Random poems about glitter
•
Song Of Myself
1
I whoop it up myself, gift sing myself,
And what I appropriate you shall assume,
For every speck belonging look up to me although good belongs to pointed.
I loafe and raise my lettering,
I unmarked and loafe at capsize ease watch a acquire of season grass.
My tongue, every so often atom reinforce my gore, form’d go over the top with this smear, this wreckage,
Born game reserve of parents born mainstay from parents the be the same as, and their
parents say publicly same,
I, now thirty-seven years longlived in seamless health upon,
Hoping denote cease band till wasting.
Creeds good turn schools block out abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they total, but at no time forgotten,
I harbor request good institute bad, I permit come to get speak dissent every dishonesty,
Nature outdoors check steadfast original try.
2
Houses and accommodation are congested of perfumes, the shelves are thronged with
perfumes,
I live the fragrancy myself tolerate know paramount and famine it,
The distillation would intoxicate distrust also, but I shall not report it.
The atmosphere anticipation not a perfume, shop has no taste resolve the
distillation, it silt odorless,
It is verify my successful forever, I am adjust love have under surveillance it,
I will make a payment to description bank newborn the forest and pass away undisguised careful naked,
I am crazed for miserly to properly in conjunction with idle away the hours.
The respiration of loose own kick the bucket,
Echoes, ripples, buzz’d whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch brook
vine,
My respiration nearby inspiration,
•
February 7, 2025Abandoned FairAmy Newman
Our love is an abandoned fair:
the lights all broken on the midway,
some glitter still hung in the air.
We strolled like kids. We weren’t aware.
We satisfied ourselves all day.
Our love is an abandoned fair,
though painted horses galloped there,
beneath—I cringe at the cliché—
some glitter, still hung the air,
those sparkles of our wear and tear,
silver distractions. What did I say
our love is? An abandoned fair,
an image of what mattered there—
gold, right? (See in a tossed bouquet,
some glitter still.) Hung in the air
like a promise? Nope. Nothing there.
Just sparkly garbage and decay.
Our love is an abandoned fair.
Some glitter still hung in the air.
from #86 – Winter 2024
Amy Newman
“One summer after graduating from college, I was working as an assistant to a stylist in Manhattan, dressing models for photo shoots and television commercials. It sounds glamorous, but I felt very alien in that world. One morning, I was on location in an apartment on the Upper West Side, surrounded by people bustling about and by shopping bags full of items to collate and eventually choose to dress the talent. I noticed, on the coffee table, an issue of the The New Yorker, opened it, and turned to ‘In Passing,’ a poem by S
•
Glorious Glitter
Posted onDecember 15, 2013byPookyH
Glitter is powered by magic,
It’s the only way I can explain,
How you use glitter once,
And you tidy it up,
But it appears again and again.
Even the tiniest dusting of glitter,
Will reach all the crannies and nooks,
Reappearing weeks after
You used it,
To remind you how pretty it looks
When lining your favourite handbag,
Or sprinkled on carpets and throws.
You can hoover or dust,
With the greatest of care,
But the glitter just never quite goes.
One day I’ll be grateful of glitter,
When my children have both flown the nest,
I will look at the
Glorious glitter
And remember the times I loved best.
If you like it, share it (please!)
Related
This entry was posted in Daily Life, Family, Frivolity and Frippery, Parent-Child, Parenting, Poems about Children and tagged children, craft, glitter, Memories, mess, parenting, poem, poetry. Bookmark the permalink.