The prognosis reflected an empty space.
My scrambled intelligence made it hard to embrace.
Dyslexic data merging all over the place.
Lurid innuendos impossible to trace.
My mind in tatters like torn Chantilly lace.
The vision before me was inconclusive to perceive.
How can I deduce what I cant retrieve?
Restitution would be the answer to weave.
Yet my brain simply cannot begin to conceive.
It is superior intelligence I wish to achieve.
1N73LL1G3NC3 15 7H3 4B1L17Y 70 4D4P7 70 CH4NG3.
7H053 1N73LL3C7U4LLY G1F73D C4N 4L73R, 4D4P7 4ND R34RR4NG3.
I'm a spy in the house of time.
I'm the fool in these words of rhyme.
'Twas there I saw in your blue eyes
the dawning of a rose sunrise.
Moonbeams once shone on tousled hair,
but I'd no longer be seeing you there.
Dancing dreams of chantilly lace
disappeared with the image of your face.
Like a ghost, ever wand'ring these halls,
I'm blinded to the writing on the walls.
In spectral form, walls, I cannot touch,
as even as your fingertips, I want so much.
Searching for a happier song,
wondering, where - in the world, I went wrong.
Find me in time, looking for an absent sign.
Tell me again that you'll be mine.
1435 Haiku 12-31-25
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1435
chantilly snowflakes
twirl through haunting white forests ~
stillness in silver
Velvety reds adorning soft beds
Golden crowns on children's sweet heads
Emerald greens of the freshly chopped pine
Dancing coloured bulbs all hung in a line
The starkness of white on a dark satin sky
Soft beige and browns of the solo mince pie
Vibrant amber flames spread warmth through the place
The presents all wrapped with cream chantilly lace
Red, pink and white candy canes hang from the tree
With orbs of bright silvers and golds; dazzlingly
Magenta poinsettia displays in the hall
The colours of Christmas welcome you all
Tucked away in one of the dusty corners
of my my deceased mother’s old curio cabinets
sits a somewhat peculiar perfume bottle
among a small collection of other vials
devoid of the fragrances they so long ago retained.
This particular bottle that my gaze has rested on
has the shape of a woman’s lower leg.
What catches the eye
is the golden high heel it rests upon.
Tiny beads of glittery green
adorn its vamp and finishing edge.
I think of my dear mother
dressed for a night out on the town
in her mid-calf sparkly satin gown,
gliding smoothly on heels of gold which enhanced
the elegance of her long, slender legs.
As she paused at the door,
she’d kiss us on the cheek,
departing in a trail
of Chantilly.
East of Eden and
The Tingler.
The lady killer and
Julius Caesar.
A star is born and
Vertigo.
The Killing and
Ace in the hole.
Godzilla and
The night and fog.
Johnny Guitar and
Hound Dog.
Wild strawberries
And Stalag 17.
High noon and
The African queen.
Ray Charles and
Kiss me deadly.
The big sky and
The voyage to Italy.
Dean Martin and
Buddy Holly.
Casper and
Mr. Peabody.
House of Wax and
Elevator to the Gallows.
Elvis and
Tears on my pillow.
Asphalt jungle and
In a lonely place.
The big heat and
Chantilly lace.
Hank Williams and
Chuck Berry.
Sunset BLVD and
Tom and Jerry.
Turbo1904?
Hope you love my Valentine's card silly,
'cause you make my heart beat willynilly;
cannot think of us apart,
our passion off the chart.
Will you be mine ? Sweet kitty Chantilly !
Oh for smelling when lavender’s in bloom
or sweet roses and their pretty perfume.
Chantilly I love to have a whiff of.
Tabu is so sexy – a fragrance I love.
Bread in the oven is so nice to smell
And buttery popcorn at movies as well.
Smelling lasagna and pizza – the zest!
but smelling meat grilling has to be best!
Scents of nostalgia are Halloween treats
and Mom’s Christmas baking of many sweets.
Oh, that fresh smell of pine and evergreen!
But the strangest smell I like is gasoline!
Darlene De Beaulieu graciously consented for her poem "Gnomes" to be used by me in this contest. Thank you Darlene!
There’s no gnome
like the gnome at home.
I have a gnome at home alone.
Chantilly, Chris, or Charlie -
they’re friends for you and me.
Your tumbler sweet
sure is neat to greet
you no matter where is the street,
but remember no gnome is known
like the gnome that waits at home.
Gnomes – Darlene de Beaulieu
I love the gnomes
I m drawn to them
One time I had twelve
I named all of them
I named him Chris
He holds a gift for me
Another one I named
Charlie
I have a tumbler
With gnomes and hearts
shapes
When waiting in a line
It called out to me
So I bought it
I take my tumbler
everywhere I go
Chantilly lace curtains of my apartment window ripple in the cold January night. From here, I observe mooring lights that illumine the docks in this petty northern port and four cafés that lean toward one another, side-by-side, though separate and apart. I wonder at their co-location. Their twinkling lights blur together in a loud kaleidoscope of color.
The harbor winds carry putrid odors to my window. Sidewalk signs cover most of the walkway. Though too distant to register detail, I discern the outline in flickering neon of two women outside the smallest café as men clad in oilskin foulies lumber into the second, barely a bar, as they all are. Faint modern dance rhythms announce a tiny dance floor inside the third. The brightest café-bar has no one visible. A lone figure in casual attire moves from café to café, not staying long. He moves in the same pattern, over and again, stopping once to chat with the women. I wonder what or who he seeks. The women disappear down a side pathway.
With a desultory outlook for the evening, I close my window, wrap against the cold, and descend the European-styled spiral staircase.
wind
arctic
boreal
tatting across
whitened landscapes Chantilly with frore lace
and snowy-stiff satin brocade cutting
defining the
raw winter’s
scalloped
edge
He hopped and bopped across the charts to the top
Until a tragic crop landing put him to a stop
Performed Chantilly lace for pretty faces
Chase young aces through melodical paces
Love notes in rock’n’roll quotes for youth emotes
Giddy nervous gulping throats in pink petticoats
Crooned bee bop tunes of teenage moon
As new love bloomed in first kiss swoon
It went so wrong, the piece that didn’t belong
Songs we sing along to keep a legacy strong
Feelin’ fine in fame prime until end of the line
The great music that defined, declined in 1959
Keep rockin’ with Ritchie and boppin’ with Buddy
To nifty fifty’s charisma, a music history to study
Spindly stretching brambles rebel from main form
Amused bending stems eject spikes of rhino horn
Thorns barely a repellent for birds resourceful
Tweezer glowing twilight globe, a bitter morsel
Fresh field alien green cone births berry's infant
Chantilly lace pale pink petticoat wraps nymphet
Confetti celebratory moult bulges her fertility
Eighty protruding bulbs shiver in vulnerability
Stern season carousel chastens scanty branches
Snow swallow, boggy terrain new tepid attaches
Saw edge foliage unfold, twitching fox ears
Clusters encombour limbs, absinthe adheres
Florid flocks tossle, augment midnight family babble
Morning dew melt sapor stains fingers which dabble
Outcast tongue teaser, lumpy rubber cleaved
Mauve motivate jaunty juice, mouth received
9th August 2022
Written for Contest:
Thoughts on Blackberries
Sponsor:
Matt Caliri
silk threads 5 - 3 - 5 syllable count
spinning wheels silk threads
mourning times
chantilly black lace
silk webs 3 - 5 - 3 word count
times to regret
male spiders spinning silk webs
black widows betray
10 / 18 / 2021.
I could not see her face,
She was completely ensconced,
Head to foot in silky white,
Rose-adorned chantilly lace.
The lace was light and airy
lit up and shining from within,
As if her wandering soul
Were a star, a lost cometary.
She moved across the room
As if familiar with its shape,
Paused before the fireplace,
Smoky tendrils curling around her like a plume.
She turned away, ghost lace flowing,
Then vanished leaving only the faintest trace
Of a lingering delicate perfume,
And the antique window drapes blowing.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.