Summers sun is setting,
The twilight a held breath,
Excitement for the season of change,
To see everything in a warm haze.
But I, as many,
Have persuaded myself -
Talked myself into thinking
Every year.
When the leaves change, and plants die
When wardrobes change, and winds sigh
We see change so close
We think that everyone's experience
Aligns.
What a joke -
My fall, warm glow.
My Autumn is welcome,
Another's, pure woe.
I have lived through trauma,
But so has the world,
My Autumn is shallow,
Another perspective, absurd.
So, as the season begins,
I finally sit and reflect.
I crave the knowledge
Of how the world lives this season.
Do they all see the beauty,
Or hold hate beyond reason.
We should all take a breath
As Summer finishes it's act,
And remember only the mirror
Has your experience, exact.
moods have varied styles
feelings fashion posing lips -
faces own wardrobes
[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[ !!!!!!!!!! ZZZZZ
( -=; ; =- ) ( # # ) ( + + )
; x ; # \__/
; O ; {"''''''}
; ;
The ship of dreams
Opulent surroundings
Fancy bed linens
Luxurious dinner plates and tablecloths
Gleaming virginal utensils
Dazzling crystal chandeliers
Polished walnut woodwork
Gold gilded fireplaces
Wardrobes ready for furs and dresses
An experienced captain
Eager staff
Bustling activity
Musicians, artists, businessmen aboard
High ranking officials, wealthy industrialists, celebrities
Cruising flawlessly in clear blue sea
A haven and heaven during the day
Easy sleeping and dreaming in the evening
J.P. Morgan was disappointed to have to cancel at the last minute
Four glorious days of sailing
Around Midnight April 15th, 1912 the Titanic struck an iceberg
The chunk of devilry slashed a three-hundred-foot gash in the hull
Haphazard evacuation ensued
First lifeboat could have held sixty-five people
It left with twenty-eight
The dream ship broke in half after filling halfway up with water
In two hours fifteen hundred people died
The majority of them froze to death in the North Atlantic
Have you ever cleared your closet?
Relationships are like wardrobes
They need to be reviewed
Have you ever packed your bags?
A heart is like a storage box
It needs to be sorted
That lingering thought,
Pacing around the room
The reinvention of ideas
It is the biggest ever
Looking at the mirror
The admiration of a human being
It is the scariest thought
Am I the best?,
Have you ever cleared your heart
Feelings can be a deception
They need to be evaluated
Have ever packed your makeup bag?
A face is like a hidden mask
It needs to be taken care of
That lingering thought.
Nervousness of standing on the doorstep
Compromise, standing just inside
Despite invitation, I politely insisted that the evening ended there
Over days, weeks, months then years
Things developed with an increasing sense of inclusion
Shared excitement, shared passion, shared intimacy
A time of normality, a time of exceptions and shared acceptance
Times of accepted exceptional normality
Thick fluffy comforting summer clouds
Ever present, yet simultaneously, fleeting forms in clear blue skies
Each cloud framed with an unspoken silver lining
Progressive advancement of growth and expanding boundaries
Each box ticked forming stories, like the timeline rings of trees
An evening punctured with a 1 am call of planned reassurance
A weekend away concluded with being picked up from the station
Wardrobes of Narnia supposed secrecy behind supposed closed doors
In line with everything time runs its course
Clouds disappear forming memories and trees fall revealing their stories
And we are left with the wonder of it all
TRISTICH IS A PARALLEL VERSE(Inspired by Hebrew Biblical parallels) it comprises L1 theme L2 ECHO of theme L3 Punchline/observation
Wardrobes, full of clothes,
crossstitch cluttered walls-
her shadow still clouds my mind
Wardrobes, full of clothes,
crossstitch cluttered walls-
her shadow still clouds my mind
tears begin to fall.
emotion becomes a flood-
a cataract of regret flows
a realisation dawns,
fleeting thoughts crystallize-
as 'as is' moment of hope is born
What we wear
How we look
Our wardrobes plucked
from the latest books
Fashion rules us
Clothes hide who we are
First make a few billion
~ Then dress bizarre
The chirr of parched insect wings –
bible dust preaching
from long abandoned boots.
Baked into the sky
homesteads linger on the burnt stumps
of exhausted summers.
Dander creaks on dry porches,
wardrobes and rooms open
in a denim haze.
Homesteaders planted a light here
then at days end
dug it up
in earthen mouthfuls.
Aprons were filled, table-tops charged.
Out of the back of a model T
a dapper man sells brushes,
he speaks of things unfarmed
the Brylcreem shine of city sights
until she is swept away.
Such moments go unrecorded
unless by chance you find
a strand of long hair
whipping astray on a skewed field gate.
~~~~
edit
We carry small talk above our heads, ceilings drip clouds.
Nothing is put away. Coats dangle over chairs in layers.
Drugged by spate and mizzle, denim droops,
snagged over rummage
and the outstretched arms of impedimenta.
The house awakes to a soft toed patter.
Around us, cuffs pull the roof closer to damp collars,
hangers weep in wardrobes,
while the unhung sink in muddy shallows.
Before the light paddles away, calico, cotton, and shirttails
are rescued, bundled into higher heaps;
the soggy separated from the merely mildewed.
The muddled and fusty raised above an imagined tide.
Tomorrow, front steps will be scoured;
the washed-out made to flap.
Squirrels may walk the earth again,
and if a blotting wind returns, we will wave
from dry bathtubs.
I don’t like it when it’s snowing because I leave traces
so they know where I’m going and they chase me
they want to see whether I follow the light or the shadows
so I blind them, scratch their eyes out
But then they hear me, they hear creaking
so I run, I can’t give up that quick
I hide behind the leafless trees trying not to breathe
My feet hurt from the cold.
They want to know my dreams, my lovers
and all the secrets hidden behind wardrobes.
These monsters creeping from under my bed
keep asking “quo vadis?” while I pray for the snow to melt.
Winter is chasing me and with it are coming
the unanswered questions of sleepless nights:
Who are you, where are you going?
I stand still, breathless.
Waiting for Spring.
Set to the tune of 'Edelweiss' from The Sound of Music
Wintertime, wintertime
Evergreens don festive wardrobes
Ivory
Christmas Eves
Swirl in peppermint snowglobes
Magical mirrors of lakes to skate
Taste snowflakes
On our tongues
Wintertime, wintertime
Keep my heart warm
Til spring comes.
12/02/21
Poem of the Day
December 4th, 2021
knowing who wore warm
kilts where
was why knots were
wound wardrobes
knitted warmest when waistcoat
kind was
woven wool keeping watchmen
warriors waiting
kindly while watching washroom
kings wither while wine
knocked wisdoms went waste
stan sand
Some call them junk
because of dust and rust.
Strangers disdain their honored positions
on shelves and secure places.
Owners refer to tricycles
with tattered ribbons hanging from tarnished handles as memories,
Worn out Flexible Flyers with rusty runners
as conveyors of bundled joy on snowy days,
Unpolished roller skates hanging
next to freezers as vehicles of independence,
Wooden handled golf clubs
resting in corners as symbols of health,
Dog bowls resting on top
of old wardrobes as memorials to best friends.
I call them treasure.
wardrobes of clothes-
she still crowds my mind
with soft shadows
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