"frilly" poems
I tripped on a forest of roots & lost my clothes.
When this happened, I felt less a lady
in shame of uncovering from pink, frilly things
the shelter like feathers on a peacock or
ribbons track-marking a braid –
I was enclosed in such a house that I must have
become it myself. **** I saw tiger-stripes
eating their way from my hips to bottom
and made a big taproot, a radix to the physical
me, as rosy as a flower in the dead of spring
even billowing as petals will for wedding vows –
the single, womanly cavity I concealed
how together we became such a dollhouse
for nature and its ***** hair:
I, taught to play with my own frilly, pink thing.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 5:37 PM UTC
12 in the dark, I sit awake by the window,
Across from Hyde Park, and the feel of the wind oh,
Sparking a bark, Nana's remarking from below,
Canine matriarch against the boy with no shadow,
Time's flickering by and I begin to rust,
Consumed, I'm high with lust just for pixie dust,
But to fly you must be robust and adjust,
And I can't, though I try, I just look with disgust,
Sitting on the sill, I think of him mournfully,
Hard as I try, I can't think of him scornfully,
Despite the fact that he talks so informally,
He says my name and I know I was born to be,
Part of the family, I think of them nightly,
Tootles, the twins, Curly, Nibs and Slightly,
Second star to the right, it shines so brightly,
Hope he might come back if I ask politely,
He doesn't apologize, he's immature and he's cold,
Lives in a land without rules so he can't be controlled,
But as soon as I saw him I knew I'd struck green-gold,
Peter Pan is a joke that just never gets old,
Don't smile at crocodiles down in Neverland,
And if you hear a ticking clock, hope the ships are manned,
Because there's a high demand for the taste of pirate band,
And if you're not hooked by now then Hook'll tell you first hand,
I flew here like a bird in a night-dress, frilly,
Scared, trying to fight stress, skin like Chantilly,
Found Peter and I confess that the boy's my Achilles,
Now I'm a lost girl treading on Tiger Lillies,
Acorns and thimbles are my idea of 'bases',
And sword fights with pirates are my ***** chasers,
Watching the boys as they fly and admiring Peter Pan,
But he's the boy who can't love here in Neverland,
I wanted devotion, to marry men who were charming,
So I repressed, left my emotion, I left Peter Pan snarling,
My own species no longer, just a common starling,
Caged by age at my window, I'm Wendy Darling.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 3:36 PM UTC
Where's the ventriloquist
throwing voices around
like whistling stray dogs
the voice and the vision
a crystal *****
whispering
with mud in the mouth
the ***** doesn't lie
a yammering vantwilaquist
who's voice springs from a blood cream corridor
with electric lips and rainbow flesh
a lost beast dazzled in endless wander lust
in search of a scarlet women
surrounded only
by aspiring virgins
sworn to be true
by desolations caress
in black ash weddings
with white frilly dresses
weeping for delicate cruelties
they will never know
his father a falling star
his soul
an undulating cobalt shrine
to her
who he can not find
a catalog of discrepancies
a noxious experiment
with a wandering eye
lust ******
embattled between reason and passion
is that look your giving me
shorthand psychic humiliation
for my vile indiscretions I'm trembling to visit upon you
I'm wearing my face like window dressing
hiding the obscenity of my true will behind a curled lip
eyes down cast
hoping to use you like a vacant room
to smear the walls and floors
with your flesh like ************ glitter
too bad
i'm outnumbered by good people
there are sky-fulls of them
agitated with moral concerns
ruining my life with logic
those scoundrels
got pedigree
ideologies
religion
folded ears and moving lips
all monkeys see and monkeys do
who are they
and
were
is
their
ventriloquist
Aug 21, 2017
Aug 21, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
You are my morning cup of coffee,
My hot, steamy, caffeinated beverage made to wake me up,
I sip you,
Bitter,
Some sugar to cheer you up?
I dowse you in vanilla cream…
Any better my darling?
How come you are so nasty?
Not a morning person either?
Well I can't blame you,
Why do I think I drink so much of you?
Because I like you?
Well I do,sorta, the effects you bring to me are quite uplifting,
I shake,
Nervously,
Oh you startle me and delight me,
I feel comforted as you break open into my bloodstream,
My body on fire and ready to start my long and trying day,
Maybe we can get through this together,
Another cup is what I think I need of you,
Whether bitter or not we can make it through,
So my little cappuccino, so frothy and frilly,
I want you to know that I need you,
Like to start my morning, my every morning
Whether you are just black, or a venti latte with skim and carmel syrup stirred inside,
Or else I be stuck in bed all the time
There be no you to keep me awake or alive,
No reason to go outside and try,
No motivator, no mover, just me living my days on my own,
How terribly depressing I must add,
So I'll keep you company if you keep on stirring my brain with your caffeinated ways
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 10:55 AM UTC
Who here loves *******
I mean, dogs
Obviously…
Immature people.
I love ***** shows.
Seeing them all groomed to perfection, not a hair out off place
A shame some cute faces will just go to waste.
While some may whine and some may resist,
If it’s not monetised, well… does it exist?
Lined up in a row
Look at them go
Praying and hoping to win best in show, just for a itty bitty wittle headpat, while the owner gets useful things like money.
Cause a dog can’t use money, that’s just silly
Nails perfectly trimmed
Intelligence dimmed
Watch how they walk with a little trot, so proud of themselves,
its like they forgot they only have the same rights as their owners in 6 countries.
But dogs don’t need equal working rights, that’s just silly
Look its absurd
When they whine all their words
Clogging up space with their frilly likes and their silly ums that totally like inconveniences like everyone because they have to um like listen to a ***** talk for um longer than they like totally like um have to like ***
But they aren’t so bad, especially when you’ve had
A ***** that wont behave, a ***** that’s gone mad
Howling at the moon with their wandering wombs
It’s like there’s no party, only balloons.
If a ***** wears pants, do they go on all fours
Or do they get sent home for showing more than their paws.
Gasp at how they growl, protecting their hairy bodies, which, silly them, they don’t own.
They must be culled
Anger dulled
Knock in their thick skulls they are nothing but a *****
We all love ***** shows, we love the ******* even more.
So come on ladies, get down on all fours.
Feb 23, 2022
Feb 23, 2022 at 4:37 PM UTC
the child's house
domicile of estrangements
his parents dressed him like a little girl
against his will
a pox of gender confusion
glum aura
he ascended by violence
and lived through the logic of a mirage
except for copulating with demons
which of course
was ruined by
the good Christians
they who always hate ***
not wanting to be reminded
they are animals too
their heaven withheld
their halo's sullied
the vulnerability of desire their crime
Eros a disgrace
still beating their genitals until a wicked thunder
the pro-creative
an affirmation of paradox
between the continuity of life
and the dread of death
***** resurrections
a second *******
**** flood
without redemption
Satan standing on their necks
while God pulls them up by their hair
rebels to reason
bewitchers of wit
deranged by the myth
of dolls
wood and plastic painted corpses staring
and a blossom throated Goddess
ham handed monkey fist
jerking off in search of a bulls eye anyway
eyes bleeding on bare legs; lifting a white cotton dress
a bulwark of erections
like canons blasting puce spats
under his frilly skirt; a red rain
haunted by dead girls dancing
like homeless hip bones sway
a bewildered phantasm
in a doll house dream
Jul 23, 2017
Jul 23, 2017 at 2:32 PM UTC
I adore women
I refuse to apologize for it
I like the way their voices squeak in the upper registers
I like the fashions
I like the makeup
I like the aromas
Not the silly runway catwalk Biz that relegates them as awkward mannequins
adorns them in the impractical
and cloaks them in the absurd overreaching of the tired clamoring for something
new and unique
that which exploits their lithesome anorexic perplexing job requirement
I like the way they can shape shift, alter and assume new identities
I like the fact that some have mood swings and ***
I marvel that they can give birth
I like being aware that their 'water-weight' make's them grumpy
I'm astonished that they innately ovulate with the cycles of the moon
and that the Huntress Diana inherently acquired her namesake
Doesn't bother me a bit that "it's a lady's prerogative to be late"
or that opening a door for them is considered 'sexist'
I was raised with a sister and a mother
with lace and dainty frilly things
I caused them a lot of aggravation and consternation
I think they enjoyed it - nonetheless
somewhat
I refuse to apologize for it
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 12:00 AM UTC
spikes and chains
i enjoy the pain
frilly lace
and satin space
you’ve got quite a pretty face
especially when it twists into a scowl
when you put me in my place
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC
Pink balloons
Glitter nails
Glossy lips
Fairy tales
Frilly dresses
Pigtails with bows
"I have a secret"
No one knows!
Flowery handbags
Sweet perfume
"Can't keep it in "
Need to tell you soon!
Sparkly jewellery
Ballet shoes
"I know what you're about to lose"
"Tell me the secret I here you shout"?
Ok
''Closets open." I'm coming out!!! .....
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 7:40 PM UTC
The party starts at ten to three.
On the second floor,room twenty two
two vicars who had come down from Crewe were wondering just what to wear, to the shindig going on down there.
They collided,both decided to put on crimson frilly frocks,this was not a 'do' for cassocks or for smocks.
Room forty four up on the forth,was Lucy Ann,a double barrelled name of course,a horsey type who came by invite to liven lively up the night.
In number ten slept teacup Ken,who had never once imbibed,the porter was slipped a twenty,but was bribed to keep his big mouth shut, as ties were cut and Ken found Zen in a brandy glass,
and discovered parties were a gas.
The police arrived to room fifty five and found Miss Sterling doing the jive around the severed head of Fred the cook,
poor Fred never had any kind luck.
There is no escape from the party at Lancaster Gate and those who come are those who'll die
but the party is so flamin' good I'll try to sneak in,got to take a peek in room number twenty seven,where it's said,that the lady there can show you several kinds of heaven before you meet your doom.
Got to get in, get a room,check in time expires at noon.
I shall no doubt expire,naked by the fire in
room, one o one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
I feel like Godzilla in a frilly party dress
Wearing ribbons and flounces while causing distress
Or a jalapeno pepper in a pumpkin pie,
Dangerously spicy and living a lie
spiky and snarly like a cat in a cage,
yet trussed up in garlands that tighten with age
I'm sweet on the outside, I'm feeling quite witchy,
If you've read my poem, you'll say I'm just ******
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 12:26 PM UTC
I know that isn't how my grandmother would want me to remember her. Hell, the last time you saw me, I was fifteen pounds heavier, unkempt, and I was wearing that awful, low cut v-neck that made my chest appear a bit too supple. Wish you didn't remember me that way. But you do. But I do. You can't redact the past. Believe me. I used up every black marker in Oklahoma County trying.
You're dating a chef. By your lovely description, I could see the tendrils of spiraling capellini. Smell the buttered ciabatta. Were there candles? Did you whisper over the wine glasses? I hope there were candles. Cinnamon candles.
I actually cooked last night. Cajun tilapia and wild rice. Easing back into it. I've been living off canned vegetables for two months. Peas and carrots mostly. I'm going to assume if you and I shared this conversation in person, at this juncture you would whisper over wine glass, what was the occasion?
Heather called last night. The dancer. She needed a place to sleep. I guess her Craigslist roommates, those two shifty-eyed boys from Nevada, bailed on the 30th of September and the rent came due on the first of October. She hadn't paid it. Evicted. For a night, my room was adorned in all manner of frilly things and five pairs of heels. She left everything else in her car. She explained the decorations as proof of employment.
Don't worry. I didn't go there. Though, she thought I would too. After staring over her head at the beige wall behind her for two hours with my *** hanging off my twin-sized bed -- her lying in the middle -- I tried to move her to the east. She took it as an advance. "I'm not on birth control and I don't want a relationship," she said. Are any soft women left?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 1:49 AM UTC
*** whipped
Where the hell has he man gone;
n why can’t I **** in bed.??
All true men are incarcerated,
trapped on a clitoral plane,
where knee **** reactions
drives a man insane,
We all wear pink pyjamas
frilly knickers and a bra,
wear our hair in pig tails
shave our ****** ,,YAY HURRAA. !!
They feed us up on retinol
give us optrex for our eyes
provide the silken stockings ,,
denier thirty,,, OOH nice thighs.
So where the hell has he man gone-
I would like to **** in bed,
but guess I’ll just mow the lawn;
do the feckin dishes - instead.
Alan nettleton.
Jun 11, 2010
Jun 11, 2010 at 6:35 AM UTC
The Danube was moody that night
- stormy and loud and rowdy
like a happy old drunk
we walked side by side
and counted the stars
exploding in the sky
we were young
and we were new
and the air felt like fireworks
I wore a frilly skirt
and a silly smile
you wore your dinner jacket
with your grown-up tie
and we danced to the music
across the ripple river
while Belgrade woke up
all around us
with whispers and sighs
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
APPLE BLOSSOM
This tiny fairy, let us say has attitude.
Most little things get on her pip!
Sitting amongst fragrant blossom
Is not nice, no pleasure trip.
She has to put up with frilly petals
Leaves and the odd red spider.
It is the constant supply of buds
That to her is the decider.
She would like to go and pray
With the other fairies at the chapel
Not sitting amongst blossom
Waiting for the inevitable apple.
But as with all other fairies
She has her work to do, her duty
To sit there all pink and frilly
Feeling fresh and very fruity.
She tirelessly waits, and she waits
For the blossom buds to flower.
Then it is another waiting game
For the apples to appear very sour.
She once considered jumping ship
And sitting with the Fairy of the Douglas fir
But after some serious and careful thought
Decided that it would not really appeal to her.
But she is happy I suppose
But still would like to alter direction
Is it little wonder then that this Fairy
Has such a rosy red complexion.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
So came the days,
long of summer's winging
sweet the cherry chickadees sang
of June
Grasping leafy ribbons hung,
willowy warm the trees we swung
All the green - the frog soliloquy pond
Fritillaria, frilly forest fronds
grassy mountain meadow paths,
daisy clouds bloomed, swirling past
Wild geese flocked the lake,
dusk too soon alas
August night of seasons end
starry meteors flashed across
velvet black whistling to
a blue moon
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 11:41 AM UTC
I jumped from couch to couch, avoiding the floor that was lava.
The balloon soared and floated in the air, and it could not touch the ground.
Circus animal cookies and chocolate milk were there everyday.
When I was small, the world was big and magical.
My role models were Barney and Babar, Kermit and Elmo.
I wore pink leotards and frilly tutus and stretchy slippers and shiny, black tap shoes.
I’d look up at the sky to see that fluffy white clouds were bunnies, hippos and butterflies.
When I was small, nothing was impossible.
Parks were kingdoms and the jungle-gym was the castle.
My glittery costume gown and my plastic tiara meant I was a real princess,
Peter Pan would come take me away, to live in Neverland.
When I was small, I was immortal.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
I love lacy umbrellas; and pink parasols, a ***** in waiting; showing ******* and ***** I love fashion hats; all feathers and lace, hot party gurl outfits; poses of elegant grace. I love tea parties; and playing dress up, I love things dainty; and riding a crop. I love teddy bears; ******* on **** men who wear ******* and pink frilly socks.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
A Barry Hodges poem by Edna
I remember a girlfriend called Mary
Whose ***** was exceedingly hairy;
She came from Newcastle;
And the stench of her ********
Converted me into a fairy.
Thus I rejected your Glorias and Glendas
In frilly white bras and suspenders;
And sought sweet catharsis
From the nice juicy arses
Of poofters and other gay benders.
Redemption came to me from Millie:
A big girl, a well-padded filly;
She was just a Geordie
And really quite ******
But her **** smelled as sweet as a lily.
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 12:43 PM UTC
The first rain.
Silver drops that
soothe the wounds of a
parched earth!
In elation,
the emaciated earth
released an earthy fragrance
trancing in its soul.
The green frilly leaves of the Ivy plant
gifted the earth a universe
meditating in the heart of a water droplet.
A euphoric red-winged cuckoo
sang a melody in stirring tones of mirth.
The first rain came.
With it came a pall of gloom.
A nostalgic pain that
growing up
snatched from me the ability
to dance in the rain,
sing with the cuckoo,
go wild under the
thunderous fireworks of the sky.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
If I had a garden
with frilly little fairies
I’d catch them all,
grind them up for pixie dust!
I’d tie a lovely pink ribbon
around a pretty little phial
and with a pure gold necklace
decorate your beautiful neck
Then wherever you go
fast or slow
you’d have some magic
to turn your day to happy from tragic
and maybe always
have some sunshine
while I sing because you’re mine
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
This tiny fairy, let us say has attitude.
Most little things get on her pip!
Sitting amongst fragrant blossom
Is not nice, no pleasure trip.
She has to put up with frilly petals
Leaves and the odd red spider.
It is the constant supply of buds
That to her is the decider.
She would like to go and pray
With the other fairies at the chapel
Not sitting amongst blossom
Waiting for the inevitable apple.
But as with all other fairies
She has her work to do, her duty
To sit there all pink and frilly
Feeling fresh and very fruity.
She tirelessly waits, and she waits
For the blossom buds to flower.
Then it is another waiting game
For the apples to appear very sour.
She once considered jumping ship
And sitting with the Fairy of the Douglas fir
But after some serious and careful thought
Decided that it would not really appeal to her.
But she is happy I suppose
But still would like to alter direction
Is it little wonder then that this Fairy
Has such a rosy red complexion.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:23 AM UTC
I want you
to make love
to me
Kiss me, ****** me
Make love to me
everywhere
Until
I just fall on my knees
And let me worship
your each part
Waiting
to viciously devour
your frilly pink pie
Your face now has
That look
So divinely ****
Or call it
devilishly seductive
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
Red is too fire,
Orange too bright,
Yellow too dire,
Green is too light.
Blue is too tame,
Indigo's silly,
Violet's a name,
Pink is too frilly.
Those are the reasons
(I've been keeping track)
It changes like seasons,
Now black's the new black.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
You hear their siren song in the air,
before you ever see the truck.
If it is “The Rolling Cones”,
Then my friend, you are in luck.
Where "Mister Softee" use to be
an old bald man down on his luck,
“The Rolling Cones” have sweet young things
Make **** sundaes in a cup.
These ice cream ladies sell the wares
while wearing frilly bustiers.
Men of a certain age all troupe
to wave their dollars for two scoops.
Curves and ice cream swirls can be
**** yes, but not obscene,
It’s a profitable duopoly.
They use hot babes to sell ice cream.
To differentiate their trucks
From the ******* coffee vendor “Cups”
They needed a name all their own
That’s why they’re called “The Rolling Cones”
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 6:21 PM UTC