Monster Trees
Monster trees reaching down through insane skies like spiders,
They see something coming in the green benign stretches,
We are the onion ring bearers wearing dark-day secrets.
We know what happens when bearded eyes shut tight,
When the dead wave from hearses designed for blind drivers,
As the hatchet girls crawl into the blast barges of mindless ropery,
Monster trees with long tentacled arms scoop up the night cats.
They reach for berries made of balsa wood and Melba toast;
They reach down from far distances seizing innocent souls crawling,
These ghost trees, floating as life clouds, through memory and time;
Through deserted forgotten neighborhoods with skeleton trellises.
We are the lettuce turners, the meat shredders, with raised hopeful fists.
Wearing chiffon camisoles made with Melba toast and dark-day secrets,
The hatchet girls raise lapping glasses of mad rum to the blast barges.
Categories:
camisoles, anxiety, depression,
Form: Free verse
The darkness comes in bleeding sorrow when Autumn calls
and summer’s dying light fades to cold, shadow filled dusk,
as the quiet stillness of the invading night falls,
once again, broken on deathly gleaming bloodshot eyes.
She knows what they want with their vulgar words and catcalls.
They have been here before but on this night she feels fear.
The coolness of the air seems foreboding as time crawls
past midnight and their looming presence fills the shadows.
A cross dangles low atop her layered camisoles.
Clutching it she whispers a prayer; the night goes still.
With handsome, quiet demeanor her flight he forestalls.
“Calm my sweet,” his deep voice offers as his cape appears
and her scream of morbid fear, echoes off of the walls.
10/06/2017
Categories:
camisoles, evil, fantasy, scary,
Form: Rhyme
It began with no clothes at all
When mankind heard natures call
But fig leaves began to cover parts
As modesty formed within their hearts.
Finally, shirts and skirts were worn
With beards and haircuts neatly shorn
Itchy wools began to oppress
Fashion evolved, toward undress.
Minis came showing every space
As fashion fought to find its place
So, now we have been forced to dress
In clothes that mirror much distress.
Torn tattered jeans with ragged holes
Mismatched with skimpy camisoles
We dress for work with tees and flops
And stupid sayings on our tops.
I wonder will reason e’re return
With taste and dignity, I yearn
For us to think before we dress
And not look like we are homeless!
Categories:
camisoles, fashion, humorous, life,
Form: Rhyme