Best Decor Poems
An anomaly in furnishings, I was;
so avant-garde, I triggered smiles and buzz.
Not like baroque, ornate styles of the past,
my bona fide remake was made to last.
A cacophony of patterns- deja vu,
brought slow ennui; now time for something new.
With full carte blanche, my sharper look emerged.
Sparked by elan, my modern era surged.
Some called my offbeat stylists dilettante-
but, retro styles are still on lists of wants.
January 16, 2018
Contest No 1167 Poetry Contest,
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Christmas home decor
Short and round is our Christmas wreath
Wreath we made of the tree branches
Branches are tied with the red ribbons
Ribbons stuck with berries,ready is the wreath.
Wreath is placed on our door’s foot steps
Steps away is the snow on tree not far
Far away, look, how He laid His holy hands
Hands on things He wants us to see and praise.
Praise him, be quick your voice to raise
Raise your hands his love to receive
Receive love in your every choice forever
Forever on Christmas with this decor wreath.
====================================
This type of poetry was first introduced by George Herbert, a contemporary
of Shakespeare. There are two ways to write it. In above poem, the last
word of the first line is the first word of the next line and so on. Or one
may use any word of the first line as the first word of the next line. Variations
of the word can also be used.
Hoar frost icicles
decorating landscape
winter lands delight
With each starry night,I chart the lines and listen,
touching every light,the brighten corset of Heaven,
shapely images...which awes inspired minds,
dazzles of greatness are a rarity too find...
Connecting dots,with each passing constellation,
refining thoughts from a vivid imagination,
as I sit in the middle of two oceans of space
glorious,yet termless,such a beauty too trace...
And as I search further,royal vestments are found,
with galactic choirs,as onlookers bound,
spiraled arms of enchanting sparkles
pinwheeled jewels spinning their particles...
Injecting manifesting space with starlit dust,
hot and cold elements,travel afar in trust,
beginning bonds of a future too cast
not all in the vastness is meant too last...
Inverting my perspective,viewing upon our Earth,
I question the concepts of purposeful worth,
Nation's full of cosmopolitan like galaxies
peopled with stardust...forming life's complexities...
Attitudes of human affairs,nefarious in part,
was it really,the apple,that began it's lawless start?
There once was an entrepreneur
An Irish born rank amateur
He made garden chairs
Outdoor tables I swear
His name was Paddy O'Furniture
Written 14th March 2017
Entry to "luck of the Irish limerick" contest
Notes: happy St Patrick's day to all my fellow Irish men and women
Through
bare
branches-
snow berries
light the winter gloom.
There are garlands on my stairway and lights upon my tree.
My house is growing festive as Christmas time draws near.
Stockings are hung on the fireplace for kitty and for me.
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year.
My wreath is hanging on the door for visitors to see.
I’ve brought out all of the ornaments I hold so very dear.
I have been just as busy as the fabled busy bee.
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year.
I’ve baked the tiny fruitcakes, set the table for a tea.
My house is ready for my guests, I’m expecting to appear.
With candles lit, it’s beautiful, I’m sure they will agree.
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year.
I haven’t forgotten the Holy Babe for everyone to see.
The angel on the treetop is dressed in garments sheer.
Christmas all around me fills my lonely heart with glee.
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year.
Reluctantly I dim the lights and put away the Brie.
I hope the morning wakes me with a sky that’s bright and clear.
I try to catch the kitty but he is too fast for me.
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year.
Next morning I awaken to an over-toppled tree.
The ornaments are broken and scattered everywhere.
The kitty, looking guilty, turns around and starts to flee.
Welcome to my holiday home at this special time of year.
For Linda Marie’s Kyrielle contest
Amber winds of fall
adorning pastel hues on trees
as scarfed night passes
with chilled air blowing
patterns of froth cling on stems
dressed like autumn's maid.
For Dr. Ram :Choka Me
The decor of laces,
And fragrance of lavenders,
In the land of Georgia,
With attire of antiques,
The melody of wind chimes,
Echoing in harmony with grand piano,
Like heaven is playing harp,
And pearls bursting everywhere,
O, the modesty of it all,
Dressed up in high class,
Candles in rustic brass holder,
Lighting up off white wall,
Exploring ivory artfully crafted everywhere,
Rustic kitchen with wooden floor,
Washing bowl on cherry wooden table,
And outhouse under weeping willow tree,
Shining pond with lilies floating,
With creamy violets encompassing around,
A porch with rocking wooden chairs,
With peach ribbon decor everywhere,
Everything that resembles morality,
Were inked dry with a feather pen.
The homes displayed in magazines
Are opulent or spare.
In either case, it’s hard to picture
Ever living there.
The lavish and extravagant
To me are too ornate.
With all that chintz, brocade and toile,
I think I’d suffocate.
And as for “modern” rooms, they seem
Too empty, bare and bleak;
While some are soothed by all that space,
It’s not a style I’d seek.
So let the rich spend money
On their million dollar lairs.
My digs would not appeal to them
But nor, to me, do theirs!
Unfaithful useless utter
Demeaning devoured décor
Violent vicious venom
Mockingly medaling more
Creative cautious coalition
Against all amidst abate
Struggling sanely satisfied
For a ferocious frigid fate
Dominate destructive deity
Proud pacifying past
Loathing lustrous lividity
Fictitiously falling fast
Gallantly ghastly grounded
Remaining reluctantly recluse
Distance desired deadliness
Amusing agonistic abuse
© Stacy Lynn Stiles
snow covered tree tops
glisten in the morning sun -
natures festive gifts
These walls don't speak but leak of my demise,
and these useless hands I can't help but despise,
they can only do as I imply,
as sins upon mortals I revise.
Inherently mine these lights do not shine,
do not live, do not give, do not entwine my way back to the sight,
cannot sway the maker I inhibit the taker of souls,
I remain awake to the screams of my patients.
Wait patiently in the dark with stark of a smile cross my lips,
I speak of their shifts of life,
These tools I adore to restore the beauty of death upon a whore of the breath.
On these beautiful eyes of green I have seen the work of my clean blades change the sheen of a peasant to a queen,
let the blood run dry as long as you sigh at your sight in the roads after I'm done a maiden this shy will flatter even a rose.
I designed houses including furniture, like that -
just in case, because the owners may fill it with crap,
of course, there were glitches associated with riches,
but no problems, no flying geese on the wall.
No gnomes in the garden, no plastic windmills,
no gas barbecues, a bad reminder for the Jews,
we don't want minimalist, otherwise nothing at all,
but no curtains, rather an organic free-for-all.
They made love in the bathroom, bedroom and hall,
on the terrace, even and oddly over a sloping wall;
all those places had been on my computer screen,
now they were christened - like a film in-between.
I gave them my soul, Chopin's music in the trees,
made a prescence for them - one of life's mysteries.
A set of pumpkins
One atop of the other
Each with a letter
And spelling out the word boo
Lovely seasonal décor
Russell Sivey