Best Curios Poems
I see three doors before me.
The one to the left is blue, a beautiful lupis blue
with ornate lacework in its center.
Parisian-esque, it looks likes an entrance to adventure
and inspires me with its sophistication.
I imagine inside the rooms beyond that door
exotic curios on shelves along the walls
or tables heaped with charming little treasures.
My muse’s curiosity is sparked!
The middle door I see is that of a welcoming house.
Beneath two large rectangles of decorative glass
hangs a straw wreath adorned with festive flowers.
A friendly-looking white lab sits in front of this door
and on each side of it on the old-fashioned porch
are two pots of pretty geraniums.
I imagine beyond this door friends and family
gathered around the kitchen table
finishing Mom’s delicious apple pie
and preparing to break open a pack of cards
or sit beside their fireplace, playing charades
or perhaps singing along to a guitar.
The part of me that longs for warmth of family
lingers at this door.
The last door I spy
much farther away and surrounded by trees
is a light green door blending in with nature,
unadorned and not as high as the first two doors.
Were it a bit smaller and round, it could almost be
the door to a hobbit’s cottage.
A bower of vines spreads around it
covering the brown bricks of the house,
and a short cobblestone pathway leads upward
to this simple but interesting door.
I know that if I open it and wander in,
solitude will surely greet me, a solitude so sweet
that when I shut the door behind me,
I’ll leave behind the stresses of my life.
I will have entered another world
where I can rest and meditate. . .
perchance to write.
I look back at the first door, imagining the thrill
of discovery. Its charming blue entices me.
Then I return my gaze to the second door
from which warmth and empathy exude.
I redirect my gaze to the third door. . .
Which do I want more?
New experiences? Intimacy? Peacefulness?
Creative inspiration could reside behind all three.
Which one do I choose?
Which one would YOU choose?
March 28, 2017
for the Doors Contest of Anthony Biaanco
“Ethereal Virtuoso”
keys passed
from tongue to tongue
strange kisses dealt
token time turning
gone
useless words written
below whispers
backward facing
closed minds
gone
feathers without quills
dance in silence
fall on breath
beating life
evanescence
drawn up
into unseen arms
you are worn
as gossamer silk
they speak light
without words
anima universal
here
you are unread,
you are the notes
playing in the music
a new metronome
to write a new life
a true song
somnolent invocation
echoes from beyond
mirrors watch you
bodies electric hum
doors open
doors close
something
from within
ethereal virtuoso
mercurial curios
unknown
yet known
they call it
home
(LadyLabyrinth / 2021)
"God Knowledge"
https://youtu.be/5nhQ2eRTH3k
“Open the Vortex”
https://youtu.be/qK-Dmk-r6CY
"369 Divine Code"
https://youtu.be/jA_conleEqM
Annotated Achilles amends fallen frame amputees
Bulimic Barbies browse media monkey banalities
Cameo clouds cling to beaded breath curios
Dopamine dreams delineate check cash desires
Echo endophfins eulogize bullet brain excrement
Fecal folly fantasies reveal relevant frivolities
Gonadal grownups gulp secret scrotal generosities
Helical hemorrhoids hinder senior stricken hemocraps
Idiotic ideals idioiosyncrate postpartum iconoclasts
Jack Jill juxtapositories seek sexestential jouveniers
Kryptic killer kisses ascot arrogant kingdumbs
Liquid lipid loiners fear frontline lucklullibies
Malevolent mommies masterbate rich reflective mommocules
Nevertheless nightingales nourish ruby rich noonbeams
Ovulatory occults outsource torrent tofu outrages
Pensive pisces picnics lovelorny passions
***** quiet quintensials release rancid quotients
Rape ripe residuals nullify nimble repercussions
Silky seafoam silhouettes fornicate frothy sandlets
Tepid torch trilogies belie belligerent tourniquets
Useless utterances utilize organize orgasmic utopias
Venomous vixens violate cruel.com visions
White willow wombs softly seed hospice hell winds
XX XY xfactors envision extracurricular xraydoms
Yearning yoyo yesterdays calculate clearcovert yields
Zen zealous zions mirror magnify Zoneotones
On sandy beaches and along fertile riverbanks,
In fecund soil and in lush green plantations,
Coconut trees stand tall towering into the sky.
They are benevolent palms at the service of generations.
A coconut tree is a marvel of creation, every part of it can be used.
Its umbrella like crown of leaves shades us from sun.
Its circular, heavy cluster of fruits enrich our bodies.
From coconut husks, coir mats and ropes are spun.
The milk-white kernel inside the coconut shell,
Is used in curries, cookies and for extracting oil.
The water inside is a healthy, delicious drink.
Its vast net work of labyrinthine roots holds the loose soil.
Its sturdy trunk is used as a support for anchoring small boats.
Coconut shells in the hands of a craftsman turn into attractive curios.
Palm fronds are used for thatching small hovels and sheds.
Thus, from foot to crown, its uses and charms are various.
If one is stressed, it is therapeutic to de-husk a coconut.
It is a fine exercise and an ideal way to de-stress.
If angry with some one and wish to tear him limb by limb,
Break a coconut and it will take away all your noxious distress.
Still if you don’t feel comfortable and are with tingling nerves,
Scrape a coconut bit by bit and by the time you finish,
All your anger must have slowly gone as steam into air,
And in course of time, you will see it thoroughly vanish!
Diana Dalton
Diana
Creative, curios, playful & loving
Sister of a brother who is not here
Lover of Life,Photography, Hubby and more
Who experiences love, longing, excitement,
Who dislikes High fructose corn syrup
Love to see, England again, the Sea & Australia (with hubby)
Resides in Grand Junction,Colorado
Dalton
Diana Dalton
10 Aug 2012
Once upon a time when I was just but a little a boy
My grandmother of illustrious memory – told me many a story
A lot of them funny but some scary
But her favourite tale which I am about to retell
Its effect on me, i suppose should not tell
The one about the young man who refused to marry
Preferring to become an ascetic to the displeasure of his family
For they were inclined to believe – that all those who breathe in air
Surely must leave an heir!
His refusal to marry – pained them all
And many a plan were hatched to sway his mind – but to no avail
Confounded they approached the village sage to explain this mystery
Who cautioned the young man would soon have a case of dysentery
Serious enough to require hospitalization – but one that won’t send him to the cemetery
And as soon as the illness is past, he would surely marry
With this wisdom the family went home rejoicing and merry
Voices high and throaty marveling at this new found posterity
By and by the young man was struck down with dysentery
And no sooner had he recovered he married the village beauty
Much to the amusement of his family who knew all that had happened to the boy
This story my grandmother would recite
Countless times to us little boys long into the night
Toss and turn, turn and toss all night long but our little minds could not fathom
What the young man’s decision to marry had to do with dysentery!
And when I told my fellows at school this story
Don’t know am sure, whether it was under the mulberry or at the refectory
They all agreed that my grandmothers wisdom
Which she had tossed to me sitting at her mahogany was nothing but baloney
When I recounted this to her, she smiled complacently
Aware this curios case of beauty and dysentery I would cherish for eternity.
seashell necklace, sand dollar candy dish
souvenirs bring the beach home
kitschy, yet nostalgic
a kimo written March 31, 2017
Antiques and Curios
A collection of Antiques and curios,
Covered in dust on a cellar floor.
Things once made for a purpose,
No longer of use anymore.
Record Player with wind-up handle,
Once sung out the old Seventy-eights.
A music box with broken spring,
Film scores of the all-time greats.
Gas mask, unused in a chest,
A wartime ration book, stained, slightly torn.
Hobnail working boots, coal black,
Scuffed at the toes, well worn.
An old encyclopedia, open at page 12,
Dwarf stars, Meteors and Asteroid,
The mysteries of our Solar system
and a Comet we may need to avoid.
Vintage clothes in leather suitcase,
Fashionable back in the year.
Someone would probably buy them,
For the right price, not too dear.
Pots and Pans of Copper and Tin,
Ornamental handles and lid.
Hard to imagine they were ever used,
But, by the signs of wear, someone did.
A collection of old newspapers,
Bismarck disabled and sunk,
A periodical about holy orders,
The life and times of a Monk.
Moth eaten Teddy Bear, only one eye,
Tracks for a blue clockwork train.
Toy soldiers of lead, standing proud,
Down somebody’s memory lane.
I began to feel rather intrusive,
An invasion of a man’s private life;
Never to know treasures keeper,
Was he at war, leaving children and wife.
An assemblage of curiosities,
To move them would feel such a crime.
I will leave everything undisturbed,
Treasured by someone of the time.
One lopes through
his dense tree occupied domain,
thinly dappled,dispersed stripes
gleaming,
dully on a soft fur coat,
tongue lolling lazily in and out of
a pearl toothed mouth
Another careens widely across
her vivid fields green fields
wind flapping back
watchful ears,
screeching to a stop to
sniff and
hone in on the scent
of a shivering quarry,
jet black fur shining in
blazing light
the last scampers neatly on
swift toes through
his unknown vine-tangled trails ,
ever exploring the lands
beyond his own vast territory,
unveiling whatever remains
covert to his curios mind
My dogs seem out of place
in my backyard
AHA HAIKU 13
Songbird psalm
Balcony duet;
Cheery cold morning
~~~~~~~~~
Squirrel escapades
Up and down and up;
Curious zigzag
~~~~~~~~~
Quick footsteps surge
By parkway bench;
Eyes far away
~~~~~~~~~
Old man sits
Stares at people;
Solitary wonder
~~~~~~~~~
Chocolate ganache cake
Half for my neighbour;
Gratitude smiles
~~~~~~~~~
Silent distress stings
Lift breakdown;
Sultry faces
~~~~~~~~~
Rainy blessing
On my forehead;
Aqueous baptism
~~~~~~~~~
Cigarette ban enforced
Public places gazetted;
Motley odd faces
~~~~~~~~~
Miniature books
Curios I fancy;
Deeply moving
~~~~~~~~~
Curious excursions
Wonder greets sore eyes;
Abrupt delights
~~~~~~~~~
Takeaway meal packs
Simple nourishment;
TV distractions
~~~~~~~~~
Bus stop crowd
Huddle for shelter;
Torrential rain
~~~~~~~~~
Darkness rains swift
Night crickets buzz;
Neat escapades
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
05 June 2016
Singapore
Myrtle Parker
Myrtle Parker lived on the Riviera,
That’s the English one not the French.
Her favourite tipple is Red Currant Cider,
Only beverage her thirst would quench.
Never did she marry no husband,
Preference for life single and free,
Though kept two doggy companions,
Twin Westies, Florence and Zebedee.
Miss Parker was a gatherer and hoarder,
Antiques, curios, lots of impractical tat.
Her catchphrase was somewhat familiar,
“I‘ll find a good use for that.”
Tumbledown Cottage name on the gate,
Aptly called for badly required repair.
The man from Devonshire Council,
Shakes his head in anguished despair.
Oh, dear Myrtle what are we to do,
I cannot see the wood for the trees,
Environment Officer is calling today,
He doesn’t like cockroach and fleas.
Myrtle lives close to Muscle shell beach,
Small cove of shingle and coarse sand,
Opposite the Cat protection league,
Where she buys new clothes second hand.
One summer had a house full of Kittens,
That grew into fully grown cats.
They left her in search of new comforts,
Plagued by visits of large rodent rats.
Myrtle decided on a radical clear out,
To make way for a new feather bed,
But could not let go of her treasures,
So continued sleeping on the sofa instead.
Seventy years old, obstinate and proud,
Devon Council man returned to her door.
“This house is making you poorly my dear,
Regretfully you cannot live here anymore.
Oh, dear Myrtle here’s what we’ll do,
Move you into a comfy town flat,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Condemn your cottage, so sorry about that.
Myrtle Parker was born in this house,
Her father he worked on the boats,
Mother stayed home baking bread,
From freshly ground buckwheat groats.
Tumbledown cottage is full of memories,
Though can’t find many for the clutter.
Diminutive rooms two up two down,
Walls dampened by broken pipe gutter.
If I have to go then take me in a box,
She chained herself to the newel post.
I’ll defend my rights for all I’m worth,
Then haunt Council man as his ghost.
Council man arrives excited with keys,
For Miss Parkers new urban home,
But Myrtle had been true to her word,
and perished on the staircase all alone.
Oh, dear Myrtle what have you done,
Your new flat was shiny and clean,
Environment Officer is calling today,
Demolition boss with bulldozer team.
(Thy lovely lasses unwittingly
unstintingly unexpectedly
taught me selflessness)
Every Holiday time each year,
a rocketing increase asper
doling out Uriah Heap ping
largesse imposed upon each
citizen banker (coerced, forced,
induced to buy baubles,
bibelot, curios, et cetera striving
to outspend a competing
shopper, which faux grand
handedness, and crass exhibition
generating mega sales (as Tale
of Two Cities, or more)
earns management stripes viz
embracing the Christmas spirit
(via blithely deftly, frenziedly,
et cetera) per avidly boasting,
coarsely displaying, eagerly
flaunting, et cetera prices paid
for the latest curiosity, doodad,
gewgaws (whereby un
avoidable advertisements), flood
mass communication airways,
causeways, driveways, et cetera
to plug reduced priceline sans
gaud dee, knickknacks, gimcracks,
encompass companies blitzkrieg
for those, who disparage being
labeled Scrooge plunk down
every red cent, and empty
their pockets, purses, wallets
to snag the title of topnotch spender
no matter no need exists to snatch
every last kickshaw, novelty ornamental
tchotchkes, (which modus operandi,
(visited upon the populace, a tidal wave
vis a vis figurative manifestation,
laceration, inundation, whereby tenet,
maxim, credo, et cetera broadcast
to general public amply expending
fistfuls of dollars fulfilling
Great Expectations
(for family, friends, relatives)
buy giving liberally,
Such a curios thing this life can be
this life evolves around me
so individual
so piquant defined as personal
but still so very much like you
Still so much of you
in me
Apart from name and place
and the characters of face
we are identical
of form
and corpuscle
in hope
and emotional
such vast bridges span the distance between us
My love is no less than yours
in our sufferings we are equal
and by these truths we are bound indivisible
And we may all perish to the annals of time
we may all reunite in the spirits sublime
and we may all believe what we do, we must
all vanish in the presence
lost in the dust
But a part of me is a part of you
a testimony of love and human truth
in our children's eyes we will someday recognize
each other
I saw the scar down his calf
long smooth and white
standing out against his tan
in the bright summer light;
whisky surgery he told me,
seeing my curios glance
and I got him talking
while I had the chance.
We both settled down with a beer
and he told me how it had been
just so casually describing, to me,
an horrific dangerous scene.
Fishing in a storm off Iceland
trawling for the cod
risking their lives
under a fickle sea god.
Then the steel warp parted
catching just him alone,
whipping back to gash his leg
right down to the bone.
The whisky forced down him
until he really didn’t care,
the skipper producing a needle
to sew him up then and there.
And the crew carried on fishing
with no time to waste
every second’s fishing necessary
in the profit’s chase.
He said it really didn’t hurt
with the whisky in his gob
and he reckoned the skipper
had done quite a neat job.
Very soon after that
he decided to come ashore,
said the lure of the sea
didn’t pull so much anymore,
and with a wife and child
didn’t want to push his luck.
As an ex deckie he fairly easily
obtained his docker’s book.
A very quiet person,
very pleasant and shy
but I go to know him well
as the years rolled by.
Never again mentioned his leg
which I only saw by chance,
that long smooth white scar
having just caught my glance.
In a farm in the country
There was born one day
A kitten named curious
With a love to explore and play
While sitting by the pond one day
Curious saw another
A kitten just like himself
Perhaps it was a brother?
You see it was his shadow
But curious didn’t know
That when the sun was high above
His shadow was there below
So curious was none the wiser
And tried desperately to play
With the stranger in the water
That looked at him that day
He couldn’t reach this kitten
Although he really tried
He became frustrated
A let out a sudden cry
With one last inspiration
He took a giant leap
To catch this unknown in the pond
While landing on his feet
But in the water cold
He fell with quite alarm
To see the other kittens laughing
Along with animals in the farm
His mother pulled him from the water
And told him about the sun
Though he though he saw another
His shadow was the one
Curios felt silly
He let out a weep
For he was wet and soaking
His tears he could not keep
His mother gave a cuddle
As he had received a fright
“Learning is a wonderful thing
Even though you aren’t always right”
“So next time you are unsure
Please come and ask me why
And if I know ill tell you
So there is no need to sigh”
For life can sometimes trick you
And take you for a ride
But I will always be here
To tell you wrong from right
And so Curious still explored
And roamed the farm far and wide
But if he ever had a problem
In his mum he would confide.