Best Dresses Poems
Wondering how fairies obtain dresses?
It's because they have fairy seamstresses
Sewing with pine needles and spidery
Gathered from spiders fine web filigree.
Pretty petals for fabric, leaves for shoes
Smelling of sweet fragrant floral perfume
Flowers to adorn their flowing tresses
Crystal star droplets sown into dresses.
Gossamer to turn into fairy wings
So fairies may fly in sky, revelling
Sprinkles of fairy dust, a wand for luck
When all dressed up, so pretty fairies look.
When you find fairies in a fairy glade
Recall how their lustrous outfits are made.
Wildflowers color the day
it is both true and certain
Do not walk past ...
each flower a small seed from last year
The milk glass is filled
with flowers being picked
- of the admiration of many eyes
Accept life as it is
sprinkle some sugar on the lemons
The day is yours ... fill up the glasses
Forget the memories of the cold winter
Flowers are the smile of life
... that catches the attention of the heart
11/07/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
A combination of Haiku and Kyoka
designer originals
from feed sacks
after the chickens were fed
her artist's touch
honed with the aid
of her foot movement
on the treadle machine
A lot of ways to disguise
Beautiful dresses conceals ugliness
Makes us feel confident
Happy and proud
Arts reveals the beauty of the surroundings
Concealing the destruction of man to the nature
Adds pleasure to life
Music, the melodies from heaven
Concealing the sound pollution of the surroundings
Beautifies life
And reveals the inner beauty of man
Literature
Praises or criticizes
Find the meanings of life
And the inner self of man
And the real state of nature
Speeches from the mouth can be everything
It narrates, it speaks out, it advises, it praises
Or it cheats, it exaggerates, it slanders
We may enjoy disguising for the time being
But a disguise may not be successful sometimes
As our hearts and wisdom know everything
And we'll carry the guilts to the last destiny
I still have my own teeth,
My hearing's mostly unaided,
I still dream about girls
In white dresses with sashes,
But sometimes I feel
Out of sync and frustrated
When I wake up alone
And the fantasy crashes.
I didn't mind growing up,
But growing old's overrated.
Pretty little girls in pretty little pink dresses
Cowboys and Indians , Cop's and Robbers
Scraped knees from climbing trees
Pretty little girls in pretty little pink dresses
Smudged in mums make up wearing her best high heels
Turned into crappy old tools in a rickety old wood shed
And headaches in her head just before bed
Both lives I have lead and too this myself said
If I had the option of getting rid of the shed and headache in bed
Id dig out my old sheriffs badge and walk my old beat
In the hope of experiencing that childhood feeling one can only describe
As being very , very intimidated
By pretty little girls in pretty little pink dresses
Eve dresses the night to Dawn's scorn
At the other side of midnight awaits Dawn
Watching over the night waiting for her turn
Dawn whittles the time for Eve to begone
Moon and stars dance to night's drawn
Eve's presence causing a slow burn
At the other side of midnight awaits Dawn
Eve swims the night pond like a pretty swan
To churning eyes a hearts a spurn
Dawn whittles the time for Eve to begone
Moon and stars a romancing is spawn
Eve is in the middle like a rose to a fern
At the other side of midnight awaits Dawn
Raindrops and dew spread over Eve's a fawn
To spurning eyes a hearts a churn
Dawn whittles the time for Eve to begone
First break of daylight gives Eve's a yawn
Dawn's presence causing a slow burn
At the other side of midnight awaits Dawn
Dawn whittles the time for Eve to begone
connie pachecho
1/9/17
"You were a pretty girl, where are your braids?"
I walk faster
Trying to outrun my sense of dread.
I've forgotten about the judging Russian people
Who with their prodding pointy comments
Slowly drive me off the edge.
"I like it more this way."
A confused pause drains my words to silence.
"It's easier for…
Swimming."
"But they were so long and pretty…"
Grow out your own hair grandma,
I think and nod respectfully
Pretending I've been called urgently away.
"So are you a rebel now?"
Well if that's what you want to call it.
But don't worry, this is all you'll see-the tip of the iceberg
At least I'm silently going insane.
"My mom says it's just a phase."
Thank you friend
For the over-used cliché,
I'll put in in the same place you put you tendency towards gay:
That shelf we call "Let's never speak of this again."
But to be fair,
My parents say I'm not allowed
To tell you I'm a boy.
Dusty little towns
West of the Great Divide
Where great-grandchildren of cowboys
On ranches still reside.
Small western museums
With local antiquities inside;
Native American artifacts,
Some horse tack for a cowboy's ride.
There among the fancy
Are two dresses hemmed above the knee,
20's Jazz Age fashion
Worn far from the speak-easy.
Caused a bit of an uproar,
As they danced on the sawdust floor.
Who were these rebel cowgirls,
These flappers from western lore?
Through paper thin doors,
Seep the colours of my twenty nine skins,
Hanging from mismatched wire shoulders.
On one side are the statues,
Full circled, halter neck statues,
With shiny black plastic eyes,
That warn me not to touch.
Their colours catch me like wasp fur,
I am terrified by their beautiful boldness.
Glistening cold, black satin nooses.
On the other side,
Home hangs solemnly,
From each metal hanger,
Shrugging into its pale grey,
Apathetic stance.
My fingers run across this side,
Like a reader gently fingers the favourite lines,
Of a childhood book.
The page is torn and yellowing and loved.
~tasting herbs of pewter mist, satchels of tender bouquets kneel on primeval b.l.i.s.s.~
Especially for :Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name :"One Amazing Line"
By:nette onclaud
YELLOW DRESSES
Joy springs sudden and silent
From the simplest of childish roots.
Homebound from work to metro along a city way
I saw today on one of my regular stops
The overgrowth of dandelions from the sun,
Very tall and reaching through the iron railing,
Wind catching them waving happily,
Like angelic little girls all standing tall on tip-toe,
Trying to attract my attention and saying “Look at me,
Isn’t my bright yellow dress the prettiest?”
And indeed each one was beautiful -
It was too hard to choose.
I felt like a god with these tiny saffron Seraphim
Looking for my admiration and recognition:
For their tireless, glowing energy,
Joyfully jostling and basking in my approval.
Sometimes a child simply calls dandelions dandies:
And today I suddenly felt the meaning deepen.
They were in truth all dandies, and I smiled -
I smiled silently all the way home.
Savanna forest crayons
February 22 ·
White Dresses (Worker poems)
Dry land consist the soil,
that comprises of a grass,
it also consist of the rivers,
with banks of sands-
People are doing work by their hands,
delightfully their eyes are looking into their hands,
Fingers are moving from their palms,
silently they are knitting threads of a cotton wool
from the sheep cotton,
They are using sewing machines,
From their hands into their brains,
They sew creative intelligence to wedding dresses
Thus they make dresses for weddings.
White Dresses
Stresses in dresses are not wanting streams today they are wanting to watch a film where animals sing. It is great to know that a aqueous solution of a pickled onion jar is clever when unsealed and unsealed is neither a shark in a tank top, an exploding rhino suit, a gas game of monologues, a circumference of a chasm in a chapel chat, nor is it a notable noticed nothing. It is with reading glasses that a sewing pattern forms shapes and within shapes the hour glass chimes a pretty note and the citation from a chandelier competes always and only with a field of candelabras'. Radiographic radiuses' reaching radiant releases. And a dome in a dolmen is a chamber of commerce in a wheel. Spinning. Fantastic isn't it? Free forming synchronisation of seventy frogs hopping and hooping and hoping that an ordered meal will arrive soon in the basket bead. Ha the tail of a duck is extended down the canal and the boats trip over. Ha the capsized mirrored eels delivering the droppings of a giant metal pie. Pie of thought is slicing. Not sluicing. Slicing. And a little ant travelling carefully over the rocky tor. Xxxxxx intercorrellated z z z z z at a point to a pin and a pin to a paintpot. Z
Most women on Easter Sunday
Morning wear festive and elegant
Bonnets to match their bright
Dresses; men wear lighter, sharp
Suits with cheery feeling, not the
Usual dark ones that are so
Depressing and their neckties must be
Perfect! Coming out of the church in
Throngs, they seem brides and grooms
Again...chatting and smiling at one
Another, knowing that He was,
Risen and gone to Heaven to
Prepare a place for them and their
Children...shouldn't they rejoice
Today? And sitting at an exquisite
Table they say Grace, while Easter
Eggs and bunnies tempt them with their
Lively colors and sweet smell! Even the
Dogs and cats hide underneath the table for
An unforgettable, delicious dessert!
Entered in Brian Strand's Contest, "An Easter Picture"