Best Attire Poems
It is the evening I have waited for,
stiletto heels three inches high adorned my feet,
real nylons hung from garters beneath a
skin tight, leather skirt of maraschino cherry-red.
A blouse of white silk, with a cascade of ruffles,
played peek-a-boo with my décolletage.
Outdoors, the rain pounded the asphalt
making the reality of his arrival even more bizarre.
A Harley barrels into the driveway.
Apparently, he thinks
he is Marlon Brando
and I am Stella?
I stand on the porch, a black umbrella
covering my new do, and watch as he
saunters through the puddles on the concrete walk.
The color of the umbrella my only
non-incongruent element in the frame, the scene made.
His smile was like a box of Chiclet's
on his clean shaven face.
He kisses me.
I lick the raindrop
from the tip of his Roman nose
and take hold of his Russian fingers.
He tosses my umbrella on the porch,
throws his black leather jacket over my shoulders,
lifts me off my feet, and carries me to the bike.
The sun breaks through the clouds and the rain stops,
just in time for the neighbors to glare at the sight of my legs
reflecting on the bikes chrome work.
Shake their respective heads
and donate a few wolf whistles.
Borne
from
the
heart
Of
Africa
An
attire
Unique
in
design
With
a
fashion
Made
from
a
version
The
fraction
Of
a
nation
With
a
vision
An
inscription
Of
passion
Not
a
notion
But
an
unction
To
provide
wears
With
favourable
colours
And
a
flavour
To
savour
Being
created
From
a
fabric
Slick
and
meek
Not
from
the
attic
But
From
the
Latin
word
"PULCHER"
meaning
BEAUTIFUL
Ode to my crocs -- BALD from high wear,
In serious need of good-riddance
During my TREAD on a wet floor with care
In the throws of a SKID and imBALANCE
By the absence of any TRACTION
Between the floor and the sole of my croc
In need of replacement action
for my crocs on the croc-chopping block
Up from the floor no worse for the wear
Through all the sales in the fliers
At the store with the Croc footwear
Back home with the new set of TIRES
My pants are tucked snug beneath the socks on my feet.
I also wear gloves tucked beneath my long sleeves.
I wear a full facial mask of fabric that allows me to breath
and then I retire for the evening and go to sleep.
This isn't some fetish or obsessive compulsion.
This ritual is performed for my own protection
to insure that when I sleep that I am not being eaten
by my current, most unwelcome bed bug infestation.
I must retire this way every day until I can give my apartment
a 100% thorough and complete bed bug fumigation.
Until then I am forced to co exist with them.
Oh the extents I will go to pay cheap rent.
Standing in line like good little crocks
They argued about who'd get his socks
They didn't want meat
Not much of a treat
But crock socks would cause 'em to talk!
It wasn't that simple to love her
It asked to wear attire
Fashioned with her sorrow
I always felt naked
we see white and gold
and they see blue and black~
american dress
We could cross the copse with ease
yet risk no wound to our knees,
if we'd wear our heavy boots
and watch hidden roots of trees.
a jueju (quije) March 9, 2020
4 lines, 7 syllables each.
Jungle demands ease
don't injure your knees.
Heavy hiking boots
handle those tree roots.
a jueju (wujue) written March 28, 2017
4 lines, 5 syllable each.
There she arrives
Playing drives
In a blue dress
Forces me to confess
She looked pretty
And charm carrying hefty
With eyes covered with specks
And orders on the decks
Carrying a smile of dove
Any one can fall in love
I gathered my heart
And played my part
Speaking polite
And phobic towards the light
Her hair waving in air
And her skin defining fair
The magic of the top
In my heart got pop
I was all smiling inside
While all the time sitting her beside
The throb of the obeisance is to
alternate a action of speech at a unset action .
Yet to breath into a beautiful desire, called Life.
Not long til the sunrise and the fate is pressed
to assign the function of meditation or ability.
-Quateria Greene
Night’s black velvet spree.
Moonlight on blue sea.
Her royal attire.
Shimmers like sapphire.
Jewels for her gown.
Moon’s image. Her crown.
-3-
Depression is a coat I wear constantly now
It used to hang in the closet now and then
I’d take it out to see if it fits and put it back
Its drab colors are enticing when I’m bare
I’d take it off misbelieving I still could
It was too costly to wear all the time
After what I’ve been through the size fits
Now, I can’t make the coat unzip
I see others in the spotlight strutting bare
With a coat on I swelter in joy’s lamp
I used to say just in case it pours inside
Then I'd run to the closet like a model
But, it's now knitted in skin in any weather
Now I know I'll wear it for my open casket
Its corduroy will no longer shroud my joys
Its diagnosis will be unsewn then
Even with no rain, I am bundled up
The soggy jacket knows me too well
It has stitched itself into my persona
It repels me from happiness at times
With no choice, I’ll act presentable
It never disappoints despite catcalls
That coat that never falls on the runway
So, I’ll make depression a fashion show
writing
Writing is rubbing words together
Enough to make fire ,
regardless of how bad is weather
Scribble the pen to make yourself inspire,
Stop doing useless blether
Fulfill your own desire,
Animals are killed for there leather
So don't be foolish to stolen by soft spoken attire,
regardless of how bad is weather
Scribble the pen to make yourself inspire!
~Manjeet!
(Besife??)
The Sun, the Earth, the Sky
And the birds come to fly,
Their wings wrapped with golden feathers
Kiss the white clouds and the mere blue sky.
The sky stands alone
A lone traveller, who covers the whole of Earth.
White fluffy clouds are its ornaments
While the Sun is its vermillion spot!
Stands the green mountains,
Giving it the huge green attire.
And the birds come to fly...
Brown and hard and fertile
Is the Earth,
Where one can find a variety of life,
Wriggles a worm deep beneath
Stamps an elephant on its sheet,
Jumps the kangaroo over the plains
And feasts the lion on the meat!
And, here comes the farmer
Tilling the layers of ancient survival,
Grows potatoes, beans and pumpkins
This is the sweet Earth where we all lie.
The Sun with its radiant look,
Provides light to read a book
Vitamins to survive
And the perfect evening scenarios...
Where the Sun meets the horizon
And changes from blue to yellow to orange
And a dark night full of fireflies.
And then, the owl hoots
From the tree branch,
The dark night full of pride
Whistles to the wind,
And the trees behind
The trees behind, the trees behind!
E-arly morn has broken,
N-ight shadows fade away;
N-ew dawn and beacon
E-rase the dark and gray.
J-ust let twenty-third January come,
A-llow it to warm your birth;
N-either sun nor light
E-liminates the mirth.
O-pen your eyes to the array,
L-et the flame fuel the fire;
I-t's a worn crimson dress,
V-iew the girl in red
A-ttire.