Best Emma Poems
Emma was a pretty girl,
And was pretty wild.
She never minded what people said,
Nor did she mind her mother.
Mornings when she left for school
She also left her books,
Everyone would look at her,
And also gave her looks.
She loved to comb through magazines,
Yet never combed her hair,
Her dad thought she should step it up,
So she’d step in puddles.
Now Emma wasn’t really bad
She just had had bad habits,
Deciding to turn her life around,
She turned right on the street.
Now as the child was trucking on home,
She saw a truck come at her,
The driver was screaming “Are you mad?”
It seemed he was mad at her.
She stood and watched the truck tip
Heard a tip, get out of the way.
The driver jumped out and flew in a rage,
While thousands of pies flew through the air.
As the pies began to land
On people and on land,
They all turned red, orange and blue
Emma almost felt blue too.
Now as she stood there looking sweet
Tasting the sweet from her dress,
Absolute anarchy went down
As people bent down to delight in a good old fashion pie fight.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
10.13.2014
Plenitude of Pies Contest
8th
Emma saw the light on that Sunday bright.
Her hands, they were folded, and knees bent right.
She smiles at the Pastor’s words.
The sun through the window stirred.
A slip up of epic proportions - quite!
Up front, in the center of congregants,
a holiness plagues, as the church does chant.
In sheer white she forgot slip.
Her blush is the shade of RIP.*
She slinks from her seat, in a hurried slant.
2/27/2021
Two Limericks - Let's have some Fun!
Sponsor Tania Kitchin
HMS 10/10/7/7/10 per verse
*RIP for Rest In Peace.
Of The Famed Labors Of Hercules
ninth poet, poet dedication series, Emma Lazarus
Through Time's mesmerizing and meandering paths,
Colossus of heroic worship rightly praised,
He that vented his strength and fought with half-god wrath;
Mighty Son of Zeus, his feats that this world amazed,
Carved in stone, sculptor Vincenzo de’ Rossi hand
Paid for by Cosimo I de’ Medici's gold,
A Titan born into brave heart of Grecian lands,
His tales endure and will forever be told.
Image of his labors, Bargello Palace once held
When bravest of heroes were admired and lauded,
Strong and powerful were dark monsters his hands felled;
As true Greek warriors sang of and applauded.
Mythical hero representing Greek freedom
A giant, famous pride of ancient Greek kingdom.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-17-2019
Sonnet, inspired by and honoring,
poem titled, The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus
She's a blue-eyed little girl
With a charming dimpled smile;
She has long, black, bouncy curls,
And a voice that's high in style.
Emma- the name that says it all:
Kind and gentle, honest, joyful,
Witty, gabby, true, and playful.
Emma- she isn't very tall,
But Emma is the girl that has it all.
Emma Frost (aka White Queen) is a powerful character in Marvel Comics. Is
she a hero or villain? Sometimes, it is hard to know! She is a mutant with the
most amazing telepathic skills. She can transform herself into a diamond shape with enhanced strength and with no human needs like food or water but she can be shattered when in this state. She was born in Boston, United States to wealthy parents. He father was cruel and domineering, her mother hooked on drugs, she had siblings, but none give her any emotional support.
She was bullied in school and had only one friend, a teacher. Then,
suddenly her telepathic powers manifested and she could read minds. Emma
was rejected by her family. So, she left, becoming homeless. Did I mention
that she was very, very beautiful. A femme fatale in high heels, a character
designed for eroticism, a cruel beauty.
While homeless Emma meets a young man and falls in love. Finding
out that her boyfriend Troy is in debt to mobsters. So to safe Troy they hatch
a plan to do a fake kidnapping of her wealthy father, but the thugs turn it into
a real kidnapping. Troy is killed. There is a battle and Emma uses her powers
to confuse the thugs, calls the police and keeps the ransom money, which she
uses to go to university. She gets degrees in many fields.
Emma gathers vast wealth and is the owner of several multi-million
dollar conglomerates and has many investments. She has many affiliations and hundreds of adventures and battles, that I would need a much longer poem to include. She has gone by many alias, usually White Queen, she
uses her beauty as a weapon.
Her affiliations include Hellfire Club, Hellions, Generation X, Dark X-Men,
Phoenix Five, Legion Accursed, Quiet Council of Kraboa, X-Men, The Cabal,
Xavier Institute, and the Marauders. And she has been in many, many of
Marvel Comic story lines that are too numerous to list.
I like Emma Frost the White Queen . . .
________________
March 24, 2023
Poetry/Prose Poetry/Emma Frost
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1533-326-24
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Premiere contest, Marvel
Superheroes Supervillians and Superanimals
sponsor, Robert James Liguori, Judged 03/24/2023
Beautiful woman Emma Watson
Harry Potter fans love her a ton
She play’s a witch, with spells she may resort
To save our lives against the evil Voldemort
Russell Sivey
Here's my Clerihew! I hope you enjoyed it!
Rocking through the night,wizened cheeks so dear.
Cupping my face in her hands.
Beautiful grandma.
Loving her filled up my lonely childhood.
Emma made the stars shine bright.
Her love was immense.
for "Emma " contest
My grandma's name really was Emma ...
Emma
No cheek was there, ere so fair, nor morning breath so cool
Red ribbons in her long blonde hair, eyes shining as bejewelled
With movement gently delicate, graceful as a swan
Her mind so nimbly intricate, a smile for everyone
Her spoken word, mellow and light, her voice as soft as sleep
The stories that she told each night, she said, were mine to keep
I saw her grow from babe in arm, as life began to weigh
Blessed with every worldly charm, to woman of today
EMMA SUE’S BIRTHDAY PARTY
She’s looking happy for a change
“Emma Sue’s a ‘Four-Eyes”
We call her that and other names
First a threat the stick!
But then her Mother appears with some paper bags
Bulging within thick
Miss Mengin’s room is at attention
So early too then
It’s only 9:00 a.m.
The bags are placed within a closet
Then locked away
The entire LONG day
Her Mother wears some worried wrinkles
Says a word to Emma’s teacher frowns
But throws a smile before she leaves for town
At lunch on the grounds
Emma Sue as usual stands aside single
Doesn’t try to mingle
But there is something within
Hope in her eyes
Shoulders up elevated chin
By 2:15 excitement of the morning seems forgot
Not so!
By Emma Sue? Certainly not!
Both she and teacher rise together
All eyes are lifted puzzled looks
Quite forgotten the grammar books
Girls and boys begin to whisper
‘Four Eyes’ grinning see her cheeks bloom
At front of a thrilling room
“It’s Emma Sue’s Birthday
See what she and her mother have baked
One for each and every person little cakes
Put your books away
No more lessons
The rest of the way”
“HOORAY!”
For Emma Sue I must say
Those tasty cakes made all the difference
Well? At least for one day
Up in that old attic are an antic Raggedy Ann Doll and a rocking chair well used by my grandmother.
Grand she was and as great as she to be; she instilled value and principality.
Up in that attic is an old Raggedy Ann Doll and an antic rocking chair my great grandmother rock from.
Short in statue but tall in her stance, my great grandmother guidance departed wisdom.
In that attic is all kind of memories of how my great grandmother and I loved each other as family.
Friends bonded and she as a life-long mentor, in that old attic resides expressive art.
In a far corner that was east to the sun stood a portrait of my great grandmother.
Knowledgeable was the face with eyes of hazel brown painted at the age of seventy-five (75).
The reminiscence of youth is a mural seen as I sat down in the rocking chair thinking… (“Mama, let’s read The Bible together.”)
In this old attic is love unknown because of the time I had with my great grandmother before she was beacon home.
Enchanting she will be everyone will want to embrace
Miracle from God above a touch of his grace
Memorizing eyes as she focuses upon her mothers face
Angelic halo she will wear to keep her safe and of a strong faith
Rock her gently and sing a sweet lullaby of praise
Years of love you both will give her can never be erased
Love has brought her here to this very special place
Embrace her and hold her dear like a soft interlace
Experience the joy of mother hood never forgetting her birthplace.
Dedicated to a very dear friend: Crystina
T Reams copyright 2015
My Emma I remember so well - an old lady with roses on her cheeks
Lived in a cozy little white house with a garden so beautiful - flowers, berries and fruit
Emma was old with a bad back and her feet were weak - but she was never grumpy
The winter was hard for old Emma - lonely - no husband - no kids - no family
When spring came - Emma came out to the garden - she loved it
When neighbors or children came by - she waved and shouted
"Come into my garden and pick yourself a big bouquet of flowers"
When summer came - she waved and shouted
"Come into my garden and pick yourself some berries - they are red and nice"
In the autumn the same - "Come into my garden and pick yourself some fruit"
* Emma died many years ago - but the memories I have cherished in my heart
- * From reality :)
09.02.2014
A-L Andresen :)
Emma Stone
For her red locks known
But if you look beyond the red
A blond you'll find instead
A year ahead my skull was taken by a diatribe- storm
Her face formed a bead in an invisible dorm
That was right I did feel with a warm wet street
They pressed their seeds into salamander kit
The first thing I did hate; “No, it was not norm”
I smelled a smell of thunder -short and thick
Played all knotty fingers a leprechaun trick
I went to the Iron Gate, the colour I must hate
Of that crippled stuff in me I shouldn’t overrate
And stopped the nerve’s cabal with an assassin snick
They said the sound of screech was a ratty speech
In the corner of a lizard and spider-web rich
Dumpled up near the bed with stiletto-eyes
To the bargain, my demon -self began to rise
My scroop and the shadow spoke each to each
I did nothing to spoil the fight; I did know I was right
I was cool in the argumentative pool while I was in flight
The moon-baked night shed her chill over the Carolyn Hill
In the jungles of cops, thousands of mops and the forgotten shrill
I did know in sloughed snow that it was not a stage fright.
I had my last straw to catch, darkness shrouded my face
Salt in blood played a evening tune, "I'm sure I have lost my space"
Now a derelict soul a barge I had nobody to embrace.
I could vanish without a trace but a crash and burn
Of thousand nights and summer wing's run
Had made me a shallow drone with a zip gun.
© Rajat Kanti Chakrabarty
13 th October,2014
“Oh Emma, my cherished and unholy soulmate;
Woman of air! Raw phrases leap with love and hate.
Behind glasses seethes a romantic, daring the night
August child of gothic verse, lines we all recite.
Yet , when soirees roll, your flame the men desire;
It surprises me how that glance changes like fire!
In class, we ignite our teachers’ ire with naughty quirks
Creating romps as the batch mimes our theatrics.
Tonight, we pluck more wild seeds of younger memoirs
Still coloring our lives as time waits for girl- hours.”
.........................
* Emma is a dear friend way back in college. As an activist,
writer, and down-to-earth woman, she graduated with cum laude
honors. We regularly meet up to bond and nourish our friendship.
Emma Contest of Juli-Michelle