Millinery poems on Hello Poetry

Emily Dickinson

1682

Summer begins to have the look
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly but sure perceives
A gain upon the backward leaves—

Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.

The eye begins its avarice
A meditation chastens speech
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy industry.

Conclusion is the course of All
At most to be perennial
And then elude stability
Recalls to immortality.

Emily Dickinson

Its little Ether Hood

1501

Its little Ether Hood
Doth sit upon its Head—
The millinery supple
Of the sagacious God—

Till when it slip away
A nothing at a time—
And Dandelion’s Drama
Expires in a stem.

Diamond Dahl Dec 2012

My Life [in my Head at Least]

The pair we make
My heels ringing on the pavement
Your arm gallantly offered
Steadying me on our traverse
The ground is wet, as is the air
Not that we notice
Laughter hiding in our conversation,
Our heads bent toward each other to share a secret
We are dazzling, and out of place
Our dress more suited to a scene from a film noir
Fine coats to keep the damp at bay,
Topped off with smart millinery
We care not
This is who we are, and what, and we love it
The modern world can keep its low-slung jeans, and Jäger bombs
We'll stick to jazz, and gin,
And just maybe find people like us.

Just silliness. :) This is how I see my life in my head. Sometimes it actually is like this, but not all the time. lol
Written 5 Dec.

J R Cramer Nov 2018

Leave-Taking

She observed herself
Standing fast in clouds of steam
This felt so unreal.

Remote perspective
Would make survivable the
Dreaded encounter.

The necessities:
Tickets, porter, clock,
Time creeping along.

Maintained a distance
And staunch objectivity
‘Til the last moment.

Final words spoken,
All defenses splintering
She paused, one last look.

One last chance to stay,
Vanquished, punished, forbidden
The wide world’s pageant.
.
Point of inflexion.
The tug of the familiar
The pull of the known

Would invert the arc,
Intended trajectory,
Retrogressively.

And then, there it was:
Unctuous, demeaning smile,
Withering and cruel.

Pierced by well-honed fleer,
She reflexively shuddered
Like fly-stung horseflesh.

Ears roaring; face flushed
She felt foolish, faint-hearted,
humiliated.

One breath, and one more,
Forcing herself to stare down
Scorn and ridicule.

Then chin uplifted
And breath becalmed, she nodded
And scant smiled Adieu.

Thus the poetess
Righted her millinery,
Spun on her bootheel,

Snapped her parasol,
gave her bustle a barely
Perceptible shake,

And with solemn mien,
But mirthful eyes, she set forth
For better morrow.

#farewell #departure #toxic #relationship

Gerry Sykes Sep 20

Witches Hat

Lurking
in the corner of
Greenhead park’s playground
balancing on a fifteen-foot pole – the precarious witch’s hat.

Tom
and   I
grab the iron bars
that  descend  from
the wicked cap’s conical apex,
run round fast as we can and jump
onto the centrifugal circular oak brim of the whirling witch’s hat.

Tom,
two years braver
than me, climbs up the
Satanic bonnet’s metal ribs.
He stands akimbo with his feet
on  the  crossbar  and  arms  grasping
the spinning steel triangle at the top of the bucking witch’s hat.

A
couple of
seasons less assured,
I see danger in the motion
of this malevolent millinery, and cautiously cling
to the ferrous frame and solid wooden base of the gyrating witch’s hat.

Rapidly
revolving,
seesawing and spinning,
the heinous headpiece tries
to crush our legs against the pole
or fling us up into the air to fall onto
a black, hard and sharp cinder surface; victim of the venomous witch’s hat.

We
spring off the slowing
death cap, safe and exhilarated
by the swirling danger of Greenhead park’s wild witch’s hat.

he witches hat was a conical roundabout that turned and swung while balanced on a tall pole. Along with many playground items it has disappeared because of health and safety regulations ( it really did cause many injuries). A safe version has been reintroduced at Wicksteed Park that has a mechanism to prevent limbs getting crushed against the central pole.
The form of this poem might not come out well on a mobile phone as the final line of each stanza is long to look like the brim of a witches hat.

#playground

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