Best Tress Poems
Dark Knight-tress
Underneath
This gown I feel nothing
Silk less feelings
The odor of intimate apparel lessens
Vanity fare from any sun
Warrior of beauty
Where have you gone?
A fortress of gloom
Not even death wants in
Black nail tips
Brownish plum lips
I close my eyes
I see them all
The Shadows
Climbing over my soul
The darken deepens
The stars dim my view
Irremovable makeup
Land becomes an enemy
I become
The Dark Knight-tress
Scolding my next victim
~S~
On the edge of silence
beyond mossy-muffled stone walls
a wind chime chants—faint
like falling sparkles of stars;
honeyed musings
of a wind-spirit on the move,
west to east
a bridge of broken chords.
Cosmic animation
stirs my domestic pulsation.
In a supple sweep
from beyond the western dusk,
soft notes jangle in sweet saunter—
so like you,
an angel’s riff on an airy whiff.
O wind chanter,
I hear your chimes
as I linger
in undying love for him
…yes
I hear you, singer!
Sing to me of his approach!
For alone,
on the cold stone of a lifeless dusk,
I mourn the most.
Like a moth vibrating
around the lantern’s glow,
I feel the brush of his touch
amid breezy flutters;
flirtations
with a long blonde tress
and the white frills
of my nightdress.
O bittersweet enchantment!
O wild yet tender wind—O embracing visitor!
But how do I hold you?
How do I hold the wind, my love?
Always! Always!
You slip away
on blank paper wings!
My human nature aspires to fly
but my every heartbeat; rib-caged.
Ironclad in mortal armor.
Obliged to the grasp of gravity’s greed.
Damn the bane of my spirit’s capture
and love’s coupled yoke
that did not die with you!
Damn the bane of my lifeblood
bound to its artery stream bed!
Though my lovelorn river
pulses with throbs of a tide robbed
not even a river’s rapture
can compete with the thrills
of your unbound freedom—
oh death’s freedom!
The ringing sleigh-bell singing
of spring peepers intrudes
O wind chanter, distant wind chime,
your tinsel talk fades.
He is lost to me again—
Lost!
Lost
lost….
Oh, how wonderfully innocent
and juvenile, 'twas for me.
You, scooting surreptitiously.
closer and closer to me.
Like a soft, gentle caterpillar,
slithering and smiling.
Making its way home in the
still of the night.
I clutched my lovely, flowered
handkerchief.
Then my gold cross with a
sparkling aqua gem upon it.
Really, wanting to not say, no.
My blue eyed Tommy boy.
In the Elmwood Park Spring, we
were about to kiss.
Fireflies came to celebrate this
celebratory bliss.
When we were moving beyond
flirtation.
It was as though heaven were
sending particles of stars,
To bless the softness of this
sacred night.
Of huge elm tress, your strong
arms about me.
Finally, those soft, tender lips.
There in God's silent moonlight,
I had my first teenage kiss!
August 30, 2019
Inspired by writings of Robert Lindley.Thank you!
I had three daughters and I loved them all.
And they knew I had the biggest soft spot
For Felicity, the middle one. Her grace followed
Everywhere and everyone in the village knew.
Her golden yellow tress, her fluttering eyebrows,
Her small upturned nose enhanced the small sweet lips.
And she was always laughing, affecting everyone.
She found a job in a children's paediatric hospital.
Children were her love and she would attend to them
As often as time permitted, leaving her to laugh,
Echoing in the corridors, by far a favourite of all.
One thing she never missed. The service was on Sunday.
In the end, by permission, she would sing her hymn.
Many came to hear her angelic mellifluous voice.
She always chose "Amazing Grace". Soft notes that came from the heart
And rising to a crescendo. No one was allowed to clap.
Her final words were always the same.
You come to adore God. Praise His Holy Name.
THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of tamed and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus softened with that tender hand
which Shepherd to mild glen compels.
One fleece the more, one spot the less,
had half-possessed the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
that gently whitens o'er their face,
where eyes serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their ovine race.
And on that rump, and o'er that round,
so firm, so strong, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
You have sent me your elegant portrait
Saying it will fill the void in my life
Not realizing that it will further frustrate
And cut my heart like a blade of knife
I tried to talk to it, it wouldn’t answer
I tried to kiss it; its lips were cold like ice
Ignoring my frailty and heart’s seeded cancer
Its locks unfurl nor roses of cheeks entice
Your colors it wears nor ravishing perfume
It neither cheers nor languishing heart console
My love! Was it so difficult to presume!
An image only wasn’t my craving’s goal
Can an image respond to an earnest embrace?
Can it feel ones fondness, ones caress
My kisses don’t change the color of face
On my chest it doesn’t spread its tress
Its eager fingers do not comb my hair
It doesn’t seek the coziness of my arms
It comforts my anguish nor my despair
It doesn’t heal my afflictions; it only harms
I am craving for you, my love, not an image
Bird of life may seek freedom from body’s cage
the cleansing tears of stratus sky
the silver tress as death draws nigh
she implored her loves that cry
to not regret ~ do not lament
for all her days were heaven sent...
May 29 ~ For Nette's Color my Mood
Kickin’ ass farm chores in floral print dress
Lipstick is sticky and hair’s all a mess
Binder twine blisters that tuck a loose tress
Crankin’ old Allis but with mom’s finesse
And these things that happened
Like burlap and satin
Fertile fields plowin’ and dust in excess
Barley seeds planted with such fine caress
Rakin’ up hay for the bales of success
Dreamin’ up memories is such a bless.
And these things that happened
Like burlap and satin
Askin’ for little and wanting some less
Catholic girl says no to sometimes yes
Maybe sought more than we dare to confess
Born to be tender with some rough, I guess.
And these things that happened
Like burlap and satin
Written: 3/21/18
Contest: Burlap and Satin
Host: Anthony Slausen
My head has known a thousand rests;
it has floated on feathered softness,
and silk curlicued with a silken tress;
been prickled by the grass of a meadow,
under a hung menagerie of clouds.
Into rumpled sheets of sand it has pressed,
and the sleepy valleys of maidens’ breasts.
On cold concrete pavement it has lain,
my senses by a drunken torpor slain.
It has been stood up by sleep,
on origami pillows made with coats,
the rugged terrains of sofa arms,
on bony cushions fashioned with my palms,
and gold threads needled into coats of arms.
My head has known a thousand rests,
but never the rapture of a dreamless nap,
till I laid it in the sweetness of your lap.
You Know, I have to confess
Some poetry ends in a mess
'Cause when Jan make a poop
It ends up in the soup
But don't get your hair in a tress
Then my heart with pleasure fills and dances with the daffodils.
—-William Wordsworth
DILLY-DILLY DAFFODILS
Dilly-dilly daffodils in a lady’s tress,
Sailing as she throws off distress.
Blithesome in shades of yellow and blue,
The yellow-buttercups a felicitous crew.
Dancing fair maiden-esprit, free
Of worry, no anxiety, Swinging gloriously —
A merry-go-round, dizzying sashay.
O how these pretty ladies brighten the day.
Dilly-dilly daffodils splashing everywhere,
Xanthous snow-shower of motherly care.
Warms the rainbow of hearts, rocks
Deep-dark dungeon despair into goldy-locks.
Slays the Winter dragon, breath-stifling depress.
Parades open-air confidence and playfulness.
Dilly-O-Delightful daffodils trumpet applaud,
bowing and curtsying — a faerie squad.
Dandelions look on with jealousy, turn white,
blow far, far away, leaving a lantern-light
of palace gardens, star chandeliers, riverdale,
green goblet-meadows, a sunshiny-fairytale.
3/12/2021
*For Caren Krutsinger*
"In the neverland, I step in,
surrounded by beauty and a melody from an alluring violin.
I'm filled with utter joy as I pass through the tress of life,
There, at a distance near a lake, I saw a woman and knew at once that she would be my wife.
We cared, we fought, we loved,
No sooner were we blessed with a beloved.
The neverland became our paradise,
but the serpent appeared and whispered to us thrice.
A whisper that was sinful and deadly,
our life turned into a tragic medley.
Our paradise was taken away from us,
My wife made quite a fuss,
thus, did we end up walking alone in the desert,
with no water, no food but a heart that hurt.
We hoped and hoped to meet a better place,
but it was that one mistake that had us disgraced.
We found no one to help us in our tiring journey,
Our life had become a monochromatic picture; dark and blurry."
Black is my ink
Black my pain
Dark must be thoughts now
Dense this tress must be
Night has anyway put on
A sketch of my darker lines
How shall now I write
A poem of my darkness amidst black night
This ink too has submerged its blood
Like my thin ink
Circulating in my dark veins
Who shall now read this dark volume,
Shall I open my crimson artery
To pen down thy tale
And my of my vale.
The twilight cloud drizzles pearls on you,
pristine patina flows on curls of tress ebony,
rave rapture drenches me, you’ve no clue.
The twilight cloud drizzles pearls on you,
setting scarlet sun sprinkles dreamy hue,
surreal crystals cascade in silent symphony.
The twilight cloud drizzles pearls on you,
pristine patina flows on curls of tress ebony.
_______________
January 22, 2022
Word Count : 56 (PS Counter)
Contest : Triolet Poetry Contest 160 Words Or Less
Sponsored by : Caren Krutsinger
yellow brown red gold
autumn many tress colors
some dry dark leaves fall