Short Burlap Poems

Bluegrass wedding barn
dressed in burlap and satin
young couple fiddling...

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my chantilly heart
spooled by your burlap embrace --
simple blessings twine...

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Baby burlap 
caught under the rock 
don’t squirm and panic, 
logic dictates 
calm will resolve  
your problematic situation....

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The place where they stay is just a shack
Their clothes made from a burlap sack
Running water's here
But just to be clear
They run to the well and bring it back!...

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aged valise
in field of ferns,
burlap coat
to shield love’s pain-
vintage tote
reveals its past,
hoping to find youth again


September 5, 2017...

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This sentence in my mind was golden lined.
But it just didn't fit in with the burlap script. 
It begged me for days to leave it in place.
Finally, I killed it to release the poem from its egg....

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burlap
coarse,  cheap
bagging,  gardening,  covering
potatoes,  cork boards / ballet shoes,  pillows
wedding,  sleeping,  dancing
silky,  colorful
satin


Written March 12, 2018...

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you push a pipie
you might pray
your words form
a formula 
a rode house 
a street
a madhouse 
a madman dressed in burlap
a court hearing 
a presences 
a feeling 
a song
a picture from Walmart 
a wife
a husband
kingdom push...

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-Bunny Hole- by:SKAT

hidden muddy home
dirty paws, good boy' good boy!
yummy with carrots :)

----------------------------

  -Unwanted Fluffiness- by:PD

Big Brown Burlap Bag
drop Bunnies down By the Bay
Better off -Blue grave



~SKAT & PD~...

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I got what I deserve
a third rate circumstance
of my own making.

Over the decades
I've downgraded a few times
tossed the good ones aside
and swallowed the rotten.
Now I dream in burlap.
and wear jester boots.

It's too late, I've made my bed 
to late to upgrade
the pitch is to steep.
That's why 
karma 
snarls
at
me....

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In burlap did he laugh,
the huskiness of mirth
to occupy the dearth
of sound. A photograph
beside the paragraph;
her testament of worth.

In satin does she weep,
cold buttons in her lap.
The invocations tap
an estuary deep.
Like flutterings in sleep
they flood the aching gap.

She penned his epitaph:
In Burlap Did He Laugh.

3/26/18...

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Insomnia- the madman napping in the attic.
Alarm clock set for a second past the ogre's hour...
His greasy head resting on a burlap bag. 
Filling with ferrets and rats-firecrackers for teeth.

The alarm goes off-he opens the bag.
Laughing while injecting with red bull and meth..
He lives to plant a sluice box into your mind.
Washing the last nugget from your tired life....

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A barefoot boy on an old dirt road
Kicking dust up as he went
His lips all puckered, whistling a tune
He was happy and content 

He carried a bucket by the bail
Had a cane pole on his back
And under his arm, all wrapped up tight
Was a burlap gunny sack

“Where are you going with all that stuff?”
I asked as he skipped on by
“I’m headed down to the Jack-Knife Creek
To catch Crawdads for a pie”...

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I was Burlap, you were Satin
your smooth against my rough,
you diamond, 'gainst my red hot coal
was never quite enough.
You tulip in the April sun 
fair lady of the field
me cactus, thick skinned, dominant
how easily you yield.
You fought till you had little left,
you tore so easily,
Burlap, Satin, no warp or weft
were ever meant to be.

February 11th 2018
For contest 'Burlap and Satin', sponsor Anthony Slausen...

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Considered a debonair through and through

I got used to the most expensive hotels.

And I was catered to and pampered, that's true,

oft dinning on steaks and oysters on half shells.

But I fell in love with the country in you,

and before I knew it, I heard wedding bells;

moved to the homestead, and watched the pigs fatten,

a combination of burlap and satin.



(Rispetto)


Mar.16, 2018...

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Snapdragons Crackle

 
Snapdragons crackle 
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait, 

a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever 
let a suitor savor.

Maura knows 
that in her wake
men with scythes 

and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.

Nora and Maureen 
can smell these men. 
Unlike Maura 

and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.
 

Donal Mahoney...

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When the sky is raining tears,
and you reflect on all your years,
wasted lifetime hoarding fears,
a life or burlap, not cashmeres.

The ticking of the clock persists,
as time, they say, does not exist,
can time and timeless coexist?
can you hold them in your fist?

All your joints are getting stiffer,
life's not short, you beg to differ,
you wish the days and nights were swifter,
as you suppress a potent shiver.


©Danielle White...

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All nature sleeps in winter freeze.
Soil lies dormant, catching snowflakes;
drinks raindrops, waiting for the sun
to heat its body - sufficient 
to nurture life’s awakening.

Like needles piercing burlap,
green shoots push upward thru soil;
strain toward light, leaning in the wind.
Dull hues change to rainbow bright.
A new cycle begins.

     A version of this poem was
first published in IDEALS Magazine
        Easter Edition, 2006...

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When I peep into past
And recall life's early morn
Present life stings and pains
Like sting of cactus thorn
For a while I get lost
In sweet memories of playful days
Little playmates and their funny ways
Tops and marbles and kites
Petty squabbles and fist-fights
Eyes wonderous,colored objects
Burlap bags and fragile slates
But like brilliant night of fullmoon
This flashback too recedes soon
And again the cycle of life
Same domestic chores same
Familiar wife...

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Loud, rowdy, coarse,
a bit rough around the edges,
more likely to say “Shut Up!”
than “Quiet Please.”

Jeans, well worn,
faded by harsh winds,
and searing sun.
face to match.

The “gods?”
diabolical match makers.

Soft spoken, silky smooth,
edges buffed,
hushed a room
on entering.

Tailored,
off the rack,
draped on artistic
magnificence,
smiling……that…
smile.


©3/21/2018

submitted too – Burlap and Satin – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Anthony Slausen...

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I’m awake by 6:00.
While stars shimmer
I jostle my husband
Who sleeps soundly
Upon dampened sheets.

Tom is burlap 
While I am satin.
Wishing myself out
Of my cartoon pajamas
I struggle lifting his
Aged body from his bed.

My back aches
While I dress Tom
Thinking of those satin
Tahitian nights and
Playful lagoon floating
Over conch shells 
With my handsome
Burlap man.

Slideshow memories
Of Satin and Burlap
Times stamped in my 
Young 70-year old mind....

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Once upon a time.
She came with a dirty drill and bore a hole in my skull.
I was aware but didn't feel a thing.
She must have slipped a clove of ill intent. 
Into my green tea dream.

What she took was placed in a tiny burlap bag.
What I'd lost was taken to a land called: 
"Hey those are my gems, please give them back."
 She never did, she just laughed.
Never bothering to back fill the hole in my head.

She disappeared into the night.
Into the owl's cold black eye....

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The Sahara's flaring moon
weaves sand castles in hombre dusk,
jacquard ridges unraveling down burlap slopes.

Under taupe sky a balmy loom 
spins dust into tawny gold for a sultan sun,
eroding an oasis to sate his rapture
with effete wealth tatted in the shadows
cast by white peacock clouds
floating above seedless dunes
once shimmering with emerald palms
and sapphire waters.

Unseen hands of a sightless pearl
now craft his exfoliated sheikdom
from the dry scraps of Eden....

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Wild rose in red or pink or white
You’re nothing like your sister.
While she requires a burlap coat,
You survive the winter

Her colors are more various.
Her buds are clearly neater,
And though her fragrance is quite nice,
Yours is so much sweeter.

Her stalks so tall and beautiful
Lend well to bold bouquet.
Your bush, a gross entanglement,
Instead says, “Stay away.”

You come unheeded every year,
No pampering for you.
To claim your favored wild spot
You grow and bloom anew....

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There's a wicker bin in a blue flame corner.
Overflowing onto rooftops of broken homes.
Empty hospital beds - the echoes from bomb craters.
Into war zones and shrunken veins of hopelessness...

A billion words in the bin-wrapped in burlap ribbons. 
Sewn into the satin fabric of faith.
Pulsing with heartfelt wishes.
Rosary beads ground into fingerprint whispers.
Filling with tears and desperation.

There's a bin in a forgotten corner.
Overflowing with the bones of unanswered prayers....

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