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James Arthur Philip Aton Poem
The clothes first worn were fussy
However, a sure sign trend.
The women's most natural mat bags,
Matched the naughty pearls on their necks.
The pleated skirts of the oldies,
Danced through comfy, trendy shoes,
And the feathered hats of the mothers,
Entrapped the dancing curls.
The shoes men fit were trendy
with crafty stylish twist,
The slim-milk-socks of the mud feet,
Worked with a cream underneath.
The make-ups followed the hairstyles
With united, wispy ends,
And the men's white scarves on shoulders,
Spread on with mild scents.
Copyright © James Arthur Philip Aton | Year Posted 2006
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Details |
James Arthur Philip Aton Poem
The snow is falling down the moonlit bay,
the wind rushing on the gorge.
Your cold head rested on the sand with mine,
with passion, facing the veiled skies.
Suede scorched suit of winter dreams
filled the years passed. And now,
we search through our sacrificial eyes,
speaking with the falling drops of tears.
Copyright © James Arthur Philip Aton | Year Posted 2006
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