I’m a bit of a mystery, a bit of a myth.
My answer to small talk is taking the fifth.
My loyal troops are always gathered ‘round.
It’s just Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy,
And me.
I’m a bit of a fog, and a bit of a fraud.
I’ve smuggled illegal opinions abroad.
I hang with all the usual suspects.
It’s just Bigfoot, Yeti, Paul Bunion,
And me.
I’m a bit of a rumor, and a bit of a fact.
You can tell by the way my critics react.
But I’m never worried by all their drawn swords.
It’s just Athos, Porthos, Aramis,
And me.
Categories:
aramis, allegory, myth,
Form: Burlesque
Out of the bath, in the mirror, check me
picture of spindly masculinity
talc on the feet, and armpits sprayed
now for the body a choice to be made
Hai Karate or Aramis
both leave the women in a state of bliss
(so the adverts say, yet no such luck
since thus far I have scored a duck)
tight Y-fronts are to my taste
and Oxford bags with a six button waist
big collared shirt in Brunswick green
and a silver kipper tie that looks pretty keen
nylon socks with a couple of holes
in black and red three inch platform soles
jacket in cream, collar up round the neck
with a red and green pattern of tartan check
hair centre parting wet the comb, keep it simple
for a look reminiscent of Anne Boleyn's wimple
out of the door, bemused looks from my Mum
so watch out, ladies- here I come!
( looking back on it now when I hear the old tunes
I can honestly say you've seen better dressed wounds )
1970's: the decade that fashion forgot.
Viv Wigley, to his eternal embarrassment, July 22nd 2015
Categories:
aramis, clothes, humor,
Form: Rhyme
love reaches its crescendo
then gently slips away
your spirit follows me
through darkness and light
I see your reflection in tranquil waters
your tender touch carries on sea breezes
scent of Aramis clings to your pillow
but most of all, your music
refined, classical compositions
pulsating from ivories
reminder of the day
you first opened the keyboard
sharing your greatest love
music in my soul
will follow me to heaven
so we may share again
*May 28, 2014 for the “Debussy Inspiration” contest
Categories:
aramis, husband, memory, music,
Form: Free verse
lost in the twilight hours
the twilight years
longing for the past
a closet door opens,
I reach inside
wrap myself in his old sweater
his Aramis scent
still clings to wool
puts me in a trance
and the aged phonograph
still works
as I dance to our song
“Without You” by Nilsson
I can’t live
if living is without you
I can’t give
I can’t give anymore
no, I’ll not forget the evening
his face as he was leaving
for work the night before his stroke
I keep Aramis in the house
to spray my pillows
as I drift off to sleep
without you, my love,
without you
just sounds and scents
that make no sense
Categories:
aramis, husband
Form: Free verse
Intoxicating was his scent
Many hard-earned dollars were spent
To evoke his bliss
Give him Aramis
Young and poor, we were newleyweds
Memories linger in my head
This scent was so strong
But to him it belonged
And through time I travel today
When e’er Aramis wafts my way
Sad tears gently rise
John’s scent fills my eyes
Another dimension I seek
Longing to hear my husband speak
We'll meet again one day
Faith brings hope my way
Categories:
aramis, death, husband, lost love,
Form: Rhyme