"hooped" poems
This is the third time
I've planted climbing roses
The first two failed to fulfill
my romantic fantasy of
efflorescent roses
flaunting their naughty
frilly pink bodice
and hooped skirts
draped in loops
like gingerbread scroll-work
or fleur-de-lis
gamboling, sauntering
across the white French trellis
I guess I'm really a fairy trapped
inside this 5' 8" terrestrial body
I love how the amethyst moon-flowers
with the pentagram tattooed on their
belly button petals
cast a magic spell over the garden
And the night blooming jasmine's
enchanting fragrance wakens the
dreaming gardenia and makes everybody
including our blue eyed ragdoll kitten
a wee bit tipsy
I curl up on my midnight Jhoola
topiary shadows crouch
like royal sphinxes
in the starlit courtyard
and reflecting pools of water
from summer rains
swirl open their third eyes
~portals to another world~
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
I wander down padded blue halls and hear cries
behind closed doors guarding our summer lies .
The boy outside with the gold hooped ear
calls it a ghost town
then takes another drag and tears
slip past his locked up frown.
I never knew his name
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
It is deafening silence
Beneath the lanky pine shrouded of darkness
And the bed of needles soft under hand,
Snow sits shallow and dulled behind a curtain,
The hushed breath of a boy out of hand,
And the bark rough against back,
And the stick of sap against the palm, and the screech
Of tires far afield, and the breakneck cold
Cries with hidden desires of dark shadows breach
In the low mountains of housed hills where silence holds.
Once when warmth was in the heart
Among the walls solid evergreen held,
As the food hot and the flames low, a boy unfolded
The truth of heart that smoldered in anguished meld,
Rushed and tumbled forced out upon the wold
Of snow. And alone then
In the darkening cold, run by the streets light
And the pavements white with turned ash and the men
Roosting asleep while the barking dog grew trite
Whom echoed among the covered grounds and then
Stumbled on with anxious limb,
Thus feet sting, the glacial frost bitterly bites,
The hooped ring luminescent and hung, the lanky pine
Comforting in its shelter bare of lights,
And there to rest and rebuild new spine.
“He knelt, he wept, he prayed,”
By the hurt of his heart feeble in the dense dark night
And huddled bellow the knotting pine though in the homes,
In the past warmth, in the slow light,
At the loves gracious hold, he wished to roam.
“He knelt” in spindled branches,
“He wept” being cast out, “he prayed” to the hidden gods
That he be found rescued restored to right
Darkness pushed aside by the cars beam and the boy at odds
And the shimmering diamond studded earth and the black white
Into that light of promise
He wished to go but he sits eyes closed to darkness
With out the car which passed and broken he stands.
His heart wrenched breaking him choked by the collar
And up the way whence came to the shattered lands
It is deafening silence,
Reentering in the house torn, in the whirl-
Wind of heated battle, into his room
He crawls, in the slow light of the dreams world.
And he rises with new light arching through the sky.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
Up in the land of Temalahoo's
the people forgot the number two!
The start of races was often cut short
with a Three... One... oh wait! Abort!
Nobody could seem to come up with a fix
except for the little jolly kid Nix.
See little Nix was really quite young
about eleven months past the age of one.
Never forgetting his next step of the way
little boy Nix knew the number astray.
But because of his age, no one would listen
and little boy Nix grew frustrated with them.
He hooped and he hollered that lonely lost number,
but simply could not awake his fellow mind's slumber.
And it wasn't until he had long since grew,
that little boy Nix got through to the Temalahoo,
but by then little Nix was no longer so small
and he too had forgotten along with them all.
Apr 26, 2010
Apr 26, 2010 at 3:07 PM UTC
I hear its song in the wind.
Its mournful rhythm swaying through the leaves.
It's calling me to see its glory, its splendour.
Its calling me to sleep, a leafy lullaby.
Its rustle reminds me of a long hooped dress,
rustling across the ground. Running. Laughing. Hiding. Lost.
I am the wearer of the dress.
Silken leaves shimmy to a bride's first dance.
I am Meinir that runaway bride, lost inside the tree.
My bones will not be found inside the lightning shattered tree, my soul is in the voice of the Talking Tree.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
Waved bangs frame
Your fair young face,
And flowing clothes hang
Like drying laundry
From your gangly limbs
We met for lunch once:
You, daughter of
the stars and I the curious
Traveler. My words did
Not flow as I’d hoped,
But hung limp in
The air vulnerably--
For your guarded heart
Ignored their pleas.
I see you daily, star child,
With your hooped earrings
And painted lips, eyes
twinkling like distant suns.
I will continue to admire
you from afar,
Even if our worlds are
Not in orbit and our
galaxies sit light years apart.
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC
You swooped down
Hula hooped
And dropped for the kiss
Lit cigarette in hand
Laying down in the backseat
Feeling the cold air once more
Planes in the distance
We leave Tuesday
We could be there for each other
I would still sell my shoes
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Shivering bones that show joy in what doesn't exist
Hooped fingers dusting flakes of insecurity from your eyes
Shadowed in the mist
Casting taloned wisps of cursory
Into the already sodden air
The deluge of heat from the flames
Lay memories of dispersed feelings to rest
Curling the hair on your skin in its fervid ferocity
Rusted metal
Drawing its sisters from your flesh
Like water from a spring
Cold
Cold and thin
Crushing daisies beneath our feet
When the placid pleasures become too much to bare
And all over again you failed that day
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:13 PM UTC
_________________
Flash Back!
*I’m bringing back
the big hair, pink lips,
short skirts with
hooped earrings.*
_________________
It was simplified and
dignified by its flashy
design and freedom
of expression.
It was pizza and beer
on Friday night,
X Files on Wednesdays,
Star Trek blazed across
the screen and aliens
took over the movie industry.
Iconic designs that still influences
our creative side.
Facebook was nothing not even
an idea at the time.
Twitter hadn’t made a peep,
and WordPress was a
blank screen.
© 2019 By Amanda Shelton
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 2:06 PM UTC