.
whilst 'pon her
toez
balance'n her pretty
latch'd unto my
lapels
simper'n
she whisper'd
"kiss me"
Ah, behold
Prince William in uniform,
chiseled chin held high under ceremonial sunlight,
a speech polished like his medals,
echoing across parade grounds
as cameras hum like obedient bees.
“Duty, honor, courage,”
he proclaims,
as if reading from an antique scroll
dusted off for dramatic effect.
Crowds swoon.
Generals nod.
Newspapers burst into patriotic confetti.
And somewhere, in mahogany offices,
other leaders lean forward—
inspired, invigorated,
tugging at their tailored lapels,
murmuring, “Yes, yes, it’s time I put on a uniform too.”
What a pageant!
Suitors of war now march with princely conviction,
banners of legacy fluttering in the breeze of manufactured glory.
Recruitment numbers spike,
missile budgets blossom,
and drones, oh so dutiful,
take flight with newfound moral purpose.
Peace?
A quaint notion—
better saved for museum plaques and children's books.
The Prince has spoken.
The machinery whirs louder,
oiled by rhetoric,
driven by legacy,
and crowned by applause.
Hans Staten explorer in 1557 was at large!! And into the Amazon he did
Barge..He was sion taken as a prize..To be cooked and eaten
Later..No lies.) It took all his ingenuity, and our God the only Creator.)
To be the survivor.' And an escaper, of such really vile capers.'
He had to sing a merry song..? That they taught him while he
Waited long (it went now! here comes your meal.) Or close enough
Narrated i feel' in reading you'll be quite enlightened.!! And learn of other religions.' Of pagan deity and how that affected some people
A bit frightening..? And religions? anyway..) Its a cultural feast.' to
Put away.' in this you may; choose (how you will banquet?) On the sacrifice of Jesus.? Or you could go by these green gods; rule sets?
You choose.' And they are now again
Reviving? As the davosites have reset, or re-started? devising.? Just have a read about dear Hans; before you. And real sanity are parted Oh lands!.. Reminice of
Those oak leaves? on ss lapels..And repeat after watching
At least' 10 million peoples hell? That some experiments didn't really go
That well.'
A STUDY IN VIOLET
This treasure house of objets d’art
Littered with plots and storylines
A room encrusted with jewels of history
Inviolate – and undisturbed.
Over there, a military tunic
Blue – and in such fine condition.
Pale lapels perhaps too remote or innocent
Of its vile ‘let them have it’ past.
Here, an abandoned symphony
Black notes pebbledash the page.
Written for that ancient violin, no…
Viol. Late Belle Epoch I think.
That leather book I recognise
An ancient asset register.
And with such work of reference
Identify - a little more.
A philtre or monk’s cure perhaps.
Or poison, used to sway an empire.
Something forensic science may analyse
This phial – let it keep its secret.
Here, a scroll. Homeric tragedy?
Greek, according to the words.
Those old strange symbols, faded now
A ‘Phi’ or letter ‘P’ – I’m sure.
I cannot touch nor be considered
A robber, loose in a dusty tomb.
Caught in the torchlight, gold in hand
Say ‘Fie!’ – or let him go.
This treasure is too much for anyone
To really own. To hide away.
Bequeathed to me but never really mine.
Something Auntie Violet always knew.
This fashion is in, that one is out
narrow waists with baggy knees
Wide lapels and razor-thin ties
Who knows what will be
Slicked-back ducktails
top off muscle t-shirts
hoping to attract
coy smiles from a skirt
My friend and I dress real dumb
bowling shirts plugging Bazooka-Joe gum
The girls see us, giggle, and flee
Who knows what will be
An exaggerated style, the zoot suit
was a statement in clothes.
Yet it fell into ill repute,
history shows.
Outlandishly flamboyant and distinct:
comedy was its roots.
Clothes came from the Harlem precinct:
called culture suits.
With their wide lapels and baggy trousers:
they were ostentatious.
And favored by rabble-rousers;
loose and spacious.
Worn by African-American youth
and poor Mexican teens.
They looked rebellious and uncouth;
much more than jeans.
Oft accessorized with a gold key chain:
and a fedora hat.
Frisco sailors showed their disdain;
armed with a bat.
More about color than flashy fashion:
racial riots broke out.
All those beat without compassion:
left little doubt.
Two Soldiers
A tender moment
He re-plaits her hair
She waits patiently
As he twists strands
until they intertwine
and he secures them
with a twist of a bow
Yellow and blue
On their lapels
Guns laid to rest
Epitome of tenderness
With fingers that kill
There’s no connection
He’s not touching a woman
They are two soldiers
Shoulder to shoulder
Equality at last
On another day
They could be lovers
Stopped in a park
Taking in the air
Not feeling the chill
Engrossed in each other
Dying to get home.
Normality at last!
David Cox 14/03/22
Joy parades out of many Bible passages
Landing on my heart as we sing “Jesus Loves Me”
or “This Little Light of Mine”
Joy surrounds me when my grandchildren lie in my lap
lollygagging like puppies, even though they are teenagers
Joy grabs me by the lapels and kisses me
when a child says “You inspire me”
Joy follows me into my driveway after work
in the form of a German shepherd named Buddy
and a Cocker Spaniel named Sophie Helen
Joy makes my heart sing when my husband of fifty years
says “You are still as beautiful as the day we married”.
I know joy, and she is wonderful!
Seize the day! My soul screamed as I got out of bed.
I was barely awake, but I felt she had my health in good stead.
What should I do first? I asked, with a lazy day start.
That’s easy! She yelled. “We will follow our heart!”
Follow our heart, you mean sing and dance and be with a friend?
The possibilities jumped all over my body, I did a back bend!
My heart did a leap, and I summersaulted out of bed in a flash.
I knew I was going to win a trophy or a sixty-yard dash!
Enthusiasm had me by the lapels and was kissing my cheek.
I laughed all the way to breakfast and heard my hair squeak.
We are going to begin living today! I told my thrilled mother.
Great! She said. Now if you could just please rev up your brother!
A heart felt prayer with four chambers alights on a maiden voyage
Meets valves and percussion awaits tenderly to be tuned into harmony
Passion where had been void and stagnation and pulse been icy and flat
The mind once arrested in dangling contemplation halts its corrosion
A wandering soul solders confusion towards awakening warmth while
Destiny folds its narrow lapels onto the fabric of chimes of the time
Tim had enough of canned laughter mocking his elegiac mourning
Surpassing melancholy contempt he ventures an unknowing path
A map shadows mountains temples and valleys in starlit desire
His labyrinth mazes amazing adventure looms spindles of thread
The open book threatens no longer all gloom and fear has been bared
Closing chapter and shimmering verse find beginnings in ends
Trenchant acrimony cast aside Tim arises from pulverized trenches
Reminds himself gently that happiness is more than a smouldering gun
02 February 2019
Seventeenth of March is Saint Patrick’s Day
Great day for the Irish I can honestly say
All over the world they’ll wear the green
Drink some stout and a glass of poteen
There will be parades up and down the land
With marchers walking behind the band
On lapels they’ll wear a sprig of green
Outrageous hats so that they are seen
You don’t have to be Irish to join in the fun
The St Patrick’s parades are for everyone
Some travel from near and some from afar
By plane, boat, train and motor car
If you’ve never been, go on enjoy the craic
You will enjoy it for sure and next year, go back
But it’s still March, might rain and be cold
Look out for a rainbow, you might find the gold
Many will be late going off to their bed
The next morning they might have a fuzzy head
But it’s only once a year so do have a ball
And a Happy St Patrick’s Day to one and all.
With the dawning of every new day
Comes the chance for my mood to change
It's really no secret how this I do
As I don the apparel of my Ice Cream Suit
On the few days that I'm feeling bland
I take the Vanilla Bean right off of the stand
And the Mint Chocolate Chip I yank off the hanger
To cool down a bit as I battle with anger
If you're looking for a hint of the truth
I know about me but not sure about you
There's no telling what I might do
Without the favorable array of My Ice Cream Suit
There's the chocolate for my darkened moods
With the fudge lapels that helps me brood
And the Neapolitan of brown, pink, and white
In my daily struggles to make up my mind
There's even a suit in Pistachio
When I'm in the mood to let it all go
If you're ever wondering at the mood I am in
Just check out the suit that day I'm wearing...
Color Coquelicot
Blazing Coquelicot
paints famed Flanders Field Poppies
on battle-scarred land.
Honored too on coat lapels...
war symbol of remembrance.
Sandra M. Haight
~NA~
Premiere Contest: Kim's Color Splash
Sponsor: Kim Rodrigues
Judged: 07/14/2017
Rules: Write a Tanka or other brief poem using an unusual color choice along with a flower, plant, or tree
Coquelicot, (coque·li·cot) originally another word for Poppy,
and is the flower's orange tinted red color.
Listen to pronunciation here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5nR1X-QT1Y
In the spring of 1915, shortly after losing a friend in Ypres, a Canadian doctor, Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae was inspired by the sight of poppies growing in war-torn fields to write a now famous poem called 'In Flanders Fields'. After the First World War, the poppy was adopted as a symbol of Remembrance.
Do not buy a new hat for my funeral.
Fill up your gas tank.
Donate that money to charity.
Instead of the, blue and white polka dot "fascinator"
with the black veil?
Get your hair done.
Or those leopard print nails
you saw in that magazine.
Do not buy a new hat for my funeral.
As I am the guest of honor, so to speak?
I insist upon it.
I'll ask you not to lay me to "rest",
in that elaborate casket
with the plush golden satin pillows.
I'm sure "rest" is a disposable sentiment
under these circumstances.
Do not buy a new hat for my funeral.
I'll skip the printing of my name on the side of the casket door.
It leads me to believe people are mingling in the afterlife with,
"Hi my is..." stickers pinned to their lapels.
Radiant
Eyes glisten and gleam
Hope and wonder
Dancing in the midst of darkness
Tiny nose creases from ear to ear smiles
Long days and longer nights
Tear stained lapels and smeared hankies
Little pillars among giants
Sterile environs made anew
Trusting tiny hands reach out
Roles reversed daily
Courageous pupils-streaking like starlit constellations
Miniature sages recognized
Observers weak at the knees
Optimistic funding pours in
Despite the prognosis
All seems grim
Tubes everywhere, machines abuzz
Test after test, still no closer
Mood altered with one tiny voice
Like a lighthouse covered in a dense fog
Beaming out for all to see
Its clear-land ho, land ho
Nothing like a silver lining
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