Short Starched Poems

fall ironing day
work clothes starched and creased
rustling of birch leaves



posted on June 17, 2018...

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CUTLERY

Layed with military precision
glory gleaming on starched white
anticipating cuisine- their noble plight...

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Tanka
Philosopher general
The pride of the armed forces 
Left starched underpants 
In a woman´s hot bedroom
And lost yet another combat...

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The road
is
       Death's open yawn
epicentre
of strange treaties-
mist of starched martyrs
in trajectory's startled
steep,
mangled contortions
in frozen screams...

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I would wake to a HAPPY HOME
Filled with luxury of SINCERITY
Heirs of our dreamy but STABLE FINANCES
Generous health that takes us on a good DIET
Pots of general well being
Starched in all round settlement, oh my WEDDING...

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My blood
leaves its determination
on earth,
crimson footsteps
effusing 
on starched sleeves.
I'll have planted
a continent
of ebullient poppies,
celebrating existence
with no other mission
than expression,
however brief....

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For years she ironed and starched all his clothes  
she was haunted by demons like Emily Rose    
when put to the test  
who would have guest  
that guttural sound sent the waves to her toes. 


 
July 15, 2022 
Sponsor	Lisa YY
Contest Name	Limerick...

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Dressed
in hues
of russet,
crimson and gold,
the Indian bride
captivates everyone.
Her starched saree rustles
as I walk over
it with barefoot.
Cool breeze, bright
sun bless
her.
~~~
16.09.2021
For :
Malabika Ray Choudhury
MERSE - Beauty Of Fall
...

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Let  me be an old man in Anatolia
Resting on a white plastic chair,
Saintly in a white starched shirt
Drinking tea from a glass that has
Curves like a woman, watching
Children and traffic, nodding at the
Shadows, a friend of dust and
Thin Cats, weightless as a moth
On running water, silent with the
Grace of years, half asleep....

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Knowing there are
many words for night;
mightwatch,nightshade,nightfall

but none for the space
of a halved bed,
an envelope starched,
flat with white,
unslept in

and hands devoid of
a trace of perfume or rest warmth,
a gentle curve.

Let him cherish the lost presence

of a drowned moon
of darkness long
of standing time....

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A Gentleman's Trappings

Crisply pressed suits hang in a dark closet
Starched white shirts lie untouched in dresser drawers
Bland ties hang limply awaiting his touch
Highly shined black shoes and socks neatly arranged 
These trappings of a gentleman gone to the grave
All waiting to be claimed by the Good Will thrift store

Copyright ©2008 Don Tyson...

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Tropical Thoughts

Gangrened toes, vitrified nose
stuffed and starched in puffy clothes

Howling wind biting into my cheek
painful reminder of Dexter’s technique

Cracking boots, frozen bones, 
ready to crumble like yesterday’s scones

I dream of roasting on some desert plain
and promise in August to never complain. 


©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
January 5, 2012...

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tiny girls
stand in a ring of sunlight
hands clasped
dresses starched for sunday
taking a cue they begin stepping in their circle
counting inside
music weaving them in and out
tiny girls, tiny shoes, tiny steps
watching each other
soon the giggles begin but the dance continues
finally to the ground they go
overcome with glee
on their backs
they watch the clouds....

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"The planted snakes are  venomous!"
Warned q caller anonymous
"Anaconda size enormous!"
Their state with Death synonymous
Thus, price to pay not enormous...

And decision unanimous:
All pleas for ' Mercy Blasphemous',
None to try The Eponymous

Named he had Twelve Thousand Dollars,
Necks causing to wet starched collars

Planted snakes for easy money:
When cops soon breezed in, not funny...

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I am running the Sconset bluff path.
I go past darkened houses,
black out curtains hanging,
past Linda Thomas and Jolene Baer
who are chasing rabbits into the privet hedges.
Their fathers call out to them-
“Careful girls!”-
drinks sloshing, ice tinkling
as I go by invisible,
yet sensed.
A summer later,
I will be gone.
Starched, ironed khakis
in a trunk wait ahead in my room.
The beginning and end 
of a life never started....

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When you're burgling, awareness is best;
When he saw her, he thought 'twas in jest.
Forgetting the shih tzu,
Or Granny's jujitsu,
Both his shirt and some charges were pressed.

Theft and laundering just do not pay,
Not when Granny is holding the spray.
Got starched for his error,
He stiffened in terror;
Slapped with irons, they took him away.

----------

for the Limerick Poetry Contest
sponsored by Lisa YY
written on 07/15/2022...

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In the region of famine
As the tree's lie bare
Cloudless skies
Look down and stare

Barren lands
Arid and starched
Plants and wildlife
Forever parched

Come the day for the rains
To grace the earth again
For the droplets of life 
Will end their strife

Arid to green
Dormant alive
This remarkable fluid
Falls like tears from our eyes


Reading Raul's Region of Famine prompted this poem

http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature2.php...

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Times have changed; 
I’m older than I used to be.
It bugs me that I cannot speak fluent fun,
and a starched manner has become
a lot clearer to me now.

A reflex of control, nurtured by
plentiful breaths is gradually shooing
passion out of my vocabulary.
Still, I cannot slow down 
the phases of the moon, 
or soothe the fine lines upon my brow.

Times have changed;
I’ve grown to humour the inevitable.
Enthusiasm is growing tedious,
I am older than I used to be....

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I have caressed
in coffin draped hugs
those who defended me,
hung limply as taps
and tears flowed
across generations.
Known the thrill
of fireworks and jubilation
rose, full faced,
in sundrenched
wind starched glory.
Wept in “half staffed” darkened loneliness
as horse drawn carriages
moved through silenced crowds.
I am neither a cause
nor a solution
but a symbol
of our best….and worst.

I am but a flag.
I look to you
to raise me up.


John G. Lawless
©6/14/2021...

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am lonely 
over 35 
and beginning to extract 
something from the inner 
core pertaining to wisdom 
rebirth 
and true vision of peaceful blueness. 
I too 
am in the process of breathing 
through this apparatus that We 
call reality, 
the blue bird's song, 
the rain on windows, 
the wynd, 
the willows...the bland white - ness 
of fresh starched pillows. 
...I blow and billow with the birds, 

the rain, 

It All... 

then, I peer behind... 

and all I feel, is You......

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Glissandos
with a twist of tangy lime
arpeggios
in starched cuffs and gleaming buttons
sparkle from the ivories
of a Baldwin baby grand
leaving the root notes
for the double bass to play

It's honey
in be-bop
pure rich amber honey
with a cinnamon stick
and a drop of syncopation
blending in soft beats
of a hi-hat
gentle brushes on a tom

A second round
of drinks arrives
as conversations hush
and candles flicker

Our new favorite diner
with smooth live jazz
on Wednesdays...

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