Best Nightcap Poems
I stand, the most statuesque, peeking through the clouds
that lend their softness as my pillow when sun in midnight drowns.
Golden sun, a fitting crown for a majesty such as me;
Somber moon, my nightcap; tundra stockings on my feet.
Veins of icy water; hair of snow drifts white.
I, the ladder Jacob dreamt of, one revealing night.
Would you climb and be my king, upon my peak to rest?
Or meet, descending from the heavens, doom's Angel of Death.
Dare to move me by your faith as the man from Galilee;
or does my might leave you in doubt to tremble on your knees?
Against my chest, Thor strikes his hammer; thunder fills your ears.
From my shoulders, he takes aim; arching lightening spears.
Haven to monstrous legends as the abominable snow beast;
hidden in tales of lore, on nonbelievers he does feast.
Bursting forth from earthen womb, a giant granite fountain.
Ancient tower of vast unknowns; I am the mighty mountain.
within Zieglerville, pennsylvania
genuine snow white hair
upon her noggin doth adorn,
perhaps she will divulge to me (in private)
after i croon (to said lass),
the melody of Jimmy Crack Corn
hmm...or, maybe this mission
perchance twill be doomed from the start,
and hence finding me forlorn
thenceforth, a backup contingency measure,
would warrant me to don my thinking cap,
and for extra ordinary reinforcement unfold
each Taj Mahal shaped ear flap
plus (for reinforced ironic steeliness),
aye also resort to buttress
any aural "stormy Dani yelling)
via walled in interlap,
which accouterment functions
as a double agent i.e. (or,
to be rather crude),
an audiological jockstrap
to vet or figuratively kneecap
any unwanted infiltrating leaping lap
ping "FAKE" distracting news
inducing madcap
mass media circus
driving this generic teetotaler
to pour himself a nightcap
essentially providing wig gull room
with very little margin of ear err, or overlap
against bigwigs to trumpet pap
pill low ma rendered free and clear
asper insidious (mama mia) paparazzi
charting imp pea ching fear
bringing out bare arms
most likely something internuclear
simply to discover visa vis authenticity
if cute employee
(sporting hair
white as the virgin snow),
which doth simmer and glare
blindingly, thus necessitating sunglasses
(I choose the Ray-Ban brand)
as recommended by cited
all time favorite pharmacist
who unwittingly (or simply because
my myopic eyes didst stare)
fixedly - drawn to such a darling (doll ling)
explaining any reason to go THERE
to CVS - that tis where.
Good morning to you
On this lovely day
Independence is the word
If i may say
I wish i was there
To share with you
A kiss on your cheek
And say how do you do
Take you to lunch
Spend the day
In the warm sunshine
The American way
In the evening we will fish
As hunter gatherers do
Play some music
A dance for two
Into the night
As the owls hoot
Skinny dipping
In our birthday suits
Dried and refreshed
A nightcap for two
As we lie on the bed
Just me and you
But the toll of the day
Tires us so
With your head on my chest
We fall into dreamy flow
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love2.php
broad shoulders, six foot three
Rolex, Stacey Adams
suit by Armani
and she said yes
soft spoken, warm hands
piercing eyes, a Harvard degree
business law
and she said yes, yes
a dance
to Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
witty, charming, a nightcap
and she said yes, yes, yes
Mercedes Benz, Pacific Ocean
gated community, ten thousand square feet
pool, sauna, jacuzzi
and she said yes, yes, yes, yes
John Coltrane caressed the ears
Dom Perignon the bloodstream
kissed with the eyes, then the lips
and she said yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
wait, wait
grabbed her, cursed her, rippped her dress
slapped her, groped her, pinned her
mounted her, took her
and she cried no, no, no, no, no–no
Jam roly poly, treacle sponge
And sticky toffee pudding head the top of my list
But apple pie, rhubarb crumble
Or a decent cheesecake are hard to resist
Banana splits, eclairs or brownies
Dumplings, nougat, cheese board or mousse
Crème brûlée. Fruit cocktail. Yoghurt
Serve it up and set me loose!
Rice pudding, Christmas pudding
Let me say it loud and clear
Summer pudding, Eve's pudding
Figgy pudding - bring it here
Cottage pudding, Diplomat pudding
Pancakes served throughout the year
Plum pudding, mango pudding
Put it on a plate and cheer
Hasty pudding, Saxon pudding
Vanilla pudding, chocolate pud
Yorkshire pudding filled with treacle
Make winter evenings warm and good
Sussex Pond pudding, sweet biscotti
Semolina (if that counts?!)
Panna cotta, profiteroles
Gâteaux. Meringues in any amount
I guess spotted dick is a bit of a worry
But to bread and butter pudding, I say "bring it on!"
I could plan on a flan, or a lardy cake
Or butter with glee my scone or scon'
Mince pies, cobblers, baklavas, strudels
Loaves and pastries - all tell a story
Even blancmange has a heritage
To match or beat our knickerbocker glory
There's fruit tarts, jam tarts, custard tarts, egg tarts
Milk tarts, cheese tarts, butter tarts too
Tarts from Manchester, Liverpool and Bakewell
French tarts, Jamaican tarts - to name but a few
Buns from Chelsea, cakes from Eccles
Wafers and muffins from all over the place
Doughnuts filled with jam or chocolate
Made to squirt on your shoulder or face
Strawberries & Cream, Eton Mess
Artic rolls and brandy snaps
Trifles should always be trifled with
If laced with sherry - it's a perfect nightcap
Sorbets leave the palate tingling
Fritters fritter your cares away
Waffles and crêpes warm the spirit
And sundaes are perfect for every day
So, whatever we may call them -
Be it puddings, sweets, desserts or afters
They taste best when shared with company
Served with a spoon, a smile and laughter
It was Christmas Eve, not a soul made a sound,
And not so much as a mouse could be found,
The children had hung their stockings on the hearth,
As a quiet, peacefulness gently fell upon the Earth,
My family were all asleep, their heads full of dream,
Of Santa's arrival with his eight reindeer team,
Father in his nightcap, slept soundly in bed,
And Mother in her nightgown of green and red,
When all of a sudden I heard a commotion,
And jumped out of bed with a curious notion,
I ran to the window and pulled open the curtain,
I thought it must be Santa Claus for certain,
New fallen snow shone bright below the moon,
Giving the illusion of daylight in mid afternoon,
I looked out my open window despite the cold,
When a sight met my eyes, wonderous to behold,
A lively, old gentleman aboard a great sleigh,
With eight tiny reindeer leading the way,
As quick as a bolt of lightning out of the sky,
He called to each one as they rocketed by,
"Now, Donner! Now, Vixen! Now, Dasher and Dancer!,
On, Cupid! On, Blitzen! On, Comet and Prancer!,
Leap up to the wall and onto the rooftop,
Dash away all and let us make our first stop!",
They flew through the air with much ease,
Like dry autumn leaves on a sudden breeze,
The reindeer landed so smooth and swift,
Along with Santa and a sleigh full of gifts,
I heard their hoofs pawing upon the shingle,
And joyful laughter from that old Kris Kringle,
To be continued in Part 2....
'Twas the night before Christmas in a wintry mist
When from Santa's pocket there fell a list
A list of those kids who were naughty or nice
So Santa's delivery would be precise
The story hit the news as kids slept in their beds
Parents all panicked and scratched their heads
The naughty kids laughed at St. Nick's mishap
And their parents decided to have a nightcap
As Santa circled the homes embarrassed by his goof
He spotted his list right there on a roof!
He quickly retrieved it and was gone in a flash
As the parents sat drinking, some of them smashed
The news of its finding came over the radio
And the naughty kids cried, how their tears did flow
The nice kids were awakened by the sound of a clatter
They rushed to their windows to see what was the matter
And there in his red suit with cheeks all aglow
Santa Claus stood on the lawn in the snow
The parents had now run out of beer
They were too drunk to see the reindeer
Santa Claus delivered to the nice girls and boys
The Grinch must have stolen the naughty ones toys!
The kids watched from their window as the reindeer took flight
And they heard Santa shout with such delight;
" Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night"...
''X'' Contest, New or Old Poetry -
Sponsor: Constance La France
11-27-17
Motorbikes and barking dogs
are driving me to drink
With the endless din of traffic
I can no longer think
I’ll have a little nip of Gin
Perhaps a beer or two
or maybe close the window
That might help me too
Perhaps I’ll take my rifle
With the telescopic sight
And find a building with a view
Where I can sit at night
Those random noisy neighbours
Would swiftly think again
If metal jacket bits of lead
were winging toward their brains
Another little whiskey then
To keep the cold at bay
And steady trigger finger
As the targets weave and sway
I did this once before you know
And they kept me for a year
Psychotic Paranoia
Induced by too much beer
I didn’t have the rifle then
just a catapult I'd bought
T’was after several nips of rum
Because I thought I aught
It’s gotten so much quieter here
I nailed it bang to rights
and down below looks pretty
With those small blue flashing lights
I think they’re waving up here
I can see them scurry round
Behind their little armoured cars
They’re kneeling on the ground
I hear the whiz of bullets
But my vodka dulls the sound
Perhaps I’ll have a pop or two
At those insects five floors down
I’m feeling kinda sleepy now
I’m tired upon my feet
And those noisy thudding chopper blades
could ruin a good nights sleep
A small nightcap, a brandy tot
Should calm my trembling hand
And then I think I’ll take a shot
At that choppers rubber band
I expect I’ll get a little sleep
In Broadmoor’s padded rooms
And get out in a year or so
As recessions lay offs loom
So one more shot and then to sleep
I’ll go out like a light
So just before I take it
I’ll wish you all goodnight.
'Twas the week after Chrstmas and all through the house
The children were sleeping, too tired to arouse,
When all of a sudden there appeared in the room,
Mama in her nightcap, carrying a broom.
The stockings once hanging on mantle in row,
Were picked off the floor, into storage they go.
All the glitter of Christmas, now tarnished and torn,
Must be removed from the room ere the New Year is born.
She tackled the tree, taking some care,
To remove every light, the tree was soon bare.
She packed everything, put it safely away
On a shelf in the basement 'til next Christmas Day.
The fine Christmas spirit she'd had, was now flagging.,
She must clean up the mess to keep it from sagging.
She dragged out the tree and then heaved a big sigh,
Sat down with her coffee and had a good cry.
This was modeled after Clement Clark Moore's, 'Twas TheNight Before Christmas'
DAMSEL CAUSING DISTRESS
The knight errant sent for me, but I’ve gone missing
For three days now, while he’s composed a ditty:
In the tide of feminism I still haven’t given up kissing
Being what is termed fatalistically pretty -
But I can be the ‘no’ that makes for nice
When his flame burns under his boiler suit,
Then I’m decently torpid like a fish on ice
Where the guts need to go when the runts root -
A pillowing breast, my nightcap a soliloquy
To hell with his billowing sails and pregnant ships
Let him go, this guy who’s got everything but me
With his big thighs, big legs, big hips -
All the things we women should shun
Save satin, silk, squirm, sperm, and …sun.
(c) Rosemarie Rowley
From IN MEMORY OF HER (2008)
Yesterday she left , warm and sunny ,all pleasant and funny
Spend some time with me she said, for soon I will leave
I lingered many months, my season ends , I will come again so don’t bereave
Gone are the long summer evenings full of crickets ,cicadas and fireflies flickering light,
Blinking their secret codes, mysterious and magic , in plain sight
Marking time with the pale yellow moon passing thru starry fields of dark summer nights
Fall sweeps in, proclaiming loud and clear, the death of summer is now so near
The seeds run full nourishing the land , acorns dropping ,and everything ripens,
Soon the trees will change their skin and like magic a new life appears
From vibrant green to orange, red and yellow
Long slow and rolling , dark green and pale ,the waves tamed and mellow, carry their lament
Carrying a sharp edge the cold ,damp wind brings sudden intent
Grey banks of clouds, long and low stretch to the horizon with their rainy content
Soon Jackets and jeans ,sweatshirts and sleeves will take their rightful place ,
Layer upon layer will I make of bare legs and chests that were openly seen
The deserted beaches , falling skies, pale and pink, all proclaim the long rest is now at hand
Painted pumpkins all in a row dot the land with orange and black
Mister owl haunts the night in his favorite wood on wing and nightcap
While lingering over bare earth and frosted fields of yellow corn and golden ripe wheat
Couples and lonely people ,walking silently, hand in hand, hurry back to their retreat
And sailboats huddle close together on dry land almost within reach and wistfully watch the sea
And I will sit near a warm glowing fire, book in one hand, sipping hot cocoa or tea
WHERE DO THEY GO?
Warm summer day Sunday morning family outing
To church to give thanks for God's goodness
That old lady again sitting at the church entrance
All day she collects pennies from parishioners
And maybe a sandwich from a picnic left over
Tossed in a trash can with flies buzzing around
I toss her my sixty five cents small change from my back pocket.
I guess she’s there all day, but at day’s end where does she go?
Maybe a shared old mattress in a wrecked basement up for demolition
Or a shelter for the night run by the Salvation Army
Could be just in the grassy verge of a roadside parking area?
After all it is summer and the nights are not cold really.
Anyhow, it gets dark and she just disappears
Thank God - out of sight out of mind
In the darkness she can’t be seen any more
Makes no impact on my suburban mentality
Doesn’t disturb my late night tv with Letterman
And my nightcap of Johnny Walker before the hot milk and bed.
We chat before sleep my wife and I about the day
And forget the old lady at the church entrance.
She has no Letterman or Walker
No chat with a close one before sleep
A sleep perhaps disturbed by drug addicts stumbling over her in the dark
Or rousted by the cops for trespass, or frightened by stray dogs in a pack.
I can sleep easy, I did my bit with the sixty five cents in my back pocket.
Good night.
When I was small my mum used to ask where do the flies go in wintertime?
Just to puzzle and amuse me
Of course she didn’t explain that they don’t actually go anywhere
But the cold simply finishes off all those dirty nuisances
And makes the air clean and pleasant
After the summer plagued by those unwanted useless creatures.
.................................................................................
The surf, ferocious in the distance
white caps and roller coaster waves
nose-dives into the shore
sand rearranged; sea life takes cover-
the hermit crab –boroughs;
the gulls greedy, hungry - grab
remnants of human litter- their meal for the day-
and flee.
Homeward bound.
Rain-
torrents or drizzle feed flora, fauna, man
all given a pardon: one more day to live.
Mother Nature in a cathartic mood sends
the wind, chaotic, blasted, twisted;
or patronizing - to clean and clear.
Then returns the earth to serenity
and life.
Homeward bound.
Geese choreographed in flight
synchronized to fly as one
north to south in the winter
and intuitively reverse when
it’s time to breed and feed.
Homeward bound.
Lovers- finish
the evening’s repartee with a
nightcap of Bailey’s or Port
conjoined as they coo their way.
Homeward bound.
The warrior-committed to peace-
combative, defensive, protective, vigilant,
conflicted- kill or be killed.
The good soldier returns-decorated for bravery- in the box
covered in the coveted colors of the employer.
Some maimed –without limbs, eyes, mind.
The whole- return- many missing-their soul.
Homeward bound.
The dying- incontinent, incoherent, incompetent, in pain
wishes for a reprieve. Moans.
More morphine.
The death rattle gurgling through lungs
ravaged but determined
to discharge the last hooray of life.
Then, so it goes, homeward bound.
Kathy Tauber-2015
Languid limbs lie in wait
Motionless memories dissipate
Breathing cadenced calm and slow
Echoing heartbeats through eardrums flow
Illuminations snuffed by tidal twilight
Ushering in cool dark ebony night
Tucked away tranquility; warm body heat
Flowing gently under soft clean sheets
Perfect stillness soothing sounds
Familiar space where comfort found
Floating solace weightless grace
Encompassing erasure of every trace
Of compiled complicated residues of the day
Diminished discarded fluff blown away
Now free of clutter; a tiny space
Reserved within for your beautiful face
Gazing upon you as drowsiness pleas
For yours must be the very last image I see
Before this soft journey, so I might take there
Deep brown eyes and warm velvet hair
Holding you just as if you were my pillar
With you as my refuge I’ve nothing to fear
Come with me my love; I’ll show you the way
Accompany me to slumber and promise always
To stay
When you mind your mind cause' all you find.
Is dried up fruit under the rind.
You can't recall what you should know.
You think maybe it's time to go.
The fog is thick, nothing will stick.
You can't depend on your old schtick.
The fading blues is now the news.
Lord knows it's not what you would choose.
So to be thankful on this day.
You have to cast off your dismay.
And eat some turkey, take a nap.
Then wake up, have a nightcap.
For every year family's will fear.
That Uncle will drink too much beer.
And Auntie will be in the wine.
Don't worry, tomorrow, it will be fine.
When everyone must go back home.
I'll sit right down and write a poem.
About how life has come and gone.
And how a thought can't seem to dawn.
Just rambling runnings in the mist.
Of something, I didn't get the gist.
The absence of the facts dismissed.
Oh yeah, here is my Christmas list.