In twilight's hush, where shadows play,
A maiden sits, in white array,
Upon the steps of ancient stone,
A temple's grandeur, all her own.
Her dark tresses cascade, like night,
Down her back, a gentle, flowing light,
Adorned with jewels, shining bright,
A headband, earrings, and a necklace's delight.
Her arms, crossed over knees so fine,
A pose of contemplation, divine,
As if lost in thought, she sits and stays,
Amidst the spires, that touch the cloudy rays.
The temple's carvings, intricate and old,
Tell tales of myths, and stories untold,
The sky above, a cloudy sea,
Adds to the serenity, of this scene, so free.
In this serene and peaceful place,
The maiden's beauty, is a work of art, a flame,
That burns, a gentle, peaceful light,
A moment captured, in the still of night.
Some clothes I don’t wear anymore.
Some weird patterns all over.
Or just a stain from a cursed coffee mug.
The clothes which bring me to life?
Are:
My favorite florals.
Colorful.
I don’t even like green, but still…
Something about this type of green looks good on me.
Well worn yet still soft.
When I wear that lovely jean jacket?
My eyebrows unfurl.
Frilly headband.
Button down, striped shirt.
Orange pants with a purple belt.
I have everything I need-
Except those yellow shoes from the store…
So maybe I’ll get those and donate something else…
Anything else.
Someday.
But for now, I am open to new clothes.
Dear Old T-Shirts:
You’re still nice sometimes.
She knows her own heart, wears it well, shows it off.
People want to be with her, she has groupies.
They cannot wait to see her, every year, at the festival.
She is the pretty one with a flowered headband.
She creates while others merely chat.
Her tools are busy, as she develops new products.
A Gemini, she is always busy, never still.
Her smile is a delight, her laugh infectious as the sun.
We do not know her name, it is not important.
She is fun to watch, many come to do just that.
She makes the festival seem worthwhile.
Many buy one item from her each year.
She is always delighted when people buy her things.
Pieces of her soul she has put together in wreaths,
Dream catchers, vases, wind chimes and such
She is a beautiful, modern, lovely, kind hippie
Written By: D. Collins 1/2/25
As I reach my prime in my mid-sixties.
I have a vow in dragging no drama with me.
I want my heels kicked up on a sandy beach.
Getting real F'd up on umbrella drinks.
Taking a long walk to get my exercise.
Having to back up because of rising tide.
Leaving my footprint in the just cooled sand.
Wearing damn near nothing but a headband.
If you bring drama you cannot come with me.
I'm retiring to some water that is drama-free.
I will scour my toes with fine, white sand.
But drama is forbidden in Darrell's Promised Land.
I search my purse for money or credit cards.
Discovering four brochures from September
Receipts from the veterinarian clinic with dog tags
Twelve poem ideas jotted on a red napkin
A used toothpick with gum at the end of it
Four pens that do not write
One pen that writes which I can usually never find in this purse
A blue dog collar
Battered melted peanut butter cup
Sticky roll that has escaped a baggie
House key I do not remember having
Grandchild’s pink and yellow headband
Shot glass, but why? I do not drink.
Two outdated postage stamps
The popped pieces of an orange balloon
Should I clean this fiasco?
No.
I just found my credit cards.
At Dolomite sand
On warm and peaceful sunset
I wear my headband.
~ Sabbath in the Olden Times ~
(Shabbos in der Alter Tzeiten) The title in the Yiddish language
Mama lit the candles
Totty blessed the wine Father
Tova's white headband Female (here, a girl) first name
her hair and face a-shine
Duvid sang a zemer Boy's nickname; Sabbath song
Totty and the orech pitched in Guest
The kneidlach oh-so-delicious Matzo balls (in the soup)
On Shabbos eating's no sin
We benched grace in style After-meal blessings
tender melodies lingered a while...
Time to wish a teyere 'Gut Shabbos' A precious 'Good Sabbath'
up to bed for a sweet night's rest
Farewell, au revoir, goodbye, convivial summer.
The day is late now, and the breeze is warmer.
A vacant ocean-side barricaded motel.
Wild geese are soon flying in lines as well.
Vacation homes drop their literate barricades.
This rich sweeping green tone will soon fade.
In this season, buds and fruits are abundant.
Melons and garden load are ardent.
Tanned skin, sailboats, and folded linen suits.
When the world is more positive than disputes,
Pollen irritates the sinuses of sensitive patients.
Now they've fled to the farm, the coast nascent.
Stop their passing endeavor at escape.
The Ferris wheel in LEGOLAND is agape.
The Cape no longer trades in quirkiness.
A glum family descends from the murkiness.
To welcome their offspring back from camp.
Mature year, scarlet maple boughs, raised scamp.
Sunburned shoulders disappear at summer's end.
Goodbye to the peasant's headband.
Goodbye storms and dirty white shoes.
Goodbye summer friends, pants, shorts, and cruse.
Farewell, tennis peculiar desire to be difficult.
Farewell picnics, ice tea, and plane trips, munificent.
Written: August 19, 2022
It’s a bit of a pull running up from Maida Vale
to Saint John’s Wood but my legs feel no pain.
Back then I had corded limbs
that could run on the liquid fuel
of feckless youth.
Running shoes push spirited blood
up into a glowing muscular brawn.
Speeding past Abbey Road studios
listening to Warren Zevon
hammering a piano, his hair flowing,
the music coming together with werewolf howls.
Mind and body unwinding like a clockwork ******.
A woman with a pink headband
rests on a pavement bench.
She has also been running. I sit at her feet,
she pets my long hairy ears.
my lolling tongue slurping her hand,
but I must leap away to bay at many moons
until age gnaws away the very marrow
of these my last dog-days.
'Hullaballoo,' 'Hee-Haw' too
Laughter and singing canned
~ wear a headband
Rat-a-tat-tat, it is the sound of the dreaded, Icelandic Yule Cat.
You have to get me a jacket or shoes or something else I plead
My mother rolls her eyes. That’s a faerie tale, she says. Her face is fat.
Come on! I say, it will eat me up, I will be ripped and bleed.
My father gives me an eye roll that says he does not believe.
Polish, what does he know of this notorious evil Yule Cat that’s near?
My grandmother told me. My chest begins to wail and heave.
Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat. I can hear it and nearly faint with fear
Socks, a headband, a wrist, a shirt, a blouse, something I beg.
I can hear the masticating teeth, and I nearly die with fright.
I would get you jeans, but they will be long and narrow in the leg,
My mother says after a while, then she turns off my night light.
It is Christmas Eve, and I am too afraid to close my eyes.
I should have only asked for clothes, not toys or that autograph.
If she does not keep her promise, I will be one of many who dies.
Rat-a-tat-tat sound comes right up to my ear, hot breath, and a laugh.
Dear Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer,
lights up Santa’s path to help steer.
He leads sleigh in flight
through the dark of night-
his nose beams keep pathways all clear.
But, this year, poor Rudolph must wear
his blue Covid mask while up there!
Now, Santa's afraid
off-path he'll be swayed-
for it will block Rudolph's nose glare!
Preparing ahead, Santa found
a headband with flashlight was sound!
On antlers, will place
and darkness erase-
so, Christmas Eve, they'll be sky-bound!
December 5, 2020
Contest: Santa's Covid Christmas
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
Shattered Beauty
(Magic of the mask)
Nature is so callous
To curse or bestow her
The face with left half
Disfigured and warped
By severe accident befallen on her.
Alas! Louise Ashby
alarmed herself
To encounter her face
In the mirror blurred
By the breath she exhales
As if the reflection of her face
In the turbid water
Traumatized by the storms
In the surface of the pond.
Louise Ashby
Not being able to hold longer
Heavy burden of her disfigured face
On her adolescent body
Standing resolutely in the planet
Tears flows in her eyes.
If she could recuperate her beauty
Granted her by Nature
To stage her play again.
Thanks to the artistic hand
That fixes
238 tiny metal plates in series
Fastened as headband
Inside the hairy skin of her head
To repair the left half
With the right half of her face
So much beautiful and reverie
Like the full moon drops her beauty
Inside the tranquil and lucid pond.
That alive her again
With her dream comes true
*
Gave Shark catnip and he turned into a hippie
Took me straight back to the seventies
Put on his fur vest and fringed headband
Made the peace sign with his paws
Became morbidly mellow
Docile, chilled, rolled onto his back
Soaked up the sun with his tongue hanging out
A happy addict
She was an older lady.
Bedecked with jewels,
Rainbow headband.
Glitzy scarf filled with rhinestones.
Her face was lined.
Wizened.
She was a crone.
Not easily fooled.
Her voice was a rasp.
A bark. Deep. Dark.
Her tarot cards deck…
Nothing fancy.
Crystal ball, runes, palmistry.
I sat at her table
Intricate details in its scarf.
Embroidered with gold,
Exquisite intricate stitching
Looking up
I knew I was looking into the face of magic.
We both smiled, but hers was stilted.
She studied my face, and relaxed.
Recognizing a cosmic connection
And another psychic when she found one.
What do you choose? She asked me.
Indicating the variety of choices.
I stared into her Bambi brown eyes.
So wise, so thorough, so intelligently intelligent.
Please choose for me, I said.
Best reading ever!
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