Best Attired Poems
He was my sun, my one and only son,
attired as a cowboy for the day.
And so I handed him a little gun
of fastened random sticks, for him to shoot and play.
Attired as a cowboy for the day
he searched for foes (with bows and arrows made
of fastened random sticks for them) to shoot, and play
the part of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade.
He searched for foes (with bows and arrows made)
well written in his story books before he left for school.
The parts of ‘Injuns’ in a mock charade
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
Well writ in history books before he left from school,
the tales (retold of victories that we’d won)
were tainted with a crimson war paint, oh so cruel.
The flow of paint was not to staunch when once begun.
From tales retold of victories that we’d won,
he learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the flow of pain, ’twas not to staunch when once begun
and bane to both sides (as he’d later come to know).
He learned to fight for God and country glory, though
the wounds of war were kept unseen (while nigh)
and bane to both sides (as we’d later come to know);
but still he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye.
The wounds of war were kept unseen. While nigh,
the hours boomed, the clock struck 12 at last, his time to leave.
But, still, he stuffed a duffel bag with several things of youth, then said goodbye
to those who’d stay and even those who wouldn’t grieve.
The hours boomed, the clock struck 12 - alas, his time to leave.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died
to those who’d stayed. And even those who wouldn’t grieve
with tears were stiff and masked like wooden boxes meant to hide.
They sent back body bags they’d stuffed with severed things of those who’d died;
his boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud.
With tears, the stiff were masked in wooden boxes meant to hide
our children from the spilling of their blood.
His boots hung loose, one camouflaged in mud;
they said they’d needed him to help defend
our children from the spilling of their blood.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
They said they’d needed him to help defend,
and so they handed him a little gun.
But can they ever see or really comprehend?
He was my sun, my one and only son.
Rhythmic pose arcs lifting elegant ambience
Graceful dance enshrines artful renascence
Visceral posture invites emotional response
Festive celebration of aesthetic renaissance.
Attired in red and blue of simple elegance
Glorious style augments swirling excellence
Left arm risen high points gracious eminence
Finger tips lift vivid attire in quiet eloquence.
Golden bangles adorn wrists flirting in stare
A lone yellow flower crowns her silky hair
Folded right arm obstructs in a defiant dare
Index finger hides grief, eyes closed in prayer.
Head turned right, arched with sculpted flair
Tense neck muscles manifest muted despair
Open fingers gesture a stealth grievous flare
Air of intellectual grandeur opulently glares.
Ponder why the painter didn't show her eyes
Discover invisible pain vibrant colors disguise
Beneath the splendor lies a hidden surprise
Cultural dance-music echoes her silent cries.
September 22, 2017
Placed 1st:Poems that paint a picture
Painter: Anna Razumovskaya
Sponsor: Silent One
HM: Strand choice U contest by Brian Strand
Where hazel bushes mix with sturdy oaks
and beech trees densely grow in shades of green
the fairy flowers come in early spring
attired in clothes of violet-blue sheen.
The swathes of bluebells, like a sheet unrolled
before our eyes, breathtaking to behold!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
This stanza is a Sexain or Sestet.
Contest: One Stanza
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Placed 4th
© 14th July 2016
All alone you sit there in grip of graveyard, hosting demonic thoughts,
Listening to cries of tombstones, squalling from lovers’ somber epitaphs,
Recounting how you chased prospects, innocent souls you courted,
Celebrating your maleficence building bonfires on the burial grounds,
Where you buried them one by one, watching the dance of demons,
As your stony heart laughed aloud, mocking the dead in total disregard.
You lured them with synthetic smiles, faux glamor of loveless stance,
Never meaning a word uttered, attired in stares of spurious glance,
As you prayed on them, then discarded; in landfills of broken-hearts.
Relationships initiated in springs of life, often parched in summer heat,
As passionless encounters burned in flame of hideous promiscuity;
Got washed away by the feisty storms churning scurrilous intensity,
Propelling hurricanes lovelorn, flooding realms of lovesome prairies,
When aspirations of your lust subordinated inspirations of pure love.
Old and fragile, you ruminate now, in frigid winters of your miserable life,
Speechless, motionless, fearful of your pitiful world swiftly passing by,
Haunting your eyes, as paranormal spirits, the silhouettes of the dead,
Mock your decrepit existence, shouting insanities at your grimacing face.
Remorseful beneath moon and stars, you inscribe your own epitaph:
She was a gloom of stygian clouds, shrouding arc of love on sunlit dawns,
She was a dubious counterfeit act; she was a vile curse on romance,
A cooing dove of morn she was not; a phantom of love she sure was.
Green Attired Leprechaun
Rascal Leprechauns, how they love to tease.
They play tricks on you, then hide behind trees.
After working hard making shoes all day
They love to sing, and dance the night away.
These wee folks always wear the color green
For in the thick forest they can't be seen.
They have red hair and live to be quite old.
Humans hunt them to steal their pot of gold.
They're known to offer three wishes if seized.
So when I nabbed one I was very pleased.
I wished for some food, he gave me a pig,
Then he laughed at me while dancing a jig.
But that little fellow was a great con...
I blinked a second, and poof he was gone!
3-14-19
Green Humor Rhymes, Old or New for Prizes Poetry Contest
Sponsor Carolyn Devonshire
Happy Saint Patrick's Day Everyone!
CORONALITY (1)
Polyneuropathy of a poisonous dark child,
Weapon of mass destruction,
Born to the family called Earth,
Name Corona, last name Virus,
Nickname Covid, aged nineteen (19),
Nationality China, who premeditatedly planned
The glint of bodies: naked, suited or adorned,
Down by the old soul (earth).
International terrorism at it's best,
Who is going to be the jury
To hear and decide this infliction of life's injury.
Death fashionably attired with a face new
And name, Corona, reminiscent of something I knew,
Now the ghost of life that begins
Can freely travel from Italy to America,
From United kingdom to Faroe island
Even without aviation and documents
To waver in arms of loved ones or pen pals.
What's going on with our beloved Earth?
Carcasses; I smell a rat,
Chinese government wears the aroma
And Wuhan Institute of Virology,
I see Shi Zengli's lab oozes 'the dead rat'
And Major General Chen Wei's hands stained
With tactics, strategies and blood
Like a small red circle on a white flag.
Welcome to the apocalypse, age of Ragnarok.
VickWizzy
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright © 2020
Written for Jan Allison, who then decided I should share it for poop verse afficionados.
True story, by the way.....
There are some jobs where heeding worker's safety is required
and during operations must be suitably attired
environmental hazards mean that everyone conforms
and wearing full length protection has now become the norm.
In this case, paper snowman suit with hood and full length zip
a sturdy piece of clothing and is not inclined to rip.
Whilst clearing out some premises a worker got caught short
and knew he'd never make it to the toilet, so he thought
and made a break for the nearest hedge with a newspaper he'd bought.
Just in time he squatted down, the time lag all too brief
as out in one loud massive jet his bottom got relief.
The job now done he zipped back up and dressed just where he stood
not realising, squatting, that he'd done it in his hood.
It soon became apparent, as his headwear pulled in place
as fly attracting runny doo doo dribbled down his face
His workmates doubled up in laughter, just making it worse
as he stormed off in anger like an Oreo in reverse.
So since time immemorial, the moral's been the same
that when you go, then please do so, but
just you watch your aim.
For Jan, with love 'n hugs and trembly bits, Viv x
I've focused on this evening
For near a fortnight now
Each element planned to perfection
Every detail intended to wow
I admit that in the past
My efforts have been wanting
To pack my feelings to a single night
At the very least was daunting
But not this time I was proud to say
I would dazzle her every sense
A night complete with all her favorites
Sparing no expense
With a rose in my teeth, two goblets in hand
and attired in a rented tux
She passed me bye, slumped on the couch
and rambled of how her job sucks
I offered some wine, she said "not tonight
This day has left me too tired
I must review these reports, then get some rest
Or tomorrow I'll surely be fired"
As I watched her wearily climb the stairs
I felt a wave of somber dismay
I extinguished all the candle light
and sent the cellist away.
As I gazed at all my wasted effort
I felt an angry rush
She didn't acknowledge the time I had spent
Just left me alone in the hush
As hours passed I realized
My anger was surely misplaced
I remembered that smile she shows only to me
and all of my pain was erased
I went upstairs to check on my sweet.
and give what support I could
If I could reach inside and relieve her stress
God knows I certainly would
Atop our pedal covered bed
In a state of grace she slept
Clutching the poem I had left on her pillow
still soaked with the tears she had wept
I placed a blanket upon her
and wiped away her tear
then closed my eyes to imagine
How to dazzle my love next year.
The New Year (Cornish Sonnet)
The clock struck midnight; she came in
attired in silky flowing dress
that matched her youthful glowing skin.
She clutched an hourglass in her hand
that showed the seconds evanesce
with every grain of trickling sand.
I put my bow to violin
and played for her a melody;
I hoped her tender heart to win.
Champagne was popped and glasses raised
but she cared not for revelry...
into my eyes she deeply gazed.
The clock struck midnight; she came in.
I put my bow to violin.
----------------------------------
4th January, 2015
Contest: Cornish Sonnet
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Placed 4th
Like morning light break forth of eastern skies
And astound with beauty the waking eyes
So did my heart before you rose to praise
A seraph in the nectar of flesh, May's
Brightest bloom in the garden of gladness
The purest form of earth's bare loveliness.
To you, O joy, O let me sing
Let me tell of love first coming.
Cho.
Awake the woodland choir for my song
Awake the primal hour of spring's soft throng
Awake the lark not yet on wing
Awake the world, an anthem bring
Of praise, of praise to beauty, praise
To the sweet rainbow of our days
Sweet fragments make the rainbow bloom aloft
Light splintered is yet in beauty so soft
And whole, the healing balm of my parched soul
Each little wonder a stair a bright stair
A garden of glory on heaven's scroll
I climb to suck the breast of worship here
I seek your worth and find God there
Uplifting me from mortal care
Inside the tabernacle of the soul
Wild and dusty, the dry harmattans roll
And every tender tree gasping for rain
Beheld sapphire arid sky and pray in vain
The pearly cumulus would sable turn
Where on the eye pivots the graceful tern
And then so suddenly you came
The phoenix of another name
Too deaf the deft pianist fingers toll
His litany your virtue to extol
You the image's bone transformed, transcend
All that desire loves and love declares right
Eden's broken wings yet make praise ascend
As prayers in the fluid light, a flight
Of rapture, leaving silent stars
And earth's tumult to jealous wars
Nothing but you, and you alone exist
O sacred symphony of heaven's bliss
And all earth shambles fore you fall again
To rise in your glory a better tale
The joy of beggining the end of pain
Lighthouse eternal, love that cannot fail
Sweet still the night aglow parades
Yet star like flowers morning fades
Morning melted into mist, grass perspired
In the cool, leaves transpired droplets of bliss
The rainbow my thoughts like heaven attired
Beauty its providence hasten to kiss
Time had divinity at its leafed door
And seas and rivers in long triumph roar
The rhythm of earth so to begin
To break the carnal rule of sin.
Attired
in brocade gown
of shimmering gold, she
strolls elegantly along plush
carpet
woven
in autumnal
blush of tawny leaves; Lo!
embellished in blazing glory,
M’lady!
Autumn Stroll contest by Eve Roper
That slow and spectacular gait of a bride
Brimming as she is with nuptial pride
With grace and beauty each regal stride
as invitees whisper, 'here comes the bride'.
She for her big day so perfectly embellished
Her love-match said to be divinely predestined.
On their big day even the plain-faced, homely ones
turn into comely beauties
A magical day as it is, of rituals and formalities.
All the fuss and pomp, she almost feels like a queen
Her glamour thus showcased, with praise dön't be mean.
Attired in any hue, rose-red or even snow-white
She glows with an aura of pure holy sacred light.
Many overawed by the debut of her bridal charm
Yet, watch out O' newly weds for any evil eye's harm.
For the pinnacle of her womanly splendour and beauty
is now upon coveted passion's pedestal and apogee
She on stage now with only love's trophy and token
Just graduating from spinsterhood, to disappear the maiden!
As the center of attention, she turns into an actress
Her emotions under zoom lens, a bit easier to guess
For close-ups she knows she has to impress.
Some coy, some bashful, some hiding joy in the heart of hearts
With cameras clicking, drums beating, her new life starts
Feel stillness calm and be here now,
Instruct the mind to sync with heart;
Note inner psalm in poise somehow,
Exult deep finds where peace imparts.
Meet your true soul as moments trace,
Emerge and be a man inspired;
Dream of a whole in time and space,
Intuit this sea in truth attired;
Touch a new core where beauty speaks,
Align the will to fit the dance;
Thought cannot shore that distant peak,
Indulge the feel of profound chance;
One sublime state makes pattern sync,
Now meditate to bridge and link.
Leon Enriquez
16 February 2016
Singapore
A cart selling hot dogs and such
Was suddenly sharp to the touch
Because thousands of bees,
Eschewing Chinese,
Thought a frank they would like very much.
They swarmed to the top of the stand
So a cop, likely one in command,
Ordered all off the street
So the bees could retreat
But that’s not what the stingers had planned.
Thus an officer, bee-suit attired,
Soon appeared with the tool he required
And his vacuum did suck
All the bees it could pluck
With finesse that onlookers admired.
New Yorkers find stuff like this funny
And likely would bet even money
That soon that same cart,
If its owner is smart,
Would be selling you hot dogs with honey!
The drinks were brought before us,
The rusty pretzels dangle,
Tonight we were exquisitely attired,
Long silk threads and spangles!
Tablecloths in toasty ecru,
Flowers floating in water,
Candle holders lending light,
Loose sparkles; no bother!
The band was playing soothingly,
Strings kissing the atmosphere,
Black and white piano keys,
Spreading music, without peer!
Without a perfect spotlight or
Other prominent disclosure,
They entered, sat, and ordered
Something fruity, perhaps ambrosia!
The splits of champagne followed,
They chatted, giggled, and pranced,
The rustle of their dresses,
Caught our attention, as they danced!
Through glints of light
When they returned,
We watched their coming in awe,
Very sure of what we’d see: So attractive!
We dropped our jaws!
As each of their dress folds fell,
Red and green satin covered by lace,
We adjusted our ties and realized,
How elegant their taste!