POETIC BLOOMINGS

POETIC BLOOMINGS, a site established in May 2011 and which reunites Marie Elena Good and Walter J Wojtanik to help nurture and inspire the poetic spirit.

DAY 12 – AUTUMNAL P.A.D. CHAPBOOK EXERCISE: COSTUMES



All Hallows Eve (Halloween) is in a few days, and we remember the costumes and outfits we’ve seen over the years. Maybe there was a costume you may have worn or something elaborate your children or grandchildren had donned to celebrate the day. So scare up a costume and write about it.

 

MARIE’S UNMASKING:

There’s only one way
To know ourselves and others:
Eliminate masks.

© Marie Elena Good, 2018

##

WALT’S OUTFIT:

THE SANCTUARY OF SHADOWS AND STARS

Night becomes your residence, your dwelling.
It is telling that you find your comfort here.
Fear does not invade. It has been forbidden.
Your masquerade keeps you hidden,
your costume serves to repel all hell dwellers.
In the sounds of evening’s symphony,
the cacophony of crickets and hooting things
rings loud and strong. Is it wrong to think
that dank and dark places could offer
sanctuary from all scary apparitions?
Besides, what is your position on the macabre?
These conditions are right for a night
protected by the shadows and stars.
This night time respite is a diversion,
far from the perversion of city lights
and car contaminants,
remnants of shouting and fighting.
Halloween night is your safe and welcome haven.
Seek your shelter there, sure and secure.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

BONUS POEM:

DADDY’S FLOWER BLOSSOMS

She has spread her cheer every year
for twenty-five. Her, alive with joy
and her heavily dimpled smile.
One of the sunshines of my life
and she, the sunflower of same.
Her name is Andrea, and her bloom
brightens every garden
she sees fit to visit.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik – 2018

 

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92 thoughts on “DAY 12 – AUTUMNAL P.A.D. CHAPBOOK EXERCISE: COSTUMES

  1. William Preston on said:

    A DIFFERENT SORT OF APPEAL

    Early
    springtime brings blooms
    and welcoming perfumes,
    but autumn wears superior
    costumes.

    NB: I will be away must of today and thus not able to participate much, if at all. Good poemming, folks!

  2. OCTOBER’S FINAL CURTAIN

    On the Eve of All Hallows, the four poet’s daughters
    would don guises of various sorts. Each year,
    something new, in competition to yield
    the most unique getup ever seen in the neighborhood.
    From their imaginings, with a bit of help, there were
    blue crayola crayons, Care Bears of various types,
    princesses, poodle-skirted bobby-soxers, an Avon lady
    complete with demo kit and even a farmer of piggies –
    straw hat and piglet in arm – but, the most original by far
    was the one costume no one ever imagined before –
    the one that made every adult question as they opened to see
    an elfen form draped in a brown paper bag holding a pumpkin.
    The smiling toothless response startled some and
    appeared to confuse others, “I’m a bag of groceries, of course!”
    With that, she would grin, wait for her treat,
    scampering after the other three with a chorus of “Thank YOU!”
    waking any souls daring to sleep on such a night.

  3. Marie and Walt…loved reading your offerings. Walt, seems sunflowers bloom in both our lives. I have a photo of my third daughter with the sun mask she made in middle school standing in my garden. What a blessing to have sunshines to keep us warm! Blessings!

  4. Pingback: UNMASK | pictured words

  5. Summer’s Final Breath

    Here in the true southwest,
    summer has departed, but
    autumn’s full arrival awaits,
    offstage, in the wings,
    visible but not yet tangible.
    Down here, near to both
    Mexico and the ocean,
    autumn chooses her colors
    slowly, carefully,
    not combining just any hues,
    until one morning in
    early November,
    as the sun creeps over
    Mount Woodson,
    she decides to show herself.
    Her outfit is muted,
    unlike the garish gear
    of early summer,
    more suited to satisfaction
    than excitement.
    For that, we must turn to
    the migrating flocks,
    the departure of the tourist families,
    the return of the Snowbirds,
    and the squawks of the crows on
    their daily trips to and from the dump.
    For a simple guy,
    whose joy has nothing
    to do with clothes,
    this is all good.

  6. Costumes and Treats

    Come Halloween night
    there were no store-bought costumes
    we rummaged in our parents’ closet
    for the real
    the ridiculous
    the unusual
    and came up with the usual

    Mom’s dress a string of costume jewelry
    Dad’s old coveralls, clean from the wash
    a handkerchief stuffed in the front pocket;
    neither of them minded the borrowing

    fresh child faces without a mask
    we could be someone else
    without hiding the real us
    and a small bag for treats we might receive
    but we waited ‘til the evening chores were done
    everyone else would be doing theirs too

    There were never tricks
    Mrs. B always asked us to sing for our treats
    I don’t remember the songs we sang
    on a cold October night
    only the smell of fresh baking
    spread on the table before us
    and the warmth of her country kitchen

    in a day we could do that

    Carolyn Wilker

  7. MEG…raw and honest (and enjoyed by me). Walt…a fine juxtaposition, and I especially feel your pride in number two

  8. Marjory Thompson on said:

    Whilst
    slowly shedding
    fall’s variegated costumes,

    trees
    reveal dark
    stately skeletons shimmering

    in
    anticipation of
    winter’s white uniforms.

  9. Indeed Walt, inside the mask, “in the dank and dark” is often a safe house from what we see thru eye holes.
    Marie, your challenge to demask is straightforward.
    Both, well done poetry.

  10. Earl J Parsons on said:

    Naked Soul

    A closet full of costumes
    All neatly hung and ready
    To choose for any occasion
    And wear with all the trimmings
    All fake façades to cover
    The truth about the wearer
    Bright, deceptive wrappers
    Intended just for show

    Inside these pretty outfits
    These garments of dishonesty
    The naked soul hides guilty
    In the shadows of the heart
    Confidently hidden by
    The costume of the day
    The wearer walks through life
    With little or no cares

    Then something shocking happens
    When opening the closet
    One single outfit hung there
    A costume it was not
    What once was white and pretty
    Was badly stained and tattered
    Just like the soul so hidden
    In the shadows of the heart

  11. WHO WE ARE

    My son was always a superhero.
    Nothing made him happier
    than lookig just like a Marvel character.
    It didn’t matter if it was or wasn’t Halloween.

    My daughter was ever changing.
    Her creativity could not be contained.
    She helped with designing her costumes
    until she could make them by herself.

    She was a unicorn , a mushroom,
    a dragon, a snake and a rainbow.
    She became a singing lobster once;
    she and her chef friend did a duet at each door.

    I was never comfortable in a costume.
    I don’t like to be other than who I am.
    But now I am thinking that for some people,
    costumes reveal exactly who they are.

  12. A More Simple Celebration

    There was a time when children rummaged
    In boxes of discarded clothes to find
    The perfect costume – Dad’s suspenders and bow tie
    Grandma’s old church hat, Mother’s apron –
    And topped it off with a spooky face mask
    Or donned an old bedsheet with holes cut out for eyes

    There was a street where every house
    Had porch lights glowing – a welcome
    To the neighborhood goblins – a street
    Where children laughed and twirled
    Carrying brown paper bags in which to
    Receive their bounty, popcorn balls, homemade
    Cookies, full size Milky Way and Snickers

    Now, on that street, the children are grown
    And only the shrubs are decked out in Halloween finery

  13. Walt and Marie, you poems really hit home today!

  14. Would You Guess?

    If I
    had leaves pasted
    all over my body–
    crimson, gold–would you guess I was
    a tree?

  15. Myself

    They move down sidewalks,
    neighborhood streets,
    (gathering smiles along with sweets)
    this flock of darlings a thousand-strong
    a laughing, giggling, excited throng.

    They chose to dress in
    other personas,
    (Batgirls, ghouls, Ironmen, Madonnas)
    Imagining, on these annual nights
    of being someone else–in tights.

    Their goal is identity
    not revealed
    (hidden, costumed, masked, concealed)
    to be someone who you are not,
    but inside, just the same small tot.

    I will not fly
    the skies this eve,
    (my cape and tights will have to grieve)
    not flex my muscles, no powers flout.
    I’ll just be Clark, handing candy out.

    © Damon Dean, 2018

  16. I love this Damon. Our dreams don’t die, but they sure do change!

  17. Costume

    For sixty-odd years
    I’ve played at being adult.
    My costume’s in rags.

  18. Connie Peters on said:

    My Big Brown Eyes

    We neighborhood kids made our rounds
    Dressed up as monsters or in gowns.
    Intent to scare or to astound.
    They guessed me for my big, brown eyes.

    One Halloween I went to school
    Costumed as burglar, oh so cool.
    Dressed all in black to surely fool.
    They guessed me for my big, brown eyes.

    At Scouts, a clown with round, red nose.
    Thick curly wig and floppy clothes.
    But You know how the story goes.
    They guessed me for my big, brown eyes.

  19. Unmasked

    The mask she once wore
    smiled vibrant and bright
    through crimson red lips
    and eyes sparkled blue
    hid hurt her heart stored
    from all people she knew.

    Shaken and shattered
    the mask fell to the floor
    leaving her unable
    to hide her hurt anymore
    while darkness poured out
    in childhood truths newly told.

    Unmasked she discovered
    true love that lasts
    through murky dark secrets
    once hidden by masks,
    through mistakes she made
    to cover the pain of her past.

    Unmasked she found
    friends who were faithful and true
    to share her heart tears
    walk with her through fears
    face all that was hidden
    by the mask of the years.

    • And since this prompt is COSTUME, here is the poem I wrote that fits the prompt. My head must have held on to Marie’s title and so I was working on MASK.

      He dresses every morning
      in red crimson and blue
      spidered jacket – far from new
      Mama smiles as he swings
      in the backyard from
      the imaginary web
      he pretends to fling.

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