"frilled" poems
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay
there are swings now
and empty barns
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak of the past
...and little dogs
not big ones
the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say
and flanders
(the holder of those pigs)
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun
i can still hear the screams
of river shore dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees
think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane
they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 4:46 PM UTC
Memory is a beautiful thing.
Those warm summer mornings sitting on the front porch.
Jumping on Colton's trampoline in a frilled baby pink tu-tu.
Little white bows in my golden curls as I bounce,
grinning so wide,
in the rays of the Texas sun.
Trips to the lake in our old boat.
The water warm and glittering, calling me for a swim.
Tubing behind the Seaswirl with my baby brother,
giggling like little kids do.
My old cowgirl costume for Halloween.
Running from door to door with an old ragged filled pillowcase in hand.
Singing Hilary Duff in my 5th grade talent show.
Nervously shaking as I watch the smiling crowd in front of me.
My first crush sitting next to me in math class,
Mrs. Woo telling me to stop daydreaming.
Green eyes that stare back into mine, laughing, moving in front of me.
Adventures in Burbank with Megan.
Laughing so hard we fall to the sidewalk in front of a full Mexican restaurant.
My first boyfriend kissing me under an oak tree,
in McCambridge Park at sunset.
Here I sit now.
At my washed out desk in a new dorm,
in college.
My life will keep moving on,
and I have all these beautiful memories to fill it with.
My own personal home videos to dance through my head,
as I think,
as I dream,
as I film more to think back on in ten years.
Life is too beautiful to waste.
I thank God that I have been so blessed to be living.
Loving, laughing, singing, dancing, smiling
and holding on to this free spirit that possesses me and moves me.
Someday life will be but a wonderful memory.
Sep 21, 2012
Sep 21, 2012 at 4:03 PM UTC
(This verse is painted for my Loving Daughter P Suzanna Christy on her 8th birthday)
It was the day she began to move out,
She’d been in the cradle of her mother’s womb
Some seven years before silently in her dreams,
And her dreams! Who knows? But He knows.
Her mother, yea, yet to be a mother then!
Then in her travail, yet rejoicing in God’s Gift,
With her friend and neighbors close by she was wriggling.
Her father, yea, yet to be a father then!
Then in his journey, anxious, yet praying all the way,
None but the Father in Christ is beside him.
She reaches the eighth milestone of life,
How she hath reached is by His Mercy.
I remember the day of entry into the world,
She made a cry within and it was not heard unto us,
We could not know why she had cried within,
But we know for she had prayed within,
And now we’ve learnt that her first cry would be to Him.
Her mother’s friend took her in his arms,
And showered thousand kisses on her tiny forehead,
And it is he always the God-sent providence unto them.
Her mother rose from her anesthetic sleep,
And her every breath, it’s the fact, pronounced THANKS unto HIM.
She longed for her God’s Gift and took her in her arms of love.
I watched her imprinting kisses on the silky cheeks.
Every one wept and there were tears of joy,
I collected those tears in the deep of my heart.
She hath reached the eighth milestone of life:
She flutters as the dancing star in the sky,
Like the tiny trout in the running brook she plays,
Sweet like the ripe apple ‘midst the orchard,
‘cross the horizons of joy and laughter she traverses,
Dressed in the Blessings from Above,
She looks purple with floating frilled skirt,
She wears the smiles of her mother,
Filled with friendly wishes from her school mates,
She walks amidst the song of her little blooms.
I can’t hold her joy she experiences,
And so her mother shares it with her
And too with her for she hath carried my prayer in her womb.
She grows with the Heavenly Grace,
And does proclaim the Glory of Heaven in her life.
Now she’s a little plant to grow more flowers,
And every flower shall be the message of His Mercy
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:22 AM UTC
They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia,
Opulent, flaunting.
Round gold
Flung out of a pale green stalk.
Round, ripe gold
Of maturity,
Meticulously frilled and flaming,
A fire-ball of proclamation:
Fecundity decked in staring yellow
For all the world to see.
They brought a quilled, yellow dahlia,
To me who am barren
Shall I send it to you,
You who have taken with you
All I once possessed?
3.6k
The zephyrs run rampant from the heavy
clouds, one that the balcony Beauty fully
embraces.
Clad in her yearning garments, a dress of
snow silk-satin with a thigh- high slit and
a frilled silk-hem.
Whose arms are raised towards
Winter's melody-
The zephyr's caress ever so gentle,
her dress flutters like a dove's wing in delight,
stroking her slim feet,
her flushing heels-
It makes briefly escaping being enwombed
by the shades of her room; the anti-chamber
of her heart's greatest desire,
where many tears are shed.
a maid born of the mild moon-
Kourê.
The Sun at its zenith pales in comparison to
her beauty.
Her face, sonnet sweet-
Her voice, heaven's hymn-
Her lashes, argent's flutter-
Her eyes, cerulean haunts-
Her body, fragrant; a slender willow-
Her hair, silver-aurorian blaze, held up
by a star-studded parrot's clip.
Snow bejewels her divine lids, down to those
rosette buds that make her lips.
Despite it all, melancholy has a grip her
features-
She is one who pays little to earthly riches,
for it provides comfort in slivers
Thoughts of flowers rest far from the altars
of her mind, for her mind is clouded by
the thoughts of him-
He who she hopes to see and hold once more.
As he gave her word that he would return
from his journey, leaving her in the palace;
his hand pulling the black gates.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC
Become medieval when the rain starts –
put coins in my corset, they are pure gold & evil
and show the men using my Thanatos drive:
I could not care if they want me,
I could not care if they hated me alive.
Rather the leaf upon dress-breasts much as
a muzzle, came from a box of cardboard slits
opening like lady-legs. I bribe the thrash with my
whispers & wheels, promise to soak up sky’s tears
but she certainly prefers the black ash haul.
I bring myself to the top of a volcano, its arc,
convinced that it cannot soot me,
not in the rain: such scorch is unreachable.
There is this protruding spiral in the center,
going dark, a pupil. It eats my hair-ribbon and I
sweat, but I am upon all terrains of the Earth
prepared to fall into a clutch, the gold stain my skin
before peeling by storms, how plague-like I seem.
Could be on my back when it implodes –
though my skirt would not appreciate the mess,
I think the idea fine. I am already pink, red’s better.
Wires and flushed cheeks will be what they find,
the men, knowing that I could not care.
And I did not; it was not less than a shot of
lightning stuck under a petticoat, frilled for nobody
but the volcano who turns ********* to embers.
the rain that beasts eyelashes to amputees.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
Perish the thought that coats
Our tongues with hard harsh words
Inchoate reaching beyond grasp
Scantly strum our plush stairs
Scaling arpeggios
To soft crescendo as hands clasp
Gently brush angel hairs
Like magnet and shavings
Draw forged iron from gorgeous shrouds
Cherish the touch that floats
Like snowflakes whispering
In hushed descent from secret clouds
I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart
Saintly calm amid storms
Whose roil-released crystals
On sprinkled tongues and cheeks alight
Enlace the fringe that frilled
Our sheer contours' luster
Emerging from dark thunder bright
Embrace the mists that build
Like cotton enfolding
Cumulative nimble and fond
Faintly kiss dermal forms
Like ghost lovers made flesh
Coaxed tumescent from far beyond
I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
There's a time in the morning
when the hidden sun is stirring to rise
as the bottoms of boats sink in first water.
Stillness.
Empty roads and empty pavement.
Cobbles kissed with frost
sparkling diamond dew.
The waves rise and crash
like crowds of cheering children
stampeeding into Narnia or Lilliput.
In the still of morning sands
there are no thoughts
only peaceful fancy
fantasy flights on the back of sea frett
or beneath the murky grey/navy foam-frilled ocean.
This world is mine
every grain of sand
every footprint mine
every inch of fabric green draped;
every exhale turned winter wisp laced
with the magic of endless horizons.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:05 PM UTC
The ballet stage was not a place for me
Late at night this child not too bright,
Stepped out
All forlorn
In long nightdress
Frilled all round
With red candlestick
And there on stage
At Sadlers Wells
She did propose
To dance composed
But having not an ounce
Of spatial sensé
Missed the placement of her feet
And at the end
As the audience clapped
She curtsied with her back
So none could see
This shining star
With her
candlestick
A flame
Just
The long and flowing hair
Which got her further
By far
This beautiful
Falling flower.
Love Mary ***
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
1572
We wear our sober Dresses when we die,
But Summer, frilled as for a Holiday
Adjourns her sigh—
1.4k
I used to bang on fretted strings
frilled out chords and pretty things
I closed my eyes and let it flow
no boundaries did imagination know
I still can feel the rising rush
of blood electric through my veins
reminisce of all the chains
I've busted through
me and my crew
we did the do and so much more....
out of this world we did explore
through the sound, through the music, through the sound, into the mystic, so profound, to feel the music...
in our blood, hearts of lust
a musician's kind of kindred trust
i miss those days...
I sometimes weep inside
I hear a verse and groove the vibe
but something inside me knows it died
...
A life once lived, so true...
so true
That life I lived is through...
so through
But still I keep an acoustic propped against my wall
in case that the muse of music does call...
please call
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 8:12 PM UTC
I never knew
Or asked the questions
When young enough
To change fate.
Just kept blowing
Out the candles
In their frilled holders
Until all was too late.
Love Mary ***
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 5:05 AM UTC
Legs rusting in cement
re-barb poles of anchoring
but no foundation suffice
for the feelings of neglect in childhood
the bricks arise
the mortars set
but in a misshapen pattern of mangled misanthropy
and charred remains of humanity
a family is for one thing,
comfort in an odd place.
holding to conformity,
telling you who you are, when you are not.
when it all goes awry, the suns still in your eyes,
eyelashes cant curl enough to make you pretty in asides,
poems monologues that you speak don’t take time to preach,
pain and hiding that you try to flee from during human touch or human speech.
I cannot handle myself much less others.
I cannot speak with anyone so I have to speak with you.
Or I have to hold back a heart mired in loving glue.
horses died to allow me to roam, trees die still to make my home.
I still cant fashion pictures true of a family of five with six that are real
alive alive
I jig and strive to dance away my hate for life
it waltz's its way upon my ears and kills my familiarity fear
I want life in its sake
I want death timely
we all want things that just feel right,
feel just fair.
I want Disney land to not hurt when I get to the entrance
because it all turns out right
suburbia is not a Moasist country frilled with soulless black eyes
no sparkles.
all the glitter is very much silver and also the gold of the joys of souls
the way I feel is that if these wrought iron fencing’s could help to divide me any more
I could be one with them. Solitary atom.
They could be my home. They could coincide with differential turnings in my brain and eventually destruct me into molecules that would inherently be of their own. Be singular
but in the current state of matters.
I must depend upon all matter to be the one thing that holds me together
what life is this?
this makes me brittle
makes me short
controls me into any contortion that is to them beautiful
for now
I must be beautiful.
**** that.
To contort and retort, when we only wish to wobble and pulse with Brownian motion. My own happiness should not derive from people; I wish to not be near nor around in any small sequence,
they are merely dead to me.
Non-animate.
this is the platonic family we create.
This is life that we see from dead, dank, and sorrowful eyes.
Pity.
Forced.
Relations.
Consummate. Indelibly.
You people should be ashamed of yourselves for forcing love. By any means.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
Since its inception, Aarong has been determined to bring about effective changes in the lives of artisans and underprivileged rural women, by facilitating and advertising their handicraft. Today, it has become the foundation of independent cooperative groups and family-based artisans. Now, it is known as a contemporary life outlet, among people not only in Bangladesh, but all over the world.
This wedding season, you can adorn yourself with one of Aarong’s festive looks. On November 17, Aarong launched their latest product line – the Wedding Collection.
Aarong has introduced a series of looks and styles to try out this wedding season for brides, the bridal entourage and the wedding attendees. What’s more, they are promoting Jamdani, Muslin and Katan sarees as the choice of outfits to wear for the bride and her close ones.
The line is introducing bridal wear in some uncommon hues, moving away from the routine “red” to peach, pink, purple, blue, green and beige. These unconventional colours can also look grand on the big day, and this is the idea that the creators of Aarong are attempting to establish.
Jamdani saris will be incorporated with remarkable embroidered and printed blouses, helping ladies look regal on their special day. The wedding entourage also has a lot to look forward to. This special compilation includes Katan and Jamdani sarees, paired with embroidered blouses, ideal for any reception soiree. Katan sarees can be worn in bright or bold colours and contrasted with multi-layered pearl jewellery and complementing blouses. Furthermore, the collection also includes Jamdani saris in light shades such as light pink, peach and white, and these can be paired with frilled petticoats or dupattas.
Along with gold, the creators encourage the brides to try out silver jewellery with complementing stones, layered pearl neckpieces and hair ornaments. Hence, the looks are a mix of modern and traditional, and are not only advised for the bride, but also for the close relatives or wedding attendees.
This collection also comprises of saris, appropriate for the bridesmaids, the cousins, the sisters, and even the parents of the to-be-weds. Aarong has prepared similar ‘matching’ attires for the bride and the groom, that are perfect for particular occasions like Holud, Mehendi, Aiburo Bhaat, and so on. For the bridegroom, as well as his family and friends, there is also an exclusive range, that includes Sherwanis and Panjabis. Aarong also provides a variety of gift options such as ceramic dinner set, cushion and bed covers, as well as women’s accessories, such as bags and purses.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/backless-formal-dresses
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 2:00 AM UTC
The evening sky ripened and the melting
snow trickled lightly as we walked past the man selling orange and cactus and the restaurant on the corner hosting a pink and frilled quinceañera.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC
i blame a lot.
i blame myself
i blame the people around me
i blame the people that left me
i blame this town
i blame my family
i blame
i blame
i blame.
but what if no one is to blame.
what if this actually is just some freak of nature
and this is just how the universe plays out
a sick dance of broken family trees
a pageant frilled up
for all the soul ******* humans
to see
and partake
maybe i was meant to be awake
maybe sleep isn't for me
for a reason
maybe i'm supposed to be the alive one
maybe dying makes you breathe
maybe i'm just not seeing
what i'm supposed to see
maybe everything is backwards
like my sister's overalls
at her backwards birthday party
when we were
three
maybe
maybe
maybe...
maybe destruction is actually
d e s t i n y
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 3:00 AM UTC
As the light slowly etches away the night,
The colours slowly pop up, bold and bright.
They glisten as they finally reach out to their life source,
And suddenly life's denied of any remorse.
The gods have frilled their favorite planet for the grand opening of the year,
A cosmic intervention, a dimension of no fear.
And the trees rejoice, as they humbly accept the gift heavens bring.
And the trees rejoice, as it is the time of the venutian spring.
The planet begins to scorch as the mighty sun brings forth his might,
A new world is put in order, the day shines with the brightest light.
And the nights are shorter, who would want to sleep?
The season is young, brimming, tender and ready to reap.
The aura blankets the lonely planet, a radiance of sheer power,
Automating anything and everything that makes worlds what they are.
And the children rejoice, as they live their childhood like no one shall ever.
And the children rejoice, as it is the time of the mercurial summer.
The third quarter commences, the sun slowly begins to shy away,
The lethargy sets in, the rustling of the leaves fills the empty voids of the day.
What hath this sound done to the mighty Helios, for him to curtail his blazing steeds?
Winds humming, forcing the flame to succumb to their needs.
Orange and gold strewn on the open land, opens the gateway to a world azure.
Dusk dominates this time of the year.
And the winds rejoice, as they blow coupled with the soft rustling percussion.
And the winds rejoice, as it is the time of the erisian autumn.
The year opens to its close, a cloud shedding white precipitate,
has opened itself to the world in which people relate.
A blanket of frost covers all, a preservative by all means.
Few think of this as a time of redeem.
A solitary tree stands, below it, the dead memories of the yester seasons.
The night overpowers the day, rest need not need reason.
And the world rejoices, as it braces itself for the forthcoming year.
And the world rejoices, as it is the time of the martian winter.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC
The choir’s mewling dips low,
And is raised back up by loving hands.
Bestowed upon them his grace,
Soft nectar for their sides.
Double knots and silk collars,
Frilled white dresses on the girls,
They seem to sink in record time,
Adorned by practiced, innocent chastity.
And when they finally meet their key,
In gold or silver, sent with love,
Bowing their heads they walk back inside,
To obey the every whim of their ordinance.
Like flocks of bird they come flowing in,
To restful sheep along on the pews.
And each alone in their pleasant song,
They dip low with each passing note.
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 9:45 AM UTC
What will it take just to format those Stars
When Wits un-matched end in Victory's Clash
Still, persake, place Enjoyment in those Wars
Which Admirers dwell; Then Illusions flash
That Castle, drawn, yet eager to withdraw
Still your patient Former will Advertise
As the Latter - frilled - take Flesh from the Saw
Placed Fingers for Fame; Then moot to Realise
Which how conserved is this Enlightenment
If Seven Youths stream for Eight Elders more
But, if pleased, make-do for Comfortiment
As Sympathies wise-up from avid Lore.
We can go on, since your Assets respond
Was simply a Myth; Like my Tones abscond.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
She's got her own unique
Perspective on Humbert Humbert
The great gentleman
Who killed the savage polar bears of the Arctic
I'd be lying if I said I didn't understand
Because tied charm and sweetness
In her little frilled socks
Is more than boys can offer
So, let's talk about our demons
And the glasses on your nose
Because one day she woke
And was suddenly grown up
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 3:01 PM UTC
How fleet, the time has fled
How months and years, merged into eons
How rivers have changed their courses
How forests into arid lands turned
How in place of shacks, sky scrapers stand
How the serene villages into bustling habitats made
How the frilled frocks into jeans and shirts changed
How old familiar faces have disappeared
Staring wistfully at a world so strange
In a remote and distant tract of time
With no grasp of the changes therein
Here I stand a Rip Van Winkle
From my prolonged slumber, just awake
With my memory, a blank sheet of paper
But with the blurred image of a Flagon of Ale
And a Ravine with Giant Eagles wheeling aloft
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 12:04 PM UTC
I had fallen in love with her at first sight
a six year old with eyes
moist with dewy tears
she stood among the other whining kids,
picked up from the compost heaps of life
her slight brown hair was tied
at the back into a ponytail.
in her torn pink frock and delicate frame,
she looked a fading rose.
on her face was the pain of desertion
with no Dad or Mom to kiss away the tears
or hold her close to the heart
the building with its cracked walls
had an aura of ruin about it.
everything, so shabby and stinking
and it was there that I met her
but among the many, locked up like caged birds
why did I single her out?
may be her cute look and seraphic innocence
made her so special!
even after I had left that place,
my thoughts kept returning to her
and I decided on making her happy somehow
the second time I went there,
i carried some knick knacks
and some sweets for the children to munch
also a parcel colorfully wrapped and tied with a ribbon
when I called her aloof
and handed that small gift,
i watched the twinkle in her little eyes
as she opened it with fumbling hands
curiosity peeked on her face and eyes
finally, when I took out the glossy frilled frock
she squealed in delight and clapped her hands.
saw her face aglow with excitement and joy.
into her bleak world I let out a flash of delight!
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 9:58 AM UTC
Under the blue sky, sunshine bright
On the carpet of green grass rolled out,
Running around was the little girl in white
In her tiny pink shoes, humming about.
Her big, round eyes filled with innocence
And those soft pink lips spread in a smile.
Her sparkly laughter depicts divine presence
Dancing on her tip-toes gracefully agile.
Those soft brown curls around her round face
A few strands reach down that sweet dimple
Her little white gown frilled with lace
In this huge world, her life so simple.
Bent over a lovely flower, she sighed
Admiring the nature's beauty around her,
'Mama, oh! Mama...', excitedly she cried..
Jumping, as the evening doves surround her.
I stood at a distance, taken by her charms,
'Mama..', she said again and ran into my arms.
Nov 19, 2017
Nov 19, 2017 at 12:26 PM UTC
Went off the deep end; kept swimming
with infinity overhead
No, I am not dead
just looking the part
So let’s bomb this system
rip these laws apart
Embrace a heart of darkness
transform pain into art
Often it’s hard to know where to start
Come up for air and take the first step
the path reveals itself
Plunge headfirst into the unknown
it is there you will find yourself
For You
For Me
For Generations to come
life is about much more than just having fun
Your words are a gun
Load up, take aim, shoot carefully
the injustice of existence can be undone
Keep talking your ****
Or
Grab a pen and weave your truth for all to see
the future is in your hands
serving as
(parenthesis)
Do not succumb to the powers that be
A priests benediction strikes at fiction
The Bill of Rights is frilled and frayed
A president lays splayed awaiting the richest *****
Break away from the flock of sheep following the snake of a shepherd herding the mindless off the cliffs of disparity
Congress feigns progress
Con artists abound on the misty streets
A nuclear rider waits at the gates of your estate
You see your past behind you as a spectral ghost
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:15 PM UTC