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White Shoulder Dreams

Debbie Guzzi Avatar Debbie Guzzi - LIFETIME Premium Member Debbie Guzzi - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail Go to Poets Blog Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled White Shoulder Dreams which was written by poet Debbie Guzzi. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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White Shoulder Dreams

Oh the images we freeze in time

the sweet, sweet scents that bring recall

the sharp and painful longing that belongings bring

for those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender

on shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice

soap roped in shower stalls.



Oh the images warmed and torn, sun burnt to brown

upon what's left of glossy crenulated sheets

showing frozen plumped out peeks of

blistering love, gape toothed girls

and sour apple dreams.



We freeze in time on scrapes and shards

on compasses far from the woodlands scene

the tobacco scent of Papa, his yellowed fingers

as they touched my dimpled chin,

blue eyes behind wire rims.



The sweet, sweet scents that bring recall

White Shoulder's between her wholesome breasts

Mother's satin, Chantilly drenched negligee 

and father's black onyx ring

ah, I still have him.



The sharp and painful longing that belongings bring

guilty pleasures hidden from the public's tut-tuting eyes

hoarded in ornate boxes, or pressed between stout boards

relentless, heartless is the passing

passing into the frayed, worn fringes

of our dollop of mirrored time.



For those lost or lingering on sheets of lavender

with drawers of balsam pillows to recall the olden days

bring forth the buds which bloom on taffy and apple pie

do not forget the taste of the love

the cotton candy kisses 

their first chocolate cone.



On shelves of shaving mugs - Old Spice

soap roped in shower stalls, no sense comes

without its call to memory. Oh you do not sit alone,

play all the old tunes from radio days

and invite your loved ones

to come home.



This is my form it is called Etcetera. 

Definition: Write a line or a stanza, take from that line or stanza words in the 
order they were written [ from 1 word to whole lines or phrases] begin your 
next stanza with it continue until you have written using all the words in the 
order written in the line or stanza being explored in depth in a stream of 
internal dialogue. ALL poetic devises/tropes may be used INCLUDING internal 
rhyme. The verse may be as long or short as you wish, no meter required, no 
syllable count.





I would say Etcetera and Blitz are sub forms of Free Verse - Stream of 

Consciousness - Etcetera- Blitz































































































































































































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  1. Date: 8/3/2014 10:18:00 PM
    Your innovation in form is brilliant, Debbie.I enjoyed so many phrases like 'gape toothed girls', 'sour apple dreams' etc.in the poem. Thanks for your nice words on my poem

  1. Date: 8/1/2014 11:08:00 PM
    You have made up a fine new form here. We made one up here in NYC called the 9 1 1 form. It consists of nine syllables in the firs line and one each in the next two lines. 911 is what you dial in NYC to get emergency help. Peace & Love Matthew Anish

  1. Date: 8/1/2014 1:20:00 PM
    Ahhh!!!How beautiful this is..Should be published somewhere sweet ma.You recalled so many memories ,scents and thoughts which tickle the soul.To my fvs!!Charma

  1. Date: 8/1/2014 7:49:00 AM
    Last stanza I think you meant old tunes. Throughout reading this piece old memories flooded through my mind and I was visited by faces I have not thought of in a while. This is what writing is made for, Thankyou!

  1. Date: 8/1/2014 2:04:00 AM
    Wonderful write of a great pen Debbie! U awe me always !

  1. Date: 7/31/2014 6:23:00 PM
    A big thank you, Deb, for my honor in your Random Acts contest....you have received amazing entries ! I'm humbled to be among such fine writers! :)

  1. Date: 7/31/2014 6:22:00 PM
    One of my early poems on the soup, was titled "White Shoulders"....(not nearly as wonderful as this), but so filled with the memory of that fragrance, and my mother's scent.....this poem brings me to my own memory of Old Spice, ...and a time in my life, when we had no idea that a scent could linger in memory along with warm, sad, happy, and complicated visions or illusions of the vulnerable child.

  1. Date: 7/31/2014 5:29:00 PM
    Beautiful work, Debbie. I could relate to all of this and the references to Old Spice, White Shoulders made me smile. Thanks for sharing. David