Mohair Poems | Examples

pink jersey : traditional pirouette

[Poet’s Note : this is a wry autobiographical memory written in traditional pirouette verse viz. 2 quintains, line 5 & 6 repeat, which is the toe turnaround. I wanted to write a narrative of a weird syncopated vignette, when I was knitting a pink mohair jersey at the time of my imprisonment. I reduced the narrative to a pirouette. When in prison, one of my interrogators was knitting the EXACT jersey in the exact colour & exact wool ! ie. in the final analysis, all in human life can be reduced to a pirouette, a turn-around dance. ]


knitting a pink jersey
mohair with cables fine
to process flying thoughts
political activist 
south africa turmoiled

south africa turmoiled
security police
came with casspirs and cuffs
interrogation chamber
police knit jersey pink

         ~~~~~~~~~

The Mod

My Sunshine shines on my mohair suit, flickering explosions of perfect light
Heels a clicking causing small sparks on the cobbled streets.
Shirt and blazer so sharp and neat, a clean white cover on my scooter seat
A cufflink clinks on a cold wine glass, and I look at the refection in the glass.
A record cover lays around, with a target and a guitar sound
Heels and boots lay all around, white powders, pills its ultra sound!!
Parkas fitted over suits, weather shielded overtones
The road to Brighton glides downhill, Love reign on me!!!

End of Summer

Its the end of summer and the flowers are readying for fall 
guess its just September's way of putting in her hooting call 

London trees are sighing and the city folks are buying mohair 
the sun is raying softer shades as we put away our lawn chairs

Writers tuck their hats and trade their benches for a cozy home 
poetizing about Italian memories they pen about a trip to Rome 

Here he comes Mr. freezie by morning, Mrs. warm by afternoon
I really did enjoy this happy summer but I think it left too soon  

its the end of summer and the flowers are finally waving goodbye,
funny how people cling more to life, when their making ready to die.

Electric Boobs and Mohair Shoes

"Electric Boobs and Mohair Shoes"




Furry feet 
slide across your 
shiny floors


smiling cheshire teeth
incandescent 
electric boobs and jets


there you sit
blown away... again,
kitty winked 


a bachelor 
forensically 
degreed 


brain open 
not yet spent


(LadyLabyrinth/ 2020)






“Benny & the Jets”, Elton
https://youtu.be/V5zFpctrgjs







“It’s always the last poem…”
Anonymous



"Last call Minsky's...
Piano Bar, Freedom Keys..."
Anonymous









1. Cheshire Cat.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheshire_Cat

2. Lewis Carroll
2a.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewis_Carroll

2.b 
https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/lewis-carrolls-shifting-reputation-9432378/

3. Lorena Liddell
https://news.artnet.com/art-world/was-lewis-carroll-a-pedophile-his-photographs-suggest-so-237222

4. Alice Liddell
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alice_Liddell

5. Minskys Piano Bar. 

6. Forensic.

7. Another Story. x 2, plural.

8. Orderly...Street. Lewis.

The Fishes In My Head

We humans seem concerned  that we must die
Yet complain we cannot sleep with shuttered eyes
Stay awake and let  the mind roam free
Invent new recipes, enjoy some tea

Feel the peace of darkness and  the bed
Tell off  fishes swimming in your head
Get up and clean the kitchen  of its grease
Check your records if you have a lease

Knit a mohair hat for winter time
Wash a scarf and hang it on the line
Change  the  printer ink  before it dries
Volunteer to work for M I 5

Unwillingly  admit we can’t control
The night and day,  the journey and its goal

Autumn Arrives Meditation

A WELCOMING AUTUMN ARRIVES AT OUR DOORSTEP BRINGING AN ARMLOAD OF COLORS RICH AND BRIGHT. THE MYSTIFYING COLORS OF THE SUN GIVES WAY TO THE RUSSET LEAVES OF BEAUTY AS WE SPOT THE SUNLIGHT TINGED WITH COPPER BLOND AND BURGUNDY. GO AHEAD, WELCOME THE SEASON.(BREATHE)
WE FEEL THE BREEZE AS IT TOUCHES OUR CHEEK AND SINGS THROUGH OUR HAIR WITH SONGS OF AFFECTION. FALL, ITS THE PASSAGE OF TIME THAT ACTS LIKE A WARM BUFFER. A PRELUDE TO BRIGHT WINTER DAYS. (BREATHE)
DANCE IN THE LEAVES AND HUG THE BEAUTIFUL BARING TREES. THEY
LONG FOR YOUR WARM ARMS AND YOUR HUGGABLE FRAME. TRUST IN THE ADVENTURE THAT GOD'S HAS PREPARED. WALK THROUGH THE GENTLE PATH AND HUM A TUNE TO THE LITTLE SQUIRRELS AS THEY HAPPILY CLIMB, THEN SCURRY THIS WAY AND THAT (BREATHE)
FEEL THE SNUG SENSATION OF MOHAIR CLOTHING AND CHURCH YOUR 
THOUGHTS ON BEAUTIFUL MEMORIES THAT TAKE YOUR BREATH AWAY 
AUTUMN IS A TIME TO RESTORE YOUR ENERGIES AND HELP YOUR BODY FIND EQUALITY AND BALANCE. 
A WELCOMING AUTUMN ARRIVES AT YOUR DOORSTEP, DEAR AND PRECIOUS AS YOUR OWN HEART. BE AWARE OF THE SEASON , GIVE YOURSELF A REASON TO GO OUT AND ENJOY THE CHANGES OF LIFE AND SEASON.(BREATHE)

Dreaming

Dreaming

Mohair goats to make yarn. 
40 acres and a barn. 
Trees, grass and flowers, 
there is… nearly heaven here. 

It is a place, we dream about. 
I want to take you there. 
We can ranch, and farm, 
and there will be no alarm. 
Just… peace and serenity. 

Drive out all that is bad, 
take in all that is good. 
Give back all that we…
can spare!

The eagle’s nest, yet better still. 
A place where only He…
has His WILL…!

God’s country, it is for me. 
God’s country, it is for thee. 
Come with me Cowboy, 
under the star, 
let’s begin a new life, 
away…and a far…




Eagles Nest is a reference to a giant lot of ten acres on top of a mountain. 
That is where the giant birds fly out from, each morning.

Set Complete and Let Loose

For Steve with Love

More vague than unclear the causes cry out an alibi.
I choke on sour taste as I attempt to slide by.

Feelings bunch up, they crouch within my throat.
My tries to set them loose, just cause them to float.

I want to make it complete,
just take this life and wrap it up all nice and neat.
     BUT … my scissors edge is bland
               and they shake in my hand;
                   … my paper is worn
                          and the gold edges torn;
                              plus, my tape won’t adhere -
                                 say … am I in the right gear?

It’s smiles I want in greed’s own count of more. 
Some wants wash out in contamination's pour
of severe thunder-reared, heavily flared dank-air
ill aimed at my wants soft dreaming atop mohair.

Fair Share

Pierre was a billionaire living in BelAir
A most successful concessionaire
Handsomely suave and debonair
Loved reading excerpts from Voltaire
Played for hours games of solitaire
His favourite lair was in a cozy wingback chair
Savouring his Earl Grey with chocolate éclair 

Loved to travel just about anywhere
His wife accused him of having an affair
With a stewardess high in the air
Turned out it was she dating a commissionaire

Though every night she said a little prayer
She got caught with her derrière in midair   
Quite unaware of her disheveled hair  
And how deep she fell in her own snare

Totally no panache or an ounce of flair
She thought life to her had been unfair
Since Pierre’s money she’d not get a share
  It would all be left to an heir
One whose loyalty did not compare
Pierre’s cuddly pet, his rare mohair bear

On this fine day I do declare 
Liars and cheaters do beware
Play your games if you dare
But if I have my way I swear
You’ll inherit only your fair share of despair



AP: Honorable Mention 2020

Soda Shop Memories

Promenading along Ashley Street,
wearing Jumbo Rollers covered with
pretty floral sheer scarfs,
chattering, giggling, being thirteen,
trying to pass for sixteen,
hoping the boys in their bat-winged cars
would wave and holler and make a big deal,
as soon as they caught our eyes,
we'd pretend to ignore them while our
shoulders pulled back, heads held high,
and our mohair sweatered chests protruding 
for all the world to see.

If a car stopped our hearts skipped a beat,
we'd lose our composure and act very young,
running to the neighborhood soda shop
where we'd find "protection," someone's
older brother who was sipping Coke and eating
French fries with his date while the Jukebox 
tunes were blasting, feet were tapping
and where Pinball Machines were ringing,
these were our soda shop memories of long ago.

The Woodville Hall Soul Boys

Soon after I'd paid
My sixty
Or seventy pence,
I found myself
In what I thought
Was a miniature London.
I saw girls
In chandelier earrings,
In stiletto heels,
Wearing evening
Dresses,
Which contrasted with
The bizarre
Hair colours
They favoured:
Jet black
Or bleach blonde,
With flashes of
Red, Purple
Or green.
Some wore large
Bow ties,
Others unceremoniously
Hanged
Their school ties
Round their
Necks.
Eye make-up
Was exaggerated.
The boys all had
Short hair,
Wore mohair sweaters,
Thin ties,
Baggy,
Peg-top trousers
And winklepicker shoes.
A band playing
Raw street rock
At a frantic speed
Came to a sudden,
Violent climax...
Melodic, rhythmic,
Highly dancable
Soul music
Was now beginning
To fill the hall,
With another group
Of short-haired youths...
Smoother, more elegant,
Less menacing
Than the previous ones.
These well-dressed
Street boys
Wore well-pressed pegs
Of red or blue...
They pirouetted
And posed...
Pirouetted and posed.

"Wicked Cahoots" and "The Woodville Hall Soul Boys" stem from stories written in the late 1970s; while they first saw the light of day in versified form in 2006.)

Trade Warrior

So seamless an entity is he.
sleek before the crowd
bullet proof
tempered hard
steel 
determination loud

Urban warrior
lean before the mass
tackle business
evenly
dodge before the crash

Suited armor
mohair gleam
woolen effigy
strained vessels
temples red
Imbibes with glee at noon

Not enough to win 
the day
ore brethren in the clinch
they must lose
fall away
to rise another inch.

Winter Love

mohair grips
as certainty slips
away beneath the covers

blanket
heavy as sleep
recedes
sinewed lovers

breath
escapes blush lips
sense
fingertips

hush
touch lingers
caressing
fingers

Two Friends

Silence of four walls.

Twilight of night  –  in a mirror.

Two friends live here:

Suffering and Loneliness.

They share a meal and habitation with each other,

And together, they knit the grey-mohair sighs.

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