit around a blazing bonfire 
in a hoodie and sweatpants 
watching floating amber's 
disappear in dark sky 
bringing october to an end

Out Of My Closet

My closet, since you ask, is a cramped space, 
Chosen and cherished fashionable base, 
Essential part of my enchanted place, 
With charm and chic to complement my face. 

Shows off all hues of my life if I may - 
From baby pink to darkest shades of grey, 
Reflecting the intended role I play, 
Engaging gaily in Societe. 

Levi’s slim fit - my favourite by far, 
Red miniskirt to storm a local bar, 
Sleek diva dress as karaoke star, 
Extra large sweatpants, running chores by car. 

Stylish business suit for formal dinner, 
A little black dress, my boss’ head spinner, 
Bikini thongs as hot summer sinner, 
Levi’s slim fit still my all time winner! 

My closet caters to the latest trend, 
Adjusting to occasions I attend. 
I love all walks of vogue but in the end, 
Levi’s slim fit - my easygoing friend!

Wide range of footwear I wouldn’t omit, 
But shoe department in one poem won’t fit. 
(The arsenal of bags, a dazzling hit, 
So is the lingerie, I must admit). 

But if a pair of shoes I ought to pick, 
Without moment’s hesitation real quick - 
I would grab cowgirl boots, sexy and slick, 
Vibing with my Levi’s through thin and thick!

ohio weather

shorts in the morning 
sweatpants in the evening 
ohio weather

My Water Bottle

There are flakes of black stuck to my palm
remnants of the bottle’s cheap paint
clinging to the rich warmth of my veins

It isn’t a surprise to find my water bottle in such a state
simply another thing of mine that’s far past its prime

Folders broken at the spine and
laces long soiled in muck
Hole ridden socks
and well-worn sweaters
A price for the stability I’ve struck
and reminders of what I must still weather

I brush my hand on my thigh
firmly as to rid the flakes from the ridges of my skin
As one would the guts of a fly 
and as thoroughly as dispelling the guilt of sin

I know the flakes remain on me
But my sweatpants are black, so
I can retain my dignity to a certain degree

No the Blue Jeans Screamed

No! The blue jeans screamed. We do not stretch that far!
The people driving by began laughing it up in the car.
They had seen the old woman who had eaten a moon and a star.
She waddled into the house clutching a huge candy bar.

Please no! The blue jeans screamed as she sat on the bed.
She pulled off her sweatpants and swiveled her head.
I bet these blue jeans will not split she said to her man.
He dared not even look as the jeans’ torment began.

She slid them to her knees, but they would not go over.
Come lick my legs a bit, she suggested to her good dog Rover.
She tried the best she could, but she could not get them up.
Guess we will not split today! One leg said to the pup.

100 Percent

She was five when she was set down for a talk. Don't walk alone in the dark, keys between your knuckles, don't let them take you to a second location, scream and fight. That is what her mom said, a frown on her face. She was five when her dad said cover your body, boys will be boys. Only wear baggy clothes, a women can't defend herself from a man. Trust no man. The rules of a women.

Now she is all grown up, searching for escape routes in every room. She only wears misleading clothes, took self-defense, and always carries a taser. Her whole life has been a war against herself. The life of a women. 

She only keeps one headphone in, wears sweatpants even at the gym, and when she walks alone her keys are between her knuckles. But they just laughed when they corned her in that back-alley. How could a girl beat three men? The misfortune of a women. 

It isn't all men but it is all women. Being a women isn't simple, everyday is a fight.

Shambling On

I wish I had the fortitude & Will
to dress in a clean shirt, tie,
neatly pressed slacks and suitable jacket
like an English gentleman, but….

one day 
I appear in a supermarket
in sweatpants and T.
Stained nocturnal, I drive to a fast-food restaurant
then sleep in that T, eat breakfast in that T,
wear that T all day,
then slapdash my way into the night.

I have entered the rumpled shambling center
of that patched-up heart of aging,
where night hangs on the backs of chairs,
and rumpled mornings enter the evening
ever unwilling 
to change.

Shambling On

One day I appear in the supermarket
in sweatpants and T.

Stained nocturnal, I drive to a fast-food restaurant
then sleep in that T, eat breakfast in that T,
wear that T all day,
then slapdash my way into the night.

I have entered the shambling center
that is the patched-up heart of aging,
where night hangs on the backs of chairs,

and rumpled mornings enter the evening
ever willing to un-change.

The Sweat Shop

She slips on her sweatpants then heads towards the door  
over to the gym to exercise, bodily atonement just so
Diner reservations are at eight there is still so much to do 
before meeting him in her silk red dress and Reveling  smile 

At the makeup counter she chooses a vigorous Opium scent 
with two dreamy eyes she pays the lady then walks out 
Unbeknownst,... her sweetheart is perusing the glass case for    
a diamond ring.  He is ready to dive right in for the sake of love  

A gentleman across from him snaps the velvet case shut  
son there is a reason why they call it, " The Sweat Shop"  
He wipes a brow, "I think she's worth it" he says with fieriness 
then he arrives early to place the ring beneath a damask cloth; 

Chopin plays on as he gazes in her eyes of tinkling glass 
he holds out  the ring, " Will You Marry Me"  he whispers  
as the world falls away for a moment, for a second, for a day 
two lovers kiss in a booth that smells like roses and wine.  


By: Mystic Rose  /  Feb. 10, 2022 

Sponsor	Kai Michael Neumann
Contest Name	The Sweat Shop

A Day At the Laudromat

Oh hi me hence to the laundromat 
Bearing many a malodorous sock
As ofttimes a shepherd will boldly go
To the babbling brook where the clear waters flow
With a line of the wooliest beasties in tow
(Or sometimes merely formed up in a row)
Which comprise his caprinaerious flock

A football jersey, meant for sport 
Relegated now to work
A dozen holed and yellowed shorts
Which in a dank corner lurk

Some threadbare jeans and faded tees
A brace of sweatpants lacking knees
And a woolen sweater, rife with fleas
I find I must transport

As manly heart anticipates the finding of a laundromat queen
Perhaps a Vida Guerra clone
Or Jennifer Lawrence all alone
Or Charlotte McKinney, sans cell phone*
But it doesn't seem to be my day, none such are here, I ween.

When it comes to laundromatic love it seems I am quite out of luck, 
For the only lass who toils within
Sports globular frame and trebular chin
And more body hair than Rin Tin Tin
Much like Rosanne Barr with a silly grin, had her face impacted a truck.

*So she can't call for help.

Dressing For the Day

Pajamas or nightgowns, to me, are to keep
People cozy and comfortable while they’re asleep.
When sheltering-in or on weekends before
Getting dressed needn’t be all that much of a chore.

For even just changing to sweatpants and tees
Makes things seem so much better, by more than degrees. 
I feel much the same way about making the bed
Since not doing so can make despondency spread.

Though many may argue they do the same job
And both PJ’s and sweats make one look like a slob,
It’s psychology playing a sweet little trick
For pajamas in daylight make one appear sick.

In our homes, we’re in charge, so we wear what we choose
And if challenged to dress, we can flat-out refuse
But you’ll never find me in my sleeping attire
Past the morning, unless the apartment’s on fire!

The Relay Race

The relay race starts with a bang as rain comes pouring down.
The starting runner, Spring, flies by in her bright flower crown.
Baton gets passed to Summer, who so glowingly appears
right at the very moment that the massive rain cloud clears.
The crowd all loves this golden runner, who too soon is gone.
The sun shines brightly on her as she passes the baton.
The third one, Autumn, plods through leaves and nearly takes a Fall,
then passes off to Winter, who proceeds at such a crawl -
for she showed up in sweatpants, knowing snow had been forecast.
Each spectator cheers loudly when the finish line is passed.
But when that race is over, then a new one's soon begun
with all the fans excited to see how THAT race is run!

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