Prince Pastoral Peacock it must be our lucky day
Elect to spread your plumage erect a fine display
Pivot proudly a tailpiece of fancy feathers fanning
A crest of blue-green eyes omniscient panning
And to watch you step with such cadence
Pleased to make your regal acquaintance
Leucistic yellow morphs pale palettes like Lady Peahen
It’s what you ladies are called if you’re a peacock hen
Pearlescent white wisps a breathtaking bride’s gown
Feathered fur flow accessory accents a diamond crown
Blushingbrides tail in tow, did you pack a bridal trousseau?
Parade before your castle please and I shall bow if so
Weep willow weep your weary winter woe
At the sight of your icy, new trousseau,
Above the frosted brook, a mirror faux
Her reflection was horribly so-so,
With rigid branches laced in flakey snow
White, a favorite color, not hers though,
Clear crystals clung, dressing her to and fro
All stitched on by a hand who did not sew,
Frozen stiff, her tears slow their new tempo.
(November 8th, 2022)
Faerie Glisten heard the news of the disaster
She tried to fly their fast, but her sister was faster.
Together they held up lights, trying to save as many as they could.
They stayed out in the water for hours seeing floating pieces of wood.
I think we’ve helped all we can, her sister admitted.
She gave up the search and ran off to get her trousseau outfitted.
Faerie Glisten was not ready to give up quite yet.
Even though her wings were damp, and her gown was wet.
Almost no noise was coming from the water, but she felt a presence.
So, she waited, putting her ears on hyper-alert, ready to help.
“I see a light!” a voice said. She held it up a bit higher.
“It’s a faerie!” the voice said. “We are saved!” She was overjoyed.
Her sister told the story later to whoever would listen.
You should have seen me and my sister Faerie Glisten.
We felt someone was there, so we waited in wet dew,
And guess what? We ended up saving another two.
chipmunk pauses under blossoms of spring
pondering her future?
anticipating an enemy?
planning her trousseau?
expecting a model’s fee?
No matter.
She is captured in time, by the whir of a button.
Saved and uploaded onto a computer.
A memory caught in mid step.
I smile as she fills my screen.
My new screen saver.
My favorite photo of the week.
Maybe of the month.
I’m wed to my Poetry,
betrothed to the fire
Each word an incendiary,
burned to inspire
My voice the rekindling,
fueling the scream
The ashes my trousseau
—a smoldering dream
(Bryn Mawr College: January, 2020)
The kingdom of knowledge
to its crown we are wed
Its light our betrothal
its heavens our bed
The words ever regal
trousseau not to beg
Thus will it be written
—thus will it be said
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
His and Hers embroidered pillowcases
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Took Her Trusseau
Looked great wherever she would go
And this I must make sure you know;
Feature identifying;
She was supplying;
We could always tell by her trousseau.
Jim Horn
You dance in your trailing trousseau,
Barefooted in the dark of night,
The distant side of the moon,
Leave speckled stardust looms,
Weave intricate patterns of
Chameleontic uniqueness,
Hidden behind long curled tendrils.
Dance of dark breathless love,
Undisturbed by star- or city lights.
And I witness, dazzled and
Deeply in love. My soul follows your
every pivot and pirouette, your
smile awe-inspires my heart.
***
March 17, 2017
© Darren White
Come near me, my love.
Come and hold my hands.
I've been merrily waiting for you.
Can you hear that wistful piano sound?
Everyone had gathered, prayers are spoken.
Come near me, my love.
Come and sit on my side.
Why can't you speak a word?
Don't you think I look beautiful in this trousseau?
Now, wear me the ring, for I can't wait to say I do.
Come near me, my love
Come now and gaze on my face as you usually did.
Oh I wish I could dry your tears,
I wish I can smile and whisper in your ear
How grateful I am for the moments we had.
Come near me, my love
Come now and bring me flowers
Hand me a perfect bouquet of love.
Because I did love you until my end
And I will be blessing you, even in this death.
wind chimes invoke serenity upon the vessels
of insouciant souls
but even with every woo of the wind an
unrequited howl echos though an empty abode
as we dress our iniquities in a trousseau of faith
allied to the vrigin of bliss
we misguide and forsake the creation of beauty
with litany as the glory of God becomes a myth
with indirect espertion we become rabbis of
ridicule and scholars of schemes
we dress happiness in a tunic of terror
and compensate truth for dreams
we implicate the innocent and regurgitate vanity
to feed our own egos
as our gestures of courtship flit on currents
of air like carrion eagles
the repertiore of elves and sprites falsely
imitates the incandescent radiance from the sun
reflecting off the moon at night
recognize not the goodness of deeds of women and men
for only deeds unknown will glorify God when faith transcends
When just a child so young
I saw it in your home
The very beautiful vase
That sat on a shelf alone
A vase of glass cut so fine
It held a single rose divine
Admiring it from afar
At home we only had a jar
Our furnishing were simple
In our home there was no plan
It was not designed by a master
We did the best that we could demand
How could I ever imagine
A vase just so refine
You would put in my trousseau
So I could have a rose divine
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