Long Tuxedos Poems
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Dragon polished his nails and admired himself in the mirror once again; a daily ritual getting so old. The one lousy hair on his chin, protruding from a small wart which he called a, “birthmark”; warranted a razor, shaving foam and aftershave or so he insisted.
He blew himself a kiss and turned with a smile; “Do you think my fangs need more whitening?” He asked. “Dr. Raine said the last time that he “Couldn’t get them any whiter, remember?” I responded.
“Humph!” he snorted; “I can’t go around looking like some shoddy, back alley lizard now, can I? Now that I’m a professional flutist, I have a reputation to protect.” With that he patted my cheek and said, “Ciao baby, don’t wait up for me.”
I watched him grab his instrument and walk out the door. “Don’t get that big head get stuck”, I muttered softly. Why couldn’t I have adopted a normal dragon? No, I had to have the cutest one; how could I not have foreseen that ego?
When he said he wanted a flute, I bought him one; he hated it. “That’s a beginner flute,” he remarked. I want a, Master Class instrument!”
I gave in all too easily and a hundred payments later, he was playing Vivaldi, like a pro. Ok, so maybe that was a good investment.
Every contest he’d entered garnered him another golden trophy; but, did he really need a tuxedo to wear when he received those baubles? My credit cards gained weight at lightning speed, as he grew. I passed his room; stuck my tongue out at that, trophy wall and noticed his vanity. Did he really need one hundred and twelve different bottles of cologne?
At two am, he awoke me with an anxious cry. I heard, “Mumsey dear, wake up…the concert was superb and the governor was so impressed, (of course, he would be…) with my playing; he’s invited me, me to play for his inaugural dinner! Can I have your credit card? I need to get a French manicure and have my scales waxed. Oh, and I’m going to need a new Tux.”
“You have twenty three tuxedos in your closet; why can’t you wear one of those?” I asked him.
“Mumsey”, he replied, “I have a reputation to maintain.” He tweaked my cheek; smiled at himself in the mirror and under my breath I muttered back, “I can hardly wait until his, ever-growing ego, gets him stuck in the doorway.”
A four piece string ensemble competes
with fluted crystal glasses harmonizing
to the tinkling of fine silverware
underpinned by the purring whispers
of well-to-do's and their hobnobbery.
Buttery lobster and rib-eyed supper in
opulent gravies and exotic spices;
cornucopia fruits on sterling platters
all floating about the ballroom on
white gloved tuxedos.
There’s a thick pretense in the air;
a high browed notion of superiority
reflected off each gold-fitted gemstone
amplified when ostensibly viewed
through a monocle lens.
I suppose it’s a lonely company they keep
esteeming each other as conquerors
by cordially extended handshake;
dodging and redirecting questions incessantly,
so as not to be rude, no doubt.
All the lavish excess of the night
is surpassed in every rise and fall
of her chest, as I contemplate silently
what fate has befallen that life, no more
beaming behind those sapphire eyes.
Empty sockets abound, lifelessly
betraying boisterous expressions of mirth.
Dancing corpses swig their Dom Perignon
forgetting for tonight, at least,
the toiling lilies of the field.
Preston Graham
(Grahamburglar)
08/16/15
For Contest: Puttin on the Ritz
Hosted by: Judy Konos
I dream every night, she brags. I am wearing an aquamarine chiffon dress, and I am doing the tango.
I hate her a bit, for I do not recall even a petite part of my dreams.
Last night I was dancing with a handsome stranger, he was wearing a tuxedo, she said.
Good. I have never been fond of tuxedos. Now I despise them, and men who wear them.
We lived in a gorgeous house, and we looked down on the little people, she said.
Her true self is coming into the conversation now.
Another teacher in the lunchroom catches my eye.
We throw back our heads and laugh.
We cannot stop.
We are cry-laughing now.
What? She asks, having no idea.
There is no way to explain.
One Word…
>>>IS>>>
Poetry…is…
Wears the words of smiles and tears,
And speaks of stumbling through graveyards
And up the aisles to ancient altars;
Falling off of sidewalks and through the cracks of life
Then rising up to stargaze from thin lines;
Tripping over can’t and could have,
Butting heads with treasured idols;
Tracking sticky mud across the new waxed
Marble floor of the soul –
Scratching graffiti on the walls of the heart
Or gently laying kisses on fresh jagged wounds –
Carrying baggage filled with
Stones of calendar pages;
Chanting loudly of sunrise and sunset,
Blending crystal snow with newborn leaves;
Escaping clutches of midnight marauders
Embracing the fairness of rose and mauve;
Ignorance ignored screaming,
Scrapping tender knees and elbows on pebbled concrete,
Painting chaos – weaving breaths – unclogging drains –
Knitting together quietness in blooms of Claire de lune.
Poetry…Is…
Wears the words of frowns and grins
And tells of fat ducklings waddling through spring;
Wrapping scars in isolation,
Discarding blindness
In ancient hearts and newborn souls
And all the in between;
Cleaning closets stuffed to overflowing
With emptiness;
Running with ambivalence,
Looking into the eyes of the unresolved,
Fighting wrinkles or teetering on high heels –
Tuxedos rushing by the tattered,
Ragged holding hands with
Fire dancers balancing upon tight ropes –
Drinking fully from a trough
Of clearest spirits, giving up thirst,
Then wrestling with the fevers
Of inspiration through witness eyes,
Shouting across the centuries in baritone and soprano,
Reaching out and gathering in – juggling balls and overflowing plates.
The very marrow and the core,
The words of a poet yesterday – “Pretty, hell, poetry is…life.” Robert Penn Warren – June 1986
LIFE IS POETRY...POETRY IS…
Poetry wears the words of smiles and tears,
And speaks of stumbling through graveyards
And up the aisles to ancient altars;
Falling off of sidewalks and through the cracks of life
Then rising up to stargaze from thin lines;
Tripping over can’t and could have,
Butting heads with treasured idols;
Tracking sticky mud across the new waxed
Marble floor of the soul –
Scratching graffiti on the walls of the heart
Or gently laying kisses on fresh jagged wounds –
Carrying baggage filled with
Stones of calendar pages;
Chanting loudly of sunrise and sunset,
Blending crystal snow with newborn leaves;
Escaping clutches of midnight marauders
Embracing the fairness of rose and mauve;
Ignorance ignored screaming,
Scrapping tender knees and elbows on pebbled concrete,
Painting chaos – weaving breaths – unclogging drains –
Knitting together quietness in blooms of Claire de lune.
Poetry wears the words of frowns and grins
And tells of fat ducklings waddling through spring;
Wrapping scars in isolation,
Discarding blindness
In ancient hearts and newborn souls
And all the in between;
Cleaning closets stuffed to overflowing
With emptiness;
Running with ambivalence,
Looking into the eyes of the unresolved,
Fighting wrinkles or teetering on high heels –
Tuxedos rushing by the tattered,
Ragged holding hands with
Fire dancers balancing upon tight ropes –
Drinking fully from a trough
Of clearest spirits, giving up thirst,
Then wrestling with the fevers
Of inspiration through witness eyes,
Shouting across the centuries in baritone and soprano,
Reaching out and gathering in – juggling balls and overflowing plates.
The very marrow and the core.
The words of a poet yesterday – “Pretty, hell, poetry is life.”
Robert Penn Warren – June 1986
Lots of plans are
being made
For memories that
will not fade
A party of epic
proportion
A wonderful great
creation
Filled with magic
that will last
Exploding with a
wild blast
Of excitement and
intrigue
It will be in it's
own league
Women in beautiful
gowns
Imported lace
wrapped all around
Tuxedos on men
looking great
Handsome for this
special date
Decorations hang
with flair
Colors so bright
everywhere
Tables full of food
so gourmet
Delicious in every
way
Music sweetly
playing low
For a nice romantic
flow
Lights shimmer from
up above
Glowing with finesse
and love
Friendly smiles big
and bright
Is a welcome and
nice sight
A festive and
cheerful setting
So jubilant it will
be letting
Hearts fill with
awesome memories
Lasting for all
eternities
x(f)=Sx(f)e_Jzft dt
G8HnozNHz
Jubal Cantar
they speak of him
your name amongest a thousand strings
Lovers of songs and fables
shall dress to impress
and drink wine under the sky!
epu epu might the foods be excellant
and make the Women smile
ye than oh excellent
ye then oh excellent
x (f)=Sx (f)e-Jz__ft dt
G8H11noz NHz
oh ye excellent
oh ye excellent
song for lovers
in full respect
a night of togetherness
puluc regress
sung in saltation
warm this night
gowns and tuxedos
the wine is alright
Lovers of evening
dine and dance
music so gracful
thank the mastro
when you get a chance
Lovers of evening
d
mingle with lovers
of night
oh ye excelllent everythings alright
Black or white, blue or green
Tuxedos make a handsome scene
When their by the side of
A pretty girl that they love
Dressed in lace and silky print
There is not a single hint
Of sadness in this great place
A memory you wont erase
From your mind, heart even soul
Of this wonderful great stroll
That will join you hand in hand
Words and gestures soft and grand
That join two hearts in a union
No one will ever be losing
As the preacher asks of you
To say your sincere "I Do's"
And your sweet lips gently kiss
On this day of joyful bliss
That will last for many years
Lots of good times to be shared
"by the way did I tell you I love you today"
------------------------------------------------------
The Concertmaster and the Mastro are married.
Micro-mance, she managed to be kind enough to make happy
a stressed out relationship. We laughed but understood the level
of stress she was under with her Mastro husband who is a very talented
person. Faced with the challenge of filling seats and creating an audience
to their certain type of music. They recreated there performance so that
the visual is more assiduous to the audience. A show should resonate a
certain level of thought where attention is paid to the audience and performer.
Not just showcasing in the larger markets, but catering
to smaller crowds at smaller venues. But you know "the Waterfront and the stadium draw
different types. We want those members who are types to follow the show, catch two shows a season and then write us and tell us about it.A venue can draw an audience on it's own you know. The prestige of a classy place gets the guys and gals in tuxedos and gowns.
Goblintimacy, yeah I used the words She said, when the flower guy sells the dozen of roses
and the woman has that uncomfortable but satisfied grin on her face it's something special. That never get's old.
-------------------------------------------------
"the way you look tonight"
-------------------------------------------------
The first time we chatted, it was in a very crowded place.
But it was so quiet that everyone knew what we were saying.
The room was so busy, we decided we needed some space.
So, we went off together where nobody was playing.
After hours of learning so much about each other,
I knew it was turning into a very successful date.
We had enough things in common with one another
That we both considered our connection a stroke of fate.
We spent the next several weeks chatting about ourselves,
Telling each other stories, good and bad, from our past.
We even went through memories long ago put up on shelves.
It felt so good, I thought I’d found someone at last.
We’d both been married before, but love is worth repeating.
When I proposed one evening, it was a very emotional night.
Until the wedding day, we’d never had a face-to-face meeting.
So, when we both showed up in tuxedos, it was quite the sight.