Best Parlor Poems
When midnight flames flicker aesthetic reveries,
releasing ashes of rainbow petals,
upon the canvas of undressed seasons,
I delve into blue blurs of butterflies,
framed in floating colors of nostalgia,
aching for dried dyes to home this scraped heart~
hanging loose, within smoky imagery,
as if every pigment will sprout from lilies of longing.
But can memories thaw frozen zeal,
illustrating steamy sunsets with liquefied rubies,
to unveil a timeless era, retouched and restored,
from the dust of dusks composed in surrealism?
And I, the splattering of an ink-blot,
persist as a dramatized kiss of tongue-stroked silence,
like a portrait, isolated in artistic utopia,
as love is more than a metaphor that speaks to the moon;
a pastel palette textured with melted roses~
saturated stars can interpret…
All became purview in her constant gaze ~
eyes that followed, no matter my corner,
nor settee where fleur-de-lis begged recline ~
and, no peace was found in voyeuristic laze.
Even in the vestibule - through the door
she stares
~ her beauty lingers there and captures
daydreams that share this moment in time.
I wonder ~ did the artist love her too,
he, who captured every seductive line
of wanting eyes and impatient grin?
How can one wish they'd never met a painting
without knowing ~ lost love...
Picture on the Parlor Wall 9-27-24
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Sampler on the Parlor Wall
Shadows born from dawdling light
Stretch across a firelit room set with porcelain cups,
From tea parties long ago and faraway,
With an invitation to sample sweets and savories
Like the sampler on the parlor wall.
Beneath neat rows of alphabets stories gather,
Verses stitched with silk and dreams
And numbers that taught a woman’s craft –
A child’s wishes fly with birds and lady bugs –
Wishes to convince a suitor at the door of her wifely worth
In tidy stitches foreshadowing an orderly life.
A young lady-girl in pantaloons and blue sashes
Weaves circles of symphonic dots in French wheels
While lazy daisy chains meander on her linen fields -
Magic flares in her zigzag lines, her wishes on wooly stars.
No signature remains from her little hand -
Her hearth, her home, her heart –
Only a legacy of butterflies and roses sampled on a parlor wall
And a tiny scarlet dot of imperfection like a signature remains
Embroidered into a sampler embracing each dawn and dusk.
She'd been staring at me since I can recall.
A da Vinci saccharine smile painted on her lips
that I'd traced with fingertips in my youth.
Forsooth wondering, "Who are you, comely lady,
and why does no one ever mention your name?"
Eyes of melancholy, but not a tear had she spilled.
For years now, I'd asked that the truth be told
why she'd been given a place on the parlor wall,
yet no one speaks of her with honor or a trace
of how gracefully she sat on that stiff backed chair.
A fetching look adorned the face of this exquisite lass,
whose lustrous raven hair was released from its chignon.
What sin had she committed that's kept her story hidden
and her name omitted or deleted from the family Bible?
In gold gilded frame, what blame does she still carry?
What thrust and parry duel must she have fought,
perhaps for love. Her presence hangs in oils but despoiled.
Aged painting of this alluring woman remains a mystery
to me, but I see in her eyes, a familiarity I recognize
each time I peer into the mirror on the vestibule wall.
I’m followed by two eyes that gaze out from
the picture on the parlor wall. Those eyes!
If they were real, I think I would feel numb
to know from nowhere I had seen arise
a monster from the dirt that was the grave
of my great-grandfather; his photograph
conveys he was a Scrooge that barely gave
a care for family or for his staff.
Infamous was he; arrogant as well
(as we’ve been told by Grandma). She would know!
His eldest, she will swear he’s gone to hell.
Her reasons she recites to us blow-by-blow.
The picture won’t come down, for in his will,
that was his requirement. He rules her still!
" A close friend was betrayed by one of the Chiefs
and was tortured to death by being roasted slowly while strung up
high on a tree branch.
His misery was rich.
His name was Red Spirit in English.
I'm very proud of the Roman's achievements in law and architecture.
They were a very strange race,
very hostile & very obedient to a sense of honor which is why they could be so easily manipulated by law.
At that time in particular I specialized in making men into Gods.
Those were good times,
making marble from concrete."
you mention your admiration for the law,
some would say that you are a lawless Being
like a stone that ignores gravity,
a Jew who rejects scripture,
Satan said,
" There are two forms of law, real & unreal, defacto & dejure,
there is color of law and organic law,
natural rights and government codes.
Ultimately there are only two types of law;
jurisprudence designed to control others actions, which presents
consequences for violation and compliance,
and then there exists personal, subjective law,
otherwise known as principle or convictions.
Every man or woman performs according to their principles,
even if choosing to comply with laws foriegn to themselves.
This is how slaves are made,
people in bondage choose to be enslaved,
they accept the domination of another as mans' thought often permits
passion to terrorize, or tantilize judgement.
Law is like a rainbow,
one picks their favorite color following it all the way to the horizon." ,
what about God's law I asked,
historionically He remarked,
" God has His laws and I have mine."
Next I asked, have you ever been in love with a mortal?
" Oh yes, many times, take a look at this."
He handed me a thin, square golden casing
having an arabesque pattern etched on it,
when I touched the item it was as though an ancient sea breeze swept over me ,
He continued, " Open it, thats Tamitha,"
He was eager for me to be eager, I said,
" Shes got a smile similar to yours."
Tamitha was the daughter of a high ranking warrior named Bartos
in a large Germanic tribe
protecting the Rhineland from incursion."
J.A.B.
" She was born in 219 A.D.,
I met her in 235 when she was 16 years old.
I was working hard with her father as a mercenary
from a Belgium territory, trying to persuade a chieftan named Horaic
to attack the Roman garrison west of the river.
Tamitha had the energy of a robin & the curiosity of a pirate,
she loved hearing accounts of mesoamerican cultures;
I gave her a jade owl from the Andes
which she held onto like her heart depended on it.
One day a couple of bandits scared her off from the woods,
she fell from her horse,
broke a few ribs which puntured her lung
and she died nine days later in agony;
there is a balance to the Cosmos that I cannot interfere with.
1300 years later I found a girl that resembled Tamitha,
brought her to an artist named Michaelangelo
and arranged for him a Vatican Commission
if he would draw for me that picture
based on my recollection and this girl from Constantinople."
I asked, are you capable of having children,
Lucifer answered with a pensive dignity, " Yes,
actually I possess the libido of a rattle snake
but I dare not concieve,
any biological offspring of mine
may successfully challenge my supremacy."
So that Biblical story of you and Eve
is simply a myth like the lost city of El Dorado,
He replied, " Since you have broached the subject
I'll reveal something that is very precious information for me,
Jesus, whose original name was Mephistopheles,
was my first and only biological Son.
Mephistopheles was born so long ago
that the stars you see today
in the canopy of heaven were but afterthoughts to him
when his regicide was affected.
We coexisted for millenia,
sometimes happily, sometime scornfully,
our goals were more regional then,
not so much global, he lacked access to primordial wisdom
and consequently developed philosophy & strategy
diametric to fundamental nature."
J.A.B.
" Mephistopheles became a river whose current flowed in the wrong direction,
he believed that suffering could be eradicated from life,
absurd as lead being wieghtless,
his deviance led him to challenge my hegemony in the meditterranian world
during the climax of ancient Rome.
He became obsessed with silly theories of evil,
money is evil, war is evil,
vengence, dishonesty, greed, everything instrumental
to gaining competitive success Mephistopheles was considering to be bad,
he had gone insane
and so I immolated him to the Cosmos
and in loving memory I established a Church, an Empire, from his life,
I made gold from grease."
I was completely stunned by these revelations,
I nearly forgot how to breathe,
I was like a child lost in a labyrinth of questions, doubts & beliefs,
every walkway becoming longer,
every moment
darker, everything true suspect,
I was panicing through amazement,
I mustered the strength to ask one more question
before He dismissed me,
do you think you're evil,
the Devil said,
" I am remorseless, unforgiving and unmistakable,
I can be the pulse of your dreams
and the strain in your heart,
I am a purity so clean
that I am toxic to the profane; I am flesh."
J.A.B. Copyright 2013
waffle cone delight
pecan praline delicious
triple scoop indulgence
Opening a massage parlor one day
He hoped that eventually it would pay
One week of it
He had to quit
He just kept rubbing people the wrong way!
Everybody wants to be
Some body
Somebody wants to know someone
Someone doesn't know anybody
Every body is some body
Pleasantly I am me
On the faded wallpaper what do I see,
an old picture on the parlor wall.
Many years ago grandma took it,
Sis and I were young and having fun.
On that very hot summer's day,
we were in shorts and pigtails.
Grandma always said she loved that picture,
we did not know why because we hated it.
With grandma long passed,
I can now see what she saw.
Two cute girls having way too much fun,
on that very hot summer's day.
Like the faded wallpaper on the parlor wall,
the picture and time have also faded far away.
somehow they forgot
to include one procedure
they asked if I could help them
move you to a bed
I gladly helped lift you up
and stroked your hair one last time...
***Edited version of a previous post
I own a beauty parlor but I always get things wrong.
Last week I left a lady under the dryer far too long.
She was under the dryer for hours and it fried her brain.
They put her in a funny farm because I drove her insane.
When I dyed a woman's hair, it turned green.
I soon met her family and they are mean.
They made me eat shaving cream and it made me vomit.
Then they grabbed my underwear and gave me a wedgie that was atomic.
They kicked my scrawny ass and and broke my fingers so that I couldn't call the cops.
I think you'll agree that the time has come for me to sell my shop.
(This is a fictional poem.)
Outside, feathery snowflakes drift slowly to the ground.
Inside, love, fun and cozy fellowship does abound!
The dog and cat snuggle nigh the warm and glowing fire.
'Tis an intimate Victorian portrait that would any artist inspire!
The soft light of oil lamps overshadow the pervasive gloom.
Their flickering flames provide dancing illusions all about the room.
Father settles in his chair with his favorite pipe and book.
Mother's fingers fly with the rhythmic motion of her crocheting hook!
Danny sprawls upon the floor viewing stereoscopic potpourri.
Little Nan serves her dolly, Betsy, scones and savory tea.
Sophisticated Beth with fingers deft is busily tatting lace.
Mother serves hot, spicy cider to all with flawless grace.
The kids play "Find the Thimble" and "Squeak, Piggy, Squeak",
"Hard Boiled Beans" and "Hunt the Ring" with excited shriek!
Mom and Dad join to play charades, to everyone's delight.
Indeed, this has been a very special and happy family night!
Mother plays the pump organ for an impromptu family choir.
Anon, the sonorous toll of the clock declares its time to retire.
Father leads evening devotions as they gather about his chair.
Thanking God for family, friends and home with joyful prayer!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)