Oh, Spring my love I feel now your sweet hug,
you send soft breezes to stroke- to entice;
Spring your loving fingers . . . my serene drug,
I longed for you through winters coldest ice.
Putting on my prettiest dress for you,
so we will frolic ~ spin ~ twirling, whirling;
under the sun . . . under the sky bright blue,
even the wildflowers will be swirling.
We will stroll where lovers left their footprints,
oh, they felt hope for their love to flourish;
the lovely girls in flowered cotton chintz,
I love you Spring for my soul- you nourish.
Spring, I listen to you whisper to me;
in the night-time . . . where I exist with thee.
She wore her skirt short,
her lingerie to be seen.
Such sights aplenty!
Gawking, gawping eyes
lusted at shear nudity.
They burned with hunger.
She proudly stood in
ruffled edges of cheap chintz,
dimmed and stained with wear.
Though worn and weathered,
her shoes had seven-inch heels -
a platform for love.
She was hardworking,
a rough road for seven years,
never a complaint.
She saved her rewards,
wed an investment banker,
retired at 30,
and laughed her way to the bank.
fingering white pages, one by
one, painted with ebonic ink.
borrowed,
i’m blushing
like a bride.
the rush
of pages,
windmill
churning…
so careful, this klutz, sipping tea.
lady grey,
graceful,
citrusy.
book rests under the bulbous light.
minutes,
so close,
without a spy.
singular tea bag holder, rose chintz,
chipped away at my piggy bank.
tea-stained spoiler
tainted twenty pages or so.
librarian
eying
the drip.
Whatever happened to common sense
when did we all become so dense
ya can’t fall off an un-sat fence
dreaming of why and where and whence
trying to figure out farthings and pence
trapped in a world of hereafter and hence
can’t really recall but it’s been that way since
we o’erthrew the king to favor the prince
expecting pure satin – wound up with cheap chintz
our armor now rusted, bloodless, with dents
thrown out of our houses we now live in tents
downwind from the castle’s hungerless scents
venom the substance of our effluence
fueled by delay of our just recompense
and for our actions offer no penitence
our fields long gone fallow wait in suspense
for the word of a dead king “let planting commence”
a king raised to power at our expense
John G. Lawless
©12/13/2021
Charm the waves,
Entail algorithms of templates,
Subclass the seasonal stripes,
Smash this tasteless flame stitch.
A chevron turning into an imperial damask.
Intarsia the charming argyle in this rotunda.
Rub the blotch off the bull's eye,
Collage the camouflage in this calico assemblage.
Chintz in the heart, chequer in the mind,
Charming Patterns.
Spring inks
cherry blossoms
in pinks.
Dabs lean
weeping willows
lime green.
And tints
blue waters like
glazed chintz.
(Musette)
4/2/2021
Photo #3
Finding Your Musette 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Little old ladies stooped over trays,
at the garden centre caff,
where they spend their days purchasing
tranklements, considered slightly naff.
Everythings game from gnomes to pomander
that remind them of their mothers,
that are placed upon shelves,with yet more elves
along with all the others.
The lucky ones, with husbands,
still shuffling behind,
attracting envious glances
from the ones with lives less kind.
They sit and eat their cucumber sandwiches
and sip their Earl Grey teas,
twin set and pearls and purple rinsed curls,
and painful, arthritic knees.
Then out to their Motability cars
with their plastic gnomes and honey in jars,
back to suburbia or their lonely flat,
with its chintz drapes and sofa and marmalade cat.
Boy :
deep beneath the veil
behind creaking songs of mouth -
felt fragrance of love
Girl :
nah! torpor dreamer
fret over your own fancies -
stars won't shine the day
Boy :
rain sweeping over
pall of clouds hiding the sun -
still I waits the smile
Girl :
before thunder knocks
lightning burns the tweet of love-
not the right day out
Boy :
burned pile of ashes
blown by the low moaning wind -
shines the fire of love
Girl :
fling of youthful love
swayed faded chintz of my mind -
stony heart melted
Walking in curiosity's footprints,
I wander through life like a beachcomber.
Placing wit above life's trinkets and chintz,
I seek thinkers and poets like Homer.
Many peg me as a shiftless roamer,
but I am anything but commonplace.
The cosmos gave me a glimpse of God's face,
and my soul knew that there was so much more.
Humanity defines the human race:
godlike, with a predilection for war.
I value my memories more than gold,
flashes of how it felt to be alive.
For recollections can't be bought or sold;
they're private places where emotions thrive;
shifting conscious thoughts into overdrive.
I don't follow fools who would burn witches;
I've more respect for those who dig ditches.
Diogenes searched for an honest man
amongst the schemers, hoarding their riches:
and though he couldn't find one, I'm still a fan.
Dawn’s xanthous blooming through the forest trees.
Bouquet from God’s hand suddenly immersed in light.
Flaming pine without a flicker, matchless crimson seize.
Skinny oaks like a garden gate, applauds pleasing sight.
O blaze of origin -
Sun’s ancient grin.
That was art and then the brush of current events -
First snow! Ah, my trees with crystal light not senseless rain.
Pavement filled in, tires leave their treads with my consent.
I throw on coat and boots! Twirl around outdoors, this child insane!
Flurries fallen footprints -
God’s gift of lighthearted chintz.
2/8/2020
Grandmother's Porch
Oh, with my love remembered!
Huge American flag flying with pride!
House a pristine white, with hunter
green shutters.
Three matching hunter green rocking
chairs with chintz cushions.
Huge geranium plant in a lovely wood
container.
Railings to keep us children all safe!
My hobby horse, Willy and my dolly,
Sally,in a high chair.
The most welcoming wood front door
with shiny brass handle.
Two lanterns beside that door of joy!
Oh, Grandmother Helen ! I miss you so!
And my days of cinnamon innocence.
October 22, 2019
A dusk, a glazed verandah, it's just rained,
a smell of lilac, earthworms and wet earth,
an awkward silence - the confusion chained
my tongue: “What if she’ll laugh at? Is it worth?”
A glass of wine casts the vermilion shade
over a tablecloth, a rocking chair
sways quietly, its oscillations fade
as far as you immerse into the rare
edition of “Les Fleurs du mal”* I brought
for you, a curious nocturnal moth
time and again sits on your polka dot
chintz dress, it’s getting late, a creamy froth
of lilac trees spills out of the garden
through open windows. I lament, I bide
my time. Oh, how the words of love are hard in
such an inclement May…
In June you died.
So many years have passed since then, my love.
Wine’s drunk, lilac is gone, the moth in vain
knocks on the screen, only the shadow of
your chair still sways in my delirious brain.
*(fr.) “The Flowers of Evil” by Charles Baudelaire
12.10.2019
Give Me Your Best New Poem Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Emile Pinet
With a knock upon my dressing room doors
I enter stage right to rapturous applause
And I sit before a white grand piano
So excited to perform
Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue
Such a treat for me to play
It would be a major coup
This masterpiece a challenge
So without further ado
A saxophone is heard
the audience sits without a word
Though excitement makes them burst into applause
Then silence
as I start to play my piano concerto
I am lost within my music
on a journey who knows where to
So please sit back ~ relax ~ and enjoy my first recital
As I venture on this journey concentration it is vital
Now at home sat in the comfort of my cosy chintz armchair
No piano can be seen ~ for there is no piano there
But deep within my mind’s eye I am reigning supreme
I am there upon that stage
I am living the dream
Written 9th October 2019
3RD PLACE
Contest: Living the Dream
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Contest: Strand Special 12
Sponsor: Brian Strand
3RD PLACE
It was just an old rocking chair,
Chipped up, flowered chintz, and worn,
We put it on the curb on trash pickup day,
"Free for the Taking,"
We looked out the window a time or two,
And no one had picked it up,
But then it was only an hour a so ago.
We could not stop looking and wondered why,
We felt a pang of grief, and
We were not ready to give it up,
We had memories of that faded cloth,
So what if the dark wood was scratched a bit,
Why, that's the chair Grandma rocked.
Our Grandma rocked us and hummed "Rock of Ages",
We can't let that old chair go,
Now we had to run after the truck,
And yell "Hey, that chair is
No longer 'Free for the taking,'
It is too valuable with love.
We look at it now, and tho vacant it seems to rock,
How could we ever have thought to give it away.
We are so glad you're back
~~~~~~~~ Pink Polyester Pants ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I really like to ride my bike, outside your porch, hopin' for a glimpse,
of you sitting, singing dress a clinging in neatly pleated floral chintz.
And that time after school-ly when that bully pinched you on the buttocks,...
Though I decked em, I must respect em for admirin' your tattered denim cut-offs.
And, oh, did you look sweet and sassy when you wore that peasant blouse,...
though maybe not so replete and classy when you trick or treat'd at my house.
Though you are one year older, I sure feel bolder a'climbin' o yer backyard fence.
But I really flipped when I saw you slipped inside those pink polyester pants!
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