Best Buttoned Up Poems
Blue Jays and Black birds and half a dozen squirrels.
Sprinkled with Sparrow's, it's become quite a world.
Occasional Cardinal to add a little spice.
They seem to all be getting along fairly nice.
The neighbor, he feeds them plenty of food.
It seems it is working, they've become quite a brood.
As long as the house is buttoned up tight.
They're not a problem, I sleep fine at night.
Out in the front, a chipmunk does play.
Scurrying around and having it's way.
A Robin or two might ruffle their feathers.
I wouldn't change a thing if I had my druthers.
It feels like I'm blessed to have such a mess.
Nothing to do but enjoy it, I guess.
God certainly does have mysterious ways.
How he shows us his love in these warm summer days.
Buttoned-up sunshine silhouette
draped in early evening fantasy
captured in aromatic ecstasy
let me
d e
o a
w s
n y
let me
wander
in your
b r
e e
z e
Drips of cinnamon touch
the true taste of innocence
and her lips melt atop
burning gasoline jet streams
b
l
o
w
n
across the sheets of time
with the corners holding me still
sunsets wink good night
Tickets are not easy to get at the Royal Circle.
A lady does not wish to get a seat by currying favor;
the flavor will eventually turn rancid and ruin her day.
The scent of expensive perfume pervades the warm air.
A packed house of coiffed women in evening frown
and men who wear success like a badge; she is here alone
in full regalia: pinned-up auburn hair, porcelain skin
in a buttoned-up dress. White opera gloves, her nod to
convention. Several eyebrows raise when she comes
unescorted. There is not much legroom and it cramps her style,
yet, she bears the discomfort one hundred feet above the ground.
She doesn’t get to see clearly the emotions on the actor’s face.
The rest of humanity looks like buzzing bees and butterflies
hiding gossiping lips on pale faces behind colorful fluttering fans.
She assumes the look; men have no monopoly on the stoic face.
An evening out unescorted teaches her the world will always
judge not just the melodrama she is watching onstage.
There is more to life than The Salon; a woman has a choice.
After: Theater by Mary Cassatte 1879
For Debbie Guzzi's Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 6
Kim Patrice Nunez
13 January 2016
* Published by Ekphrastic: Writing and Art on Art and Writing
Gone fishing.
We decided to go fishing,
Granddad Dad and I .
We booked a Bed and Breakfast
up in the Isle of Skye.
We set off Friday morning
with lots of fishing gear,
and Granddad even managed
to sneak aboard some beers.
Up the road we went,
arriving late at night,
and in the early morning
my goodness what a sight.
The mountains stood so purple
and on the Loch a haar.
We were quickly down for breakfast
and then back to the car.
We drove down to the Loch
and hired a lovely boat.
The weather was quite nippy
so we buttoned up our coats.
We settled down to fish.
It was a brilliant day,
and Granddad told me stories
of the ones that got away.
We rowed back to the quay
and unloaded all our fish.
The day was quite successful,
even more than we could wish.
I tied the boat up tight
and walked back to the car.
When someone drew attention,
by shouting from a far.
A man was standing pointing,
back towards the quay,
and there we saw the boat
floating out to sea!
Grandad looked at Father,
then Father looked at me.
"I thought it was secure,
how can this possibly be".
"When it comes to tying rope,
the skills i have not got,
you thought i was a Sailor,
I am a frayed knot"!
This morning I waved goodbye to Summer. I watched as it pulled away, taking with it the swim parties, barbecues, shorts and flip flops. It promised to return next year, but l couldn't stop a longing tear from escaping my no-longer-fashionably-shaded eyes. Such a warm and giving friend, whose offerings included flowers, vegetables, fruit.
I turned and trudged sadly into my buttoned up, stuffy house. The leaves' dry fingers scratched longingly at the windows, as if they knew a warm fire and a sip of hot cider is all they needed to restore their former glory. I mourned my sunscreen and lemonade, and stared longingly at my beach towel and chair.
Suddenly, feeling my life was fated to become as pasty as my skin, I realized that the cold shoulder was mine. Winter had blown into my life with boisterous aplomb, bringing cocoa and sweaters and snowmen, and it was me who rejected her and hibernated from her offers of ski trips and skates.
It was as if I had been eating only oatmeal until now: I was malnourished and had missed out on the flavor of life! How boring would be the artist's canvas that contained only one color, one stroke, one perspective. So I welcomed my new friend Winter, in all her frigid fabulousness, with gingerbread and egg nog, and we began the journey to understanding together.
Inside worn and weathered walls,
Nobles and commoners
Gather and share
In the field of rosiness.
Together, they are
Composed, well organized.
Each one partaking in blind optimism.
Knowing truly, that
The odds prevail.
Uneasy
My eyes penetrate
The bleached and waxen folds
Of my buttoned-up, grown-up gown.
Cascading, suffocating
The pale, coarse mesh
Chafes and bites my skin.
Two perfectly fitted pearls
Glow and twitch
As I stand rooted,
Unwavering.
The train, ready for action,
Playfully courts the dusty stone.
And I rehearse and cling to
The delicate sensibility that
“I am doing the right thing.”
“I am doing the right thing.”
Anxiety flourishes and
Doubt ripens under my tender care.
The thick fruit thrives
After months of incubation.
Nimble fingered, truth
Is busy, eagerly
Fusing and wiring herself to my soul.
Driven, she hails my attention.
Waving,
She wiggles her little fingers at me
And with a barbed and knowing glare,
She pleads with me from afar.
Willfully, I repeat my mantra.
“I am doing the right thing.”
“I am doing the right thing.”
Faithfully,
The rancid chorus begins.
I flinch, and flaunt my hollow smile.
The train sways,
Excited for life.
Breathless
I stand anchored,
Clutching a condemned bouquet.
I survey the waiting rabble.
Scowls, scrutiny, scorns.
Dusty brittle hair,
Spectacles and flowery hats,
Moving back and forth
In unison.
A mutual nod of disapproval.
The gasps and murmurs
Trickle and ooze
Through the blurry layers
Of the jaw dropped gapers.
I can see him now,
Green eyes searching
Wild with fear.
My paper coat unravels,
He sees me.
He knows.
Praying, holding on,
He pushes forward.
Crunching, crinkling underfoot
Painfully,
Pressing onward.
He is just within reach.
Shaking,
I touch my fingers to my lips
And
I turn
And walk away.
Joyfully she whispers
“You are doing the right thing!”
“You are doing the right thing!”
There! a newsstand!
Inside, where that man stands.
Nobody stops for magazines
he's owing for your glance.
He loves the print on paper,
and a craving for it's smell.
A broken soul dealt hands
of cards misfortuned you can tell.
Well,
years passed.
His stand? the same.
That old lady stopped to browse,
but at home she left her change.
Seemingly sad,
So she buttoned up her coat
And whistled toward the street
for that ride to fly her home.
“Just a minute ma'am.”
He smiled, showing teeth.
“My morning traveled customer
take that tabloid there, it's free.
I’ve had this stand for years
and they never saw the sign”
-Corner Newsstand: My gift! You don’t have to pay a dime-
As he unbuttoned her blouse
he soon became aroused
She unbuttoned his shirt
and took off her skirt
He didn't know about her spouse
Then the doorbell rang
It was her husband Stan
He buttoned up his shirt
She pulled up her skirt
he went out the window and away he ran
She was a college educated buttoned up girl
She worked as a teller in the bank
She didn't look like she had any fun
Most people didn't even know she drank.
But she had legs that went on forever
Best introduction to a butt you've ever seen
And at night she drove all the boys crazy
In her hey now, giddy up jeans
She had a long term relationship with Cuervo
She only drank the Gold as a rule
It brought back memories of the good times
She had when she was down south in school.
But she had legs that went on forever
Best introduction to a butt you've ever seen
And at night she drove all the boys crazy
In her hey now, giddy up jeans
When she stiletto heeled her way to the bar
She was known to raise men's eyebrows
Most men were afraid to approach her
But they were thinking what have we here, hey now.
But she had legs that went on forever
Best introduction to a butt you've ever seen
And at night she drove all the boys crazy
In her hey now, giddy up jeans.
You cannot judge a book by its cover
Or make assumptions without all the facts.
There's a time and a place to be sexy
And a time to act with grace and tact.
But she had legs that went on forever
Best introduction to a butt you've ever seen
And at night she drove all the boys crazy
In her hey now giddy up jeans.
This revolutionary fella followed by
Adams family patriarch,giving rise
twin heir (plain lee gifted "Renaissance
Man") Jeff force'n without hemming
and hawing, subsequently conceding
nexus (nor horse drawn Lexus) of Colonial
power to Madison, thence Monroe
buttoned up as suitable candidate after
which younger Adams elected.
Thirty four followed Jackson's club
trumpeting (some Obama nib bully)
bushwhacking their way predicated
on faulty Algorithm, charming
charismatically with hint of Clint
like glint in eyes, blinding populace,
sans ray gun (Reagan), Car Tour ring
with peanut gallery in tow, affording
(unpopularly pardoning unfashionably),
a Jerry rigged nixed son, followed
by John's son tainted by stain of Vietnam,
but with said Southeast Asian debacle,
one ken heady (sporting thick styled hair)
inherited an internecine conflict, essentially
precipitated, when Eisenhower hardened
political stance against any allies of the
Soviet Union, (sans The Viet Cong), and
pledged his firm support to Diem
and South Vietnam.
Now with preceding administration, one
harried true man unleashed advent of atomic
spectra upon Hiroshima, and Nagasaki, this
purported preemptive measure scary ruse
felt to thwart exaggerated Japanese government
threat (military intelligence) scheming to
wreak untold havoc upon American troops
within the Pacific theater of World War II.
The former horrific decision controversial,
then and to this day Hoover expert historian,
diverge, asper corroborating the necessity
to usher in the Cold War, yet majority foreign
policy wonks might grudgingly attest that
said thirty first commander in chief did maintain
a Cool Edge throughout onset when doomsday
clock began countdown to Armageddon,
an unimaginably blaring, deafening, earsplitting...
cacophony distant rumbles heard, nonetheless,
no Hard dinning ghoulish nightmare (potentially
obliterating all life on planet Earth) haunted
Wilson, nor Taft, only gunboat diplomacy
mere child's play exhorted, less catastrophic
comparison, when Teddy Roosevelt wielded
"big stick schtick" namesake corollary to the
Monroe Doctrine in 1904...ad nauseum.
Suppression ..
cracking open the flesh.
Never suppress the
Feeling of the soul
This inner oppression
Is not just foam
It is a fine thread
You need a needle
To sow close packets of regrets
And mistakes you have buttoned up
Looking through what
You had to do.
Those hole's ..
Have control over you.
Suppression
Stabs and tears you..
Gash you on the inside..
The hole's suppressed
Stitch and heal them
Ditch or seal them
Beat suppression
Defeat it's fierce force
Eliminate repression
Before pieces i become
Don't waste time
It's too precious..
And precious can become ..
Previous.
Previous will become
Sadly.
Sadly such as ..
If I only had ..
Like you had to do.
Suppression
It has expired
it is finished
gone.
Hush hush little heart
No more deal's
Merry merry go round
Lovely lively times ahead.
The water fluttered under the glass boiling in envy of itself
Marching to the sleek inner coating along the candid sphere like a band of drums ready for war
bubbling in heavy camaraderie the steam spoke a final thought and charged on into the night
"why cant I always bubble with such dignity"
Hot chili peppers are so cold to the unknowing, red suit and all buttoned up for the battle to come
Like a solider awaiting his shining moment on the front line
they make their mark by the way they stand so still,
Still like the nutcracker who comes to life only when awoke by the cheffly magician
Like a dream they are waiting for magic to awaken their slumber
As the night rumbles on under the black pot handle
great snowy mountain rests its head it never rests
And then as best it can hot water takes a stand to be noticed
And the cool touch of my mixing bowl greets me
a sprinkling of browned sugar today
A nose of cinnamon to the taste
clear glasses all in a row
tumblers are tumbling across the floor on my toe
My kitchen dances along the symphony's beat
A sugar plum masterpiece of squash, steam, and meat
And my fork waltzes to the tunes it plays like a string instrument to the waltzing flowers floating their way downstream
I spill the spaghetti onto my shoe and the squash laughs a little
I sing to the waters tune and the flowers smile a little
A little more into the water I boil my egg friend and rinse him good
I am interested in what you have to say to me tomorrow
Rambling on to myself I am slightly dripping with sparkle and glee
My ballet of baking completes its final scene
I am scored from the day and seek pillows therapy
Turning down the lights I fear for the moment in my mind when I remember all their might be missed in my kitchen symphony
And all that was, and is, and what might be
As the tile lay still, cold as fallen snowflakes in the night, I rest my head and dream
And I awake again when standing behind the red curtain
-Jess
For as long as I can remember
I played the peacemaker role
Depend on me as the glue guy
As I try to keep things in control
Don't worry I won't rock the boat
Will keep things safe and stable
Neatly buttoned up at all times
Sure let's just go with that fable
Was always wrapping up my worth
In fixing other people's problems
A well devised distraction tactic
To avoid my issues and not solve them
Been shifting the narrative lately
Starting to shine my light internally
Surprised how much was unprocessed
What a relief to delve into discovery
Now it’s time to make a decision
Where will my energy get directed
Continue to subvert what I require
Or step up to my needs that I neglected
Doesn’t mean I cast others aside
Actually the opposite was proved
When I fill up my own cup first
I'm still the glue guy, just new and improved
He pushed all the right buttons
To gain access to her heart
And then he broke it
Ripping the threads of love apart
Leaving her in tears when he split
She buttoned up her broken heart
And refused to let anyone in
Lest the tender thoughts she might impart
Cause her heart to be broken once again
The emotional buttons of her heart loosened over time
Her heart began to trust and love again
Bringing her sunshine instead of rain
Joy instead of pain
As she found a love sublime
She wants to warm him like the sun,
Heal his hurts with a whisper.
She wants to seal her lips with his smile,
And show her devotion,
In a million silent ways.
She will be his buttoned up confidante,
Gently trustworthy,
Just so she can stay his quiet darling of spring
And forever bloom in his direction.
....
© 2012
Ruby Honeytip