"taffeta" poems
the miniscule, crystallized phenomena
floating down on their zephyr gondola
to the little children's enchantment.
the wintriness nipping at their stamina
produced petite gloved hands pulling tightly at their jacket.
to rollick the day away was their only commandment.
fast forward a few years, and they'll be learning algebra,
their minds drifting away during lectures on parabolas
to the forgotten days of freedom; they lament
the loss of their fragile frostwork taffeta.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Decipher the beautiful
Intricacies
Woven with simplicity
To create the
Most elegant taffeta
Striking hues
And softer feel
Silken moments
Souls glide merrily
Enchanting tales
Laced with yearnings
Shimmering covers
Overzealous hearts
Lustrous symphony
Of rhythmic hearts
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
Usher in
a long taffeta skirt,
pearl earrings and delicate hands.
Horn-rimmed glasses
on the man you saw at the grocery store.
Children still in their winter boots,
a frozen sunset glowing on round cheeks.
Smile at them,
agree with them.
Yes it's a cold one out there.
The fire laughs behind you.
Tea and memories of home
warm your throat.
Is this where you thought you'd be?
Ask yourself.
Write the answer on a piece of paper,
crumple it in your fist
and throw it in the flames.
Fuel.
Thank everyone for coming.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 1:24 AM UTC
This silk is eager for damp skin.
It clings greedily to the peaks of
your topography, obscuring, like
fog, only the depressions.
I am a basin filled with fluid,
eager to capsize,
to spill out over this tile floor
like so much vanilla bath water.
At your heat, I boil.
I billow out from beneath
cream and sugar taffeta
with the whispered sigh of
softly hissing steam and
in tendrils, my tempestuous
mist and moisture form
settles lightly into your
crevices.
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 11:08 PM UTC
She sits at the loom
Weaving the fabric
Interwoven with dreams
The threads of trust and surrender
It’s an intimate mesh of finery
The colors of passion dyeing it
To hues of crimson, from the blushes
Of the maiden weaving her dreams
Intricate designs adorn the taffeta
With the future of love and togetherness
The bonding of a strong fabric of Love
To drape them over their bare bodies
Together, gazing at the starry skies
As they descend to adorn the drape
Shimmering with the passion of Love
The maiden and her lover, has woven a drape
Celebrating their togetherness
For Love has bonded them with fabric of Love
A drape so intricate and warm
For Love shall always be draped, till eternity
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
Taffeta dress.
Pink bows and ribbons,
Plaited elegantly through her shiny hair.
Shoes made of crystal glass.
Azure eyes that allure.
Princes and spinsters.
All vying for love.
In ball gowns.
Feel the frowns.
The pauper descends.
Out of place, amid friends.
Pretences of sisters who whisper and moan.
Two sisters and mother that clamour the throne.
They're trying for love.
Met on the staircase.
We really don't really care case.
Sisters on ladders of heels,as they stagger .
Their mouths filthy as bladders and bowels.
Nasty creatures.
Vile in lust.
Lustful greed.
Maternal demon seed.
Stepmother, toxically crumbles to dust.
Crone godmother.
A quick sip of milk.
Cinderella my lovely became but a sylph.
Dispelled stepmother and daughter's that cussed.
Transport to the princes ball.
In a pumpkin, should maybe have been made into a sickly sweet pie.
Lizards as footmen, stood fast on the back on the coach pulled by white mice.
The creatures were shocked.
By the changes, all the rearrangements.
Built up with Cinderella before, a creature comfort kind of rapport.
Be back by midnight said the fairy godmother, she knew he'd really grow to love her.
Midnight came midnight went.
A glorious evening only lent.
She tripped on the stair,
Nobody cared, except the prince and cute cinders.
She lost her shoe, in a hurry to flee.
Prince himself picked it up, unable to believe in lady luck was meant to be.
He searched his dominions far and wide, just to find his princess bride.
All the best things found in fairy tales.
What do I find?
Just slugs and snails.
Yep, you guessed it I'm a bit of a cynic.
(c)Livvi MMCV
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
Taffeta watches the pigs atop the tables
Glass eyes and stitches where they're enabled
Guts pumping crimson liquid
Sewing 'em up, she's addicted
Family and friends recommend she withdraw
She responded with a twinkle in her eye and a dropped jaw
Scissors and string, that's all she'll need
Besides a corpse, of course, and a bit of stuffing
Lilac eyes affixed on a tattered pillow
Enjoying watching a weeping Willow
Her poor Porky pet has met his end
But everyone knows you can depend
Before your sweet pet starts to smell
On Taffeta's Taxidermy to stuff 'em well
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 4:29 PM UTC
Have you seen her ?
Her skin is like winter
Her hair as strands of gold
Her eyes a cerulean shade
Though she has unsteady hands
Yes ! She is in Wonderland
The ground is of sweetly confection
The clouds are of candy floss
The waters , of buttermilk
Though each grain of sugar is a little white lie
Oh how gracious , sounding oh so pleasant
And her name is Alice , soft like the finest taffeta
Do you happen to know where Wonderland is ?
Haste , Haste !
Oh yes I do , I have been there many times !
You must be willing to devote yourself completely !
For wonderland is of other-wordly proportions
But if you must know , She is in a the pretty box . Motionless in white
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
the woman with ancient eyes cradles her rosy-cheeked daughter,
wide-eyed and bursting with the innocence of the youth--
she is a tenement child, raised gracefully in the shadowed slums of her father's mistakes,
wears a tattered dress, spinning alone in a whirlwind of dust mites and silenced laughter.
and when she hears tales of the children with taffeta dresses and China dolls, she
smiles--
out of love, replacing envy with euphoric contentment, because
she has her mama's eyes, the voices
of the fatherless children
singing along to her same song,
shouting cries of hope against the crumbling walls
of a broken world she is beginning to heal.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
Damask and Death
Velvet and Violence
Satin and Suffering
Organza and Oppression
Calico and Corpses
Paisley and Pain
Taffeta and Torture
Lace and Listlessness
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 1:31 PM UTC
Hidden behind a myriad of
guises and castings of a
thousand projected distortions,
he brought himself
suspended like a pendant
detached
&
objective.
I bequeathed a
tumult of love,
tumbled down
the scope of
archaic collective conflict
that shook with a spiral quake like
the wakening of my
hallowed g a s p -
the corridor echoing of the first gallop.
Lifted the skirted veils of
celestial taffeta,
surrendered to the
feats and enchantments of
The Rider
who arrived on a
rogue wave,
crest and trough and
splendorous swells of
blue and white,
reverberating from
essence centre
like Doppler
outward my firmament fingertips,
cascading around the sphere
in astral star fall,
an overflowing cup of Milky Way
and melting atoms
into grains of sand
between the blended confines of
here and there,
escaped to the ever expansive space,
Empyrean emptiness.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
A woman crying has the same smell of cherry blossom buds,
leaping from small thing to small thing
everything is raked, unleafed the summer cobblestone.
Of her ex-season she may ask –
oh, autumn, did you wear a taffeta wedding dress? With pearls?
Because her husband left when she did too,
that silk is such bad luck, frilling slightly as a broken rib
so now the days have slits last winter’s snow was meant to fill.
A clock of seasons and the last time they slept together,
spring sprung an ******** any time she wept, fertilized by salt
these crystals, the pits on a strawberry
and folded a laundry load of wedding season clothes.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 3:25 PM UTC
~~~~//~~~//~~~//~~~
The morning sky waits
A skein of taffeta silk
Sewn to velvet hill.
~~~~//~~~//~~~//~~~~
Soul Survivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) March 26, 2014
Reposted 12/2025
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
midnight taffeta calves, your mom’s rose-gold
diamond pendant resting between *******
too-long hair tamed, fastened at your nape
this peculiar impasse between pretending you’re
prom-young and you’re midtown-gala-elegant-old
you’re a little both, at twenty-one, and a little
drunk—fourteen-dollar champagne, picklebacks
and the desperate paradoxical preservation of this memory
you can hold your cloud-head up beautiful still
so you hitch your dress
runrunrun behind the Rhodes
crouch down in the thorns with every-elegant-one you love
twenty-one, desperate, ebullient, ****
and ****
stand up straight again, glowing, sage
check your coat and dance
nobody’s the wiser
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
ALL TAFFETA & TULLE
(For Angie Baby)
Frightened by the storm
he crawls under
his mother’s skirts
all taffeta & tulle
clinging to her
ankles
before falling
asleep
upon her feet.
She continues playing
her cards right
winning all before her
as the candles
gutter
and almost
go out.
She remembers her body
wrapped about him
her flesh
protecting his innocence
as now her dress
encloses his sleeping
unconsciously stroking
his hair
with her
left foot
his dreams now
pooled at her feet.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
Daydreamer
Turn your head a notch
and we'll see that perfect
dot beside your nose.
Tell me,
even though
sanity may jettison
and stroll down
the lane as naked
as a jay bird.
you remember,
that I had on too many clothes
or not enough and neither one
at the appropriate time,
still,
I can't soften
the discard-
the tint of rose
from my cheeks or the
titan grip on my jugular.
Remind me still ,
with patience,
like every other
seven year old
wearing a zirconium,
Tiaras, pink taffeta
and soft as night ballet
slippers,
that it's o.k.
to sit on my spotted pony
dreaming,
that all princes
will have a heart of gold.
That promises mean
something
even to spectra
and daydreamers...
we stopped laughing
when
the song ended
with the world spinning
and I fell down
calling your name
on the back
street of my worst
nightmare coming true.
Remind me gently,
That best friends can't say
I love you
and still be best friends,
well, I already knew,
it just might be that
all the time my eyes
were wide open
they just
wouldn't stop listening
to the skipping thud of
my pulse.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 2:17 AM UTC
They found you in the night
dressed in bloodstain
swathed in gauze, cotton, taffeta
a white shelter
doused with brown, pink
the hues of our veins.
I never forgave him.
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
Flames
Licking around the columns
Into the windows.
Acid rain
Splattering my decently ancient notebook
Tears on a dark day.
Taffeta
Crumpling into a heap gracefully on the floor
Embellished with sunshine.
Search lights
Shining into my open window
I know they're looking for you.
A voice
In the dark
Your voice, how I've missed it.
They won't miss us.
They won't blink an eye.
Won't shed a tear for our disappearance.
I kiss you one last time.
Let the flames engulf my fragile frame.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 10:21 PM UTC
brittle leaves swing with windchime thrills
scattering minature fairy hats northwards
bristle tops of seeded whimsy
light strokes branches of resilience
revealing notches and furrows filled with courage
warmed and hazelnut tones of sap and towering elegance
in the end flourishing into taffeta skirts of green
plumes, plums and sour-apple caterpillars
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
One day, I will meet you. My face
in ruins. Pink skin like thrift store taffeta,
and you will say nothing.
I will be with child. High school sweetheart
gripping tight to my left hand.
There will be mascara draining
from the ledges of my empty, hand me down blue eyes,
but the streetlights will fill me up effectively.
If I see you any time soon,
it will be because we miscalculated,
kept our heads up for a second too long on the street.
I will open my mouth to spill out my mirror practiced monologue,
I'm just like you, so they say. Callous and Shifting.
But my dry mouth will close tight around the first vowel, swallowing hard.
Your eyes will look through me.
Because you, like all things, must pass.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 12:10 PM UTC
It's like the reality of falling leaves:
In autumn, people seek them out
Their perfected performance of death
A leap from ten stories in a party dress
The taffeta catching the up draft
No one gathers to see the aftermath
Of carnage covered by dirt and water
Taking beauty and churning it out
Brown sledge grunted up by the earth
Spit out, mangled, the marrow exposed
It's always the same
The crowds bottleneck, shove, push
To see the start, but at the end
Everyone is looking for an out
Such happiness for what follows hello, for
Everything that comes just before goodbye
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
Silent she slips in
Resolute the new day
Steps of eiderdown
Path rendered muted echoes
As sparkled snow sugars tongues of lovers
A petaled hand extended
Fragrant cherry blossoms
The blush
The rush
Will cupids lacquered eros wax
When the breeze of romance
Roars ferocious
Lions prowl on taloned claws frigid
Before the frail Paschal lambs
New birth awaits the cadence of spring rain
And jonquiled mornings pregnant with dew
Little girls skip minuets
Plait the maypole
Festive in buttered eyelet, whispered taffeta and crisp dotted swiss
Dreaming of castles and gilt armor
Bind this heart of mine in gold and champagne roses
Love and gunfire burst on the palette of the night sky
Sonic color settles shrieking freedom
The haze of summer days
The wind warm, your breath warmer
She languishes heavy lidded
Pine pitch fragrant in her hair and sweet strawberries in her mouth
Fireflies flit teasing
Tepid water waits for stain glass wings to grace the surface
Taut the day holds her breath
As rumbling thunder promises the cool monsoon
Chase away the dog days when the atmosphere clings heavy
Sleepless nights of croaking toads and the drone of mosquitoes
Breathless for the heady patter of rain
Herald the skies of burning blue
Above a cacophony of color
Cottonwoods in petticoats sunflower yellow
Crimson maple and dusted ash
Dance beneath the harvest moon
Thankful
Life is a gift to be unwrapped
Surprise exquisite
Like the first star sparkling on your horizon
At the end of the day.
TL Boehm
02/01/10
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
easier said than done. run the rain into my mouth, radio bugs, emits light, like heaven or a dashboard. nobody knows the white dismal, the slim stem calling metal frugal. every flower that seeds, every allergy season i wear the map to your place inside my cheek. it sounds like a mad hornet, like radio talk shows. more like talk showz. outfitted in taffeta, sequined up road rage with a pretty caliber, frosted lips. fuzzy with static, water levels are topic, as are flying ants, time travel. my big brother is a warning of parallels. slimy suit, slick hair; the gunshot is a warning with flair.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 12:36 PM UTC