Best Dressy Poems
For Vera, Leanna and Leslie
Today in church I was rapt as I listened to the words of the pastor,
As she spoke about the death and glorious resurrection of the Master!
But I must confess that my mind ran amok and wandered,
As I reminisced about Easters past upon which I pondered.
I recalled Easters of yore when our little girls were small.
How they anticipated the Easter Bunny, ready to have a ball!
Their mother, Vera, was an extremely talented seamstress,
Who made for each of them a gorgeous lacy smock and dress!
She insisted that they have new shoes, gloves and fancy bonnet,
Trimmed with lots of lace and colorful flowers upon it!
Vera wore an outfit including new shoes and hat with dressy flora,
And I of course had to wear a suit and tie and a ridiculous fedora!
Off we marched to church and Sunday School in our fine attire,
To hear the awesome Easter Story and a cantata by the choir.
After, a repast was prepared by Vera with ham and sweet pertaters,
With other tasty fixin's including a salad of garden-fresh termaters!
The girls relished the chocolate bunnies and eggs that they found!
I recall so many Easters with my family when joy would abound!
Fast forward to today when the girls from home have flown,
As they carry on those traditions with families of their own.
Alas, we lost our dear Vera this past July but I have this one consolation;
Today she celebrated Easter with CHRIST HIMSELF in great jubilation!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
When I’m all dressy, you adore my charms -
I’m reaction-affected straight into your arms.
When morning touches our bed, our snuggle wiggles closer -
Light touches us as one and soft kisses are freshly begun.
In lighthearted moods, we laugh and play in rain -
Building ample joy to sail through any life strain.
We share secrets, dreams and life stories -
We grow by delving into all life categories.
Before night embraces our star bound wishes -
You seal them ambitious in love sewn stitches.
What I watch, you see, too;
When you need a fan, that is who I am;
When I laugh, it is echoed by you;
When in need of a listener, my ears heed;
What I feel, you seek to reveal; and
When you find joy in any minute, I am in it.
Content, you read your book while these words I write,
yet you have no knowledge of even being here tonight.
You have never gazed at me with love in your eyes
or even acknowledged me when I was within your sight.
Love thru fantasy is all I have to stifle my heart cries
and keep my entirety safe from unrequited love demise.
A granny I might be
A granny I might be
But I can always see
My hair is growing grey
My shape is quite okay
I still love my fashion
I guess it’s still my passion
I always look quite smart and dressy
And very rarely I look messy.
I’m older, but I'm still a lassie
Sometimes me, I do look classy
I would not change a single day
Not ever, not in any way.
How the years they will turn out
Well who knows, I’ll wait that out.
Vera Duggan 13 September 2014
Goodbye, high heels. You made me look
Professional with suit and book
Or sexy in a tango dress
Alas, my toe joints are a mess.
It seems so shallow to mourn shoes,
But really, this gives me the blues
Because it means that I resign
To this unfortunate decline
That’s permanent and has no cure.
The shoes must go; I won’t endure
With every step a stabbing pain –
I am too old to be that vain.
Orthotics fit my hiking boots;
They don’t go with my dressy suits,
But I’m just glad I can still hike
And climb and do the things I like.
So even if I’m feeling torn,
The high heeled shoes, just barely worn,
Will go to Goodwill - every pair! -
And I'll find something else to wear.
3/12/2017
For contest Something replaceable
Sponsored by Julia Ward
In his weary hour
The legumes blossom on time;
Out of jocundity in honour
Of the beautiful turf
The drowsy peasant peak.
His weird blistered palm blimey,
His nasty regalia wretched,
He produces plenty and eats small
He produces good and eats bad
To the nobles he worked,
The dark noxious pest
Ravage and wrest
The peasant-shaddock
This tonic the dressy peasant
A nocturnal haunter.
This extempore task
Demoralizes his sinew
His swansong
Rhythmically envelops
In serenity and drone.
Each rising smoke
Nervous him to move.
This previous eyes
That know no peace
By the smiling scorching sun.
At the dark hour
He puts on his clogs
And marched to the farm shack
There he finds the beetles
On the yam.
The great anxiety of the peasant
Is the bragging fire of winter
He fasted to lull it
He became gaunt
The sturdy peasant.
The time unknown: the blazing fire
Burnt the bedecked bower
The ranch house and the lettuce
Barefooted staggered him
To the farm with his straw hat
And met the yelling ashes
The cracking twigs of cocoa plant
The peasant live no day
Longer than that and slept
So we’re going on a picnic with the pygmy, Pixie Poggly, being the quirky queenly
quaintly quickly person she is and her friend a raunchy rascal reverently named
Andy Bailey. As you remember he was in the Aussie army association, barely
battling the banshee that were bawdy blackly bloody in the boggy boundary briefly
in the outback, and lets not forget pixie’s perky prominent pal that is a bossy,
bluntly, brainy, bookie, breathing brashly, balmy, bits of boogie bookie chatter to
all the cheery, choicely, chunky crowd around his choosey, cheesy, cheaply
choice of chummy spots, and in his coarsely cocky way, he coyly clamors crafty
creepy words that really don’t say what they needs to say, but confuses even the
gentle, ghostly, gaudy, gawky, gabby, gypsy genie down in the gaily, gabby,
ghastly valley town called Gatsby. I hear even Fatty Fannie the fancy, fleecy,
flimsy, flowery, and foxy maiden that has her doggie, “Dotty” watching her dreamy,
dressy, downy, dowry. And to make things easier Pixie’s dumpy daffy deafly, dinky
donkey named Dixie is going to carry all the supplies, and we are going to the
daffy damply dainty little dairy where the daisies grow daily in the deeply densely
droopy grasses next to the hay, and it sounds like it will be a giddy, giggly, goodly,
goofy, goosey, grabby good grammar in all its Grammy award wining grandeur
day.
Parts of this poem were copied from another poem that I cannot display here, but
that I did write, it is called “The Picnic” and I thought this would be some fun
reading for all here.
Lots
of years
now have passed
since couples parked
to romance lovingly after their ride-
wearing dressy clothes 1930s style!
These days- replaced
with frayed jeans
cool tees-
done!
August 23, 2021
Contest: Double Tetractys
Sponsor: Eve Roper
Photo Used: #1 (On Left)
Syllables: 1, 2, 3, 4, 10, 10, 4, 3, 2, 1
(by Kristen Bruni For Inspired Contest)
I never choose a place to write
when settling in a new home.
I let the space talk to me
and slowly reel me it's zone.
I find it best to type it first
as my writing can get messy.
Backspacing is much easier
less casual and more dressy.
My sacred place to release my words
is usually on my table.
Where your supposed to eat
yet allows me to enable.
My brain to focus on the beauty
that blooms as the poetry comes to life.
Creating stories and passion
mixed in with hardship and strife.
My space is always snug
as to embrace my creations.
Cozy and peaceful
propelling through durations.
Candles lit illuminate my soul
even if it's light.
The tiny flame reminds me of
poems that will ignite.
My purpose is always
to make another smile.
A short little story
instead of a novel with long miles.
A kingfisher
would like to have no borders,
no moongates.
*
Sleep not, when
the moon rises. I will call
the moonflower.
*
The dusk
has a short vision of
a crescent moon.
Satish Verma
In Boo Land ...
Every gagged mouth is covered
by a grave reeker hand
Raven black-cloaked, vomit foul specter
maniacally sob laughing
Someone’s been tilting the tomb bottles again,
tipping thru the Pet Sematary growling
Inflicting fear is the feral joy of the frightening
Scream suffering
is the howl pleasure of the torture pain
Boo Land,
welcome woe where random killing is a sure thing
Enter his morbid world, if you dare ...
cross the sanity threshold,
if you’re not scared
Boo Land
is an ostrich step out of the front door
Another gun murder
that’s not background check paid for
Fear is the underworld coin of this casket realm
It buys a lot of living dead qualms
about zombie parrot pirates perched at the helm
Scoundrel squawks with a 9mm trigger beak
Green paper caws with a burial holster lease
In Boo Land
is where many a scared souls are morgue laid
Loan shark’s bullet teeth
shred the pound of flesh not vig paid
Violent crime victims don’t get timely first aid
Body spare organs are taken from the gene pool water,
to a black market with a dirty dollar $ign color
Frankie clones in the making ... it’s a steal bolt buy order
In Boo Land
is where many a scared souls are coroner silenced
Feminine intimate violations
are off the haunted frat house charts
Bad boy wolves ravishing the little miss piglets
Misogyny grope temptation,
smear threats plays a finger tool part
Licentious desires are an inappropriate side bet
It’s the same ole heinous, privilege skin crimes,
committed in dim hallowed hall shadows
Canines getting-out-of-jail-free too many times
Another lusty boo-boo is landfill covered
So the boy cried wolf when the public spotlight blare came,
and the news splattered his foster name
Everyone said it was a small-town shame,
that a serial breath-taker said mommy issues was to blame
In Boo Land,
creeping fear stealthily walks upright
The fox in the dressy suit
wanna sweet baby talk,
and coo take you
to the crypt crib at night
Don’t be afraid to
Holler Loud ... or put up a fight,
if you think they got you
in their kill shot sight
Age One to five,
diaper, t-shirt, panties, petticoat, dress, hair ribbon,
Six to ten
car coat, patent leather shoes, apron, white pedal pushers, ruffled top,
Eleven to fifteen
Liz blouse, go-go boots, faux leather jumper,
bellbottoms, polyester pantsuit,
Sixteen to twenty
shirt dress, blue jeans, two piece swimming suit,
dark gray coat with rabbit collar, diamond ring,
Twenty-one to Twenty-five
fancy lingerie, maternity top, short shorts, zigzag dress,
burgundy leather coat with white fox collar with matching fox hat,
Twenty-six to Thirty
suits with skirts, high heel shoes, pink ski coat with white faux fur collar, dressy dresses, sandals,
Thirty-one to Thirty-five
ruby ring, diamond necklace, opal ring, moonstone pendant, emerald ring,
Thirty-six to Forty
diamond cocktail ring, fancy turquoise bracelet, pearl earrings, slacks, Girl Scout leader uniform,
Forty-one to Forty-five
purses, floral scarves, sweat pants, diamond necklace, ruby ring,
Forty-six to Fifty
opal pendant shaped like a bear, silver strand necklace,
fancy tops with rhinestones, knitted hats, knitted scarves,
Fifty-one to Fifty-Five
handmade sweaters, one pair of blue jeans, jackets, tank tops, I love Grandma sweatshirt,
Fifty-six to Sixty
one piece swimming suits, fluffy socks, pajamas, fuzzy robes, elastic waist line pants,
Sixty-one to Sixty-five
hoodies, tennis shoes, fancy bag, one pair of blue jeans, pajamas
Sixty-six to Sixty-Eight
long sweater like we wore in the late sixties, bell bottom pants I found last year in a store, and paint clothes because I am an artist and when I am not writing poems, I am painting canvases.
I wrote this poem at 2 am last night when I couldn't sleep. I enjoyed writing it
immensely and I'd love to see someone sing it to the tune of Wells Fargo Wagon
from The Music Man and put it on You Tube :)
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street
You see he’s comin’ round just to get my home
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street,
You see he’s comin’ cause I can’t pay my loan.
Oh please Wells Fargo man my husband died last year
Oh, please can’t you see it upset us awfully
He worked while I stayed home so that’s what I hear
Is the reason we’re in trouble financially.
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street
And he’s coming round just to take my property.
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street
He’s gonna take it and he doesn’t care who’ll see.
You see, Wells Fargo man I’m trying to sell my home
While you try to scare me with that word—foreclosure.
Now, your bank won’t lend out money from bad loans
While your hands are grippin’ your money tighter.
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street
And he’s comin' just to take my land from me
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street
Just to sell my land for his own greed you see.
Oh, Mr. Wells Fargo man you were nice so long ago
You signed our loan and you used your diamond pen.
Now you say we’re three months over due, uh oh.
Yeah, you were so nice, remember, way back when?
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street
He’s comin' round just to put that note on my door
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-comin’ down the street
And he doesn’t want to hear from me any more.
I see him comin' down our street with a glint in his eye
He’s plannin' how much he’ll get for sellin’ our home
But Wells Fargo man, we’re not even gonna let you try
You see, you gotta listen to the endin’ of this poem.
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-runnin’ down the street
You see, he’s runnin' as fast as his dressy shoes can go
Uh oh, the Wells Fargo man is a-runnin’ down the street
My dog, Killer’s, after his ass while we enjoy the show.
They call her green
Her eyes are mean
She’s blowing steam
She comes on scene
This type of weakness
Is of some uniqueness
Devoid of any sweetness
Absent of any neatness
Inadequate tendencies
Personal discrepancies
She can lack maturity
It’s a seething insecurity
The Envious desire
Can quickly catch fire
The drama’s quite dressy
It can make life quite messy
When desire’s the goal
You’ll fall in this hole
And it will take its toll
As It feeds on your soul
Spicy ambience,
Exotic blend;
Explore nuance
Living attends;
Indulge strange feel,
Trance in quaint street;
Touch thrills that reel,
Laughter now greets;
Ebony grins.
Imprint fond smiles;
Note charming scenes,
Dressy tints style;
In ancient sway,
A timely play.
Leon Enriquez
29 October 2014
Singapore
Weary words whine
Shape shifting spine
Lift lonely lines
Bring bubbly brine
Line lavish list
Glimpse glitzy gist
Ink impulse if
Love lessons lift
Heap hurting heat
Size sloppy seat
Juice jumpy jest
Feed funny fest
Nude nature note
Thrill touchy tote
Stay solemn say
Please picky play
Meek mindful muse
Apt art amuse
Face fuzzy frame
Niche naughty name
Work welcome way
Drill dressy day
Leon Enriquez
05 March 2019
Singapore