"frill" poems
Two, of course there are two.
It seems perfectly natural now——
The one who never looks up, whose eyes are lidded
And balled¸ like Blake's.
Who exhibits
The birthmarks that are his trademark——
The scald scar of water,
The ****
Verdigris of the condor.
I am red meat. His beak
Claps sidewise: I am not his yet.
He tells me how badly I photograph.
He tells me how sweet
The babies look in their hospital
Icebox, a simple
Frill at the neck
Then the flutings of their Ionian
Death-gowns.
Then two little feet.
He does not smile or smoke.
The other does that
His hair long and plausive
*******
************ a glitter
He wants to be loved.
I do not stir.
The frost makes a flower,
The dew makes a star,
The dead bell,
The dead bell.
Somebody's done for.
6.2k
He had a red raised bump from writing too long
Now, I feel a proud resistance from my 36 ‘o clock shadow’s frill
Summer cicadas, on Cranfield Road, always sang their song
and the sun set behind our blue Appalachian foothill
Now, I feel a proud resistance from my 36 ‘o clock shadow’s frill
I got to shoot Dad’s 30/30 rifle when I was fourteen
and the sun set behind our blue Appalachian foothill
No other Bayless has ever seen Peru’s countryside eaten in fire and morphine
I got to shoot Dad’s 30/30 rifle when I was fourteen
but Mom has always been a vegetarian (except for some fish)
No other Bayless has ever seen Peru’s countryside eaten in fire and morphine
Cheese, fruit, and silence is our favorite family dish
But mom has always been a vegetarian (except for some fish)
Mimi and Leiron love cats and Pops and I on ink relied
Cheese, fruit, and silence is our favorite family dish
Mimi’s glasses, shaken by sobs and laughter, fell off when he died
Mimi and Leiron love cats and Pops and I on ink relied
his dead lips were painted a shade too red, inexcusably
Mimi’s glasses, shaken by sobs and laughter, fell off when he died
The trashcan in my room was filled with murdered versions of his eulogy
his dead lips were painted a shade too pink, inexcusably
Summer cicadas, on Cranfield Road, always sang their song
The trashcan in my room was filled with murdered versions of his eulogy
He has a red raised bump from writing too long.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 10:44 PM UTC
The buttercup is like a golden cup,
The marigold is like a golden frill,
The daisy with a golden eye looks up,
And golden spreads the flag beside the rill,
And gay and golden nods the daffodil,
The gorsey common swells a golden sea,
The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips,
And golden drips the honey which the bee
Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips.
4.9k
1. Sunlight
There was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyed
in the slung bucket
and the sun stood
like a griddle cooling
against the wall
of each long afternoon.
So, her hands scuffled
over the bakeboard,
the reddening stove
sent its plaque of heat
against her where she stood
in a floury apron
by the window.
Now she dusts the board
with a goose's wing,
now sits, broad-lapped,
with whitened nails
and measling shins:
here is a space
again, the scone rising
to the tick of two clocks.
And here is love
like a tinsmith's scoop
sunk past its gleam
in the meal-bin.
2. The Seed Cutters
They seem hundreds of years away. Brueghel,
You'll know them if I can get them true.
They kneel under the hedge in a half-circle
Behind a windbreak wind is breaking through.
They are the seed cutters. The tuck and frill
Of leaf-sprout is on the seed potates
Buried under that straw. With time to ****
They are taking their time. Each sharp knife goes
Lazily halving each root that falls apart
In the palm of the hand: a milky gleam,
And, at the centre, a dark watermark.
Oh, calendar customs! Under the broom
Yellowing over them, compose the frieze
With all of us there, our anonymities.
4.9k
The toppling hyacinth,
Excitedly bursting at every corner
To show the world its colour.
The soft chrysanthemum,
A rosy brush of autumn's breath,
So stoic in their blush.
The pale gardenia,
A soft unfolding in cautious masses,
The tokens of a lover.
The quiet lilac,
Without a care for frill or grace,
Growing where it may.
The meadow shifts.
There is such blissful sorrow
In watching flowers bloom.
Aug 19, 2012
Aug 19, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
--To C. M.
Fountains that frisk and sprinkle
The moss they overspill;
Pools that the breezes crinkle;
The wheel beside the mill,
With its wet, weedy frill;
Wind-shadows in the wheat;
A water-cart in the street;
The fringe of foam that girds
An islet's ferneries;
A green sky's minor thirds--
To live, I think of these!
Of ice and glass the ******
Pellucid, silver-shrill;
Peaches without a wrinkle;
Cherries and snow at will,
From china bowls that fill
The senses with a sweet
Incuriousness of heat;
A melon's dripping sherds;
Cream-clotted strawberries;
Dusk dairies set with curds--
To live, I think of these!
Vale-lily and periwinkle;
Wet stone-crop on the sill;
The look of leaves a-twinkle
With windlets clear and still;
The feel of a forest rill
That wimples fresh and fleet
About one's naked feet;
The muzzles of drinking herds;
Lush flags and bulrushes;
The chirp of rain-bound birds--
To live, I think of these!
Envoy
Dark aisles, new packs of cards,
Mermaidens' tails, cool swards,
Dawn dews and starlit seas,
White marbles, whiter words--
To live, I think of these!
3.9k
342
It will be Summer—eventually.
Ladies—with parasols—
Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes—
And little Girls—with Dolls—
Will tint the pallid landscape—
As ’twere a bright Bouquet—
Thro’ drifted deep, in Parian—
The Village lies—today—
The Lilacs—bending many a year—
Will sway with purple load—
The Bees—will not despise the tune—
Their Forefathers—have hummed—
The Wild Rose—redden in the Bog—
The Aster—on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion—set—
And Covenant Gentians—frill—
Till Summer folds her miracle—
As Women—do—their Gown—
Of Priests—adjust the Symbols—
When Sacrament—is done—
2.8k
Ice-pink-peony
against the dusk
sugar-candy
pink-frill
Endless unfurling
bow your head
heavy now
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 8:06 AM UTC
Iris peels back
three generous petals,
ample in exposure,
a gravitationally drawn
dress, **********
with drops and folds, a downward-
opening, bares elegant anatomy,
stripped from the waist
of a lighter three petals, lifting,
inside, reflective,
reaching skywards, and naked
ribbed with natural frill,
raw with the colours of flower flesh
white tiger stripes
and purple veins,
curling towards the ground like tears
and lifting up like laughter,
with centered yellow streaks
that lead into the heart,
where another tri-petal formation
folds in on itself,
as if to contain some sacred secret
that is gently holding at her *****
a trinity
within a trinity
within a trinity
of beauty
her naked convolutions coil into
just the right amount of earthly space,
so perfectly held there in the air
with poised and dancing stillness,
the perfect allure
of a delicate goddess,
rooted in the ground
but living also
inside the I,
elevated by the gaze
into limitless imaginal expanse,
no mere flower, in relation
she is
an entrance
into love
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
CARNATION: Every frill in her dress is another piece of your heart broken. She withers in the winter but heaven forbid you see her at her loveliest in the spring.
VIOLET: Her voice sounds like steel cutting through velvet. You squeeze her tightly until she blooms in petals of blue and purple.
DAFFODIL: She's a field to run across but be careful that doesn't take you by surprise and lull you into daydreaming for the next 200 years.
SWEET PEA: By the time you lean close to her an inhale her scent, the sky will have already begun falling; she will have already transformed into vapor and taken refuge in your lungs.
LILY OF THE VALLEY: You'd expect to see her floating around in twos and threes, but she'd rather be hidden behind tangles of ivy, where you'd never find her.
ROSE: Be careful that when your hands are grazing her hips that you don't cut yourself because a woman hides her most important weapons under a layer of secrets and maybe there's more to the waistband of her skirt than you'd like to believe.
WATER LILY: A siren of the sea, she is lilting, singing a sad song and hypnotizing you, but you don't know any better and you want to see if she floats in your hands like she does in the water.
POPPY: Kiss her softly and when she collapses into pieces at your feet, scatter her in your bathwater and pull the drain plug and forget about her forget about her forget about her forget
MORNING GLORY: She stretches in the morning and sunlight rushes to touch her and the stripes of rays on her skin make you remember all the reasons why you woke up everyday for a reason other than habit.
MARIGOLD: Beware of the girl who covers her mouth when she smiles. Sometimes, it's because she doesn't want you to see that her heart is in her throat, but other times she's just trying to hide the fangs.
CHRYSANTHEMUM: Her clothes fall like petals in the depths of secrecy, but if you plucked them off the ground one by one, you'd still never know whether she loves you or loves you not.
NARCISSUS: You only love her because you see your reflection in her eyes and all she ever wanted to do was drown you gently.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
I was staring at the pompous Sun,
gleaming over water.
Its legs stretched out, one by one,
the desperate sea its fodder.
As I watched, I seemed to sense
a jealous sibling feeling.
Just east of this, the Moon just shone,
loneliness endearing.
"I'm sorry Moon," this I say,
I'm only facing west."
But his face, as I confessed,
I swear lost glow and jest,
I assured him of his beauty,
his loyal and regal air.
not 'sick and pale' with grief, once said,
but utter debonair.
A question's there, in the air,
the one I rose above;
"Then why on earth, little girl,
is the Sun the one you love?"
"That's incorrect, and so unfair,
dear Moon, for heaven's sake.
It's only if I turn my head,
I feel a dreadful ache."
The Moon still shone,
a quivering pool,
giant and yet so sad,
said no more
and looked ashore,
wishing what he had.
No more I looked,
no more I frowned,
enjoying the bright pink thrill.
How can I say,
"Sorry Moon,
we all prefer some frill."
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
1034
His Bill an Auger is,
His Head, a Cap and Frill.
He laboreth at every Tree
A Worm, His utmost Goal.
1.8k
cactus moon,
makes me swoon
as stars appear tonight;
my eyes reveal
the blossoms frill
have folded for the night.
but not my mind;
I often find
my dreams are locked so tight-
on fragrant flowers
and soft rain showers
and faces by moonlight.
bring me beauty,
love’s my duty,
sharing is my plight;
and in the garden
the Moon is warden,
the Universe is right;
as long as life
and sharpened strife
yield flowers to sunlight.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
Look into my eyes
They widen and glisten
I can show you the elders’ cries
Through sight, you must listen
Take my hand and walk
Soles silently cringe
Walk on but no talk
What you see is a matrix fringe
Curl your fingers together
Feel the icing on the tangible
Clear your throat, it’s fever
Of frill and lust, the dispensable
Can you see?
Can you hear?
Can you feel?
Speak with yourself –
It is no super than I.
The whispers from the moon
From rabbit’s supper to a drone
Akin to a butterfly from a cocoon
Echoes the sound of ‘Om’
Take a seat, float, know tranquil
Look behind, in front, anywhere
The silence is what remains still
Though entities exist everywhere
Can you see?
Can you hear?
Can you feel?
Speak with yourself –
It is no super than I.
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
331
While Asters—
On the Hill—
Their Everlasting fashions—set—
And Covenant Gentians—Frill!
1.5k
Fools may pine, and sots may swill,
Cynics gibe, and prophets rail,
Moralists may scourge and drill,
Preachers prose, and fainthearts quail.
Let them whine, or threat, or wail!
Till the touch of Circumstance
Down to darkness sink the scale,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
What if skies be wan and chill?
What if winds be harsh and stale?
Presently the east will thrill,
And the sad and shrunken sail,
Bellying with a kindly gale,
Bear you sunwards, while your chance
Sends you back the hopeful hail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Idle shot or coming bill,
Hapless love or broken bail,
Gulp it (never chew your pill!),
And, if Burgundy should fail,
Try the humbler *** of ale!
Over all is heaven's expanse.
Gold's to find among the shale.
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Dull Sir Joskin sleeps his fill,
Good Sir Galahad seeks the Grail,
Proud Sir Pertinax flaunts his frill,
Hard Sir AEger dints his mail;
And the while by hill and dale
Tristram's braveries gleam and glance,
And his blithe horn tells its tale:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Araminta's grand and shrill,
Delia's passionate and frail,
Doris drives an earnest quill,
Athanasia takes the veil:
Wiser Phyllis o'er her pail,
At the heart of all romance
Reading, sings to Strephon's flail:--
'Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.'
Every Jack must have his Jill
(Even Johnson had his Thrale!):
Forward, couples--with a will!
This, the world, is not a jail.
Hear the music, sprat and whale!
Hands across, retire, advance!
Though the doomsman's on your trail,
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
Envoy
Boys and girls, at slug and snail
And their kindred look askance.
Pay your footing on the nail:
Fate's a fiddler, Life's a dance.
1.6k
You confess your love like dropping a stone into the ocean.
She swallows it whole and greedy
rolls it about her mouth,
the open waves frill and spray in shudders
bashful, because she needs to taste all she can before it dips
below the surface.
and it dives,
fish or coral on its straight path? it doesn't give a ****
like you
like me, a barking a seagull over our rowboat
in after that stone
desperate after that stone
its slipping between my fingers,
through my hair
always just beyond, just beyond
over my shoulder the moon is a blurred marble
against the dull night of sea
and the farther I chase you,
the further I am from you ,
the quicker I remember I cannot swim.
Jul 30, 2011
Jul 30, 2011 at 10:30 PM UTC
I sit at the window sill
Summoning for spring's till
Of thickets of green mandates fill
The procession and succession with frill
All rise with new blossoms being a thrill
My spring garden fitting the bill
For the little birdies that mill
With their pleas of a worms swill
First, let's arrest the lingering winter chill
The deliberating ill
Citing that bitter bitter pill
That sentences my grief's overspill
With the last backlog of snow on the hill
Of the icy roads that overkill
Free my hammer from waiting still
For the arrival of springs shrill
And the exit of winter's will
My eyes hold court for the first daffodil
Logan Robertson
4/08/2019
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 5:38 AM UTC
Dear me!
you wax and wane
akin to moon
display a crescent to full
differ lovingly day by day!
a no-moon day too gives
the longing to watch
a nascent frill on sky
next day!
-Kesav Venkat Easwaran-
August 2008
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 8:15 AM UTC
There was an old person of Brill,
Who purchased a shirt with a frill;
But they said, 'Don't you wish,
You mayn't look like a fish,
You obsequious ol person of Brill?'
1.2k
Misty mornings and frost tipped blades
white-tipped grass slippery lanes
autumn chill running through red filled veins
As cold air brushes the face
Autumn mornings we have graced
shivers moments in autmns chill
wakes us up its no frill
Dark eery evenings add to the chill
Halloween beckons
free spirits roam
spookey goings on
as ghosts roam
Guy Fawkes is coming
be aware too
bang flash sparkle
sky s braced with colours
around you
Nature runs and hibernates away
storing food to keep hunger at bay
Trees rustle leaves depart
their journey floating
down in the park
Autumn is here having its way
as plants die off and wilt away
Birds migrate to warm climes too
far away from autumns chill
Seas become rough
no swimming today
summers has long passed away
Oct 20, 2011
Oct 20, 2011 at 8:04 AM UTC
Dainty frill below the waist
Elegance—a chalk line around her body
Warmth still there today
Even though she’s not
There’s a single stain,
“shush,” there was a stain
Now just folds of blankets
Mountains upon valleys
Caverns and river basins
All the way to him
In her spot, alone,
Finger on the stain
With ***** nails,
And foam eyes.
Feb 23, 2011
Feb 23, 2011 at 12:10 PM UTC
Day in.
Night out.
Inhabit the uninhabitable.
Burn,
and smolder.
Who left you behind?
**** to ****
Lip to lip.
Restless lovers on a summers night.
No frill and lace for you.
Decrepit corpses of once treasured breaks.
Repulsive and lovely.
Persuasively fickle.
Sinews haphazardly soldered together.
Lithesome substance,
leave your remains.
Salacious.
Canine.
Obsessive.
Cancer.
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
Along with affliction
Along with infection
Along with affection
AND MANY MORE UN-RHYMES
She speaks like Mother Earth paranoia
And whispers like drunken *******
Frill and forgetfulness and thrill and fullness
Decorate or mightn't you know how between the doors solidified
Trapped into the garden of fire and lava
I need not
I need not
I need not
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC
Completed Jimmy Dean Breakfast
Sang to the tune of Micheal Jackson's original song Billy Jean-1983
Verse 1
With the milk poured-bowl of cereal, hash-browns and melted cheese
I said, "got coffee grinds, sugar and cream and a cinnamon bun-
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.
Yea a cinnamon bun-with
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown."
Said "I just added sour cream, to the bagels with Philly cheese,
These pancakes almost burned, flip em' now-with a cinnamon bun,
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown."
Pre-chorus
Someone once told me, "be careful what you do,
Syrup goes terrible with salt... (Hee-hee)
And melted butter drippin' "be it food that's on the grill
And just add chives to as well, cold pizza's
Good breakfast to!"
Chorus
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
I just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
Verse 2
For forty danishes and for forty pies, granola on the side
Choice of sausage or oatmeal with jam? Pineapple and ham
And a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.
So next some cream of rice
Some croissants should do just fine
(Yea, real nice) Do just fine! (A-hoo!)
I asked could we have blueberry muffins (please?) lemon cakes with whipped cream
Maybe even Frittata's and strawberry's on the side, they should do just fine (Oh, oh)
With a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.
Pre-chorus
Someone once told me, "be careful what you do,
Syrup goes terrible with salt... (Hee-hee)
Whatever kind of pasta you eat
Huevos Rancheros with chili's
Beef hash and sauteed mushrooms
Even got egg omelette's too
Chorus
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
Just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
(Break)
Woo! Woo!
Chorus
Just put the griddles on, uh
Ya' know the waffles are almost done
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know the waffles are almost done
No-no-no, no-no-no-no
Just put the griddles on,
Ya' know the waffles are almost done
(Outro)
Just put the griddles on
Waffles will soon be done
Put the griddles on
Yeah, yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast
Jul 17, 2024
Jul 17, 2024 at 8:50 AM UTC