Devoted,
he cherishes
his sweet,
young Anna Sprowls.
She refuses to
say yes and
Smith is
despondent,
churning
deep down in
his bowels.
Backed in a corner,
she at last finally
howls:
monogrammed towels!
—————-
Yalto form by Edward Ibeh
Line 1-15: 3,4,2,4,5,3,2,3,2,3,3,5,6,1,5 syllables
This year my wife bought us personalised gifts
In order to heal little family rifts
Her sister was flattered and gave her a hug
When she found her face on a bone china mug
Her Dad kissed her cheek, wrapped his arm round her waist
In thanks for the monogrammed cigarette case
Tempers, once frayed, we’re now far less fiery
When her brother opened his new photo diary
And now everybody was getting on fine
And so it was time that I opened mine
Mine was quite large and so peace was assured
’til I found my face on a friggin dartboard
I’m actually tired of being myself…
can I be you for awhile
I hide from the mirror and monogrammed lies,
as I run from an image defiled
I thought I was safe and had made my escape,
when memory reminded again
“You can run, you can hide, your indenture unkeyed
—the chains locked secure in your head”
(The New Room: January, 2021)
© 2012 (Jim Sularz)
A stitch, a knot, a sudden tear,
some missing counts along the folds.
Her cloth was sewn in Life's fine linen,
and bordered, in marygolds.
Still monogrammed, but mostly worn,
in bold initials, RHS.
With mauve tear-dropped appliqués,
in the center, two silhouettes.
For naked she came and naked she left,
her embroidered life was sewn untold.
In pink chenille and diamond eyelets,
with resplendent marygolds!
They come down on strings, he says.
In a voice like worn, cracked leather he says
"Parachute silk, that's what they're on.
See, they chase the patterns" and he laughs,
like I didn't get the joke, but the punchline is weak.
His hand is in his pocket, he shakes the loose change,
it rattles, as if it knows it may never see another till,
or purse,
and worse still, the monogrammed handkerchief knows,
it knows its initials are written in stone,
and I carried him there,
to his resting place,
He is there, still.
Grandmother's linen
Brief look into bygone day
Antique memories
Soft monogrammed sheets with lace
Carefully laundered.
your monogrammed towel
still hangs on the bathroom rack
missing your strong hands
now dry as an old stamp pad
it no longer weeps your loss
Covered bridge sheltering frothy lagoon
Woven tapestry gilding each silted dune
Garnished threads over polished diadem doth croon
Fabricated ensemble breaching pristine medley, emitting swaggering tune
A treasured grove; each branch artfully hewn
A regal polish smoothly layered on a well-crafted spoon
Scented laces nestling in furrowed moon
Binding corset ballasting each milky balloon
Red velvet gown swaddling paps so roon
Silver, monogrammed broach cresting over satin plume
Golden necklace the antechamber doth groom
Lilac perfume from each tendered Liily doth fume
Plowing through the quilted morass so carefully strewn
O'er snowy plain with sculpting touches tenderly prune
Nurturing each crevice; in your fecund valley swoon
Watching in rapturous chorus each mound bloom
With fertile lips I pollinate each riveted loom
From each rendered nipple a sweet nectar I exhume
“A body can’t do everything,” frets Grandma.
Hannah instantly joins kinswoman, laying
monogrammed napkins, opening peas quickly.
Reluctantlyly stopping, turns unto visitors.
“Who xrates young zucchini?”
-----------------------------
R ashly he didn’t stop
A t the railroad crossing
I t is known that he was seen
L ots of liquor tossing.
R oaring train just couldn’t stop.
O nward it sped ahead.
A t the crossing a big crash!
D rinking dude is dead!
C rying relatives bemoan
R ashness of young Moses.
O n his casket they have lain
S ome red and yellow roses.
S igns and signals cannot stop
I nattentive losers
N o words of wisdom enough for
G uys who are driving boozers.
__________________________
Cheerful Carolyn carries coffee
in capacious cups from coffee shop.
Whiny Willie wails for water.
Susan snappishly shouts , “Stop”.
Sparkling black eyes aglow with love's ember
Appending lashes; swabbed cinders caressing
Sleek dark hair rippling waves of splendor
Blue, silk ribbon her coiffed crown dressing
Ashen, pale face from decorous rim recessing
Elegant, powdered neck; regal grace extended
Carefully preened bosom; each, fertile fold cresting
Slender, undulating hips; each, sensuous move portended
Gilded ring with her noble birth appended
Silver monogrammed bracelet; familial license her style to sanction
Ornamental brooch, sentimental heirloom; fealty commended
Bridled love flowing freely with matrilineal unction
Mother's vicarious virtue strained into the vial of innocence
Blighting charm causing each froward step to be made with reticence
They poison the sheep,
Believing wolves can’t die.
Death is indiscriminate!
They can’t see it,
Their new genesis,
Feeding on the withered bodies
Of bleating sheep,
Engendered in the putrid froth,
Dripping from the wolf’s jowls.
Their eyes are dilated egos,
Glazed-over with impotent apathy,
Empty as a cloudless sky,
One obscure horizon,
Melting like dirty ice,
Into the other.
Disregarded behind tinted glass!
Slightly afraid — eventually,
They applaud a common stratagem,
A method to poison the poisoned,
Secretly wondering,
If gods can really die.
There is a rumor of frailty!
Someone coughs.
A bead of yellow sweat signs a contract!
They make nervous excuses.
Rush in undisclosed unison,
Holding their breath
Behind monogrammed handkerchiefs,
To wash trembling hands,
In private restrooms,
But the sinks
Are full of blood.
The last wolf howls
Ignoring the moon.
Santa never gives to me
The gifts which I request
My kids get all the things they want
I get stuff I detest
There are novelty socks
A useful tool
The Christmas jumper
Far too small
Box of hankies
Monogrammed
Things never go
The way I planned
What happened to
My Cobra AC
Why didn’t he
Get that for me
There are other things
Upon my list
I think you soon
Will get the gist
Ferrari or a TVR
Or any other
Old sports car
My Christmas list
Is not extensive
I just want a car
that’s old
And expensive
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