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.
shimmering surfaces
in elegant intricacies
of recurring frivioities
Jean-Antoine Watteau
a champion of rococo
Chalk on tinted paper was his thing
many a face to life did bring
STILLED SYMBOLS
rococo excess
acutely observed
in transient
Some lives seem predestined -
etched with stellar grandeur
upon the crystal cradle of the universe
where solar winds sigh but a lullaby
and infinity is but an inheritance
whilst fortunes of the fortunate
are foretold and beheld in rococo charm
their dreams and heirlooms
and the laughter of charmed spirits
hung aloft on posh points
of pompous stars in chichi constellations —
as if so many hats
hung on the rack down the hall
Susan Ashley
July 2, 2019
~ Fourth Place ~
Premiere Contest: The Universe Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
To be read in the voice of Thurston Howell, III
from "Gilligan's Island"
At the club
we drop Poetrysoup
premium memberships
like names
on a social calendar
Binky and Nadine
drink more Bloodies
than I have had tees
on the fairway
Their mansion
rages rococo
For minimalists
they really
are too much
6/1/17
For real in keeping it real.
Ornery man in the political arena -
Xylophone players of classical music support is essential.
Trumping it to be the next in the Oval Office.
Rococo effect you strive for.
Ordinary people are against your representation.
Trump, Donald will be the succeeding President?
_____________________________________________________|
Written March 22, 2016 for the U.S.A President Campaign 2016!
Walking past a mini soaked mattress; an empty baby stroller..
By it's side; abandoned this site she seems an open walkway his
Buildings and bricks less her awning; wondering, while their yard dogs
Barking once more wagging tails lonely a greeting calling out; the moon parting
Gray passing clouds left lingering; knowing how I love to kiss their dawn ?
Mothers with infants; an old man coughs; a young lady high on drugs
Looking for another mark yet settling for his blanket; her supreme court
Justice, untangling time's hair ? Leave it to Beaver, hopping up the White House
Stairs mass hysteria their latest gallop poll; besieging Molieric phantasms caught this
Camera of rewound mode with beautiful Ms. Monroe, applying rococo lotion about
Suffragette's nine inch nails ? Spotted off jingoisms European coast; his lochness narwhal....
Shedding her muumuu open waters flagship tourist a filibuster fiesta ? Apocrypha, in session.
Black is not the colour
that you carry all round
to suit the rococo ground
Black is not just beautiful
it's the haunting memory
the big pool
of rococo fantasy;
It's not the playing ground
for harmony
to stay with you
He's playing 'round
the corners
playing 'round the colours
that won't suit your mood
Black is not just beautiful
MASKED BALL – THE QUESTION
Maddening the music
In exotic minor key
Those ornate, blinding masks
That cherished memory
Scented the ambiance
Obscurely lit the hall
Rococo baroque and splendid
In period costume all
Which of them my goddess
My lady Persephony
All appear enchanting
Which enchantress she?
Will she our tryst remember
That October night’s repose
The special autumn’s moonlight
The wine, the red, red rose?
caught short singly
one rainwrote morning in hyannisport
when snows a science
over iceroof and snowfloor beachsand and
eastersundaysun a milton shadow opportunity
opposite sleeping young and russetrocket cool
in ferriswheels of rococo chestnut hair
shortblack pleatedcotton skirt carouseling round creamcoffee legs
swinburne stretched in desert stockings slightly spread
hands lapclasped
nose artdeccoerect eyes razed marble monuments lips
just lips
chinachin touching down on a fire
work whitesilk blouse no ruffles
a plainsong of anti flesh skinquisitive
toes still and borne just like ejaculated popcorn
jacket buttered lemonleather
shoes pumps patented starbust bright
bag royal with umberous umbrella tossed
off about her
cottoncandybreasts roughly rippled by the rucked road to
go tunneling
not traveling
descartes launched in
parting
only a starspangledbanner thought
old Lucy Gray reserected
equated
transcribed for solitude
for nine hours bad road
Emotional me
is out from my verbose head
like a winter flower with
petals, so much like
hankies of a sleepless god,
to wave in such elegance
my charm over you,
again and again, ‘til your
smile, left to death by the strides
of your rococo
lover, is awakened and
becomes my choka poem
Somewhere upon the terminator’s birth
The young lovers dance and sway
To a symphony of dawn and starlight
Undulating within newfound passions
These two naively press and discover
The zealous meaning of temperate youth
Lost within the mornings heavy rise
They run through the soft breaking crests
Crashing upon their rococo painted beaches
Living only in the ardor of today’s breath
They pay no heed to the passing of the hour
Twisted adrift the spinning of the moment
Beneath the sweated midday heat
The aging lovers croon forlornly
Calling out to their passing adolescence
With a softening of fear in each other’s eyes
They gently slip back into the hypnotic
And dance in the divine for a moment longer
Standing in the approaching twilight
The aged lovers stand in raptures kiss
Remembering the moments of yesterdays past
No longer young but still ever vibrant
They languidly begin those heavy laboring steps
Of their life’s final dance together…
Somewhere inside, I’m broken,
Fragments of flesh and glass,
Memorials rococo of vision,
Flicker, crumble and pass.
Emblems of hollow achievement,
Semblance of scarcity glance,
Shadowy flutters of moth wings,
A retreat for every advance.
Nothingness pinions the future,
Screens shining whiter than snow,
Essences, cigarette burning,
On celluloid tatters aglow.
Somewhere inside, I’m broken,
A jigsaw of childhood and age,
And so is the sterile communion
With all that I failed to engage.