When going to school at a tender age,
The little girl would put on her socks and shoes,
Give her parents a goodbye kiss,
And run out with her school bag and lunchbox,
A smile upon her face, filled with joy and happiness,
Excited to learn a new word from her teacher.
Days turned into months,
And months into years,
Until finally came her graduation day—
The day she would leave those beautiful school days behind.
Afterward, her school uniform and school necessities
Rested quietly in the wardrobe,
Becoming memories of her beautiful early days.
She looked at them, sighed, and said,
"Indeed, this is where you finally ended,
After being with me through my beautiful early days." ??
Wardrobe why do you groan?
I have pain so i groan
To Allah I felt in love
Therefore, I groan
My name is painful Wardrobe
Slowly flows my bourn
Such that my Lord ordered
I have pain so i groan
They found me at a montane
And broke my wing and arm
And deemed worthy to Wardrobe
I have pain so i groan
I am a mountain's tree
Neither sweet nor tasty
To God I am praying
I have pain so i groan
They cut from montane my pain
And converted my state to a ruin
I never get tired of writing poem
I have pain so i groan
I pull my water from low
Turn and pour to tall
All the time I praise my Lord
I have pain so i groan
Jonah who comes to world doesn't smile
Persona doesn't reach to his goal
At this mortal no one stays
I have pain so i groan
Written by Yunus Emre (Dervish Jonah)
Translation Onur Ünlü
A WARDROBE MISHAP
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a squirrel named Marilyn,
In a dress made of white, she was a twirlin’.
With a gust of fresh air on her derriere,
She danced with nary a care,
And the male squirrels cheered, “You’re a sexy darlin’!”
But one day, as she twirled and leapt with delight,
Her dress caught a branch in mid-flight.
With a flap and a flap,
She fell in a snap—
And the other squirrels erupted in fright!
Yet Marilyn laughed, brushed off her dress,
“Just a wardrobe mishap, I confess!
But the breeze, oh so sweet,
Makes my heart skip a beat,
In my fashionable attire, I have such finesse!”
I want to buy a wardrobe,
And in it I place my name
In the top left corner
Of its darkest spot.
I want to buy a wardrobe
And in it put a billion chambers,
To keep my name safe
From vultures aimed
To pounce tiger like
And tear it into pieces.
I want to hide my name,
From the sadistic and narcissistic
Individuals aimed to put a show
And from it their fame
Grows
Heart hurt to smithereens.
I want to hide my name,
In the many chambers
Of my wardrobe
Made of finest of steel
And many padlocks
To shield it from scavengers sharp claws
Stinking hold of its skin.
The name I want to hide,
Is bleeding with a fire
That does not burn
Busy on Kabale streets
Sweeping the floor clean
And babbling on all town walls
Of a native
That ashames the kin
And the nation at large
I want to hide my name.
I want to buy a wardrobe,
And in it I lay my name
In the top right corner
Of its brightest spot.
And only then,
Will My name be free...
What a poor dateless chap was young Chad.
Dumpster fires were the clothes that he had.
Pants that hung in the back
showed the world his azz-crack
and not one single shirt wasn’t plaid.
This poem is penned to my sartorial self,
about wardrobe clothes on the rail or the shelf,
replica football shirts, too tight, too small,
threadbare cord trousers, I don’t wear at all,
now for recycling with all the rest,
while saving my smart shoes and suit just for best,
too many old clothes that I’ll never wear,
though some could be fixed with a minor repair,
soon I’ll be whistling a different tune,
when I sort my wardrobe out, some day quite soon,
into black bin bag with labels on top,
I’ll be best friends with the charity shop.
“wardrobe malfunction”
i dressed as santa claus for halloween
now what do i do in the in between
Inside three closets,
Arrays colorful dresses
For life's wardrobe sets.
She had a bit of a problem
Of which she was reluctant to disclose
Her wardrobe was full to overflowing
With a wild array of clothes
She justified this behaviour
By insisting it was cheap stuff
Purchased from the op shops
She couldn't get enough
Because it was so cheap
She'd buy three things instead of one
Her shirts multiplied in dozens
And her dresses by the tonne
The day eventually arrived
The wardrobe door would close no more
The drawers were overstuffed
Things were piled up on the floor
Clearly drastic action was needed
And obviously, without a doubt
This would require some discipline
And red wine to sort it out
Hours later, knackered and dishevelled
She had reduced her clothing stash
She promised never to repeat this mistake
And instead save herself the cash
She staggered to the op shop
Weighed down with bags of gear
But naturally, there was a sale on
And really, she had nothing left to wear...
Clothes in a wardrobe still so neat
Your favourite fragrance makes it so complete
A task set without choice for me
To sort your things not so easily
The jacket you wore for colder times
And the hat for your head for sunnier climes
Are all hanging in their place
Ready for you to wear for your worldly face
I open the drawers in your bedside chest
Where there are things you treasured best
Here’s your watch still ticking away
And pictures of us on Christmas Day
I pack them up or give them away
Mementos of the life you left today
Each one a memory of you
A smile for you now to remember too.
© Paul Warren Poetry
The Wardrobe.
shrine of memories,
disguise dressing room...
Guards my life
daily,
festive,
funeral...
Each outfit a character....
A cross-dressing artist,
but never repository
of me... naked... natural!
The Wardrobe of a Temporary Condition
David J Walker
I had to admit
It might have been an illusion
The first morning home
Without a plausible conclusion to
Calendars past and
No witnesses left to
Attest to the
Long intrusion into
My young life
Nothing in the room
Was mine
Anymore
The clothes now three years old
Left hanging in the closet
Where I left them
The duffle bag of OD Green rags that
Might never be opened again
Thank God I was young
When nakedness was not
So much a sin
As it was
The wardrobe of
a temporary condition
I’m whittling down my wardrobe
Just a little at a time.
It’s hard for me to let things go
I wore when in my prime.
But some clothes are out of style
Or don’t fit the way they should
And just hanging in the closet
They aren’t doing any good.
If I donate them, then maybe
Someone who might be in need
Could make use of what I’m tossing
And I’ve done a nice good deed.
I’ll admit that my main motive
Isn’t helping out the poor
But relinquishing apparel
Which I don’t wear anymore.
in god's dark wardrobe
like a ghost of a nightgown
a see-through soul glows
A vision only my sleeping eyes
can see:
Night wrinkles on dim hangers.
Bell-bottom pants,
two-toned platform shoes,
a `kipper' tie,
unhinge from time and mind.
Then the closet door
clicks shut like a shell.
Empty hangers swing-on in the dark,
rocked now
by the surviving members
of the Rolling Stones.
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