A yacht would be the cherry on the daiquiri
but a tad too opulent for me
Give this admiral a sturdy old dinghy
let me row my way out to sea
A mansion with all the trimmings
six carports, servants quarters separate
Then again, with my aging Edsels
why invest now; I’m not desperate
Ah, a round-the-world cruise
just the tonic to soothe
Yet relaxing at home on my couch
I peruse the planet on TV, munch and slouch
So, just let me alone and leave me be
bathroom breaks ~ adventure enough for me
Egotistic no doubt about it
Moody that cant be denied
Outrageous with all the trimmings
Tempting with thought and word
Inspiring in times of need
Organised well close any way
Noisy, the life of every party.
Scared to reveal your reality
So many emotions tangled tight
We wear them all the time
Some we hide so no one sees
What emotions flow through you today?
Rain clouds every moment beat,
bursting full at my bare feet
as lovesickness redefines.
Years passed like ascending vines.
Its trimmings bind, soar aloft,
then linger and gently waft.
A faint whisper sign of hope
falls beyond the narrow scope.
With the tears of yesterday let's build today. Not for greed like our oppressors but for equality. The past will not be rewritten but the choices we make will determine our our success or fall. Don't be fooled by the trimmings of the leaders who encourage crime like our oppressors, but for the inclusion and ownership of our business and our wealth to be dispersed amongst its citizens . Unless we collectively enforce this call we will always be the slaves of the wealthy. On the world stages our people are rich in wealth but forget their brothers and sisters who lives in poverty in Africa, thus ensuring that we will always be enslavement to the oppressors. We are full now is the time for unity amongst the divisions .the call to unite is our duty to take back our resources that is given for peanuts and returned to us for our wealth. The elite will only use us as they have proven by giving only to their own while we wait for handouts just to feed ourselves. Rise to the call of incision and equality. don't run to Europe and America who promises wealth and takes everything just to enslave you again . one Africa for the people of Africa.
Twirling midst, the birds, pink, blue, and green
The town gathered big gowns, fluffed and puffed.
Hairs pinned and beauty queen style
Purple lavender in my trimmings
Hoots! They thrum, louder and closer with every spinning step.
Violins humming pianos orchestrating
Hands on waist, gaze softening, one falling, twirling, fast step to step.
Her scent wafts through her hair.
All on his mind and beyond
Beats fastening colours, curtains, and violins
Lovers, friends, twirling, tapping
Changing, the gaze lingers on the room from afar.
Music softens the ending.
Prinsee slips away to her garden.
So much to look forward to
yet, for many, so much to dread
The turkey with all the trimmings
the family gathered together --
to fight over ‘party’ politics
or gorge themselves on ‘football pleasure?’ ...
Is it a chance to praise this nation’s humble beginnings
or to cleave us further asunder with senseless sinning
C’mon, America: Isn't Thanksgiving for praising the Lord
for recounting the finest qualities of humanity ~
Not for watching football, getting drunk or stoned
insulting and embarrassing each other, and other insanity
Words like world’s fabrics spun.
The fun in touching each one.
I try them on. I find my style.
Spinning the yarn by midnight oil.
I read new and old, easy and hard.
Longevity not in this age; brevity.
Unique, not copying; nevertheless
learning by forms and good poets.
What is a good poet, one asks.
A good poet may be in the making.
I look behind me and find trimmings.
I baste the turkeys and light the candle.
Am I a good poet. I don’t know,
but I do know I have something to say.
It might be heard by one or more.
It’s not for me to say; just write.
Come, graceful brittlebush
And creamy globe mallow blooms.
The winds of spring call you
Again from the sandy tombs.
Come, you dashing lupine
And join the wingnuts on the hills.
Go and place your annual stake
With them near the trails.
There is room, woolly daisies
And Engelmann's cacti, on the plain.
Come dressed in your best trimmings.
You are favored by the sun.
I will swing by and count you
Among my treasured finds.
Fill my life with flowers
So I know that I'm alive.
Once upon a magical evening an enchanted fairy I happened to see
dressed in a fantastical dress with two dappled wings of lace,
she shone like the midnight sun;
I must confess, she looked rather whimsical
sitting there by a green wooden door, waiting for your lore !
A vibrant purple aura surrounded the magical scene
to me it seemed that I was seeing a fairy queen
I went over and asked her
if I may sit by her side
but she led me through the wooden door painted green.
We were in the trunk of a very large oak tree
where fairies and elves lived together happily
they seemed eager to learn
of my life’s chronicle
so I told them of all the things from my memory.
They all said they had truly enjoyed the reminiscing
and offered me supper with all its trimmings
lots of goodies to eat
a magnificent spread
I ate so much my poor tummy was brimming.
Then they put on some music and we had a dance
the ambience was perfect for a romance
if it’s a purple dream
it’s the best dream I’ve dreamed
‘twas a night to remember, by happenchance.
Roast beef with all the trimmings
Roasted potatoes
Carrots, broccoli and peas
Lashings of gravy
Cauliflower cheese
Glass of wine.
Bliss!
Bacchus confronts us in a shady place, A tangled grove, and he, astride a cask. Gross limbs and belly, small besotted face, And lips pursed to the uptilted flask. A buxom dryad, white against his tan, Attends him (sturdy spirit o' the trees) ; As free a woman she as he a man, But gracious-limbed enough to please. Sportive, she smoothes his unambrosial hair, And binds a ruddy vine about his brows; A filet fit for marry-makers, where the wild and tendrilled berry grows. But stay, dryad, what need hath Bacchus' head of leafy trimmings ? Twist a leaf or two and wreathe his hardy nudity instead~ Garland him largely, Dryad, do !
Is the weather calm and cool
When good friends remember,
About vinyl from the spool
Joys of Santas’s goodies
When we were small back then,
Mother and her cookies
Six men wiser than a pen.
No sweets sold in the market
Mother made them all,
Beating deadline target
Before the eve would fall.
Tailors were visited by many:
Crowds to get their wears,
There was mummy and granny
With children under their care.
There was a rush of decoration
That filled the streets with gay
Choirs practise their rendition
Before Christmas day.
Midnight saw costumes parade
With lace and trimmings rare,
Gentlemen suited and booted
Walking in style with their pair.
Salons too did brisk business
Ladies to look their best,
Not to show their riches
But for Christmas, to look the best.
Away in the Manger
A little child is laid;
With shepherds and three kings
Outside in a cold promenade.
I hate that Nellie Olson
—Laura Ingalls, Little House on the Prairie
I’ll fix her. You’ll see.
—Nellie Olson, Little House on the Prairie
(regarding Laura)
Season 6, Episode 2: The two get muddy fighting over a man. Nellie gets even but guess who gets the man and the husband?! Don’t worry Nellie finds her match and he helps to turn her into a better person, well she wants to be better because she loves him.
Blonde
B leached before birth, bright
L ocks with buoyant curls
O nerous trimmings with foxy tail
N ellie was notorious, jealous,
D emanding all of Laura’s suitors
E at out of her hands, nest in her blonde lair
I stand and stare at the empty branches,
stripped now of all the regalia of Christmas,
naked and sadly alone in my gaze
like the gray day beyond every window.
All the celebrations have been swept to yesterday
like prom decor, bridal rose petals and
melted birthday candles.
The quiet haunts every New Year's day -
no more parties to smother apprehensions,
just sober reality, but, unlike crepe paper
embellishments, aisle runners and cake crumbs,
the tree trimmings will await an encore in
eleven months once more - one more time
one more time ...
The Day After Christmas
It’s the day after Christmas and all round the gaff
Lay the wrappings from presents, both splendid and naff.
Bottles upended and glasses on stairs,
Stains on the carpet, the curtains, the chairs.
Christmas tree fallen and blocking a door.
Bedrooms resounding to thunderous snores.
The remnants of turkey and all of its trimmings
Where e-coli blooms its unnoticed beginnings.
Upon the detritus, all twinkly and bright,
Shine fairy lights, forgotten, left on overnight.
Booze fumes and *** smoke still hang in the air.
It’s a mess that would make the most pious saint swear.
Under the sink on their cheap plastic tray,
Lurk brushes and sponges, the all-surface spray.
For after the fun, the excess celebration
Comes the down-side, the chore, the clean-up operation.
Sanity must be returned to the house
Where nothing’s displaced, not even a mouse.
Was it worth it for one day of party and cheer?
You bet! And we’ll do the same nonsense next year!
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