Best Button Poems
A straw man stood fixed upon timber firm,
gazing at Autumn's gilded, moonlit prize.
He, the king of Earth and the winding worm,
she, the pale darling of cold starry skies.
Left in fallow field of harvest' soiled gown,
with sun bleached woolen coat so neglected.
Besotted by her face in freckled frown,
though light falsely owned in Sun reflected.
Few seasons counted in scarecrow's race,
lonely journey, long eons moon must know.
She left locked ever more in Earth's embrace,
while he lay fallen soon in Winter's snow.
Jealous moon keeps watch o'er his button eyes,
from Venus, Mars, and star's envied night skies.
22 October 2019 - New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest -Sponsored by Emile Pinet
Buttons for game pieces, buttons on totes,
Buttons on toys, shoes, sweaters and coats.
Buttons that open and buttons that close
On pockets and purses and edges of clothes.
Buttons that decorate; buttons that don’t.
Buttons I'm sure to lose; buttons I won’t.
Buttons as filler for bean bags and such.
Buttons collected are not used so much!
Buttons on greeting cards and on jewelry!
Thousands of buttons adorning a tree!
Buttons to reset , to turn on a light.
There’s “Cute as a button” and also as “bright“!
Button up (but not down); push them “hot” (but not cold);
“Button your lip” and do as your told!
Though buttons may vanish one day from earth,
We'll wear on our bellies - buttons since birth!
*spot poetry written in 15 minutes or less about any random subject
There lay a button,
'neath the weather beaten tile,
Lay in it's dust, shadowed crust,
it had been there quite a while.
Hopeless trust amongst the feet
that scattered it abroad,
It dodged and hid itself for keeps,
in hopes 'twould not be trod.
It kept itself a distant force,
this button in the tile,
I picked it up to change its pace
and placed it in the pile,
Of buttons in my sheltered home;
'twould be so happy there
But who was I to criticize,
or place it anywhere?
Perhaps it was quite happy,
in its home away from tacks,
So I turned around,
and put it down,
It was happy to be back.
Moral: Don't assume that changing ones'
surroundings are always what THEY desire.
In the midst of my sweet childhood days
I came across a gorgeous machine.
It was known by different names
But I called it my time machine.
A big roar, heard in the beginning
When I watchfully switched it to life.
I was in the middle of a battle
Fought around a century ago.
People, people running all around
Fighting without a reason I know.
Roars of victory and screams in fear
I failed to grasp their different tongue.
Back of horses, on the elephants
They fought a battle unlike to me.
Scenes of horror and bloodshed I saw
Closing my eyes I pressed the button.
Quiet different scenes I opened
In a beautiful well-furnished room
Witnessing an intense private scene
The meaning I couldn't comprehend.
It was surely in someone’s bedroom
Possibly a newly wedded one
Doing in light, should be in the dark
I changed the scene pressing the button.
Different images flashes in front
Again fallen to a battle field
Alien I was and alien it is
People around and the way they fight.
It was in a different planet
Rounding around a bright little star.
They are different and their weapons
Even the light different from us.
Then I decided to check the options
Of this marvelous magic machine.
It can crop centuries to an hour
And can extend an hour to a year.
It takes you to places in a blink
Even to somewhere outside the earth
To the new cities, towns or villages
And the deepest forest or the sea.
While I was admiring the machine
A clear loud rumble came from my back.
Not from the machine sitting in front
It was from the real world where I live.
‘Switch of the TV, go to your room
To complete the homework, remaining’
My father is strict and to be obeyed
But I will come back, dear time machine!
Honorable Mention in STRAND SPECIAL 7 ,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest sponsored by Brian Strand
I wish I could be
like Benjamin Button
Me oh my
wouldn’t that be sumthin
My hair would grow thicker
no longer thin and grey
From winter’s cold December
I’d progress back to May
Stronger much faster
my body restored
No nursing home for me
I would never be bored.
Enjoying my retirement
again but in reverse
The best part of it all
no need for a hearse.
Then back to work life
at the peak of my career
Cash for me to spend
on those who are dear
Life would be much better
my thoughts growing clearer
My looks would start improving
as I looked in the mirror
In a matter of years
I’d be back in school
University days sweet
a time to be cool
Savouring each moment
stopping to smell each flower
Romance back to innocence
reclaiming youthful power
Then becoming a child
delightful and free
No more big worries
or responsibility
I’d go from toddler wobbles
to a baby so sweet
Giggles and tickles
mom rubbing my feet
My earthly needs met
cuddly comfort and love
Affectionate eyes so adoring
looking down from above
If like Benjamin Button
my life was lived reversed
Would I have lived it better
being it was formerly rehearsed?
Inspired by the movie Benjamin Button staring Brad Pitt.
Yesterday was Button Day;
I somehow let it slip
Or maybe I just chose instead
To button up my lip.
Begun in 1938,
This date was set aside
To celebrate the crafters
Who keep notions stores supplied.
For think about your buttons –
Not those round ones, white and plain
But the myriad varieties
That sewing sites contain.
There are endless shapes and colors
And materials as well,
Most with little holes for threading –
Look real close and you can tell.
Why, the perfect style of button
Can improve a garment’s looks
And as fasteners, they’re easier
Than zippers, snaps or hooks.
Just don’t push somebody’s buttons,
Even one who’s button cute
For on Button Day (or one day late)
We owe them a salute.
I look for you in the stars,
and in the streets,
and all the people I greet.
I look for you in books of poetry.
Such a place to find,
yet unaware that I'm
lost, like a button.
Arrive home from work to flip through pages
of a book I knew as a child, yet still
not remember the reason, so special
then.
It was though, so special..
Watched 'To kill a Mockingbird',
recalled fond memories of Scout and Jem.
A proud Atticus Finch..,
and Tom Robinson.
But today's me isn't the same,
as the me I remember.
More akin to a cartoon, a paper cut out,
a meme.,
compared to the wide eyed child of then.
~~~~~ To Kill a Mockingbird - Novel by Harper Lee, 1960 ~~~~~~
Cute as a Button (for girls)
(Darla Mae Seely)
I look at your cute little nose
And how you wiggle your toes.
I love how you smile at me.
You're cute as a button, don't you agree?
I look at the darling clothes you wear
And the tiny bow in your hair.
You seem to say to me,
"I'm as cute as I can be."
You're cute as a button, yes, you are.
You were sent to earth from heaven afar.
I love you, niece/daughter/etc. I hope you know.
I will always tell you so.
Now press that button, press it if you dare
Before you do that though, are you aware...
that when you press that button, you agree
That there are thought police; no one is free
Now God forbid that we should talk of s*x
For if we do, we'll be under a hex
You see freedom of speech is just a joke
Now poets with agendas all will "poke"
I wonder what her partner did to Eve
The Bible says to her Adam did "cleave"
Now what this translates to in modern day
Perhaps is worded "Rolling in the hay"
Explicit or implicit, oh what fun!!
Just use a metaphor or "s*x*y" pun
Be careful not to mention body parts
Or you will be "disbanded" from the arts
So, press that button! Press it! Let's all see
What will become of us and poetry....
Eileen Manassian
Tongue in cheek, people....tongue in cheek! At least it's not tongue in .......... Hmmmmmmmm!!!! ;) No, but seriously...I do understand the concern about this issue that has been brought up by TPS about Rules and Regulations. I don't mean to be sacrilegious with mention of Adam and Eve either...a bit of humor with a dash of concern and a sprinkling of sarcasm. ;)
My Gramma as I called her, probably seemed no different than most,
But to me she was the very best, sorry - I really have to boast.
She had grey hair, was fairly stout and always wore a dress,
A waft of lavender to this day, makes me smile, I must confess.
She was a proud woman who stood only 5 feet 3 inches tall,
Her lap was my favourite place to be, when I was very small.
Gramma died after having only 19 birthdays, she was 80 years old,
Her birthday was on leap year and 1900 never had one, so I’m told.
I was so lucky my Gramma lived in our small Ontario town,
I spent lots of time with her, sleeping on her bed of down.
When it was time for me to nap, she’d rock me in her chair,
Quietly humming in my ear and rubbing my long brown hair.
For fun I’d use her old iron, pressing all her dusting rags,
Never told me it would not get hot, it was on its last legs,
She’d thank me for my help and compliment me on my skill,
Then we’d move on to watering plants sitting on the windowsill.
She used to make beautiful pottery and she’d let me mold the clay,
Oh, my favourite times with Gramma, were when we’d sit and play
She had this magnificent button tin, which may sound boring to some,
But we’d sit and study each button dreaming where each one came from.
Some were from fancy dresses while others had adorned shoes,
I would listen so contently, my concentration I would never lose.
She’d talk of far away places, telling me how others had to live,
And why compassion was important, she said I had so much to give.
No other person in my life has influenced me as much as she did,
She taught how to be kind and good, beginning when I was a kid.
Although I really should not say this, but I just cannot tell a lie,
She spoiled me with love so great, I was the apple of her eye.
For Memories of Grandma Contest
Sponsor Carol Brown
*Placed First*
Written July 29, 2011
THE BUTTON-BACK NURTURERS
…. debt-ridden emotions and emotion-ridden debts –
Oscar Wilde on the Irish
Mothers and matriarchs, you toy the gutted room
Where sensibility is decaffeinated lace
Tireless in your role of martyr and your zoom
Lens to condemnation before an act takes place,
Your constant servitude serving only gloom
Creating recognition of what we all must face,
Death itself, never exhausted, a loom
On which your tapestry is woven, mace
Broken with your unbroken shadow. Love’s vroom
Never gets off the ground or into the race
And is absent save for endless debt, a womb
Of ever-diminishing returns, and the plain case
That you can’t own others, is yours alone to ponder,
In your violated abyss with its pain and rage and wonder.
Bachelor’s button,
Bursting with energy,
Rapturing into colour,
Expressions of blue,
Banquet of bloom,
Invitations,
Food fit for a king,
What splendour,
Her summertime brings,
Spreading freshness,
Good enough to eat,
Pulsating and vibrant,
Who could resist?
Her fiery passion,
A beautiful lady,
And a recipe for love,
Pure inner beauty,
Eyes to behold
Food for thought!
Let the party begin
Keep her close
What a bouquet
Filling your room,
With happiness.
Wendy Jae
Click click, beep beep.
It's there beside you when you sleep.
Bright light, fake news, glamour, gossip, bad reviews.
It's in our minds, it's in our hands.
Have we forgot where we began?
Reset button 123
Hit the reset button 123
Hit the reset button 123
Hit the reset button 123
Click click, beep beep.
It’s in our heads. It’s in our dreams.
So many things we hear and see.
Gotta love technology.
It's in our mind, it's in our hands.
They've got us hooked.
Part of their plan.
Reset button 123.
Hit the reset button 123.
Hit the reset button 123.
Hit the reset button 123.
Your best friend.
The latest trend.
Without consent,
it never ends.
Fake news.
Words are cheap.
Hit the reset button 123
Your best friend.
The latest trend.
Without consent,
It never ends.
Fake news.
Words are cheap.
Hit the reset button 123
Hit the reset button 123
Hit the reset button 123
Hit the reset button 12??
his fingers map out
subtle areas all over--
my belly button
no exception, impious
outlines, his goal to stir me…
*another "challenge"
from Missy Nikko*
:)
11/04/2011
10am means,
I awake at eight
quietly plotting my dreams
and at seven,
I barely exist
from six
-- & God, it's
much too early
& too late
to pick up these hours
like sticks,
and lug them home