Best Curtsey Poems
Rose petals floated in the dusty air.
A few landed at my feet as I sat weeping,
remembering the playful way she teased me
on the day she painted the old picket fence.
"It needs to be painted," she chided.
Fingers of a brisk March wind
brushed through her hair. All I could do
was stare at her beauty, the blush of cheeks
much more lovely then her roses.
"My climbing roses are much too pretty
to rest upon this dreary old faded fence,
but I can do it all by myself."
She smiled and plucked one of her pink roses,
tipped it in white wash and presented it to me
with the most graceful curtsey I'd ever seen.
That rose had been drying on the mantle
since that day, now brittle, gathering dust
and as hard as I tried not to touch,
when I held it, the petals fell, one by one.
She's been gone for too many years,
and through each one of them I've cried.
Today I white washed that fence again,
and when her roses come in to bloom
my heart will be consumed with the vision
of her smiling face and the gift of a rose,
white washed by her gentle hand.
Outside the walls stood a handmaiden gazing
Twisting her skirt between fingers so frail
Patches of burlap were sewn on the garment
Cut from a sack of a barley oat bale
Oh how she dreamed of the opulent palace
Silver and gold and the finest of lace
Gowns made of velvet with ribbons of satin
She spun around with a smile on her face
As if a princess, her blonde hair a flowing
Blue skies above now the tint of her eyes
Hearing a song on the early spring breezes
Never once noticed the coming surprise
Then saw him on horseback and blushed like a petal
Found on the reddest of roses that grew
Knee bent to curtsey, feeling embarrassed
Knowing this gesture is what she should do
“Good day my fair maiden, your dance was enchanting”
He said as he smiled, his kindness was felt
“So sorry my prince, I did not see you coming”
Again on the soil before him she knelt
“Rise up,” he said as he slid from the saddle
“There is no need for such formality,
for one of such beauty tis I who should bow”
Saying this he touched the earth with one knee
Once more she blushed like an apricot sunrise
Standing he reached out and taking her hand
Wondered, “What brings you by here on this morning,
adding such loveliness to our fine land?”
“Your majesty, I’m but a servant daydreaming,
Seeing myself quite the belle of the ball
Very much childish I know you are thinking
For I belong far outside this great wall”
He pondered a moment, his chin now he fondled
Suddenly grinned with the happiest glance
“Well now fair maiden, if thou would permit me
Please be my guest at this evening’s spring dance?”
“Oh handsome prince I could not even think it
Look at my dress, I have nothing to wear
Merely these rags and an old pair of high tops
Never to mention the state of my hair”
“Never you mind and I kind of like high tops
Maybe some jeans and a tank top in red
Pull your hair back and it will be perfect
Nothing you’ll need when we climb into bed”
“What’s that you say, you want sex after dancing
Beat it you creep, I’m abreast of your game
I’ll spread these legs not for anyone fancy
Damn it, you men, every one is the same”
As he departed, rejected and sneering
She stomped away feeling angry and mean
So here you find such an unhappy ending
The truth is she only had eyes for the queen
Steel Gray skies with threatening rain and restless wind
My breath gathers as mist on the inside of the window pane
...as I watched for the school bus
A slender birch tree with spiral scars
of flayed bark against its white skin
like curlicues of sharpened pencil shavings
Still clutching many bright yellow leaves,
Some collecting at its base like a discarded garment
Sunlight, just a small shaft flickers bright dapples on tiny dancers
Ocherous curtains against the bruised sky
Prodigious vibrant final act
Just for me
The tree manages a sly curtsey
in my direction,
Sacrificing more of her fragile costume
My beautiful rosy-cheeked child kicks playfully
through the saffron sea of discarded programs
“Here are some for you Mama” he says
as he bursts into the kitchen smelling of peanut butter and early fall
There he deposits a chubby handful of my regard
gently into my apron pocket
And into my heart's hiding place as well
Perfect poignant performance;
Beautifully done slender birch,
Most beautifully done
Red rooster is crowing, perched on a split rail fence,
In the bloom of a rosy dawn, when all nature is tense.
In the chocolate colored trees, of the emerald leaves,
Baby bluebirds are cheeping, to the spicy warm breeze.
The flowers bob and curtsey, with many colorful cheers,
In a love affair that's endured, ages of sunlit years!
Purple shadows are drifting, the world partially awake,
And it's still a shadowy mystery, what destiny will make.
Perky squirrels are scampering, the sun is on his way,
Sweet life is beginning again, for it's a brand new day!
Venture advances, the future ... occurs,
the White Willow trees, best found by rivers
edge. Salix alba, and 'Tristis' means sad,
hence, 'Weeping', yet the essence seems to add
a picturesque of a draped graceful scene,
nay gloomy but most tranquil, and serene.
The whitish tones of the leaf's undersides
evolved the tree's name. A meter trunk, wide's,
diameter, thirty-meter stretch that
leans caused by sloped limbs that bring its Top Hat
tilted downward. A bow ... accentuates,
or curtsey, being a deciduous
tree, where the flower's genders grow distinct,
genteel parade cascades in white trimmed linked.
In Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
life around us is renewed
ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
Do entice men with a curtsey
careful least it's a wedding bed
in Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
Now the ladies, a few doxy's
love to spin, their skirts all spread
Ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
Love comes courting in ecstasy
the fashion this year is redheads
in Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
The ladies are so full of moxie
lead men on but no maidenhead
ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
Fluttering eyelids so saucy
men their passions this time unfed
in Spring young thoughts turn to fancy
ladies wearing gowns all chintzy
In Africa another day is born
At dawn
The optimist awakes
To a world that’s bright with receding night
Hope and promise of things new
A world where dreams come true
In Africa another day is done
At dusk with setting sun
The pessimist seems right
In the fading light
Of yet another day
Where despair and failure
Lie strewn along his way
Africa’s sun at noon
Hangs suspended in the sky
Held in equilibrium
And pulled between the two
This dark continent illuminated
Her wonders and woes exposed, juxtaposed
And in the balance
Dangles her destiny
Rhythmic people sing their songs prolifically
In unmatched harmonies
Ladies curtsey in respect
Where culture holds the sway
Noisy kids at play
The epitome of community
They learn to serve and share and care
Well muscled men with pride defend
Their dark identity
Your people with poise and patience
Meekness and strength
Move along unhurriedly
You’re blessed abundantly
Game runs free
Stunning lakes and rivers, forests and plains
And summer rains
Busy markets bustling with traders
And splashed with colour
All enhance your wonder
Africa the cradle of humanity
If true begs a question or two
Why have you not advanced?
And why are you so poor?
Hungry children with hollow eyes
Roam around in rags
Corrupt dictators with degrees
Have learned to take a bribe
Your breadbasket has become a begging bowl
Migrants in their thousands leave your shores
Because of wars
In search of greener fields
With arrogance you name and blame
It’s not your fault
So you become the victim
The one entitled to
You’re held in chains and still not free
Although you brag of
Madiba’s legacy
NOSECANDY SNOW
crack white
mojoblow
night flight
nosecandy
snow
photographic
eye chambers
capture it all
seizure lights
rainbow walls
nerves and veins
plumbed too raw
doubledecho voices
stealing authenticity
shredding shades of sanity
Ferris wheels and Carousals
motion sick candy stick
black bile rises thick
ground navigates a
tidal slosh of
rise and fall
quartz stars hang no more
formation sunk in
twin and triplet
curtain calls
shut-eyed nightmare curses
all spinning out of sync
roll the ground under feet
red reels running rampant
blood vivid dances curtsey
their orchestrated fury
veinbulging
lineblurring
overused tracks
skulls deafening
cracks dazzle then……
pass to shaded faint
starshards take aim
shooting placid petals
in the face of
saving grace
the hate, the sweat, the shakes
take place
insects fall into corners neatly
voices fade away completely
© Kim van Breda—23 September 2015
Forbears,Edie,Kate and Ann furnished apiece with brush and pan.Each
Victorian 'Miss' tied in service's abyss.Far off days,now long gone,their toil each
day was lengthy and long.With fires to light,floors to scrub,and carpets to brush
and drub.Mops forbidden,as they smeared the dirt and begrimed their prim
alpaca aproned skirt.They cleaned 'his' tub,emptied 'her' commode,a regular
chore in a housemaid's daily load.Must rise at six but never to mix and no matter
what,keep a stiff upper lip.Never lose your cool,a formal curtsey the perpetual
rule.Half day off once per month,so free to roam and catch the omnibus home.No
other opportunities in store except a marriage at eighteen or before.Upstairs and
down stairs ,no in between,starting out at just thirteen and just there to please as Master and his Lady take their ease.
Little Girls and little Boys
With locks and curls and shoelace twirls
Songs of play, with giggles aloud
The little Girls curtsey, the little Boys bow
Rosy cheeks that dance all day
Nighttime prayers,, three words to say
Tears of joy, or just to share
Touching one and all that care
Blessed with beauty from above
In a face that's filled with Love
Always eager to give, smile
This special gift, the gift of Child
Brenda Elizabeth Rose
Big, blonde beauties
so beautiful and so pretty,
such girls of high class
drinking from glasses,
filled with the best champagne;
and smoking their fine cigarettes,
while gossiping their fine stories
bragging and spoiling on themselves.
ha! ha!
Tell me again about your big, booty, blonde beauty
and how she has such class!
ha! ha!
Look at the plastic Barbie dolls
strutting along side a wave of Ken dolls and GI Joes.
Clumsy broads who smell like a perfume kiosk
and a Paris tavern in the 20s filled with writers like:
Hemingway and Scott Fitzgerald.
Smart guys, with good taste in real women,
and not Barbie dolls.
It is really sad to see these so-called "women"
dancing and shacking on saw-dust dance floors,
and then they go off in drunken slurs of how "they have respect for themselves!"
and those dark devils, and fools with broken hearts,
and rich Wall Street boys who carry their Daddy's pocket wallet
filled with a thousand Benjamin's,
have their nasty way with them.
Stripping them down,
like mechanics on an old 65 Mustang GT,
having their sweet and marry way with them,
with them all... no consideration... no respect... no common curtsey... nothing...
Boy, these days with these big legged women,
these Big, Blonde
and Big, brunette Beauties,
boy, where did those women go?
Where did the real women go, and
how did these portrayers,
these lies come into play?
No Clue! No Clue!
Where or Why!
All I have to say is, "Where did the time go?"
Where is my big, blonde beauty
with her common sense still intact
along with a pure liver, lungs and a golden heart;
and her books of poetry, and love for classical music?
Her only friends are dead writers and role-models.
Where is she?
Maybe she's at the library,
or the bookstore,
or the theatre,
of maybe she is not here,
maybe she is not yet born?
Maybe...
all I can say is... she is out there,
my big, blonde beauty.
.1.23.2014.
There was an old woman
Who danced with a broom
She did a little curtsey
Then flew around the room.
She bowed to the postman
As he walked up to the door
He gave a little wink
And they danced across the floor.
The postman could see
That she was having fun
He took her outside
And they danced in the sun.
The boss came along
And had a look of dismay
He said to the postman,
"You just lost your pay today."
The old woman gave a look
Which made the boss smile
She took his hand in hers
And they danced for a mile.
The boss finally had to say,
"Will you marry me?
I haven't had so much fun
In all my history."
so two deviant demented souls decided to fill a van with fertilizer and magically and tragically turn that mini-van into a mighty bomb, park it near a a building housing human beings and suddenly a helpless daycare center laden with little tykes within and everyone else were atomized
and i'm certain timmy wasn't the bit surprised
so two abstractly obtuse souls came to kill
but i guess that was your god's will
so two sordid souls decided to tote guns into where guns don't belong and take out their twisted and misdirected anger on some innocent students studying stridently to achieve advancement when semi-automatic guns started screaming of death is specious terms. and in the end teachers and students alike, innocents all, lay dead or woefully wounded of body and mind
ah, but there are none so blind....
two psychologically scarred psyches came with innocent blood to spill
ah, but i suppose that was your god's will
so these two singular souls found each other within the wide world and then courting began with a cute little curtsey and dating with delight until one night upon his knee a man came to urgently urge a woman to become his and his alone. things progressed effervescently brightly until one night when something so willfully wrong occurred . alask, that's when the gentleman's sperm found their way to the woman's oval ovum and collided with an ergonomically shaped egg and nine months later the woman gave birth to a travesty
and that particular tragedy would become a me
so sex and sperm segued into human swill
but i suppose that was your sick god's fu**i*g will
(c) 2012..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
I am the Letter C in all that matters
From being conniving and coy that flatters
Convincing and calm, courteous and cool
Courageous and centered, nobody’s fool
Caring and patience to those very few
Cold and callous to those with no clue
I care, I’m cute, I cuss and curtsey
I’m all this and more, I am the letter C
WHAT YOU DOING ON THAT BARSTOOL FOOL?
Is that what it takes for you to feel brave?
And why can’t you simply behave?
Don’t you realize it’s transience you crave?
And why do you secret youthful beauty within a cave?
Upon a time once did a wolf sleep with a lamb
Him with lethal teeth and her with a cute little curtsey and curls
That wolf who slept beside her didn’t give a damn
And never cared about the feelings for any of his young girls
silken sheets were where his advantage was taken
For the little lamb would obey his every demand
But by belittlement and a bastard was that lamb forsaken
And the bridge between fangs and curls could never be spanned
Oh but were the lamb to have been on Venus and the wolf upon Mars
Two different planets for two different hearts
The wolf’s teeth turned crimson while the lamb had her scars
As, from that little lamb the wolf purloined her prettiest parts
There was no running away for a lamb held captive in a cave
And fear doesn’t always lead a lamb far away from Mars
The universe isn’t sizable enough to hide what that wolf would crave
And today the memory of my being that wolf keeps me in shooting galleries and seedy bars
© 2011.….Poefree