Best Starched Poems

 
"At the Seat of the Catacombs of Amygdala"



 
"...the curse ruled from the underground down by the shore
And their hope grew with a hunger...

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"Snowflakes Melting before the Diadem"

Winter is coming
and what then?
the dreams frozen 
snowflakes falling
we succomb 
tongues out waiting 
for manna, 
pills swallowed
for the diadem
needles of pine
instead...

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Thoughts that thrive on scattered dreams
shoot through the mind like laser beams
Hunger echoes a hollow song
Voices merge, intestines long
Lips are dry, and tongues are parched
Memories...

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"The Epiphany Rose"

All well and good,
the story unfolds;
the isolating madness 
drew out the poets 
in all the shunned
playing up and out 
their origami
word games

something like...

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It don’t mean a thing
When there’s no bling, bling, bling
No gold adornment or diamond ring.
A brother buying Rolex
In clothes starched and well pressed
Never notices the...

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I have caressed
in coffin draped hugs
those who defended me,
hung limply as taps
and tears flowed
across generations.
Known the thrill
of fireworks and jubilation
rose, full faced,
in sundrenched
wind starched glory.
Wept...

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Music echoes through the halls,
climbing stairs, and gilded walls.
Our lovely lass discreetly swoons. 
With longing eyes, she scans the room.

Young ladies dressed, in gowns, divine,
are...

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Invitations to the Gala
issued by a grave impala
were highly sought out missives 
by the bold and the submissive 
Those omitted uttered curses
shook angry fists or...

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Redemption 
She slowly uncoiled her gray streaked hair that fell to her waist. She removed her 
spectacles to see more clearly the windswept icy snow...

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He was young, small, perhaps malnourished
Looking out from deep set eyes, rimmed with neglect
I could see, he wanted ...
To know why?
To know what? ... I...

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Am I hideous 


So many years have drained,
slowly taking what was once mine
scattering it over endless thoughts and memories
and I wonder why, where has it...

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Like bullet holes in a starched white shirt,
they prop the gravestone in the dirt,
a ruby stitch across the face
of veined pale marble carapace.

They held my...

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1. Refrain (Unwound)

Her song, it never played
Coal sack black stitching frayed
Lead the familiar thread
Lined coffin living dead
To the beat how we march
Funeral shirt ready starched

2....

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"Who Put Luebella down the Wych Elm?"

There are rumours
about me, some 
come seeking me
with their geiger counters
and ouji boards
with their heart 
shaped planchettes

unanswered questions
in the...

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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...

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