Plaid

Capstone

Gold Member
Feb 14, 2012
5,502
952
290
I've always been partial to plaid.
Can't really say why, just something
about the various ways...
the lines are crossed and colors often clash.

And those that don't ...still define each other
in checkered relationships that rely
on a rigidly structured segregation
(or should I say compartmentalization?),

in which it's not often clear
as to which color plays the dominant role...
or for that matter which roles are dominant to begin with,
like those are matters of opinion.

Please don't ask why,
and it might just be me,
but there's something all-too-human...
in plaid.
 
For What It's Worth

From those who know the meaning of hard knocks --
a blanket, some discarded styrofoam,
the little things that make a house a home,
an alley and a filthy cardboard box;
to those who live instead the life of ease --
the art collections and exotic cars,
the vintage wines and finest of cigars,
the villas on their sprawling properties;
to those between the riches and the street --
the worries and the stacks of unpaid bills,
the cheaper transportation (hold the frills),
the paychecks with the ends that rarely meet:

despite what life has taught us all from birth,
money's not the coinage of self worth.
 
Vortext

Over and under and spinning around,
looking for anything nobody's found,
forced to interpret their holiest scrolls
(pondering meanings they haven't unwound),

out to avoid all "the wages" and tolls
dealt by The Lord to less fortunate souls
cursed from the womb with inquiring minds
doubtful of stories with so many holes,

guzzling down the communionists' wines,
crunching on flavorless crackers and rinds,
smacking and slurping and falling in line,
sucked up and into The Vortext Divine.
 
Hunky Jesus

Swimmer’s body “in the flesh”,
all muscled-up and toned;
scanty linen, April fresh,
adorns the holy stones;
fair-complected, honey-locked,
a studded crown of thorns;
Cultic Hero, fully-cocked
and loaded, pious porn.
 
Okay, only one more tonight: a truly deep one...

Twinkie

Enriched wheat flour,
niacin,
a folic acid kiss;
ferrous sulphate,
thiamine,
a riboflavin twist;

syrup, sugar
(fructose too),
hydrogenated soy
(so what, if only
"partially"?),
canola oily joy!

Baking soda,
sodium,
the gum of cellulose;
and whey before
the leavenings,
some starch to keep 'em close;

a pinch of salt,
then lecithin,
some monoglycerides,
then salt and salt
and salt again
the bland diglycerides;

then pyrophosphate,
calcium,
some polysorbate too,
a spritz of stearol
lactylate;
at last, we’re nearly through!

To crown the spongy,
golden treats
and make them come alive,
a splash of color:
forty red
and yellow number five.
 
Tears of Steel

A kid of thirteen on a roll,
I skated past a sobbing soul --
the setting Sun revealed to me
a waterfall beyond control.

This man, a two-fold mystery,
sparked youthful curiosity.
I couldn't help but wonder why
he shed his tears so openly.

I flipped a bitch to ask the guy,
"What happened, Man, to make you cry?",
I had another question too,
or three on deck and standing by.

He raised an eye of red and blue
and looked at me as though he knew
the underlying thought behind
my questioning of this taboo.

"A grown man's cry", he softly whined,
"is not among the shameful kind.
It takes some strength to show your tears
aren't corked and bottled in your mind...

and kept inside for deeper fears --
the thought of how a 'Man' appears
to those who'd make a judgement call
based solely on his fallen tears."

Then feeling just a little small,
still curious as I recall,
I had at least one question more
for which I would no longer stall:

"Hey, what's the super get-up for?".
I bluntly asked the guy who wore
the outfit worn by Superman
(of whom I was a major fan!).
 
Plaid makes me think of men in kilts which makes me think of...:eusa_whistle:

Funny -- it has the opposite effect on me. Shades of the Catholic schoolgirl uniform, maybe? Rest assured, I always visualize a fully mature woman wearing it...
 
Skirt Chase

Skirted Beauty, won't you tell,
what's underneath your satin walls?
To learn the secrets that you keep,
I'll follow through the Hallowed Halls.

To the Staircase and beyond,
I'll match your long and silky stride,
for the prospect of a glimpse --
the hope of seeing what you hide.

And if by chance I catch a peek,
of this, My Love, you can be sure:
I'll tell no other man alive.
I won't betray a trust as pure...

as THAT you've finally given me,
the lucky one who followed through
to see at last the Naked Truth:
what's underneath is purely you.
 
Of Splattered Flies and Windshields

I wonder what went through your mind
(besides what's plain for all to see),
before the impact redefined
the matter so transparently.

I wonder, from a thousand eyes,
how every single thing appears;
and when your vision multiplies,
how many more the fallen tears?

The sort of things no human knows,
the doubt my own reflection brings,
the questions I can only pose
to broken, disembodied wings,

and try to 'wash and wipe' away
those haunting remnants of your plight,
as stubborn bits and pieces pay
their tribute to your final flight.
 
Last edited:
Litter Fine

Discarded, torn, and crumpled up,
a wrapper in a swirling gust,
she partners with a plastic cup
to quickly share some gutter lust.

The former Snickers entering
the latter lying on his side
that still displays the Burger King...
she blows off on their windy ride.

Along the curb they toss and turn --
entangled , thrashing all around --
they consumate without concern
their trashy meeting on the ground.

Though one had sheathed a candy bar
and one once held the Mountain Dew --
a brief encounter sweeter far
than any else they ever knew.
 
The Dig (Obligatory Villanelle)

Dig deeper than you ever have before,
to seize the evolutionary day --
no stone unturned in what you're searching for.

To turn the key unlocking Darwin's Door,
retrieve the 'fossil record' from the clay,
dig deeper than you ever have before.

From shovels full of zinc and iron ore,
unbury truths within your sifting tray --
no stone unturned in what you're searching for.

Uncover, from the ceiling to the floor,
embedded gems of knowledge -- chip away --
dig deeper than you ever have before.

The gold for which "philosophers" explore,
reflecting in the dark, to light the way --
no "stone" unturned in what you're searching for.

Discover what the future holds in store,
from buried legacies in pure decay.
Dig deeper than you ever have before --
no stone unturned in what you're searching for...
 
Untitled

Just beyond the 'empty tomb', an
everlasting specter looms: from
sordid tales of 'fixion grew this
undead faith in long dead jews, whose
stories stoke(d) the flames of war -- a

Cataclysmic kind of lore. What
holy authors penned in blood, their
readers use(d) to fuel 'the flood' --
inquisitively, with a sword, they've
spread the love of Christ the Lord
to every corner of the world.
 
Foreign Soil

And piled, mounting, rising high,
the skeletons now scrape the sky
above this god-forsaken land
where Screaming Eagles jump and die.

And mark the tracks of tank command
that turn to red the golden sand
beneath the caterpillar tread --
the blood upon the throttle hand.

And leave the dying and the dead --
the War Machine must roll ahead
to liberate this foreign soil
from naked tyranny and dread...

(...and every precious drop of oil).
 
Last edited:

Forum List

Back
Top