Type of lace
Accentuating fine attire or
Tattoos accessorizing skin
There aren't enough hours in the day
to do all I need to do
and for me
to be there with you
not enough days in the week
to go where I want to be
or for you
to be here with me
and tho' someone said, 'Crime don't pay,'
in a moment you stole my heart away
you're guilty don't want to lose you
an accessory I can't refuse you
a crime of passion I have to accuse you
of loving me in the first degree
(and the feeling's mutual in reciprocity)
as time steals up and goes past so fast
stolen moments are all we have
making each and every precious one last
Prince Pastoral Peacock it must be our lucky day
Elect to spread your plumage erect a fine display
Pivot proudly a tailpiece of fancy feathers fanning
A crest of blue-green eyes omniscient panning
And to watch you step with such cadence
Pleased to make your regal acquaintance
Leucistic yellow morphs pale palettes like Lady Peahen
It’s what you ladies are called if you’re a peacock hen
Pearlescent white wisps a breathtaking bride’s gown
Feathered fur flow accessory accents a diamond crown
Blushingbrides tail in tow, did you pack a bridal trousseau?
Parade before your castle please and I shall bow if so
A lady who entered a fashion contest
for most authentic historical costume
was disqualified, the judges pointing out
to her disappointment that she lacked
Lady Godiva’s most famous accessory –
a horse – and therefore was under dressed.
Every piece of jewelry tells a story
Seeing jewelry wears on it defines who you are
Wearing it reflect status, class and passion
Jewelry is a state of character and taste
Make sure yours is a tale of elegance
Elegance is the accessory that never goes out of style
Jewelry is its perfect embodiment surrounding in its creation
Owning jewelry is owning treasure as fashion and heirloom
Jewelry adorn beauty and charisma
It's a symbol of power and respect
A woman's elegance is best expressed
Through the language of jewelry.
The affection of my mother,
a solemn silence of apathy and burning,
the affection that assisted my inevitable yearning,
yearning for fondness, empathy, passion and love,
a cemented wish from the fumes above,
the fumes which escaped from my annual candle,
the vehemence too disconsolate for a young girl to handle,
the solemn silence remains a verifiable memory,
embossed into my soul as if an accessory,
the annual candle, the wish aforementioned,
the yearning, the exigency for a mothers affection.
A petite yet sinewy muscle, exuding charisma,
A citadel of expression, tenacious in awe.
Its tentacles sting with a vindictive jest,
While cavernous blooms cradle the nectar’s quest.
Cobblestoned emotions jade my mental slate,
As chronicles surface, vivid and up to date.
A fragile form, each breath a whispered plea,
Cracked like ice beneath a trembling sea.
Nervous breakdowns drown me by the shore;
Patronizing gazes weigh heavily on my core.
A colossal trial looms, plunging me into chiaroscuro gloom,
Echoing the spectral whispers of Annabelle's forsaken room.
Whiffs of solace levitate from amma's lap,
A delicate darling, like rose dew on morning's nap.
Yet, from heaven's soft veil, a Messiah descends,
Bestowing wisdom, like a balm that mends.
A cooing whisper: “Confidence is the finest accessory one can wear,”
Infusing my fragile spirit, quelling mayhem with flair.
A garment forged by time, self, and panache,
Glinting like sapphires in the esoteric cache.
For fear ravages the dungeon’s shadowed depths,
Shattering armor, leaving it fractured, bereft.
Magnetic words defy gravity’s law—
A candle in the rain, my flame untouched, in thaw.
1950’s walnut what-knot-shelf
small compartments with tiny doodads
crystal doohickeys and miniature thimbles
variety of teensy ceramic trinkets
displayed in woman’s living room
every mother I knew had one back in the day
1950’s go-to accessory for the modern woman
Oh circular scrunchie
How are you ?
You have been tangled up in women’s hair
For far too long
Scratching the long curly beads
Of millions of youngish females worldwide
For decades now
Connecting brunettes blondes and redheads alike
Protecting the very fabric of femininity
Women’s scalps
Oh bless you oh scrunchie
You are a true survivor
A true victor
Worthy of many accolades
A symbol of strong women everywhere
No more need for Bobby pins
Ponytails are a thing of the past
Long live the scrunchie!
Hair today and here tomorrow!
Pretty doctors
Two young female doctors dressed in white
wearing stereoscopes around their slim
necks as decorations, an accessory that
gave them charming dignity
Between them, looking at a computer
my name was there, they were talking
about my medical history
I tried to get a word in but was blithely
ignored, after all, I was the
patient, but my input went unheeded
They were happy with my recovery
As I packed my things and left, they were
still talking about my case
On the eve of that somber, stormy night,
I began to see strings of spring swirling soundlessly
along the thread-thin blade of this culinary cutlery.
Why does gravity lay on thick in this silver steel accessory?
If only you knew, where there is a subtle screech of harmony,
there is a violent war viciously humming melancholy.
As the dust of what was once obscure drops from the passing clouds,
it sets in an assembly of soft, dull vowels,
waiting for the rug of grass to spread a path to the furthest mountain.
Why do I feel no raging colors from the twilight
yet see them so vibrantly?
How do I know nothing of summoning my movements,
when this adrenaline speaks distantly?
Alone, a rush of flame once formed, now shows the demons in the storm.
When this flesh and bones become one with the unpredictable elements,
I hope what prevails is the lore of my regiments,
where I bled into the disasters of my own shortcomings,
learning to rest without a bruise as I drown.
You new leather shoe
How remarkable thy scent
Better than jasmines,
stuffed down my nostrils
As I tap my feet,
out the shoe store
How swiftly your perfume,
fades away
But still I will wear,
this accessory made from skin
Worshiping it till, the need
of a new pair
Dull shackles
An accessory to a crime
Worn out from repeated abuse
Of oppression for profit, for personal gain
The cracking of a whip
A contributor to paralysis
The inability to move
Petrified by the sight and sound
In chains, continuing to till the ground
After a thousand lashes
Many of us will have chosen
To become obedient
Begging and pleading
Or left to die bleeding
Next of kin
Release the pin
As I melt into the floor
Unconsciously aware of time
A common courtesy
Segregation for two kinds of people
Simply put, me and you
Separated by pigment, but bound by race
I ask for forgiveness for all of this hate
Of parrots and parakeets, no one knows
now numbering in the thousands
no longer Mexico's bucolic birds
new urbanized citizens migrated
to the suburbs.
If you travel to Los Angeles and county
where hobo avians flock to Pepperdine
hoping to matriculate to paradise..
Pasadenans know the raucous calls from palms
festooned in bright feathers and pheromones.
Should you wish to elicit a response
from a Red-crowned Amazon..
just ask any witch cat which hungers
with an acute accessory olfactory
rife in feline grin and purpose
eye'n the skies cheerfully.
And somewhere Marianne Faithfull warbles
'this little bird who lives on the wind,
this little bird that somebody sends.'
they're listening too, with a coo and squawk
o'er the skies of Silverlake
and Eagle Rock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This Little Bird sung by Marianne Faithfull - Lyrics by J.D. Loudermilk 1965
I’d had to simply voice it elsewhere
And didn’t forget to on it swear:
Much of what is now necessary
Is the headache of Accessory…
By far an astonishing puzzle,
To clothes compared: the ones that dazzle
A necessary accessory
Proves Accessory necessary:
In minds summoning the rosary
With its rare roles in soul nursery,
Wedding Ring- the less seen in marriage
More than Bridal Dress fueling carriage,
Hand kerchiefs for eyes in misery
For sure tears at a Cemetery
And Handkerchief Is not A Casket,
For burial less mentioned than Basket.
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