Best Pigtails Poems
Did you say you want to know me?
Which me could that be ...
which of the what-evers that were me when?
The one from way back then
with pigtails flying behind
already learning to hide pain
to become another Me
that no one could see
unless they looked real close?
Looked at the daughter, the sister,
the student, the friend, the worker,
the lover, the wife, the drunk.
The Momie me, the widow,
the divorced me ... twice ..
the divorced from me Me.
Which role to know?
Age brings them to an end,
no more parts to play, no pretend,
no stage or lights, only lines etched by time.
Naked we arrived to life.
Naked we leave emptied
of all the layers of all the Me.
Perhaps we will know
in that other place, that other space,
where souls become We.
Pigtails loosen yet messed,
twisted by pliant fingertips
of evening’s devilry…
tracing her budding breasts,
embers gleam from a lamplight, dim…
his jerked breathing quickens to rake
this young, tender flesh---
from pink , blood red, to pale yellow... despicable!
Invading her territory,
the blister of muffled silence
grates adolescent wails,yet…
crazed feasting of desire remains.
She quivers under a toppled quilt
brushed in wounded cotton...despicable!
And while darkness slides on metal frame,
he riles, riles with abandon,
grinning under a sinister moon
arsenic as the sweat of male hunger
to ravage a girlish body... trembling, trembling
while her cupped mouth stutters,
‘Please step-dad, no!’
‘Hush…dear baby, I am your angel,
guarding you from evil wolves..despicable!
Quietly, he pins the knob of conquest
until the frail child's porcelain doll
splatters on the floor, and then…
.............
Re-Posted /1/2017
Contest: Let's Talk About It
Sponsor: Richard Lamoureux
In the dog-days of summer of so long ago
there were bear-hugging moments I like to recall
Like leafing through pages of ram-shackle books,
that are dog-eared, and faded, wearing hound-tooth worn seams
I had a bull's-eye encounter with puppy-tail schemes
There are cat-walks through memories, over turkey-trot trails
wearing pigtails, and Mother Goose, and laughter would peal
Where pony-tailed hairdos would swing like a bell,
and where kids could play leap-frog, and happiness dwells
We would run like the roosters and bull-doze the grass,
picking puffed dandelions, to blow with our breaths
Spreading the catnip and watching it gasp
Grasping the wind, while it wolfed-down the rest
Blooming sweet dogwood would bend in the breeze
Elephant-ears would line every path
With cattails and polly-wogs, we would bunny-hop home
for chickpeas, and monkey bread, and gooseberry creams
Then hug little teddy-bear, in our goose-down reclines
while dog-days of summer would live for all time
On a Sunday in the evening
The old barn becomes a hall
Social place where every weekend
The town folk go for a ball.
The inside is decorated
Lights are lit, the banners sway
By the walls barrels and cartwheels
Wooden stools and bales of hay.
Everybody loves a shindig
Where square dancing is the craze
Violins, guitars and banjos
Loud hillbilly music plays.
There’s a guy who’s always present
He’s the handsome Cowboy Kurt
On his head a leather Stetson
Dressed in jeans and chequered shirt.
Carol comes in golden pigtails
Gorgeous looking in flared skirt
She stands out; her smile is charming
She is hot and likes to flirt.
Cowboy Kurt looks quite appealing
He taps his feet to the beat
As other couples are reeling
Pretty Carol takes a seat.
Kurt decides to mosey on up
And lay his heart on the line
See if Carol would share some grub
Perhaps a swig of moonshine.
Tiny Carol surprises Kurt
Chugging down half a bottle
She eyes him coyly, looking pert
Then starts to jig full throttle.
Stunned Kurt is reeling to and fro
As wee Carol takes the lead
Dance floor clears; they put on a show
Kurt looks like a tumbleweed.
Music wouldn’t stop fast enough
For Kurt who couldn’t square dance
Carol is made of tougher stuff
And has high hopes for romance.
Totally lit and loving it
Carol trots to the outhouse
But when she returns, Kurt has split
“Where’s my man?” Carol does grouse
In his truck Kurt has hit the trail
Head still spinning from the dance
Carol sits upon a hay bale
Hoping he’ll return to prance
After the hoe down was over
Banjos and fiddles tucked away
Cowboy Kurt was still a rover
Out cold on the hay Carol lay.
------------------------------------------------------------
Written 6th October, 2014
A collaboration by Paul Callus and Carolyn Devonshire
Another eve of another day
shrinks to wee hours;
the only light flashes dim
from a distant lamppost.
My mind’s contrarily still charged
with words, chores, lists, sacred places,
mountainous memories,
and then a thought that hasn't visited in awhile…of you.
You, a caricature of your best self,
a demon of strangled hearts,
a name chiseled into a monument of stone like expressions –
of numb feelings where tears no longer flow.
Love carried you through life…a family
bestowed a stave for your symphony,
undeserved yet wanted.
Have another drink…hide in your dank basement
drive aimlessly through town through lives through dreams
with your empty bottles sliding on the floorboard.
You became the monster of nightmares.
How did that happen? Why?
Did it lie dormant in hidden spaces?
Bottles shatter into a million pieces…they tear at souls.
Go ahead make a joke, tell a story of long ago,
sing a song with rich baritone notes…
I loved you once when pigtails brushed across my shoulders,
when you pushed me on a swing, when I was innocent…maybe
a part of me still loves who you were back then…the forgiving part of me.
Maybe if I knew all…the harrowing truth, the covered-up lies,
the sinister side, my forgiveness would be withheld.
No…some things are better left unknown.
Another eve of another day
shrinks to wee hours.
Years go by, and I think of you less…you, a man of good and evil,
you, who sang in the choir…every Sunday…
pretending.
I close my eyes with a conscious attempt
to find peace in forgiveness –
then comes thick darkness
as the flickering lamppost dies.
*a work of fiction
you sing ...
from the mocking mask of the
ashen August moon
you laugh ...
from the tummy tickles of
braided pigtails and jelly shoes
you cry ...
from the mud-streaked and blistered
bloat of hunger
you whisper ...
from the ruined truth of a
deathbed admission
you whisper, yet ...
from the ruined lies of passion
pledged in pity
you scream ...
from the thin, bitter, orange film
'neath my tongue
you breathe your last ...
from a gasping bite of the cruel, crushing
winter wind ...
and a prayer for ... release.
"recently scenes of early life have stolen into my mind, like breezes blown ..."
Quote by _Samuel Taylor Coleridge (from his writings)
I fondly recall the innocent days of my childhood,
playing hide and seek among the backyard boxwood,
and life as I knew it then was sweet and good.
Country life was always fun.
I treasured Christmas tree lights glowing in the dark,
family gatherings each summer in Audubon Park.
In my younger years I was as carefree as a lark,
enjoying days in the sun.
With my little sister beside me we made mud pies
and didn't see anything wrong with little white lies
or that dancing like ballerinas in the rain wasn't wise
until our pirouettes were done.
I enjoyed having an allowance that I could spend
and sharing whispered secrets with my best friend,
wishing our playing time outside would never end.
How I loved to run!
In sweet memories I recall swimming in the lake,
helping Mom in the kitchen when she would bake,
and eating more icing than I had put on the cake.
Having fights with a water gun.
How wonderful were my days spent as a child,
Dad called me a tomboy because I was a bit wild.
I was happy and content with life, always beguiled
with everything I'd done.
My braided pigtails were yanked by a silly boy in school.
He giggled like an idiot thinking he was so cool,
til I fought back with a fist and called him a 'stupid fool.'
That battle I had won.
If memory serves me well, I remember not liking boys.
Always wanting their way and making too much noise.
I preferred playing house with many of my stuffed toys.
Boys were creatures to shun.
I was very competitive and wanted to win every race,
and didn't care much in those days about ladylike grace.
I recall being angry with myself for falling flat on my face
and not talking to anyone.
I've photos of me since I was born and it's plain to see
that my childhood was a very delightful time for me.
With a loving family like mine, I grew up quite esprit.
I love them all, a ton!
October 8, 2022 - A Constance La France Contest
Writing Challenge - Past Memories - "T" Forms Poetry
Morning tumbles into my arms,
I give a gentle hug,
Smooth down
Her long gauzy dress,
Run my fingers through her rays
And braid sweet pea tendrils in blond pigtails.
Lifting up her quivering chin
I gaze into sapphire eyes,
Drawl encouraging morning words:
“Good” and “glory”,
“Dove”,
And she embraces the petunia day.
I
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair
with her sage sense of humor, dull and non-existent
Seemed positively,
metallic, blessed with flowing shackles, a gift, extended only to me.
Limiting my growth past 8 years, haunting my dreams until age 21
always advising her younger sis, to teary boredom
“Do as I say”, “whereso’er I may”
Lend me your shoe to prove my superiority.
By night or day,
I am your stone Buzzard and I will pick your bones
II
This I suffered
The rainbow might as well have been between us,
For the roses lost their petals long ago
I can no longer feel their thorns, my toughened skin
Yet lately when I turn to cry for you,
The pain is far greater than I should bear
For (you) seep, from my tear ducts, a bloodless water driblet
Injury that keeps finding its way out
Purging the likes of you
In twin tissues
III
Infuriates me.
Each night from my pillow writhed
Come darkened silhouettes of your pigtails
I inhale one, in each nostril,
just so I can blow you away
Are you a sister of another mister?
My tormenter, my thumb umbrella
Cleanse me from your sticky sight
Allow my legs to find that gentle breeze called freedom
Before the very bone that we share dies
Making us look upon our mirrors
To find the frozen cordial face
As we pretend to plant, a history, of fond remembrance
When we are but plowing, our indignations in the ground
IV
Unbeknownst
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair,
Sat braiding her curly brown hair
Finding me sleeping, without nary a sound
Wrapped her tight braid, around and around
Laughing as my life was slipped from sight
Dragging me constantly, round that night
So what if I, but a babe in skin
Was found by Dad, in the playpen
Hence, since, even now, my skin, crawls
Afraid of the hair in red overalls
Hope built upon the sand
as castles before the waves.
Heart filled with Puppy love
and hymns sung beneath
Daddy's watchful eye.
Nothing Holy remains
Happy a forgotten word.
Love drowned in Jack and coke
before he was thee years old.
No harmony in that house
that house not a home.
Her health a poor excuse to stay
a good excuse to leave him home.
Praying no one would see.
My hand on fire as it closed
on the frozen food.
Filling my pack ~ without looking
Hungry doesn't care
as long as it's fed.
A starving beast~ wild
Anything a feast
after three days.
Afraid of getting caught.
Pride a terrible thing.
It always grows before the fall.
Tonight we eat like a king
in a land of milk and honey.
Pigtails and peas with rice.
Never knowing he knew
till the end. ~ Grateful
that he understood.
wishing I could change things.
Ashamed of my actions.
Sometimes sand castles fall.
Holding a feverish hand I
laughed until I cried.
I should have thrown down
that foolish pride. I could have had
steaks and chops too.
I still have the old key
He passed to me.
I hold it in my hand sometimes.
The old freezers long gone.
I Hold on to it remind me.
Sometimes Sand castles fall.
There isn't much a parent
misses. Hidden in our eyes.
Remember that and remember too
that The good stuff is locked away
But that Daddy shares with all!
those moments i hold
when love held me
jewels that adorn my memory
some are of you
others are lodges far deeper
a populated field of young
wannabe future all-stars
filling a sandlot full of future
where wild horses reign free
you lost in hugging the dog
the cat cuddles up next to you
even deeper those pigtails
the temptation before me
how else do you tell them
I have it bad for you
which I had perfected
the moment I saw you
that instant love brings you
into its' sweet embrace
and so I measure life
as such
these jewels within memory
and nothing in life may intrude
bitterness stands as an anathema
before Grace
I give no quarter to resentments
because I have no expectations
wherever life takes me
this is the only bag I carry
love's sweet embrace
life is a miracle
deserving a devotion of gratitude
Oregon 7/23
Lemmie Jimmie is a playa!
Look at him smiling,
walking with his new girl
Why are the other pigtails all hating
on LJ being so happy ...
‘cause he caught the eye of the new girl
Watch Leonard James
affectionately always playing
with his favorite new baby girl
He a playa for sho’ ...
his high school sweetheart wife
oughta know
Vashon Memories
A song to sing itself –
A birthing voice,
Shouting then whispering
Of fields and quiet harbors
Of blackberries and sunlight on smooth waters,
Of boredom, rest and restlessness
In tidal pools
Hunting hermit crabs and limpets,
Sticking on all fingers,
Avoiding jelly fish and barnacles
When pigtails and freckles
Fly through misty bracken fern,
Evergreen Madrone leaves,
Hemlock and the Douglas fir
Shading meadows
Of green apple trees,
Fat blackberries -
Huckleberries red and blue
Eluding nettles reaching out
To leave their sting
Then rest beside
Old logs
Wrapped in pitch
Stacked up by mischievous waves
To dot the shoreline
With drifting wood
Of mysterious shapes
On pebbled sands
Warmed in the welcomed sunlight
And drink in afternoon tea
Steeped in curiosity.
My grandparents had a summer home on Vashon Island. We would spend several weeks on the island during the summer.
They called it school
I called it hell
From the huge imposing prison like doors
To the doom like toll of the bell
Everyday the same
Running for the school bus
Full of uncivilized Wild kids
Being pushed and shoved
Countless kids in uniform
Fearing the teachers and the day they were born
Satchel bags and lucky bags
Late for lessons again
Going to the headmasters office
For the cane ooh how my bum was in pain
Teacher at the blackboard
Pupils getting bored thinking about girls
Motorbikes and cars
Playing football in the yard
Playing sports in skirts and shorts
The one too big that moma bought
School desks fountain pens and ink
Boy how some of my classmates did stink
Trying to blow up the science lab
Bubbly gum and sherbert dabs
Giggling girls and bashful boys
Girls jutting out everywhere
Pigtails and ribbon on their hair
Always getting into a fight
Going home with a torn blazer and black eye every night
Lots of kisses on my homework
Rolling about in the dirt
Pouring ink into the headmasters aquarium
Holes in your trouser bum
Crafty cigarette hidden behind a wall
Morning assembly in the hall
School dinners you couldn't pick
Forced down your throat and made you sick
Being punished and kept behind doing lines
I must have wrote 'I must be good' a million times
Frog spawn put into teachers bag
Gas taps left on in the lab
The school nurse giving you a jab
Riot breaks out in class Running a race on sports day and coming last
Pea shooter and catapult Pulling your tongue out and being rude to adults
First love and nervous thumbled kiss
Girls with new sticky out bits
Hair growing in places it didn't before
Limbs aching and so sore
Always in trouble up to no good playing truant in the wood
Letting the tiers down on the headmasters car
Girls wearing training bra's
Exams were such a sham but wrote the answers under the bandage on my
hand Teachers talking about things I didn't understand
What a waste of time I was going to be a pop star and soon a man
Those daydreams of youth that still remain aloof
Hiding in the bushes watching girls playing hockey and net ball on the field
I still recall how that used to feel
Long school summer holidays away from hell
School books thrown down the well
Then back to school again to days of terror
And pain up early facing hell.
Peter Dome,copyright.2014. July.
I had a talk the other day
With someone Oh, so sweet
Her smile was sweet and innocent,
She swept me off my feet
A flaxen haired young lady
Between just four and five
Her blue eyes twinkled as she talked
So vibrant - so alive
We walked and talked that sunny day
Her interests were so fine
We wandered aimlessly about
Her hand held firm in mine
She questioned many things that day
So she would understand
My answers were with humor
And she clapped her little hands
Then, with a hug about my neck
A kiss, a squeeze with care
She looked at me and sweetly said
"I love you Granddad dear"
I hugged her back and kissed her cheek
With moisture in my eyes
How can someone so very young
Become so very wise?
I put her gently on the ground
With feelings so complete
Away she streaked across the lawn
On tiny sneakered feet
With pigtails flying in the breeze
Within my heart I felt
A thankfulness to God above
As on the grass I knelt
I watched her scurry to and fro
As busy as could be
And every now and then she'd turn
And look back up at me
I stood to hurry after her
She stopped and waited then
I realized she accepted me
As playmate and as friend
Her hands she placed upon her hips
She waited as though mad
And then she smiled her angel smile
And said, "Hurry up Granddad."
I only hope the two of us
Walk many, many miles
I'd walk from hewre to Timbuktu
To see my grandchild smile
And should she ask for me to come
I's never question why
She means so very much to me
My sweet granddaughter KAI!