Gorgeous golden arches dance at night
Romantic shy trembling tatting
Esoteric sweetness is woven in the loom
Endless lifted from dust in the windowsill
Northern lights - green gemstones
hail
falling
sky crystals
tapping pelting
rat-a-tat-tatting
sidewalk prancers
confetti
while rain
hail
"A filigree of snow is fragile and lovely,
but even more beautiful when they are etched together."
~ quote by poet
Fine filigree motifs are being drawn on my window
Painted by the wind, holding a brush dipped in snow
Each pattern a fragile engraving in a different design
White roses climbing a trellis on their flowering vine
Soon, the frosted filigree will occlude the landscape
Snow covered hills blanketed by an alabaster drape
Never quite as beautiful as the white laced tapestry
created as if embroidered with snowflake majesty
My fingertips trace the threads as if they were fine lace
A meshwork of embellished tatting, frozen in place
Chilled, for a while, is this frost on each glass pane
until sunlight reigns. Such is their plight, their bane
Elegant scrollings that sparkle like diamonds, bright
Each delicate filigree will quickly disappear from sight
when radiant beams come alive at the waking of dawn
to become nothing more than puddles watering my lawn
February 18, 2023
Writing Challenge -F Words Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
wind
arctic
boreal
tatting across
whitened landscapes Chantilly with frore lace
and snowy-stiff satin brocade cutting
defining the
raw winter’s
scalloped
edge
If lies are told to save,
Will sin be judged at the grave?
Smile darling! The winsome homely,
You never change; your hair needs no tatting,
So in penury, your short smile you gave.
When a jackhammer’s outside your door
It’s a sound that you cannot ignore.
You can’t focus or think
And your brain’s on the brink
Of a meltdown, like never before.
For the rat-a-tat-rat-a-tat noise
Is a sound that not merely annoys.
It gets under your skin
‘Til it seems like it’s been
Always there, as your mind it destroys.
Now a city existence has quirks
And though quiet’s not one of its perks,
There are limits to what
We can take, but it’s not
Constant rat-a-tat-tatting that irks!
two angry men,
tete-a-tete
rat-a-tatting
a volley
of insults.
why?
nobody knows.
cup of tension
ratched up
to the brim;
eyes of fire
bulging,
seething
with rage.
fists clenched,
about to be...
thrown.
where's a referee?
somebody come...
quick!
Date written: 02/13/2021
Jolted my idle pen to jotting.
sAved my words from rotting.
so Intigued toward you cutie.
i am Mesmerized by your beauty.
i've bEgun an attention to detail writing duty,
my pen Ballpointing tatting your name to the page.
oh love Activist, mother and poet my poetry engage.
Lord my iNk see how she amusingly assuage.
frequent Flyer erykah badu type window seat flight.
i’m lifting Off at the sight
of your luxuRious lips.
muse revealeD flirtimg with the letters stream my dream tease
as the sentences strips.
Just a little ditty
about two sown pretty ...
Each eager for a fabric
woven with love classic
had ridden textile wagons
thru much spastic traffic.
Seeking their prime patent
of material fantastic, they
both fell flattened in cloth
scenes dramatic; wrinkle-doom,
static dragons had torched
all their wagons.
Then, a textile server sewed
them together with threaded
fervor. Now two, his burlap
made battens are by her satin
fastened to strap their love
gladdened in passion’s best
lacy tatting. Their burlap and
satin when curled up in nothin’
is the best seamed somethin’
in the fabric magic patent.
... CayCay Jennings
March 21, 2018
stormbears
great swathes of rain
pushed, herded by gale gusts
from the north edging on arctic
moves down on polar bear paws
rumble, tumble dark across my sky
whispering vestiges of autumn
scatters sulky heat before them
brushes aside trees and grasses
balls of hail rat ta tat tatting on tin roof
enter my garden blustery bold
cool lips touch the last sweet petals
kiss away the dust of summer
soon they curl soft mounds
among pine, oak, hemlock
sleepdreaming of seas with ice palaces.
The Sounds Of War
Crackling of the wireless set,
Crackling of the fire,
Breaking the message says
Tension becoming dire.
Wailing of the sisters,
Wailing of the brothers,
'cross the sea the children send
Away from their mothers.
Slamming of the kit bag,
Slamming of the door,
Six hundred and ten
Off to fight the war.
Cheering of the nation,
Cheering on the benches,
Good men their spirits break
In the muddy trenches.
Booming of the kettle drum,
Booming of the bombs,
March the men weary
The Fritz's and the Tom's.
Rat-a-tatting of the jerry cans,
Rat-a-tatting of the guns,
Fall the men down
'til war is done.
Squealing of the bugle
Squealing of the men
Silently the bodies count
Six hundred and ten.
Sobbing of the sisters
Sobbing of the brothers,
'cross the sea the caskets send
Back home to their mothers.
Machiavellian dharma bums-
thumbing noses at the world
brazen fingerflags unfurled
tragic frowns on magic clowns
in fine designer hand-me-downs
hip and flippant,chips on shoulders
colder than the golden rings
piercing their exteriors
Neoclassic neobrats
drafting in and out of time
tatting lines of prose and rhyme
in easy lays that tease and play
in not the least most pleasing ways
the seed is sown,a need to hone-
a poem of their very own
near to the interior
Off in the misty distance
I hear a hungry woodpecker
Hammering with his head.
This omnivorous, opportunist
Breaks the silence of the morn
With his rat-a-tat-tatting
As if knocking on a door.
His persistent pecking
Will end with success
When he excavates
The hapless insect
A meal deservingly gained
But the silence won’t remain
Because he'll begin all over again.
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