"draper" poems
a draper is someone who creates garments or patterns by draping fabric directly onto a dress form (Wikipedia)
~~~~
I am a draper,
by trade, by nature, by instinct;
a fling of one arm across her body,
while she dreams and sleeps, rambles, mumbles,
and even convulses,
to hold her tight with two, with both,
soon grows discomforting as the blood ceases to flow,
the heat breeds unsweetened sweat,
and the snuggling impact,
is too fast subsumed by the pins and needles
numbing, deadening,
and ironical attenuation
this is my pattern,
how I address her,
how I dress her,
draping my contiguous,
drawing five fingers
upon her form,
reshaping her in her sleep,
the arm flung, there, and then
there,
to be hung,
at varied places across her body,
higher lower, above below,
but her face,
free and clear,
so not to interfere
with her sensory preceptors
and as I draw my pattern upon her skin,
her body whole,
listening her to indeterminate utterances,
to determine
which
pitter patter pattern
to which.
she feels best suited,
then,
I prepare my
invoice
for her,
for services rendered,
to present upon awakening,
demanding
in voice,
by her voice,
payment in words,
of her own chosen
amuse-bouche,
mmmm, will it be?
good morning my love?
hello you!
or just an indiscriminate
but yet,
a discriminating
sound of
having been pleasured
by unknown forces
in her deeper sleep, using her lips
to say, to hum, to sing,
a genteel unspecific
but, and yet, a
terrific,
deep from within
guttural remittance,
the sound of a delicious,
mmmmmming
greeting
a new equinoxal gale
of a refreshing fresh
birthing, fulsome
already satisfying
draping of the
day
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 5:01 PM UTC
He was one of those guys who marry money.
And you can grok that in any sense you desire.
But be forewarned, my friend,
I am well-versed in a multitude of
Marry-For-Money manifestations.
Take, for example, marrying the Boss' daughter.
Come with me, for illustration's sake,
Join me in one such dis-functional household:
George & Martha's place on campus--
A classic Tudor-revival home,
Ivied & plushly-appointed,
A coveted faculty perk
Which goes along with the gig.
And the gag, for that matter.
I speak, of course, of Edward Albee's
Two perversely miserable humans,
Married to each other, to wit:
George & Martha, leading lives of
Pubis-scratching desperation, in
"Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?"
She's the only daughter--
Daddy's precious jewel--
Only girl-child of the President
Of a small, rural college.
He's the middle-aged professor
With no great pedagogic or research prowess.
His working-class perspective,
Viewing the quiet academic life to be
A significant step up in genteel existence.
Except--and there's the rub:
Mere existence is a far cry from
Living the good life Dan Draper &
The rest of Satan's Mad Men minions
Taught him to take for granted.
So George & Martha,
In terms of core values,
Have little in common;
More like opposites, in fact:
His starvation diet as a child &
Her helping out Mom at the
Food Bank on Saturday mornings.
It's those formative razzmatazz years,
He lacked the behavior blueprint,
The overwhelming fatigue of acting.
He's perpetually memorizing lines,
Practicing ****** expressions &
Physical gestures & phrases.
Guard up, another Oscar-worthy performance,
Burton is superb & Elizabeth Taylor
Showing us precisely why she is &
Will continue to be revered as an actress.
George knows she has his number.
The thing about the play is the
Intense malice the couple feel for each other.
For the audience, an experience in stage drama
Best classified as an intensely painful morality play.
A good thing to remember: Live Theater
Adds value to a community.
Give generously, please!
But I digress.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
words are just wonders
one
can release,
but only one's pen
could ever crease
into the safety
of a poem's lease.
so this
is
a
note
to
a
pen.
"
Oh,
draw
Your line
And never
Look back
From those
inked words
that flow
from
your
clack
and
let
them
flow
into
sharp
flack.
or maybe
give words
that proper,
warm embrace
which can get
lullabies fall
into disgrace.
or maybe just
draw a perfect
dark contour
playing with
edges that
make sights
demure...
add dots
and spots
on plain
white
paper,
like
living
knots
in the
hands
of a
draper.
pour
some
more
ink
on
me.
"
May 17, 2017
May 17, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
The sweet, reassuring drone
of the furnace
and
the invariant scratch
of graphite on paper
The clock ticks faintly, a groan
a pulse's race
and
the slight sigh of a match
known sole to a draper.
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
an errant pirate has been active
in the copying caper
naffing off with other poet's
scripted draper
this person was seen to be doing
some stanza reproduction
using a falsified form of title
introduction
as bold as brass
pinching what takes the fancy
not caring about the original
Nancy or Clancy
those who think that stealing
other writer's material is okay
have need of gearing
their scruples the right way
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
Wish you’d spank me.
Wish you’d drag me.
Wish you’d
make it
known
what you own.
Wish you weren’t
such a quiet man.
Wish you were rougher
with those strong hands.
Wish
you’d insist
That I do
your dishes.
Wish you’d make me wear skirts;
Wish you’d bend me
over, then,
before dinner’s served.
Wish you’d let me
fold your shirts.
Wish you’d f*** me
til it hurts.
Wish I was
your pretty,
little, thin-waisted missy,
and you kept
your reigns tight on me.
Wish you’d
pat your leg,and
invite me into
your lap.
Wish you’d let me curl up,
beneath your muscles,
all burled up,
more often than not.
Wish I packed
your lunches,
with little surprises,
you’d be embarrassed
if other men saw.
Wish you’d oblige me
with whispers
of “ride me”
and guide me
when it’s so early,
it’s blurry,
but you’re already
stirring.
Domestic Clink,
ain’t a bad thing,
long as you got
a fella
you wanna call warden.
Long as I have
a fella
I wanna call warden,
It’s a retro kinda kink
to stand in front of
a sink.
I’ll misbehave, clearly,
But you’ll find it
endearing,
and I’ll do it
with intention,
to end up under
your hand.
A Mr. Don Draper
to put
his thumb
over me.
But I want him blue collar,
and beefy,
and solid,
I don’t want whiskey
and suits,
I want beer and
work boots,
I want that
to be you,
Because that’s
what I need;
a good man
to oversee me.
I’m just here
to please.
I should have married
in the 50s.
Equality is boredom,
I want a **** warden.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
COLLAB. WITH AUSTIN DRAPER
It’s little more than a quiet thought.
The impending feeling that the loneliness
was a creation of my own imploding self-conscious.
I wouldn’t have hurt you voluntarily,
so what outside force could know my mind so well?
It’s little more than a spoken word.
The rumble of the oncoming storm could be felt
from as close as 1.6 miles away,
where the darkness of your room invaded the
not-so secret spots of your heart.
I’m prone, to the truth in your words.
I’m not used to the idea of confronting my thoughts
And sorting them out to you.
Is it that I spoke wrong words? Or I stopped before they meant anything?
You mean so much, and now you are out of my reach.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 9:39 PM UTC
How many have stood,
will stand beside you
in Heptonstall,
had a photo taken
next to her spot?
Students, admirers
from any nook or cranny
with drained biros,
Ariel under an arm,
her morning song spoken
again, and again.
You're the next-door neighbours
they haven't come to see.
Only a lonely cup
of coffee-stained
hunchbacked flowers
where you lie
in loving memory,
with Emily,
husband with wife,
home to the right
of the graveyard's star.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
a nicest girl I've ever remembered.
she's a photographer because she likes to take pictures.
Also, she's from Medina, New York located in Gennesse County and she always loves rainy days.
Anyways, i love Amber Draper because she is so beautiful just like me.
I wish i can be her friend someday in the summer of 2016.
Anonymous.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 11:16 AM UTC
That moment, when you kiss Don
good night and then turn away
to switch off the light on your bedside table,
and the smile is suddenly wiped off your face,
those three seconds when you rest your hand on the switch
and then quickly engulf the room in darkness,
that is your entire life.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 1:27 AM UTC
he's in the news
practically every day
for the things he'll
unthinkingly say
often he's seen signing
a managerial piece of paper
which is very important
in its draper
the heads of other
nations
aren't fond of his
aggravations
the word great tumbles
out of his gob
within every sentence
that word he'll lob
when he finally
moves off the stage
will it be filled by
another of his gauge
Jul 18, 2019
Jul 18, 2019 at 5:11 AM UTC
Janice's gran
had ask me to tea
after school.
I was sitting
in the sitting room,
(Janice had gone
to the loo).
You're Janice's best friend,
her gran said,
and I don't mind her
being with you
because you
are a good boy,
and I know your mother
would not let you
run wild or do silly things
like some children
around here,
and she always has you
dressed in clean clothes,
and feeds you well,
and because I am
responsible for Janice,
and need to know
she is in good company,
and not go on bomb sites
or knock on doors
and run away
or throw stones
through windows
of deserted houses
or take coal
from the coal wharf,
and when she is with you
I know she'd not
do those things.
I sat there listening to her,
waiting for tea to begin,
hoping there would be
good cake, and maybe
nice sandwiches
and maybe(although
I doubted it) coke or Tizer,
and hoped Janice
would not mention
going on the bomb site
in Draper Road
where we climbed
into an upstairs room
(hole in the roof),
and it smelt of ****
and dampness,
but we looked around still,
and hoped she'd
not mention us
(me mainly)
catapulting those window out
of that bombed out house
on the bomb site
behind the cinema.
Her gran was still talking,
and I smiled when she stopped,
and she said,
now some tea,
and Janice appeared back,
and sat next to me,
and smiled at me,
and her gran said,
I've just been telling Benny
about you, and what
you're not to do,
and I think Benny
is a very good boy
not getting you into trouble
on bomb sites or stone throwing
and things.
I sat with bated breath,
and Janice said,
yes he is good like that,
but sometimes we...
but her gran had gone
into the kitchen
to get the tea,
and it was just us
sitting there,
and I shook my finger
and said,
say nothing about the things
we've done less or more,
or she'll tan
your backside
as she did before.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 1:17 AM UTC
old forms will never go out of fashion
if poets keep scribing them onto the page
there's timelessness in their long staying stage
as seen by writers who hold a passion
tonight one reprises the sonnet's stock
bringing past master back for a re-run
so readers twill enjoy couplets of fun
e'en including some lines that shall rock
let not tradition fade on the paper
tis said things of age can be new again
yesteryears vogue showing its surviving
well into a modern era's draper
penning the craft of the lasting refrain
whereby we'll see them always reviving
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 7:59 AM UTC
Everything in my universe keeps tells me to erase you.
Like an interception, in the form of a phone call
From a minister just before I began writing this.
And I've considered it, tried to...but I keep getting rid of it, that idea.
I could never erase you...even if the desire were truly there.
I have been so dedicated to God lately, every second has been
like open dialogue. Where I'm babbling on to Him like I used
to do to you. I wonder if I haven't been using Him as a distraction,
like I also used to do to you. But that is neither real nor a bad thing. Just a thing I think, I guess.
So they keep telling me to erase you. Teachers, mentors, pastors,
friends, spiritual mothers, and sometimes strangers.
It just makes me feel alone mostly. How could they understand at all
if that's their conclusion? But I guess they see things through better eyes
than mine. After all, my eyes are what caused all this trouble for you and I. I mull what they say over. I really have had a good time, I promise...But there is always this thing. Snapping me back into the world that I exist in...the world you no longer exist in...Like a parachute giving me whiplash when I was floating along beautifully without it.
It's a thing like the sheet music to "What A Wonderful World" appearing out of thin air. Or pulling in to church to find you right there. And I run from these things! Hold them close...shove them in the closet under piles of things I no longer use. But they always surface.
Like someone telling me the first time I meet them about Rebecca's cheek bones. Or Don Draper's face, which I swear will be yours in about ten years or so. Even a dinner with friends can't make you disappear because inevitably they'll ask me about you at some point. Or someone won't know you've gone away. Or I'll walk through the woods...after traveling by boat, after smiling until my heart explodes to hear a whisper on the wind...of your voice. But I can't complain.
Twould be far worse a fate to suffer never hearing, seeing, thinking, or dreaming of you again.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
what makes a poet sing
is an innovative accord
on the words flowing
from a quill's written chord
what makes a poet sing
the imagery of the land
where blue hued mountains
majestically stand
what makes a poet sing
deep emotions in the heart's core
of love enduring like
the lasting waves upon a shore
what makes a poet sing
sunshine of bright array
kissing with a warmness
so smiles can on a face play
what makes a poet sing
the harmony on the paper
sung through thoughts
in a scripted draper
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 6:26 PM UTC
on seeing what got posted on paper
Joe saw that it was not of the true form
in the piece lay an inept uniform
this being so noted by the pro-draper
of such structure he knew a great amount
his years of experience were so well known
as exhibited in what he'd long shown
everything had to have the exact count
they who didn't present it in correct light
could expect a failure mark from his pen
nothing imprecise was given a pass
that would be his low score displaying might
they'd need the thoroughness of apt ken
when submitting for a crediting mass
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC