Posts: 751
Threads: 408
Joined: May 2014
Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 4
Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November.
Topic : Write a poem about or inspired by an article of clothing.
Form : any
Line requirements: Eight lines or more
Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish.
Questions?
Posts: 39
Threads: 49
Joined: Aug 2021
Boot, crusted in soot
and clay,
it reminds me of the day
when I went away.
Off to the seas
in a foreign land
with outline of sand:
those were the days.
Posts: 468
Threads: 202
Joined: Dec 2017
T-shirt sizing
I have the t-shirt you got for me
from your first overseas trip.
It sits at the bottom of my drawer with the other clothes -
clothes that I'll wear, because they fit
and don't have fluorescent lettering.
And they're worn and washed. New ones take their place.
But the bottom of the pile
sits a t-shirt I'll never wear
smelling of naphthalene and 1994
and it doesn't fade like the others.
Posts: 952
Threads: 225
Joined: Aug 2016
She's losing on purpose
Keep it up, I like to win
Sunglasses and hat, her rings
Somehow constant eye contact
Keep it up, I like to win
I want a turn to lose though
Somehow constant eye contact
Your bare feet on the table.
I want a turn to lose though
Call my bluff, this shirt is hot
Your bare feet on the table
I can see what you're not showing
Call my bluff this shirt is hot
Tantalizing, titillated,
I can see what you're not showing
This game can't go on
Tantalizing, titillated
Top to bottom to the floor
This game can't go on
This room will do just fine
Top to bottom to the floor
Sunglasses and hat, her rings
This room will do just fine
She's losing on purpose
Peanut butter honey banana sandwiches
Posts: 1,139
Threads: 466
Joined: Nov 2013
11-05-2021, 01:48 AM
(This post was last modified: 11-05-2021, 01:49 AM by RiverNotch.)
Rage is a currency
backed by a print
of Guerillero Heroico
on a plain red shirt.
I'd rather you wore
the blue wool blouse
with a Peter Pan collar
you got at Goodwill.
Posts: 1,184
Threads: 249
Joined: Nov 2015
Its Turns
The Belt– so many meanings for
a thing of such simplicity:
its two ends joined by varied fittings
into that which has no end.
To some extent it’s mythical–
belief that unlike braces it
holds trousers up suspender-like–
in fact it merely clamps them to
hips larger than their wearer’s waist.
When verbalized as “belted” it
can server as honor or a weapon:
belted wrestler, belted knight
or belted with a handheld loop.
In Communist societies
one’s belt is taken on arrest
depriving zeks of means to kill
themselves (a right their State reserves)...
shoelaces serve in place of belt
for only felt boots will be needed
where a freezing zek will trudge.
Which brings up necks, the other place
a belt can form its ligature
when “My way or the highway” reigns
as in, for instance, Belt and Road.
Non-practicing atheist
Posts: 894
Threads: 176
Joined: Jan 2021
Your long fingers embroidered
Guy de Bord’s book cover
on an emerald green t-shirt,
in red, blue and yellow threads,
and on white, a cryptic sun burst
in yellow and orange with the slogan
Creeds Divide God’s Children.
Those fingers, that welded metal,
tilled earth, raised butterflies,
those fingers are lost to us now.
Today, waking from a dream,
I saw you, your wry look when asked
a question you didn’t want to answer.
There was no question.
I just wanted to see you again.
Posts: 468
Threads: 202
Joined: Dec 2017
(11-05-2021, 12:49 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote: Your long fingers embroidered
Guy de Bord’s book cover
on an emerald green t-shirt,
in red, blue and yellow threads,
and on white, a cryptic sun burst
in yellow and orange with the slogan
Creeds Divide God’s Children.
Those fingers, that welded metal,
tilled earth, raised butterflies,
those fingers are lost to us now.
Today, waking from a dream,
I saw you, your wry look when asked
a question you didn’t want to answer.
There was no question.
I just wanted to see you again.
this is beautiful
Posts: 695
Threads: 139
Joined: Jun 2015
You have a picture
of well worn brown
boots- one leaning
on the other, its sole
flecked with dried mud,
laces slightly frayed,
toes scuffed, tongues
folded over.
Outside the frame
I had you in my hands,
gently rubbing
your aching feet.
Whenever I see that
picture I can still hear
you saying, "oooh,
that feels so good."