Poet’s notes: this poem was written for this week’s poetry challenge: Write a poem with exactly seven lines.)
water rises in the clear bowl, a small cosmos gathering itself.
bubbles bloom like breath returning to a long-quiet body.
copper and blue tiles hold the warmth of forgotten mornings.
on the sill, bottles keep vigil — lotions, perfumes, small reliquaries of touch.
the faucet’s flow feels ancient, a quiet force older than ache.
the sky beyond the glass window moves in pale currents, clouds drifting close to the sill,
and I lean into the moment, letting the water’s rise settle something unnamed.
We loved videogames, Paul, Sam and me
Came up with an idea, started a company
Sales were good, but success was a curse
It started when the law said we must be diverse.
So we hired Mary, Chantelle, and Helene
But social media was their preferred scene.
Mary spent work time applying lotions
Helene said she was passed over for promotions.
Helene walked away with lots of dough
We settled her lawsuit, but it was a blow
Then we had to pay the business tax
Sam gave half our staff the axe.
Then the hydro plant fell to a progressive plan.
so salmon could swim upstream without a dam.
They built lots of turbines where trees used to grow
So our servers were down when the wind wouldn't blow.
Then Paul said that marriage should be between Adam and Eve.
An online mob descended like you wouldn't believe.
I told him to grovel, but we felt the sting
So I sold our patents to a guy in Beijing.
If you wonder why you can't get a job
Or the one that you got makes you feel like a blob.
Ask the idealists who care about all except you.
They're sitting at the levers, that self-righteous crew.
Skin scrubbed completely clean
A strict cleansing routine
An uncontrollable invasion in the skin
Making my mind run thin
The painful skin infections
One of my many imperfections
There is no stopping them
No way of knowing where they stem
There is no cure
Only a guarantee they will reoccur
A daily drench in chemical
Only an antibacterial
Lotions creams and pills
Nothing that kills
They are a parasite
No way to win the fight
Taxing on the brain
Such a mental strain
Painful to sit stand and walk
Can only cry and squawk
This will never go away
Only when I decay
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness; but still will keep a bower quiet for us, and a sleep full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.” (John Keats)
************
Grammy’s hands were porcelain monuments,
each finger a taper of borrowed moonlight.
She posed them on plush velvet, her wrists arched,
for cameras that loved their silent eloquence~
a beautiful ballet of knuckles and patience,
selling rings, lotions, and the illusion of grace.
Decades of lemon baths, lotion, and almond oil,
nails cut and buffed to crescent moons, never chipped.
Her knuckles, delicate hinges, refused the
swell of arthritis—time’s gift of a life well spent.
Now her hands rest, folded like origami,
still flawless, still waiting for the lens to flicker.
shampoo that comes from jojoba
stands and cheers with a rah rah rah
softens curls in a lovely way
used for lotions too many say
jojoba bush is useful for many
in your yard, do you have any?
I dived into the cauldron of magic potion and... Poetry Contest
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I dived into the cauldron of magic potion
in hubby's best interest
... and, drum roll, mine also
You see, well there's nothing to see
And that's the point
... for this point of contention
only touches the surface
Where his plumbing could use some work
... sigh ... a lot of work
We tried all the gimmicks
... and unfortunately
All the gimmicks laughed at us
We tried the blues, greens, and lotions
And his rowboat remains docked
… In the parting seas
With eagerness, we look at the cauldron
For some magic
Something … like something to hold onto
A rabbit's foot ... hum that might work
Even a lifeboat … only for me
So cauldron what say you
You have a bone to pick … ha, ha
In a world painted shades of rose,
Where costs are hidden, no one knows,
A silent burden, an unseen fee,
That rests on women, unfairly.
A razor's edge, a bottle's hue,
The price deflate for things in blue,
Yet when in pink, the cost ascends,
A subtle tax, which never ends.
A shampoo bottle, a gentle scent,
But dollars more are often spent,
For lotions, creams, and fashion threads,
For something that society spreads.
They say it’s choice, it’s just supply,
But why should pink make wallets cry?
In aisles where colors softly gleam,
It’s more than just a consumer’s dream.
For girls are taught from tender youth,
That beauty’s cost is simply truth,
But let us break this rosy chain,
And paint the world with fairer gain.
No more the silent tax we pay,
Let equality lead the way,
For every dollar, every cent,
Should reflect what’s truly spent.
It took a week for me to pack,
For, wracked with indecision,
I wanted to be sure each day
I’d have the right provision.
The pants, the skirts, Capris and tops,
The sandals, dresses, make-up,
The jewelry and lotions,
All prepared for every wake-up.
I’d zipped it up, ensuring that
I’d covered all the bases
And checked it in where it was stacked
With all the other cases.
Alas, it never made it through
And, though the airline tracked it,
It’s in another place, despite
The care with which I’d packed it.
I’m making do with what I wore,
With just a nightly rinsing.
To never check a bag again?
I do not need convincing.
In the morning as I sit and watch you lay,
in what seems to be a playful bliss.
My attention is quickly taken by your milky white skin.
Caressed by lotions and perfumed by oil.
Forever young you have stayed.
And what seems to be angel dust, gleaming like fireflies in the sunlight
shines through the window and settles softly against the nape of your neck.
You move. Slightly so, but enough so what once covered your
lower back gently slips away.
As if undisturbed by time, your curvature would indicated the
absence of children.
You awake. With an inviting smile and a look familiar enough
not having to use words, I move in.....
in run the children.
I do not like the smell of any
Perfume or cologne.
Unscented are the lotions
And deodorants I own.
Yet certain flowers’ scents can help
To brighten up a mood
And lovely food aromas
Can improve one’s attitude.
We all have favorite smells
And though our senses are unique,
Agreement can be reached when odors
Absolutely reek.
I miss our sex.
So fast
crazy
energetic
lazy
we'd do it
in the
bed, sure.
but also
on the desk
the couch
the dryer
in motion
with paddles
scarves
and all
kinds of
lotions.
But now
you're gone
and I know
you gotta
miss it.
Just
come back
and tell
Mama
where you
want me
to kiss it.
I mean
really
are we
done??
Not even
one last lick
let's throw
ourselves
up against
the counter
and see if
we stick. :p
©SamHarty
The Witch’s hair was black as night
Her teeth were white
And eyes were bright.
She boiled her potions,
And brewed her lotions
She smiled at clouds and stars and moon,
She walked in woods from morn till noon.
She could cure any ailments fast,
And tell how long the rains would last.
She knew the earth she walked on well,
None ever heard her cry or yell.
Wisdom shone in her black eyes,
It scared those men with malice.
She was captured, tied and dragged,
All of them charged her as ‘bad’.
“Devil pleaser", “Dark force’s queen"
Shocked she was, ‘what does this mean?’
Beaten, stoned and dragged in mud,
Hair and eyes now smeared with blood.
“This crone! We must have her dead"
Cried those fools and she felt dread.
As they lit the pyre of hay,
She at last ventured to say,
Now you fear me, you cowards
“One day my seeds will grow upwards.
My kids will rise and set me free
That is when you with fear will see.
You and I may not here be,
But they will rise, SO MOTE IT BE"
(A tribute to the souls of all the wise and innocent women who were branded as witches and hunted down)
Pills and potions
Ointment and lotions
Don't always do the trick
We swallow them to feel better
But they can make us feel sick.
Sick and ill
Drugs that can kill
Are taken every day
Would we feel any better?
If we throw this medicine away.
And try to do without them,
Except for the necessary ones,
And make an effort
To appreciate nature and the sun,
Sunshine is healing
It makes one feel good to be alive
A relaxed and happy feeling
Whelms up inside
All your illnesses or concerns
Become secondary for a while
As the sun is shining bright
And so is your smile.
She said it ain't fair,
She said she uses fair body lotions,
Left me singing pills and potions,
Say , love lies in the eyes of beholder,
I looked in her eyes ,
Full of sight,
Telling her i have new shareholders,
To your heart,,
I said i hold you like a key holder,
Sunrise pass and sun sets ,
Either sunset ,
I will hold your hand till i see a better phase.
Moral confection
is like facial complexion
that changes
with exposure to weather
like it or not
we are our elements
sweetly pimpled
when saturated
dried and cracked
and pealing
for deprived of
right feeling
and creams and lotions
are only physical motions
getting us spiritually nowhere
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