"scarved" poems
Sparks jettisoning into the crisp blackness,
A vivid orange against the backdrop of ebony silence,
Fairies of fire, winging their way home
On an unexpected breeze.
The bonfire a crackle, at once dangerous and comforting,
A furnace ablaze with light, livid and burning with raw energy,
Luring its annual admirers ever closer,
As moths to a flame.
The people, hatted and be-scarved, huddle, cluster,
Sparklers whirling before them, glitzy with extravagance,
Their wispy signatures hanging in the air, short-lived
And fading, fading into nothing.
And only now the fantasia of fireworks commences,
The artist experimenting with line, with colour, his audience captive,
And then at once, a dazzling fountain of jewelled light: ruby, jade, opal, sapphire,
A painting of shimmering castles in the sky.
And a middle-aged man with his son, glove to mitten; in his arms, a daughter,
Her bright gaze betraying the hands over her ears,
A snapshot of dizzy delight, breathless and enchanting,
A simple picture of rare beauty.
Later, with the remnants and debris of the evening lying discarded,
Dying, the brave bonfire, now petered out, sizzles and smoulders,
A scarlet and amber glow lingering on,
Still warm with the memories of youth.
Copyright Vicki Watson 2012
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
They're digging up the cobbles in our street,
moving them to a classier area.
We'll be given tarmac, black and soft in the sun.
Yes, even here it shines - on men's vests.
They're red faced, drinking from lager cans,
while their women finger scarved curlers.
At least, that's what others think they see.
But neighbours do talk with us.
There's a code of decency,
though Mum says, 'some have hearts
as black as the tarmac'.
There's a hierarchy,
in minds and heads,
if not in pockets.
Some day the toffs will turf us out,
gentrify our street. We'll be moved,
filed vertically, pigeon lofts in the sky.
Then they'll bring our cobbles back.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
after a healthy
snowfall
I took to the park
to hike through
the woods with
Sweet Pea
on a friendly hill
near the entrance
I watched a father
and his miniature
purple scarved
pink bundled daughter
deep in the throes
of giddy play
slide down the
slight slope
daring the fates of
bodacious joy
I joined in their
smiles, lifted
by girly giggles
sung from
the secure lap of a
bear hugging dad
as the disk
whirled through
the snow
when the
thrilling ride ended
the little one
scampered after her
hooting daddy
as they climbed
the hillock for
another round
of glee
a few days later
Sweet Pea and I
returned to the park
the footprints
and sled marks
of our intrepid
joy riders were
fading, receding
into the march of
a waning season
though the
happy tracks
in the melting
snow will
surely vanish
the footprints
of that day will
remain fresh
alive forever
in the mind
of an elderly
woman, recalling
the thrilling giggles
and secure bearhugs
of a love blest youth
Music Selection:
Los Lobos:
Somewhere in Time
Oakland
2/5/14
jbm
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 12:41 PM UTC
We are progressing upstream, no sighting yet.
Their gods are letting us pass unmolested.
Even the sun beckons us up these blue waters,
but the cliffs are closing in, scarved with the icy
torrents of waterfalls spilling their glacial flux.
In the distance is a great broad path, paved
in crazy glazing, glinting in the sun.
There's no escaping this snare's enchantment.
Surely, they don't take us for their pirate
longboat returning to digorge its stolen treasures.
Somewhere Thor's hammer is at work. We pray
we will be spared his unforgiving anvil,
for we come only with our tourist tribute.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
And then...
A diffident embrace,
Hankered after bedeviled yearning.
Instead, butterfly kisses,
She planted 'pon breathless lips;
Scarved my neck
And schlepped,
Into mystery miles of misty memories...
But now...
That yesterday lingers forever,
Leaving evocative footprints
Left behind by flirtatious fragrance,
That oft beguile my pathway,
Into memories of her;
Whence fantasy atones reality...
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 10:34 AM UTC
Love,
My love lost in tangles.
My lover lost in tangles the wind pushes and pulls,
silk ribbons scarved around metal fence posts.
Carved around sentimental friend posts,
Computer monitor halitosis,
Curvaceous moments leave you hopeless.
Hopeless in the deep end and you drown,
but love,
Lost in angles.
Lost in traditional hang-ups and
Lost on a particular campus.
Divide the mental anguish,
Stand by and maybe hand this,
back to me
I might reciprocate and
Debilitate and the modesty wont
Depreciate as you make your,
point.
Stand by me,
Look lackluster at the edges of
perennial views.
Stand by me,
Walk me down the marital isle of
your perpetual bad news.
-P.S.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
Once, I gave
a one-eyed beggar
who looked hungry
a handful of nuts
& he threw them
out into the cobblestone street
for the manged mongrels
who scarved them up.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 9:15 AM UTC