Best Tousled Poems
From a wheatfield's tapestry
I embrace again my childlike wanderings...
a time I deeply remember
when I played without restraint...
our murmurs still squeaking with every
rhythm of past rougish pleasures:
Swooping into a time tunnel
and chasing late summer leaves;
I am still in awe of duskfall's wild hunts...
those bouncy trails of recklessness
mirroring my youth's enthusiasm.
How we fought gothic pirates untold
across a tousled upland,
then down again through muddy creeks
and grass alike, slingshots whacking
the likes of Captain Hook;
As four gang mates of the Lost Boys roar
'The Pan is with us', and Tiger Lily too;
embarking yet on another episode
till my pals and I invade a shipwreck trap.
~
It is late September again...I reminisce
about this raucous ritual of wild carousals
where I would throw fear to the winds,
where my soul dares the invincible...
my imaginary friends and I walking on air,
designing unbridled fancy against real time:
My dream-like squad is somehow gone
lost in the slings of innocence...
that age of pubescence can be cruel, rude
that treacherous moment when
our wheatfield grows old with me...
Now I gently sob and smile...and yet,
that tableu of shimmering gaiety
still enriches my inner child--
with untamed, Pan- like curiosity.
How many souls live on the edge,
Between the gutter and the ledge?
A hopeless fear crawls in their gut,
Each day, another endless rut.
The moments pass profoundly slow
Sad, bitter winds are all that blow.
A man lay huddled near the bin
Hoping death will take him in.
Frozen tears, on wrinkled cheeks
Frostbitten ears, and shoes that leak.
His mind forgets the games of tag,
Old Crockett's hill, where down they'd slide.
A summer rain, the puddles deep
Out catchin' toads, to tame and keep.
His life began with dimpled cheeks,
Red tousled hair, and hide 'n seek.
A tough old Dad who tricked and teased
A pretty Mom who smiled with ease.
They had a farm with fields of hay
A few old hogs, and bills to pay.
One summer day, the sky turned black.
A howling wind brought down their shack.
Dad sold the hogs, and cut the hay.
The farm was lost, we drove away.
The next two years were grim and lean.
Dad broke his back, to feed us beans.
When winter came our food ran out.
We found old Dad hung by a rope.
Without poor Dad, no food or fire;
Mom took my hand, the day was dire.
The Sister's face looked mean and sour.
I thought of Mom most every hour.
They scrubbed my back until it bled.
cut off my hair, then I got fed.
'Twas many years before I left,
My Mom had died a tragic death.
Now all alone, I lived and slept.
I begged for food, and sometimes wept.
A life of days and endless woe,
Now time is dead, and death too slow.
As you walk by those 'homeless freaks'
Remember me, with dimpled cheeks.
I wrestle with my words in aimlessness when I write.
Poetry is a relationship to me, it's a troubled courtship.
I can't come to reasonable reform in words on the spot..
but rather seek intimacy with my thoughts in attempt.
The two of us, man and his romantic notions,
carelessly Laid into tousled affections on a page.
I love her, and the page, she spurns me willfully.
I love her, and grasp in hopelessness to understand her.
I give my undivided attention, my eyes wander her form.
I've sought shamelessly to appease her whispered desires.
But she is a selfish lover, asking for more than can be given.
She, the playful counterpart in a field of rationality, often eludes me.
We communicate without language,
Gestures,symbols,motions of a hand.
He understands my language.
I struggle with his.
But somehow we make it work.
We've lived together 14 years now,
Never thought to make it legal.
Our love could not be
More committed with a license .
He likes his hair long,
I prefer him less tousled
Though he does look appealing
When the hair fall in his eyes.
To find a partner like him is rare,
Although he has wandered on brief occasions.
I close the door behind him, but never turn the lock.
He always manages to find his way home,
With downtrodden posture and liquid eyes.
I allow him to share my bed again,
After he grovels at my feet.
My heart has grown soft for him over time.
I overlook his laziness and graying hair.
Smitten by his warm body and childlike ways.
Oh Theo, life at times is so unfair.
Though only a dog, I've rarely met a better man.
Early rain falls gently
like his fingers running softly
through her tousled hair
The wind breathes lightly
like his lips treading velvets
on her cheek,along her neck
and across her peach-creamed skin so fair
She dances,she sings
by the cabin down the valley
She feeds little birds
and keeps on humming merrily
Pansies sway in silence
as she walks down the lane
She strolls over the bridge
then cross it back again
She watches the Tuscan sun
set down beyond the prarie
She lays in verdant fields
and dreams of the lost fairy
With noisette eyes so full of love
She follows fluttering wings
of tiny fire-flies
which glisten in night sky
like little lantern lights
Through fragrant vine-yards She runs
and tastes blushed-scents of wine
She journeys through distance
through moments,n memory of time
She holds on to a star
to the edge of glowing moons
She reaches the oasis
beyond the desert dunes
She reaches to the dark woods
to the still sound of his cry
She let hm see her magic
where freedom's kite soar high
She enters in the universe
of his thoughts soft 'tender part
to the cascading passion
in the alley of his heart
In ghostly dreams the horse will come
And feed on my forbidden cereal
Meant for my recalcitrant healing
That filly came a-prancing stealing
O shrouded mare so misted white
Thou bleakest horse ,this blackest night
Untethered and untied
Noble creature -"NOT"- I cried
A pallid stare through tousled mane
Treads the core of my hidden pain
So obvious now for all to see
My fear complies to jellyfied fragility
Hope drifts lost in catatonic misery
As does my scream in muted agony
Nostrils flared in malarial trembling
Gasps aloud from injurious dreaming
Departing tail of comets flight
Leaves me such a prophetic sight
Descending stairs in ballerina pink
her naked toes now tentatively sink
into the snug embrace of each new tread.
As silently as snowflakes touch the ground
she softly tiptoes down without a sound
and in her hand a book which must be read.
With tousled hair she stands au naturel
upon the final step, knowing full well
that she will soon be safely tucked in bed.
14.10.19
Nude - Descending A Staircase Poetry Contest: sponsored by John Lawless
Adrift her world no obstacles no dreams to moor, immobilized and still
she sailed through stardust particles then glode into the nil
Into the fire of night she tousled through, by daylight saving time a strew
a scattering of stars appeared leading her inside a flower garden made for two;
The scent of Angel trumpets, gardenias, evening primrose
blended with a fragrant voice, she simply had no choice
as she pressed her little hand against the lunar soil's embroil,
foam flowers, chocolate daisies, and Liliums appeared;
A shift, then suddenly beyond the reach of earth a blessed gift of lift
she flew inside that dwelling place where benevolent souls ignite;
Fawning love plush against the evening breeze
even stars of night choose their light protease
when a small child enters an evening Kingdom,
like a Grandiflorus cactus, falling backwards into time...
Example for my contest
December 20, 2022
I see you
Do you see me peeking at you
From behind the rose bush?
Look at your lovely hair - a tousled mess
Those eyes, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight
I pull on your apron strings
Perchance a small smile
Oh no! Not a frown from you
I see you
Did you know that I was watching you
When you were busy making chocolate cake?
Just look at your sweet face
Flour on your nose and cheek
I squeeze your arm tightly
Mayhaps I get the spoon
Thank you for keeping me close
I see you
You don't know that I am looking at you
Wrapped up in your blanket
So cozy and warm - a quiet nod
A peaceful time for you
Can hardly wait for you to waken
I'll find a hiding place
So I can watch again
Perfection's never something,
You can capture oh so well.
But her beauty burned like gazing,
At the fires that burn in Hell.
And people they would beg of her,
"Let me capture you in photograph."
But with beauty that was so obscure,
She'd always turn and laugh.
She woke up every morning,
But this was a different one.
Called an artist that was yearning,
"We can do this just for fun."
She stained her lips with rose.
Painted her cheeks in the fairest rouge.
Slipped ballet flats upon her toes.
And in her sundress she found refuge.
The amateur had no say,
She had planned the perfect spot.
She whispered, "I'll lead the way."
A small price to pay to get the perfect shot.
Her movements were so delicate,
It's as if they were devised.
She used a subtle hand wave to indicate,
That they had finally arrived.
You would think you'd see a castle,
Or maybe a field of green.
But this enviroment was quite the hassle,
Maybe her sense of taste wasn't keen.
She thrusted weeds away,
Steering clear of twigs and rocks.
The warm wind made her sundress sway,
And softly tousled her gold locks.
Upon a bridge she advanced,
The planks began to creak.
The water below her danced,
And sunset began to peak.
She lifted her legs with elegance,
And supported herself with a beam.
The photographer shuttered in benevolence,
But followed along with this dangerous scheme.
It's as if the camera was under a spell;
As beneath the bridge, waves violentally lashed.
She threw her arms out and willingly fell,
As the light grew bright and flashed.
The tides pulled tight around her.
They made her twirl and spin.
And the camera man swore,
she smiled as they tugged her in.
Perfection's not that fluent.
Not something you can capture oh so well.
But now we have a picture here to prove it,
As the waves dragged her to Hell.
.
The caricature of a gentleman, nameless, scorned,
The infamous savage of the famous street was wobbling:
Scruffy, shaggy, ruffed beared, tousled haired,
Disheveled,
there went the odious appearance, bumbling.
Soubriquet: lunatic, fierce, rowdy with murky torn clothes,
Was sitting stigmatic with grubby means,
Was teased and thrown stones,
To drive away from the decorous street!
He was spotted pitied with meagre chuck,
While feeding a destitute;
Taunting and sneering didn't perturb him,
Gave his share simpering, only to be starved!
The antithesis of savage, the man of the hour,
Silently paved his way then, bare footed tottering,
To be again the savage of the decorous street!
The moment we met.
Haunting meadows in springtime,
Your slim silhouette.
A slumbering fawn
Awakes in new morning dawn.
The ghost of your eyes.
Your singular smile
Feigning figures and fancies.
The phantoms that guile.
Fair feathers were fanned -
Ruffled wing of a sparrow.
The touch of your hand.
Inside still a boy.
Body burning aflutter
I jittered with joy.
The sound of your laugh.
Ocean waters were splashing,
A midsummer bath.
We strayed on the strand
Your hair, long, tousled and blown.
A moment, alone.
I started to spin
Beneath skies opening wide.
Your breath on my skin.
Being drawn aside
The mysteries of love unwind.
Two tongues are entwined.
Falling from above
Fires we shared in late fall.
The fury of love.
Passions which flowered,
Painted stars the night showered.
The brightness of day.
Your name and ‘farewell' -
Two words tolled in winter’s sky.
A shattering knell
She left while I slept.
A farewell note near the nook
I read while I wept.
Note: this was an attempt to ‘Haikuize’ my rhyme “I’ll Always Remember” – thus, it’s a learning experiment...
Experts, please forgive...
Current Events
Frozen pants dance stiffly
to the mad beat of sapless
drumsticks choreographed
by a wicked whimsy of the
winds baton. Birds cling
tightly knowing that if the
gale subsides for but a moment
they will fall over, be blown
like feathered fur balls on
lone unchartered trips. Cats
hiss in meek response to
whistling whine of wind’s
failed grasping at the trees.
Children pick up speed as
parents chase them through
the cyclones of debris
quick swept by nature’s
crazed custodian. Hats,
hang glide in mocking
merriment above the tousled
heads of their former captors.
Skirts balloon Monroe like,
fashion’s flair taking on airs.
Trash can covers play Frisbee,
as barrels beat steel drum staccato.
This wind, this rush of Winter
clearing the table, cleansing its palate,
preparing us for the next course.
John G. Lawless
1/25/2014
Human trees embrace,
Making an erotic breeze:
Tousled by true love.
We have a standing date,
today and everyday
when dawn breaks a smile.
We meet in the park
we begin to move,
acquainting ourselves
we begin to sheen.
Our blood is pulsing
feeling so g o o d!
Faster and faster,
we become more intense
sustaining
as long as we can,
until we are spent.
Dripping wet,
a tousled mess
panting
we slowly recover.
My obsession is requited for now...
tomorrow, I must have you again.
I can't live without you
I love you,
I want you,
..my daily workout.
Susan Ashley
July 22, 2017