"donned" poems
XXXII. TO SELENE (20 lines)
(ll. 1-13) And next, sweet voiced Muses, daughters of Zeus, well-
skilled in song, tell of the long-winged (35) Moon. From her
immortal head a radiance is shown from heaven and embraces earth;
and great is the beauty that ariseth from her shining light. The
air, unlit before, glows with the light of her golden crown, and
her rays beam clear, whensoever bright Selene having bathed her
lovely body in the waters of Ocean, and donned her far-gleaming,
shining team, drives on her long-maned horses at full speed, at
eventime in the mid-month: then her great orbit is full and then
her beams shine brightest as she increases. So she is a sure
token and a sign to mortal men.
(ll. 14-16) Once the Son of Cronos was joined with her in love;
and she conceived and bare a daughter Pandia, exceeding lovely
amongst the deathless gods.
(ll. 17-20) Hail, white-armed goddess, bright Selene, mild,
bright-tressed queen! And now I will leave you and sing the
glories of men half-divine, whose deeds minstrels, the servants
of the Muses, celebrate with lovely lips.
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All of the Gnomes from around the globe
Just sneezed their very last sneeze
They've had enough of this allergy stuff
And from the garden they're taking their leave
They packed up their bags, donned their bonnet's and caps
Left in the cover of night
Said goodbye to the trees along with the birds and the bees
And headed out for the big city life
No one had a clue from which wind the Gnomes blew
It was Wa-La they were suddenly there
From Bankers to Lawyers to Tele-marketer callers
They infiltrated every career
Soon they were drinking like fountains as the bills started mounting
With the pressures of the ride to the top
Pills became an everyday need to stay awake and fall asleep
Not sure when this madness will stop
On top of it all they started to cough from the smog
And wondered which one was the worst
The garden allergies or this black lung disease
Either way the Gnomes felt mankind's curse
So they turned in their suits and their ill gotten loot
And took a trip back to the suberbs
Now in the garden they smile cause they know all the while
Yes...it could be a lot worse
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
There goes Lady Fate,
donned in solar sparks
and her lace corset
whose overt promiscuity
catches the attention of
one unsuspecting astronaut–
his helm fogs as he exhales,
his breath crude and lascivious.
Even Neptune’s eyes themselves
glitter wetly with passion
as she struts towards Polaris in
her pinprick stilettos.
She adjusts her stance accordingly:
I. Purse lips into a smoulder
(might as well look
pretty while ya get the job done.)
II. Aim for the desired target
(that there’s the bull’s eye.)
III. Wreak havoc
just as any Fate is meant to do.
(But, of course.)
She picks up her staff and fires.
The universe tremors
in an unbridled spiral
of colour and chaos
as the planets
d a r t
about like billiards, * * *
colliding/|\with/|\ the/|\ stars
who, in the midst of the madness,
d i v e r g e and c* r* o* s s
for fear of being vanquished.
A cluster of mismatched constellations
and forsaken cosmic particles
settle into a state of
mutual negligence and destruction.
And, together, they liquefy into
a festering pool of molten silver.
Lady Fate grins–
yes, she has the stars right
where she wants them now–
and, in a final act of defiance,
she strikes against the earth
and watches with satisfaction as
it hurtles towards the silver
and sinks down into the molten
like an eight ball.
(And everyone knows it’s
Game Over
once you’ve sunk the eight ball).
From where she stands–
bent over Polaris
in seductive pretentiousness —
she relishes
in the screams
of some wretched lover–
the first to ever be
betrayed by the stars.
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
I failed to understand the words you said to me,
I failed to see the love you bear a faded memory,
Day by day slowly from my heart you withdrew,
And all the things i wanted to say where lost or misconstrued,
I wish you would have told me that you where unhappy,
I wish id have recognized that you had donned a mask,
To hold from me what you really feel,
The mask was thin ,
When i saw your skin That hid beneath ,
It filled my eyes and gently the tears ran down my cheek,
I wished i had told you everything before you had to leave.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
soon I found
where you wrote those words
on the back of your hand
soon I found
the black planet
where you reside
soon I found
a child’s sickness
and the comfort it takes
to make one whole
soon I found
that you went with him
with a Salisbury steak
and a name tag that read
husband
soon I found a hole
dug by a badger
I donned its claws with my fingers
I carved a toilet in the corner
I drew your face on the ceiling
soon I found
I was an animal
a boy
alone
soon I found
I was never to be conceived
I was never without legs and feet
I was never meant to
climb out of the black star
soon I found
I would be without you
forever
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
She thought her outfit was beautiful when she put it on this morning.
And it was.
She donned the skirt with care,
Kitten heels polished and perfect.
Adjusting the turquoise blouse in the mirror,
She brushed her hair,
Put on her makeup,
And left her apartment early for a stroll.
She walked down the city street,
Head up, shoulders back,
A faint smile on her fresh face.
But as she neared the crosswalk,
She noticed the looks.
First came the looks from the men.
"Hey there, beautiful," one said.
"Nice *** said another.
She ignored them all,
Choosing to cross to the other side of the street
So that they couldn't try to touch her.
Then came the looks from the women.
**** she couldn't fit her fat *** into a minivan," said one.
"Who does that ***** think she is,
Walking around in that outfit?" Said another.
She ignored them all,
Choosing to keep her head down,
So that they wouldn't think she was promiscuous.
Finally, she noticed the looks from her co-workers.
"Does that violate dress code?" Asked one.
"If we had a dress code, it would," said another.
She ignored them all,
Choosing to head home early
So that they wouldn't laugh at her.
When she got back to the apartment,
She took off the skirt,
The polished kitten heels,
And the turquoise blouse.
She pulled on a pair of sweats,
And decided to watch Netflix instead of
Facing the cruel outside world.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-17/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-ii/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/first-date-iii/
(best read in order)
He blankets her with a mist that is fine and as pure as his postpartum soul is able to manifest. He’s sorry that she is sobbing on the dirt floor. He can’t think past the hunger that is beating upon her, which beats upon him. He is angry that his ancient predatory instincts are gaping to the fore.
For the ancient being now gently weeping on a cold dirt floor.
Why did he not recognize her? How did he get so lax in the thinking that cattle could disguise it self? A Wolf in Sheep’s clothing? Well... it’s not like he has not donned the same costume!
He had been a Protector for so long. Rising each Sunset with the challenges that bring on the most predatory beasts that hunger for pain. He, alone, has stood beside Humanity to bring the world a semblance of normality, morality, a passing moment when they thought they were King of the world… but their inflated egos were never touched by doubt.
Because of him.
But she brings him down to the basest level.
He feels…
For her
For her hunger
For her emptiness
For her utter contemptuousness
She is the creature that he has been birthed to fight. The utter savageness that she brings forth when it becomes night.
He alone, in eternity, wanders the earth to make Mortal life the one thing that is right.
She lifts her head from the cold dirt floor to stare at him. He materializes as a persona that should scare her, one that heralds Death, but his emotions are fraught with peril. She is important to him. He may have been birthed to bring Death but he was never denied that one could become his Life.
His pulse quickens, her eyes widen, her pulse quickens, he is afraid of the sight that lays bare in front of him. His fangs are buried deep in his bottom lip, he can not say a word even if his immortal soul depends on it.
She licks her lips in hesitation, maybe anticipation; she could be licking her lips because of the small droplet of blood that lingers in the corner of her mouth. He wants to touch his tongue to said lips and cheek and ear and throat and, well HELL, he’s happy to continue south… as long as his tongue is touching skin…
She looks away, briefly, and cries again. She is unable to fight past her hunger even though she has recognized the Protector.
She needs protecting too!
She’s so hungry!
But from the swelling of his body, so is he…
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 5:28 AM UTC
(To Ellen Terry)
I marvel not Bassanio was so bold
To peril all he had upon the lead,
Or that proud Aragon bent low his head
Or that Morocco’s fiery heart grew cold:
For in that gorgeous dress of beaten gold
Which is more golden than the golden sun
No woman Veronese looked upon
Was half so fair as thou whom I behold.
Yet fairer when with wisdom as your shield
The sober-suited lawyer’s gown you donned,
And would not let the laws of Venice yield
Antonio’s heart to that accursed Jew—
O Portia! take my heart: it is thy due:
I think I will not quarrel with the Bond.
3.4k
The clouds separated the Sun from my life for too long
I wondered if it even existed
And if it existed
Would it know I existed?
It's warm companionship eluded me
I was frozen in the wastelands
I donned my armor of ice
And embraced all that is frigid and bleak
My feet turned into rockets as flowers bloomed all around me
I rode headfirst into the sky on a jet of pure nature
I cut through the friction in the air
And exploded through the clouds
The Sun's disorienting light loved me
Without vision I flew to it's warmth
When I reached the Sun I kissed it on the mouth
and we danced around the galaxy
And the Sun radiated our love to every living creature in the universe
But the Sun abandoned me out in space
The Sun returned to giving life to all
And I am but one
I just thought that maybe I could help it give life
Because at one point I was a star
Now I'm just dust
Is it so selfish to want it's power for myself?
I've been floating in darkness for a while
And I feel very Alien: Isolation right now
But this is no game
And Sigourney Weaver couldn't fight my monsters
Game over, man
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 4:44 PM UTC
Dedicated to John and Bob
From first flesh we move down widening halls
That lead to lives of wondrous walls.
Our spidered fingers gripped walls of brick,
Cruets, cups and candle sticks.
Incense clouded open graves
When we too believed we too were saved.
Between Annex walls we learned our phonics,
On tin-roofed walls we lived our comics.
Garage walls scaled showed different views,
Kitchen walls steamed with soups and stews.
Our school yard walls tallied pitches
That marked our summers of youth and wishes.
Now lift memory's pane and go back
To the white-framed walls of a secret shack.
There, in confusion we would cling
To the unknown wonders girls would bring.
These young boys' walls we both outgrew;
Now new walls sprang, as we did too.
Coffee House walls offered something new.
Wet kisses lingered near shadowy walls,
We heard poetry read in a backroom stall.
Recreationals made our new skin crawl.
Cliff walls were breached by stairs of clay,
Carved by Incas on a turquoise day.
Tent walls echoed with impish fray,
Green walls beckoned at the end of day.
These walls gave rise to hot desires,
Like Vikings planning funeral pyres.
New music, cheers and weekend guests
Stood us ***** to pound our chests.
Those walls no longer ring our shores;
Time swept us forward with worldly lures.
We doffed our coats of suede and frills,
And donned new clothes and workday skills.
The walls of work are a rocky climb,
Stones laid by us, for yours and mine.
Such towers & turrets of heart & hearth
Guard all we know of any worth.
I see distant walls on cliffs, in fields;
Where do they lead? What will they yield?
Yet, there three friends climb one more hill,
Climb one more wall. Then all is still.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
about pictures of bears without any fur, and they look horrendously terrifying. Like ****** space gorillas you see in poorly done sci-fi movies. Do you think panda bears are still the cutest bear without any fur?
I wonder if dragons get lung cancer from all the smoking they do. I'd rather think about a hairless panda bear breathing fire--it's jaws sinking into the underbelly of a mortally wounded dragon and as it starts munching on the dragon pancreas, it accidentally sneezes causing it's lunch to incinerate to ashes.
That's probably why dragons are extinct. Hairless panda bears donned armor, riding horses; questing to eat dragon pancreas.
They also thought amor prevented lung cancer. It was the middle ages, people or animals didn't have modern technology to explain diseases, let alone where babies came from. Except for dragons, and look at how their species turned out. **** I'm throwing my phone in the toilet right now.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
I remember when you donned
-your polka-dot dress
And danced the flamenco
Such pretty and delicate hands
-the men who play guitar
Who played flamenco
You are suddenly young again
-the older boys gather
And you dance flamenco
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
days crawl by
and humidity stills the air.
the black flies are late this season,
though around here, most things are.
below the gnat line, girls like me
seldom get to die easily,
perfumed powders
masking the scent of illness,
flushed cheeks and damp foreheads donned
as our feeble bodies recline on fainting couches
to delicately languish away. we know that
there’s a certain beauty to decomposition,
to fungus gnats invading potted soil,
to fruit flies nesting in sink drains. we know that
rotting is a clock that never stops,
tallying each unflinching, humid second while the
days crawl by.
Jun 22, 2023
Jun 22, 2023 at 8:04 PM UTC
Embrace me in the rays
Of your dying warmth
Make me disappear
The sadness I've donned.
Take me away
Up in the sky with you
Make me kiss the sunlight
Let me taste it anew.
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
/ conversation over a bbq dinner
being given the information
over a new M.I. movie..
i really think tom cruise
should have won an oscar for -
born on the 4th of july...
without bias,
but given the oscar award for
the grunting and heaving,
and minimal dialogue / monologue
of leonardo's the revenant?
the world is a cul de sac...
and what remains of it...
is a shitshow worth, of a congested street
with nothing but, paupers /
window-shoppers to be lined up;
mannequins coming alive
and taking to disco dancing
the hell out of having donned
a boney m afro;
drunk, squinty eyed...
looking around, surmising my
thought with... huh?!
it's a good thing i'm this good at
drinking, never having dropped acid.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
basic arithmetic in terms of punctuation, otherwise? simply the arithmetic of punctuation: what does (,) equal? what does (.) equal? what does (:) equal? what does (-) equal? what does (;) equal? come on, quick! quick! give me a number!
to think, is to not narrate,
much of what is regarded as
"thinking", simply becomes as art
of narration
that is sofa-bound, i.e. so comfortable
that it feels it has no inclination
toward the use of hands as ever
being idle, it simply replaces
hands with a tongue...
hence: idle speech,
hence political speech;
so if the "devil" has work for idle hands,
then "god" has work for the idle zunge
(tongue)...
but most people don't think,
because their thinkling is solely about
narrating,
their day-to-day...
and i appreciate this custom,
in the cognitive realm...
i really do...
how many jokes ushered into
the void of one's silence, neither whisphers,
nor hummings, nor whistling...
wiser still, essentially unchanged...
but heidegger's aphorism no. 285
really bothers me...
the reader looking into the narrator
given the existentialist inverted commas
(iberian inverted questioning
¿ ? that's the first step toward
an iberian existentialism)
said the third person,
with third party sources, the middle man,
the second person, and then the reader
of the writer's original testimony?
if northern existentialism (french / german...
the english were too reactionary, and
too easily bored by the continental drift)
encompasses the tool that's " "
then the iberian tool has to be the inverted
question mark, i.e. ¿ ?,
sitting comfortably? no? how about a wheelchair...
let me just break your legs and your spine.
but aphorism 285: "worldview",
"grounding", "configuring"...
i don't understand this allocation of ambiguity,
and an italic stress on da-sein / da-sein...
aren't all the three descriptive elements /
adjectives the purposive sentiments for
originating the concept of dasein?
i had to counter with an iberian existential tool...
after all i said, 'he said', "we said"...
it's a third party medium
of supposed ambiguity...
if there's a santa claus (satan's clause),
then there's pontius pilate's clause,
found in the existential tool of double-ditto " "
or as the english like to say: inverted commas;
or the ritual: of washing your hands clean
from passing the judgement...
they're citation marks to be honest, come on,
let's be pompous, they donned 19th top-hats
at ascot's horse races! who's fooling who?
Jun 26, 2017
Jun 26, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
I can do this too, when I'm not au naturel
And trying to beat all of your @sses with how well
I make the gentleman, how excellently I am the imp,
How swell I step, dancing, aside, how terribly I simp -
Sometimes catch me getting back and giving the barman a chance -
I heeded their call; I washed off the day, and stepped into a trance
Of raspberry, rose and sandalwood; I donned my blue and pink silk,
And my black boots, tights and blazer - She's got style; And in that ilk
I also painted my face, with blues, whites, pinks, blacks, golds
And it was late when I stepped out, and in the very holds
Of the night that a lady like I should find terrifying, but I walked
The quarter of an hour to the Silk Mill; talked
For something more like four or five,
Face sharp, hair artfully mad, alive
In every sense, aided by the fine cocktails in this student setting
I could enchant all in four languages, and I did, forgetting
For a bit that another one of my faces I believe to be repugnant:
Because it begs for attention; and my current, commanded it
Because I came expecting nothing, and asking nothing,
And I quite frankly didn't give a d@mn about much of anything,
But if I wasn't very much a part of the room, and very much she
Whom every boy needed to speak to, and would ideally keep the company
Of, if that wasn't I
Then every lie's a truth, and every truth, a lie.
Mar 20, 2022
Mar 20, 2022 at 11:15 AM UTC
*before you start reading, please not that the Barbie in this poem is not the registered trademark that is the Barbie doll (all is revealed in the notes)*
When Barbie wakes up in the morning
Even the birds stop chirping in fright
She makes her way to the wardrobe knowing
What is inside will start the day right
First to be donned is her barbarian bra
It takes quite a task to fill
She really is ever so grateful for her bra
It keeps all the best bits subdued and still
The bras must always go on first
Without it she would be in trouble
If the briefs went on first without the bra
To this day she’d still be bent over double
Next on are the bountiful bootylicious briefs
She worries that they may have shrunk
Mayhap she should stop putting them in the dryer
They are essential to keep all her junk in her trunk
Over the top of the barbarian bra
Goes a sweater with the deepest V neck you’ll find
The cleavage that is on display is important
It keeps the focus from straying to her behind
On go the boots and laced up tight
These babies were made for walking
But most days they are just for comfort
Unless she’s up for some stalking
Last of all on her perfectly coiffed head
She settles her beautiful hat
It looks a little like a large table umbrella
In fact, once upon a time, it was actually that!
She’s now ready to start her day
And the birds resume chirping like a choir
Barbie is ready to face the world dressed in her
Barbarian Bra and Bountiful Bootylicious Briefs and
Other Amazing Attire
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
They told her
That women fade out
Of the spotlight
As time
Tic-toc
Passes by
And they fade
Melt
And sag
In the summer heat
Of the ellipsoidals
They told her
That she wouldn't live
If she put on her armor
To fight off the criticism
And she donned the golden band
Uniting her with her dreams
They told her
That she would be surrounded by people
But entirely alone
And she listened
But behind her teeth
She locked a thousand biting words
And a lashing tongue
That she yearned to unleash
On their haloed heads
Instead she shrugged on her apathy
Strangely warm
And gray-hooded
Like a murky puddle
Formed on the cracked asphalt
Of an abandoned playground
But when she went home at night
What they said
Dared her to prove them wrong
So she shook off the gray
And the murk
And she did.
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 6:59 PM UTC
The tints of yellow and brown,
Tis' near the fall season now.
See, the parks so beautifully donned
With falling leaves and gentle wind.
So put on light jackets and get comfy
Gear up, set the bed and get ready
As we watch for the Jacksonville Fall Home & Patio Show
With a hot soup bowl, and waiting for snow.
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
Magpie alights on the eaves
tonguing a bitter wild berry
***** head left,
right,
decides against this spot
and relocates to a new one
out of sight.
Autumn happened today,
again.
Same as every year.
I was under the shade of the porch,
coffee in hand,
and smelt a change in the taste of the wind.
It's been at least ten degrees cooler
and I've donned the first piece of warm clothing
since April.
Magpie perches on the red wooden
fence on my right,
still gently squeezing that berry-
as if testing its ripeness.
Head ***** left,
head ***** right,
magpie flies away.
The leaves will start to turn this week.
Maybe next.
My coffee is lukewarm now,
same as the air.
Magpie sits in the yard
and carefully sets his lunch down,
prods his beak into the soil,
picks it back up,
and buries it for later.
Magpie flies away.
A rush of cold air sweeps through me.
Same as every year.
I rise and walk,
mug in hand,
back inside.
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
in today´s virtual worlds we take our avatars
to meet with others of their kind
in that cute coffee shop in neverland
hoping that one of many current superheroes
shows up for a quick drink before another dangerous task
like fighting dragons threatening fair damsels
killing the blinded one-eyed giant
defeating hordes of wild insurgents
saving our planet from superior but evil aliens
old fairy tales and myths
it seems
have donned contemporary virtual garbs
changed names and weapons
to happily exude their fascination
on yet another generation
hungry for adventures
that take them far away
from their quotidian battles for survival
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
****** Bag in sunglasses
donned indoors where
fluorescent sunlight cannot justify
the obfuscation of haughty eyes
so the visage is one
of pure pretension
and cockiness,
dichotomized
as self-assuredness
and the colloquial term for the phallus,
a literal ****
(I see him strongly in the memory of a high school field trip returning home school bus late night he sits sideways back to the window head leaning back sunglasses donned smug grin I rendered him the vessel and the scape goat bearing my burning hatred for the inflated ego wrapped in an undesirable chic I deem deplorable, hate hate hate)
Smug grin,
I wrote this poem from a bean bag
in the corner of the library third floor
whilst wearing sunglasses and
a taste of irony
on callous lips
twisted in an invisible sneer.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC