Talc Poems | Examples

Chicks

Handpicked, like coffee seeds or strawberries, ten eggs I kept
Like a tensed insomniac, for a long time I'd not slept
I found a change in the bloom of the dermis as days passed
There came out surprise-filled tint tots, elegance unsurpassed.

Red, green, blue, purple, and yellow, like a compressed rainbow
With perfectly blown balloons, as children merrily glow.
As seedlings spring up at night and glisten in the morning,
These soft talc and cloud agate gems appear without warning.

Standing erect and straight with sun-moon-stars-tinged, blazing eyes;
Robotic reflexes; peep, peep, peep, filling up the skies
Judgement quality of quantity like the honeybees
Psychic contagion is in them, like treasures in deep seas.

Symbols of resurrection, springtime splendours, and new life
A masterpiece of nature's craftsmanship after a strife
Scenes of Elysium, Coleus, and Jannah revealed
The mysteries of chicks, like the Milky Way, are concealed.

Does It Bring Back Memories

Yes
Wide eyed
And Oh
So small
Little man
He fits
In both my hands
I still know
How to hold
The little one
"Does it bring back memories"
Her question
Stayed with me
For days
Than weeks
Flowing along
Past
Distant times
In that
Expanse
Of memories
Times four
I explored
Cuddles
Hugs
The first
Fresh
As a field 
Of shinning sunflowers
If that's what you call
A Delivery room
Or humidicrib
Does not matter
Those cuddles
Are there
Fresh
As with the smells
Pinetarsol
Talc
Their hair
Blankets
And tears
Reaching
Reaching for up
With hugs
Those pains 
Away
Bed time
Hugs
Love you
Never
To much
But one hug
Eludes me
Can't remember
By four
The last
One
The last 
Time
I pick up
One of four
For a hug
A ritual
In love
Faded
Without
Within
Fanfare or acknowledgement
A transition
Without notice
Or
A reason to recall
That which
I cannot recall
Until now
So many
Years later
So many years
To late

Somersault

Somersault, flips and swings like an oar
Cup of salt, flings and stings on floor
Powder of talc, smoothens all
Slides and glides over all
Skip, stretch, turn or twist
Huff, puff like whist
Heart and soul
Fly high
Hop

It's Time To Rain

Scorching heat, undrying sweat

Soothing talc, utmost a better bet.

Ubiquitous sun rays, ushering heat waves

Umbrellas of all types & ultra-sunglasses saves.

Most tiring, more thirst

Munch mangoes & mouthful of melons.

Midday radiation, mounting towers

Mild relief with a/c & coolers, makes it Mindful

Elements of high summer, enveloping around

Evenly breeze, entertain a little in the evenings.

Raising temperatures, restless lives

Rain to pour in, rescue in season.

Whitewash

It's not that we despise you,
the case of colour doesn't arise, you
being black doesn't matter...
It's just that the customer's idle chatter
insinuates the good name of our honest pub
will take the blame for your darker taint - 
Don't get me wrong talc or face paint,
Would eradicate
misunderstanding.

Xmas

It comes once a year,
A time most looked forward to,
Decorations hung up lights on the tree,
Time to send children to bed,
Santa is due at any time.

Talc footsteps lead to the tree,
Presents underneath,
Mince pie and carrots on a plate, milk in a glass,
It bedtime for the adults now.

Morning comes all to soon,
Been woken with "he's been he's been",
Bleary eyed up you get,
Its Christmas morn.

Buck

I rise up
Off the chaise lounge,
And greet the garden....

The tiger Lily’s 
Are orange freckled faces 
Soft as talc,
The morning dewdrops pose 
Expanding like a ballerinas tutu.

Now I pause 
To watch the roving buck 
Pass through......like a 
sentient being 
The antlers are miniature trees reaching
to the sky,

Silent, he is the guardian of the 
Countryside 
In midsummer.

A Moth

What is a moth?
I only know flitting shadows
Magnified upon my wall.

In closets and in chests of drawers, 
Despite balls that smell of hospitals,
Holes in clothes where they once were.

They dance around my lantern
Made by Coleman, forest green,
To a deep sea diver breathing kerosene.

They’re drawn to candles too.
One misses a beat 
And in diaphanous tragedy

Falls to my table top,
A crushed, tropical cocktail umbrella, 
Match sticks and news paper mâché. 

Its carcass dusts
My hand with mica shininess
As soft as talc.

If everything is wings
And flame, what need
Does this one insect feed?

Embers Glow In Sunset's Snow

In snowflakes’ sunlit souls - an amber chest,
orange, yellow, blushing red impassion
resplendent ember hues of stained-glass zest,
vivid vibes enliven snow from ashen.

Inspired bliss of shining kiss on pale snow,
with delicate caresses Sol imbued
highlights to saturate the talc aglow
romancing frosted facets’ fiery mood.

Warm spectrum seeps across the crystal white
as sleepy sunbeams stir the embers’ heart,
igniting jewel tones before twilight
frost bitten festival of arctic art.

Illuminated thrills in chills impress
in ruby rapture sunset's snow does dress.


Susan Ashley
December 31,2017


~ Eighth Place ~
Premiere Contest: Embers and Snowflakes
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen

Amnesiac By Choice

endless sky brushes crimson strokes
upon a cloudless Summer void
sea soft to pastel blue benign
robs shore of its sparkling treasure 
trees drip opaque tears 'pon sharp blades
of velvet grass stood to attention
queen bee summons dawn's light to blaze
a trail across talc-ed pollen paths
birds drift thermals as if hung 
to dry their new inked melodies
whilst lovers lick chocolate from lips
agape for breaths of fantasy
at speakers corner atheists 
sing amen to politics' tarnished guilt
as listeners turn a blind eye to memory

Talc De Venise

I bought Talc de Venise today.*
Do you marvel at the name?
It conjures white rain on canals.
Imagine going on a Venetian bridge,
and white rain falling.

This is not snow...
No this is real rain tempered
or tampered with real talc,
the sort to pour on babies' tummies
when they're sore...

More imagination now...
Imagine being on a bridge,
and holding your tongue out to the rain,
REAL rain this time,
and then letting it soak you all it dares.


********************************


7/23/2015

* I did, too.

Ladykiller

Out of the bath, in the mirror, check me
picture of spindly masculinity
talc on the feet, and armpits sprayed
now for the body a choice to be made
Hai Karate or Aramis
both leave the women in a state of bliss
(so the adverts say, yet no such luck
since thus far I have scored a duck)
tight Y-fronts are to my taste
and Oxford bags with a six button waist
big collared shirt in Brunswick green
and a silver kipper tie that looks pretty keen
nylon socks with a couple of holes
 in black and red three inch platform soles
jacket in cream, collar up round the neck
with a red and green pattern of tartan check
hair centre parting wet the comb, keep it simple
for a look reminiscent of Anne Boleyn's wimple
out of the door, bemused looks from my Mum
so watch out, ladies- here I come!
( looking back on it now when I hear the old tunes
 I can honestly say you've seen better dressed wounds )

1970's: the decade that fashion forgot.

Viv Wigley, to his eternal embarrassment, July 22nd 2015

The Little Things In Life

I will be with you until the end of our lives, 
when we are old and grey and covered in hives,

We will share a cup for our dentures, 
and go on day out adventures,

Holding hands in the street, 
rubbing talc in each other's feet,

We’ll count each other's varicose veins, 
and then we'll go for a walk, 
with our matching simmer frames,

Oh what a life it will be, 
the things that make us happy, 
are what make you and me.

Keeping Him Company

Clumsy feet transporting a barren shell,
She cannot lift her mournful eyes, she fears
her anguish will project, and she'll crack.
Barely visible behind her veil of grief
her lips twitch soundlessly, a private prayer
for serenity, or sanity? 
For the security she cannot provide.
Her job, done, before even begun.
Her arms, they ache, they only support herself,
Holding herself in, the only thing protecting
her heart and soul from disgorging, cascading.
Still, she makes no sound, no motion,
No notion she can even feel at all, not now, not then.
She won't ever sleep again, void of horrors,
A recurring incubus to remind her of her unaccomplishment.
She rouses from her mental block, and listens to the thud
of dirt, upon buff, waxed wood, barely six foot below.
The same clumsy feet, transporting this barren shell
shuffles from the mausoleum, impoverished, arid.
A symbolic cross, her only trophy after nine long months.
Cemetery scents instead of talc and purity.
An abundance of unanswered inquisitions, what if? Why me?
But God chooses only the most special of angels for company.


26 Aug 2011

Autumnal Grace

potpourri of wreaths 
   splatter night rhinestones with aisles 
      of gold cashmere talc,
         stairways of herons ascend
   *        sky flooding autumn light bulbs 

                            

          heaven drips of earth's 
             elegance, drops of fern boughs
                 collect hands calmly
                    chiming psalms of  fall's remains  *
                        a mantle bathed by wet stars 






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