Best Trying On Poems
Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.
Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.
Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.
Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.
Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?
Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.
The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.
The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.
Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.
Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.
Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.
Spelling, syllable count, vanity, too simple, Simon! Be prolific, cruel, smart, up to par, above the bar, fit for the stage. Tap, tap, tap…
—by poet
The Prismatic Self
See the wooden stage, markers for my feet, bright lights, great expectations, critical analysis. Curtains will open any minute as my words make an entrance. Will my opening lyrics draw a crowd? Who will be in attendance? The theater’s not likely sold out.
Backstage, the sponsors, who are they? ATTENTION! As if a teacher wields a pointer, tapping at my feet. Will the audience throw erasers?
On the palm of my hand, the rules - perhaps strict, but I’m not in fear of a stickler. Trained by the nuns in love and hate knuckles.*
Lots of rules, I might have to practice the act for quite a bit longer. I practice in my dressing room, trying on outfit after outfit - those flouncy forms or something simple and succinct.
Am I a people pleaser? Do I perform at the pleasure of the King or Queen? Or am I my own worst critic?
Yes! Yes! Yes! No!
I desire to be seen but I will yield. There is something more important than being the lead. Still, I must confess, I must run back to my little box, mime my tears, dread my limitations, take a breath and when I am ready - take a bow.
At the onset, I must build my own backdrop, backstory, be vague and understood. I run my lines quickly, slowly, go over them again and again, even as I recite them freely, as a monoku or Shakespearian sonnet; or get even more elaborate.
I labor over each word, its placement, its meaning. I don’t care! I do care! I must feel it practically perfect; though I will let it go. Eventually, it will be a comedy of errors, erroneously erupting past the stage, in the rubber hands of cause and effect. The sponsor’s Marlboro ashes fall on it, without understanding my heartfelt meaning; my wings clipped as I await the list…the dreaded and dreadful list. Most surprised when I am the cream, alone - floating at the top.
**Fastbreast, blushing, aghast, euphoric. That sponsor is exact. I do not grow prideful. I do glow. The tip of the iceberg shows, all other words sunken, below. In leotards, the ships pass by, having a look - one clips itself.
*conceit
**Fastbreast - heart beating rapidly (Neologism)
It is always there,
never quite within range
where the mind can snare
some shadowy form, or shape
an outline and hold it long enough
to name.
It waits for the sun to go down
and the evening to draw in
like a taken breath when it comes
closer and nestles into what warmth
lingers there under the folds
of a gathered dark.
Sometimes when I am off
elsewhere and far away in thought,
I am sure it slips inside my head
and enters where memories are,
trying on a face, posing
in some familiar scene,
rummaging through what a child
left there long ago as if
it was searching for itself.
And there are mornings
when waking I sense its presence
in the dissolving residue of a dream,
a small footprint left on that
shore between awareness and sleep,
an indent, a scooped out hole
where something broken
took refuge and sought comfort
in being near.
There are dark times
when it almost becomes
a plumbed in part of me,
each bunkered in our own
adjoining rooms, held apart
by a wall neither of us
want to breach. We have spent
a good part of our lives here,
holding onto what should be set free,
fearing that if we did, one of us
would cease to be.
My Sarah
When I looked at you last week trying on your new boots
Those almond eyes sparkling at something new, a gift
I saw my little pink girl, a princess, playing dress up again
Your long hair draped your high cheekbones
Life still a game, tinged with drama and theatre
As you look for fun in all your pursuits!
A player in life with a passion for cooking and music
You have become a kind, loyal, vivacious young woman
Self assured, grounded with a love of tradition
I looked at you and felt an overwhelming pride.
Sunday’s child is ' bonny, blithe, good and gay' they say
Befitting my Sabbath girl, a model child of few demands
Your bedroom a vast sea of Barbie and friends
A Passion for story-time and books
Your Dutch life with Irish sea-touched roots,
You are a real continental
A great scholar with degrees in Law and Psychoanalysis
You have found your true love with Luis, a Spaniard
As you both prepare to leave the Emerald Isle
I wonder at the achievement of you!
Oh if I could go back in time.
The choices, I would change.
The going on a blind date and regretting it ones.
The just one more drink ones.
The wrong Christmas present ones.
The going over the speed ones.
The cutting in line ones.
The taking friends advice ones.
The taking of financial advice ones.
The spur of the moment decision ones.
The not taking your prescribed medication ones?
The procrastination ones.
The allowing your teenager to borrow your new car ones.
The lending money ones.
The overpaying for anything ones.
The last minute decision ones.
The volunteering to change the babies diaper ones.
The not going to the Dr. ones.
The new years resolution ones.
The buying pizza from the store, and not ordering from the pizzeria ones.
The help bathing the cat ones.
The buying a scoop of ice cream, when it's 104 outside. Melting away ones.
The not trying on a pair of shoes before buying ones.
The adding of too much salt to your dinner ones.
The not comparing prices from the local gas stations. and paying too much ones..
Truth be told it was me that
made all these choices.
9/10/2015 Michael Tor.
Contest: The choices we make in life.
Sponsored by Edward Ebbs
Getting ready to go to the big school
Was such a worrying thing
I heard grim tales of bullies
The teachers and the cane
And when I saw the savages
Get of the bus and fight
The worry almost drove me insane.
I remember my mother taking me
for a new school uniform
In the Army and Navy stores
Trying on twenty uniforms
Or more.
My mother chose a blazer
Far too big for me
It looked like a parachute
And so long in went below the knee.
It would have been better a poor lad
Three times as big as me.
She said ''well, you'll grow in to it.''
Thirty years later I'm still waiting.
My trousers were so baggy
A gust of wind and I would almost fly
You could see me fly by.
When I got to school
Out of nearly 2,000 other pupils
I stuck out like a sore thumb
I was so embarrassed
Thanks to mum.
The zippier on my trousers was always bursting
Because I was so fat
I'd go to the matron
Who aid I spoke the Queens English
Give me a safety pin for my zipper
And that was the end of that.
Sometimes the button would fly off my trousers
Suddenly and my trousers would fall down
I had to pull them up and hold them in place
With one hand
And hold my blazer
over my crotch
You can imagine the strange looks that Got.
Yes the one who said, ''School days are the happiest days of your life''
Well
They never went to my school, mine was Hell.
Peter Dome. Copyright.2015. May.
Sexy is Delicate in Definition
Ranging in Geography or all life positions
From going to Mexican Restaurants creating the best tasting Fajitas
Visiting White Sand Beaches off the coast of Costa Rica
Dropping to a size five, trying on smaller clothes
Strong burst of water shooting from a fire water hose
A fresh haircut with both sides tapered
A Writers ink pen as it glides across paper
Slowly pulling an oranges' peel away from its' juicy flesh
The scent of Spring Air and its' flowers that are fresh
A Tattoo Artist ink filled needle penetrating exposed skin
That feeling at the race track eludes your horse will win
Viewing a Picture that you love, standing behind a fiery heat wave
Eating a year old piece of wedding cake, from the freezer that was saved
To you whom gave me life,
Rocked and sang, sweet melodies lullabies
By night, and cradled me safe and warm,
Within a mother's loving, and tender embrace.
Taught an awkward child, to take her
First steps, and held me upwards so as not
To fall.
Devotion's nightmare protector, who always
Made sure the closet door remained closed, and
The bathroom night light was left on, so the
Monsters under the bed could never get me.
Champion of the chocolate chip cookie, never did
You once forget the bare necessities of life,
Such as having icy cold milk in the refrigerator.
Movie queen diva, whom popped the perfect
Kernels of popcorn, and added just the right
Amount of butter, for everyone's picky tastes,
On our annual family nights.
From diapers to tattered blue jeans,
Barbie dolls, and trying on your over sized high
Heels, you never ceased to amaze me.
On every level mother dearest, you
Were always the ultimate super hero to me.
Through hardships heartache, and loves first flirtations,
But no shoulder's comfort, soothed me more
Than she, whom guided this awkward teenager,
Through these hard times of youthful regrets.
A grown woman am I now, raising children of
My own, realizing all the sacrifices you've made,
All in the name of a mother's love.
No ages wrinkles, can take away your true
Beauty, held as a frozen photograph
Within the inner heart of my soul.
She's the dear sweet image of what
I want my children to remember me by.
It's the highest form of flattery,
To emulate, a someone special,
Such as yourself, a woman called mother.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Every time I'm feeling down, or feeling so blue
As if there's nothing I can do
My spirits always seem to rise
When I Look Into Her Eyes
I'm new at this, this game of love, but got no shame
Get excited when she calls my name
We're trying on love for the very first time
When I Look Into Her Eyes
Their beauty takes me to the depths of forever
Where we are so happy, and together
Oh how I'd love to just hold her tight, and never let go
Into Her Eyes, oh how they glow
Comforting and loving with passion to spare
Those two heavens with my world, I ache to share
I'm trying on a first love, a first love for size
When I Look Into Her Eyes
The fires of my love they're igniting
And to our future her eyes are exciting
There's rose gardens and sunny skies
When I Look Into Her Eyes
Their love, with desire is burning
She's got my world upside down, and turning
Oh how the world stops, yet the time somehow flies
When I Look Into Her Eyes
But when I think about what will happen
I realize Into Her Eyes, how deep I am trapped in
Soon I will have to kiss her softly with the goodbyes
How long will I live without their beauty, how will I survive?
The reason we must find ourselves
Is because somewhere along the way it was lost
Misplaced on childhood’s dusty shelves
Heedlessly forgotten, carelessly tossed
Countless discarded costumes and masks
Obscure our mind’s authentic hemisphere
Trying on different people is such a task
Never fitting, incessantly sheer
Soon we realize we never changed, we just grew
And we see that all along
We always knew
That our true essence was never too far gone
A shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold
Someone to take care of me when I am old
A smiling face to greet me each day
Breakfast in bed brought on a tray
Birthdays and Mother’s Day never forgotten
Pampering me and spoiling me rotten
Discussing life’s problems and broken hearts
Reassuring her that she can make a new start
Whispering secrets and describing a dream
Swapping new recipes and eating ice cream
Going to garage sales and bargain shopping
Afternoon walks and popcorn popping
Trying on clothes and always hearing
Honest answers about what I’m wearing
Knowing each other’s hearts inside out
Trusting her completely without a doubt
There is no other friend so dear
As having my daughter always near
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place,
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.
If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.
If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.
The skeletons in my closet are trying on my clothes
Posing a fashion show of history
Using bony toes to throw memento mori
"watch your head!"-puts hand over grin
My diary redacted, an exploding think tank
Plastered on pages, so pretty to think so
Making a pact with the top hat that
marinades my mind into overflow
"a poet's guts are a beautiful splatter!"
The black boots I used to reinvent
A thousand miles that were walked and spent
Stepping over trial and error
Crying over unpaid rent and electricity terror
"light a candle and revel in the silence!"
The gloves that scoured the couch
for a dollar in change to feed the mouths
of my heart and soul sitting in front of me
begging for a bowl of spaghettios
"innocence resides behind smiling blue eyes!"
Slightly tattered from the cold weather
an old, black sweater with a sewn in locket
carries the charm of car and job
problems in it's pocket.
"I've got thumb holes in my hand hats!"
The little ties that put a knot in my throat
from all the lies that once were spoke
so properly placed on a plastic hanger
to easily be broken by words from a stranger.
"No wire hangers, ever!"
Sipping on sunshine through a dixie cup
My skeletons and I are playing dress up
It reminds me that I'm alive and my past is dead.
I'll buy better clothes in the days ahead.
"life is beautiful!"
The Three Days, That The Three Of Them Changed Me!
~
I was minding my own business, when
my wife wanted to go to a bookstore,
she just needed some cards, dumb me I
went in with her, looking around as I
started out the door a book caught my
attention. “Free Book” 50% off, of coarse
I had to buy it God was just daring me not too.
~
Have you ever felt like Jesus was just talking
to you alone and no-one else.
That is the way I have felt all weekend,
I feel like I am having my own alone time right
now to get things right with God. For too long
I have been trying on my own, and it has not worked:
Now I am turning it over to Jesus and the Holy Spirit,
and letting them take care of the big things,
I’ll take care of the little things.
~
Oh yea, this week my bondage’s and struggles’
were taken over one by one by Jesus and his Father.
They did not have a chance once the Holy Spirit
got moving in me. I never in my life
felt this way until I felt the Holy Spirit move in
on me. Now I know my life has been changed forever.
Darn them for all ganging up on me anyway; I just was
not ready for them all at once.
~
But oh what a ride, I guess I needed this journey
I was on, for me to grow in Jesus’
name. So don’t despair in your journeys
as you travel through life, enjoy them as
you grow with the Lord. The Holy Spirit are
going to be part of your growing adventure.
Sit back and enjoy them, don’t fight them like
I did; let them become a part of you. Amen
~
Steve L. Siegel
June 20, 2010
my paris begins with
those early days
as a conscious flaneur
i recall the couple
seated opposite me
on the metro
when i was still innocent
of its labyrinthine complexity
slim pretty white girl
clad head to toe in denim
smiling wistfully
while her muscular black beau
stared through me
with fathomless orbs
and one of them spoke
almost in a whisper
qu'est-ce-que t'en pense
and it dawned on me
yes the young parisienne
with the distant desirous eyes
was no less male than me
dismal movies
in the forum des halles
being screamed at in pigalle
and then howled at again
by some kind of madman
or vagrant who told me
to go to the bois de boulogne
to meet what he saw
as my destiny
menaced
by a sinister skinhead
for trying on tessa's
wide-brimmed hat
getting soused in les halles
with sara
who'd just seen
dillon as rusty james
and was walking in a daze
sara again with jade
at the caveau
de la huchette jazz cellar
cash squandered
on a gold tootbrush
two tone shoes
from close by
to the place d'italie
portrait sketched
at the place du tertre
paperback books
by symbolist poets
but second hand volumes
by trakl and deleve
and a leather jacket
from the marche aux puces
porte de clignancourt
losing gary's address
scrawled on a page
of musset's confession
walking the length
and breadth of the rue st denis,
what an artist's paradise
(as juliette once wrote me).