Short Sunday Best Poems

A poetess at rest
In her Sunday best
 Tahera is her name
High might have been her fame...

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She says: "I don't see you as disabled."

Tommy Adaptive — 
a parishioner sexualizes 
my Sunday best...

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until you
love was
what was
and he was
who
and then was
when
a well-worn frown
was my sunday best...

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A maid wore her Sunday-best dress
To dine at the Officers Mess
Where officers go
One must curtsey low 
So officers don't have to guess...

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Three colorful birds were dressed in their Sunday best.
They came parading and primping, out of one nest.
Their benefactor thought they looked lovely, naturally.
Glad now that she had invited these three for tea....

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A beautiful day
Punctuated by dandelions
Glowing white and gold

Clouds hang up above 
The morning skies turquoise blue
The air, refreshing

Mother Earth smiling
Dressed up in her sunday best
A beautiful day




Date written and posted: 08/05/2017...

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During a party on the train, 
I spilled a drink and got a stain. 
Furthermore, I have my doubt 
that the cleaners will get the stain out. 
This suit was my Sunday best. 
It was better than all the rest. 
Now after that little spill, 
I may have to donate it to Goodwill.

Inspired by another member's poem....

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Was that dollar Sunday morning
  a twenty Saturday night

Is that empty bottle you can barely see
  the excuse that started the fight

Is that torn and tattered jacket
  what was once your Sunday best

Is your life worth more than nineteen dollars
   eyes blackened—never to rest

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2018)...

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People dress in their Sunday best. 
Each one tries to outdo all the rest. 
I can just hear Judy Garland and Fred Astaire sing. 
That late, great couple reminds us of a once-a-year thing. 
Are you going to wear that Easter bonnet you made? 
You surely would look grand in an Easter Parade.

inspired by another member's poem
...

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Smug little faces
Oily little faces
Sunday best clad
Little children
Listen to the old
Time tested
Tired preacher
Accepting it all
They have trouble
Thou swallowing
Accepting he had
To be nailed for
Their petty little sin











(teach a child of my ways and when they mature they shall never depart from it ~the good book~)...

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The smell of fresh green pine
Your hand in mine
We walk down a path lined with roses
I often wonder if this is love

You in a suit
I tie your tie
I in my Sunday best
an amber dress

We stroll along the cobblestone
My arm locked around yours
Street trumpets play French love songs
What is this feeling?

Time turns to dusk
You lead the way home
We kiss
This is love...

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today sunday the orb is cooking
the sky blue on the stoops
I see people walking the street
an avenue it is wide
dressed in their sunday best
ready for a tune
or a bag of laundry to be washed
thank you not for me I have
the tumble the rinse and dry
but for sure I need a shower
to clean the sin as I kick a few cups
left on the side walk to the curb
alleluia the party is over...

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Grandpa Elephant had a new lady friend on line.
He invited her to meet him at Scarsdales to dine.
Dressed up in his Sunday best along with his Derby hat.
Don’t you look spiffy! His grandchildren said, so phat!

Grandpa was given six or eight pieces of advice.
From youngsters he was older than six times twice.
I am ninety-six he told his grandson Roy.
I know what to do, so leave me alone little boy....

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Am I just a runaway
Staying away from the crowds
Have I been thrown away
Shadowed by dark clouds

Gnashing from the gossip
Escape, my Sunday best
Running to my faith
Always another test

Their words are so jealous
They trample your name
They sicken my stomach
I don’t want to share their fame

Am I just a runaway
Confused by what is right
I treasure the warmth in you
In you I see your light...

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She wanted to wave to the Christmas train as a test. 
She dressed carefully in her Sunday best. 
They won’t even see you, her mother said.
You have to stay off the tracks, or you will be dead.

She agreed to stand back and wave as it came round the bend.
The conductor and engineer was a neighbor and friend.
Old Pete blew the whistle and felt his heart hop with a leap.
That granddaughter or yours is one you surely should keep!...

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At the surgery

Here we are at the clinic`s 
waiting room,
a fat lady with bandaged big toe,
and an old man leans on his walking stick
he lives alone.

An ancient couple from the upland,
dressed in their Sunday best,
hold hands and look endearing, 
a youngish woman who keeps rummaging 
through her bag, and me. 


Six pairs of feet in a slow shuffle,
Electrocardiography doesn’t
mend a tired heart, only tells
us we are mortal...

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In the holy sanctury people come in groups;
Dressed in their Sunday best.
Each week spirits are lifted and set free.
Jesus offers salvation for needy souls who
are lost. Each person will find their identity
and love; that last forever.
Most church folks have a light in their eyes.
People from all walks of life come to church.
If you are searching for a church home
Keep looking. Give your life to God
and you will never be the same.

Patricia Littlejohn 2005...

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MEMORIES

OF HAPPIER TIMES
WHEN WE WERE CHILDREN
HOW TIME FLIES
PICNICS IN DAISY NOOK
READING STORIES FROM A BOOK
PLAYING IN THE WOODS AND FIELDS
GOING HOME IN-TIME FOR MEALS
HELPING ‘DAD’ PICK STRAWBERRIES,
PEAS, POTATOES FOR OUR TEA,

GOING OUT IN SUNDAY BEST
(ALWAYS’S HAD TO WEAR A VEST)
SUNDAY WAS SPECIAL, LOTS OF JOY,
ACTING LIKE ROUGH TOM-BOYS
CARE-FREE DAYS IN OUR CHILDHOOD 
HAVE THEM BACK,
 IF WE COULD 
INNOCENT, HAPPY& CONTENT
WHERE HAVE ALL THOSE DAYS GONE?...

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Thank yous or pleases, will not spread diseases
They can be put to use as you will
It’s a guaranteed fact that politeness and tact
Have never made anyone ill

Civility’s free you can take it from me
That it won’t cost a penny old chum
Practice a while with your Sunday best smile
Impoliteness makes everyone glum

Good manners are things that shouldn’t have strings 
Every day they must be put to use
Exploit etiquette you will garner respect
‘cause for rudeness there is no excuse...

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This is a clear bell morning;
Sunday bright and Sunday best
Gold as a windows light through the stained glass streaming.

This is a cool stone morning;
Sunday Calm and Sunday rest;
Blue as a peacock's tail with a sun's eye shining.

This is a bright stream morning;
Sunday pure and Sunday blest;
Green as a lily's stem with the white bell crowning.
Silver as a weir with the river laughing.

This is a new day morning;
Sunday friend and Sunday guest.

Kim Helen James
January 1997...

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