Crinoline Poems | Examples

Moonstone Melodies

            A translucent bluish-white mineral with a mysterious sheen


I hear them rustling behind heaven's plisse,
fabric seersucker curtains, opaque but unlaced 
One breath and suddenly 
I'm a teleported being 
letting go of all faculties and senses; 
A prayer on the lips searching for everlasting hope.  

These precious substances of color and charm
both calm and confident, ignite the soul    
and usher it to peace, love, and harmony.  
 
Filled with Goddess energy
exuding warm tones of luminescent, ephemeral light 
the hand receives what the eyes have encased 
lost inside clairaudient auditory movements  
Moonstone Melodies; 

Yokiko reveries fill me like no other  
listen to the sound they make
Angels dressed in crinoline gowns, 
swooshing and spreading light
everywhere...
Lost in their chime like sound of tinkling glass  
they are un-comparable, 
A thousand stars of heaven could never compare 
to these moonstone gems, 
who seem to claim the heart bit by bit
and then, all at once.

He Loved Pianios

Bechstein, Blüthner, Steinway or Fazioli,
even an archaic Pianoforti,
long had he craved to play them all.
He was in love with their shape and sheen,
their sweeping contours, their circuit bodies.

He loves the sensuality of maple and spruce,
those handcrafted mahogany torsos,
the sprung brass of muted pedals,
deep resonations
within a grand iron skeleton
a tri-legged, beast of beauty,
built to create the most delicate of nocturns,
or a thumping Hungarian Rhapsody.

He would run his fingers,
over their curvaceous sable forms
allow fingertips to caress un-played keys,
the almost erotic white and black harmony
beneath a chaste lid.

He imagines playing
for a lady in crinoline perhaps,
and he the intense composer
of unspoken desires.

Sad to say,
his clumsy laptop fingers,
clattered upon that keyboard,
his coda forever silent.

Stash

I am drugged by music
the horsehair bow,
key and peddle
the blow and boom'
of windpipes and drums.

Unfinished symphonies
leave me mewing like a wounded gull
forever beached on that last note.
My love is dressed in crinoline
in the 18th variation of a rhapsody,

It is my joy and pain
to be a member of a ghost orchestra,
to sit on a hard chair as a soft shadow
listening to the fading smoke
of hollowed-out wood

and I am drugged.
unplugged from myself.
for as long as it takes
for that musical blend of joy and pain
in its endless moment,
as it walks through singing bones.

Necessity

A TV commercial wants me to buy gold,
another one offers me a full pound of Morgan Silver Dollars
if I hand over a pile of cash.

Poets are rarely rich nowadays.
Back when, poets were moody and secretly gay
people wore smoking jackets
or puffy clouds of crinoline.
You could tell they were hoy polloi,
and regular folks assumed that only
those that did not need to work wrote stuff.

Poetry nowadays might get you some gold,
but probably not enough for a tooth filling or two -
maybe.

Animal

Animals in top hats,
Ride bicycles en road,
Spoked wheels and pedaled spats,
Round about, in ornamental spode. 

Animals in monocles,
Spectate in obeisance,
Cuffed by inked chronicle:
Renascence-linked complacence.

Animals in Model Ts,
Toot along en route,
To queue below burlesque marquee,
Bloating bruit by gloat and brute. 

Animals in suits,
Sustained by entree manner,
Tasting morsels, cheering lutes;
To labor, bond and banner.

Animals in petticoats, 
Puffed in crinoline,
Corsets sweep beneath the bloat,
Ensure the meal’s unseen.

Animals in linen,
Lain in duvets, eider down,
Sunken pelt a skin had been in,
Before its fur had come to town.

Animals in animal,
Adorned disguise of dermis,
Woven threads of blastemal,
Posture vermin with a vermis.

Animals in animals,
Piquant bones to gnaw,
Ascetic starving cannibals,
Feed on creed and law.

Animals in groups,
Extensions of the self,
Lain in egg to cracked coops,
Atop a thrifted shelf.

Instead of rounding out our edges,
To conform our shape to objects,
End the heed, the empty pledges,
Be animal: love and sex.

Foreign Hitherto

Pushing cascades crest bastion, stomach lost
    Largesse spread wafts orange blossom bridal
    Bestows clouds let go to marshmallow moss
    Fearless flight crinoline crash vertical


    In gospel gothic deep chasm, drunk mink swims
    Stirring fate, bleeding tea leaves bewilder
    Leather gil quiver, loaded to the brim
    Goddess mink Milda, silk coat cylinder


    Poison spore auburn myrrh lassoo arrows
    Immune audine preened, unwitting Otto
    Seduced by sadist, dart sought embargo
    Incapacitated poderoso


    Discharged firearm, struck futile, fratenised
    Love liege embalms gun powder, satisfied




            Ninth February 
              Hijacked by 
             Milda Audine

Lilac Days

It is wonderful,
the lilac days of April
with a rain of purple jelly beans
and crinoline dresses that smell
of newness wrapped in Easter lilies.

Like forsythia in bloom
yellow sunshine days, butter days of
flowered breath so sweet you are 
moved to inhale, deeply.

Light warm showers that kiss the ground
in delicate vernal dew with soft kitten footsteps.
Winds that caress your senses
saying “Let go. April’s here.”

April, April, lilac and lavender
not the heat of June or the cold of March
but sensations of summer on lilac days.
Rainy nights give quiet to the spirit
while sunny days soothe the soul 
like the sight of a lavender field.

The sap is rising in the maple trees
thus, love’s conquest in human hearts.
Barns abound with cries of new life
as nature seeks renewal of itself.

4/10/2021

Staying In An Inn

Whilst once staying in an inn
One place he had never been
Daring dance with Bonnie Lynne
Begins by waltzing with him
She spun in her crinoline
Bold beaus would vie for a spin
Hoping a chance glance to win
Her heart now though won within

At Any Rate

At any rate, she knew she wasn’t alone
With both the baritone and guy with the trombone
‘Twas hard to tell wearing the blindfold
Which was holding onto the bricks of gold
She decided to have fun and play along
Drew the line at joining their silly drinking song
She found herself lounging on a bearskin
And in a crinoline feeling quite feminine
So far the sideline was odd yet somewhat divine
When she recalled needing to catch a flight by nine
No time for shopping in spite of having gold to blow
At any rate, she had a plane to catch and had to go



AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on August 17, 2018 for PREMIERE CONTEST NO.170 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND  -  RANKED 4TH 

and on January 18, 2018 for contest AT ANY RATE, IT WILL BE FAST MOVING sponsored by JULIA WARD

For a Gentle Soul

I listen to the silence of the twinkling stars, 
as they slowly fade in the early morning light.
Past misty mushroom crinoline clouds
Dawn winks through breathy eyelashes 
blowing each tiny candle flame out.
Like dreamy silhouettes cast long against
the darkening ominous shadows,
to face another day seems but wasted human sorrow.

Then, through the gloom, sweet, like viscous dripping honey,
your words so tenderly sooth my anxious mind.
Your wit so quick, so wise, so funny,
brightens the dark of the gloomiest night.
With your gentle caress I feel new found warmth 
and look upon the awakened face of a brightened sunrise
once again seeing the promise of my heart’s desire
as your warm shaft of healing light starts to mend my broken heart.



09/01/2017

The Concert

Had to put the tickets in a food bag,
kept on handling them in awe.
Soon to time to leave for the airport,
Got clothes strewn over the floor.

What to wear at such an occasion
To keep the theme in tune.
A dress with inner hoop,
But they won't let that on the plane.

Glowing as in happy, smile broadens my face
In the airport lounge I sit with my friends,
holding tightly onto my case.
Austria here we come a concert to attend

We enter the theatre, lights aglow,
Crinoline skirts worn by the ladies that dance.
Plus the musicians I have you know
the men in their evening suits worth more than a glance.

The Strauss music starts, my heads in the clouds,
the conductor a violin solo he plays.
Listening, not a sound from the crowd
Was utter heaven, our senses are ablaze.


Penned 22 May 2015

Organdy Dancer

My organdy dancer
Aquarian child
   Is always in fashion
   Lights sweet flames of passion
When she dances for me

My crinoline princess
Has sensuous moves
   That nothing conceals
  And yet only reveals
What she wants me to see

My velveteen beauty
Seductress of dreams
   Dances through my delusions
   To the perfect illussions
That I want her to be

How To Slow Down Time

Walk everywhere. Go on long sea voyages;
Ask for days like symphonies of slow music,
banks of blue flowers to wrap you in the moment.
Become immersed  in watching clouds
spiders building their webs.
Travel by the slowest modes of transport.
Ride a camel, camp out in the desert.

Move into a museum and  declare it real time.
Dress in a crinoline. Decorate your room with
fossils.  Read endless books- make your own wine .
Churn your own butter.  Grow a garden.

When all else fails,
pull  the hands off clocks. Declare it a crime to tell
 time. 
Hang curtains on  the daylight. Hold back the sea.
Ruin the sun and cycles that turn,
annihilate the moon - close the doors on eternity.

Suzanne Delaney

Everything's Beachy

A damp musk fills the salty air
as gray dawn rises over the star field of night.
Unseen, crows hawk the glitter of light
upon the dunes of day,
calling out to man and feathered friend alike
to rise from within the bejeweled shades 
of emerald and turquoise.

The scruff pines prickle an expansive horizon,
lifting from the dark onyx  of night
scenting the still air.

Stalwart oaks finger the nubile rays of gold
morning edges their crenulated leaves
breezes lift limbs with a rustle liken to the
scratch of crinoline.

Topaz acorns cascade from the crowns of oaks,
homage to the placid play of summer’s end
at the beach at last.

A Great Morn's Show

As morn's sun cracks the horizon
Casting pink Easter dress
Redbud stands with newly acquired
Full green hair, I am blessed

The fireball sun floats on pink clouds
Like China doll surrounded
By full dress and stiff crinoline
God's beauty compounded

As the roosters steadily crow
Song birds sing very close
A new song I have just heard
Turkeys' gooble like ghost

The sun has changed from red to orange
Now it has become gold
God has choregraphed
For all a great morn's show

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