Best Broach Poems
I did a show in this tiny town called Longyearbyen. We went snowmobiling around Svalbard and saw Arctic foxes, snow bunting, polar bear footprints and almost got lost in a blizzard.
Bill Bailey
Footprint
Nonchalantly, the broach of a bear’s footprint.
Not any bear…a polar bear; and blizzard…
a blizzard to cover one’s tracks. Indeed, lost -
bobbing along on a snowmobile venture.
The twist and turn of fact and myth dangles
at the edge of a bluff. Still, I can see it -
a wild fox in a white fur coat, with its bushy tail,
and a snow bunting, in flight, with black-tipped wings.
A footprint is a funny thing…I am there,
transported to a frozen oddity. My eyeballs
ogling the path, digging deep, down into the tundra.
What more will I discover on the polar beat?
Will the bear follow me as I retreat?
2/18/2023
Writing Challenge -F
Constance La France
I had a hole in my pocket, and lost my golden ring.
It wasn't much to many,
but to me, meant everything.
So the moment you came and wandered,
my path with all your treasure.
I made thief's solemn vow to plunder,
and take you for my pleasure.
I stole away your broach of pearls,
I stole away your rare flower.
With fiery hair, cloaked in curls,
took your purple virgin's bower.
I stole away your today, and yesterdays,
and all of your tomorrows...
But truth be told, I must confess,
I never meant you sorrow.
And at last when your eye was averted,
and thought you had nothing left to part.
All hope, now long deserted.
I stole away your heart.
I took you away from your sisters cheated,
and from your little brother,
All your desires and dreams I secreted.
to never belong to another.
Yet somehow through all the days,
you loved me for my thieving ways.
If I could turn back time, and leave you free,
would you take it all back..
willingly?
Where no sound escapes unchallenged above the din
of too many wars, waged for profits that have no future.
Lost now, only darkness clutches, upon his demise.
Fables, told ‘round friendly fires, chant his name eternal.
Birds of the forest, and fish in the sea, remembered his kindness forever,
and slowed in silence, when spirits spread the news of his demise.
From eastern tongues, chants heard in midnight chapels,
aglow in reverent prayer ‘till daylight dawned,
and rows of fallen soldiers, white stones of his demise.
His friends who could not broach the musket….lift the water pail,
and scorned the day of distant guns, their path was lost.
The masters of the chase cursed not of his demise.
Tho centuries turn, the din still heard, fresh enemies forged,
repeat once more, while mothers weep, their cries unheard,
and planes come home to belch caskets, filled with his demise.
The fallen sing from distant stars, so bright for all to see,
with blending light, the truth never dies.
Behold the day when all will see the end of his demise.
12/30/10
8:20 am
© All Rights Reserved
Sometimes we eat when we’re hungry
Or else when we’re just in the mood,
But everyone’s habits are different
In how we relate to our food.
There are 3 meals-a-day folk as well as
The ones who skip breakfast or lunch
And grazers who nibble for most of the day
Or snackers who in-between munch.
There are people with junk food addictions
And those who shun pork, beef or fish,
While the gluten or carb-free among us
Pay attention to what’s in each dish.
As for sweets, that’s a whole other story –
When you think about ice cream or pie
Or the various candies and chocolates
Without which some could never get by.
Just consider your own way of eating
With the foods you enjoy or you sneak
And you’ll realize, if you broach the subject,
That our diets are all most unique!
Covered bridge sheltering frothy lagoon
Woven tapestry gilding each silted dune
Garnished threads over polished diadem doth croon
Fabricated ensemble breaching pristine medley, emitting swaggering tune
A treasured grove; each branch artfully hewn
A regal polish smoothly layered on a well-crafted spoon
Scented laces nestling in furrowed moon
Binding corset ballasting each milky balloon
Red velvet gown swaddling paps so roon
Silver, monogrammed broach cresting over satin plume
Golden necklace the antechamber doth groom
Lilac perfume from each tendered Liily doth fume
Plowing through the quilted morass so carefully strewn
O'er snowy plain with sculpting touches tenderly prune
Nurturing each crevice; in your fecund valley swoon
Watching in rapturous chorus each mound bloom
With fertile lips I pollinate each riveted loom
From each rendered nipple a sweet nectar I exhume
The flowers bloom as I approach
And the birds sing to welcome me;
My mind is fumbling what to broach,
But my heart decides just to let it be
The stream flows and it is crystal clear
And the winds blow a kiss on my cheek;
My ears can't believe what it hear,
But my eyes can't keep to do more than just peek
The butterflies are coaxing me to dance
And the grass paves a way for my graceful move;
My feet say it's okay to miss this chance,
But my arms gesture to begin the groove
Time is so fair in this world I'm in
And fate forbid to keep me out for I will surely scream;
My body is shouting to leave and I hear its din,
But my soul wants to keep such paradise in my dream
Often, I fall to the ground in anguish and burst into tears,
not for lack of strength, but to ask for forgiveness;
seldom, I venture down a narrow and unlit road,
fearing the assailant is waiting for my innocent blood!
I call upon the Lord of infinite kindness and mercy
to keep those bad-willed men off my treacherous trail;
how I want to scrutinize the awesome universe
and name a few planets with careful observance!
And although I am unable to spot and discovered any,
with the naked eye: I seek them more than the Holy Grail!
Often, I question with disbelief how fate makes me broach,
affecting my emotions and destabilizing them to incur
dread when the heavy tread of footsteps approach;
are they those of a ghost or is someone at the door?
Not all men are evil and can boast of a massive wealth,
being rich is the privilege of the few, others only dream of it;
I've been assigned a formidable task which requires no stealth:
to make most of this existence, not indulging in excessive guilt!
Magazines and jewelry
Nothing shows your age faster
I see a broach and think “That is from the 40’s or 50’s.”
Mink stoles were from the 30’s to sixty’s depending on the style.
Mushroom canister sets excite my 1970’s self.
Teenage movie magazines from the 50’s and 60’s
are easy to recognize.
The disco stuff with the faux fur vests and
tight striped pants for men. 80’s.
I look at old magazines from the 60’s and
I know most of the players.
Maybe all of them.
I recognize Dr. Martin Luther King, Jacque O and Marilyn for sure.
Lucy and Desi, Tab Hunter and Natalie Woods.
Pink cars? From the 50’s and 60’s probably.
Turquoise cars? Not as easy.
Turquoise cars made a comeback in the 90’s.
But the style might help.
It used to be I could name the year of any car
built from 1955 through 1980.
I doubt I could do that anymore.
Having moved on to other interests.
The Checker and the Mercury Marquis do not count.
They never wavered much from their own status quo.
I visit antique stores and smile.
Recognizing things from my childhood.
Everything from my childhood is in an antique store including me.
I feel totally fine about it. It is the natural order of life.
"Hey, isn't that what's his name?" Uh-oh.
Inside this little locket of mine I keep all my memories of old
childhood laughter shared with siblings, smiles of mom and dad
upon a floral bed of written words, a scribbled diary of gold
holding the treasures of a well lived life, a quiet story of youth
Inside the ocean of my mind swims the history of my days
high school dances that never were and dates that never trailed
sober with imagination I lived inside this tick tock amulet of mine
making up stories that brimmed with life and always kept time;
I danced with every star, and waltzed with every dusk lit moon
inside my room I was a trapped butterfly longing to be set free
and then the day came when love met me and I flew away
to a land of greener pasture where my heart could finally sing
A cameo, a broach, an heirloom of old, keeping me alive
that is what my heart is, this is how it feels, as I grow old
inside this little locket called my heart I keep all my memories
although my youth has slipped away like yesterday's flurries,
I keep each memory inside my trinket heart, all fire and soul
arteries and vessel, all pumping with life and all, very good.
Several times I heard her knocking,
A noise I first found very shocking
Still it lingered,
‘Til I fingered
Her coral broach around my neck,
Thought I would be a total wreck
It gave me solace,
A renewed promise
When I set about making rhymes
I knew she was very near these times,
And seeking my loving attention
This I must not fail to mention.
written October 8, 2021
I hope that God won’t turn His back
I hope the Lord leaves just a crack
Where I may slip within His heart
To beg him for a silver cart.
Please…no gilded chariot of old
With creaky wheels of flaking gold
That split and peel along the way
Then hurriedly fly, to run astray.
Grant to me please mithril spokes
So rancid air’s not trapped nor choked
By thoughtless words of those whose trade
Is flipping hearts to darkened spades.
I beseech and beg for happy thoughts
To share with others who’re distraught
A boutonnière to better cope
A broach for pockets. filled with hope.
We are going on a trip to the British Isles
and Channel Island of Guernsey and Normandy.
This sure should be quite a cruise. Here is my
first poem I am writing about it even though I
have not been there yet. Here goes.
Crabby Walking Though the Abbey
by James Thomas Horn before we
go bye.
Can't leave London without having fish and chips
Which originated from slick, sailing ships;
Could ride by restaurant in horse drawn coach
See beautiful women while wearing a broach.
Many smiling people everywhere we shall see;
Some may even be from upper high society
Who all have much money they can spare
Yet, still can seed noses held high in the air.
While we were looking did see a lovely doll,
And ended up having a big barroom brawl;
After we left and what soon was a little later
Americans were accused of being an instigator.
From it all we started having terrible cough
Maybe it was from riding get on and get off;
Over pages of those punished started to skim;
No wonder Tower of London looks so grim.
But, at last, lovely parade now had begun;
Women had fun wearing hair in a big bun;
After seeing hats and hearing all of the hype,
Wanted to hear band who played a bagpipe.
Saw some important people in front of a manor
And out in front of it could find a big banner,
But you could see me starting to get crabby;
Wife said we will walk though entire abbey.
James Thomas (Out of Breath) Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
www.story-telling-around-the-world.com
I feel like since Facebook, I’ve been living in the past
Seeking old friendships that I once thought would last.
But I noticed with some, whom I fortunately found
With each passing day, those friendships lost ground.
Although as a friend they generally accept
Yet with one another, we seldom connect!
So why have I, continued to search?
Is it to find a friend, or my heart to birch?
Is it because I’m trying to find my way?
So I keep looking back, to that good ole day?
Maybe for me, it’s just really hard to part
I don’t know, that’s my shot in the dark!
King Solomon warned us: he said it’s not wise
To question the former; because today is the prize!
So I think I will change this silly approach
Wear the friends that I have, like a diamond filled broach!
And if by some divine intervention
Paths cross again, I will pay close attention!
But until that day, I will press towards my calling
And thank my Lord Jesus that I’m standing not falling!
Stacey Brown 3-5-14
This morning through my window I gazed
A golden shower bride I amazed
Heard a beautiful flute music I glee
Searched each twig of the golden shower tree
A golden yellow bird singing its merry song I spied
Hiding on one twig calling its bride
Of my golden shower bride swaying in the breeze pale
A broach on her yellow flowery veil
Meeni slept in bed with a big brown cockroach
“It’s an adulatory, ", I went to broach
She growled like panther
"I love Mr. Gunther”
"Dad,go and bum around Miss Apricot Poach”