"chintz" poems
1381
I suppose the time will come
Aid it in the coming
When the Bird will crowd the Tree
And the Bee be booming.
I suppose the time will come
Hinder it a little
When the Corn in Silk will dress
And in Chintz the Apple
I believe the Day will be
When the Jay will giggle
At his new white House the Earth
That, too, halt a little—
3.7k
We found **** in the den that day
high on gas, giddy at the sight, it was inevitable really
and at half past three, sometime in July,
I slide along the living room wall
wearing chintz paper.
In my room I pirouette as a jewellery box *****
Regal Kingsize, Butane and crushed grass
radiate like a Glade plugin (essence of rebellion).
Barbie snake eyes me “What have you done?
"Oh My God! You know how much trouble you’ll be in,
you shouldn’t have let this happen”
her voice is glacier planes and a million icicles form in my chest.
I tell her to shut her mouth while swallowing ice
before it melts into a puddle at my feet.
She never spoke again.
Dec 15, 2010
Dec 15, 2010 at 6:56 AM UTC
my naked bees are stinging knees and never dream more kind
the honey, black... they lack the knack of natural acts. they pine.
they surly fume. they bark at doom and dangle chintz and fiend,
they serve a nerve as raw as words that pinch a finch’s wings.
my wherewithal, with all your spots, are not my dots; but sod.
by all accounts, it counts for naught...but sounds a lot like god.
the absent one. the ubermensch. the lint i sent you, cracked !
a dagger’s mind. a hellish hive of worse than curse. a laugh !
la mort, petit. du jour, for sure the purest night to bleak... the white !
the eye:; it seeks to sink at least a league beneath the widening gyre !
fie ! and thunder pun my plums
of glumful dungeons, one by none.
and glory wrack my sycophants.
and ransom damage done and done
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 11:13 AM UTC
These pictures trouble sense: the abject walk,
A frontispiece of misery and dejection.
Just chintz and prints, my buddy Ray says.
We are supposed to be in Egypt, I guess.
But this Pharaoh, he’s, like, the king of all
The known world? I don’t think so. It’s beyond fake,
The faux Pharaoh, the ersatz Dynasty,
Put together in Las Vegas or something.
Then a picture of the Nile comes up:
Bulrushes, a felucca…could
That be Baby Moses floating down steam,
His head up, smiling at the camera,
A big toothy grin? Giving us the thumbs
Up sign? Well…
The last picture is a hollowed out log,
A ghost emerging from the stump, a fog
That is about to flow and coat the known world:
It seems to smell, foul and bog-like, like it
Would smell outside the frame, spilling off
The trompe-l’oeil, to fool the eye. And nose?
And stink up Pharaoh’s Pizza Emporium?
‘The World’s Best Pizza. This side of De-Nile.’
A groan from Ray, as he gets change for music.
And when the pie finally does show up…
After like 40 minutes of jukebox
—Wooly Bully and 96 Tears—
…my God, ambrosia, thin, crisp crust,
Just the right cheese…and real tomato paste…
Hey, no denial here. Pharaoh, my man,
This is great stuff, I say. Great pie. A pause.
Why, I could write a poem about this, I say.
You know, pyramid pies and Cleo’s calzones…
Naw, says Ray, don’t do that…
Besides, it’s late.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 3:45 PM UTC
*So it's that time again!
Where was I?
Oh yeah, somewhere else!*
The pragmatic man is back again!
Anti-climactic game plan with slack in the chain
Snagged the habit, kicked it's *** until it's hemorrhagic
A spiky crawlspace,
Dogmatic thematics; slit your throat then cry about it
What an antic! It's kinda romantic... pack your bags and leave you nomad,
No man, would ever wanna deal with your vatic manic fits!
Every fabric of Satan's being isn't satin, it's chintz
Chances are my polysyllabic magic is tragically a product of status;
Maybe it's forced? Course it is, like a birthday party, you get gifts
I think I got this one, and now, I'm an addict
My words are indelible ink, spun in webs like the ones in your attic.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
Tree and lights,
Shop window sights,
Frost and chill,
The presents bill!
Wrapping up gifts,
blizzard in drifts,
snow and gritters,
chintz and glitter.
Anticipation,
pupil dilation,
paper in shreds,
curiosity fed.
Turkey and trimmings,
mulled drinks brimming,
family and friends,
latest toy trends.
Hat and scarf,
children’s laugh,
snowman’s nose,
frozen toes.
Christmas Telly,
big full belly,
children tired,
the roaring log fire.
Offspring to bed,
all cosy and fed,
deepest sleep,
Not a sound, not a peep.
Snowflake falling,
Relatives calling,
Music and dance,
Lost in a trance.
The Festive season,
Always good reason,
To meet up and blether,
Whatever the weather
Aduain
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
Of all the things inside my head
I wonder which I’d choose
The shiny saucers on my wall
With patterns on them all.
Some painted by Susie Cooper
With dainty flower heads
And others Brambly Hedge
With hedgehog tucked in bed.
Then in blue and white china
And Churchill on the back
Picturesque moments of bridges
Willow chintz and that.
Finally the many flower fairies
Their delicate floaty wings
Sitting on a tree branch, Cicily Mary Barker
Who loved all tiny things.
Love Mary ***
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 11:35 AM UTC
Welcome to the dead end convenience store.
Sells everything you want and a little more.
You can buy laces and ribbons.
And fat hairy gibbons.
Pieces of chintz.
Eyes with squints.
Glasses with stems on and valentines flowers.
Clocks that chime every hour.
Coffee and buns.
Beers for bums.
Cards with poems in.
Specially for mums.
Books for reading.
Treats for pleading.
With lovers that won't do as you please.
Tissues for catching unexpected sneeze.
Dead end convenience store.
For all you need and a little bit more.
(c)LIVVI
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 7:17 AM UTC
ever wonder what is going on
behind pretty ornate windows
or not pretty windows
sublime windows
ornately decorated
adorned with ivory lace
revealing perfection
with a keen eye to detail
limpid glass showcasing mistress in her den
sitting fancy in her pink chintz chaise
curled up with a book
her white persian sprawled
about her lap
licking her chops
ordinary windows
peeling blue paint
with smeared glass
lacking class
the home-keepers contending
important matters
bills piling up
whilst disaster pending
sitting in the kitchen contemplating
what ifs what nots and how tos
no matter the difference
windows tell the story
of what is.~~lorilynn
copyright~~*lorilynn 2010
Oct 14, 2010
Oct 14, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
Through and through the hollow
i must go. till the breach is a chasm to swallow
and the fall complete and looming.
Through and through, i follow
but don't know. till it fills me with a spasm of sparrows
and the all and all is succinct and brooding.
chintz in the blank stare
and glint in the dark
where i assume the shape of things to numb
and feel diluted.
my solution is not the void, but it's sister.
a cookie in my callous
nailed to a stormfront
behind me.
where the hole is the whole
through to you.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
Thinking of
Mulled wine and a tired moon
The edges of things
A slammed telephone
How people whisper
Gossip
Thinking of
Scratchy clothes, cornflakes
Waving goodbye
Thinking of
A chintz sofa, the five o’clock news
Never thinking of you
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC
Inwardly I am regal,
like a satin swathed
silent film star
starry eyed
rain on my bed
no more stars
stricken by my
weather
inside
My teeth shall remain
lodged in my formerly
pretty face
It's all done up
in chintz
(myself and my
deathbed)
Set the radio to
Frank Sinatra
Pour a tumbler
of scotch and
swallow the
pills
the only thing
missing is my
coffin
Who knew, then
I would have to
***** crawl on
my elbows toward
a not so well appointed
toilet?
Not at all ready
for my close-up
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 7:10 PM UTC
There is nothing for me to think, there is nothing for me to cry
and feel sorry for yourself.
I should have admired the pink sunset
and the sunrise to wait.
In a dress made of chintz as in a favorite fairy tale
listen to the song of the bird in silence.
Day after day ... on the right ... the prince wait, on his immortal, chosen horse.
And after waiting ...
Together we study in the distance, where everything comes true, fairy tales or dreams.
And with our fairy tale, we will live a life.
In the meantime, I will not think about anything,
but for now I will believe in miracles
and pray quietly and quietly the heavens.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
Boy :-
deep beneath the veil
behind creaking songs of mouth -
felt fragrance of love
Girl :-
nah! torpor dreamer
fret over your own fancies -
stars won't shine the day
Boy :-
rain sweeping over
pall of clouds hiding the sun -
still I waits the smile
Girl :-
before thunder knocks
lightning burns the tweet of love-
not the right day out
Boy :-
burned pile of ashes
blown by the low moaning wind -
shines the fire of love
Girl :-
fling of youthful love
swayed faded chintz of my mind -
stony heart melted
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 7:54 AM UTC