plaid, paisley or polka dot?
patterned or plain taking a spot?
puffy pillows provided by Pat
Printed with purple dogs and one cat
That one lost their tongue
somewhere along the way
long ago, the sound,
doesn’t come out the same
anymore, so they roll it up
like a carpet containing
a nakedly dead body
of blunt words
like unplucked violins
untuned to how it all
really works
begging to be heard,
and the flowery prose,
purple and bruised
like over-ripe fruit
teeth rottingly sugary sweet,
is now seen
day-in-and-night-out,
struggling with ease
way too much
like madness overgrown,
the dense overgrowth
of language unspoke
hides glittering gems
blushing shamefully
more exquisite than
the now daily averies
all penned in babel
that flow in glass jarring
anticipated patterns
of suffocating
paisley prose,
the simple beauty
in the plainly spoke,
never again
to be seen nor heard,
the mercurial metaphors
birdfeed scattered
to the begging migrations
of petulant bluebirds
naughty nightingales
honey trapping
wet-beaked hummingbirds
all beating hearts
with their wild wind flapping,
tossing sticks and stones
to those tongue thirsty
kiss lapping, lap dancing
love parched, gargling
swallows
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Her heart was filled swiftly with turquoise and paisley patterns of joy
Expanding enthusiastic bubbles were flying in her imaginative highways
Swirling poetic metaphors drank in the wonder of the moments
A pristine canvas of time formed a glorious phoenix of fantasy and fun
Soaring through the sparkly dazzling landscape of life as she knew it
Confidence encouraged her to move toward Mars. She was untouched
by those who would have sentenced her to a world of non-adventure.
rainbow idea
we need prisms in prison
uplifting inmates
plaid idea
We need design on shirts
even on Fox News women
paisley idea
We need to bring back the joy of the sixties
But leave the Viet Nam War behind
`
I collected the kinetic swirls
of differing shades
in the dizzying reflections
of how you made me feel
Whirling affects
blurred in calliope sonnets
and brass ring reachings
while riding a paisley tiger
My pockets filled
with these mesmerizing emotions
sculpted of Ferris Wheel desires
and carousel dreams of you
Until suddenly colored lights flickered,
the music slipped a gear
and the ride came to a screeching halt,
with me holding on for dear life
Flung to the floor between sneaker prints
and paper cotton candy tubes
I watched you walk away with the stuffed
giraffe in your arms, it waved goodbye
While a checkerboard monkey giggled
as he emptied my pockets
leaving me with nothing
but a broken heart and a long walk home
a paisley flower
marigold garden bright
sprinkled with pretty
A sailor profusely tattooed
Enjoyed being secretly lewd;
He took off his clothes
Whenever he chose,
And looked not the slightest bit nude.
Every summer in Paisley Ontario
On a huge grassy park field
A festival is held every summer
Constants set up their gear
Then begin to cook the ribs
After cooked add their secret
Visitors are given special cards
They have to rate the ribs eaten
People go from booth to booth
Tasting all the different ribs
Then at the end of the day
The ballets are counted
The winner wins a prize
It is dining out to eat
The prize is for two and
a movie
She blithely dreams of flitting butterflies,
essence of lemon-drop poetry and
lighter-than-vapor argent cotton candy castles
upon empurpled cloud embellishes,
meanwhilst wistfully hot air balloons
designed of lilting paisley embroidery
inflated with the airy fragrance
of wildflowers' whimsied zestfulness
merrily drifts furthermost simultaneously
burbling curiouser moons & starry dusted
whirlwinds gaily prancing 'pon watercolor hues,
imagination's perceptibility musing
aloud mid sleepyhead synapses'
abstractly diffused spheres,
she softly ponders if this should
be Nirvana my only wish shall
evermore be to slumber endlessly
Dropping The Paisley
What more can I say?
This beautiful woman
lived in my house
and now she is gone,
sailing or flying,
swimming or walking.
I don’t know where.
So please,
tell the woman
I live with now
it’s time again
to drop the paisley
over the parakeet.
I’ll be upstairs,
tell her,
getting ready for bed.
Donal Mahoney
In all my journeys, the lone regret
I find impossible to forget
is you.
How can I ignore such familiar comfort
lifting my core towards spiritual transport?
What more can I do?
Where shall the freedom course truer
even as proximity stains my heart bluer?
Skies fade from azure.
My rock grips the earth with tenacity
to lift against the storm, driving with veracity,
you shall soar through.
So sleep and dream of days better
when the moon was no more than white cheddar
dipped in fondue
to bathe only you
in his refracted light.
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