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macayla May 2018
If you put an open book on your face and breathe in the softness of the pages,
And your cheeks feel the heaviness of the words pressed against them:
You will absorb all the knowledge inside of the book
And the story will sink into your skin, like warmth after a long day in the sun.

If your pyjamas smell like the sun,
They have disappeared into the back of your wardrobe
And gone back home when you were asleep
Returning when the sun peeks in through the lines in your walls.

If it is late in the morning
Then the morning loves you and your sleepy face
and the quietness of your thoughts as you wake.
All rights reserved to Macayla :-) please don't copy/steal, each poem I post is usually something I am proud of.
Chris Neilson Feb 2018
I read my poetry this morning
on my BBC local radio station
a piece about shopping in pyjamas
a broadcast of 5 minutes duration

The nation is divided on this thorny subject
some shoppers can't be arsed getting dressed
other customers are horrified by their attire
their disagreeable disdain is often expressed

PJ wearers versus non nightwear customers
exchanging verbals in supermarket aisles
swapping differences of sartorial etiquette
trading snarling expressions rather than smiles

As I was lounging in loungewear in my lounge
"Do you wear loungewear?", said the presenter
"never beyond my garden gate", I thought
I admit to being a PJ shopper dissenter
Yes, BBC Radio Manchester allowed me on this morning
Chris Neilson Jan 2017
There's an argument raging
in my neck of the woods
I'm sharing it poetically
for feedback from your 'hoods

Pyjamas worn in supermarket aisles
mostly by women with too little time
to get dressed they are far too busy
anyway, they say there is no crime

It's nobody's business but their own
they say their attire is fine
other shoppers complaining it's shameless
wearing PJ's to buy bottles of wine

A survey said 75% think they're lazy
unhygienic, scruffy, lacking in shame
the other 25% said they're too busy
and anyway surveys are lame
This is the hottest debate in town!
scar Jun 2015
i do not want to sleep
in my clothes again
but i don't have the energy
to put my pyjamas
into the dryer.
there is no cure quite like for the dour
than clean pyjamas post-long-hot-shower.
with a sigh and a hug and flannel kisses to yer ***
hot shower/clean pyjamas: for when a day is done.
© 2014  J.J.W. Coyle
Jaanam Jaswani Mar 2014
he got them in a box, over Christmas
and he wore them everyday that week
the pyjamas, they were blue and white
oh how cozy he was each night

at age eight, the world was his oyster
and he dreamed of hanging bridges
the pyjamas, they made him fly
oh how, how he soared so very high

he tucked them away, as the flowers grew
and away they were kept year by year

the boy still closed his eyes, though
he was led into a world, by himself
the pyjamas, they were catching dust
this world, a place oozing with lust

he glanced at them, as the flowers wilted
and glanced at they were, year by year

it started a crack in the boy's voice
Peter Pan was now fictional
the pyjamas, were still there for him
but he, took each day with more grim

he opened the box in his closet, as the flowers grew again

it was a metamorphosis
you could even tell by the hair on his face
the pyjamas, they no longer fit
and now he, had a reputation of grit

he tucked them away, as the flowers grew
and away they were kept year by year

his son received something similar, over Christmas
the little boy hoped for a video game
the pyjamas, still blue and white
held less significance at night*

it was time to throw his pyjamas away
he burnt his child-like innocence, as
his memories - slowly - became dull, and grey
written for TJ.

— The End —