When the air has a chill,
There are sweatshirts and fleece,
Shawls and sweaters and scarves
To help shivers decrease.
But we shouldn’t forget,
As I’m here to inform,
That a flannel shirt’s best
To keep cozy and warm.
With an endless assortment
Of patterns and plaids,
These are tried-and-true staples,
Not fly-by-night fads.
Now with two new additions
To flannels I own,
I will conquer the shivers
To which I am prone.
blue plaid flannel shirts
Illinois and iowa
winter uniform
A twill and threadbare poorhouse,
a school.
Broods drilled by unsullied nuns
into sullen lines.
The muted squeak of timid mice
as new brown leather boots
attempt to skip,
though skipping is an offense
behind the fence.
We are tagged, and fed tapioca,
led to cold toilet blocks
to scrub ink-stained fingers
with bricks of green carbolic,
while outside
rosery beads click impatiently.
Rain or shine; strays,
tykes and orphans
are made to march through,
a gray flannelled time
for God knows what reason,
or for God knows what
dark twisted rhyme.
Stars and flannel are both brash.
Colors which both sparkle and clash.
You cannot eat either one.
Made of molecules of fun.
Both are warm as can be.
On a dark night, they are a sight to see.
Patterned in a wild way.
Stars and flannel both have something to say!
You standing there looking so innocent
and sexy, biting your lip
Smiling so guile-y and your hair
Cascading around your face
Over your shoulders and styled by JBF
You standing a bit awkwardly your legs
falling from my flannel shirt
And smooth as hell, your feet up on the balls
as if in high heels
Flexing in anticipation and a devilish grin
With a "What me?" delectation
It's not a skirt it's my flannel shirt
And you with your post coital giggle
A splash of bawdy and a hint of naughty
and looking muy caliente
With my eyes I take you in as you take
my breath away
When snows beset slippers upon the feet,
and draw tears of pain upon reddened cheek.
Thoughts of former boots instill chilled notions,
that will call for future healing potions.
Someone asks of you, "what were you thinking?"
you answer with shivers between blinking.
"I must track this wet to the farmers' fare,
for my beloved a fine meal to share."
"She is demanding but I am in love,
and willing to be to her hand a glove."
The clouds will let loose one more shed of snow,
his nose to run and not feeling a toe.
Now reaching the place of his desire,
his sleeping goddess and a warm fire.
With a full stomach and a look so sweet,
she tenderly held and tickled his feet.
date: 9/30/22
An old flannel shirt with two button up the front pockets
Well-worn, soft, in faded colors of greens, reds, and blues.
A touch of green, and some bits of yellow, almost Christmas like.
It was my father’s favorite shirt; he wore it more days than not.
I watched him wear it for many years, maybe twenty.
When I see it, I think of him. When I smell it, he comes back fast.
He has been gone ten years this April, but when I miss him
I run to my closet and grab out his shirt, which smells like him.
Bringing his hazel eyes and his wavy dark hair into my memory.
I remember being thrown into the air, I remember funny things he said.
I remember the way I would catch his eye and we would laugh about nothing.
He was my daddy and I loved him, and I am glad to have his shirt.
After his death, my mother asked me if I wanted anything.
I grabbed this shirt, shocked my siblings had not already grabbed it.
If thieves come, they can take everything else in my house but not this.
This is mine, it smells like my Daddy, and it brings me comfort.
dad in flannel shirt
right hand holding pail of smelts
lit smoke in other
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
I sleep at night in your worn flannel shirt
You my love are ashes similar to dirt
A woven web we had of love and deceit
Kept hidden dark and deep
And still a space within my soul
Kept for you effervescently my whole
Far away once real and now a dream
White picket fence has lost its gleam
And when the flannel is worn and rot
I hope another love my soul has got
Patching holes and fixing frays
Memories of your meandering ways
A cursed romance from the start
Has left me with a broken heart
I sleep at night in your worn flannel shirt
You my love are ashes similar to dirt
your so warm against my body
i need to feel you wrapped around me on those cold night
when
nothing
is going right
and the world is lonely
for me
and full of strangers
who
use me
or
intrude on my life.
when you're around me the world just
m
e
l
ts away
and i sleep
knowing that you are there to comfort me
i can hold you
all
night and know that i am SAFE
from the evils lurking about.
you're always there
letting me be whatever i need to be
all those times when my tears
covered you
when
my mind was confused
and
my heart was broken
you were always there
without question
to keep me
warm and safe.
MAYBE
when time has past
a year or two from now
and you
are
old
and
worn
with nothing left of your being
but perhaps
a button
i will be ok
and the world
won't seem
such a hard place to
live
anymore!
Shadow
He swaddles me in soft-worn flannels
to comfort my hard-won heart.
He waters me
washed bare smooth souled
with tears of suffering
and joy.
He caves my soundless nights
with dreams from other times
replenishing live imagined memory
as co-arising blind intuition's
ecojustice peace
flows like soft warm flannel
across my bare sunned shoulders.
He frees my soul to soar,
soil souled sweeping dance
singing songs ringing resonant silence
inviting reverberation's acute response,
our synergy
in Gaia's karmic key of harmony.
He informs my incarnate nature's love
to live primal gratitude
within our mutual gift identity,
transactions enculturing passion's design
Fragrant feelings
wrapped in soft-worn flannels.
On freezing days, I turn to fleece
To wear beneath my down;
And wool or corduroy might work
When traipsing through the town.
But there’s an oft-forgotten cloth
That also can perform
By keeping those who use it,
Day or nighttime, snug and warm.
Yes, flannel is of what I speak;
It’s great for shirts and sheets,
Yet no one touts its virtues –
Not in odes or texts or tweets.
So let me be the first to write
Of flannel’s cozy charms.
It’s comfortable enveloping
Or underneath my arms.
If winter were a TV show,
We’d likely change the channel;
But since we’re stuck with it for now,
To help us, we’ve got flannel!
Fluffy Lovely Always Nap-worthy Nest of Enveloping Layers
Me
Softness Heavenly Entering Ecstasy Toasty Seductive Sleep
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