Best Flounces Poems
April first drives up in a new Lamborghini,
Everyone knows it is one of her foolish tricks
She will be driving a beat-up pickup farm truck
In thirty days, when time comes to start the planting.
April, she flounces between winter and summer,
Calling herself spring but she is, frankly, confused.
By the tenth, she is tossing around snow flurries
She grins crazily; our warm coats are put away.
Next day or so her temperatures are soaring,
The snow has melted, and we are donning our shorts.
What the old folks always call "Blackberry Winter"
Strikes with vengeance, temperatures in the thirties,
April says maybe that heavy sweater will do.
She laughs by tax-filing day with strong gusty wind
Though ornamental trees are beginning to bud,
There's talk of late frost, April does not seem to care.
Another few days, and she lets the top down so
Warm breezes are embracing the faint scent of lime.
When April suggests a warm spring is here to stay
A blast of Arctic air nips buds with frosty dew
In a warm day or two, sure enough, April comes
Driving her pickup truck full of mulch and manure,
April plants the sturdy vegetables like kale.
Despite late frost, the tulips will soon burst open
Gentler rains, and April may settle down for good.
SIXTH PLACE WINNER
Written April 11, 2021
for "April Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Regina McIntosh
They mourn wisdom not yet learned
It flounces from their grasp, withers
Away in the solar wind it burns
Itself in the remnants of
What once was a beautiful mind,
They mourn wisdom not yet learned
In this instanced reality
Parallel our own treasured find
Whisked away on the breeze it yearns
Awhile for its past then thinks, as
They mourn wisdom not yet learned
These creatures of habit turn to
Only what they knew, will never know
The truth in starlight again nor the
Real beauty of the sun's glow
They mourn wisdom not yet learned
"Nolite umquam oblivisci"
*Took 5th place in the February 2012 International Poetry Soup contest.
Winds
raged as
fires glowed in
small frowzy shacks
that strange Georgia eve an angel was born.
The sky proclaimed that lives would re-arrange;
with Joy’s first cry,
the tempest
changed to
calm.
Warm
Zephyr -
spring magic -
arrived with Joy.
Her laughter was kindling for hearth and home.
No galas in her future ; she was poor.
Never frowning,
Joy would flash
diamond
smiles.
Her
Mama
sewed flounces
on hand-me-downs,
which Joy wore with glee, celebrating life.
As Papa played his guitar for them all,
Joy danced and twirled.
Humdrum fled
in her
stead.
Fair,
yellow-
haired; slender
like sassafras,
this sunny lass gladdened all of the town.
Humankind exists that we might have joy.
Those touched by that
sweet angel
all learned
this.
Joy
expelled
gloom, giving
her cheer to all.
Nevertheless, joy is often short-lived.
One strange spring day, a cold wind blew in. As
thunder quaked, warmth
waned, and Joy
was no
more.
For Chris D. Aechtner's
"Double the Fun ~ (Tetractys)"
Fiddle Dee Dee Scarlet says when asked to nap with the other girls
I want to party she argues, dancing with her feet, her hair in curls
She sneaks down to where the men are and takes Ashley off
Expressing her love which is rebuffed, she hears a man’s cough.
It is that renegade, Rhett Butler, who is a scoundrel and a scamp.
You are no gentleman sir she says, and flounces off in a stamp.
Rhett is immediately smitten, and decides to woo this little pretty.
The Yankees are coming, Civil War is taking a toll on Atlanta’s city.
Belle from the brothel gives money to Melanie for the troops.
Melanie is Ashley's wife; she, takes it with appreciation, no hoops.
Scarlet marries sister’s beau, Mr. Kennedy when she sees he is rich.
Scarlet is truly a conniving, self-centered, diabolical b……
Gone with the Wind has humor and laughter and heartache galore.
I would ask that you read it yourself before I spoil it by telling you more
That little girl in the picture was never me.
I was always this body
but you hid me.
under pink flounces and
was hidden by the universe’s cruel joke
puberty.
I was always this brain
locked with a red satin bow. To keep the world from knowing
I’m not your baby to cuddle and hold, keeping safe from the world. I’m not the one to be protected from the mean girls.
I don’t need to learn. To tease, the boys on the playground.
I am who the world is scared of, saying that in my creation someone made a mistake.
I am NOT a mistake.
Protect me from the men who hurt me because, I cut my hair. Tearing the ribbons which adorned it
and wrapping them ‘round my breasts.
Let me chase the girls
better yet let the girls say NO, I don’t want to be chased. And allow me be the type of boy who can respect that. Allow me to be any type of boy I want.
Respect me. Don’t just allow me.
Take a new picture of me, one that isn’t a lie.
Look at this picture, the only one which tells the truth
Put my now smiling face on your
Nightstand.
Marriage – our commitment for LIFE as husband and wife
It wasn’t a leap year when I proposed to you
But I'd got down on one knee, as it’s traditional to do!
We organised and paid for our own wedding day
This meant we had control and could do it ‘our' way
We got married two years to the day from our very first date
Both of us bubbling over with excitement, we just couldn’t wait
My hair was perfect, make up and manicure too
I wanted to look absolutely beautiful for you
The dress was of pretty peach, not a formal wedding dress
I’m not one for fussy frills and flounces I must confess
You wore a charcoal coloured suit and looked so very smart
Our vows committed us forever – I love you with all my heart
After our registry office ceremony we had a lovely meal
A carvery for close family and friends, the venue was ideal
We held a huge party for 300 guests later on that night
Our wedding day was perfect everything turned out right
The wedding night was spent at a beautiful local hotel
On learning it was our wedding day they really did excel
They upgraded us free of charge to their honeymoon suite
With champagne and chocolates and fresh fruit to eat
Edited and submitted to love poem contest
Sponsored by Heidi Sands
Contest My Wedding Day
Sponsor Olive Eloisa Guillermo
02~25~16
Writing musical notes with magical hoofs
enchanted, I ride on a mystical,
jet black dream steed.
Proud head barely constrained by a
pure white bridle and snow white reins,
my pale chiffon gown,
floats near his flanks speaking
of innocence, flounces gathered by
tiny, pink rosebuds and white gardenias.
Slow motion, dreamlike,
the night sky behind us like a
dark, demonic power as we
become starlight.
Peasants of the Playbook
You’re peasants of the playbook
Yet you think you know the reason
For the failure of the team
That does the best it can this season
And, massing in the mews
You’ve raised the mewl to a mew
Questioning the mastery
Of a coach as good as two
By what method do you meter
The mettle of this man
He coaches and he councils
And he does the best he can
With material you’ve provided
He’s positioned at the mandrel
Where he hammers out their character
It’s more than you could handle
Your mantle flounces flutter
When subjected to such folly
Your seething is better served
If you’d support the coach, by golly
It’s then we’ll see the sextant
Guide the gridiron guild to glory
And add a happy chapter
To this teams’ historic story
(after a drawing by Ghirlandaio)
We see that it was dashed off in a trice,
without a trace of reticence or nerve.
The contrapposto thigh, the shoulder’s curve,
are perfect. Nothing wasted. All precise.
And yet it has the power to entice,
with just a hint of maidenly reserve;
vitality and vigour, volatile verve,
it offers us a glimpse of paradise!
There’s movement in the stillness. Chimes unheard,
the breeze, unseen, that’s ruffling the flounces,
are ghosts in the machine: thus Vergil’s Word,
the gentle kiss of gesso, makes, announces
the life that’s in those folds and clefts and flourishes.
The Word’s made flesh - and what it strokes, it nourishes.
Scraps of lumber, a touch of paint,
with love, became a home.
To the smallest of the birds,
that to our yard would roam.
In his basement workshop,
Grandpa would spend hours.
With his hand saw, brace and bit,
no use of electric power.
At each rip of the saw,
I'd hear that familiar sound.
I'd watch as sawdust drifted,
like pixie dust, to the ground.
With blackened nails and hammer,
he'd assemble the bird houses.
Then he'd paint them brightly,
adding curliques and flounces.
A bit of wire in a hook,
then hung in the Pear tree.
Filled our mornings with the song,
from the Finches and Chick-a-dees.
I wonder what I’d find if I could decorate my mind
a tiny peach plaster to heal the hurt of acts unkind
There’d be lots of sunshine yellow swirls to brighten up the day
and numerous scraps of paper for poems that come my way
You won’t find frills and flounces, and barely any pink
I’m not a girly girly girl, no matter what folks think
My head’s filled with rainbow colours; they keep the blues at bay
with my silly sense of humour, I know the smiles are here to stay
There’ll be lots of kitchen roll for tears of laughter that spill
‘One sheet is plenty’ grrr that darn advert makes me ill!
A palette filled with memories, some happy some sad
I repeat myself, I repeat myself - it drives my hubby mad!
Be careful if you lift the lid, as the paint is fresh and wet
Keeps my brain from atrophying like concrete that has set
FUN POEM FOR CONTEST
Mind the wet paint contest
Sponsored by Viv Wigley
3/21/18
Fancy
Fancy rushes by in silk dancing shoes,
Stars within her steps,
All plumes and feather boas
Leaving clouds of spangles, bits of sparkle,
Floating in the air -
Trails of rainbow ribbons,
Sequins grinning as she passes,
Ignoring glares of mauve and mustard
Clinging to sashes scattered with ducklings,
Buttons and bows hanging on
In the spinning tornado of free floating ruffles
As bright colored polkadots tumble ‘cross flowing capes
While beads and bangles, diamonds of dewdrops,
Strings of pearls,
Waltz with bright and shiny spangles
To bounce alongside wild menageries
Of mismatched
Plaids that look cross eyed at checks
To flirt
With spiraling pin strips in diagonal dances
Begging exception from lacy flounces,
Romping through grids
Yellow pink and purple green,
And twirling hems of dizzy fringes
Revealing pearl studded petticoats
Giggling at gossamer scarves
Under the spell of a magic wand decorated
By glittering hearts
To cast a kaleidoscope of spellbinding colors
Throwing greetings to wide eyed stares,
Amusement ogling
Fancy frolicking with Whimsy at her side -
Hugging, embracing, cousin Serendipity -
Ambling down the broad tree lined lane
In gloves and floppy hats with paisley bands
Or rhinestone tiaras
Tripping toward teatime
With scones and clotted cream.
N ow as I am gazing through the tunnel I see light
E ach day getting brighter before the darkness of the night
W ith spring around the corner she is bursting to ignite
B lossoms dressed in frills and flounces ready to display
E xquisite and excited for their very special day
G loriously adorned awaiting to impress
I s it nearly time they ask ~ for today they look their best
N ature has awakened from her annual winter slumber
N ew and vibrant hues they don now winters truly gone
I really love the spring time it’s my favourite time of year
N ow we truly need this boost for to banish all our fear
G ood news breaks as we begin to vaccinate the nation
S o happy to get our lives back ~ spring starts our celebration
Written 5th February 2021
Contest NEW BEGINNINGS
Sponsor John Hamilton
4TH PLACE
Contest ALL YOURS (Feb7)
Sponsor Brian Strand
Persephone’s Finger
By Sy Roth
It wormed its way to the surface.
Pointy finger tested the air,
Wriggled in a sensuous Fatima dance
Etch-a-Sketching the crepuscular sky above,
Shaming the heavens for what lies below,
Marking its inky darkness
While the tinny tambours played
Among the pansies.
The veiled earth held the other fingers hostage
Like a bundled ******,
Heretics awaiting their fire,
A mash of penitents silenced
By the force of a convulsing mass.
The earth wears about its neck
A garland of cancerous coils.
Leied in aloha grief--
The oarsman sends greetings from the River Acheron.
He hangs idly by in the background.
Five-cent plastic bags dance along wisp-colored breezes
Skims the darks waters
Hits land
Until one is stricken mute by the dancing finger.
Its handle catches on the crooked finger
And the bag ripples in the breeze
Rapping to a scrunchy, hip-hop beat
While nesting on the tented, blinded finger.
Persephone’s finger breathes in halting afflicted breaths
And finally worms its way back beneath the soil
To wait once again.
The bag flounces along to find a new byway
And the sky brightens, guiltless for a second
And looks down upon its beaten earth,
Hums a mournful song,
A threnody to its quotidian warriors.
Have you seen cards gone wild?
What is it?
An art show
No. Is it good?
Is it ever!
I take my friend and she is enthralled.
Entranced, enthusiastic, excited.
I try to drag her out of there
But she has fallen for one of the paintings.
They are in love.
Good grief!
This is the third time this has happened to a friend.
I get a wheelbarrow, push her into it and try to drag her out.
She jumps out and runs right back to the painting.
I hate Bill for creating it.
There is something magical about it.
Something that hooks women.
Florescent colors of pink and green
Flounces of purples.
I stare, falling in love myself now.