Best Petticoats Poems
Oceana
Oceana flings her sequined petticoats
Upon the sands as if to toss the seaweed
From the swirling edges
While she dances with the wind
With each turn she swings her skirts
In thunder
As she passes – faster, faster -
Until her laughter foams upon the waves
And in the early midnight dawns
She turns to cover up
Her turquoise evening gown
With capes of fog so thick
The soaring gulls seem to carry
This her summer train
To quickly change into a dress of silver satin,
Bound with trims of frothy sprays,
Rising and swelling,
When morning reaches for windy afternoons,
She teases sudden lightning outbursts
Leaving behind upon the outstretched strands
A foaming lace of pearls
That decorate her new rippling dress
Of brilliant sapphire blue
Drawing it around the world in flowing currents
To follow, ever follow, the lilting music
Of her lover moon,
Softly singing enchanted melodies,
Ever beckoning his earthbound bride unto himself
To watch her gaily waltz upon the rolling seas
Circling to his rune.
8-22-25
3rd - Rob Carmack Premiere VIII
6-29-22 - N/A
Contest: Marathon Mile Five
Sponsor: Mark Toney
8-13-22 -
5th - Poetry Marathon Mile 12
Sponsor: Mark Toney
6/20/19
On Top 100 All Time Poems list
1st - Trophy Win - Juliet Lingon
1st - Julia Ward 11/29/20
1st - Brian Strand 1/14/20
Featured Poem 5/2/21
Included in Poetry Soup Anthology #2 - It's Still Poetry
Included in CWC Anthology - First Prize Winner Independent Publishers Award
Indie Press Awards
I love pink rose flowers Kept safe by thorns on the flowers Big smiling sunflowers Wide face opening up to the red sun, flowers Ruffled white carnation flowers petticoats worn beneath the flowers Many colors of lily flowers Their cups make the perfect rain catching flowers Beautiful purple lilac flowers Each bud comes to make it's own flowers Daffodils known as buttercup flowers Beautiful little yellow spring flowers Big or small orchid flowers The smell from one fills the room like a bouquet of flowers The yard is filled with dandelion flowers Make a tea-make a salad flowers Yellow or white petals from daisy flowers He loves me-he loves me not flowers
Date Written: 8/6/2021
8/8/2021 Poem of the Day Winner "Beautiful Flowers"
"And"
2 Place
9/1/2021 The Marmite Poem Contest Judged: 9/1/2021
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg
Pert Periwinkles
preening and prancing
in pretty pink petticoats…
pert periwinkles
11-14-2014
The moon is bright, and the chores are done
Tonight's the night to have some fun!
The harvest in, calls for a night's hell-raisin'
Take me out in the old hay wagon!
Not far to go, where the old dirt road ends
There on the left, where the oak branch bends
Let's hurry, Pa! ....Hitch the old grey mare!
We'll share with folks sorghum pies I've made
Stop la gaging, there's some moonshine waitin'
I'll wear my calico, with petticoats wavin'
Fiddles playin', and banjos are strummin'
Feet are flying, to some do-si-do-ing!
We'll kick up heels, with a still of whiskey
Come'on old man, while I'm feeling frisky!!!
___________________________________
For the Hoe Down Contest:
At the Parisian Ball
wrapped in finest gowns
of virgin-snow, sugar-rose
and washed-out pistachio pastels
The hour-glass shapes
with tied narrow waists
waltzed with gallant men
togged up in midnight-dusk tails.
Victorian ladies in frilly petticoats
and gossamer laces
swirled in delicate silks
Lifting their pretty faces
to crystal candelabras
to ceilings'baroque paintings
and to the chattering sounds
of the gathering crowds.
From the half-opened pantry door
She listened to the music
which played melodically all night.
In her simple black dress
nude stockings,white apron and cap
Solo,She danced,with the light of the moon
which was glowing so bright.
Her slender hips swayed
in a flirtatious curve
Wishing...Dreaming
to get a glimpse of his world.
Through the mirror on the wall
She saw him standing tall
As he danced with his noble mademoiselle
Through the mirror on the wall
He saw her standing small
He caught her reflection
young love and affection
Yet,He kept standing there.
She swore She could feel it
The longing,the feeling...
It was written all over his eyes
He never got closer
His princedom can't own her
But She knows She's the one
She is that little star
which keeps falling so softly
in his cold vacant skies.
happiness, puppy-sweet, lapping at toes. the strumming of sea nymph shells. the laughter of intoxicated friends, slightly tipsy, imbibing in whites and reds, sharing spousal threads and temporarily forgetting the kids, though their eyes drip with tenderness, like honey, as they release the swash of grandchildren pics, ebbing and flowing in the sea of collaborative commotion.
like drunken sailors
with dancing tattoos of kids —
housework abandoned
happiness bubbling over, no stinging jellyfish, only a high as you ride the whimsical spout of a humdinger of a whale. the splash of happiness as your adventurous boat glides over funny water, the rapids contained amidst the cool glacial vistas.
hallucinating
goliath-size polar bears
waving with a coke
friend, i’ll join you in your happiness, sipping our sumptuous chalices, dressed in medieval wimples and petticoats. we shall chat alongside the faerie garden - the wisps of pink and blue wings, a sparkling chatter of singsong at the lovely affair.
wee chalices cheer
our frolicking happiness
leaving us breathless
6/5/19
Hey, Write a Happy Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Caren Krutsinger
harbinger
amber undertones
ruffles summer petticoats ~
autumn starts to breathe
8-13-22
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Contest: Nature Theme Haiku
Miss Ocean wears her blue-green dress,
Sprinkled with tiny crystals beads
That sparkle in the morning sun.
She shakes her ruffled petticoats of white
And shows off for the passers-by.
She dances on the jetty rocks
With seaweed hair that streams behind
Before she dips her head again
And swims far out to greater depths
To play with dolphins, whales, and fish
And mermaids in their hidden lairs.
She sweeps the ocean floor and brings
Her treasures to the sandy shore,
A trove of scallops, slipper shells and
Mussels clinging tightly to the kelp.
Empty conch shells, pink and clean,
Pearly stones and worn green glass.
Miss Ocean wears her blue-green dress
Embroidered with tiny crystal beads.
They sparkle in the morning sun.
Ethel Hurst
1889 – 1918
I saw the town rise up
Like a single blade of grass after a spring rain.
I played a multitude of hop-scotch games
With my best friend Hannah on Penn Street.
And sipped a hundred ice cream sodas in the Mercantile at sunset.
My mother took me to Jacob’s Grocery every Monday
And it was I who picked the plump oranges
From the big rickety crate.
On Saturdays we worked the fields at Strong’s Ranch,
Harvesting the pampas in the walnut fields.
And on Halloween I was the girl in the moon-face costume for five straight years.
When Christmas brought its luminous lights to the town,
Mother dressed me in red with a bell on my bonnet.
And father sang the carols with a guitar and a tambourine.
I graduated from the big high school in 1907
And in celebration,
Rode my bicycle to Bassett
Still in my starched graduation petticoats.
Jesse Forbes,
He being five years younger than I,
Was the love of my brief stay on this earth.
But when he ventured to steal a kiss that day in Black Canyon,
I used my calloused hand to convey my stern disagreement.
But what wild regrets I’ve entertained since Jesse drowned that day.
In the wild currents by Pio Pico’s crumbling Adobe,
His body bobbing like a sea bird
In the punishing plume of that old deep river.
Beyond the muddy banks and the wild flowers,
Jesse Forbes left this life with a surprised frozen grin.
Why Jesse? Why?
You never knew the truth, my love.
You never really understood what I meant
When I said nothing.
I said No to you when I said nothing that day in Black Canyon,
But I really meant Yes.
The influenza incinerated my heart and soul
With a 106 temperature in the winter of 1918.
Twenty nine years I dare say
Is nothing in terms of eternal life!
I had so much more to do!
I had so much more to dream about!
I walked and talked on the streets of my town,
And on the funeral-dark avenues of my innocent days.
And I planned and I schemed
And all for nothing!.
Indeed, I felt the pulse of fleeting time
And the never-ending,
Ever-turning circle of endless days.
But now I rest here in Clark Cemetery… a virgin corpse
Flirting shamelessly with the bow-tie worms,
Still wild with regrets.
And forever haunted in reverse
By the same recurring memory
Of Jesse Forbes holding a rose.
Under the old oak tree in Black Canyon..
28 Cracks In The Ceiling
I take my red-inked dagger in hand
And succinctly spew its secrets for all to see.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
There’s a storm moving out of the west.
I can smell the thunder and
The titillating turbulence of tintinnabulation.
An old lady sits cross-legged and knitting,
Waiting for the sweating sun to sink.
“I was just a girl in 1925… and now…”
The endless strained faces out there
Tell stories of death, disease and depravity.
They know the eternal worm is the other one
In this passion triangle.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
Snakes frothing in suburbia.
The megabytes of Zanzibar jettison out naked bone chips.
Later months and trivial dimes.
Smokestack realizations in a tent.
Church buttresses holding up my whining soul.
Green Edsels down in San Pedro.
Michelobs and round sassy broads fingering erect nipples.
With a Susie in each arm
He lights a cigarette in honor of grand appeasement.
Sensuous sinews entwine effervescently.
More loose chicks in short skirts,
Pouting and scamming.
Times are hot in the old town tonight.
Music and misery, wine and wickedness.
Stubborn clocks disarm with water-resistant influx.
I was a princox in petticoats.
We met at a Tastee Freez at twilight.
28 cracks in the ceiling, and I lost count.
A caramel coated promise on a wisened old man's couch. Living in a sugar coated world
falling into an oblivious mass of thinness and frailty. Not yet strong--Tough, no; shy, not
either. Strength and endurance as rocky as the West coast wearing petticoats, ringing bells
of flurious yesterdays into tomorrows hopes and dreams recalled. Billowy, flowery tulips ring
true to the caramel coated promises. Never too rich or skinny. A waist an inch deep and
widely thickened cream of poppy icecream screams smear me thin and shed the self as on
onion into a glorious stick adorning a caramel coated apple. A promise to myself and not you-
- as my eyes are wide deep! Aspartame filled rats, cancer ridden corpses frozen into stark
reality. Stark nakedness tells no lies and makes bigger eyes!
I sleep. The hours tick by mercilessly;
unfilled, purposeless, full of potential
"What to do? What to do???" I mutter,
tumbling, like Alice, down the rabbit hole.
My hands push down ballooning petticoats,
careful not to show or touch anything.
I twirl beneath the pile down comforters.
The hours tick by crimson red
and in the dream,
the rose Queen shouts, "Off with HER HEAD!"
An eyebrow is plucked whole from my face.
It falls matted and to the ground leaving me,
brow akimbo, surprised, and horrified.
"What to do? What to do? What to do???"
Half shorn. Half drawn. Half born?
A painter's pallet appears before me.
A brow is drawn… for me.
Yet, the Rose Queen still screams on.
"Off with HER HEAD! Off with HER HEAD!"
an icicle
drip, drip, dripping away
slips of spring
sunlight gleams
winter garb cast aside
petticoats flash
rays of gold
glistening on the glen
flicks of foxtails
mewling mouths
nuzzle at their mother
come spring
[“petticoats” in this instance are meant to signify
glistening white snow, hidden beneath gray snow banks,
and exposed suddenly by early spring sunshine.]
Moon dancer, in your petticoats, swirling on the lawn,
dewdrop drinker, night wind stalker, daughter of the dawn.
Castanets coil your fingers, diamonds drape your toes;
not equal, but greater, if with normal juxtaposed.
Beautifully different, a gypsy sort of soul,
one, who out of nothing, music can cajole.
Lightly stepping, ever reaching, walking upon air;
if searching, one will find you climbing heaven's stair.
Don't let the stale world change you; continue to pursue
your dreamy fabrication--living impromptu.
Copyright, September 28, 2014
Glass shoes
Petticoats
Leather Jackets
Cherry Cokes
Sandra Dee
Bobby too
Pat Boone
Kalamazoo
Hair teased
Jitter bug
petticoats
cut rug
Virgin here
Virgin there
Real love
Everywhere
Nifty 50's
Brando
hula hoop
gotta go!