A long tailed monkey
black as polished ebony
shrieked in frantic scrabbling
at the grey mouth
of a silver pouch
and danced on braided rope
with the paunchy pig
to hypno strains
on the gilded harp
plucked by geisha girls
hair bouffant and clasped
in shells and iridescent combs.
a sixties bouffant
full skirt on a cotton dress
scarlet red lipstick
shes queen for a day
tall high heels and pearls
ideal woman
The 60s brought changes to hair
Today, they would make people stare
Bouffant look was in
Made puffy from thin
And teasing- it was the big flare.
I was one of those who partook
In those days, it was the best look
But when it was done
I still had some fun
In styling it by my own book.
These days, I still tease it a bit
Shaped smoothly, it will nicely sit
And hold fine all day
A touch of hairspray
I'm good to go, well-groomed and fit!
She’s ravaged in success
I am love me less
She boy
And her house
We built
To see more loss
In your market
I thee exiled
Partitions
And blinds
Trapped? Tracing your minds
Periods and plural’s i wound
A bouffant in blooms
Preposterous that she should spank her little boy
For being sleepy at eight o’clock in a fine restaurant
[Preposterous that I didn’t tell her what I thought
About her inappropriate, unstylish, huge bouffant!]
I would have gotten the whole incident off my chest
Stepping outside my comfort zone, saying my piece,
But I would’ve jeopardized our whole family dynamic
By coming down on my insipid, lousy-parenting niece.
THIRD PLACE WINNER
written September 24, 2021
for "'P' Contest, Old or New" poetry contest
sponsored by Constance La France
Marge had a new bouffant hairdo and Jen liked it
So she ran out and had hers done up the same way
On Marge it looked elegant, timelessly classy.
On Jen not so much.
Most of us tried to ignore it.
I wore a lettuce leaf mask to church last Sunday.
It was not a favorite, but it was dry.
Jen demanded to know where I had bought it.
She paid twenty dollars extra to have it delivered on Monday.
The cost of the mask was only seven dollars.
Sal attended our next lunch wearing a piece of bologna on her hat.
We oohed and ahhed telling her how inventive it was.
Jen wore bologna on her hat for the next five years, trying for the same result.
I wish this was an exaggeration
I actually toned the truth down a bit so it would be more plausible.
Pardon me Mistress Satin Sue I said, but a baby pup is on your head.
She gave me an aloof look that most distinctly and clearly said,
“Leave me alone, you ingrate. Shovel yourself under the garden shed.”
I was intrigued and excited, for she is notoriously fine, quite well-bred.
Her satin gowns are a luxurious shade, rich in shadows, elegant too.
Haughty like her, expensive for sure. I stood downhill and gave a coo.
Fine, this woman of means, holding a rose under springtime dew.
Put into my place by her arrogant look. She is elegant, Miss Satin Sue.
She moved in a manner that swept romantical notions into the air.
Her formidable spirit showed she had no worries, not a single care.
Her bouffant hair was her pup, snoring in her pretty hair.
She gave me an obvious stuck-up, condescending stare.
Her pup began to stir, and she gave me a half ass smile.
So maybe her mother side dials her haughty back on the dial.
Could we ever become friends, this Virtue of Stuck Up-ness and me?
Frankly, this is not a scenario that I can ever truly see.
Madame Catherine with her bouffant so big and mighty
She wears her blue silk frock and pantaloons with attitude all righty
We see her in the garden, putting on airs, for she is the queen.
If you do not believe me, look at the butterflies give her their sheen.
Madame Catherine is too prim and proper to use a litter box, no slumming.
We have to carry her to her boudoir where she uses indoor plumbing.
We think she is amazing, our darling cat, who puts on airs each and every day.
As she wanders around the garden, we marvel at her bustle that doth sway.
She is an amazing creature, ready to date, but wait, she will not be easy to win.
For she has confidence galore and her attitude is as high and mighty as all sin.
Madame Catherine, do you mind if we call you Madame Cat, if we know you well?
Not at all, she purrs delightfully. Off with their heads; I will send them all to hell.
Poor man who thinks
real ample he is, so in vain
in front of Everest,
is simple dwarf,
in Sahara desert
a tiny grain... !
We were sitting in a restaurant
having enjoyed a marvellous meal
I caught sight of a man sitting near us
His hair was bizarre, no way was it real
As we’d never seen a bouffant so big
Hubby declared that it must be a wig
I said it looks like a ferret that’s dead
When suddenly the ‘ferret’ slipped off his head
He desperately tried to catch his falling hair
And his frantic hands flew up into the air
Alas it landed slap bang in his soup
He fished it out, covered in gloop
He nonchelantly placed it back on his head
I turned to hubby, and then I said
'It was very wrong of us to stare
but it wasn’t a ferret... it was really a hare!'
A lot of poetic licence but based on seeing a man with the most bizarre ‘rug’ on his head
11/8/18
I slept with my guitar,
I guess was inept.
I was not in accord,
my guitar slowly wept
I slept with my piano
—such a torrid tease,
it tinkled with my tuner
and slew me with its keys
I slept with my bassoon,
it ruffled up my hair.
Un fétiche pour bouffant?
I didn’t really care
I slept with my recorder,
in between the sheets.
The score became discordant
but the music sure was sweet
I slept with tenor sax
kinky though it seems
Did I get the ax?
Or was it in my dreams?
Here is my whine, now pass along the cheese!
My list is short on things that do not please.
But greatest of those few that bring unease,
is weather with a twirling, whirling breeze.
A summer wind or one in winter freeze
may call for me to search my bag and seize
that item needed to then help appease
my whining when I'm feeling ill at ease.
You see, it has to do with the degrees
it moves around stands up, or flows and flees...
my hair that is, coiffured and firmly teased,
in wind, will make you laugh, fall to your knees!
Thank god for scarves and covers' expertise...
the large bouffant with ties most times agrees
to help confine my mane in windy sprees.
So there's my whine, now pass along the cheese!
Sandra M. Haight
~NA~
Premiere Contest: Here's My Whine, Now Pass the Cheese
Sponsor: Philip Garcia
Judged: 08/15/2016
A radiantly coiffed bouffant was mine,
fit perfectly and curved to the nines.
I stood taking in the awe of counterparts
let them eat cake I chuckled in my heart.
The spring roll rumbling in my center
drifted to the lower parts no longer indentured.
I held my breath and prayed
that no sound or scent would stray
I wanted to drop to my knees
Oh God, please, don’t let me sneeze.
Affluent and formal
pink lilies deck the tables;
we await the
sweet, affected
laughter of our friends.
Bedecked in bouffant hair-do's
perfumes, ermines, jewels
brocades and buckled shoes,
we dazzle, yes! We dazzle
with our mirrors, and our decals,
our precious art, and plaster,
exotic candelabras,
but I can't wait to make my
exit to wander in the gardens
and let the scented air restore
my soul
To get completely
lost in moonlight and
fragrance of the night
never to return,
to that balcony, nor
endure, the boring empty twitter
that temporary glitter.
I can barely wait till daylight to
mount my noble horse
and gallop miles and miles
and miles away.
To feel the solid earth resound
beneath his flying feet.
I have crossed that fragile threshold
into madness.
I can no longer be a Duchess
Suzanne Delaney
Plagued with signs of aging
Only the eyes bore a semblance
These were faces I used to know
Yet I barely see a resemblance.
Hair that once was wavy and long
Now barely grows in sprinkles
The face that never had a flaw
Now creased with lines and wrinkles
My eyes slowly traveled the room
Trying to look so nonchalant
Reveling in all the rounded figures
Sporting an out-of-date bouffant.
And to think I once was jealous
And made to feel so out of place
By this very group of matriarchs
Without a sign of youth to trace
How gracefully I’ve aged
As I compared myself to these
How much younger I appear
I’ve sailed the years with ease.
The sound of voices intermingling
Draws me back to reality
Scarcely believing what I’m hearing
They’re saying the same things about me!
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