Pompadour Poems

Rococo Seduction

O lady, banish my monochrome days
and weave your coppery threads into
a dim red florescence of coyote words;
There you stand draped in beige chiffon

against the Tomistic piety of a striptease sea
continuously playing with creamy pastels,
O lady, gallantly unleash your plump cherubs
and licentious cats with that Guerlain

je-ne-sais-quoi witchery of your vanilla
perfume darts; throw a rain-soaked
dusty rose like Madame Pompadour,
I am flying into the sugary abyss of setting suns,

My whole world is tinted in Bouchet’s
Prussian blue and silks of flickering coral
as the dragons keep fighting in the heavens
to bring us April showers and champagne pearls.

Chasing Dreams

Verse 1
Golden hour, striking poses,
Glistening skin, fake tan, hiding pure intentions,
Half-hearted beats, staccato smiles,
Stiletto heels, prowling through the night.

Verse 2
Genuine gestures, covered by false lashes
White steeple houses, steep heels, straight laced blues,
Filtered skies, trimmed hedges in view,
The calm within me feels so far from you.

Chorus
In the city lights, we’re chasing dreams,
Hiding in shadows, unraveling seams,
Caught between the highs and lows,
Falling in love, falling apart, who knows?

Verse 3
Reluctant opportunities, wild hearts blame,
Oversized trousers, playing the game,
Downcast eyes, judging fears inside,
Hiding the clown that I can’t abide.

Verse 4
Star rising, falling debris,
Brewing hope while I’m losing me,
Pompadour dreams in disheveled hair,
Pulling the weight of a love laid bare.

Bridge
Hope escapes with the sunset’s glow,
Waking up to coffee, struggling to know,
Feral eyes searching for love in disguise,
Dreaming of futures that never arise.

NEPTUNIAN SARCOPHAGUS

Because it is the archangel hypnotizng
you into losing yourself in that thin treadmill
at the archane center of advanced transurfing
& remember what that demagogue Rex Hemphill
said. This is why it's best to imagine one's skull
as a chamber of fetal hair waiting to sprout
into a fetching pompadour & it is cool
that you readily chased out that tenacious tout;
besides, you still didn't have the gumption to reveal
where did those tomatoes go. did they just now squeal
like an army of rats enjoy an exorcism?
'Wanton warriors witness wondrous witticism'
muttered & uttered the judge & that made you hate
your loathsome self's guts with abandon & fury.
That's why you can't trust a cod who is illiterate;
specially if those bald tomatoes ran away.
Even a Neptunian sarcophagus will know
now. Dear scallawag, where did the tomatoes go?

Strumpa Strumpa Crumpetta Crumpetta

Cackles were heard from down under on a hill far away 
fifty little saucy spiders scurry helter skelter out to play
A hefty witch stirs her cauldron next to her Bagoon 
snake eyes spoon an evil mush as feet dance around the room 
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead 
The stars in heaven grow fangs and the moon wears a skirt of thorns 
chainsaw demons flee the sky with decapitated scorn
Oh my oh my Halloween frights are here, although the night is young 
old smelly garlic garlands have been strung,  
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead 
She's here to petrify, terrify, horrify and glorify her trade 
when they get here they will drink purple blue Kool-aid 
Oh Gee Oh Gosh she has lost her pompadour galosh 
perhaps its hiding in the pumpkin squash 
Strumpa strumpa crumpetta crumpetta, stomps and rhythms yes they're dead.

Red Pompadour

burgundy colored
looking to indigo skies ~ 
flight in deep shadows


Written on 3/16/2022
For: Bird Haiku Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Syllable Checking Source:
how manysyllables.com

Madame De Pompadour

Have you met my lady cat
A most prestigious aristocrat
She's of extremely dignified ascent
Genuine regal blue blood descent
Everyday might as well be a holiday
My lady’s a class act in every way
Elegant and graceful as they come
Madame de Pompadour quite venturesome
Prances proud in her queenly manner
That's how she graces my humble manor



AP: 3rd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2020

Submitted on September 6, 2020 for contest COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE (5) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND

A Unicorn Walks Into a Bar

He walks into the bar 
Like a movie star

With swagger 
Out pouring the lager

Topped by a mop 
Of such mythical proportion

It hushes the crowd 
With its absorption

More adorn
Than a unicorn

Waving a pompadour 
As big as a brontosaur




9/3/2019

Swagger Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Line Gauthier

The Perfect Mate

She's pretty when she swims in the vat  
with two green eyes,  like a saucy cat  
her hair of golden hue 
is a pompadour skew  
disheveled and pretty teased at that     
it looks like its been chewed by a rat 

Still, the sea never discriminates 
her vagabond waters don't ingrate    
her womb is plentiful 
and as she draws she pulls
every Siren finds her perfect mate. 

8/2/2019

The Doll

THE DOLL

With Mona Lisa wiles, unfurled.
Her porcelain lips with tight grip.
A button dress antique and pearled.
Her glass eyed threat.

Unnerving doll — she’s quite a trip.
A poignant face, pompadour curls.
Her long stem rose replaces whip?

Alien smile out of this world —
impenetrable craftsmanship.
I broke in pieces as she hurled
her glass eyed threat.

6/30/2019

Wiseguys

Wiseguys

when I was a skinny
eight-year-old boy
I knew him as
Willy Shoes

it was Brooklyn 
in 1950 and
some men had
strange names 
reflections of personality
deed or look

he and his friends
never seemed to have jobs
but gathered on corners 
played cards in social clubs 
always friendly always polite

Willy Shoes was handsome
with large dark Mediterranean eyes
dressed to the nines
silk shirts pegged pants
gold cufflinks and alligator belts
jet-black hair combed
into a perfectly Brylcreemed
ducktail and pompadour 
you could see your reflection
in the high gloss of any pair
of shoes from his infinite
spit shined collection
 
Wille liked me 
hey kiddo  he would say
here’s a buck
take this here envelope
and give it to Thomazula
the bootblack

one day when
I was about seventeen
I saw a picture of
Willie Shoes
on the front page of
the New York Post 
handcuffed and trying to
hide his face with a
neatly pressed
pin-striped suit jacket

Willie “Shoes” Sansone it said
charged with the murders
of eleven gangland figures

and I remember wondering
if he would let me have
a few pair of his fancy shoes
while he was away...

The Jester

THE JESTER

Jester jingles
with madcap medusa-bells,
dressed in melodic-motley uniform.
A sea of foamy frills
frame the famed renaissance storyteller,
a creature feature
of phantasm for frightened children.
His ghost-white face
with comedic war paint.

Highly educated,
acts the fool,
preaching to the pompadour.
Folly finds the frolicking ear
of the entertained king,
even at the news of sinking ships.

The king’s delighted,
as balls lollygag around his throne room,
and pins dance before his eyes.
Mesmerized, hypnotized,
spirals spry and smiling.
Claps his cacophonous hands.
The puppet court amplifies the sound.

The buffoon’s very wise,
buried behind his makeup.
His strings
control the crown.

Royally screws the court
with tasteless remarks
and they bow over in laughter.

In the backroom formulates his investment plan.
Jester jingles,
of drama and lies,
of liberties and surprise.

8/3/2017
Kai Neumann’s Jester Contest
1st Place

Paging the Pompadour

The twisted logic
of the megalomaniac
keeps reality
at bay
bejeweled in tinsel palaces
blissfully unaware
of mounting public anger
to sweep the cancer
away.

Tgi Friday

In a restaurant 
Elvis hung on a wall
Slightly crooked –
-nostalgic sepia,
Trademark pompadour.

His far away gaze
Staring blankly
Out at nowhere,
Through a window
At the drabness beyond.
 
In the background
“Always on my mind”,
Plays quietly behind the scenes -
- while a midday sun
Trickles colour into Elvis.

I leave after coffee
And take a walk 
Down lonely street,
Where I will search for
Elvis in heartbreak hotel -
- I need to tell him
How much I miss him.

Jettison Night's

A tad bit out of tilt and forgot where I placed my brush slash
Pen or perhaps it's simply another holiday seasons, starry nights
Grandiloquent holographic hangover ? Chasing her cobwebs of reason
While listening unto the Cutting Crew's anthem, One for The Mockingbird..
Pirouetting about horizontal rows their Peacocks, spreading congenials wings
Atop polymorphic stages adorned something bizarre as, I cannot find my poetic
Palette damask rose and pompadour this image reflecting a renaissance; jingoisms.

Sure On This Shiny Knight

Sure on this shiny knight I pee

I so detest the parade I see

He is more pompous than a pompadour

And his stuffed mail I do abhor.

 

Oh so gay is his plume

He is but a raving buffoon.

I will not bow to his magnificence

There is no circumstance of any significance.

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