Best Polyester Poems
So you say you want to sit on MY cloud.
The view, you say, is rainbows and bluebirds.
I understand you hate your polyester,
Dishwasher safe, blue light special cloud.
It is weak, sagging under the weight of your expectations.
It is no longer fluffy, no longer billowy, no longer white.
It is empty and dingy and flat. Like your soul.
You can't see the best part of my cloud because it is on the inside,
Where it is built from the sweat of a hundred strong women like me.
Where the walls glisten from the tears shed as others like yourself tried to steal our cloud's glory.
But like this cloud, though we look soft and billowy, we are steel, cursing forth our thunder and glaring bolts of lightning to protect ourselves and our own.
My cloud is high now, but it has had its lows.
Where were you when others avoided and mocked us as nothing more than valley fog?
When the view consisted of puddles of want and winds of despair?
Did you once offer me a seat on your cloud?
Did you give me a hand up? Or were you too busy looking down on me?
So excuse me if I block your sun, ruin your picnic, cancel your flight.
But I will never ignore you.
Come closer and I will whisper a message in your ear:
HEY, YOU, GET OFF OF MY CLOUD!!!!
JESTER *''(] :-)
The best days come round and round
Follow the around the world
A Jester you are the crown
A Jester among the crowd
Searching for life from pole to pole!
A professional when it comes to clown
You got the soul to let it roll
Your too clever to hold a frown
Your parole has lost your control
A smile is all you know how to expand
You run - you play - you dance
Implanting a moment, so grand
Lifting the spirit with just one glance.
You are like a substance in high demand
You are the Queen to a blind romance
You stole the heart of a Nobel man
Jester we are at the feet of your command
Parted from the King, who does not understand
The crowd eating from the palm of your hand
No one knows what jokes you got planned
LADY QUEEN YOU HOLD THE SOUL OF A JESTER
Suited up in pinkish - purple - green polyester
Everyone bowing to you where you stand
Excitement towards the Queen, who plays the Jester
Jerking the kingdom of her land
Jester you play the role of the best mind molester!!
*''(]:-)
SKAT
They place my vowel
Under barren landscape
Sipping from cracked porcelain cup
Of an alienated heartbeat
Devilish grins
Slapping Karma’s bottom,
A quarterback’s misguided win
Liar’s prophetic retinas glaze
With metric, disciplinary ruler
They place my consolidated lyric
On upper hand
Of cubic zirconium petulance
Their torn, lanolin coated tissue
Degrading polyester embedded uniform
Mislead by “savior’s” belief
A desolate embodiment of character
They observe me
With cherry coated pupils
Through rusty, iron bars
Its frosty echoes
Portraying fickle sonatas in these stale winds
Yet,
My ambient tear
Is simply a hoax for their recycled victory
Holding wooden spoon against my waist
Ready to crawl
©Drake J. Eszes
Trapped in a sinuous labyrinth,
I run down twisting corridors of well-trodden soil,
flanked on each side
by bushes twice my height!
I go left; I go right;
turning left again, I hit a wall.
For hours I have been inside here running.
Panic is swallowing my soul,
for I am horribly
horribly
lost.
Overcome by my anxiety,
I let myself collapse to the dirt floor
where I sit trying to compose myself,
and as I sit,
I struggle with the puzzle -
how to escape this huge web
with tentacles like those of
of a giant green monster of the sea.
How will I ever find my way
out of this impossible maze?
Afternoon’s glare barely reaches me where
I sit in the gloom of my doom.
Suddenly, the sound of happy voices!
And not just within earshot.
This sound is SO close that were I to just
reach out through one of these large bushes,
I am sure I could actually embrace
the sweetness of the joy I hear.
I have been left and right and all around.
these long paths,
and I refuse again to go down them.
Grateful to be wearing my long pants
and a long-sleeved shirt,
I remove a polyester jacket
which I have had wrapped around my waist.
With the jacket, I cover as much of my body as I can,
particularly my face and hands.
The lovely garden which I had viewed from the road
when I first came upon this miserable maze
is right on the other side of the bush
where I have ended up.
I know it; I just know it . . .
I take the plunge!
June 27, 2020
for Dear Heart's 'Maze - 10 Word Challenge' Contest
Submitted Sept. 14, 2021 for the ''L'' Contest New Or Old Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Sit-upons that we wove together.
The troop activity. How many spots
will remember me?
The wicker basket and picnic blanket
woven into the amphitheatre. We,
my hubby and I,
cozied up, listened to Amy Grant.
My towel, with the Caribbean islands,
sinking in the warm sand, waiting
for my salt-sea body to rest.
My familiar easy chair,
the grandkids are always
welcome to share.
The pews that retain glory and praise
on Sundays and Wednesdays.
The split-level stairs,
carpeted teal,
where I oft sit and watch
somersaults
and converse with a houseful.
There are the horses,
that lent their backs,
brought me to greater heights -
walked me on the Cozumel beach,
‘round Yukon’s emerald lake,
and one that wanted to dive off a cliff,
“whoa…no!” I took control.
On my childhood bed,
so close to my sister-cousin.
We laughed and shared -
now it's only in my memory.
The yellow bus, -
my hopes and dreams were sown
within its polyester seats.
So many places where I sat,
brimming above or below the surface.
So many places we stay and go.
We squat, recline, attack.
Sounds of inaudible shadows fleeing for cover
They're on my trail; one path has led to another
The faint noises of their traffic rouse those nearby
Summer's night seems to be serene, but it is a lie
in the middle of the bustle of the busy streets
Let's explore some half-full mumbling retreats
The city's sound is reminiscent of a symphony
In this social junkyard, that might restore dignity
Art implies unseal mind, yet doubt can block them
In this era of polyester, I'm scanning for a gem
However, it's not unusual for words to come freely
Hair spilled shadows, never soaked so deeply
Airy grace of a picture clashes with the evil below
Deep seas are noiseless, and this we know
Art relieves anxiousness and stimulates creativity
When people see you, they may view positivity.
A snow-white deer was downed by a hunter.
A once-in-a-lifetime trophy, he boasted.
Some folks were crimson pissed
because a snow-white deer is very rare,
a sign of good things to come.
An antlered angel... wearing a message
a reminder that God is still present,
still looking after- picking up
after
us.
From the edge of our acid cloud, sludge streams
burning forest of Dali dreams.
Waiting for the perfect time.
The perfect time
to float above the clearing.
To cleanse
To whisper "there are still miracles-miracles abound.
There's still time to turn negativities into lacy dreams.
Knead bullets into butterflies and mustard seeds.
Spin the planet back from black to aquamarine".
To the hunter, it was just a leaping piece of meat
to be silenced-d- skinned- devoured displayed...
owned.
Now the planet people want to bow the hunter down
You know, nail his polyester neck to a forest tree
Perhaps the white deer was a test.
God's barometer, to see where our soul is really at...
For days now, my wife, i and some friends, have been working on costumes for Viking's day at our up coming Renaissance festival, went suddenly Poetry Fever hit, this is the result---hope you enjoy it---God Bless
No Viking Way
I used to be like Hagar The Horrible
Wearing things that were despicable and deplorable
But now those days have past
I stopped dressing like an ass
And the way I look today, is just adorable
I stopped killing wild animals for fur
Thought the anger from the Gods it may incur
I just have to make my stance
And start wearing woolen pants
I'm sorry, this is one pot, I must stir
Yes, I'm laying down my sword and my axe
No more Nordstroms, I'm shopping down at Saks
I'm over leather, Yes it's true
a polyester blend will do
I saw one that I liked, at MaraMax
So, say goodbye to the horns upon my head
It's time I think, to put those things to bed
With some silk and some cotton
The old way's soon forgotten
The Brand New Viking way is here instead
Now it's true, it's gonna take some work
To stop dressing, like some big bad crumby jerk
But with our influences and our passion
We'll create a whole new fashion
And when they see how Hot we look
They'll go Berserk
A devil in three-piece polyester
Sweaty jowls hanging over starched collar
Worker’s bane, savings account molester
Stalking your front door, try not to holler
Huntin’ for your cash; not all he will do
Piles of workers’ scalps under his front seat
Lambs to the slaughter for our Darthie-poo
Laundering funds for government elites
Business buys Washington, who buys the vote
Our tax dollars, the machine’s power source
IRS laws cut the middle class’ throat
Wall Street’s equal opportunity whores
Puts the “fun” in “fundraising” for the Man
Darthie’s knocking and he’s not here to beg
One measly pound of flesh, that’s not his plan
By law, he’s due at least one arm and leg
4/20/16
Steel mountains tower over ancient minds
The mismatched soul anachronism
Instincts progressively lagging behind
Primitive brain sees a deep red cataclysm
Ghostly mastodons stalk the fluorescent plain
A daunting checklist of tasks today
Frigid rivers to be crossed in your brain
Endless list of invisible foes you must slay
A war without coffins, blood, or casualties
Teeth gritted, girded in polyester for battle
It’s knives in the back and social realities
No true combat; it’s never settled.
Unrelenting angst through every fiber
Forever hanging over the precipice of defeat
It follows you: a rapacious saber-toothed tiger
Implacable stare, neither attacks nor retreats
Gone is the clan, the intuitive belonging
Disconnected tribe inside your building
Every woman and man the empty longing
The neighbors you don’t know won’t come ringing
The dingy cement, windblown trash scene
Dreary and numbing external reality
You heart calls out for a deeper green
Light humming, phone ringing, no tranquility
No reason to fight for any tribe you see
Except, of course, your family on TV
Nothing to die for, unless the royal “we”
Beat the drum of prosperity or ideology
A Sabercat here, a Ghostly Mastodon there,
Back is bowed, veins on your nose
Run wrinkled hands through graying hair
A million drops in the bucket, it overflows
Just remember when you find
You don't understand the rage
That you are a savanna mind
Trapped in a modern cage
3/29/16
Against the wall I was his devi
Pressed tight beside his soul
Skin so hot it burned through mine like a fever
Warming my muscles
Warming my pulse
Fueling my movement
Touching my body he was my sher
Braving my imperfections
Lips so thirsty they tasted mine with frenzy
Spinning my thoughts
Spinning my surroundings
Driving my feelings
It was…
Underneath the materialistic piles
Cotton, polyester, and satin
He saw my secret nature
Underneath my pigmented eyes
Crushed Lala and gloomy brown
He saw my Élan vital
Underneath my damaged Pericardium
He found my beating heart.
Virtue of my innocence anticipates your touch.
I am satin, weave your weft yarn over my waft yarns.
You are velvet, my kiss longs to smooth your edges even.
Together we are lace, posed on our web of desire.
My passion longs to embroider your touch on bronze silk,
so when we depart, your reminder shall stay with me.
Remove the wool from those auburn eyes,
there is no polyester in my hazel heaven.
Each bead is an emotion connected to a string you influence,
embrace them all, in your spiritual sanctuary.
I am the dance, but dancing alone,
hold me, dance with me and devour me,
let all the rose rivers flow to your estuary.
The best gift I received was a cover
In 1975 from my mother
You are thinking ‘that’s a terrible presents’
But back then we were cold, hungry peasants.
It was fluffy polyester with rayon
Or was it pink polyester and nylon?
It was labeled a ‘velvety soft mink’
Never washed it became the ‘pink stink’
I would turn myself into a taco
And feel like I’d won life’s big lotto.
I am a drunken pen, or at least thats what they call me in the betting shop at 4.55pm on a Saturday afternoon. Kept deep inside the cavity of a old polyester jacket to converse with a packet of wrigley's extra strong mints in the dark. I often find myself just listening intently to my master as he begins the day in articulated fashion, and slowly slivers his way towards a gibbering wreck of despair & destruction. He is struggling desperately to make ends meet, as i frequently share space with 1p & 2p. Yesterday i heard him chatting to himself in the kitchen whilst trying to open a tin of spaghetti hoops. Bills haven't been paid in weeks, and the odour that fills the atmosphere can only be matched by that in the backstreets of Calcutta...not that i've been there to experience the aroma.
My use is simple, i write bets! nothing more, nothing less. Starting the day in a elegant manner and posture my nib floats around the paper like a ice skater at the Montreal Olympics, and quite often i will polish the ego by scoring myself 6.0,6.0,6.0 for artistic impression. But as the hours roll by, and my master takes in the full range of liquid refreshment i find that my posture and style have deserted my being within three turns of a clock face. My master is slowly sinking into the abyss of life, and he sits in the towering inferno of middle aged obsurity with no exits. Everytime i appear from the deep well of his pocket i continually keep praying that this journey shall be my last. Maybe i will break, maybe i will have a blockage. Or even better than that, my master may be fortunate to win a cascading amount of money that prompts him to fling me to the gates of pen eternity allowing the master to purchase the Rolls Royce of pens....The Parker!
Until that moment arrives i will continue to be everything my master wishes me to be. Because at the apex of this life's voyage, i am only as good as my master's intensions.
Those damn old people with their applesauce, and need for retirement
I giggle at the sizes adult diapers come in,
They haven't worked hard enough for me yet,
We need more cotton picked more tobacco chopped
And more polyester pants
AARP sounds like a senior citizens sorority to me
Oh! how I chide in laughter,
Nothing like a hip replacement with no coverage really tickles the funny bone
I was talking to my grandma and she believes the government does her wrong
But how is that; when you can't even remember what happened yesterday
For all you know they have given you lower prescription payments
I'm snortling to the point I have urinated in my pants
Just remind myself to pick up grandpa's extra big boy bladder briefs
They shouldn't be able to live off of years and years of labor by social security
Besides if they can remember back in their day, they can remember to go get...
A JOB! and while they're talking 'bout the olden days, would you like fries with that?