My Pyjamas!
My jamas have lemurs and llamas,
A rude cockatoo and a yak,
Cerulean shrews and iguanas
All running amok on the back.
Each sleeve has a mischief of muskrats,
A murder of clamorous crows,
A skink, a pink skunk and four fruit bats
With rows of opposable toes.
The collar boasts monocled monkeys
In paisley and polkadot socks.
The legs brag sartorial donkeys
And ferrets in frothiest frocks.
The front sports a gluttonous puffin
And buttons of crocodile teeth.
The pockets have top-secret stuff in
And moles with the soul of a thief.
As wild as a vexed javelina,
As proud as peacockian flocks,
As loud as a laughing hyena,
As mad as a lunar-licked fox,
No eye can deny my pyjamas—
They’re stitched up to snatch centre-stage.
They’re raucous and reek of bananas.
Come daybreak they’re locked in a cage.
Odd Socks
—a villanelle
I’m pondering the quandary of socks—
I haven’t got a single matching pair.
On laundry day they disappear in flocks.
I fear a fetishist has picked the locks
And pilfered flirty strays of fluffy flair.
I’m pondering the quandary of socks.
Did Sherlock know this washing-filching fox?
Were Hercule and Miss Marple made aware
On laundry day socks disappear in flocks?
I’m eager for the summer equinox—
The barefoot bliss of sand and sun-soaked air.
No pondering the quandary of socks.
I dream of preening, eighteenth-century cocks
All keening for lost stockings in despair.
On laundry day socks disappear in flocks.
I hear the chime of mocking cuckoo clocks
As time flits by and frosts my frazzled hair.
I’m pondering the quandary of socks.
On laundry day they disappear in flocks.
First published in Snakeskin
Sorry Soles
—a triolet
His polished brogues prefer the well-paved way.
She treks untrammelled trails in crystal clogs.
Romantics pray their feet will meet one day.
His polished brogues prefer the well-paved way—
They bypass paths where puckish pixies play
And randy damsels snog besotted frogs.
His polished brogues prefer the well-paved way.
She treks untrammelled trails in crystal clogs.
Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.
What a delightful trio of poems which are pure fun, Susan! Each one made me smile while pondering the extraordinary permutations of the Susan Jarvis Bryant mind! These poems really made me think even though I realize they are not intended to be profound.
“Sorry Soles” had me a bit puzzled until I focused repeatedly (as the triolet form demands) on those “crystal clogs.” That, and the damsels and the frog reference, made me finally recognize that we are in Fairy Tale Land, albeit with phrasing one would never attribute to the Brothers Grimm! Unless I’m much mistaken, those crystal clogs are glass slippers, and the polished brogue-speaking dude is the Prince. Cinderella! What a delightful retelling from a rather tilted point of view!
The socks pantoum is hilarious. Socks do seem to slip into some parallel dimension when we are not looking. All those “socks” rhymes really tickled me but the piece de resistance (forgive the lack of diacritical marks in my computer-challenged French) is undoubtedly “equinox.” Those sock flocks is an image well worth remembering!
My favorite poem of the three is the first, the hilarious “list” poem describing your “pyjamas” (British spelled rather than American pajamas.”) You have created a menagerie of sonic parallels which delight both eye and ear (“monkeys/donkeys” was particular cute) along with a spree of internal rhymes and animal images and language which are great fun! You remind the reader of how rich the English language is, and how sometimes unexpected. “A mischief” as the collective term for muskrats; a “murder” as the collective term for crows. Where did such poetic terms come from, one must wonder? You make great use of all sorts of alliteration and assonance and this poem simply cries out to be set to music or illustrated in a children’s book. Brava!