bareheaded and blithering
grievous to prove
my increasing feminization
with victorian meditation
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 3–9, 2026)
this family was a throwback to the 1890’s I think
they appeared out of nowhere, a wormhole clink?
they were dressed like Victorians in feathers and fur
their child had a ****, and their horse gave a purr
fluffy in velvet gown and fancy boots was the wife
Husband wore a brocade vest and a top hat as sharp as a knife
the children were dressed to the maximum which we do not do
this Victorian family was a throwback to 1891 or 92.
You could have not held this tea party in any other place
The Victorian Enchanted Forest had a certain kind of grace
The carnivores and prey dressed up and ate with each other
Raising their pinkies, using napkins, well-taught by their mother.
their table was always fancy with napkin rings and table linens of lace
violent actions would have been unwelcomed, and a disgrace.
fox, stag, deer, kangaroo, cat, rabbit and squirrel were here today
we had cupcakes at this glorious tea party in the middle of May
Curtsied respects
Nod's politeness
With the dressiness and dapper hat
That served them well
As ripped apart
As flung aside
Of lettered pride
Heart's own formal
Hailing displays.
Words, behind, hid. Themselves tender wrapped
In a pansy's
Ached ' think of me'
Urged sentiment.
Lost to time's scent!
Victorian owl did not mean to be prissy
She did not get along with people including her sissy
She had a snake, but it was touchy and hissy
Had a man too, but he was not good at the kissy
Victorian owl soon cut her man loose, for good
He flew out to the boats, past the barn of red wood
I don’t miss him, she told herself, for truly, who could?
She was ruffly and fussy, with a feathery hood
The carolers have left the lawn,
the final party guest is gone,
the heavy parlor drapes are drawn,
the hearth's alight with wood you've sawn
I've changed to flannel from chiffon,
your tie is off, your slippers on,
there's wine left in the demijohn,
and toast points spread with fine cretons
We fall back on the silk divan
and maul the tray of snacks thereon,
you raise your glass to hide a yawn,
the last act in the denouement
The air now chill, the fire wan,
we should have long ago withdrawn
but sleep delays us there 'til dawn,
deep in the chaise we lay upon
This for drinking fount, fount
Central to its display
With illuminant
As what spilt more honoured
Shed more to enchant.
Worked of hands, whose firm hearts
Of Beauty's old standards
Most conscientious!
Timeless. Timeless remain.
As Truth; numinous.
Upon a grassy hill, so long ago,
our lovely, old Victorian-style home
was built in eighteen eighty-six, aglow
with cozy rooms and firesides burning bright.
So charming were the winding stairs that flared
neath the cathedral ceiling's chandelier.
Outdoors, a rolling lawn and gardens spread
beside a stony brook that rambled on.
A time I still remember- Christmas Day
in nineteen fifty-three- age fourteen then,
and I recall those very special hours
at home, so cozy, warm with my loved ones
of many generations, happily
around the sparkling tree with old-time trim
of bubble lights, glass balls, and Christmas songs
playing softly on the record player.
Extended family- my mom and dad,
grandparents, brother, cousins, uncles, aunts-
spent happy hours, and such a blessed time
was shared as peace and love were felt by all
as I, once the youngest, now the oldest
generation, carry on that spirit
and make traditions last, to someday be
my children and grandchildren’s Christmas past.
Victorian Letter
Back in the day, it was simple.
Everything was equal.
Only whispers in the wind.
To gaze now and then.
Life was soulful.
Your company was delightful.
A beautiful song through a music box.
Key to your heart with a lock.
Just wondering how you’ve been.
Your hair in the sun is radiant.
A smile to give.
A new reason to live.
Continue growing.
Like pretty roses in the morning.
Wake up with coffee.
Morning conversation about new beginnings.
Can’t live without ya.
Running with deep thoughts.
Reveal true emotions.
All this time, you have been the one.
A Victorian letter written for you.
Your touch is always true.
I dreamt about an old Victorian house that was abandoned
It was dilapidated and left vacant for years and was starting to decay
It was hidden down a long dirt driveway aligned with overgrown lilac trees
The grounds were overgrown grass that resembled a field of wildflowers
I decided to look inside, the front door was unlocked, and I let myself in
I entered a beautiful parlor with floor to ceiling bookcases and wingback chairs
Sticking out was a rare Charles Dicken's book, I took it and sat in a chair to read
I fell asleep until I awakened in my bed as I noticed the rare book in my hand
Where did the book come from, was I really in that old Victorian house?
Victorian Gift
Thank us for the gift we give
The steam train running the rails
All it cost is a piece of coal, and the smoke we give to the air
Thank us for the gift we give
The steam ship ruling the waves of blue
All it cost is a piece of coal, and the smoke we give to the air
Thank us for the gift we give
The industrial revolution running on the steam we give
All it cost is a piece of coal, and the smoke we give to the air
Thank us for the gift we give
Street lighting
All it cost is a piece of coal, and the smoke we give to the air
Thank us for the gift we give
Warm winter homes
All it cost is a piece of coal, and the smoke we give to the air
Thank us for the gift we give
The rising seas and global warming
All it cost is a piece of coal, and the smoke we give to the air
Those madcap Victorian horsewomen were super confident
Silly when you realize they were riding at breakneck speeds, sidesaddle
In those day a woman did not know it was okay to wear pants.
The closest thing she could be caught alive in would be pantaloons.
I am staring at the screen years later, wondering ….
Do they break their tailbones when they fall off?
Or do their bustles serve as a landing pillow?
cash in hand I bought
victorian hand mirror
glimpse into the past
Shamrah is a satisfied Victorian maiden
daughter of a prince, was never a wife
her ebony puma chases potential suitors away
she sits among her gorgeous rose gardens
wearing her embroidered gold tapestry dress
guarded by two docile leopards
men are usually intimidated by Shamrah
They tiptoe away quietly
not wanting to disturb her menagerie
However, if they disturb the big cats they run screaming.
The midnight masquerade ball.
Seemingly slight brocade shawl.
Beseechingly glance, decayed hall.
Haunted trance, unafraid fall.
Vaunted skies evade all.
She tries dissuade call.
Decree daylight, unmade, befall.
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