Best Nylon Poems
we don’t appreciate
the sun until it r a i n s,
warmth of gentle rays
that subtly stroke
distressed skin
when time was f r o z e n
smiles were s t o l e n
and hope yet again
remains b r o k e n…
whilst I’m lying here
in the in-betweens of
procrastinated promises
along bitter breezes~
you use your poetic
words as a weapon,
oppressing the guardians
around my dreams,
oblivious to the
translucent truth
laced in trimmed nylon,
that you and me
we’re made of
the same s t o n e
we wear the same
crown of t h o r n s
sitting on the throne
of darkness, full of
stainless steel cages
and chain link fences,
turning
these emotions
into
cancerous tumors,
knocking on your
conscience, patronizing
the pigments of
my petal-like palette
by questioning
your own roots..
but now I’ve got feathers
in my bleeding heart,
and if these crimson wings
could fly, you’ll find me
soaring above seas
of solitude, that pushed
me down to an abyss
of n o t h i n g n e s s.
watch me unlock
the keys of jasmine doors
to seek serendipity surrender,
as my muse serenades
rainbow reveries,
amidst faded stars
and moonless nights
which
gaslit my
apologies and roses.
I have tried
to twirl through
ravenous ravens in a
carnival of carnivores
you’ve fed my mind
labelling me
as the serpent q u e e n
with twisted words,
whilst you whirl around
with
ghosts of p o e t r y
in your
cathartic h a z e..
your love
is a hand grenade
that shattered my aching
bones into scattered
s m o k e and f o g
they say
the biggest hearts
are the
biggest targets,
and the rifles you hold,
seems to have
my name engraved in
blood-soaked tears…
so, now that you’ve
pulled the trigger,
how would you stop
the ammo?
Will you remain forever
in your
unbending silence
a false humility
disguised
as k i n d n e s s
that flickers glitter,
to ascend brighter
as the bullet settles
upon my spine, halting
me from movement?
Or will you watch me
c r a w l back to the
spheres where I belong?
for I refuse to rot
as a victim of an
unwritten circumstance.
IV
A soul was broken to make room
For dusty halls and labyrinths.
A gossamer, nylon bed-sheet shroud
Enwraps the remnants of that mind.
And no excuses can be made;
This disease does not justify that one.
I do not sleep deeply, I do not wake easily,
I dream of cities built on sand,
Next to the swelling sea.
Oh, they should have lasted.
Why should they fall?
I dream of timber horses,
Brought between those city walls.
We should have known; we should have known better.
III
But, I am not an honest mystic;
Beware what you ask of me.
I will show truths within the liar's tapestry.
But, you will not believe; no, you cannot believe.
II
I howled for my motherland
When the mutiny began.
I heard the cry of treason; heard the cry and ran.
I saw blood be spilled,
Some of it my own, then
Felt the rest boil, that this could happen in my home.
I saw the battle through, until the very end,
Then wished the traitors pardoned,
Because they were my friends.
I
I cannot tell the difference
Between the sleeping and the dead,
So, I will dole out blankets, and keep the kettle on.
The streets are cracked and dirty,
And they all appear the same:
Shattered glass and roofing tacks
Where I place my bare and weary feet.
I don't want to go on.
But, I must rebuild; I must rebuild.
I have no grass to lay,
The trees and flowers will not grow,
So, I shall use nothing, but mortar, brick, and stone.
It's not the same; it is not the same,
But, I shall call it home.
>>>
cavorted about as elfin brides
under a saffron maple tree^^^^
Dressed in prism-hued layers
of chiffon in ethereal shimmers
and delicate silken gossamers
They having their group wedding in the fall
And fairy folk bustled about all round
as flimsy and flighty as they could be
while henna leaves fell upon the brides,
>>>>> in ceremonial nuptial
An autumn's breezy ritual>>>Branches denuded
Yet autumn's august>>>
in honey fallen maple leaves as well
>>>>Playing hide'n' seek
with browny brownie grooms
also camouflaged in the heap...>>>
( beautiful quote 7)
Stepping gently in, on the edge of summer
You are the one who mellowed glorious sun
On playgrounds, picnics, frolicking in fun
In euphony of birdsongs of amiable dawns
Where horizon velvet gleams golden nylon
As verdant-hills, slowly, adorn tawny-brown.
But why, O, why your days still remain hot
Too cold to swim, quite pleasing on yacht
Sometimes alike August, sometimes Fall,
Colorful you may be, donning ochre pizazz,
Yet, judging by palette, October you’re not.
Still, September, you’re a welcome friend
For defying decisively summer’s humid reign,
Leading the way to autumnal escapades,
Readying crop-fields, priming for harvests:
Beans, beets, apples, wholesome kale fresh;
You’re a trusted mate to farmer’s avid quest.
Why be then jealous of splendorous spring
Or resplendent prairies of October dreams,
Or dazzling meadows of crimson red leaves,
Or snowflakes of winter charming romantics;
When being so unique, you would rather be.
September 18, 2021
stitching my lips with neon nylon ~ the worm moon foresees hangry stars
The naked truth of hijacked leaves
when tree reveals a mockingbird
the wind with knives— the season’s thieves
applauds the loss of innocence
soprano song his spoken word
as summer turns a villainess
his merriment in verse she steals
to feed the winter’s sinfulness
where hunger flies and cries and kneels
to gods a songster’s soul appeals
the guilty— nylon-stocking blurred
...as ic’cles grieve neath ice-damned eaves
Ponytails
Swishing madly,
Hurdling across the pitch.
Beads of sweat
Spraying in spirals
As fingers point,
Shouting directions
To strikers, wingers, and defensemen.
Defensewomen, really.
Get back!
Push it!
Don't lose form!
Take the shot!
Grazing past the clown gloves.
Concaving the thick nylon.
Back of the net glory!
Now run around like giddy school girls
For exactly 8 seconds.
Now mark your man!
Woman, really.
No whiners here.
No floppers allowed.
What's this look like,
Men's soccer? Pansies.
The beautiful game is proof that
The real soccer men
Are women.
Innocent ears…
catch the gentle scrape
of nylon against nylon
Innocent eyes…
catch a flash of garter
Right knee over left
The simple motion
of legs crossing
She catches me looking
She is older than me
She glances down
She glances back up
She tugs her lower lip
and smiles at me…
iPhone Maniacs
crankshaft tendencies secure a brace of sly meatballs
truth daggers entice the worm girls with petite pastas
creature lilacs uproot themselves for pink dippity-do gels
white nylon ghost legs roam outer space in latex leotards
metacarpal syringes find porous outcries in the gloaming
crankshaft tendencies welcome the tilted exonerations
iPhone maniacs fondle frothing bananas mindlessly now
demon spiders ooze inside the crawlspaces wanting meat
cross-eyed priestesses suck on wax candles in the vestibule
black-robed choirs sing hangover music to the dribbling
rock music annihilations played by stoned dudes in shades
temples and taverns shake as the truth daggers hit earth
now the worm girls are dancing with the iPhone maniacs
No nylon nets
on the basketball rims
No evening street lights
as the day grows dim
More bad news
when I hit the front door
More funeral flowers
for the cemetery garden dirt floor
No new neighbors
for the abandoned houses on the block
No famine on drugs
that feed the cross addicted flock
More tear trails
leading to the school courtyard
More children missing,
ghetto pain is raining down hard
Mama says with a gentle sob,
her heart’s so sore, it can’t take no more
Papa sighs, gives her a tender embrace,
life ain’t a pretty picture when you’re colored poor
I don’t wanna see my mama crying
no more
I don’t wanna hear my papa sighing
no more
I don’t wanna taste my parents’ fears
no more
To the Blessed, I have just one request ...
please give this poor teenaged soul
a whole lot less grief and stress
Those yanks in their tanks never got many thanks
The locals moaned, ‘they’re over here’ *
We Brits had the ration, those yanks sought out passion
With cigarettes, chocolate and beer
Girls couldn't rely on a whiff of a nylon
So legs got the tea or the gravy **
Eye liner pencil sufficed for the seam
The trick was to not make it wavy
But Typhoo and Bisto for fellas from ’Cisco
Was something quite hard to explain
Those girls would do lock ins with painted on stockings
All thankful that it didn't rain
Then with the war over and husbands at Dover
And Uncle Sam’s troops on their toes
Wives by the dozen had buns in the oven
And those baby’s dads were John Does
——
* Over paid, over sexed and over here - a reference to American GIs
who came, seemingly, laden with otherwise rationed goodies.
** In the absence of nylons/stockings, women would ‘stain’ their legs
with tea and draw on the seam. According to Mr Google, some even
used gravy. Neither were waterproof and rain (in Britain?) was to be
avoided at all costs.
hoodwinked shoal of fish
in strong close spun nylon nets~
fight for survival
A cock and a hen held a party
It caused chaos in the farm yard
Billy bull and a cow began mating
Of course it inspired this silly bard
A crafty spider wanted to join them
From her web spun with nylon not silk
But she wouldn’t drink at the party
And declared “I’m allergic to milk”
A piggy wig said, “I’ll lead the dancing”
But quite soon piggy began to wail
When a nasty old goat butted in
And spitefully pulled piggy’s tail
The noise from the barn was horrendous
Farmer Fred heard the cow loudly mooing
He dashed in with his pitchfork and rifle
Billy bull and the cow ceased their screwing!
Farmer Fred arrives, puce in the face
He asks, “Who arranged this soiree”?
The sneaky spider pointed all 8 fingers
Soon the fowl hosts lie dead in the hay!
The farmer starts to reload his rifle
All the party animals quickly disperse
The farmer’s wife cooks the fowl in the oven
And this is the end of this witty verse
Oh how I love
the warmth you bring
with your silky touch
Always with skilled hands
I feel your delicate form,
drawing you closer to me
Fearful you might run,
and I then lose you forever
Your long sexy legs
wrap around me,
feet nestling against mine.
Arching against me
you shape to my curves,
as we become one together
until spent and released as needed
Me and the boys went fishing,
Little dog in tow.
"Charlie Brown" went everywhere
The five of us would go.
We were having lots of fun
Until we hooked our pal.
He swallowed a wad of stink bait
Treble hook and all.
Mama cut the nylon line,
We saw it slip away.
The vet said, "Keep a watching,
It might pass some day."
We followed him for three full days.
He ate a lot of grass.
And then, what do you think we found
Passing from his ass?
Charlie was our buddy.
Our closest, dearest friend.
That treble hook looked just like gold
Passing from his end.