Best Trousers Poems

All trousers, 

Not Sirs!...

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Oh yes, the college girls
come and go
speaking of Ani De Franco.
And yes, I too
measure out my days
with coffee spoons,
a hundred years later
and nothing has changed,
only the numbers of the dead
and the deranged
have increased exponentially
with deadly technology.
Like the Caesars of old
the power brokers of now
stamp out...

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stormy cotton cloud 
billowing fresh emerald green 
shrouds the old cynic...

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Sagging trousers




Low waist
Fine taste




Written July 9th, 2015
© Dr. Upma A. Sharma
For contest by Judy Konos...

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i bust my trousers 
and my shirt buttons fly off- -
picks up a dumb bell

*I hope to lose my belly - but I say that every year...

for Tracie's New Year haiku contest...

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Seams burst
the flatulent
filled blubber
seeps out
drowns out
the hope I once had
rips itself from the
confines
of a world that
impresses
and dresses
its people in
slim lifeless
shapes
and exposes
scared faces
shocked
at what they shouldn’t see
at what the mirror sees
and shames away from...

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Trousers are ashtrays
Traveler's affectation
Embracing the dirt....

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SHORT TROUSERS

When I was young in trousers short,
Children laughed at my knobbly knees.
I asked my mother why she bought
Short trousers in the winter’s freeze.
Fresh air was good for me she thought.

But Dad wore full length all year long
Which didn’t seem to me quite fair.
He was...

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When out with friends			  she laughs with her friends
He is loud, impossible to ignore	                 tells them how to bark the dog down
He jeers at females, lowlifes!		  ...

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Humble stone was intolerably warm,
That ice block was numbing cold,
Those nails were pining to pierce,
The poisonous worms and snakes in jungle,
Were ready to sink in their stocks,
I was to sit,squat,walkand run in these environs,
I squirmed to think,
What would have happened if,
We as a civilization,
Not invented...

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Standups can crack up audiences for hours
Especially when entering the stage without trousers
It wasn't intentional
Nor is it conventional
But surely the crowd won't throw cauliflowers...

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MANLY TROUSERS PRESSED INTO EJACTULATING SPATS THIS man of god large belly and buttons with a big gollywog voice \his madness of conviction for personal interpretation //behind psychosis and need for control.
ticks and rolls his eyes his lips rubberish proclaiming righteousness:
for dullards — persuasive. ]\
Both...

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From outfield judging eyes await your plight, 
though sweat and stupor feign to your ruin.
Now pull up your trousers, cinch your belt tight...
glaring down from mound, pitch straight and proven. 

Blurred ball unleashed, pitcher's swift arm uncoiled... 
tho' bat be av'rage, the batter may not.
Cauldron-like...

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A lady so much older than I 
Deftly signalled a path from her thigh
Like a wrinkle in thyme
Something started to climb
Hmmph!  I forgot to zip up my fly!...

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Shouldn’t  I assert A Maverick of a Woman?
 From behind surrendering a man, 
With a pistol purse prodding his back
 And a warning not to look back. 
Soon her determined fingers in his right pocket
 From same fishing out a locket…
 Jeez! The Guy...

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