"daybed" poems
On my scarlet daybed on golden paws,
a calla lily.
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC
I'm not a person who collects things
I live a very minimalist's life
But I have a bag of treasures
I keep close to me day and night
I sleep on an old painted daybed
It squeaks softly as I lay down
Most of my clothes are second hand
And my shoes a little worn down
But I have some precious treasures
Hidden in bags of different names
Fendi, Burberry and Prada
Leathers and fabrics of worldly fame
My treasures are hidden deep inside
In makeup bags and zippered pockets
Shiny compacts full of velvety colors
From Paris, Milan and Rome
A black cloth bag of 8 tiny bottles
Protected from the sun and rain
Bottles of perfume oils made in an alchemist's lab
With names like Dragon's Milk, Snow White and Bliss
A Christian Dior handkerchief or two
Hangs delicately inside the bag
In case the breeze brings on a sneeze
Or I notice a tear in the eye of a friend
by Mark Lj
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
*
*Wine flows bright and red
From daybed, she hears Pisa
Her kingdom bustles*
*
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 1:37 AM UTC
Little White house on the corner
Where two presidents meet
Not much to look at
yet it holds so much history
Nothing most would be interested in
Just a little girl's horror and shame
There in a room papered with puppies and kittens
I, a child, laid in an ornate daybed
I should had been safe
I wasn't
I have not returned in so long
yet I also have never left
I sit
parked
strong and fragile
where two presidents meet
remembering the things better forgotten
But, one cant forget what shapes you.
All anyone can do is be better than where you came from
and hope that any child that may now sleep in
the house on Roosevelt street
is safer than I ever was.
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 4:50 AM UTC