"kimonos" poems - Hello Poetry

The line didn't move, though there were not many people in it. In a half-hearted light the lone agent dealt patiently, noiselessly, endlessly with a large dazed family ranging from twin toddlers in strollers to an old lady in a bent wheelchair. Their baggage was all in cardboard boxes. The plane was delayed, the rumor went through the line. We shrugged, in our hopeless overcoats. Aviation had never seemed a very natural idea. Bored children floated with faces drained of blood. The girls in the tax-free shops stood frozen amid promises of a beautiful life abroad. Louis Armstrong sang in some upper corner, a trickle of ignored joy. Outside, in an unintelligible darkness that stretched to include the rubies of strip malls, winged behemoths prowled looking for the gates where they could bury their koala-bear noses and **** our dimming dynamos dry. Boys in floppy sweatshirts and backward hats slapped their feet ostentatiously while security attendants giggled and the voice of a misplaced angel melodiously parroted FAA regulations. Women in saris and kimonos dragged, as their penance, behind them toddlers clutching Occidental teddy bears, and chair legs screeched in the food court while ill-paid wraiths mopped circles of night into the motionless floor.

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10.3k

John Updike

Flight to Limbo

The line didn't move, though there were not many people in it. In a half-hearted light the lone agent dealt patiently, noiselessly, endlessly with a large dazed family ranging from twin toddlers in strollers to an old lady in a bent wheelchair. Their baggage was all in cardboard boxes. The plane was delayed, the rumor went through the line. We shrugged, in our hopeless overcoats. Aviation had never seemed a very natural idea. Bored children floated with faces drained of blood. The girls in the tax-free shops stood frozen amid promises of a beautiful life abroad. Louis Armstrong sang in some upper corner, a trickle of ignored joy. Outside, in an unintelligible darkness that stretched to include the rubies of strip malls, winged behemoths prowled looking for the gates where they could bury their koala-bear noses and **** our dimming dynamos dry. Boys in floppy sweatshirts and backward hats slapped their feet ostentatiously while security attendants giggled and the voice of a misplaced angel melodiously parroted FAA regulations. Women in saris and kimonos dragged, as their penance, behind them toddlers clutching Occidental teddy bears, and chair legs screeched in the food court while ill-paid wraiths mopped circles of night into the motionless floor.

30

The cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, in full bloom. Below the koi fish swim round, round in circles. The sun reflects off silk kimonos with a shine radiant, dazzling, With red lips against painted white skin, blindingly beautiful. A walk like unraveling ribbon, And hair like ink, bound tightly a few strands bound for escape. Untouched skin tainted by stares, clipped wings useless for an escape, Freedom comes in the hope of riding a cherry blossom, swelling in bloom. The leaves swirl to the ground, spiraling in nature’s ribbon. The glares of tigers ********** her, kimono falling to her feet in circles, Eyes of blue, green, never turning away, trapping those beautiful, The nature of a hidden world, shaming and stunning, confining yet so dazzling. The snap of the gold-trimmed fan weaving in and out, dazzling The crowd with effortless twists and turns; clenched tightly, no room for escape. A dance of untamed water in a disturbingly beautiful Unity of desire and fright. A young bud not on the verge of bloom Thrown into a crowd of tigers to be spun in uncontrollable circles And entrapped by the unflinching gazes in silk ribbon. The game is simple: mesmerize a pack with grace of ribbon, Attend engagements that ask for a dance, tea pouring, but never dazzling That pure smile too brightly. Fool the ***** tigers to follow in circles, But never trust a tiger that promises a chance of escape. Never fall for love’s first bloom, Never become the next to lose the light. Stay pure and stay beautiful. A kimono is only as pure and as beautiful As the woman underneath. By cutting the ribbon Of virginity by a friendly lamb, instead of tiger’s bidding for the bloom, Only leads to the fall of a shooting star, gracing the sky with its dazzling Beauty, and the hope and wish of an everlasting escape Is crushed by the weight of a soapy rag, washing away the hope in circles. Though the pain of the cage binds the mind in endless circles, Though tigers ignored the aching backs and blistered feet, staring at only the beautiful, It is better, safer to stay in the hidden world, banishing all thoughts of an escape. Keep the tigers in a tight ribbon, Stay young, fresh, never letting the mind wander away from dazzling, And never fall like a cherry blossom after its first bloom. A walk like unraveling ribbon, The sun reflects off the silk kimono with a shine that never ceases from dazzling, And forever watching the cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, fall in full bloom.

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Mar 19, 2014

Mar 19, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC

lydia-solkov

The Geisha

The cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, in full bloom. Below the koi fish swim round, round in circles. The sun reflects off silk kimonos with a shine radiant, dazzling, With red lips against painted white skin, blindingly beautiful. A walk like unraveling ribbon, And hair like ink, bound tightly a few strands bound for escape. Untouched skin tainted by stares, clipped wings useless for an escape, Freedom comes in the hope of riding a cherry blossom, swelling in bloom. The leaves swirl to the ground, spiraling in nature’s ribbon. The glares of tigers ********** her, kimono falling to her feet in circles, Eyes of blue, green, never turning away, trapping those beautiful, The nature of a hidden world, shaming and stunning, confining yet so dazzling. The snap of the gold-trimmed fan weaving in and out, dazzling The crowd with effortless twists and turns; clenched tightly, no room for escape. A dance of untamed water in a disturbingly beautiful Unity of desire and fright. A young bud not on the verge of bloom Thrown into a crowd of tigers to be spun in uncontrollable circles And entrapped by the unflinching gazes in silk ribbon. The game is simple: mesmerize a pack with grace of ribbon, Attend engagements that ask for a dance, tea pouring, but never dazzling That pure smile too brightly. Fool the ***** tigers to follow in circles, But never trust a tiger that promises a chance of escape. Never fall for love’s first bloom, Never become the next to lose the light. Stay pure and stay beautiful. A kimono is only as pure and as beautiful As the woman underneath. By cutting the ribbon Of virginity by a friendly lamb, instead of tiger’s bidding for the bloom, Only leads to the fall of a shooting star, gracing the sky with its dazzling Beauty, and the hope and wish of an everlasting escape Is crushed by the weight of a soapy rag, washing away the hope in circles. Though the pain of the cage binds the mind in endless circles, Though tigers ignored the aching backs and blistered feet, staring at only the beautiful, It is better, safer to stay in the hidden world, banishing all thoughts of an escape. Keep the tigers in a tight ribbon, Stay young, fresh, never letting the mind wander away from dazzling, And never fall like a cherry blossom after its first bloom. A walk like unraveling ribbon, The sun reflects off the silk kimono with a shine that never ceases from dazzling, And forever watching the cherry blossoms, pink and luscious, fall in full bloom.

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THERE is a woman on Michigan Boulevard keeps a parrot and goldfish and two white mice. She used to keep a houseful of girls in kimonos and three pushbuttons on the front door. Now she is alone with a parrot and goldfish and two white mice ... but these are some of her thoughts: The love of a soldier on furlough or a sailor on shore leave burns with a bonfire red and saffron. The love of an emigrant workman whose wife is a thousand miles away burns with a blue smoke. The love of a young man whose sweetheart married an older man for money burns with a sputtering uncertain flame. And there is a love ... one in a thousand ... burns clean and is gone leaving a white ash.... And this is a thought she never explains to the parrot and goldfish and two white mice.

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5k

Carl Sandburg

White Ash

THERE is a woman on Michigan Boulevard keeps a parrot and goldfish and two white mice. She used to keep a houseful of girls in kimonos and three pushbuttons on the front door. Now she is alone with a parrot and goldfish and two white mice ... but these are some of her thoughts: The love of a soldier on furlough or a sailor on shore leave burns with a bonfire red and saffron. The love of an emigrant workman whose wife is a thousand miles away burns with a blue smoke. The love of a young man whose sweetheart married an older man for money burns with a sputtering uncertain flame. And there is a love ... one in a thousand ... burns clean and is gone leaving a white ash.... And this is a thought she never explains to the parrot and goldfish and two white mice.

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The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears Blossom from the summer's wreath; The older is condemned to death, Pardoned, drags out lonely years Conspiring among the ignorant. I know not what the younger dreams-- Some vague Utopia--and she seems, When withered old and skeleton-gaunt, An image of such politics. Many a time I think to seek One or the other out and speak Of that old Georgian mansion, mix pictures of the mind, recall That table and the talk of youth, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. Dear shadows, now you know it all, All the folly of a fight With a common wrong or right. The innocent and the beautiful. Have no enemy but time; Arise and bid me strike a match And strike another till time catch; Should the conflagration climb, Run till all the sages know. We the great gazebo built, They convicted us of guilt; Bid me strike a match and blow.

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4.3k

William Butler Yeats

In Memory Of Eva Gore-Booth And Con Markiewicz

The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears Blossom from the summer's wreath; The older is condemned to death, Pardoned, drags out lonely years Conspiring among the ignorant. I know not what the younger dreams-- Some vague Utopia--and she seems, When withered old and skeleton-gaunt, An image of such politics. Many a time I think to seek One or the other out and speak Of that old Georgian mansion, mix pictures of the mind, recall That table and the talk of youth, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. Dear shadows, now you know it all, All the folly of a fight With a common wrong or right. The innocent and the beautiful. Have no enemy but time; Arise and bid me strike a match And strike another till time catch; Should the conflagration climb, Run till all the sages know. We the great gazebo built, They convicted us of guilt; Bid me strike a match and blow.

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*Smooth pale skin that glows Features like innocent dolls Silky ebony hair that shines Waving shimmering stars Eyebrows that perfectly frames And enticing Obsidian eyes Perfectly carved jaw and nose Velvet lips like Grandifloras Put on the Kanzashi flowers Colorful and bright Kimonos Obi hanging down to ankles Walk, dance with elegance Shamisen in her hands Showers colorful melodies Such beautiful skills Purely fetching artisans*

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Mar 25, 2014

Mar 25, 2014 at 8:20 AM UTC

blueroses

Geisha

*Smooth pale skin that glows Features like innocent dolls Silky ebony hair that shines Waving shimmering stars Eyebrows that perfectly frames And enticing Obsidian eyes Perfectly carved jaw and nose Velvet lips like Grandifloras Put on the Kanzashi flowers Colorful and bright Kimonos Obi hanging down to ankles Walk, dance with elegance Shamisen in her hands Showers colorful melodies Such beautiful skills Purely fetching artisans*

16

Illusions of skydiving in a kimono are not nightmares that awaken her in a sweat each night Fantasies of floating like a drone creep into morning daydreams Unprepared for make-believe no kimono hangs in her closet Each day she stands in front of her full-length mirror stares at perceived imperfections as they thicken before her eyes Friends don’t notice each misplaced mole or cellulite pleading to hide from any audience Co-workers notice her post-it-note headline “Intelligent Perfect Women Skydives in Kimono” affixed to the cubicle wall Today results of her search for kimonos of various colors is carefully placed in a folder entitled skydiving

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Jan 8, 2017

Jan 8, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC

william-a-poppen

Pipe Dream

Illusions of skydiving in a kimono are not nightmares that awaken her in a sweat each night Fantasies of floating like a drone creep into morning daydreams Unprepared for make-believe no kimono hangs in her closet Each day she stands in front of her full-length mirror stares at perceived imperfections as they thicken before her eyes Friends don’t notice each misplaced mole or cellulite pleading to hide from any audience Co-workers notice her post-it-note headline “Intelligent Perfect Women Skydives in Kimono” affixed to the cubicle wall Today results of her search for kimonos of various colors is carefully placed in a folder entitled skydiving

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She ran to a land of summer and pink kimonos, Where nurse sharks circled her ankles And familiar familial flaws faded to vague memories of leather scented hugs. She learned to walk dusty streets in bare feet, so she could hold the world in her toes, Leaving crumpled dollars in the hands of beggars Who saw her light skin as gold. The cherry trees bathed her in petals soft enough to erase the scars that faded in the sun, She learnt to run with her hair down and to eat kneeling at a table, Rearranged her mind with the art of Feng Shui in an attempt to find a way to live away from the dictatorship of the past, Collecting porous pebbles and lighting candles encircled in jade, As old leather scents fade to incense and jasmine. She strings lost stone on a necklace of wood and measures her life in the breaths to come instead of those she has taken. Her heartbeat beats irregularly but no longer from fear and now adrenaline is synonymous with exhilaration. And she holds sand in her palms, No longer scrabbling to catch it as it falls through her fingers, She now knows that life occurs between her hand and the ground. She broke the hourglass because she no longer counts the hours Or clings to the time that is gone. She lives eternal and bright, Clothed in sunlight And a pink kimono.

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Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 3:14 PM UTC

suchscribbles

Runaway

She ran to a land of summer and pink kimonos, Where nurse sharks circled her ankles And familiar familial flaws faded to vague memories of leather scented hugs. She learned to walk dusty streets in bare feet, so she could hold the world in her toes, Leaving crumpled dollars in the hands of beggars Who saw her light skin as gold. The cherry trees bathed her in petals soft enough to erase the scars that faded in the sun, She learnt to run with her hair down and to eat kneeling at a table, Rearranged her mind with the art of Feng Shui in an attempt to find a way to live away from the dictatorship of the past, Collecting porous pebbles and lighting candles encircled in jade, As old leather scents fade to incense and jasmine. She strings lost stone on a necklace of wood and measures her life in the breaths to come instead of those she has taken. Her heartbeat beats irregularly but no longer from fear and now adrenaline is synonymous with exhilaration. And she holds sand in her palms, No longer scrabbling to catch it as it falls through her fingers, She now knows that life occurs between her hand and the ground. She broke the hourglass because she no longer counts the hours Or clings to the time that is gone. She lives eternal and bright, Clothed in sunlight And a pink kimono.

21

IN MEMORY OF EVA GORE-BOOTH AND CON MARKIEWICZ THE light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears Blossom from the summer's wreath; The older is condemned to death, Pardoned, drags out lonely years Conspiring among the ignorant. I know not what the younger dreams -- Some vague Utopia -- and she seems, When withered old and skeleton-gaunt, An image of such politics. Many a time I think to seek One or the other out and speak Of that old Georgian mansion, mix pictures of the mind, recall That table and the talk of youth, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. Dear shadows, now you know it all, All the folly of a fight With a common wrong or right. The innocent and the beautiful. Have no enemy but time; Arise and bid me strike a match And strike another till time catch; Should the conflagration climb, Run till all the sages know. We the great gazebo built, They convicted us of guilt; Bid me strike a match and blow.

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2.1k

William Butler Yeats

The Winding Stair And Other Poems

IN MEMORY OF EVA GORE-BOOTH AND CON MARKIEWICZ THE light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears Blossom from the summer's wreath; The older is condemned to death, Pardoned, drags out lonely years Conspiring among the ignorant. I know not what the younger dreams -- Some vague Utopia -- and she seems, When withered old and skeleton-gaunt, An image of such politics. Many a time I think to seek One or the other out and speak Of that old Georgian mansion, mix pictures of the mind, recall That table and the talk of youth, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. Dear shadows, now you know it all, All the folly of a fight With a common wrong or right. The innocent and the beautiful. Have no enemy but time; Arise and bid me strike a match And strike another till time catch; Should the conflagration climb, Run till all the sages know. We the great gazebo built, They convicted us of guilt; Bid me strike a match and blow.

33

Cherry Blossoms fall As we pass by the stone bridge Hanging pink curtains Fishes in the pond White, black and clean red markings Making small ripples Mother’s kimonos Of red flowers and grasses Were velvety silks The sparrow perched here On the wooden window pane Pecking on the grains Winter came slowly I strolled by the frozen halls Blowing on my hands Spiders spin their webs Sakura watched quietly Her eyes glowed dimly Snow covered rice fields They climbed Fiji with Father They did not come back The window pane fell Ice melted on the stone floor They all ran away My fingers galloped Water froze in the fish ponds I weren’t afraid

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Feb 28, 2014

Feb 28, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC

jeuden-totanes

Haikus

Cherry Blossoms fall As we pass by the stone bridge Hanging pink curtains Fishes in the pond White, black and clean red markings Making small ripples Mother’s kimonos Of red flowers and grasses Were velvety silks The sparrow perched here On the wooden window pane Pecking on the grains Winter came slowly I strolled by the frozen halls Blowing on my hands Spiders spin their webs Sakura watched quietly Her eyes glowed dimly Snow covered rice fields They climbed Fiji with Father They did not come back The window pane fell Ice melted on the stone floor They all ran away My fingers galloped Water froze in the fish ponds I weren’t afraid

27

Shrieking, all-in, nothingheldback laughter Beats up against my skull, Thudding, thudding. Is this happiness observed? Pools of wrinkles gather underneath Squinted eyes, Little silk kimonos crumpled at the foot of a bed. Laugh lines fold and expand, As if they are their own organisms, Breathing in and out with the rhythm of life. Somewhere else, there is crying, ***** feet and bruises the color of wilted pansies. Undisturbed, they vibrate to a different frequency, An isolated rhythm. A symphony of cornflower and charcoal, They dance about in a sad song of neglect. Far away from the loud, booming laughter. Oh, sunken eyes and sullen brows, How have you not yet changed the world? Thunder your despair, Push up against the merriness and chrisanthimum bliss.

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Jan 16, 2013

Jan 16, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC

meka-boyle

Happiness observed

Shrieking, all-in, nothingheldback laughter Beats up against my skull, Thudding, thudding. Is this happiness observed? Pools of wrinkles gather underneath Squinted eyes, Little silk kimonos crumpled at the foot of a bed. Laugh lines fold and expand, As if they are their own organisms, Breathing in and out with the rhythm of life. Somewhere else, there is crying, ***** feet and bruises the color of wilted pansies. Undisturbed, they vibrate to a different frequency, An isolated rhythm. A symphony of cornflower and charcoal, They dance about in a sad song of neglect. Far away from the loud, booming laughter. Oh, sunken eyes and sullen brows, How have you not yet changed the world? Thunder your despair, Push up against the merriness and chrisanthimum bliss.

21

The texture reminds me of you Soft, silky fragile yet durable The design makes me think of you Very flamboyant yet inspiring. I kept these gifts for the past years Eight summers to be exact Cherishing them like you cared for me Afraid of losing the scent of you. You’ve come and go like you always do Leaving me waiting and craving Please don’t bring kimonos anymore Your presence or your heart is enough.

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May 18, 2016

May 18, 2016 at 9:43 PM UTC

YRada

Kimono

The texture reminds me of you Soft, silky fragile yet durable The design makes me think of you Very flamboyant yet inspiring. I kept these gifts for the past years Eight summers to be exact Cherishing them like you cared for me Afraid of losing the scent of you. You’ve come and go like you always do Leaving me waiting and craving Please don’t bring kimonos anymore Your presence or your heart is enough.

12

By the time I get home from rehearsal, The world has stopped. I'm watching the movie You've Got Mail, and earlier the director said our cast had finally achieved art. Tom Hanks is a businessman with the heart of a philosopher. Kathleen saw a butterfly on the subway She thinks it went to Bloomingdale's to buy a hat-- I envision monarchs preferring kimonos.

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Feb 16, 2017

Feb 16, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC

sarah-sad-matcha

You've Got Mail

By the time I get home from rehearsal, The world has stopped. I'm watching the movie You've Got Mail, and earlier the director said our cast had finally achieved art. Tom Hanks is a businessman with the heart of a philosopher. Kathleen saw a butterfly on the subway She thinks it went to Bloomingdale's to buy a hat-- I envision monarchs preferring kimonos.

14

A world of love.. awaken by such force... 花鳥風月.....Kachou Fuugetsu... 起死回".....kishi kaisei.... Flower, bird, wind, moon... wake up from death and return to life... Catching the sweet aura in the sweet air. Delicate blossom flow carelessly in the wind.. Dancing in the air Swaying back and forth Flying through soft breeze.. Plopping in the slow flowing stream. So pure.. Spring is here.. Children and families gather all around.. In their decor kimonos Looking at the beautiful sakura trees. Lights glow and cast a flare on pink plumbs at the darkest nights Glowing in the mid of day under sun filled rays Shaking carelessly in the breeze Staining the air with pink dots Blossoming such beauty Grace of life.. A women Sitting carefully next to the all mighty tree.. Sipping green tea As the pink blossom swirl around her.. She whispers softly "愛-てその悪'知り、憎みてその善'知る......'' Ai ***** sono aku-wo shiri, nikumite sono zen-wo shiru... Love and learn the loved one’s vices, hate and learn the hated one’s virtues. Sit and observer.. Be quite and still... Beauty shall come.. The breeze shall sit and push time.. Love and hate Wishes and doubts.. Will be slowly washed away As the cherry blossoms flow steadily down the stream... Close the eyes and the mind and breathe.. As the sweet cherry blossoms twirl around you.. Open the eyes and a new season has come. Cherry trees brown twigs close away for winter.. The green grass growing brown.. Time ticking away... チャレンジ-て失-"と'恐れるよりも、何も-ない"と'恐れろ。 Charenji ***** shippai koto-wo osoreru-yori-mo, nani-mo shinai koto-wo osoreru.... Instead of being afraid of the challenge and failure, be afraid of avoiding the challenge and doing nothing. Things will soon to come.. be patient young ones.. Life will be sprung again The pink petals will rustle again...

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Jul 16, 2013

Jul 16, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC

rosey

Secrete bloom

A world of love.. awaken by such force... 花鳥風月.....Kachou Fuugetsu... 起死回".....kishi kaisei.... Flower, bird, wind, moon... wake up from death and return to life... Catching the sweet aura in the sweet air. Delicate blossom flow carelessly in the wind.. Dancing in the air Swaying back and forth Flying through soft breeze.. Plopping in the slow flowing stream. So pure.. Spring is here.. Children and families gather all around.. In their decor kimonos Looking at the beautiful sakura trees. Lights glow and cast a flare on pink plumbs at the darkest nights Glowing in the mid of day under sun filled rays Shaking carelessly in the breeze Staining the air with pink dots Blossoming such beauty Grace of life.. A women Sitting carefully next to the all mighty tree.. Sipping green tea As the pink blossom swirl around her.. She whispers softly "愛-てその悪'知り、憎みてその善'知る......'' Ai ***** sono aku-wo shiri, nikumite sono zen-wo shiru... Love and learn the loved one’s vices, hate and learn the hated one’s virtues. Sit and observer.. Be quite and still... Beauty shall come.. The breeze shall sit and push time.. Love and hate Wishes and doubts.. Will be slowly washed away As the cherry blossoms flow steadily down the stream... Close the eyes and the mind and breathe.. As the sweet cherry blossoms twirl around you.. Open the eyes and a new season has come. Cherry trees brown twigs close away for winter.. The green grass growing brown.. Time ticking away... チャレンジ-て失-"と'恐れるよりも、何も-ない"と'恐れろ。 Charenji ***** shippai koto-wo osoreru-yori-mo, nani-mo shinai koto-wo osoreru.... Instead of being afraid of the challenge and failure, be afraid of avoiding the challenge and doing nothing. Things will soon to come.. be patient young ones.. Life will be sprung again The pink petals will rustle again...

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