Best Doilies Poems
Shrunken sweaters, dusty ball caps
Tarnished silver, and hedge clippers
Pointed hat pins, gaudy jewelry
Faded jeans and worn out slippers
Greasy fry pan, wobbly table
Crates of dog-eared musty books
Tattered doilies, ragged Barbies
One brown old crock pot that still cooks
Rusty shovel, dented buckets
Ma's old apron, broken dishes
Dated calendar, crooked lampshade
Chipped glass bowl for all your fishes
Ugly painting, candle holders
One old bike for exercising
Broken TV, toaster oven
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"What's the point of shopping stores??!"
"Now...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH GOOD!" "She's bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
Another point about my purchase
Perhaps I can use it for another purpose
Oh No!!...he's found old tool collections!!
And points at them with great affection!!
The point I'm making is simply this
Another's person's trash or junk, may soon become your bliss!
May is my happy month, for she is my birth month
Some people treat themselves with a birthday.
I made the decision to celebrate my birth month
And I do. I buy whatever I want. Packages arrive daily.
Lilac trees, snowball trees, red hot rose bushes,
hot pink geraniums, fiery gold marigolds, things to plant.
Earth therapy is my favorite sport, and May is the perfect time
to plant; my yard is a living park, oozing beauty in all directions
I go through lots of birdseed in May; heavy, so I order it online.
It calls cardinals, blue jays, wrens, sparrows, into the yard
They serenade me with lovely tweets, chirps, peeps, and whees.
They sing their happiness with May daily.
May, when rains finally stop, and sun comes out full force
The amount of vitamin D she puts into the air perks people up.
School ends, and you hear giggles and laughter of children
As they spend their days biking to each other’s homes,
happy to be free.
May starts out fancy with May Day.
A day small town children make May baskets.
Filling them with violets and dandelions, popcorn,
and caramel candies, placed on top of lacy doilies.
Delighting unsuspecting neighbors, left on doorsteps,
as if May faeries have arrived, and they have.
My birthday is the last day of May,
when we celebrate our Veterans in Memorial Day parades.
May is an adventure all to herself,
unique in the amount of joy and
enthusiasm she brings to the calendar.
Delighting and exciting us, May dances and prances pure joy..
There is no other month that can touch her enthusiasm
although June comes close
As June is the wedding month.
Wait. Graduations, dance recitals, and proms are in May.
Three more reasons why May is the Queen of Happiness,
The candles of the forest brightly lit
to bid adieu the solstice harvest moon
that races through the branches where it fits
much like the sun which flickers there at noon.
Across the rolling hills now tinged with frost
and through the valley fog that drifts in sleep
a whisper of the season is embossed
like crochet doilies tossed upon a sheet.
So peacefully it sings the last hurrah
that echoes through each cherished year that goes
- reflections of the past when last we saw
the answered prayers of peace as they arose.
Then naked Winter's chill will quickly rush,
but not before one final Autumn blush.
Nearly everything ends up
in a flea market
much loved treasures
end in a new home
someone's loss
is someone's gain
my parents like
will never come again.
Tillie Lydston
1843 – 1905
I was forty six
When I first saw the hills.
Those most magical eastern hills of my home.
I loved Whittier as my mother
And it saddens me I can’t be there again.
I left behind family and friends in faraway Illinois
For those wondrously beautiful eastern hills,
Where my new friends set up homes and feasted
With many songs of worship to our Lord.
On Sundays we all sang loudly and earnestly
In the sun’s benevolent rays of the Friends Church.
Gathering all our voices together into one enormous crescendo,
We celebrated the presence of God.
My gift was music
And to God I offered up my singing voice in praise,
And this I did for 41 years.
During apple blossom time in ‘69
I married Samuel
And he stood by me
As I grew old, got fat and decided to leave Illinois.
When we reached here by train,
Me and Samuel set up the business on Greenleaf,
And made our home
Amidst the whispering cedars and pines on Pilgrim Way.
I bore two children in the upstairs bedroom,
Amidst the doilies and the teacups,
And I heard the voices of heaven
Reveal the truth of a thousand questions.
I died with my Bible
And my head propped on a pillow.
Here in Clark Cemetery
I feel no death,
Just continuing life.
Amidst the singing voices of the dead.
BLUE-SHAPED hair is styled to rigid perfection by rows of orderly, PINK curlers
BLUE-NOTES from an "Oldies" station linger, a calming WHITE noise to soothe
BLUE-SCENTS of expensive musk linger, permeating the YELLOW walled salon
BLUE-FLAVORED grape juice is thoroughly enjoyed by thirsty GRAY haired patrons
BLUE-VELVET blouse, worn by an elegant BLACK woman, is admired by all.
Pink shaped flamingos dot the salon decor, bringing a nostalgic feeling
As notes of white laced doilies punctuate the mood of times gone by
In an atmosphere of musky scents, the little parlor glows in a yellow haze
With gray heads of wisdom and manners, their words flavored with grace
To dispel any black mood with a velvet word of care, wearing their BLUE HAIR.
Written on 10/16/2015
A March unstable, April drizzles
At last, now dawns the month of May........
Children gather 'round a table
Making paste of flour, water,
guidance from a loving mother
with pictures drawn in rainbow colors
Pretty paper doilies landed
In the hands of lassies, laddies
Creating prizes, cone shaped fans…
Then, quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh lilies of the greenest valley,
wild wood fern, and yellow dahlias
Gathering the dew-kissed stems
Sweet and fresh as dawn begins
Filled with springtime, fresh with bloom
Innocence, was cut and honed
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Accomplishments, each one to own
On May the first, each small bouquet
Ready with the vast array
Of blossoms from the pasture flowers
softly fragrant, gifts of meadows
The paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road they trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles
Timid knocking on a door
“Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
The little legs now running fast,
And down the road, quite out of breath
Behind a tree, where they would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And always they were taught
That bringing gifts to make them sigh
Was worth a lot ..so worth the thought
A thoughtful way to light one's eyes
On May the first, with small bouquets
they would rehearse, a verse to say
To spread come spring, then run away
____________________________________
Submitted for Isaiah's Contest: THE FIRST OF MAY
4/25/15
Scorned coquette
perched so solemnly
upon your death stool,
claw deep the fresh flesh of victors
bearing armfuls of decaying flowers
stolen from your mother’s grave.
A diverse parade -
clairvoyants and gigolos
tyrants and schizophrenics
junkies and Jesus freaks;
you seem to attract
an unending assembly line
of tarnished beggars
you’ve at one time
longingly called
“lover.”
Tainted transients -
now live as smudged chalk marks
upon the mammoth gray blackboard -
hanging askew
upon your barren bedroom wall.
Precocious sorceress
perched atop your fragile Hepplewhite
feigning the airs of a barfly madam -
look a bit closer
at the species of insects you entrap.
You’re not a spider woman by trade –
Nor was your mother a queen bee.
Understand…
burning security blankets
during one’s wonder years
may now be considered
a latter day memorial service.
Bedouin to the barstool
wrap once more
the quilt you crocheted,
from momma’s discarded doilies,
around your sleek white shoulders.
Remove the scratched liquor labels
that live underneath
your pillow cases
and look.
He’s out there, precious -
somewhere
behind the mist in Glasgow
or hidden 'neath
the sands of the Gobi –
Somewhere…hiding,
lurking
ready to erase away
faded white chalk marks.
His minted breath
will burn
your cold, gray
slate.
No time for coffee, as the dawn arrives....
I raised the shade. The crowd's outside!
The mob takes over...I'm still in slippers
But someone bought our old hedge clippers!!
Those folks just paid me a ton of money!!
I could use some help..........Hey! Where's my honey??
I swear...if he went back to take a nap
I'll sell his priceless baseball cap!!
Oh! They are looking at that wobbly table....
"I'll help you load it, Miss, if I'm able!"
She grabs dog-eared, dusty, vintage books
And one old crock-pot that still cooks!
I show her some doilies, and a ragged Barbie
And a costume for her Halloween parties?
A rusty shovel, and a dented bucket
And a fishing pole from old Nantucket
I'm selling Ma's old apron, and some broken dishes
A chipped glass bowl for all her fishes
Aunt Edna's ugly painting, and her candle holders
She lives down the street....hope no one told her!!!
One old bike for exercising
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
"What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with all this clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"Then, we won't need to shop the stores!!"
"Dear...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH LOOK!" "That couple bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...
That other shopper gives a glare!
So what it's broken? Well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
The point I'm making is simply this
This neighbor's junk became my bliss!
_______________________________________
For Skat's Yard Sale Contest:
Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Polished now in the hallway, my fond antique
Recalling Grandaunt’s delicate craftwork--
Each pattern of fabric threaded with zest,
As her hands would bounce around pinpoint needles,
Weaving an array of doilies rugs garments
Intently absorbed in a foot pedal’s rhythm
That her hums trailed beyond Nam’s bombings :
The war years seemed like only yesterday,
Calming her through spindles of moon’s quick cycle .
Along each evening’s gloss, we rollicked laughed
Exchanging banters like friends… till she crossed over :
Tonight, I gently pat her own quilt laying on my bedside,
Lining our decades of sweet remembrances…
For a moment, my eyes gazed at stars’ fading wicker,
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark.
Viv Wigley’s Contest: One nine and sixteen
Written 5/1/2018
Who remembers, is it only me?
When March had drizzled, and April fooled us...
But a morning in the month of May.........
We'd spread upon a kitchen table
Paste made of flour, scissors, borrowed
paper, crayons of rainbow colors
Pretty paper doilies and….
Mama letting little hands
Create surprises, of cone shaped fans…
The memory shrugs so many years
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Accomplishments, each of our own
On May the first, a small bouquet
We would rehearse, a verse to say
To spread come spring, then run away
Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lillies of the Valley, wildwood fern,
Gathering them, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew,
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom
Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles
On May the first, a small bouquet
We would rehearse, a verse to say
To spread come spring, then run away
Timid knocking on a door
“Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs now running fast,
And down the road, quite out of breath
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing gifts to make them sigh
Was worth a lot !! Was worth the thought
A thoughtful way to light their eyes
On May the first, a small bouquet
We would rehearse, a verse to say
To spread come spring, then run away
_________________________________________________________
2/19/14
" One man's junk is another man's treasure" - author unknown
To some, old collectables and antiques are nothing but junk,
even heirlooms kept safely in their grandmother’s old trunk.
They say antiques sales are diminishing and not as popular today,
but I believe antique collecting is still an interest and here to stay.
It’s fun to go antiquing on the weekends for old forgotten treasures,
buying trinkets to discover their provenances by researched measures.
Exciting to imagine the energy and stories the antiques may hold,
and delightful when finding collections of history so rare and old.
An old empty apothecary bottle that once held medicine to treat the flu,
or helped saved the life of a sick family's toddler when he was only two.
The old handmade quilts and lace doilies that are now dull and faded,
some kept as cherished family gifts and some bartered and traded.
The beautiful Currier and Ives fruit print I found today for sale,
with foxing and colors not as vibrant and some getting pale.
I wonder the story it holds, was it in a mansion or a small home,
displayed as a collection of art or in a shack on the wall alone?
Garage sales are popular places today to find antiques and old junk,
seeing the large number of people who stop can’t be debunked.
Antique collecting is here to stay and will regain popularity,
and still exciting when finding a treasure that is a known rarity!
3/4/23
Contest: Writing Challenge -" J " words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Back in the day we had a maypole on May Day
We created May baskets out of doilies and construction paper
I loved adding bits of ribbon, aluminum foil and glitter.
We decorated them like Valentines boxes.
Filled them with tiny candies popcorn and violets.
It was fantastically fabulous, and I loved it!
Why did I have maypoles and May baskets?
Was it because I lived in a small town? Was it because of my mother?
Was it because we knew all of our neighbors back in the day?
chill arrives
twirling like white spine,
with each puff
stringed leaves coil
on embroidered trellises--
trimmed by russet tips
while moon hides,
gale spills fragrant mint
and bright dew,
touching skin
of buds charmed ,as autumn wind
encircles a dance
through waft's chimes
petals tip ballet
down wet lanes,
flaunting hues
dyed in fall’s velvet doilies--
casting season's spell!
* new form:shadorma---3-5-3-3-7-5
For Russel Sivey's Up the Autumn Air
by nette onclaud
22 oct 12
Who remembers? Only me?
An emerald morning, the month of May
We'd spread upon a kitchen table
Paste of flour, fingers nimble, holding
scissors, rainbow crayons
Pretty paper doilies folded, then….
Posies, roses folded in
The memory shrugs so many years away
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Such sweet accomplishments, each our own
Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lilly of the Valley, wild wood fern,
Gathered, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew,
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom
Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles
Timid knocking on a neighbor's door
Calling “Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs would run fast, down the road,
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing light to someone's eyes
Was worth a lot !!
Under Emerald May Day's vibrant skies
For Tracie's Contest: "Flowers or Stones"...."May"
1/17/12