Flowers in my hair
pigtails light as air
Sequenced bows oh what flair
for a pretty girl named Claire.
Many headbands I shall wear,
count them if you dare !
I love chrome bumpers
Sequins on headbands
Rhinestones on sweaters
Colored gemstones that are polished
Confetti, glitter,
Anything ritzy, ditzy or sparky
I love shiny things
Could I be a crow?
Someone’s dream
Maple wood baskets
Slick and smooth
Decorated with frilly cottons
In floral, shaped like ruffled headbands
Longaberger basket, making a name for herself
Her seven-story building sits in Newark, Ohio
The pharmacy chain
Has their heart-shaped balloons
To attract you in front of the store,
Though the few that remain
Will not last many moons
But don’t worry, for there’s so much more.
Chocolate candies abound
Sold in boxes and tins,
Plus some sweets of the non-cocoa type.
Teddy bears can be found
And, as every head spins,
There is plenty to kick up the hype.
There are Valentine cards,
There are bracelets and socks,
There are earrings and headbands galore,
So to give your regards,
Opportunity knocks,
With more stuff sold than ever before.
This Thing of Joy
(Pregnancy Journey: Month 1)
This thing of joy is sweet news,
but my lips have nausea spelled
on them
Sweet news yet I am unable
to work much or walk for long
Yet the colours of life remain in
my perk
Purple headbands to match
my blooming face
And a pink shawl to keep me warm
in this place
My Habibi, a sweet gift did bring
a golden locket, to wear and sing
Of the love we share, and the life we'll bring
into this world, our hearts will ring
Though I am exhausted and feeling low
I know this journey will be worth the woe
For soon I'll hold my little one
and all the pain will be undone
I'll rest and take it slow
and test the colours of life
Let it stay on, flowing through me,
and into my precious seed
Bringing with it, joy, love,
and all that we need.
.
.
.
.
.
Sept. 2021
©Odion Izegwire-Edu
All this global speech that once lauded your greatness has vanished.
My lips are crying today because of my misdeeds.
The harvest was completely washed away in the high winds.
Diseases and sicknesses, with fire, threaten scavengers.
Because I am shy, I cry slowly and sloppily.
If someone's feelings are bruised, a wipe may be beneficial.
Companions with crooked mustaches.
Backstabbing and spying are both kinds of treachery.
Who grasps what happened to the planet Earth.
Shame no longer benefits them, so why would they desire it?
An anxious atmosphere pervaded the air.
I'm here to assist you, and I'm grateful to God for this gift.
A natural area has been cordoned off.
The headbands must be reconnected.
Probe the misanthrope and share the etch news.
The sand on the road will cease if they reach their home.
If I yield barefoot, my final inference is consciousness.
Written: July 03, 2021
1st place contest win
A Brian Strand July 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Their grinning heads cover the fields for acres
A sea of happy mini suns, welcoming us to Kansas.
We stare, amazed, having no idea this was possible.
There are photo moments and we take them all.
A gift shop sports stuffed dogs and cats,
With sunflower headbands and kerchiefs.
Everywhere we look a plate, cup, tumbler,
letter opener, Christmas ornament with a sunflower
This is sunflower hell my husband observes, so I send him to the car.
He can wait for me. I pile sunflower notepads and pens into a basket.
A lady wearing a sunflower apron, hat and socks smiles at me.
She gets closer and whispers. “Be sure and look in the bathroom.
Of course, I do and am not disappointed. Everything fancy.
Sunflower rug, sunflower chair, sunflower faucets.
I have to admit I was very disappointed by the plain white toilets.
Until I saw the sunflower toilet paper.
A woman carrying a child wearing a sunflower bib walks past.
“Where did you get it?” I ask her. She points.
Good! Sale rack! A manager comes over and offers to hold my basket.
When I get home with the bib I remember my youngest grandchild is five.
Auntie Emilina was a character for sure.
Did I mention she was busy and not very pure?
Fancy lady with exceptional taste.
Delicate, fragile, but not very chaste.
Exotic feathered headbands left behind.
Wearing them after eighty seemed unkind.
Perfume bottle; we all want favorite blue.
With a vibrant green, it speaks to us too.
She liked this one also our cousin says.
Sis climbs out of closet, wearing rhinestone fez.
She would love that! We tell her, knowing Aunt Em.
She was wild, exuberant, witty, crazy, and totally fem!
turquoise clouds popping and swirling
storm felt miles down the coast
we are unconcerned, our new love exciting
the world outside is of no concern
phones are off; we reach for each other
playful, because our time together is new
we are like children, learning of dandelions
For the first time, making headbands
we will have tea later, possibly biscuits
now it is all about us; storm not any busier
than we are; and certainly not as happy or satisfied.
we make memories we can feast on for years to come.
I see you, my two-legged neighbor
stopping and standing at the yellow-tape barricade to my home.
I wonder where you all have been?
I miss you walking on your looped path through my backyard
with wires going into your ears and those branches you carry as you walk,
the headbands on the fast-walkers and the colorful shoes of some.
I DON’T miss the smaller two-legs who try to chase me up a tree
or those barking four-legs that try to eat me for lunch!
But I DO miss you quiet ones who seem to adore the serenity of my home –
smelling flowers, listening to birds, admiring trees,
beholding the sky’s colors at sundown,
tossing nuts or bread crumbs to my kind.
What you call ‘social-distancing’
I call a way of life…
Mutual respect,
Mutual solitude.
Written 6 Apr 2020
Seventies fur vests wet in the rain
Stinky but still in style so we wore them
Until they shredded and fell off our dirty shirts.
Cotton shirts no longer crisp but with wide ruffles at their wrist marks.
Soft dirty wrinkly blue jeans that smelled a bit gamey.
No one noticed that they never made it to the laundry pile.
Being rank was part of our revolution, a clothing protest
To the Viet Nam War where our poorest were being sacrificed daily.
We scrunched together in Volkswagen busses,
Traveling to Washington, where we could hold our signs.
And protest our truth, where wet fur vests were parading about
Along with grungy headbands and dreadlocks on white teenagers.
Leaving the silk and satin of the sixties back in the small towns
Where their youth thought they had to have a wedding to have sex.
We knew better. We did not care about crisp smooth wrapping paper
Or prancing ribbons on packages. We were uncomfortable and glad.
sun-burst yellows, overtake the yard.
dancing amid the clover and the grasses.
sharing their joy with surround green.
delighted children pluck them too close.
checking them under their chins.
older ones carefully secure their stems too,
wisely weaving them into headbands, earrings,
bracelets, and other beautiful decorative items.
these yellow heads prance happily as new-formed jewelry.
after they are discarded,
scents of fluff floating onto zephyrs
in a variety of meadows and prairies
delighting in their free selves
gently alighting on petals and buds
gleaming with sparkle known only to faeries
and possibly the purest of heartfelt elves
dandelion magic, gone right.
Written 4-2-2019
Contest: Dandelions
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Wearing whirls, swirls, paisley too.
A jazzy, snazzy, bell bottomed you.
Slinky hip huggers with large chunky belts in style.
White Go Go boots that never walk a country mile.
Faux fringed jackets, fake fur vests, tall high boots too.
Gypsy skirts with mismatched patterns of every hue.
Please let your belly button show, my dear.
Wear the tightest jeans to accent your rear.
As long as your jeans flare out as wide as a skirt
And drag along enticingly in Woodstock’s dirt.
Homemade embroidery on blouses, and dainty braids.
Unless you deem to do an Afro, beautifully made.
Tight mini-skirts that show off your thighs.
Nehru jackets with high necks are a prize.
Headbands made to match every outfit.
The 70’s was strutted. Don’t you doubt it!
Vietnam War in black and white, every night on TV
Burning bras seemed okay for everybody but me.
Hippies and flower children seemed pretty wild.
To me in the Midwest, pregnant with child.
Child-like enthusiasm at Christmas time is not easily duplicated.
Hearty laughter surrounds a family reminiscing about other Christmases.
Rich pastries, cookies and candy only found once a year decorate a table.
Imaginative glimpses of future Christmases are in the forefront of newlyweds
Santa Claus cannot overshadow The Son in the homes of the reverent
There are Christmas headbands, sweatshirts, necklaces and earrings bringing joy
Many people are working to bring cheer to the needy, sick and homeless
Angels decorate Christmas trees and church pageants on both hemispheres
Sharing and caring in a Good Samaritan way make this week truly special
I was reeking of spilled grape juice yesterday.
Today I stink like cigarettes.
In less than two weeks I have gone from new to old.
From crisp to filthy,
from sticky to stiff.
I shudder as my aggressor pulls me apart.
She yells something to her partner.
I don’t recognize the words, but….
Every time she yells this,
my belly hurts for days from her wickedly
insensitive manipulation, and indelicate prodding.
After fishing around with her hands, stirring
Green gum wrapper carcasses from one
Side of my tummy to the other,
She finally lets me catch my breath.
WHAM! I am completely dizzy when she
twists me upside down and shakes me hard,
Slapping my bottom with long, angry slugs.
I throw up pencils, pens, erasers, a variety of multi-colored
Toys, a washrag, crackers, cellophane wrappers,
A half-eaten candy bar, gritty stomach acid pills,
Paperclips, a baby’s shoe, two headbands, dust mites,
A dog biscuit and so many receipts it is ridiculous.
“Here they are!” Her partner calls.
She pops all the junk back into me, throws in
Her car keys for dessert, and off we go for more receipts.
I long for my clean shelf in Macy’s, and my relatives.
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