Blotch
I compelled my hand-blotch to be a care
On this soul of mine. So far, my cares
Diminished, as bending was difficult for me
And old tables remained like my skin.
I wore a cardigan that day, and could it be
That my wearing of this item of clothing
Be strict and due to ancient nature,
Or the feature of an old saying
That forbade my age to enter history.
My hands tie meaning with my shirt
Or shall I say cardigan, just the sold one,
The one so forgiving of my age.
Age carries stiches,
I stretch my shirt, or cardigan,
And look at my hands.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Wearing A Shirt
It is better to wear a shirt to protect your happiness,
The wearing of an item of clothing like this one is immense.
We stagger and wait more than others, wearing shirts and trousers,
Still this happened a long time ago, once when the sea opened.
The land was for joyous fuelling, readying with swords and weapons,
By the way, it was clothing on the way home.
It was bitter so much like sour fruit, inside was a yearning,
Too late was the bereavement of a shirt.
The immense puzzle was solved on the way home,
A vehicle stuns us amazingly in the worst possible touch.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shirt
The buttonholes were empty.
The buttons had all let go.
The shirt was now a remnant,
one he did outgrow.
The sleeves were short so he rolled them.
The plaid material was faded.
Now it was getting much too tight
as he saw his name brocaded.
The name was what she called him,
'Sonny, sonny boy.'
Her voice came back when he wore it.
It was a sound of joy.
He would have to give up wearing it
and pray that she would know
that no other shirt he'd ever wear
were what her hands did sew.
Mom. dear mom you come alive
everytime I see that shirt.
It helps me when I'm missing you.
It takes away the hurt.
Every other shirt that I have worn
could never quite replace
the feeling I get when I see it
for I see your loving face.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Father's Daughter
Only his kiss will do
Only a smile from him
Only his embrace will do
Cut from this cardigan
Cut from this aging cloth
Worn in view of a memory
Now only this alone will do
Only the warmth of his hand
Shouldered in a fatherly stand
Only his high back wicker chair
Hugs her now as he use to do
Only her tears stave off despair
Oh father how I loved you.
And in this abandonment still do.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rondeau
To iron a shirt, first lightly spray,
then left and right hand interplay;
with one to press and one to lead,
the path's prepared, the creases freed
and gathered wrinkles fade away.
The woman's old, in slow decay,
she's taken care of every day,
yet restless hands still feel the need
to iron a shirt.
Her mind now tends to disarray,
yet sometimes skills, long practiced, stay
and though she lacks her former speed,
her family and friends concede,
she's always known the proper way
to iron a shirt.
poem by Diane Hine
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Tuck Your Shirt In
My name is Holly
And I like
I'm so glad that you asked me out tonight
Our conversation over dinner was really nice
But don't forget you still owe me dessert
It's 12 we missed the late show
So let's head over to this joint that I know
Everytime I take someone it's always such a ride
But there's a dress code
You've got to follow
There's no exceptions
And once you're in
If you want TMA
You better need to be
Oh baby
But before you enter
Tuck your shirt in
No way you'll get rid of
Other clothes
If you don't follow this
One moment
Tuck your shirt in
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
We're probably gonna need to call a cab
Ten minute walk over there and back
But I think it's best we
Save our energy
Tonight I'm really on the grind
Otherwise I'd normally wait a while
Before I'd ask
Somebody to my party
But there's a dress code
You've got to follow
There's no exceptions
And once you're in
If you want TMA
You better need to be
Oh baby
But before you enter
Tuck your shirt in
No way you'll get rid of
Other clothes
If you don't follow this
One moment
Tuck your shirt in
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
But there's a dress code
You've got to follow
There's no exceptions
And once you're in
If you want TMA
You better need to be
Oh baby
But before you enter
Tuck your shirt in
No way you'll get rid of
Other clothes
If you don't follow this
One moment
Tuck your shirt in
TMA
You better need to be
Oh baby
But before you enter
Tuck your shirt in
No way you'll get rid of
Other clothes
If you don't follow this
One moment
Tuck your shirt in
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la
song performed by by Holly Valance from Footprints
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give Me Back My Shirt
You stole my shirt again
The one with stains
Beneath my armpits
You lied and said
The shirt somehow fell
Into your suitcase
A dark black shadow
That hurled itself off a cliff
And landed inside your
Sad blonde soul
And when you sleep alone at night
In the naked stretch of your wine-soaked skin
Do you smell my harsh manly aroma
In the pillow of your theft?
Do you wet yourself in the taste of
The baby felons we might make?
Do you imagine yourself wearing
My body
Upon the sharp thrusts of my
Contempt
And
Love?
For a liar, a thief, a fetishist for
Fabric
That revives memories
Of lust long faded
You stole my shirt again
The one that has faint traces
Of your drool, in the way you
Drip yourself upon me
In the hot slumber of your
Babbling incoherent dreams
Give me back my shirt
It was a present from my sister
Who rarely bought me anything
Except for a blue cotton candy
Vivid blue
Like your icy sullen eyes
In the childhood
Of my lonely
Indelible
Lament
poem by Catman Cohen
Submitted by anonym
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Miss Jones
Her lower jaw
(a class three, my dentist father
would have termed it)
jutted forward pugnaciously.
He hair hung limp,
pinned at the side.
Her body hunched crab-like
(probably osteoporosis) .
She wore cream blouses,
stout shoes
and a cardigan
when it was cold.
She adored Mr. Cuthbertson
(head of radio drama)
with the fierce passion
of a lonely spinster.
She fussed over his tea,
typed his memos lovingly.
Her Christian name was Aimee.
Sad really.
At her retirement party
Mr Cuthbertson pecked her on the cheek.
She blushed hotly
and happily.
poem by Alison Cassidy
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One Leg Anne and the Kid
Anne poked Monica
the girl with burn scars
with one of her crutches
and said
Scam scar face
me and the skinny kid
want to be alone
and Monica moved off
and said
I'm going to tell
Sister Bridget about you
Anne indicated for you
to sit in one of the chairs
on the lawn
and said to Monica
Go tell her then
and kiss her arse
while you're there
and Monica went off
and Anne eased herself
down into the other chair
and laid her crutches
against the round table
Well Kid how's it going?
All right
you replied
Just all right?
aren't you blown away
and isn't your heart faster
on my approach?
she laughed
and stared at you
Well?
she said
after a few moments
of silence
Did you manage
to bum me a smoke?
you fumbled
in your shirt pocket
and pulled out
a cigarette slightly bent
Well done you
Skinny Boy
and she took the cigarette
and put it in the pocket
of her cardigan and said
I'll have that later
when I'm in the john
having a pee
What if someone sees you?
you asked
What in the john?
I hope there'll be
no one in the john
with me
well unless you want to come
you're quite welcome
No
you said looking at
her straight black hair
and her dark eyes
and the one leg
sticking out
from her red skirt
she saw you staring
at her leg and said
I think you've fallen in love
with my lone leg
and she lifted her skirt
and revealed the leg stump
coming a little way
from her panty line
Have a good look Kid
and she laughed
and pulled your left hand
onto the stump
and held it there
and you sensed
the warmth and softness
and when she released
your hand you seemed
to take the impression
of the leg stump
on your palm and fingers
and odd
that years after that
that impression
like some ghost
still lingers.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There's Got To Be A Morning After
I heard it once, smoothed-out
by gallons of coffee,
chest husking like a plow
and pulled it into a basement.
Cardigan-wrapped the next morning
and only then was it true, only then
was I so hungry I could eat at the roots of it,
and lay down like a napping aristocrat
dreaming of pendulums
potbellied, empurpled,
pissing outside, and my
boombox played it again, its notes
encircled by my poor shy ghosts
made quiet speeches to the wind
saluted this song's toasting.
poem by Daniel Nester
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There was an old man who felt pert
When he wore a pale rose-coloured shirt.
When they said 'Is it pleasant?'
He cried 'Not at present--
It's a little to short -- is my shirt!'
quote by by Edward Lear
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And I was victim to that very early in my career, where I would go into auditions, and I'd be wearing a big T shirt, a big baggy T shirt and loose jeans. You know, to try and show people that there was more to me than just that.
quote by Charlize Theron
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After School Walk
After lessons at junior school
coming down the bricks stairs
Helen said
can I walk home with you?
Sure
you replied
and she set off with you
along St George's Road
the traffic and smoke fumes
setting the scene
she in her school frock
and cardigan
and white ankle socks
beside you in your grey jacket
and grey short trousers
and she said
I don't usually walk home alone
but mum said I can walk home
with you save her coming along
to the school with the other kids
and pram with baby
you took in
her two plaits of hair
and thin framed glasses
with large lens
which made her eyes
larger than they were
her small hands
by her side
a small school bag
over her shoulder
and did you know
Janice likes you?
Her grandmother
told my mother
the other day
after school
but I like you better
do you like me?
she asked
you noticed
she had small white teeth
with a thin brace
along the top
sure I do
you replied
I like Janice too
but you I like more
and she smiled
and put her right hand
in yours and squeezed it
and you smiled
but hoped none
of the other boys around
noticed the hand holding
after all a tough boy
has a reputation to maintain
and as you squeezed
her hand back
clouds darkened
and it started
to piss with rain.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problems
Ive been up to my neck workin 6 days a week
Wearin holes into the shoes on my feet
Been dreamin of gettin away since I dont know
Aint no better time than now..for mexico
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues..hey I forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
And no shirt, no shirt, and no problems!
No problems
Want a towel on a chair in the sand by the sea
Want to look thru my shades and see you there with me
Want to soak up life for a while
In laid back mode
No boss, no polite, no stress, no dress code
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues hey I forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
And no shoes, no shirt, and no problems
Babe lets get packed..tank tops and flip flops if u got them
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
No problems.
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem
I've been up to my neck workin 6 days a week
wearin holes into the shoes on my feet
been dreamin of gettin away since i dont know
Aint no better time than now..for mexico
No shoes, No shirt, No problems
Blues what blues..hey i forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
and no shirt, no shirt, and no problems!
No problems
Want a towel on a chair in the sand by the sea
want to look thru my shades and see you there with me
Want to soak up life for a while
In laid back mode
No boss, no polite, no stress, no dress code
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
Blues what blues hey i forgot them
The sun and the sand and a drink in my hand with no bottom
and no shoes, no shirt, and no problems
Babe lets get packed..tank tops and flip flops if u got them
No shoes, no shirt, no problems
No problems
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hands All Over
Your hands are dirty from the chocolate bar
And you got your hands all over dad's shirt
And now dad's shirt is dirty also with the chocolate bar
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Look Good In My Shirt
When you walked up behind me and covered my eyes
And whispered in my ear, guess who
I rattled off names like I really didnt know
But all along I knew it was you
And, the longer we talked, the more we laughed
And wondered why we didnt last
It had been a long time, but later last night
Baby, we caught up real fast
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
Thats right
You look good in my shirt
Well now Im not saying that we solved overnight
Every way that we went wrong
Oh, but what Im seeing Id sure love seeing
Every morning from now on
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
Cmon now
Aww thats right
Oh you look so fine
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
You look good in my shirt
You look good in my shirt
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shrinking
Have you ever had that feeling
you are growing,
or is it your clothes are shrinking?
You know when your trouser bottoms
start creeping up to your knees,
or your shirt sleeves
start climbing up to your elbows,
or your waistline begins to grow,
but your belt hangs loose,
or your chest is expanding
because the buttons keep popping of your shirt.
Oh yea, I know that feeling ever so well
as it happens to me all the time
just after my wife does the washing.
She follows the instructions to the letter,
but still they begin to shrink.
Nothing is unshrinkable when she goes to wash,
except once.
There always has to be one exception.
I had a nice towelin shirt
and when she had finished with it,
the shirt touched my knees
and looked like I was wearing a skirt.
Here I am six foot three,
yet my clothes will fit someone three feet three
and a lot thinner than me.
Now I am at my wits end wondering just what to do.
It feels like playing Russian roulette
when the next wash begins.
31 January 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The most difficult thing for me is a portrait. You have to try and put your camera between the skin of a person and his shirt.
quote by Henri Cartier-Bresson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Shirt (Demo Recording)
As I walked into the charity store
I saw a second-hand shirt hangin' up by the door
The collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuff
Caused by ketchup or blood or some such stuff
It wasn't made of polyester or nylon
The label said "Made in the UK" so I tried it on
And I looked in the mirror and declared
"I like this shirt, I want it"
It's not the label on the shirt that you wear
It's the way that you wear it
They say it's style and breeding and culture that counts
But you can't change good taste on the expense account
And if design or fashion makes you a hero
You can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zero
But I declare "It's not the shirt you wear
It's the way that you wear it"
I was looking for danger, I should have taken more care
I was dressed to kill, I felt so debonair
Wild expectations, arrogant air
Then I walked into that bar, she was standing there
I walked over with all my savoir fair
And she said "You're a smart looking dude
But your character's ugly, it clashes with my shoes
And I, I can't stand your attitude"
I assumed it was leading to a romantic interlude
I thought my conquest was made
But I was stunned by the magnitude
Of her ingratitude
I spent a good thirty bucks on this babe
Like the shirt I was wearing
This romantic affair was not destined to last
The harder I tried, the louder she laughed
I was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bare
She knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerk
I was humbled, humiliated, castrated
My masculinity dragged through the dirt
Then thrown in the air to be devoured by the lions
The vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of love
I was strutting around with my chest stuck out
like a peacock preparing to get laid
Thought I looked cool but she put me down
She said "You look like a clown on a circus parade"
Still the shirt has class, it looks well made
She was a babe of the first degree
She was totally fantabulous
Like a goddess from Greece and yet
The epitome of the 20th century femininity
She was in her own league
She was meant for me, it was destiny
Like Adam and Eve, synchronisity
She brought out the testosterone in me
Last time I saw that babe she was smiling contentedly
Now I'm trapped on this murder rap, a mistaken identity
It wasn't me, it wasn't me, it wasn't me
Now this cop says "It's up to you, death row or solitude
Crime of passion, you should plead 'insane'
You say you wouldn't lie, but we've just blown your alibi
We've found your shirt and it's got a blood stain"
It was the shirt you were wearing
It was the shirt you were wearing
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My mom
My mom is very sweet and always caring.
She worries about me when I am in school.
She makes sure that I get where I am going
On time so that I don't feel like a fool.
She cares whenever I pick on my younger brother.
She cares whenever he or I get hurt.
She cares whenever I score a goal in soccer.
She cares about the buttons on my shirt.
But best of all, my mom loves all of us
Who live with her, both when we're good and bad.
She makes me happy with a hug and kiss
And holds my hand whenever I am sad.
poem by Arfa Karim
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