Best Crinoline Poems
a crinoline dress crumpled by the bed;
the prom queens on her back -
a cupcake stripped of its frilled paper.
Walk everywhere. Go on long sea voyages;
Ask for days like symphonies of slow music,
banks of blue flowers to wrap you in the moment.
Become immersed in watching clouds
spiders building their webs.
Travel by the slowest modes of transport.
Ride a camel, camp out in the desert.
Move into a museum and declare it real time.
Dress in a crinoline. Decorate your room with
fossils. Read endless books- make your own wine .
Churn your own butter. Grow a garden.
When all else fails,
pull the hands off clocks. Declare it a crime to tell
time.
Hang curtains on the daylight. Hold back the sea.
Ruin the sun and cycles that turn,
annihilate the moon - close the doors on eternity.
Suzanne Delaney
To all of you who read the first song, I thank you-and to those of you who went to CJBELL.NET I thank you exponentially
TAKE A SPIN IN CRINOLINE
Do you tango?
Do you dance a lot,
my Sir Lancelot?
Do you cha-cha?
And like me you sure are hot
Do you mambo?
Do you Lindy Hop?
Do you slow dance?
And does dancing make your champagne pop?
Do you rumba?
Do you shake your butt about?
Do you do the twist?
Now does it make you scream and shout?
This girl must dance as she must breathe
A two step done from two steps away
A breath apart and ready to dance
Wanting to wiggle and set to sway
Does the band believe in you,
The way that it does me?
Is the music your only muse,
And does the music make you free?
So again I ask you……
Do you tango?
Do you dance a lot,
my Sir Lancelot?
Do you cha-cha?
And like me are you hot?
And just like me, baby, are you hot?
CHANGE MELODY
So do you want to quick step, Mister?
With me in silk and crinoline
Don’t peek under my dress demure
As you watch me begin to spin
We can rumba and drink some rum
We can ch-ch-chance a cha-cha or two
Put your hands forcefully around my waist
Because Mister, I’m ready to dance with you
You can lead and lead me anywhere
Places you may have seen before
Like to the bar and back again
But I won’t leave this here dance floor
No I won’t leave this here dance floor
Do you tango with your cheek near mine
And lips so close we share one taste
What is that Mister dancing man,
you don’t dance, oh what a woeful waste?
Yes what a woeful waste
So you don’t tango the way that I do
And your slow dance has slowed to a halt
Well Mister, the fact that you can’t dance
alas honey, that ain’t this young chick’s fault
No baby, that ain’t none of this young girl’s fault
No, that ain’t no fault of mine
But let’s not call this love to a halt
Because I said, Mister Mister,
that just ain’t,
that just ain’t this hot chick's faultttttttttttt!
© 2013 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
The front bar of the Criterion is filling up,
It’s after five and the patrons are filing in.
Placed orders echoing off the old timbers
Vying to be heard and adding to the din.
The Grand Old Lady proudly plays host
As she looks out over the muddy Fitzroy.
Thirsty travellers mingle with the regulars,
Escaping the heat with a time worn ploy.
The nubile young bar staff are soon kept busy
As the chaos of orders are shouted out.
Pots and schooners, Bundy Rum and XXXX,
Of their burning thirst there can be no doubt.
The old burnished timber balustrade
though hints at an earlier time of splendor.
An era lost in a more genteel age,
When the old lady was of years more tender.
There’s a Dining Room and spacious Saloon,
Public Bar and upstairs rooms in which to stay.
All retaining their charm of yesteryear,
You can imagine just what they would say.
They’d tell tales of the customers of old,
Of the dusty drovers long on the track.
To the bar to slake a hard earned thirst
Before again mounting up to “get on back”.
Of the bullockies breasting up to the bar
Still cursing that cranky old lead beast.
In language blue they summons the barmaid
And soon settle in for a liquid feast.
Floorboards ringing to the thud of hob nailed boots
As the thirsty stockmen venture into town.
Today their pockets are full of promise,
Tomorrow hangovers they need to drown.
They’d recall long ago warm summer nights
With the polished chandeliers shining bright.
When the silver cutlery was out on display,
And well set tables made for a grand sight.
When gentlemen and ladies on the town
Took pride in appearance to look the part.
When crinoline, whale bone, lace and shift,
Were well placed to land a gentleman’s heart.
And assignations conducted furtively
In consummation of illicit affairs.
All in the rooms overlooking the city,
at the top of those carpeted old stairs.
I’m sure that today’s equivalent games
Are still seen daily by those left in charge.
The same scenes repeated by a new crowd,
The same desires on their faces writ large.
TAKE A SPIN IN CRINOLINE
Do you tango?
Do you dance a lot,
my Sir Lancelot?
Do you cha-cha?
And like me you sure are hot?\
Do you mambo?
Do you Lindy Hop?
Do you slow dance?
And does dancing make your champagne pop?
Do you rumba?
Do you shake your butt about?
Do you do the twist?
Now does it make you scream and shout?
This girl must dance as she must breathe
A two step done from two steps away
A breath apart and ready to dance
Wanting to wiggle and set to sway
Does the band believe in you,
The way that it does me?
Is the music your only muse,
And does the music make you free?
So again I ask you……
Do you tango?
Do you dance a lot,
my Sir Lancelot?
Do you cha-cha?
And like me are you hot?
And just like me, baby, are you hot?
CHANGE MELODY
So do you want to quick step, Mister?
With me in silk crinoline
Don’t peek under my dress demure
As you watch me begin to spin around the floor
We can rumba and drink some rum
We can ch-ch-chance a cha-cha or two
Put your hands forcefully around my waist
Because Mister, it's a moral imperative I dance with you
© 2012....(c) PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
You can lead and lead me anywhere
Places you may have seen before
Like to the bar and back again
But I won’t leave this here dance floor
No I won’t leave this here dance floor
Do you tango with your cheek near mine
And lips so close we share one taste
What is that Mister dancing man,
you don’t dance, oh what a woeful waste?
Yes what a woeful waste
So you don’t tango the way that I do
And your slow dance has slowed to a halt
Well Mister, the fact that you can’t dance
Hell, honey, that ain’t this young chick’s fault
No baby, that ain’t none of this young girl’s fault
No, that ain’t no fault of mine
But let’s not call this love to a halt
Because I said, Mister Mister,
that just ain’t, that just ain’t my faultttttttttttt!
© 2012 (c) copyright PHREEPOETREE….~free cee!~
At any rate, she knew she wasn’t alone
With both the baritone and guy with the trombone
‘Twas hard to tell wearing the blindfold
Which was holding onto the bricks of gold
She decided to have fun and play along
Drew the line at joining their silly drinking song
She found herself lounging on a bearskin
And in a crinoline feeling quite feminine
So far the sideline was odd yet somewhat divine
When she recalled needing to catch a flight by nine
No time for shopping in spite of having gold to blow
At any rate, she had a plane to catch and had to go
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 17, 2018 for PREMIERE CONTEST NO.170 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 4TH
and on January 18, 2018 for contest AT ANY RATE, IT WILL BE FAST MOVING sponsored by JULIA WARD
I listen to the silence of the twinkling stars,
as they slowly fade in the early morning light.
Past misty mushroom crinoline clouds
Dawn winks through breathy eyelashes
blowing each tiny candle flame out.
Like dreamy silhouettes cast long against
the darkening ominous shadows,
to face another day seems but wasted human sorrow.
Then, through the gloom, sweet, like viscous dripping honey,
your words so tenderly sooth my anxious mind.
Your wit so quick, so wise, so funny,
brightens the dark of the gloomiest night.
With your gentle caress I feel new found warmth
and look upon the awakened face of a brightened sunrise
once again seeing the promise of my heart’s desire
as your warm shaft of healing light starts to mend my broken heart.
09/01/2017
APETEEN SEVENTY NINE
I don't care if it doesn't matter to you
but it means a whole fuc**ng lot to me
you want to treat old black Jim as if he's a gorilla in a zoo
while I want to set the human being free
his grandfather spent years picking cotton in the field-
for a pittance as payment and a beating if he was late-
his grandfather ended up with scars that never healed-
and they aren't from a whip but rather from hate-
that cotton went to make debutantes look pretty on New Year's eve
with crinoline, ribbons and a tall dark and handsome beau
while Jim's grandpa was freezing in a cabin he was never allowed to leave
and the same went for Jim's black buddies Bill, John and Joe
they worked their fingers to the bone for payment in bread and a bit of rum
while Debbie the debutante looked lovely in her pink and purple gown
Jim, Bill, John and Joe tilled the soil all day long while crawling for a crumb
and if either of the four defied the master they were kicked and knocked deleteriously down
I know this all took place a life time ago
and that's the reason I have such hostility toward you
long gone are Debbie the debutante and her beau
but I will not allow you to keep old black Jim behind bars in a zoo
© 2012.....PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
As morn's sun cracks the horizon
Casting pink Easter dress
Redbud stands with newly acquired
Full green hair, I am blessed
The fireball sun floats on pink clouds
Like China doll surrounded
By full dress and stiff crinoline
God's beauty compounded
As the roosters steadily crow
Song birds sing very close
A new song I have just heard
Turkeys' gooble like ghost
The sun has changed from red to orange
Now it has become gold
God has choregraphed
For all a great morn's show
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE OTHER ONE?
“so tell me daddy, why do you only have one arm?”
a query posed by seven year old charm
a daughter in crinoline who daddy won't let come to harm
and when daddy held daughter in his one arm it brought about calm
it was a long story to tell
about entering and exiting hell
there were intricacies to recall
and they all hang on his memory's wall
he thought long and hard about what to say
she hadn't ever asked until that day
she was so pink, so perky and pretty
but the last thing he wanted was his little girl's pity
well honey, he stammered and began his tale
in one part of the story we win, the other we fail
we were all doing what we were called upon to do
a hundred and ten men thrown into the jungle without even a clue
no one had any idea why we were the only ones there
we all hoped there was some help coming from somewhere
but none ever came even as we ran out of ammunition
and surviving that battle became our ambient ambition
but we were all alone and bullets were flying
and when I say I was scared, sweetie, i'm not lying
so you ask why I have one arm and it's because our enemy was strategically strong
and we were in the midst of war in a place where we didn't belong
© 2012....copyright PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
DEDICATED TO ALL THE MEN WHO DID WHAT I WAS TOO MUCH OF A COWARD TO DO!
Had to put the tickets in a food bag,
kept on handling them in awe.
Soon to time to leave for the airport,
Got clothes strewn over the floor.
What to wear at such an occasion
To keep the theme in tune.
A dress with inner hoop,
But they won't let that on the plane.
Glowing as in happy, smile broadens my face
In the airport lounge I sit with my friends,
holding tightly onto my case.
Austria here we come a concert to attend
We enter the theatre, lights aglow,
Crinoline skirts worn by the ladies that dance.
Plus the musicians I have you know
the men in their evening suits worth more than a glance.
The Strauss music starts, my heads in the clouds,
the conductor a violin solo he plays.
Listening, not a sound from the crowd
Was utter heaven, our senses are ablaze.
Penned 22 May 2015
A translucent bluish-white mineral with a mysterious sheen
I hear them rustling behind heaven's plisse,
fabric seersucker curtains, opaque but unlaced
One breath and suddenly
I'm a teleported being
letting go of all faculties and senses;
A prayer on the lips searching for everlasting hope.
These precious substances of color and charm
both calm and confident, ignite the soul
and usher it to peace, love, and harmony.
Filled with Goddess energy
exuding warm tones of luminescent, ephemeral light
the hand receives what the eyes have encased
lost inside clairaudient auditory movements
Moonstone Melodies;
Yokiko reveries fill me like no other
listen to the sound they make
Angels dressed in crinoline gowns,
swooshing and spreading light
everywhere...
Lost in their chime like sound of tinkling glass
they are un-comparable,
A thousand stars of heaven could never compare
to these moonstone gems,
who seem to claim the heart bit by bit
and then, all at once.
this is a song as yet to be set to music---it's to be sung by a lady so anyone who knows how to sing and write music take this and run with it...i don't want anything except to know someone found it worthy and had the inclination to do something she was born to do:
TAKE A SPIN IN CRINOLINE
Do you tango?
Do you dance a lot,
my Sir Lancelot?
Do you cha-cha?
And like me you sure are hot?\
Do you mambo?
Do you Lindy Hop?
Do you slow dance?
And does dancing make your champagne pop?
Do you rumba?
Do you shake your butt about?
Do you do the twist?
Now does it make you scream and shout?
This girl must dance as she must breathe
A two step done from two steps away
A breath apart and ready to dance
Wanting to wiggle and set to sway
Does the band believe in you,
The way that it does me?
Is the music your only muse,
And does the music make you free?
So again I ask you……
Do you tango?
Do you dance a lot,
my Sir Lancelot?
Do you cha-cha?
And like me are you hot?
And just like me, baby, are you hot?
CHANGE MELODY
So do you want to quick step, Mister?
With me in silk and crinoline
Don’t peek under my dress demure
As you watch me begin to spin
We can rumba and drink some rum
We can ch-ch-chance a cha-cha or two
Put your hands forcefully around my waist
Because Mister, I’m ready to dance with you
You can lead and lead me anywhere
Places you may have seen before
per chane the bar and back again
But I won’t leave this here dance floor
No I won’t leave this here dance floor
Do you tango with your cheek near mine?
And lips so close we share one taste
What is that Mister dancing man,
you don’t dance, oh what a woeful waste?
Yes what a woeful waste
So you don’t tango the way that I do
And your slow dance has slowed to a halt
Well Mister, the fact that you can’t dance
Hell, honey, that ain’t this young chick’s fault
No baby, that ain’t none of this young girl’s fault
No, that ain’t no fault of mine
But let’s not call this love to a halt
Because I said, Mister Mister,
that just ain’t....... that just ain’t my faultttttttttttt!
© 2012…copyright PHREEPOETREE ..~free cee!~
Daddy shut his eyes and cried,
each drop echoed in the waiting room,
the hollow halls echoed
babies crying.
Daddy shut his eyes and cried
his stern eyes looked away
and I asked him, "Daddy why are you crying?"
no reply.
Daddy shut his eyes and cried
not knowing what to do,
I danced in crinoline proper-pink,
first dress Daddy bought,
one I wore to see his smile.
Daddy shut his eyes and cried,
looked at me, smiled,
and gave me a bear-hug
"Your Mom's going to be okay"
Daddy shut his eyes and cried
the clock ticked twice,
out came mom in her wheelchair,
and Dad's eyes dried.
"50 Words for Poe: Hysteria"
Incantation to you
Manifesting the Phantom
with the Hysteria Paroxysm Blues
Hellfire Club got nothin’ on you
Hot hysteria paroxysms
flying on your broom
a whole new world
Black cat purrs
You, the catnip for this girl
https://youtu.be/boQ9ytantA0
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
https://youtu.be/ETIPuORrPyo
“I put a spell on you”
“Little gusts of sunshine blew, strangely bright, and lit up the celandines at the wood's edge, under the hazel-rods, they spangled out bright and yellow. And the wood was still, stiller, but yet gusty with crossing sun. The first windflowers were out, and all the wood seemed pale with the pallor of endless little anemones, sprinkling the shaken floor. 'The world has grown pale with thy breath.' But it was the breath of Persephone, this time; she came out of hell on a cold morning. Cold breaths of wind came, and overhead there was an anger of entangled wind caught among the twigs. It, too, was caught and trying to tear itself free, the wind, like Absalom. How cold the anemones looked, bobbing their naked white shoulders over crinoline skirts of green. But they stood it. A few first bleached little primroses too, by the path, and yellow buds unfolding themselves.” D.H. Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover