"suspenders" poems
My father lets me wear
short skirts
and bikinis
and pants that hug my thighs
but he will not allow me
to leave the house
in a button down shirt
and suspenders.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
I was fit and feisty at fifty
It was no big deal,
Because that's how half a century
Is supposed to feel.
In my sixties I'll take stock
Start making great plans,
Ignoring all the "you cant's"
And embracing all the "I cans".
Can I be **** at sixty?
And try all the fashions and fads,
Wear stockings and suspenders
And Joan Collins shoulder pads.
I can deal with **** at sixty
And wear Vivienne Westwood clothes,
Dress up and go out on the town
Wearing all my buttons and bows.
I'mgoing to be **** at sixty
I'll wear Gok Wan lingerie
Find myself a Toy Boy
Then maybe lead him astray.
Swift and **** at sixty
When I get my Jimmy Choos,
Dancing the night away
To the sound of rhythm and blues.
Oh! I want to be **** at sixty
'cause age is a state of mind,
I'm preparing my body at keep fit
So as not to be left behind.
But, first I have to deal with
Old Skin, Bad Teeth and Grey Hair,
Then remove the unwanted growths
From just about everywhere.
Then I'll definitely be **** at sixty
And undoubtedly done it all,
The only problem is that most
of it I simply won't recall...
© Hazel
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 3:05 PM UTC
bow tie and collars
nice pair of suspenders
buzzcut and braid
wanna get laid?
sex-tuned world
labels all swirled
high level of confusion
doubt and frustration
all the stigma about
sexuality gender who you are
we tell you where you fit
labels aplenty
let me name many
**** *** thot, *****
these and much much more
***** ***** and traitor
see you all later
******* druggie, and ****
nerd, geek, emo, goth
**** ****** loner
crackhead and stoner
athletic and pretty
simple or ****
labels aplenty
go on, take your pick
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 9:14 AM UTC
*The Warm Yellow In This Freezing Sunrise,
Reminds Me Of The Marigold We Picked,
And The Greyish Brown Of The Dirtied Snow,
Reminds Me Of The Woodticks You Picked Off Me,
The Lights Of These Passing Cars,
Remind Me Of Your Bona Fide Smile,
And The Crows In The Trees Remind Me Of,
The Crisp Mornings On Your Terrain,
And Now I Realize There Is No Word Loud Enough,
No Song Too Masculine Yet Gentle To Wish You Goodbye,
And There Is No Poem Beautiful Enough,
To Lead You Properly To Your New World*
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
Enticing us in, sugar coated doors
for sticky fingers,
Doors of mystery, keep out, staff only
nettled in barbed wire.
Half open doors full of promise,
chocolate soft centred
Exciting doors, silk covered
in lace suspenders
Inspiring doors, Leonardo bold italic,
uppercase only
Lonely doors all shuttered in silence,
cobweb covered
Sad doors, tear stained
and umbrella wet
Happy doors,
candy striped in laughter
Forbidden doors, Pandora boxed,
best kept locked
Revolving doors covered
with the same sticky mistakes
Trap doors crocodile sprung
to catch you out
Doors that slide on tram like runners,
buffered into walls with imprint of face
Secret doors of camouflaged chameleon
Troubled doors
thunder clapped in turmoil
Doors enticing us.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
the working girl approached him
a busy cardiff pub
stockings and suspenders
gave his leg a rub
hundred quid, i'm yours tonight
whatever you desire
heart beat like a big bass drum
his calvin kliens on fire
could not believe his fortune
what a stroke of luck
so he made her paint his house
and clean his ***** truck
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 6:44 AM UTC
There once was a man with a bowtie
And a little redhead girl
I'm gonna tell you the truth now
She loved him and he loved her.
They sat around the table
With fish fingers and custard, ice cream
They talked about his big blue box
And her family
In the middle of their midnight snack
An alarm rang from TARDIS, blue
He told her he would be back
In just a minute, or two
He accidentally missed his mark
Twelve years had gone by
But he just sauntered out
Waving and saying "Amelia, hi!"
Twas the first time they saved the world
When Amelia was just nineteen
Two years later he picked her up
On the eve of her wedding
But then the cracks in the universe
And all of space and time
Consumed the Doctor, all of him
But that's not the ending rhyme
The night she and Rory wed
Amy jumped out of her chair
"I remember you!" She shouted
And the Doctor appeared there
And so the Raggedy man came back
No more in the crack in the wall
Amy's imaginary friend
Bowtie, suspenders, and all
Later came an astronaut
Her name was River Song
She lifted her hand and against her will
Killed the Doctor, gone.
But, hooray!
The Doctor wasn't dead
It was wibbly wobbly, timey wimey
Stuff messing with their heads
And Amy had a daughter
Name? Melody Pond.
But the only water in the forest is rivers,
So she was really River Song.
Subtract love,
Add hate
Daleks scream
Exterminate!
Angels, Angels everywhere
Take a little blink
In the ground and in the air
And then they took Rory
"Come along Pond, please!"
He said with a cry
She turned to him and said
"Raggedy man, goodbye!"
"No!" He shouts in despair
"It can't be true!"
He stands over their grave
Oh Ponds, he loved you
He sits on the steps
Letting River fly
Too grief stricken to hurt
Or even to cry
Dreams are broken
Time stands still
The Doctor runs up
A small rocky hill
Afterword, it reads
By Amelia Pond
We love you Doctor
And we're sorry we're gone
There's a girl waiting in a garden
She'll be waiting for a while
So go to her
She needs a smile.
Tell her she's a fairytale
Known by many, loved by more
Not best in the universe,
But most important in the world.
She went with him and took his hand
He showed her the stars and distant lands
Together they ran, their spirits high
Until they day came when they said goodbye
Goodbye, Ponds.
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
every man for himself--am i a man or a self?
wearing long suspenders and
smoking my tonsils raw
a handful of questionable virtue
and inexpensive self confidence
i am no longer your folk hero,
but rather a jolly youth that hates degenerates
i'll fall out of my chair to keep
my ear to the ground
i must listen for change
yes, and between the mattress, shrieking
and the myterious column of faces
appears the fog in twilight, swallowing
***** tonk doors and vagabonds whole
i am a strange left handed moon man,
i'm high
i have that paralyzing lonesome feeling
i have nothing new to add, that feeling
i am an ambassador without *****
almost pornographic
Jan 23, 2012
Jan 23, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
Little princess had a plan,
To fall in love with a handsome man,
Little princess got her plans all wrong,
With her natural face; no makeup and briefs; no thong,
Little princess took some advice,
In search of a man she would have to look nice,
Little princess went out to town,
Got some suspenders, a wax and a new crown,
Little princess found a man,
With money, looks, many a lady fan,
Little princess bagged the fella,
But what the adviser didn't tell her,
Is once little princess took him home... She would wake up all alone.
Little princess should have stuck to her original plan,
Maybe then she would have found her dream man.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
Online deals are the best distraction
for the leaky feeling in my chest.
Every click wipes a drip.
A shopping cart comprised of sale items,
the pair of oddly patterned socks,
suspenders no one will ever wear,
men's sweater in an extra-small,
an obscure band shirt-
all unwanted sitting in a 20 dollar cart.
I want them.
5 more dollars and it's free shipping.
Throw in unpopular shades of makeup
and a friendship bracelet.
Looking forward to the delivery man.
So involved in the next best sale-
the pain of neglect is removed with mail.
**i am in the clearance section-
waiting to be reconsidered
my emotions are overstock-
please pick one up half-off.**
Sometimes I never complete my purchase.
Imaginary carts of imaginary feelings.
Dump them away and forget their existence.
Someone else might see their worth
and make me wish I bought them first.
Rainy day
a broken package.
my leaky heart
drenched in mud
**wash me don't
leave me
don't forget me in the
mailbox by the door.**
Only 5 bucks.
**don't return me
to the store.**
It was free shipping.
**i promise i can be
more**
Fine, I'll take it.
Months of dust.
**i am sitting in the drawer,
wondering why you even bought me.
just because i was on sale-
now you never look my way.**
Off to goodwill.
Consumer's guilty pill.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC
I’m in the dream again: not the one I had while awake in
the catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome. Where the darkness was
so impenetrable that it began to echo. To look like the mixture of colors
that burst when you rub your eyes too hard for too long. Like the
neuron rupture before death. To shape and morph and become liquid.
Where the darkness cobbled itself into a physical form.
Not the dream where I kept seeing
flits of my mother out of the corner of my eye. Behind
every street corner.
Every turn. Every tunnel.
Reflected in the casts of the bodies in Pompeii.
Mirrored in the waves of the Trevi Fountain.
I’m in the dream where the soil churned from the bottom to the top.
where the hand outstretched from the grave.
where my grandfather clawed his way out and returned to my grandmother﹘sopping wet, covered in thick mud, socks torn, skin sallow and jaundiced, spitting out the wire the embalmers put in his mouth, melting makeup, and ravenously hungry. And it’s been so
long since he was hungry.
“He came back to me, Taylor,” my grandmother tells me.
“He came back to me.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s undead.
I’m physically unable to spit out those words.
And it’s a dream and it’s a dream and it’s a dream, but
it just fits so perfectly. That he would come back to her.
That death would not be a barrier. I can’t explain it. It just is.
My grandmother is a shell without him.
The body that’s missing the limb.
The body that keeps score.
Jun 13, 2021
Jun 13, 2021 at 11:36 PM UTC
A Barry Hodges poem by Edna
I remember a girlfriend called Mary
Whose ***** was exceedingly hairy;
She came from Newcastle;
And the stench of her ********
Converted me into a fairy.
Thus I rejected your Glorias and Glendas
In frilly white bras and suspenders;
And sought sweet catharsis
From the nice juicy arses
Of poofters and other gay benders.
Redemption came to me from Millie:
A big girl, a well-padded filly;
She was just a Geordie
And really quite ******
But her **** smelled as sweet as a lily.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
The music was on and the windows were down
The sun was shining on your face as we drove around
And we almost hit a couple seagulls and we were a little too loud
But other times it was okay to not make a sound
We stopped at Target since you missed your dad's birthday
So much for being a "responsible adult" and everything
And then you cracked a smile worth writing about and turned the wrong way
And even now I have nothing to say
But whenever I turn around I expect you to be there
And whenever I walk though Target I think of you in a bow tie and suspenders
And when someone calls out from the kitchen I imagine it's your voice
And then I accept that it's not since I don't really have a choice
Because someone put their stamp on you, babe you're spoken for
But whenever I think of you, I'll always think of a red bow tie in a superstore
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
Sometimes, things wear out.
Creating holes and gaps often complicating the simplest of things.
Sometimes love is a lot like socks.
Some are long, some are short.
Hell some even come up to the height of knees.
Some are bland. Some are colorful.
Baring the fruit of comforting something bare enough to be considered as precious.
Devilish things, socks.
Sometimes they create more problems than they are worth.
Coming apart at the seams,
Getting caught between your toes.
Constantly having to stop and readjust your shoe when no one is looking.
Or flat out just take your shoe off and fix it.
I thought I brought the right size.
Carefully reading the label,
Sometimes that one size fits all is just a lie.
In time all things wear.
Just don't be foolish enough to not enjoy the comfort of the simple things.
This at all isn't comparing you to a pair of socks, no not at all.
If ever I was to become overweight.
You'd be the pair of suspenders that hold my pants up when my belt can't fit anymore
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
NI SAHII
Nimekuwa silent for a while waka-confuse kuhang boots na a short break,huwezi nipata bar no wonder bars zangu ziko so-bar,black supremacy... Niko na connection na maraga ndio maana akanipea hii ko-r-ti,ni poet petty siku hizi na-weigh content si value ya suti,apart from kutema visiriaz,nacheza guitar na at times isukutti,kaa ni kisima,si unajua obvious hii_ sii_kuti,
Daily na hood niite mya-hoodie,ni due to public demand so sikuwa na budi,nilipretend kunguru ndio nipate hizo white collar jobs,na nikasema sitadiss king rabbit ndio unispot kaka,aty petty ameomoka?,si aitane basi sherehe ya kukata na shoka,kaa ni breko naamkia konyangi,na hii dry spell uko sure hunyongangi?.
Hii class kila mtu huchoma tuko high class,heri uko mnakula vako,huku kumekauka kuliko kichwa ya babu owino,dawa ya wivu nakuandikia eno,situmii smartphone natumia phone smart,only call sina time ya kuchat,ambia smart joker jokes zake huwa joked smart,
Walisema sikio la kufa halisikii dawa,acha nijaribu tena MARA MOJA, thanks to corona for the first time mluhya anaoga mkono na si ugali anakula,na petty unatema hata mtu haezi sema,ni venye alikuwa na vinyasa mbili so nikamwomba sho-r-t_moja,na petty pieces zako huniacha in pieces,hizo ndio comments nareply,juz for teases,
Na kama corona shida zangu huwezi zicough out kwa public,natumia mouth piece ya scimo na Leo hatubongi za mitaro na toothpicks,na kuna chizi flani ananukia colon na hii corona huwezi sema kwa mama mboga iko loan,na kama ni lyrics nauza hii itabidi umechomoa mita,na before niachilie mic,kumbuka sonko alisema social distance ni ya one metre,sihang suspenders kwa shoulders, nikiwa hustle nahang guitar,hio time short nimespend apa nilikuwa na blessings za mama no wonder sijastammer,kama nimekubamba scratch kwa tenje uniseti stage ndio home na sijaplan...kuhama.
-P€TT¥PO€T✍️
©️2020.
Sep 10, 2020
Sep 10, 2020 at 5:29 PM UTC
Café
tantalizing aroma
evicts every other scent from my nasal cavity
remedy for self-diagnosed cranial narcolepsy
eyelid suspenders
bittersweet paramour
empty mug,
stirs my core
caramel and dark chocolate
micro-foam, group heads and caffeine
velvet layered cappuccino
espresso parts my thoughts
come sip with me
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
On a cafeteria table,
in the middle of February,
the kind where it gets dark at 5pm,
sat eight minature figurines made of shells—
brown, speckled, like a calico cat
with googly eyes on the middle of their heads,
one business man with a black derby,
one with a pretty pink bow,
or even one with blue suspenders,
and all their chubby bellies
rounding out over their pants. The woman
with her iridescent nails, bony fingers,
the skin pressed thin against her knuckles,
lines them up in a perfect row, tilting
their heads into one another as if
they are having a tiny conversation
admist the numbers being called—
B14! She stamps in red. B14!
A man pushes a cart around the tables,
like one mows grass around graves,
with fifty cent candy bars and potato chips
on flimsy paper plates. He asks the woman
if she wants ice in her Pepsi, but she just blows
a long sigh of smoke and flicks the sparks
behind her back. He doesn’t ask her to pay.
G56! She touches the head of the figurine
with the mustache. G56! I’ve lost count
of how many numbers I’ve missed,
but then there’s you, your hand on my thigh,
creeping, your fingers pushing
my cotton skirt up, up, and up—
O74!
We play with acrylic chips instead of stampers.
We’d like to win the lottery tickets,
maybe cash them in at the gas station
after we drink a couple iced teas and snack
on Mentos cause we ran out of money
two bottles ago.
The figurine with the fishing pole has one pupil
that lies at the bottom of the eye,
lop-sided, and staring at me while I pretend
that I have G47! or pretend that this isn’t
the first time you’ve brought me here, G47!
instead of a real date. Or pretend
that I can’t hear the woman cough, and cough,
and cough as she switches stampers between every ten calls
or touch this figurine or move that one, just slightly,
this way or that or
N44! She doesn’t have it. N44!
I don’t have it.
Don’t worry, child, you’ll have it all someday,
she whispers, sideways from her mouth,
with your thumb making circles around my hipbones,
and the man pushing the cart, the squeak of the wheels
B7! But I don’t have it. B7! I don’t have it.
I don’t have it.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
An old man in blue suspenders
gazed down at his wife
who had just slipped away
in this hospital
Her last breath was taken
at 2152, documented by doc’s writing
what started with chest pain
ended in this dimly lit room
The old man looked up at me
gravity pulled a tear to his shoe
I blinked, the room began to spin
The old man
in blue suspenders
then calmly said,
"As I look down at her wrinkled face
and thin lips,
I can vividly remember the day
our friendship began
Her eyes were full of life
her red lips plump,
her smile made my heart
brew emotions that wouldn’t pass
We talked about these things
that made life seem so right
She was my best friend.
Now here lies her peaceful face
washed away and pale
death has finally taken her
as it will me
But those moments,
those moments of life
the bliss and her youth
live on immortally
she’s still there in my mind
that young girl,
with fire in her eyes."
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 10:59 AM UTC
Drinking and laughing with a soldier.
Heavy boots stomping when he laughs,
Dressed down in suspenders,
Each “ha” resonating like an earthquake.
A strong laugh. A masculine laugh.
We are a pair. He and I.
There are things hidden in photographs of us.
Only we can see them there.
We have seen many things,
Wonderful and terrible.
We have felt many things,
Moving and pure.
We have done many things,
Dangerous and daring.
We compliment each other. He and I.
He is the hammer. I am the sickle.
Our bond is beyond that of comrades,
Of friends,
Of lovers.
I have seen may things invisible to others,
Things I would not recommend seeking out
Things I should not have seen alone.
But that’s okay.
He can see them too.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 11:48 PM UTC
We have the slow and stumbling walk of a desperately unified group,
handicapped by our own disjointed versions of reality.
Each with unbelievable wonder,
each with uneven gait.
It smells of smoke - all the colors.
Also trees and whiskey and freshly chlorinated hair.
There's a praying mantis in front of me. He's a big one.
A boy my age stands below,
controlling the methodical movements of the insect sage.
They reach and bow and pray and walk in a circle with a unique unity.
The giant mantis looks at me and I run.
I only realize how quiet it is in this behind-the-fence-world when I hear those distinctly friendly giggles.
I'm pointed by these giggling fingers in the direction of perfect clown love.
Two painted faces dripping devotion from their exaggerated eyes.
Two pairs of suspenders over the violence of two hearts.
Four gloved hands with no limits.
And one striped leg under one striped leg through one striped leg over one striped leg.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 9:39 PM UTC
Put on suspenders and gave them a dance.
(When it comes to girls,
he hasn't a chance.)
I could care less about warnings and threats,
because for tonight
I know I'm the best dressed.
Went to a show and lost all control.
"I'm just here for the music.
I love it.
You know?"
Nine times out of ten,
they don't.
Went to a gym,
and never felt so depressed.
"I feel surrounded by lonely people desperate for ***
This from a guy who proofreads his texts.
Spells out his laughs.
Drinks from the glass.
"What you need to do
is work on your shoulders, triceps, and chest."
Nah,
I'm good on that.
I'll just keep doing the things I like best.
"You'll never find a girl that way."
Ah,
give it a rest.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
Sweet treat
Steel cap boots
Suspenders can't be beat
Shaved head
Swinging hips
Strutting down the street
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 4:07 AM UTC
im done with that website
im done
im just done
dont send me any more links
im deleting my account
FOR REAL THIS TIME
im done
i dont need to be
in any more of your ******** poems
ill pretend like i dont know you
you pretend like i dont like it
yeah
wriggle like you do
hold your hands over your face
cringe and pluck your ****** hairs
grind your teeth
and keep your fancy
however many ******* hundered
reads
likes
**** off
its not just me
NO ONE needs
a stalker with a fountain pen
an olympia typwriter
or home row
get a job ***
cause im not going to keep doing it like this
cause im NOT going to keep seeing myself like i used to
cause i REFUSE to suffer something like what youre giving me
cause you stay there while i kick cans and cat **** waiting for you here
im done
im throwing up my hands
if my fingernails were longer
i would mean it all just the same
i would wave my hands on stilts ******
im done
but oh yeah
i see you down there
that ****** with the ******* dollar
that kid with suspenders and a premature comb-over
asking for an autograph
i see you
but im ******* done
here kid
hullo ******
you can have this leg
and you
the other one
take the other
ill sign both
but im really in a rush
i have some cabbage boiling in the trailer
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
I got a little canoe
and set sail to the moon
I took my bandanna and pulled it tight.
Grand Dads bottle of Makers Mark was my good supply
some Marlboro Smooths and a old swiss army knife incase I got shipwrecked.
I cashed in my last paycheck and told my boss I wasn't comming back
I had a Full Moon to catch and the sun was already setting.
I ran into Johnny **** Eyes at Holiday Gas Station and asked if he had any of them mushrooms still and if he had a extra couple hits of acid..... "Infact he replied I just got myself a quarter and about a 10 strip of acid for myself but your going to the moon right... in that old *** canoe your Grand Dad gave you when he passed away. I replied " Yeah Johnny I got a Harvest Moon thats not gonna be waiting long mind if you just toss me a deal and give me the whole shabang." I pulled a friend card and mentioned the time I hooked him up with 4 double stack X pills back in the day and also cut him a deal on a Rothbury ticket. Needless to say he handed that **** over. So back to the river shore where I began the tale I was scared of what was to come, I was scared to just leave without anyone knowing. I put on my old converse sneakers strapped up my suspenders put a little engine oil in my hair to slick it back and rolled my sleaves up in my flannel said a little prayer to Grand Dad that his canoe would make it... I remember watching him build it with his strong hands before the parkinsons kicked in... I remember him telling me that this ****** could go to the moon and back.... so I popped 3 hits of acid took a big swig out of the Makers Mark, Lit a Cig and said to the sky well Grand Dad you better be right.... You better be right
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC