Best Varicose Poems
Age gracefully…that’s what I’ll do
Going to ignore the lines, how about you?
Inner beauty is what really counts
I happen to love my drooping mounts
Absolutely no Botox or fillers for me
Another varicose vein, Yipee
I’ll learn to love myself, no matter what
I will forever have my untucked gut
Graceful and elegant, that’s what I am
I will tell those cosmetic companies to scram
Lip plumping or lipo…no darn way!
And as for my hair…I will let it go gray
Facelifts are for the weak, you know
I happen to adore the feet of the crow
I’ll snub my reflection, chuckling a little at me…
For shunning pricey moisturizers provides me with glee
I don’t need any convertible or flashy car
My beauty shines really brightly, from afar
Who cares about the rolls, seeming to multiply each day?
No staples for me, I don’t care what I weigh
Dark circles make my eyes look cute
And those saddlebags are really a hoot
Juvederm and Radiance ….what a waste
On this mug, parentheses DO have a place
Lasik-I sincerely think not
That bifocal look is certainly hot
A new boytoy-There will be none of that
Though I’m sure he’d dig my charming back fat
The bell, oh no, I don’t mean to be crass
I guess I dozed off in Algebra Class
I must have been close to 40 in that frightful dream
And I was just about to let off a really loud scream
Nevertheless, my dear friends, I do so solemnly vow
To go off and age gracefully…at least for now
That's right...no need for the third degree
I promise to not get my first brow lift…until I’m at least 23
A company wants naked butlers,
all handsome, well toned, looking tough,
to carry out duties around people's homes
besides apron, they'll be in the buff.
I've not filled out an application,
my chance of success being slim,
unlike, I must say how I look nude today
as my Doctor would tell you, it's grim.
My complexion's generally pasty,
the same sort of white as a fridge,
and the varicose veins you'll have
seen on the tube as directions to
Blackfriars bridge.
A victim of male pattern baldness,
on the back of my head a few locks,
I look like I once bought a 'bullworker' kit
but could not get the lid off the box.
Still, I just plod on along, and not moaning,
one thing in my favour I'll say,
if I did get the job, with a beer gut like mine
I've got somewhere to balance the tray.
(upon inspection of varicose veins)
Above and below married
Micro-cosmically, not as Hermetically sealed
As previously thought.
Something very physical reveals itself
In the hue of everything spiritual,
Connects outside with inside,
Branching outward, eternally grounded,
Charged with the memory of the throbbing core;
The vain pulse of plasma
Ostracizing the sun.
The outward branching, leafless as slumbering trees,
Remember the warm center
As they gaze into the light of a frozen world.
Jesus replied, “Foxes have holes
and birds of the air have nests,
but the Son of Man has no place
to lay his head.” Matthew 8:20 NIV
PLACE OF RESPITE
Cheek-tinge of pink dawning in the murky skies.
Blandness of deep-earthed bark, stretching,
touched by birdsong…long overdue, it pries
the stirring of tinctures, heart-revival fetching.
The soft cooing of dove-white countenance
behind the adventurous arms of upright praise.
The milky colorant, the soothe of boundlessness,
heaven’s face — the wise eyes of Jesus’ blaze.
Crustose lichen of green, subtle stripes of peel,
signature branch-sketch, by God’s hand, varicose
leans into his every word — his glory-heel
at cross-times past, every blood path, bellicose.
Eureka! I once again, open my ears to golden notes.
Why is chirping so charming? …like an angelic shake,
the bell one or many…the beckon from furry coats,
unseen-existence b’neath the heaven’s silver lake.
The light brightens on the horizon, a New Year shines
through the I’m-glad-I’m-home-steal-my-heart blinds
Familiar bittersweets and blues, buttercup-yellows, signs
that love is close of hand and hearth, most oft’ kind.
1/4/2022
Watch me walk through the sadsands of stupored time
trading youth for aged ashes, suredness for shyness
knowledge for retirement, candor for cowardice,
diligence for dunceness, eagerness for
edginess, fairness for flakiness, goodness for gonadness,
healing for hurting, idealism for idiocracy,
judgement for jealously, kandor for killing,
loving for lamenting, mentoring for miserating,
needing for neausating, optimizing for obliterating,
penetrating for pilfering, quieting for quaking,
resolving for rioting, soothing for stabing,
tramping for turmoiling, ultilizing for ultimating,
victory for victimization,
yearning for yelling, zeal for zone.
All the best concealed decisions edited for global hypnohypocratic
nil idea of future impress of evolution but merely a nether
juxtapose of keenly luminated momentous nothings
optimizing precarious quantum ridicules sanctioning
tantalizing ugly utilitiy post variant varicose wanes wantnot
noid xoids xenous yeast yearnings zillant aberants aplenty.
Go Fish.
zonality zeros.
Climb the dumb death grill gradiant with false feet
intrepid toe jam steps what is where i am going not going in a pre post past present
ghost future life emo impotenet fracture fried non sequetor séance
liquid lavid languish unloved resolved irrevernet motion milkmaid
sociomatrial screwstewed rejectional noncoitial negligant nilneo
nonconstriction deconstruction r u fing kidding me? ??
Let's be uni unfilterfied in our ugly uncorrupt incorporeal craddle of domesticoignoramous
social dysfuntionture aplenty assure. Pills pills my kingdom for some piss pills to ***** die
the ass sociative remenants that psuedo pusssurrounds my exo it unfulfills.
Dial don't dilenates of wailing wanting mommy masses of momentary
milkcents mammary malaise.
Get lost little ones, my device calls to me in its idio elloquence.
Love u though, don't tell your__________________r_.
Naked death
…the barred and sealed cattle wagons
disgorge
at the Konzentrazionslager
the faux pas relief
from urine mud faeces sweat and tears
unkempt armpits buttocks best wear
turned to damp rags
reduced to moaning cattle
nameless
even the heifer wan straggly limp
Alles! Raus!
…the last quick dab of face powder
the lipstick dried blood tan
the felt hat lying soggy stained
through bellowed haste
on the mudcaked barrack floor
the wampumpeag plucked by the helmeted claw
stabbing on sole-cold cutting cement platform
averting glances on sapped sagging busts
shoulders hunched buckled in
fingers reaching to scratch loins
nostrils quivering
whose the naughty stench
then the trooped Indian file
stray belongings dumped
in a wasteproduct pile
the once highheeled gait
slumping to a side
from the hips down to a jaggedknee limp
prodding the miasmal mist
the exposed varicose veins
the knotty pubis
the mons veneris
the intimate warts and moles
last year’s Ceasarian stitches
the rump twitched less
the lack lustre sentry gazes
the unmasked leer
the disdainful pursed lips
neither shame nor pudeur
and then the last gangway to nowhere
the Ave-Maria road to Himmelweg
a reprieve
From the privately pub. coll. (re-worked 2016): longhand notes ( a binding of poems), 1999, 115p.
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 1999/2016
In our late teens down at the pub
we talked of things we liked.
Rock 'n roll,brunettes and blondes,
Mustangs and Norton Bikes.
Time's moved on and things have changed
and all of this has led
to talk of laying paving slabs and weatherproofing sheds.
Instead of worshipping our favourite bands
like Slade, Led Zep and Bolan
I now find that I hold a torch for the eldest of the Nolans.
Greasy skin and acne were the only things to blight us
long since replaced by varicose veins and rheumatoid arthritis.
The book of life we all must learn has reached the centre page
the staples coldly telling us that we've now reached middle age.
Still, if life is but a long hard race, the TT if you like,
I'm thankful I'm still in it and I ain't come off me bike.
So many Cantankerous, old argumentative men
Live all their days in misery,
Rehashing and recouping from an old war injury.
As Buster the dog slept soundly.
An rusty fishing rod, stood in the corner,
Buster the dog flaps his ear and wiggles his tail
His friend sat in the same spot all day
He just wants to go outside to play
Arthritis in his knees
Aches and pain
And varicose veins
Acupuncture, homeopathy, and osteopathy,
His day are numbered to twenty antacids pills,
Who is the consultant of his will?
What would grandma think of old Henry Vega?
As he become the Messiah of misery
Those strands of grey on your temples
Creased brows in a smirch stained plea,
Those dark circles around your eyes
I know they have come for me.
Those gallons that you have sweated
Managing our home and hearth,
Endless pains you have writhed in
Since the time you gave me birth.
Can vouch for the wrinkles many
That line your beautiful face,
That hurtful quiver of your lips
You lovingly veiled with grace.
Those coarse varicose hands of yours
From toil and labors of home,
Affections I took for granted
Your needs buried by a gnome.
I reminisce your scolding harshly
Leaving home in irate din,
Not knowing the pain I caused you
And how your heart bled within.
Your lap so comforting and warm
Whereupon I soundly slept,
But never did I care for times,
When you have silently wept.
All my failures you stoutly bore
While you kept me in your shade,
But those little follies of yours
Ugly hills of them I had made.
You cried with me when I was hurt
Smiled when was joyous with glee,
You held me close to your bosom
When I saw my shadow flee.
I know your loving tender touch
Your pride at my growing so,
You have held me deep in heart
Though times I took you as foe.
Wish had loved you more than I did
Grave folly this life of mine,
Yet, you have ever forgiven
Saying, that I've always been thine.
Have never seen the face of God
Yet I know how he would be,
When I gaze at your gentle eyes,
He peeps through them at me.
***********
They sat around me in a circle
with brushes and paints all to hand,
their heads bobbed behind their easels back and forth
as holding an apple I stand.
Stark naked and still like a statue
I pose while they practise their craft,
I only wish that they would let me turn round
as somewhere I'm feeling a draught.
They'll certainly use all the colours
my body has got quite a few,
from the grey of my hair to the green of my stare
and my varicose veins are deep blue.
The copy they paint won't be faithful
since totally nude is too far,
so from that I have shied and one bit of me hides
in the tube from a Cuban cigar.
For contest 'Naked', sponsor Anthony Slausen.
Ella was an old woman
Who wanted to learn to skip
She held tightly to the rope
So she would not lose her grip
Tossing the rope over her head
That's when everything went awry
Her face went extremely red
As the rope hit her in the eye
This did not defeat her
She was determined to win
Until the rope lassoed a vase
That made an enormous din
Ella put the rope on the ground
So she could pick up the mess
This skipping lark was tiring her
This she must confess
Ella tried again
She wanted badly to skip
It would help her to lose weight
Feel healthier and fit
She was a little overweight
And wanted to be trim
So she would look her best
For a holiday with husband, Jim
Ella picked up the rope
She was beginning to despise
Weary and exhausted
With red and watery eyes
She was growing very pale
Her persistence brought no gain
Gripping the dreaded skipping rope
She persevered again
Her legs got twisted in the rope
It burst a varicose vein
The pain was excruciating
It nearly drove Ella insane
Then she overbalanced
And split her swollen lips
Hit her head as she fell down
And fractured both her hips
The last that was heard of Ella
She was in a Hospital bed
With not thought of skipping
Happy knitting instead!
Unbearable beauty in brown
Was Lily the toast of the town.
She had such a fine air
With her brown auburn hair
As she danced in brown velvet gown.
The swains were swooning for her.
A few fisticuffs did occur.
But Lil had her brown eye
Upon one certain guy
And danced on, ignoring the stir.
Handsome to her as George Clooney,
Taller by far than Mick Rooney,
Perfection to her eyes.....
She sighed so many sighs,
Her partner thought she was swoony.
He asked if she wanted to sit.
She answered, "Oh yes, just a bit."
Directing him to chair
With her favored one near,
She sent him some water to get.
Unbearable beauty in brown
Was no longer there, sitting down.
She was oozing with charm
Clinging to Handsome's arm.
Deserted he stood like a clown.
The water he threw in her face.
Now she is the one in disgrace.
When with water pelted
Her cheap brown gown melted
She's disrobed to panties of lace.
The handsome one truly disdains,
The sight of her varicose veins.
He leaves without warning.
It's four in the morning.
No trace of her beauty remains.
There's a moral to this small tale
That young men should heed without fail.
If the beauty you see
Is not all it should be
Then it's wise like Handsome, to bail.
My ode to shorts---
We look like fat dorks,
When it's not so cold,
Even if we're so old,
Can't hide varicose veins,
Old age doesn't go away,
We know we look dorby,
We're all well past forty,
Summer's so darn hot,
Heat's a bit of a shock,
We know we're fat dorks,
Has anyone really thought,
We'd look good in these shorts?
There, so long ago ...
Precious little one, hair of platinum!
If I could but speak to you from the "now",
From the heart of the man you will come to be ...
Oh, you have a pure spirit there, little one,
Full of love and energy and uncommon tenderness,
(For such a wee, wobbly, skinny little lad) ...
Fascination, rife, for every particularly wonderful thing,
Like stars, the sea, and clean, white seersucker shirts, (three times-a-day).
A loving mother and older siblings to nurture you,
And a father who sacrificed all to work long hours and provide,
His sweat and varicose legs and lack of engagement
The payment for opportunities and education that so many never realize.
Yes, little one, clutch steadfast the child's heart that thrums within,
Above all else, save love, it will guide you back ...
You are a free spirit, and you will chart paths through life's thickest brush,
You will rebel away from the median, and choose poorly in emotion,
You will experience and learn and feel and gain SO much,
But you will fall even further, and lose almost all, I'm afraid ...
I can not keep you from the seams of Hell, little one, that is your destiny,
But the glimmer of love and your child's heart will wind you home,
The same heart that will crush with the pains of loss and lessons ...
But trust it always, little one ... trust it ALWAYS,
And here you will be, looking back with wonder and gratitude ...
On a full, rich, extraordinary life.
** FOURTH PLACE in the "What Child Is This" Poetry Contest, Craig Cornish, Sponsor. **
In kindle dreams her life retreats
With Botox swagger
And gel filled glory
A plastic rose
Hiding a once varicose being
A flower with a sting
Whose predatory ways
Leach off this sexual forest
Of spar infested vanity
Where youth is for the innocent
And cougars dine on essence divine
With triffid fingers and mosquito convulsions
Of unspoken ways for
The dollar will always pay
And when her thirst has gone
The dark of reality descends
Hiding the face of yesterday
Whose masquerade is left on morning pillow
A Monet impression to greet the light
The camera is stopped
The potions are in a queue
For her vanity waits
Another audience with snow white
This imposter among the weeds of creation
And in the balcony the fashion clones swoon
Sculptured dolls under butchers knife
Waiting with credit card lines
To feed on groped applause
And we will envy them
We that live in the mud of this life
We Parasites and leaches
We Saints and Pulpit Preachers
For we all envy things
That we cannot be
Envy things that
Come in dollar dreams
That buys the illusion
That one day you will envy me