MIDSUMMER
I would fell the tallest tree
For a single leaf for thee
To fold into your golden hair
Of flaxen wheat, midsummer's fair
I would capture flowers free
Imbued with rain beguiled the sea
Bequeath their bouquet rich and rare
Alight your bodice pure and bare
I would rouse the stars above
To spill their light for thee my love
So eyes may see spite darkness dare
Blind the truth your side I share
If just this spell your heart should please
Walk with me, midsummer's fair
He Sculpted her from, a block of ice
and he had an image, drawn down, it twice
a million ice pleats, in her dress, that glowed
he must carve it slow, must carve it slowwwwww
and the light behind her, showed no imperfect flaws
so he sculpt her more, scattered shards, fell to the floor
and he carved her bodice, of frozen plumes
to mimic feathers, that appeared to move
so up and down, frozen , round and round
and just like Artic water, but it had no sound
and strings of ice beads, from her shoulders edge
her covered garment, the strands did blend
not once , imagination , did ever wavering
though her ice cold eyes, had splintered shavings
so he kept stepping back, to view , his work of Art
sublimation decor, this woman, would never part
but he took too long , in this Art, admired
for now it melted, for time makes , ice,
....so very tired.
The pattern maker measures his guest
neck, shoulders chest, and breast,
arms, back, wrist, waist, hips,
pivots for darts on a block bodice
drafts designer dupe requested
a choice rose-beige mini is invested
on paper made of parchment
a muslin fabric fit first garment
The dressmaker sews the formal
zig zags seam ends, snips as normal
finishing floral, attaching appliques,
the courtier knock off is complete
I get out the chips and merlot
It’s time for the fashion show
.
'twere if mine were
transparent
her
magnetized in thought
set'n on thuh park bench
in her pleated 50'z summer
skirt
yeah sport'n thuh
bodice
sparkle shine
glister
yep
almost diaphanous
and'er
curl'd tongue
under
just'uh out
peek'n
so i kiss'd it
oops
shnap (i mean tap)
")>
She inhales the aurora,
breath laced with frozen with light speed
Pulsar fingers stretch through cirrus gauze,
her bodice bending like solar flares.
Astronaut
A quasar shudders behind her lips,
erupting across the event horizon.
Space folds—
she unspools like a nebula unraveling,
luminous in the underworld
aphrodisiac of your vanilla fragrance
La vie en rose - Seeing life through rose colored glasses
La-la-la-la-la-la
La-la-la-la-la-la
—My Cherie Amour, refrain, sung by Stevie Wonder
A song in my heart; we’ve all been blind to love,
until it appears. Love at first sight, sound, touch, scent
or taste. The masquerade is over; a song in my heart.
—quote by poet
My Cherie Amour
Smooth la-la’s embrace a mysterious love,
One that must find its way in the dark café
Or in a silver cloud, or crowded rue de Bac.
The heart beats for that perfect stranger
Scented with Estée Lauder’s Azurée
Or a Parisian accent - sexy and decadent.
The wonder of a smile, appealing to her,
His eyes hidden behind shades; blinded
By an elusive love, a petite cherie amour.
Intangible, unattainable, a Summer flower,
The warmth of a bodice, yet seen. Galaxy,
his, but so far out of his range, silky cream.
Smooth la-la’s embrace a mysterious love.
Stevie croons ‘he’s confident,’ blinders off.
Someday wishes will emerge, ‘la vie en rose.’
Blaring lights of glaring savauge,
Gaudy surmise ceased to suprise
Light of darkness, sun to the sky,
In sight to sanitise the tear of thy eye
Unswept and wept 'pon broken bodice,
Wept and kept and hounded the goddess
Fanned the fawn of cauterised fallace,
Hell of cold, unearthly palace
Chaste and torn chest of satis,
Man to maid and hound of malice
Seam to see unravel of ravage,
Goddess to test the fondest of savage.
In cogs and gears, her heart does beat,
A clockwork girl, both strange and sweet.
Her eyes, like polished brass, aglow,
Reflect the time, the world below.
With gears that click and springs that chime,
She measures moments, day and time.
A copper bodice, sleek and tight,
Holds secrets in the fading light.
Her hands, of bronze, a delicate dance,
Point to the hours, a fleeting glance.
A winding key, a silver thread,
Keeps her ticking, unsaid, unled.
Amidst the steam and smoke-filled air,
A whisper of her presence, rare.
The city's pulse, she knows it well,
Her clockwork heart, a silent spell.
But in her gaze, a sadness hides,
A yearning for the world outside.
To feel the warmth, the human touch,
Beyond the gears, beyond the clutch.
For though she runs, on time's own whim,
A part of her, forever dim,
Yearns for a soul, a beating heart,
To break free, from the clockwork art.
In the palm of nightforest and rain
I leave imprints on sands ,
my flesh baked by the elements --my nipples and breasts darting towards the sky in full radiance of an alchemy,
where this womb in pure sheen becomes a cradle for ancient offerings:
tangle of thistle and roots sprawl on my bodice , glossed skin rubbed, flamed then offered to gods like mute lamb...
Slipping into this inner glow, I hear again men's whisper of my divine power
hidden within these molden eyes, fierce as sea glass , an amulet designed by Spirit,
my berry lips seemingly chanting of miracles,
of treasures untold...
I lay still among sandbeds and wait,
if chieftains and men would ever know
my heritage comes only from broken refuse of littered stones.
Nature changes her gown
to gossamer chiffon
pastels to welcome spring.
Daisy wreath in her hair
when finch and robins sing.
Nature changes her gown.
A bright yellow sundress.
Fabric print with flowers,
blooming when well nourished
by afternoon showers.
Nature changes her gown
to dark shades of mourning
for all the falling leaves,
windswept from bare limbed trees.
For their loss, Nature grieves.
Nature changes her gown
as she dances o'er earth
in frock of winter white.
Snowflake crystal bodice
sparkling jewels each night.
The Fashion Show
I took pattern making autumns ago
I measured and cut a bodice to sew
A vintage cocktail dress trimmed with mojo
Louie Fifteen Courts would never forgo
I’m dressed to the nines and nowhere to go
Aha, of course, there’s a chic fashion show
It’s a full house, the theme: “Haute Escato”
Awed by the finale I yell bravo!
Home watching YouTube, with chips and merlot
A page turns in a bodice-ripping book.
Ladies wanting to escape
into a different romance
from their snoring spouse
read in bed,
it is then
when heads hit pillows,
that libidos takes flight
female tingles;
a thrilling novel,
a body
to be read only at night.
Sheila was a princess the minute she put on the dress.
Made from blue taffeta, crisp new netting, and shiny satin.
Bodice trimmed with tiny seed pearls.
Her date fell in love with her the second he saw it.
She married him in this dress.
It was 1944, and a war was on.
No one ever felt more like a bride.
Sheila did not have daughters, she had sons.
They had sons, and their sons had sons.
It was years before a girl was born into their family.
When she arrived in 1972, she was a delight.
They all made over her. She was their princess.
She could have had any dress for prom.
She chose her grandmother’s 1944 wedding dress.
Her date fell in love with her the second he saw it.
She did not marry him, but she kept the photos.
Propped next to photos of her grandmother in the same beautiful dress.
Their wedding was toted “best of this century”
They had both been born wealthy.
Neither appreciated how rare this elegance was in 1930.
Their parents had kept it from them.
There were elaborate bouquets in silver vases.
Thousands of people were starving, but this meant nothing.
Her silk gown had been flown in from Paris.
French Parisian lace and pearls adorned the bodice.
He wore a top hat, and a frock that screamed expensive.
They were oblivious to the starving children, and empty tummies.
Neither heard the cries and wails of those who were homeless.
Their wedding was toted the “best of the century”.
Obscene really
breathless
keep me breathless
head on chest
bare
red ribbons on his back
hold me tight
and don't let me go
dreaming of the day
when the planets align
when the sun and earth reconcile
once in a blue moon
the feels
tingling up and down my arms
breathless
never was ready for
something as much as this
as much as she wants to shout his name
a whisper in his ear
is the only one she can bear
the only one adequate
tracing the trail on the map
with her fingertip
slow and steady
alluring
let’s go out for a
midnight horse ride
all night long, from
dusk to dawn
until they’re
breathless
break a sweat
taste
a bite of their love
a true decadence
tart and sweet
oksa silk
weaved with chirimen silk
competitive folds and colors
yet never clashing
bringing out the best hues
pinned together on the mannequin bodice
a worldly design, so
breathless
find her in your dreams
faraway, never near
mayhaps you will find her here
in the city state where the sun rises
never stops rising
travel far from across the
city state of dawn tranquility
both dream destinations
breathtaking views
the mountains, the valleys, prairies
running smooth
breathless
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