"tassles" poems
seventy seven snowflakes
none of them the same
the hair of the dog who's life you saved
a soccer's shoelace
pieces of the continent
shards of regret
tassles from love's riding jacket
pebbled shirt you wore on our first date
a hundred wet i'm sorry's
take a pinch of sugar
and the magic medicine goes down
purple
your purple contrast on my skin
how we lived in love
in fall and in spring
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
Somehow even in death my spirit lingers
My tremulous spirit as the tassles on a purple curtain
My dreams which consume me are airy thoughts of substance
Pulled in by hungry fingers and engraved upon the stone
Once I was water
But I died that past life as something to make you drown
Next I was evaporation
The wetness that I left exposed to brilliant suns
Then I became the clouds
Your eyes are skies and I pass them in different forms
Last I became the rain
And as I fall from uncertainty your skin feels all of me
I cover every inch of you
I am the red dress that you wear
Still, bones are bones
And bones are brittle
They live by magnificent half-lifes in our world
And then fall into the ever expanding ground
Its not a meaning
Its just the feeling going around
Round as the circle I try to draw
An inexplicable bridge to cross the ocean
An impossible feat of engineering and imagination
And always in all ways leading me
My feet
My staunch and heavy heart
My hair meant to be one of the first sights of your morning
My skin, and sin, and my repentance
My liberation, my salvation
The way no one else can touch me
No one else can save me
And no lover ever lived
Could wear the red dress the way you do
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 5:29 AM UTC
I don't suit hats
and I'm not their cup of tea.
My head is just the wrong shape
and it's far too small you see.
So the hats that I have
quite simply have to be
of the jokey, laughing,
giggling, silliest variety.
I've a pink hat with bobbles,
and a purple fluffy beast,
an Arsenal grey with dangling braids,
and a multicoloured feast
of points and tassles, braids and swirls.
I guess I'm not like other girls.
But none of the boys
will walk along with me.
Still, I don't mind. I love daft hats,
and my daft hats love me.
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 12:28 PM UTC
She's dancing in her skin tight jeans
Little boots with little tassles
When in the bar another comes
And you just know they're gonna wrassle
Hair all up, and dressed the same
I mean, these two could be twins
You know that fur is gonna fly
There'll be someone slappin' skin
There's rules in bars
At times like this
The most important one I'll mention
Is get the bartenders eye just when
You can feel the building tension
The bartender's job is now
Not serving drinks to you
So when you know a fight is on
You'd better order two
That my friend is my advice
I give it to you free
But, when I am out and it is on
I make sure I get three
Bubba's had just one too many
And you know he's gonna blow
It doesn't matter what you say
He's right and you don't know
Just grab a seat and hold on tight
And bud, take my advice
Before the bartender leaves the bar
You'd better order twice
Dancing close is always good
It doesn't do no harm
Except when the one you're dancing with
Came on another's arm
You'd better get your order in
Because, the fists are gonna fly
And you'll be waiting for a while
Before another you can buy
There's rules in bars
At times like this
The most important one I'll mention
Is get the bartenders eye just when
You can feel the building tension
The bartender's job is now
Not serving drinks to you
So when you know a fight is on
You'd better order two
That my friend is my advice
I give it to you free
But, when I am out and it is on
I make sure I get three
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
Love wears a dress,
It's flowing,
with a pattern of flowers.
It's made of thin linen.
Feels beautiful stroking the skin.
Love has pure *******
Capable of nurturing,
Keeping interest alive.
Sometimes love wears lingeree,
Of ebony black lace,
with scarlet ribbons attached.
Sometimes love has tassles attached,
they could be twiddled to occupy a lover who may be becoming bored.
Sometimes,
love is concealed beneath the protective cloak of the very caring nurse.
However;
Love can be stubborn,
Never admitting defeat,
Sometimes a total ***
Who loves being in love,
Even when she's dressed in all of her disguises?
(c) Livvi
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
Little princess you've had a long day,
Running and laughing,keeping boredom at bay,
It's been lots of fun but now you must rest,
You need lots of sleep to look at your best.
So take off your play clothes and put on your nightie,
Then mam will come up and tuck you in tightly,
I'll read you a story and sing you a song,
And you'll be back in dreamland before very long.
There you're a princess and live in a castle,
You ride a pink bike with handlebar tassles,
You have a big bedroom and four poster bed,
With big fluffy pillows to tickle your head.
You own lots of toys and a furry white horse,
He lives in a stable,the biggest of course,
You feed him his dinner and off you both fly,
You shout "look at me nanny" as you fly by.
But now its the morning and time to get up,
We've got nanny to see and immy to beat up,
But the same time tonight once you've laid down,
I'll wait in our castle to give you a crown.
You're a princess in dreamland and always will be,
But even in the real world you're a princess to me.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
Hardwood floor pushes pressure points into the meat hanging off the bones of ribs and hips
Lifelessly staring over head, the false elagant propeller twirls
Attempting to make this over priced shoebox seem exqusite
Tassles on a silicone breast, spinning as the cockroaches crawl up my back
Gag on this sick joke, you gladly will
Is this the pipe dream, perfumed reality masking societies sweat
All that the populous aims for?
A self depreciating laugh
I
Raw eardrums are about to burst
Tearing into nothing, twisted words set off burning fireworks
Death rage fights, moronic blame, victims in our own heads only we're right
Neither could we ever be wrong, just wronged we make ourselves the prey
Fire in the vains over wet brained illusions, stories made up on the spot
Enshrining the chip on that shoulder
I Hate
City teeth a chalk smile, missing a canine seems all more harmlessly passive, the defanged vampire
The beast lays in wait licking it's chops thirsty for all it can take
Bare your thoat be the willing meal
Let it **** you dry, why not?
I Hate This
Fret and flutter running loose on a lost dime
Calm, cool, collected, yeah right
Lies, storming rage under too thin skin till it bursts at the seams
Lava pouring till everything's gone
"Life's what you make it"
Spoon fed hogwash to make us feel it's our fault where we end up
Dreams held in front of our faces
Treats on a stick, can't reach it but it keeps you going
Till legs break, lungs cave, and your will is snuffed gone to the gutter.
I hate this ****
I think bugs are creeping around in my pores, in the stitching of my clothing, each individual focal of hair, running rampage in the creases of my frontal lobe.
**** I Hate This ****
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 2:51 AM UTC
the tassles from the corner of
your journal complete a round of chess
on my chest. I've waited water.
the fold out map of surrounding eras
confirms my suspicion that
all doomsday prophecies are false. all ****
day prophecies, not so much. the
tragedy resides in this: that it doesn't
have to be **** we just refuse to clean up
after ourselves and start from
square one. adults tell
children not to fight. adults tell children to share.
adults tell children to look after one another. society is
an orphan with no
orphanage. you can't blame it
for not knowing any better. however, society
was pregnant in the 1960's. we
gave it an abortion. society may be pregnant
once again. it's up to
us if we're ready for the responsibility of
children.
Mar 15, 2013
Mar 15, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
The unlayering of a soul
Like the drawback of an old beautiful curtain
Dusty and covered in a masquerade of golden tassles
Hiding the depth behind
And when they uncover
Unmask
Choose to perform
My eyes and heart are captivated
By the magic that is in stuttering toungues and loud cackles
Long stories and love poems
I came to tell my story
And my ears were much happier after
Having soaked in the noise of humanity
The sound of souls
A room full of souls
And I have been in those empty rooms before
Those rooms silent and eager for more space
Rooms echoing with soulless disconnection
And these people are not soulless but they do not give themselves up
don't give themselves freedom to be those souls
And I can only relate to people who have that soul
Who have the depth the expanse, the mind, the breadth to express
Their innermost pains, joys
And a room that is soulfull
Accepts
And a drawback of curtains
Assumes no judgement
For why would there be?
What would there be to judge?
I used to cry about feeling like a stranger in my own home
Then feeling guilty for being sorry for myself
And throwing up a pity party when no other life is better than mine
and so many people have it worse in many ways
we know what it feel like to live in a world where you feel you never belong
Then to be faced with a room, heart beating a mile a minute, knowing the curtains will be drawn back and you will have to face the music of your own
I saw a woman today, with a face filled with so much love it was glowing
A love that made me want to love everything
And I know everything isn’t what it seems
But poetry is all about that seem
That perspective
From afar
As my arrow gets pulled far back into depths of deep internal demons
I am now being tossed into the universe
Endlessly
No aim
Fired off into the moving air
I feel like a plastic bag
Im flying by city lights
And city dreams
Hoping for answers hidden in the trees
Sunflowers have been planted
But it will be winter soon
Roots are growing, sprouting little buds of green
Not blooming yet
But there is growth
And strength in the little brown sprouted roots
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
I was a knotted shadow,
walking under a bridge
in Dublin, brick water vault
under the grand canal line,
on my way to the coffee shop.
Now I'm a sun-ray, lost to scatter
on the bolt-broad walk,
lost in a carpet cloud,
lost, lost. I'm in another place,
where the wind off the river
tassles the tops of slate roofs
on its way to my corner windows,
a mocking push that carries no salt.
I am sure I will not see it again.
I will go out instead, forward,
out into the alleys and greeneries
& grassworks and cementings,
to find something new
that might replace a wet shadow
full of coffee by the sea.
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 11:01 AM UTC
The Morning Sun ©
Stanza 1 :
The short hand of my big,round clock
Diligently whirred the hour of nine,
And the unfailing sun - faithful to her calling,
Rose again to shine.
Stanza 2 :
Arghh ! The tendrils of her luminous rays
Sprayed discomfort - exceptionally piercing,
The moment of silence aided the voices of
Chirping birds perching the leeward side of
A neighbouring roof,
Adding somewhat a lustre, to the
Unwavering heat that fortunately found a
Path through the holes of my crisscross net.
Unbidden,I refused to adore her glistening
Grace,
Wallowing in selfpride,I declined my warm
Expression of gratitude for all of her
Kindness during the rainy days.
With overwhelming disdain, I let low the
Fringes of a yellow transparent curtain.
Stanza 3 :
Nevertheless, undeterred as ever, she
Increased the dazzling filament of her
Toturing flame,
And all I ever did was gawk intermittently,
At the grandeur of her charismatic display
As she waxed and waned delightfully.
Causing tiny,glints to appear on the
Edges of swaying tassles that adorned the
See - through veils of my living room.
Arghh ! There she goes again - her
Untouchable forelocks made me scoff : they
Were as deadly as those oily,boiling,spittles
Dripping down from the cut - tops of
Long-lived vulcanoes,
Which no man ever dared tame.
Stanza 4 :
The sweeping swish of daytime into
Noonshift, shapelessly radiated those lines
Of light through the scuds of sheepish grey,
As indifferent as ever : no soul, dead or
Living has ever been fortunate to wear her a
Royal crown - oh nay !
I marvel in awe as I unwillingly did watch,
My poor, sullen eyes could droop at some
Point,
Inwardly jealous of her daily, scorchy, touch.
Jahmenmuze.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 8:37 AM UTC