Long Housecoat Poems
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Ordinarily I lie in my bed
mentally grasping for any slender thread of slumber
which I can possibly find to cling to!
But there was one time -
a morning of early April -
when rising from bed, I felt an unusual urge
to don my housecoat and walk out to the deck.
In the stillness of pre-twilight,
I stood there some time just gazing out
at the vast valley and distant lake
of my adopted homeland.
Slowly, a sliver of lemon meringue
began coloring the horizon.
Drawn to dawn, I let myself succumb
to the beauty of it all.
A chorus of birds in nearby blossoming trees brightly chirruped,
heralding Easter morning's illumination.
On this day symbolic of redemption, I swear I heard
the silence of angels’ song.
Jan. 10, 2019
for the 'Free Verse Style Only' Poetry Contest
of Emile Pinet and now for Richard Lamoureux Poem of the Day poetry contest
POTD 1/13/19
Note: I felt happy, of course, to win this award. A few times in the past I had gotten POTD for poems I really did not feel deserved it, so I was pleased that I got the award for a poem I truly had felt good about after I wrote it!
After the street cars left, but before
the mill closed down, this was
home. A mix of dirt roads and
brick buildings, so close together
in town, like children under a
blanket, huddled for warmth.
The farms so spread out, your
closest neighbor could be miles
and every time the farmers came
to town for supplies, they brought
new children we never knew were
born, some almost a year old.
Long dresses were all the rage,
never show your ankles to a
stranger. When grandma wore
her housecoat to pull in laundry
we gasped at seeing her ankles.
Dust filled the air, blown
around when the storm came
through, making it all clean
and muddy at the same time.
I miss the old home.
~Harridan in a Housecoat~
Four small children sent for care as their mother was taken so ill
No father could they reach for them so they were sent off at someone’s will
In the night taken from their beds, no word spoken, hearts full of dread
Taken to a town far away and not knowing what lay ahead.
A huge housecoat descended down like a crow devouring road kill
At the side stood a henchman, pointed nose, dark hair, and vengeful
Warning words left in theirs ears "be good or else there will be trouble"
“No one wants you now you know, not your parents” she burst that bubble.
The housecoat and the henchman dealt out their ghastly deeds
To three of the children she vented her spleen, her willing helper dealt her needs
The fourth child the baby, she showered with kisses and good food to eat
She bought her clothes and dressed her well, and spoke to her words so sweet.
The three all under the age of six did dread each and every night
When scrubbed with scrubbing brushes, their skin looking red raw and tight.
She had to get the scum off them because they were now in care
It was obvious that no one loved them, that’s why they were there.
Frightened and timid were the three, but the youngest was well looked after
Jealousy did form in the minds of the three - it robbed them of their laughter
The harridan in the housecoat with her willing henchman
Thought up little tortures finding the Achilles’ heels in each child one by one.
The housecoat and the henchman were in for big surprise
When the father sent for the children, she couldn’t believe her eyes
Bribery she tried on the siblings so the children would never tell
But there is not one that would condemn her to her well preached hell.
The housecoat and the henchman a mother and daughter no less
A good churchgoing family with their holy pictures to bless
Evil in their deeds of torture and of mental games
The harridan in the housecoat and the daughter with no name.
© ~GG~ 6/08/2012
Sometime before I was old enough
to be this vessel of seawater reflections
she began to dissolve.
Husband dead, son revolving
around one woman after another.
I did not notice
the ebb, how her eyes lost care
or interest,
how her housecoat insulated her from
what she once loved in her slipshod way.
When she looked at me it was through a tunnel
she had dug for her mind,
her presence wrapped in muffling blankets
as if it were now
always too cold to surface.
I should have seen the signs,
seen the slow disappearance, the pale waning
but by then I only visited
through the narrow gaps of my life.
I told her to join something,
do what other old people did...
only now do I really know
what old people can do,
they recall and piece together,
reflect through a seawater haze
those moments
when seams began to unravel,
falling quietly apart
before closed eyes.
Sometime
before I was not mature enough to notice,
she began to dissolve.
Husband dead, son revolving
around one woman after another,
moving away from her fading presence.
Aware only of the ebb, and flow of her care
or interest, Distance surfacing in her eyes.
How her housecoat insulated her from
what she once loved.
When she looked at me it was through a tunnel
she had dug into her mind,
her presence muffled
as if it were now
always too cold to surface.
I should have seen the signs,
but by then I only visited
during narrow gaps in my life.
I told her to join something,
do what other old people did.
Only now do I understand
what old people do, -
they think of their parents
in threads and patchwork pieces.
I cannot recall the exact period
when the seam of strong bonds
began to unravel,
for of course,
that specific time was buried with her.
Poet Visitors in the Night
Asleep, I was, under my new forest green
velvet and Sherpa throw.
With loving stockings to warm my
cold, autumnal toes.
Then, I felt the sweetest, slightest breeze.
As one might feel, caused by the tenderest
of angels' wings.
Two men by my bed did boldly stand.
One, graciouslly helped me up whilst
the other cloaked me in my new
scarlet housecoat.
I was not afraid just sensed I knew
these smiling trangers at my hand.
We lit some candles, they brought
out fragrant jasmine tea.
I recognized them from times
long gone bye.
They were E.E,Cummings and
W.H. Auden.
I was beside myself with poetic
happiness, aye!
We sat and consulted till dawn
began to break.
Both told me how to improve and
what steps I must take.
Both entreated me to write great
poetry.
I told each of them, of being a good
poet, was not a title worthy of me.
They both howled in raocous laughter!
Hugged me.....and told me to be
true to the poetic greats of history.
And I pledged to them and to
all of you....
To cease the search for popularity!
And primarily be a poet true, to myself
and to all of you!
With love,
Panagiota
November 12, 2019
Oh, that tender excitement of being a
very young girl!
Wrapped in a red velvet housecoat with white, soft, fur.
Vermillion slip-on slippers with fur that matched.
The gigantic flocked white Christmas tree stood, towering
like supreme royalty.
In that huge bay window, she reigned, the sparking bay window.
covered with Chicago's dancing frost.
The fireplace on, made me overcome with tender joy.
My faithful dog, Cappy, on my lap, looked up at me.
He shared these memorable moments, my youthful serenity!
I wish I had this picture in a precious snowball kept.
Happiness in me cannot be crushed or melted.
It lives on in my quiet soul, untouched and undaunted.
A crystal, real picture of a young poetess's past.
God blessed my ife, beyond what I ever had asked!
11-13-2020
Up with the sun, put coffee to brew
Inside my mouth, some sticky night goo
Standing in housecoat with fuzzy house shoes
Starting my day, as always I do
Down with a cup, feeling like new
Stepped onto my porch, that first morning view
Something was odd, some weird bugaboo
There must have been paint in the heavy night dew
Next to my house, by my wandering jew
My once yellow daisies had all turned light blue
Even my houseplants, my once green bamboo
Was now a blue green of the ugliest hue
So I cut them all down, in a rage I flew
Hacking and chopping, like I'd lost a screw
Roses and hostas and yes, daisies too
But I saved a bouquet, Here! These are for you.
June 20 2017
by Daniel Turner
...He gave a curt nod, then with his partner,
got in his car and drove out of there,
Owen sighed, then nearly leapt from his skin,
seeing Laura standing on her front stairs.
She wore just a housecoat and a soft smile,
and looked at him with eyes he’d never seen,
she said,”I can’t say that I expected that,
not from you, and not for little old me.
“I think that you could use your own break,
after all the brave things that you said,
go in and lie down, I’ll be there shortly,
I believe you know the way to the bed?
He found himself frozen, taking it in,
what she meant, the sweet look on her face,
then Laura said,”Maybe brunch tomorrow?
I want to show you this fabulous place...”
Owen never worried about the rumors again,
they didn’t matter much after that night,
what had been dumb lust became something more
when he laid down with his future wife…
JESUS by Joan May Donnelly Ellis
Jesus, You are the Brightest Light of Love
A hearth fire ablaze on Christmas Eve
A child's uncommanded hug
The flicker from a candle's flame
A Hand whose touch leaves a glow
The whisper of a lip's caress
The shower of an autumn snow
Jesus You are the manifestation of my praise
A military stride illuminated by grace
The reception of delight when pure humor releases all care
You are the warmth of an appreciative look
As You muse from your rocking chair
Jesus, You are a revelation spilling forth and pouring Light into my soul as I meditate on You
You are fresh, You are clean, a poet's dream come true
Jesus, You are as welcome as a mountain stream I surrender myself to after a hot Summer day of toil in my garden
Jesus, You are regular visits to Adventure Land
A glove, snow white shifting silken sands
You are a boy running 20 miles to be with the girl he loves.
Jesus, You are a head sinking in a bale of new-mown hay
The healing power of a Palm Tree's sway
And Jesus, You motivate every good that I do.
Jesus, You are the juice from a blade of Kentucky Blue
The tremor following a California Quake too
And Jesus, You've got what it takes to cause the Universe to fall in love with You.
Jesus, You're the dawning of a Carolina moon
The Decider who dines with silver spoon
You're the Yellow Rose of Texas in full bloom
The revival of Pentecost.
Jesus, You are a Prince in housecoat and slippers on a front porch swing
A LOVE for better or worse that clings
You're the Composer of songs Your Angel's sing.
Jesus, You are brevity
An embrace that lingers long after You go.
Jesus, You are the One who never laughed
When the child's love letter was mocked by the elite class.
And Jesus, You make bearable the insults one suffers through
Forgiveness granted for the incomplete, inaccurate view
You're the only One worthy & the only One true
Potter me in word & deed more like You.