My anti-aesthetic garment spews out priest
Michael stands in river between olive trees
whose roots draw libido like Daphne's laurels
Apollo wore, in my drifting slumbering
pale Astro Projection where we meet again
Sweat is the other garment
You wear in the desert
When the only water is in the cactus
And all but the flies are inert
But a cool layer of sweat
Is a hiker’s proof of reward
For taking a thin trail
And in curiosity, moving forward.
Physical is the coat I wear-out
in the elements – the ephemeral
shell of me, and not the yoke, man's
embryo of spiritual wealth...longevity of
experience and immortal growth –
True! -- of the Eternal Now in my
biological years not one has convincingly
surfaced, risen above the depths of doubt
to undeniably attest, my only proof
the intimate echo of a heart-heard
voice, reciting from the velum of a
supposed soul, surfacing despite the negative
chatter of fatalists: lordly provocateurs
of fiery electrons, rejecting sparks
of individual ethereal sense: despite no two of
us ever proven exactly alike, each of us
the unlikely oddity of billions....
a mathematical contradiction that
can only be attributed to the reality
of a God....
A fiercely tight as light garment
You won't spare cruel comment;
To put it on a self torment,
To take it off: you shall lament.
Garment's troubles wearers foment
And the needless pains augment,
Sooner on your waist liniment:
A sweet fashion–imposed ailment
"Just,you watch Laura's face,ferment
You'd think she's from dad's interment"
Laura's thigh had yelled in the skirt,
Her helpless pelvis rudely hurt
By a skirt like a reply curt
And like The Biggest Sin a dirt...
"I see Laura's Mum's hate cement
Tight miniskirt not a raiment".
I have a beautiful garment my father gave to me
He too got it in an occasion of manumission from slavery
Beautiful garment he celebrated in remembrance of that jubilee
Before he handed it over to me as a sign of always being free
What a garment!
My fantasy lured me to sew it into an apparel of simplicity
My beautiful garment with natural colours to show my domesticity
Which I gave to my friends who claimed they know a London tailor
Was given to an unskilled cutter called Mr. Taylor
What a gaffe!
Who made patches on it like annotations made by annotator
When my reasoning compelled me to agitate the awful patches made all over the exterior
The bespoken tailor stood speechless and indifferent
While my friends request another opportunity for adjustment
What a grief!
With my assessment, can I believe such proposed resolution
When my lamentation has gotten me a better recommendation with good execution?
My heart is once again lifted by a testimonial that boost my morale
That I shall wear my apparel of simplicity for the whole world to hail.
He started A Sharp Enterprise
And it was A Thing of Surprise:
Big Shops you walked up to their shelves
To survey the items yourselves;
Many a sure lasting garment
That should permit no argument,
Which one could wear till Interment
And still not be starved compliment …
A lot of Touching Friendliness
Because of his stamped Godliness:
A Policy of Dialogue
And rejection of Monologue;
He’s floating an Enterprise,
Where one might negotiate price.
Pride In The Garment Of Principle
Its pride just remixed principle
It is a language
for the rich.
The poor
cannot decipher it content.
Its sometimes turns pride
Attire
worn by men of elite attitude
To keep the lesser man
petrified.
And the ignorant
numbed
Principle they call it
Ye
there are some veracity in it
to make ends meets,
one must learn
to checkmate
the characters of others
put a mild quarrel
to displace others Altitude.
The code is simple;
keep at bay
some less self esteemed man
An out spoken
cumbersome mind
would miss it tactics
It is inconsiderate
base on it code
down to earth,
perfect in pretense
conscience void of remorse
It’s being principle they say
but its remixed pride I say
The Garment
You came to me, friend, seeking comfort
From a blustering wind
Clutching in your heart the shreds of a dream
Slashed by a storm of harsh words.
Threads made up of stolen moments
Woven in borrowed afternoons –
Patches of evening with moonlight stitches,
Scraps of dawn sown to sheer morning blue.
Seams split open – ripped and torn –
Fabric gaping in ragged shreds;
The laughter it bore silenced now
Overcome by a gale of tears.
Unsure, feeling helpless, searching for tools
To reweave the threads torn in despair
Words, like stitches, only started to mend
The fabric of your unraveling dream.
Your tearful eyes mirrored the tattered hopes
Knit within the threadbare cloth
Now knowing only time’s gentle tailor
Refashions the tears left by the wind.
You came to me, friend, seeking comfort.
The City Is a Garment
by Michael R. Burch
A rhinestone skein, a jeweled brocade of light,—
the city is a garment stretched so thin
her festive colors bleed into the night,
and everywhere bright seams, unraveling,
cascade their brilliant contents out like coins
on motorways and esplanades; bead cars
come tumbling down long highways; at her groin
a railtrack like a zipper flashes sparks;
her hills are haired with brush like cashmere wool
and from their cleavage winking lights enlarge
and travel, slender fingers ... softly pull
themselves into the semblance of a barge.
When night becomes too chill, she softly dons
great overcoats of warmest-colored dawn.
Originally published by The Lyric
As the sun goes to bed and
the moon awakes,
Hopes of many ..dashed as before,
I promised to set a different goal and pace,
To prevent the little flowers from the beetles,
But I allow my hands and legs to be incarcerated,
Blind folded by greed,
I don't know how to cover my face,
Shame swallows me,my heart beat
fluctuates more than a barometer,
"Lord! please save me",
From this egocentric world of betrayal,
Give me the antidote for this poison,
So that I can pull off
this garment of shame.
My soul bleeds and my hands shiver,
As my past words haunt me.
9-8-2017
Contest:poems that paint a picture by Silent one
Garment of Life
Will you choose
The threads of love
To weave your garment of life?
Perhaps you'll only see
The strands of grey defeat
Wretched with sadness
And weave a garment too heavy to bear?
Or will you find the threads
Of life's passion
And weave a fiery garment
Of the brightest colours
In the gayest fashion?
Or will you seek
The soft yielding threads of peace
And weave a gossamer garment
Of seamless, silken bliss?
I've learned the colors of love
While wearing another flesh
I've been there
Beyond the forest
With large culverts
Among rays of light
Strange dreams
Rangers cutting the oaks
That support our last tears
You know, separation is
The same way, but in reverse
Same field with grass freshly mowed
Birds singing together
A sad romance
It's true, I believe in curses
When death crawls
Reaching shadows
We''ll all wear
Another garment
Cloth, clothing, garb, la ropa
Sure beats Prozac, or even L-Dopa
Hemming, cutting, measuring, looping
Snappy dress keeps those smiles from drooping
A blouse, a suit, a shirt, a shawl
Strange young tailor masters them all
‘Can’t wait! Must have! Quick! Hurry!’
‘No excuses, tailor, to you I’m judge and jury!’
Shame, fear, anger, doubt
Sorry, ma’am, those stains won’t come out!
Colors of blue and yellow wrap me as I gaze toward the sun.
My white satin ruffles sway against the wind.
Is this not the most perfect day?
This I do know.
Sundress memories take me back to childhood.
Summer warmth on my back.
The silhouette of my sundress shadows the pavement.
I dance in harmony.
''The Sundress Contest''
Sponsor Constance La France=A Rambling Poet=
written by=Kacey Greenlee
kaceymike29
The leaf glistens in the sunbeam. ...yet dark on the under part
like the smile on a face hides shadows in the heart.
A beautiful woman the eyes doth see
but her words destroy a vision so sweet.
The silent river flows gently to the ocean,
extending seductive arms .. deceives the swimmer
how quickly he is swept down
to depths below .
The air becomes still..... yet birds do not sing
they take to the hills on frantic wings
even bees do not sting..they know
a storm is brewing..fly to the hills.
Seems a difficult chore
to find oneness in all things
contradicting patterns...at every door
a lifetime we'll spend searching for that perfect blend
till in the end..we will accept
there will forever be....... two sides to a coin.
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