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Four Poems 1
in a hip song mistress
my address is a waterfall
& grove of young
pines
i amuse myself with stallions
& sport occasionally
in a thin white dress
Poems on the topic: dress
Poems on the topic “dress” on Poets.by.
Sequins
red on gold under gold the red thread will tie in the sequin
the dress will transform from the funerary gown of soft cloth
metal pearl mother-of-pearl the peacock sequins emphasise
the scar : where it was cradled in soft cloth it shifts with light
it now shifts with light
a battle armour with shiny metal frilling
a mail-coat
an armoured dress
the metal frill catches and disperses light from
embonpoint to point of candlelight it is no dust
no accretion of dust occurs in the music of fabric
flame does not show yellow in blue blue glass
sequin it : it hides the wound
sequin it: with the red thread
sequin it : the loosed skein
tack it in stitch on stitch and
A New Hymn
Sing a song of men’s pyjamas,
Half-past-six has got a pair,
And he’s wearing them this evening,
And he’s looking such a dear.
Sing a song of frocks with pockets
I have got one, it is so’s
I can use my ’nitial hankies
Every time I blow my nose.
A Beautiful Lady
We like to listen to her dress,
It makes a whisper by her feet.
Her little pointed shoes are gray;
She hardly lets them touch the street.
Sometimes she has a crumpled fan.
Her hat is silvered on the crown.
And there are roses by the brim
That nod and tremble up and down.
She comes along the pavement walk,
And in a moment she is gone.
She hardly ever looks at us,
But once she smiled and looked at John.
And so we run to see her pass
And watch her through the fence, and I
Can hear the others whispering,
"Miss Josephine is going by."
Miss Kate-Marie
And it was Sunday everywhere,
And Father pinned a rose on me
And said he guessed he'd better take
Me down to see Miss Kate-Marie.
And when I went it all turned out
To be a Sunday school, and there
Miss Kate-Marie was very good
And let me stand beside her chair.
Her hat was made of yellow lace;
Her dress was very soft and thin,
And when she talked her little tongue
Was always wriggling out and in.
I liked to smell my pretty rose;
I liked to feel her silky dress.
She held a very little book
And asked the things for us to guess.
Who Knows How Beauty Springs
Who knows how beauty springs
Out of the world of things,
To take the eyes with sudden flame
And vanish whence it came,
High above things that vex,
Fear, covetousness, spite and sex ?
Lost in the busy day,
In thoughts that harry and press,
I knew a young girl passed
And heard her swinging dress ;
And when I turned I saw,
Raised on a stair,
Only her ankle, finely poised
Against the coloured air.
Who that has known can tell
How in this world of things,
Remembrance
What shall I do with my marriage dress?
In which I walked the lover's way?
Shall I wear it in forgetfulness.
Through a less honoured day?
Shall fastenings he has drawn for his delight,
Be loosed by a less honoured hand, at night?
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