Best Gaudy Poems
I remember, oh how I remember
the years that have gone by.
Our doors were never bolted
our windows never closed.
Women had part-time jobs
knocking on doors all afternoon,
their comely voices bidding:
Madam 'tis Avon calling for you.
Meantime grandma would sit
outside the house and gossip
with friends who passed her by,
whilst we would wander all alone
in fun parks or green meadows,
flying our gaudy coloured kites,
and gathering cowslips for our dear mum.
Perilous is the journey, sordid is the quest, flashing flirtatious desire,
Treacherous is gaudy aspiration, playing with torrid flames of fire;
No matter how thrilling, how visceral may feel this insidious chase,
Neither it is a road to endearment, nor is it a destination of grace.
Provocative is charming croon, simulating sound of love’s acclaim,
Exhilarating is ephemeral attraction, missives seductive inflame;
Audaciously feigning love, squalid is the phony paramour of shame,
Teasing emotions in tawdry games~ ignoble is his heartless name.
Allures of the dangerous dalliance, dazzle donning a seamy stance,
Hosting rendezvous immoral ~ an illicit dance of lurid romance;
Transient are escapades of infatuation, never meant to forever last,
Buried are their broken-hearts, in cemeteries of jilted forlorn past.
In interludes of life and time, wrinkles weary warn of receding age,
As lascivious phase, in book of life, begins to turn a fading page;
Revealing to glamor and courtship: the aura of beauty is long gone,
And nightmares of regrets have since robbed, avid dreams of dawn.
Obsession of lust wasn’t love~ admonish the sad memories of yore,
Promiscuity of casual encounters, pathos of remorse now abhor;
Wondering if it’s too late to long, for lasting bond of kindred hearts,
Before empathy of love departs, before the warmth of passion parts.
A single red, heart-shaped balloon isn’t enough
So I splurge and buy fourteen adorned by cupid
I tie them to the chair of my beloved “Hot Stuff”
To think mere balloons might please him would be stupid
So I search and search for the grandest tea roses
His favorite warm colors are all blended in each
His desk they decorate in striking poses
Hope these will do the trick and his passion beseech
But then I remember his strong chocolate craving
Godiva treats I purchase and spare no expense
Set beside roses, surely he’ll be raving
He’ll be home in an hour; I can’t bear the suspense
When the door opens, I am wearing a teddy
The Valentine card he takes with a gloomy look
When he sees his desk, he wails, “Enough already!”
And he doesn’t even try my straps to unhook
How puzzled I feel when he says, “We have to talk”
No, he hadn’t forgotten this lovers’ holiday
Into his small closet he suggests we should walk
He seems so depressed; I’d expected a hooray
Piled high in the closet are all occasion gifts
Gaudy Christmas sweaters and tons of chocolate hearts
He can’t find his clothes and between us grows a rift
To sort through this maze, he would need a detailed chart
“Take all this stuff with you and please just leave my home
In fact, I’ll pay your expenses to relocate
And be sure to take that hideous garden gnome
Make it snappy, will you? I have a date at eight!”
*For Joyce’s “Emotional Response” contest
I am a Narcissus (White)
Once, I stole a glance
Upon my petalled like
Saw, they stood no chance
Of matching my delight
I turned from seeking beauty
In natures glory field
The bright, the gaudy, sultry
To none I’d ever yield
Standing by this pond
Reflection I do see
Of the one I’m fond
Me, admiring me
I’ll stand here till I die
Ignore those which I’m kinned
Obsessed with being I
Till perish with the wind.
I chose Narcissus (White)
Its meaning =Selfishness
For Picture Yourself as a Flower Contest
Sponsor; Andrea Dietrich
They say if you don’t use a thing for a year
It’s time to get rid of it, just to be clear
Feel free to sell it or give it away
But to get clutter free, just don’t let it stay
So, I checked my garage for stuff I could lose--
and found hundreds of words I simply don’t use!
Lilliputian and Sprightly stood on a shelf
Elbow-to-elbow with some wry little elf
Bucolic and Bumpkin were squirreled away
Beneath a big bale of bright yellow hay
Garish and Gaudy were in a glittery box
with Trinkets and Baubles set with fake rocks
Surreptitious and Unobtrusive tried to avoid being seen
But I caught 'em sneaking off with Clandestine
Beyond these loose words, which filled many a bin
Lay whole turns of phrase like Much to My Chagrin
I held up to the light a Gossamer Veil
Then dumped it in a Perfidious Betrayal
An Ethereal Cloud, glued to the ceiling
I scraped off with an Ambivalent Feeling
I rolled back the rug to see what I'd missed,
There before me stretched a Yawning Abyss
Into a huge crate, these big words I did toss
Bobbing on top were Flotsam, Jetsam and Dross
Fatigued by these labors, I took a short break
But that little respite may have been my mistake
Soon I was deep in most Pensive Reflection
On how Assiduously I had built this collection
In crept Myriad Doubts about so brash a move
What if I meet some Cad I need to Reprove?
What if some Craven Cur should Incur my Wrath
But words fail me due to this Ill-Chosen Path?
Well, soon that old crate was quite empty once more
And cluttered again were bin, shelf, drawer and floor
But one thing has changed, this is Palpably Clear
My Leviathan Word Horde I now Deeply Revere
Intrepid and Dauntless, I sling without fear
Iota and Mote.. I dust off once a year!
____________________________
by Brian McClain - Feb 2, 2016
If only I could gorge in your lavender scent,
Or fondly nestle in your warm, loving embrace.
Understand that “I love you” is really meant
Let me gaze and wonder the beauty of your face.
A wan moonlight summer beam shines on your body,
I sit near a window pondering about love.
Your flimsy nightdress is anything but gaudy.
I hear your sighs whisper to the stars high above.
Elation squeeze my poor heart, how can I depart
And leave you all alone without my dearest care.
You are the epitome of love in my heart,
I could dance on summer waves all so soft and flair.
Summertime is long, winter seems so far away.
So stay with me, my beauty, let's not lose one day.
22 May 2021
Summer love sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
Placed 2
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
Warm weather portends the returning of spring
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Hopeful, bright spring days with excitement tingling
Cause our voices to shout out and lustily sing,
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing
While with glee my life’s breath is mingling
So happy I feel like life is gaudy glitter and bling
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
Spring to me reminds of Barnum and Ringling
The colorful memories of childhood bring
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
I can reminisce about the high school flinging
The loss of my first love that brought a sting,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing.
The season of spring brings to me self-healing
More than anything else, a welcoming thing,
The bees have set about their pollen bringing
Over in the meadowland the birds are singing.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
edited April 7, 2022
written January 21, 2022
for "Springtime Villanelle" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Sotto Poet
In the serene solitude of your slumbers,
You’ll dream of me forever and ever.
For there, with my enigmatical looks,
I’ve been haunting you
From the first day you’ve seen me.
You have so often wondered at that look
that draws you to look so intently in my eyes.
I see you watching in the shade
Of that lovely gazebo in the garden.
You try to focus on my soulful eyes,
I notice your intense use
Of your make-ups of your black dark eyelashes,
Yet it is that exquisite pearl necklace that I love.
It draws all your wanton attention.
You look at a large diamond ring
Flashing it in the filtering sunbeams.
Oh stop looking at these gaudy trifles
Nor must you concern yourself about me.
Just look into my mesmerizing eyes.
Concentrate on my face all lit up,
Admire the light on my sweet kissing lips,
And don’t dare compare them
To that aloof Mona Lisa’s smile.
One day, when I’ll come to you
In the serene solitude of your slumbers,
And I’ll show you how a kiss should be.
O impetuous Muse surround me
with ashes of moody youth
recall silken moments uncertain,
where marbled words wrote an elaborate history.
Nectar thoughts,
not moments, dappled drab
where ruined feathers in darkness dwelt
Ornate years of passion, spilling fire
When summer spoke,and spring day-dreamed
and Autumn kissed me with
gaudy leaves.
Swift and sweet, how memories rise
diamond- strung in a room of silver
Slick and sleek from a stormy world,
solid tree trunks on a bell- clear morning.
Blithe, dramatic, reckless dreams
flowing with precocious, peculiar streams
Luxurious with sadness,
time’s cruel wheel
rolls vast recollections that slowly yield
cold, closed canyons of
endless truths,
touched with the starry
kiss of youth.
Suzanne Delaney
for Harry
III
But, of course, I had no dizzying towers
To burn...only bridges; and they were torched
Years ago in the urgency of my direst hours;
Along with so many mighty battlements sacked,
Countless golden fields scorched...
Afterall -- it was the age of Bronze!
I should have well known that in the flight
Of birds, in each cold dawns pale grey light,
I would eventually come to see the unalterable
Fates of Wilusha's last Imperial Scions:-
Tottering precariously - on the brink -
A world in crisis! Then the elopement...
Did you not once stop to carefully think
It through? Giddied no doubt by bestowment
Of that accursed title; just as if it were the
Same giddying rush
You have experienced from the heady
Potency of a full bodied, Oaked Chardonnay.
The coy performance at being required to strip --
An inner excitement at your self's shamed
Nakedness! The obvious insincerity on display
When receiving an invite to dine at the gaudy
Little bistro; your hot skin noticeably flushed
With the delirium of wine; frequently
Pressed to partake of yet another glass;
There was, he casually said, much to be
Desired in a pleasurable rape. Her audible gasp...
As if, from that roadside window, she was
Suddenly staring out over the idyllic plains
Of mythical Arcadia;
His eloquent assurances artfully calculated
To lend themselves to a distressful behaviour.
On the wind-swept Nebraska prairie sits a building in wretched shambles,
Surrounded by a sagging fence and overgrown with prickly brambles.
It was once a bustling one-room school house, abandoned long ago.
Its weather-beaten clapboards, I judged to be a century old or so.
Atop its cupola, swaying listlessly in the wind, was a rusted weather vane.
Eerily, at the whim of the wind, the school bell still tolled now and again.
Two ancient oak trees stood sentinel seeming to provide a guard,
To ensure that trespassers like me would value its past with high regard.
I warily opened the door, its rusty hinges protesting, to take a look inside.
Mice skittered across the dusty floor and cobwebs I had to brush aside.
There were well-worn desks, a blackboard and pot-bellied stove for heat.
To muse about its past and the ghosts of scholars of yore, I took a seat.
I pictured the schoolmarm who taught readin', writin' and basic math,
Who struggled to maintain order with imps who suffered her fearful wrath!
Little girls looked so prim in their pinafores and gingham frocks;
The boys wore knickers, buckled boots and gaudy argyle socks!
I could hear the droning recitations of pupils whose attention would digress,
To the ticking of the school clock anticipating the merriment of recess!
I noted relief on the teacher's face when at last the kids were released.
I sensed that she felt she had been nurturing a horde of wild beasts!
Shrunken sweaters, dusty ball caps
Tarnished silver, and hedge clippers
Pointed hat pins, gaudy jewelry
Faded jeans and worn out slippers
Greasy fry pan, wobbly table
Crates of dog-eared musty books
Tattered doilies, ragged Barbies
One brown old crock pot that still cooks
Rusty shovel, dented buckets
Ma's old apron, broken dishes
Dated calendar, crooked lampshade
Chipped glass bowl for all your fishes
Ugly painting, candle holders
One old bike for exercising
Broken TV, toaster oven
Doesn't work....it's not surprising!
What's the point?" our husbands mutter
While we fill the garage with clutter
I explain to him..."She buys mine, and I buy hers"
"What's the point of shopping stores??!"
"Now...don't you know the grass is greener?"
"OH GOOD!" "She's bought my vacuum cleaner!"
Just then I point across the street!!
Another yard sale.....and we both shriek!!
He points at me and shakes his fist
But I'll just ignore and toss a kiss
And side by side I'm in a race...
Who gets there first will buy that vase!!
Whoopee!!! I spy a broken chair...well, I can glue it!
Just hope she doesn't beat me to it!
Another point about my purchase
Perhaps I can use it for another purpose
Oh No!!...he's found old tool collections!!
And points at them with great affection!!
The point I'm making is simply this
Another's person's trash or junk, may soon become your bliss!
Resting it ever-so-gently on her
shoulder, the young girl twirled
the brightly-colored parasol in her hand
and like a child's pinwheel
it became a blur - a joyous
dizzy dance of vivid rainbow shades ...
Bringing the gloomy air around her
(and the wet sidewalk), to gaudy life ...
the rapid rotations spinning the rain off like a
lawn sprinkler - it was THAT sight
that made her think of her sister and warm
summer showers at the farm ...
They'd put bathing suits on
and dance together among the pear trees
pretending they were the precocious "Bennet" sisters
(vying for the attention of Mr Darcy, of course)
soft grass like a chartreuse carpet
under their tender toes ...
Spinning and giggling and
teasing each other in their horribly feigned
British accents ... oh, for just one more of those
carefree country days - life was anything BUT fanciful now -
private school and obligations and over five
years since her sister had passed ...
But, she was with her, still
and this was her kind of day
she would make the most of it, her beloved
sister's umbrella in her grasp - celebrate life itself
and the joyous weep of heaven's happy
tears and perhaps ...
A dance ... in the soft summer rain.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Strand Pick 8, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 6th Place ~ in the "A Rainy Day" Poetry Contest, Sara Kendrick, Judge & Sponsor.
* I chose picture number five *
(What an honor it was from me when a poet whom I greatly admire asked me to collaborate with him. I was absolutely thrilled! I love his work! This is the result of our "conversation" together. Yes, that is truly what it was...a conversation. He'd send me a line and I'd respond...back and forth...till we produced this!!! Hope you enjoy!)
From that night when I chased around the room to get your name;
From when my eyes teased and enticed you to play a lover's game.
I thought that you were too perfect, to ever notice me.
Yet there was a sweetness in your smile that wouldn’t let me be.
Strangers talking and laughing for hours about … everything -
Each word a hidden promise the joy knowing you would bring .
I hated myself for thinking "Is this too good to be true?"
"Am I insane to think I've found my universe in you?"
But each day I found more love in you - more a kindred spirit.
You had me reeling, feeling eternal love I would inherit.
The day you said you'd marry me was beyond my wildest dreams.
I knew in my heart of hearts, we'd swim in passion's streams .
So many years have flown since that time when love was new,
The time when every single kiss refreshed like the morning dew,
But time has stolen that magic thrill - it has gone away
Bereft, I sit agonizing about what to do or say.
And yet, my love, I wonder, are those thrills just childish things?
Are they meant to be only saved for years of youthful flings,
And for our aging memories to delightfully recall?
Is our love and life like seasons - like springtime is to fall?
My darling, I know the answer to all of this that is your musing,
We can define the hue of love with words of our own choosing.
In each and every stage of life, love has its depth and grace,
And even now, it is displayed with such beauty on your face.
Tis true, I do believe with time love takes a different glow,
It shines a softer light in place of dancing gaudy show.
But this we must never forget, always to remember,
Love is a soft hand on the cheek, a deep kiss that is tender.
I am empty of empathy
come sympathise with me
Cue the violins,
or just fiddle
like a bad-tempered Roman
Offer me hope:
bring flamboyant symbols,
cheap gold pendants with wings
Maybe a big gaudy
unflappable albatross
nothing too flash,
mind you!
Take my hand,
lead me towards the edge
it’s time to fledge
Sidle me onward,
watch as I waver
Try not be over-critical
of the albatross
He’s become a hanger-on,
too far gone
and addicted to flattery
If I drag you down
or appear inhumane,
it’s all secondary
I’m merely feeling depressed
by a pouch in my brain
A séance sensed
it was next of kin,
X-rays revealed tiny pleats,
masses of tissue within folds of skin
An exorcist said it’s
my vestigial twin
Google diagnosed
(Visual agnosia)
taking shape from within
Oh! And the indifferent
chatbot I confided in,
has begun self-harming!