I'm five and it's a fire-dive -
sweaty-skinned and flambé-limbed,
kindling tingling in my throat,
matches scratching sandpaper skin.
Lying on the terracotta velour settee
watching sparky scenes igniting the room -
a terracotta army of sparks
marching through the grate,
grating like bars on the old forest gate,
black bars of night growing tall on the wall
and I'm always up against it
hearing echoes of the ethereal eternal
Help us help us we'll help you...
I want to be well, to enter the well
cooling the heat and heart of the house,
dousing bouquets of firelight
petals flickering on amber glass bottles of medicine,
her hooked hands feeding me aspirin, penicillin,
cream and green torpedo tablets
fever-spearing, strobing swirling the room.
Now nightshade creepers spine-twine in dark dreams
black echoes build on a sonograph screen
descending into the no-way-out well,
the inescapable hell of not well.
artisan chiseled upon the finest marble
stands the firm testament of a memoir
of her beauty and her elegance
captured in pose
whilst carried upon a cloak of crimson velour
her unclothed ivory vellum... conquers
in such a way the celestial pearls
must be of consequence to her candescent pallor
piercing the captive vigil of eventide
as i take my leave, she remains alone
to weather against my future days
abated by faces and feelings yet to come
(late ~2000s)
O, somber sonneteer of midnight’s hour,
Who wove the velour shroud with silver pen,
You found a throne within a crumbling tower,
Far from the waking minds of mortal men.
With Raven’s plume, you painted stark despair,
And chased the radiant ghost of lost Lenore,
Amidst the gloom, you found a beauty rare,
And taught the heart to weep—and dream—“Nevermore.”
You dove beneath the surface of the sea,
Where shadowy dreams in silent waters dwell,
To wake the spirit of Annabel Lee,
And toll the bell in sorrow’s deepest well.
A mind of terrors, madness, yet so bright,
A tortured soul that sought the star-lit shore,
You turned the deepest darkness into light,
And hold us in your melancholy lore.
Oh, Poe, who sat on Pallas’ sculptured bust,
And felt the horror of the phantom wind,
You transformed ashes, longing, and the dust,
Into the finest music, refined and thinned.
Though you have left this world of pain and fear,
Your shadow lingers, haunting evermore,
A master of the strange, the dark, the drear,
We bow before your lonely, haunted door.
A Candy Storefront window, a passerby pauses briefly at the array of heart-shaped enwrapped in velvet reds, filled with sweet treats like years before. The same tricks deployed as the byway take point passing a park. Then a heaven-sent gift the gentle walker, drifts a spun floater being a dove's solitaire wing. A hand reaches down and gathers it up in mental discourse. In brevity breathes deeply, and exhales soothingly. Contented, the gentle walker heads back to town, where an empty crimson velour box is bought, he makes one more stop before heading back home with a frozen smile. Amidst the expected backdrop scene where two fluted glasses filled with Dom Perignon Champagne atop a white-silk-covered small round table that graces two silver candle holders, pre-lit. The significant other donning a maroon single-piece nightdress is presented a box. He sits as she opens the box and oddly looks. As he explains his day's escapade freed him from the rigamarole being rhetorical, he lastly gifts her with a smaller box. She opens built-up with a hint of suspense that shreds away to tears. She looks up to the penitent soul while holding a solitaire diamond ring.
deep vibrant velour
delicate intricacies
thorn pierced marooned bled
Where we sleep there might be quilts
Or comforters or spreads
Or blankets made in varied styles
To warm us in our beds.
Some might prefer a cashmere throw
Or one hand-knit in wool,
While others cozy up to down
And can’t resist its pull.
A cotton blanket, or velour,
Keeps many feeling snug,
While weighted covers, loved by few,
In most evoke a shrug.
A coverlet atop a bed
Will make it look complete,
Yet lots of sleepers get along
With just an unlined sheet.
Still, no matter what your preference,
Any cover is okay,
But be careful that your partner
Doesn’t tug it all away!
Sweetie pie, let's fly, let's fly
To somewhere far away
With summits, fjords, and snowy peaks
And cozy, warm chalets
A wood stove that is roaring
The scent of burning wood
Velour robes of cotton
Two in one, so good
I know it's cold, don't worry
We'll figure something out
I've some ideas I'll tell you
In private, not to tout
Or let's find a hidden beach somewhere
Secluded and secure
With crystal turquoise water
And pink sand on the shore
A beach umbrella made for two
A gingham blanket for
Eating, napping, reading on
And who knows? Maybe more
We'll spend the day together
And wait until sunset
Then what comes next we'll talk about
The night holds fervor yet
Picked a seat right next to you
repulsed by the mere inches
obstructing me from a touch;
X marks the spot,
invade my fragile bubble;
Make me a little bit nervous,
invite me to snuggle;
Together is so much better,
your vibe a soft velour blanket.
Soft, velour breaths, fill our room.
Ah, your svelte body, makes me swoon.
Hold me so tight, breathless please?
As I want to wholly die, from your squeeze.
Light the gardenia candle, make shadows dance.
Don’t let them blow out, not a chance!
Sandalwood cream, I shall rub on your back.
Our moments together, always on track.
Close the floral shades, we desire our privacy.
The silent pines, scent us but cannot see.
I shall never forget, magic nights together.
We floated as moonlit feathers, in a land of forever!
7/5/2022
~3~
You speak without words,
talk slowly, with fingertips
gorging on my soul;
As you strum I start to hum
sighing ever so sweetly;
Diabolical,
your anger excited me;
A moth to a flame,
ecstasy a brief smother
with that dark velour blanket;
Empty, crying out
my sound quiets the silence;
Subdues the restlessness
over and over again;
Now you know I’m a psycho.
Just like you .
The sky prepares itself for the night,
as teabag clouds start slowly steeping
in colored pools of waning light;
and darkness descends like an ebony curtain.
As teabag clouds start slowly steeping,
Luna peeks over the mountain peaks
and darkness descends like an ebony curtain,
across the velvet velour of time and space.
Luna peeks over the mountain peaks,
responding to the allure of the stars
across the velvet velour of time and space;
splayed out like sparkling diamonds.
Responding to the allure of the stars,
fireflies signal for love on the wing;
splayed out like sparkling diamonds
and fairy trails, made of pixie dust.
In colored pools of waning light,
responding to the allure of the stars
splayed out like sparkling diamonds:
the sky prepares itself for the night.
Velour petals of ruby red
scent of perfume upon the air;
visions swim inside my head
a cascading vine of roses fair.
Imbued with grace of angels
defense against wilder strangers;
Blossom of heaven’s honey-dew
smoother than the finest fondue.
A plethora of colors bold
live within La Rosas fold;
breath of ambrosia, heaven sent
frees the path to contentment.
3-13-2021
Flower or Flowers in Imagism Form - Poetry Contest
Constance La France
***AMERICAN PRIDE***
Hurry hurry, dress your best!
Wear your soft velour vest!
You must be ready to go
And thank God you are an American, you know.
Let other countries laugh and chortle.
Like us, they are just mere mortals!
There is one ruler on this earth.
He laughs at our pompousness with mirth.
He has the last call, not us!
God only decides who will ride heaven's bus!
11-26-2020
I love mornings that start out simply like this
filling me with tidings of rambling walking bliss
searching the path for sea glass, rocks and shell
listening to the many stories the beach has to tell
murmurs of seagulls and the egrets dancing glance
the scurry of crabs across sands of happenstance
then the sight of a sparkling green gem does appear
to elicit a delighted sigh and sometimes a big cheer
watching the pulse of waves roll upon the soft shore
the downy foam as it swirls to kiss my feet like velour
as above comes the morning canvas of sunrise soft hues
against the cerulean kept dew from the night’s navy blues
it’s time to return home from my early wander-lust walk
amid the squawking and flapping of the ocean-side talk
my pockets are all full of my wonderful found treasures
that keep me attuned to my homes many pleasures
10-6-2020
Brian's Choice 22
Honorable Mention
It was vanity that killed him,
not the flames, nor acrid smoke.
If he had got out straight away,
they would have said, "What a lucky bloke."
But he stopped to put on his best PJ's,
which hung behind the door.
Chinese silk with a flower motif,
the collar and cuffs were velour.
Then he rummaged for his dressing gown,
which he saved for such occasions.
Again manufactured from natural silk,
and hand stitched by several Asians.
The flames were now licking under the door,
but he stopped to apply hair gel,
then searched through his drawers for deodorant,
and a spray of his favourite smell.
"Silly me," he thought as he dashed for the door,
"My breath must be really minging!"
and eventually found his mint mouthwash,
which set his mouth and gums a tingling.
A quick look in the mirror to check all was well,
then he deftly opened the door,
the landing and stairs were well alight,
and a big hole appeared in the floor.
"Looks like this is it," he thought with a sigh,
"my vanities done for me yet."
He sat back on the bed with a copy of Vogue,
and lit a Gauloises tipped cigarette.
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