Best Armoire Poems
* * ° * *
In
Mother
Moon's armoire
hang star-gilded
gowns of indigo
silk, heady with
cedar and
sandal
wood
* * ° * *
The lock clucks once as if to chide
You best let bygones be
The door growls loud as if to warn
There's nothing here to see
Peering through the dim-lit gloom
I heave a quizzical sigh
A mocking echo parrots me:
Where memories go to die
Forty years stacked and packed
Thought-bubble-wrapped collection
Brooding bronze, mahogany desk
A dense mass of recollection
Now, where is that which I seek...
My parents’ old photo book?
Where everyone looks so hale and young
It will take some time to look
French armoire, Persian rug, Chinese chairs
A frightful Congo mask
Searching on such a global scale
Is quite the daunting task
The storage fees are adding up
I should sell it all, I should
Let it all just fly away
On wings of copper, silk and wood
But all this meant so much to them
Mosaic memory of vanished days
Within these walls, as in my heart
The echo of them yet stays
_____________________________
For contest: Any Poem Meaningful to You
Sponsored by: Broken Wings
______________________________
Originally posted: Feb 23, 2016
(subsequently deleted)
I look at a pile of books bringing the memories of my past libraries
as a child only comics from the kid next door
that I will cut and paste to make my own adventures
the paste made of flour and water strong enough to fly a kite on windy days
the schtroumph preserved in a school book for me to see
in later years by his mother
never read a story by my mom she will sing to me as I watched her knit
removed on a farm in later times I opened an armoire
to open a book and discover the pleasure of words
and begged my uncle on a visit to buy me more
going to the village next to the hamlet I chose my first book
la guerre du feu
and so it goes back in the projects of Paris the serie noir of my mother
bringing me to crimes murder and deceptions was a lot of fun
as my sister trash magazines will nourish me with lush
exile to America with no english i was back to the comics
on Bleeker street the freak brothers a dream with the frieze at the bottom
telling the story of opening a bathroom door for the critter to disappear
and a first joint
putting my hands on short stories I read them all and went for more
my biggest library is making our noises hiding behind the lions
as we put our bicycle at rest at the bottom of the stairs on a dark night
and the rest is my own to tell as words become nonsense
as the manes have nothing to do with books
but the lions roar if you learn nothing
The Wayward Butterfly
An armoire stands at the end of my room,
And under the edge for days,
What looked like a rolled dead leaf
Continued to grab my gaze.
Finally, annoyed enough at myself
I got up from my easy chair,
I picked up that dried bit of mysterious stuff,
To see what really was there.
I held the object in my palm,
And then tears began to fall,
For the brown ragged thing was a butterfly,
Lost from the outdoor wall.
He had once been a beauty of exquisite rust
Dots patterning his so fragile wings,
And somehow, I’ll miss him with buried grief
For all the losses this aging life brings.
If sound reflect imagine and if a melody carried a chord,
Then the string and curl to bass the tone all I ask does it,
Kindle the spirit or enhance the sincerly of tone of a Pentatonic,
If atlas hold a key every vibrations of a sound is it of key?
Shackle of bonage out weights grace of night galaxy tides rise,
What voyage take place.
Wind gate voyage channeling harmony the look of amour,
Is the scent fresh or fresher of the announce or pronounce,
What is left to say is it a turn of the century.
Word gather can one tell the armoire,
Convert arch blooming sense,
Of fruit maybe Strawberries Peaches or Berries and Apple?
Valor engrave armour can one tell the time or place of such passion detour,
Central of feeling lost for words or full translation,
Hold truth content is a true connection more then a hold of a look,
Then ask if truth love of her can she take you there,
What can one be Absolution the vision or visionary,
The Cottage Of The Fruit.
Written for the tongue twister challenge
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Aunty acquired an
antique armoire
for her red-leather yellow-leather
lingerie.
Unique New Yorker, she!
People loved my soup but they hated me.
Everybody referred to me as the Soup Nazi.
I was strict with people and they feared me because I'm scary.
I scream my head off, that's why I've never been able to marry.
Everybody knew something that was certainly true.
When people pissed me off, I yelled "No soup for you!"
I refused to sell soup to a woman for kissing her boyfriend while standing in line.
My rules were going to be obeyed, I don't care that enforcing them was unkind.
I refused to sell soup to a bald man because he wanted free bread.
When a woman found my recipes in my armoire, I wanted to be dead.
Just because I treated her like dirt, she published them and put me out of business.
I had to close my restaurant and return to Argentina, my life truly is a mess.
I demanded discipline, breaking my rules was what I didn't allow.
I will one day return to America and slaughter Elaine like a cow!
(This poem was inspired by a Seinfeld episode.)
Dark evening not even a star
Wrong night to be coming home from the bar
It’s an awful long walk to your car
Me thinks your door’s been left ajar
Is there even any gas in that reservoir?
Everything seems so creepy and bizarre
Something's eyeing at you from afar
What’s that noise? Could it be a jaguar?
Or a farm animal being led to an abattoir?
Might it be a monster or a wakened avatar?
Or just some old lady in a peignoir?
Isn’t that an arm sticking out of her armoire?
Me thinks you might get the old feather and tar
Aurevoir
Arrgh…
AP: 2nd place 2022, Honorable Mention 2025, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on October 11, 2020 for contest HALLOWEEN FRIGHT sponsored by CAROLYN DEVONSHIRE - RANKED 2ND
and on October 19, 2017 for contest BOO - MONORHYME sponsored by ALEXIS Y. - RANKED 1ST
The Cloak of Friendship
We wore our cloak of friendship
like the finery of royalty;
now it hangs threadbare and tattered,
a dishonored breach of loyalty.
In the armoire of desolation
a mere cloud of evanescence;
this kinship once so vibrant
now stripped of incandescence.
Treasured memories from a lifetime
just discarded and destroyed;
how doth a heart feel heavy
when it’s nothing but a void?
Drowning in my dolor
our lost friendship to lament;
you just let it slip away
when for a lifetime it was meant.
Julie Conerly
2010
PREVARICATION
why now? said I, with sunrise in bloom,
can it not wait for silvery moon?
what if I tell her my knee has once more,
locked-up with swelling, can't get to the door!
viburnum you lovingly bought at the market,
must wait one more day, alone on the carpet!
the shingles I promised I'd fix by nightfall,
must hang snaggly toothed, and with luck, won't fall!
your armoire whose foot has cleaved in two,
can wait one more day, I'll be in the loo!
all through the years, you always would say,
"don't put off 'till 'morrow, what's best done today!"
there is one last thing, I think you should know,
my love for you dear, continues to grow!
Stranded courtesy bittercold without food or drink
Dire straits necessitated
yours truly to bethink
outside the box (literally outdoors
of squarish structured nested dwelling),
where blinding albedo effect
forced me to blink,
additionally also ruffled tail feathers
of this sole surviving male bobolink
(North American songbird,
Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
pushing survival species
to extinction brink,
thus series of unfortunate events
woke resident chewink
(North American bird,
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
also called: towhee
or ground-robin),
tweeted from within
his cozy armoire chink
polar vortex froze habitat,
whereby arctic wind found
brushy areas to clink
unwittingly brambles ferocious
waving circular rotation
wrought minuscule countersink
eh, no bigger than a cufflink
his ornate bejeweled complex edifice
compliments of sizable income
allowed, enabled, and provided
opportunity in tandem
with significant other
to create acronym named dink
(dual income without kid)
acquiring handsome combined income
rendering and selling stylized goldfinch
also known as distelfink
common motif in
hex signs and fraktur,
which interpretive native folk art
eye state meaningless
without rhyme nor reason,
superfluous gibberish by George,
and/or...well... courtesy
following more purposeless gobbledygook
defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink
intelligently nsync with downlink
playfully, jauntily, and deliberately
creating confounding badinage eyewink
at thee, no doubt many
an anonymous innocent
reader calling me ratfink
under their breath or more
colorful brutal appellation
inducing cheeks of unknown followers
turning fifty plus shades of firepink
moost definitely concurring gink
perfectly apropos description
concluded individually versus
collectively, quickly, and
unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink
I approve this entire message, which
most likely tinders pet peeve,
concluding GoDaddy liberally did hoodwink.
Lavender Massage Oil, Lavender Sheets
The snowstorm doing its very best,
To sneak through the window panes
to our night of play and rest.
The almost musical crackling of our
grand fireplace.
Casting an amber-like glow on your chiseled,
beautiful face.
The armoire with lighting divinely glamorous,
A setting for lovers forever, truly,amorous!
Flickering candles add to our lovers' nest
ambiance.
The piece de resistance is warmed Lavender Oil
making our hearts swirl and dance.
Those magnificent,silken Lavender sheets.
So inviting and what a great and wondrous
Christmas treat!
Good-night, dear world~ here is where
this poem must conclude.
We wish all those in love, a very close,
warm, winter's eve, interlude!
December 12, 2019
Below are 6 more footles, separate and distinct, with their own titles in bold font. A continuation of my footle fest!
Pokémon Podiatry
Tobias
Toe bias
The Maltese Wardrobe
Film noir
Armoire
Poetic Greeting
Haibun
Hi, Ben
Trio Töykeät
Insane
In Seine
Mushroom Clown
Fun guy
Fungi
Mobile Prayer & Spaghetti Truck
Pray go
Prego
Stranded in bittercold without food or drink...
Though the following
twittering scenario quite absurd,
methought diehard adherents of mine
(intimation also quite far-fetched),
some unnamed readers insomnia
nevertheless could benefit courtesy
a thought provoking tweet
east of Eden heard.
Dire straits necessitated
yours truly to be atypical and think
outside the box (literally outdoors
of squarish structured nested dwelling),
where blinding albedo effect
forced me to blink,
additionally also ruffled tail feathers
of this sole surviving male bobolink
(North American songbird,
Dolichonyx oryzivorus)
pushing survival species
to extinction brink,
thus series of unfortunate events
woke resident chewink
(North American bird,
Pipilo erythrophthalmus
also called: towhee
or ground-robin),
tweeted from within
his cozy armoire chink
polar vortex froze habitat,
whereby arctic wind found
brushy areas to clink
unwittingly brambles ferocious
waving circular rotation
wrought minuscule countersink
eh, no bigger than a cufflink
his ornate bejeweled complex edifice
compliments of sizable income
allowed, enabled, and provided
opportunity in tandem
with significant other
to create acronym named DINK
(dual income no kid)
acquiring handsome combined income
rendering and selling stylized goldfinch
also known as distelfink
common motif in
hex signs and fraktur,
which interpretive native folk art
eye state meaningless
without rhyme nor reason,
superfluous gibberish by George,
and/or...well... courtesy
following purposeless gobbledygook
defying poetaster to incorporate doublethink
intelligently nsync with downlink
playfully, jauntily, and deliberately
creating confounding badinage eye wink
at thee, no doubt many
an anonymous innocent
reader calling me rat fink
(Ed “Big Daddy” Roth's child)
under their breath or more
colorful brutal appellation
inducing cheeks of unknown followers
turning fifty plus shades of firepink
moost definitely concurring gink
perfectly apropos description
concluded individually versus
collectively, quickly, and
unanimously i.e. (think) groupthink
I approve this entire message, which
most likely tinders pet peeve,
concluding GoDaddy
go tell Aunt Rhody
yours wittily, truly,
quirkily, nervously, jokingly
attempted to hoodwink.
Bubbled glass in green
lit with tongues, electric hewn
now sit empty, brought down from the sky
in line on his antique armoire
The sun still remembers them
and kisses their skin
their insulator breath like a fire within
Breaking my walls
in reflections electric
passing the days with no purpose.