Best Brooches Poems
Shadowed in the silent room, the daylight's nearly gone
Dusk climbs in through window glass, with one last ray of sun
I start the task, climb on a chair, reach up to shelves so high
to mother's boxes neatly stacked, and dust gets in my eyes
I take one down, to look inside and sit upon a chair
I find some musty linens, laces needing some repair
Discovering old photographs, the year was '42
Her face was smooth as porcelain, unblemished, young and new
Old documents and letters, a history unveiled
Her letters, torn and yellowed, such stories they would tell
The next box held small china cups, so lovingly embellished
And then I found a book of verse, inscribed with poems she relished
Some dresses stained and wrinkled, their fabric thin and tattered
Were once a thing of beauty, as if they really mattered
Her jewelry, gold and silver, some lovely rings and brooches
A warm sensation circles me, her presence now approaches
I sense a change come over me, and fleeting leave of gloom
The darkness of the evening lifts, as sunlight fills the room
She wraps her warmth around me, her fragrance in the air
My loneliness is free to go, I know that she is there
Among these things, I find the last, the smallest box of all
Inside it are the baby clothes, I wore when I was small
A letter there to tell me that she knows the tears I've cried
Her words of love that never died, they fill me up inside
These treasures speak her words to me, and now that I am grown
She wants to tell her story, those parts I've never known
I've heard her voice, while sitting here, among her china flowers
I"ve found such peace, she's next to me, to spend these quiet hours
____________________________________________________________
Written 6/8/2008
Submitted to Contest: "Old Jewelry or Just Old Things or Old,
Old Poems/Poetry Contest "
Sponsor: Broken Wings
I have chosen You.
Sweet and handsome mortal, come to me…
Whisper to me your longings,
and I shall tickle your ear with my saccharine breath.
I shall take you to places
where only gods and goddesses roam.
Aware am I of how my radiant beauty entrances you...
Be thankful to the Fates that it is you I have chosen.
I have sprung forth from Ocean's foam,
but we shall churn that sea...
Flowers at my feet would pale
to the flowers that spring forth from my heart
How I know too well that my eyes mesmerize
A twinkle from the windows of my soul
and I know I have captured you.
I would gladly take off these necklaces ‘round my supple neck
if it means that your lips trail soft kisses instead…
I would happily unclasp these brooches in my hair,
and let my flowing tresses
tickle your gorgeous face and body,
as I take my turn to adorn you with my kisses.
I shall discard these golden robes made by the Kharites and the Horai
and reveal my nubile body for you to explore
with your eyes…
…with your hands
with your lips…
Let the Seasons be forgotten,
as we move to only know of Love.
I have chosen You.
Sweet and handsome mortal, Come to me…
August 5, 2010
Morning ignites a murder of white crows.
Roosting in the loft of spruce, maple, and oak.
Preening moon and star from death's fertile dream.
Ribbons of sunlight wrapped tight, ancient scrolls.
Window ajar, enter angels donning brooches of mint.
Crows perched lightly upon honey-kissed bedposts.
In each platinum beak, they carry one corner of my ghost,
lifted toward an ember of pulsating eternity.
Garnished with pearly crown and secondhand wings.
Outside, the crows lined up along golden cobbled clouds.
Motionless, like a rosary of gleaming white stones.
Whispering, whirling secrets of galaxies and geodes.
Drifting about, chrysalis-brained, rose petal-hearted.
Leaving behind glittering pools of scented hieroglyphs.
Orange robes enchanting the horizon with lavender mist.
Butterflies released from blue granite chrysalis.
Riding a stream of cherry sunbeams and glitter.
The echoes of a rainbow are a grand place to live.
,
Holiday season
Shopping spree;
Downtown bazaar
~~~~~~~~~
Easy atmosphere
All sorts of stuff;
Bargains galore
~~~~~~~~~
Table stalls cluster
Mini display items;
Souvenir trinkets
~~~~~~~~~
Crowded commotion
Zesty curiosity;
Sellers and buyers
~~~~~~~~~
Tucked in a corner
Custom-made brooches;
Artistic flair revealed
~~~~~~~~~
Flea market bazaar
Noisy excavations;
Happy discoveries
~~~~~~~~~
Vendors preside
Over special goods;
Come buy, come buy
~~~~~~~~~
Business pulse shows
Some transacting briskly;
Others just waiting
~~~~~~~~~
Weekend bazaar
Cash and carry ventures;
Curious smiles escalate
~~~~~~~~~
Buzz of discovery
Pretty and cute things;
Happy exchange
~~~~~~~~~
Voices float and fill
Seekers finding wares;
Easy breezy bargains
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
29 November 2014
Singapore
I need to win the Powerball
For my house is getting small
It's not exactly what I prefer
It's just the size of my elephant herd
Ceramic, glass, plaster and wood
Plush, wax, cloth and plastic
The number of my herd is fantastic
My pachyderm collecting is understood
At first it wasn't about me
I enjoyed the symbol of the GOP
But slowly, but surely there became a need
So gathering elephants became a happy deed
Family and friends send them to me
And I delight in their generous deed
Birthdays, Holidays any occasion
I accept pachyderms of all persuasions
Pictures, carvings, pillows and dolls
Statues, figures, candles and canes
Brooches, clocks, elephants of anything
Can't stop at one so I get them all
My elephants are happy, some are sad
But I never met an elephant that was bad
Trunks up for good luck make me glad
Small elephants, large elephants more to add
My house was once room enough for me
But my pachyderm's population now exceeds
To say my space has been disturbed
No, I just need a larger house for my elephant herd
A damsel longed for a knight
a man to fight to fight for her causes
with whom she could love and unite
To be with for eternity
to kiss him under the arches
a damsel longed for a knight
A fine brave warrior to fight
protect her from evil witches
with whom she could love and unite
Dance a few reels with tonight
wearing a dress with fine brooches
a damsel longed for a knight
A knight to help her feel safer
a man who would spare her farces
with whom she could love and unite
At last she met her shining knight
together alone she blushes
a damsel longed for a knight
with whom she could love and unite
9/14/17
Televisions getting muted
Signals getting lost or boosted
Meanwhile people hooted
Brooded and continually feuded
Was not one to make my drinks diluted
Made me snooze quick or feel rebooted
Having solutions
Handling problems without saying "Houston"
Already proven
Am only human
Not trying to jeopardize the world, because I don't want to see it ruined
Those that were undisputed
At one point or another, got uprooted
Who are you trying to kid
Hating is all that you did
Making sure, I soon win
And that I doom him(them)
Somewhat reclusive
Yet elusive
Not one to make excuses
Or rely on ruses
If you want to be intrusive
Then in the end, the evidence will be inconclusive
Went with and against the blueprints
How I meant to do it
Am one of the truest
With my music
Some folks scrooges
And others stooges
Grandma wore occasional brooches
Mom said boy stop being foolish
And so stupid
Took some cruises
Throwing up Deuces
WINTER SOLSTICE AT NEW GRANGE
Sun seems to have gone away -
Light bonfires! Pray she will return!
Our calls to her rise with the burn:
Winter solstice the darkest day.
Our hearts at New Grange will fill:
Trees evergreen are cut for scent;
Dancing and singing with energy pent;
Warding off this dark day’s chill.
Mark the path scant ray has found -
Only in this, the shortest daylight,
A dawn hardly changed from night,
In long dim passages underground.
The pale ray tells this day is worst,
Buried ‘neath our secret mound
Built in strongest fortress round -
But tomorrow will be the first
Of better days when wine and meat
And proud bronzed brooches
Shining as the light approaches
Will cheer the clans to dance and eat.
...........................................................
Poem about Celtic Winter Solstice Holy Day
for Deborah Guzzi's competition.
A face presses up to a store window display
of an angel in ermine
with arms bangled and boots thigh high.
Mannikin thighs harder than the fake tree
in the corner festooned with popcorn ...
stale now in the airless window.
The eyes of the child glow looking in
as mannikin eyes look out at the
turtle-necked tourists stopping to smile
at the child watching a toy train wind
past the feet of the angel in ermine
and her glistening red boots.
The train is filled with jeweled brooches,
earrings, and a necklace of diamonds.
Growing tired now, the child walks
to a cardboard box at the corner of this store
where her mother sits on an old pillow
holding a flute to be played as its
red carrying case fills with coins.
Coins that will never buy diamonds.
Hauntingly beautiful Christmas carols her mother plays
while the child sits on the sidewalk
watching feet pass and coins drop.
Soon, they will walk across the street to a cafe
where she will drink hot chocolate
before they return to this box
to sleep in the silent night.
`
stuck between smoke stack volumes
in alphabetical order
woven metal bodies
straight lines leaving little to the imagination
some big, some small
from exhausted paint rollers
leaving their mark
just outside of the jewelry store
crushed cigarette butts on the ground
falling between the cracks
of walkways reflecting diamond brooches
you can’t afford
designer dreams offered at half the price
where the sign in the windows reads
“anything you want”
and you do
scents drift between stone columns
fast food lines move slower
as fries fall to the bottom
to be found later
when the traffic light finally turns green
and you run out of gas
stalling at the crosswalk
of where you never wanted to be
11/1/19
For the: Anything you want Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Jewels in mason jars,
jangle, jingle bracelets;
jagged, uneven gems-
Jaunty old style brooches,
jazzy costume trinkets;
jade, priceless? Maybe, just
junk- odd bits and pieces.
____________________
March 3, 2017
Poetry/Pleiades/Verse/Jewelry
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 881-662-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Pleiades J
sponsor, Kim Merryman
Third Place
Middle age woman from Tallahassee
believed she was something very classy.
Finger rings
Brooches, things
But time had warped her hourglass chassy
Beaches are where breaches adorn like brooches
Waves curl up to breach the surface of sea,
Then break, plunging headstrong to broach on shore.
Wales and dolphins breach off the beach with spit and spurt.
Crabs and worms breach the sand with holes and borrows
Waves and ripples crease the wet sand with furrows
The surge of tide erodes and reworks the inlet channels
A beach is a shore breached and broached in dynamic equilibrium and flux
Eroded, exposed then sand deposited, accrued and hoarded
With sediment piled up in reserve in dunes, hills, swales and shoals
Birds breach the sky and pierce the scenery
Footprints broach the serenity of beach expanse
Beaches - breached and broached are designed to cope.
It is a shame to have money and never enjoy it
It is disappointing to have power and never use it
It is pain to have people and never feel loved
It vanity to have the world and not its maker
It awful to be full, but never satisfied
It is pathetic to have men on your side but not God
It is terrible to have brooches and not know
It is troubling when we have been good to men but not God
It is meaningless to have life and not know who gave it
It is scary if all that is contained in your heart is blood
What is it then sorrow or pleasure?
Sorrow is sour but not always sorrowful
Sorrow in God makes you sore higher and higher
Pleasure is sweet but not always pleasurous
True pleasure is from the right hand of God the Father
So I conclude;
It is tragedy when you have God, but never acknowledge him
But the biggest tragedy is to die and God wants you to live
My mother was beautiful when I was young.
In pictures she wore pearls.
I remember her putting on sky-blue eye shadow,
Even her eyebrows beautiful,
like the Arc de Triumphe.
And her ruby brooches,
And her stain glass blouses, rhinestones glinting on her silver shoes,
Hat plush with black feathers.
I loved dressing up in the Eve
Of her gowns,
so that I, too, could be beautiful.
II.
One day my mother cleared away all her Cinderella clothes,
the gauzes of her spring,
.
Her rubies were not rubies, she vanished from pictures.
The mirror forgot her, saying I was the beautiful one,
my face rising into hers, hers falling from mine.
III.
My mother carries her face through the world
Unphotographed, hook of spine crushing the softness inside her;
mother-and-fatherless, uncertain in her bones,
afraid of sidewalks, left turns, yellow lights;
body packed for the small
space of the future.
For a long time now, I have been the beautiful one,
My mother’s face in mine like a relic.
I hold the stick of her arm.
In her face the last energy of sunset, skin unanchored to the bone
that must have made her beautiful once, the girl from another century who looks/stares back
at me from pictures and who does not know me.
The one who wears apricots and powder yellows, standing on the overexposed grass
Of another century, next to the azaleas that have forgotten their pink.
It always seems to be Easter,
the radiant sky blanched white.
My mother who isn’t my mother yet, smiling at whoever is taking the picture,
Not knowing my face will rise from hers, hers fall from mine,
as she looks from the brightness into the future's
long darkness, when the world will never again flock,
like a dove,
to the soft nest of her face.