Best Heiress Poems
If only I could make my way to Paris
To search the boulevards and rainy rues
I'd look to find my lonely heart an heiress
An Irish lass vacationing her muse
We'd find a quiet cafe' on the Seine
Where we could sit and share a laugh or two
By candlelight we'd toast with French champagne
Pretend that we were on our honeymoon
But how could I convince her I'm the one
To make all of her fantasies come true
She knows there's more to life than having fun
In Paris hearts get easily confused
I'd get down on one knee under the stars
Give her the paper ring off my cigar
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Gold as far
As the eye can see
In awe I stood
As the sun lit up
Everything around me
Instant heiress
Of a golden estate
With unimaginable
Gilded treasures
My heart overflowed
Then in a split second
The clouds rolled back
And took it all away
My riches and my heart
Published in my photo/poetry book ~WEALTH~ 2019
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted on June 7, 2019 for contest YOUR CHOICE (4) sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
Originally posted on June 4, 2019
In a well guarded place for two hundred and eighteen years
hangs a painting that is rare and revere but so well persevered
The work is oil on white Lombardy poplar panel
when years ago a candle would show her glow and enigmatic pose
A mysterious smile that will make you sit and stare for awhile
having the most writings and songs about her
in the Louvre of Paris she is their heiress
No matter her age or where she may hang
over the years at times she has gathered dust
The Mona Lisa is still the worlds most mysterious
a creation of Da Vinci's innermost piece.
T Reams 5th place
I’m stealing through a twilit realm, the ancient pale of Whereis,
passing chambers of an Heiress
(though no need to feel embarrassed)
through a magic mystic mirror hanging curtainless.
A glimpse near naked alleyways (denuded by the moon) ex-
poses Ghosts in gauzy tunics
carving symbols, round and runic,
in distended dingy dungeons of uncertainness.
Down misty streets of cobblestone – ancestral avenues –
patchwork paths consume my shoes
(chasing foggy curlicues
twisting, twirling by in twos,
floating anywhere they choose),
leaving footprints that confuse
vagrant wispy retinues
of the threaded wooden sticks that stalk a Puppet wandering.
Condensed in drops of fantasy, distilled in evening dew,
shifting Shadows I pursue
(wearing faces I once knew,
slipping slowly from my view)
turn their backs to bid adieu
leaving stars to tempt me through
Awful Tower residues
mocking treasures time outgrew
in the birth of old from new
framing pageants in review
midst the visions of the painted past I can’t help pondering.
Contorted candelabra claw the skyline’s walled suspension
caught in twilight’s intervention
– still unlit (in stark dissension),
therefore seething with a tension
in the quiet apprehension
of the Watchman’s inattention
to the night-time’s bold pretension
to her power, not to mention,
to her hyperspace extension
(far beyond my comprehension
of the sundown’s bleak dimension) –
on exhausted beaten boulevards of foolish fretfulness.
Oblivion depletes me, voiding haste and hurried hassles,
me, a simple abject vassal,
trailing moonlit floating castles,
– fickle feet, but fingers facile
grasping straws and pendant tassels –
as I stumble through the rubble of forgetfulness.
I think I must be dreaming as I seem to see these things,
neath a sky alive with wings
(hear the Nightingale, she sings),
midst the whispered murmurings
soughed by Phantoms clad as Kings
pacing palaces in rings,
while their hapless footfall clings
to the sagging sinking sands of midnight’s splintered splattered ruins.
Entangled in the swirling leaves that spin in dizzy flurries,
(while the wind beside me scurries
as an ermined hermit hurries)
lurk my sleepy woes and worries
(glowing faint’ but growing blurry)
which, when plundered by the demon dusk, I’d left behind me strewn.
Continued in Part 2
Darkness only prevails for a while
But light eventually prevails forever
The revenge of an embittered woman
Is more than the fury of a thousand army.
There are women of substance
And there are women of superlative substance
In size we grow
In wisdom we surpass
He who can fly
Needs not flying whiskers
For a short while alone
Does iniquity reign
I am my husband’s pillar
A shelter for my children
An envy of all Nation
A symbol of creation
An endurer of pain
The patient dog in human form
A mortal among immortals
A vision beyond the present
I am a virtuous woman
A heiress
A leader
A great instrument
A completion of creations
Mighty in my own way
In the sacred river.
I was born into polytheism,
Where Yemoja was the deity;
The goddess of river was the anchor
That held the village to life.
Her shrine was the sacred river
Where fortune was sought and recieved;
There fishing was forbade
Goddess’ heiresses could not be food.
The heiresses were beautiful
Appealing to eye,appealing to mouth,
But the beauty and taste of goddess
Were certainly beyond man’s hunt.
In their beauty they were sluggish
Their reverance made them so,
When you were Yemoja’s heiress
Who again shall you fear?
Then came the day of armageddon
The conflict of the titans
When guts of three children
Vowed to taste the godess’ flesh.
Two cousins and I had this agenda,
At the shadow of sun,we stole us to shrine;
With a basket we arrested five goddesses,
In a clay pot they became food.
As we were savouring the taste of the godess
A bone hung in my gut,I coughed to eject;
Mother came to help,cat let out of the bag:
Abomination,fishing in the sacred river.
Yemoja must be begged:
Twelve lashes of cudgel per child,
One hen,one cock ,one snail,
Six yards of white swiss velvet.
User’s name : Kayod5.
Contest : Gone fishin’.
Sponsor : Caleb Smith.
Adieu the king,
Long live the king:
The crown was in the grove
Where his forebears dwell
In their majestic transfiguration;
There he would inherit the fiat,
The power to say and to be;
In the grove of royal tutorial
Where prince became king
Where ancient secrets were learnt
The tryst of the dead and the living
Forest of rite of accession.
There fortune anointed me,
Made venus’s heart my portion:
The royal heiress smiled at me,
Her eyelids blinked and blinked,
Like fire fighters’ ambluance,
Her boby moving ups and downs
Like a piston of new brand auto
As she nailed her eyes on me
She made my spot her path
By my side she offered me wine
In a royal calabash of symbol
And laid her hand on me
Like a bed spread on yielding matress
Instantly I woke from my slumber
Like a chameleon rewinding back its tongue
And she piloted me to the chamber
In the interior of the royal
Where many games were offered;
Ludo and chess I did not play,
But played love with my princess;
Sure the gods are wise:
A night in the royal grove,
Remains love of my life.
heiress on the lam
great romantic comedy. . .
won top five Oscars
Copyright © 2018 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
First published 2018 in Hollywood Haiku via wattpad.com
Thoughts unspoken, feelings remain hidden,
Concealing all emotions, she walks ahead
All rainbows and sunshine.
Unravelling her will take hell lot of time.
She portrays herself to be strong,
Thinks she can gather all the broken pieces...
Rejection played a crucial role in where she is now.
Her gorgeous smiles don't give away
The beautiful mess that she is.
She refuses to acknowledge those unpleasant feelings,
She has mastered the art of fake smiling.
Oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions,
The world thinks she is an open book.
Unaware of the hidden pages, the unspoken secrets.
She sure tried to get rid of the bad vibes
That passed right before her eyes.
But no matter how much you rub a black board,
Some marks are not bound to go.
She refuses to lose her dignity
But she has lost the ability
To dream a 1000 dreams
And never fear anything.
She can't take rejection anymore.
Yes, she is a beautiful mess,
A mystery, a fragile heiress.
She gazed toward the window
across father's long oak desk
her dimples prettily smirked
vision of beauty impressed
though a tainted ego lurked.
A pale lithe form grew angry
the youthful heiress, a rose
froth of fine gold flowed sweetly
held back with blue silken bows
Dark form engulfed her neatly
Her clear blue eyes shone evil
cold breath frosted panes of glass
Her pierced heart bleeds black with dread
Evil stole the lovely lass
Sweet tortured soul, now is dead.
while figuratively hunting
and pecking around me noggin
force hum theme to write about
lo and behold, the solution
stared me right in front
of my little knob nub nose with gentle clout
cuz, as an avid bookworm, the dictionary,
I enjoy expending hours
to drink up etymological history
relating to the origin and
historical development of words
and their meanings.
with no shadow of a doubt
and most times, this animatronic,
the technique of making and operating
lifelike robots, typically for use
in film or other entertainment
dogmatic, enigmatic fugee dooby
brother beastie boy
(actually a mwm) dislikes to flout
his abilities, hobbies, interests,
as aches hike kant imagine being treated for gout
a disease in which defective metabolism
of uric acid causes arthritis, especially
in smaller bones of the feet, deposition
of chalkstones, and episodes of acute pain.
Boot lemme return full circle
to thematic core curriculum aye started to aim
and express gratitude
to the ghost of Noah Webster,
who gets credit yet also blame
if some snide haughty guttersnipe,
some slovenly individual feels snubbed,
and hence, living personage, said descendent(s)
of oblivion, whatever unknown
man or woman to living persons
stake a valid claim
that his/her many generations removed
heir (Harris), and or heiress ancestor (proven
with tangible researched reportage,
then cited with countless
prestigious explorers of English language),
that a daunting scrivener perhaps
even a courtesan or rich dame
rightfully ought to receive the fame,
thus such living relative might
upend the huck cult personality be game
to dare challenge secure historical niche
ambitiously held by Mark Roget (1779–1869),
British physician, natural theologian
and lexicographer. It was released
to the public on 29 April 1852.
The original edition had 15,000 words,
and each new matured edition
of the Thesaurus grew larger.
from birth until this moment with your family as supporting team
the journey within your space/ time continuum stream
found trials and tribulations comprising the spool o yar existential ream
some incidents assessed in retrospect might now appear
as particularly significant undertakings – getting you grounded with clear
insight into what future dreams may become manifest with yar dear
beloved husband – I aver to when ye will endure empty nest fair
lee soon, whereby yar life will constitute andy and his anatomical gear
whose cupidity, fidelity, integrity, levity, opportunity, runneth tranquil
tiding up for gatherings or packing with his efficient globe trotting skill
bubbling with energy, harmony, synergy through his confluence he rill
lee doth possess – in my humble opinion, though less to take quill
to paper, him this brother in law applauds how he accepted any bitter pill
i.e. figuratively when the fickle finger of fate seemed to obscenely mill
a tate a contrary outcome than he desire, a fighting esprit de corps did fill
his entire being – putting forces of destruction re: no longer threat of evil
which waywardness with this poetic intent to type a birthday cheer
sans thy lovely sister activated thoughts pertaining to positive people dear
as senescence shuttles thine youngest harris heiress who everywhere
she goes affects a blessedly diplomatic, friendly holistic imprimatur
and thus tis probably apropos to attempt to communicate with mere
crude symbols i.e. the 26 letters of the alphabet to formulate the near
wrist approximating her significance in me xy z lived life a prayer
and many a broken wing, but tis necessary 4 me 2 expunge – though rear
the positive presence (most often invisible) whence shari did tear
out from the birth canal even at that early infantile stage did wear
autonomy to evince can do spirit whereby she irresistibly insinuated an air
that inexplicably captivated family, friends, romans….with no blare
ring burst, but she exhibited a magnetic trait – I now heartily cheer
cuz many stepping stones to mine current ah fair
rooted tuber remembered per the unsolicited advice aye did hear
when oft times shuttered in this man cave, hell lair
re: us lee chuckling at online jokes, which laugh tier
medicine for this bot deed father, a pro motor still sputtering each year.
The sun RETREATS to its abode as darkness overrun
Our eyes lock and his deep INTELLIGENCE reap sighs
KING of my heart bound by eternal love thereof
He then approach with a STRENGTH that will smitten
'My PRINCESS' his soothing whisper, 'my heart's only heiress'
Sheer pleasure send tremors sighting the GEM i treasure
BLESSED was the night on the spread of grass
We embrace as a SCHOOL of fish play chase
The riverside in the LIGHT was our secret hide
© Nadiya (1 Feb '15)
THE TRINITY
It is season of love
Come oh you people
Come let’s celebrate the trinity.
Godess of love,godess of life,
Godess of comfort; come,
Let’s celebrate the trinty.
It is good to build three crowns;
One on love, one on life, one on comfort,
Come let’s celebrate the trinity.
Sing sweet songs in celebration
Play cupid’s tunes on harps and guitars;
The godess of love abides here.
Let Mosel wine come out of cellar,
Fill every goblet to beam of fall;
The godess of life dwells with us
Dance and wind waists in joy,
Like young tilapias in the pool;
The godess of comfort is ours.
Come let’s celebrate the trinity,
Bring their golden crowns of glory;
Let’s crown love today.
Let the mace bearers proceed,
Today is hegemony of life;
The season of abundance is here.
Deck the throne with arabian wools;
Sit in your majesty heiress of comfort,
Long live the queens.
What shall I render ?
What shall I give the queens ?
What shall bring to the palace of trinity ?
To love I give adoration,
To life I offer exaltaion,
To comfort I bring praise.
Three cherries I have:
One for Linda, one for SKAT,
The other one is for Anne in Norway.
User’s name : Kayod5
Contest : Valentine’s note to Linda, Anne and SKAT A.
Sponsor : SKAT A.
This brief discourse may seem by all means fantastic,
but it was true.
This young woman, once,
at the tender age of twelve,
was left a lonely orphan in this world,
and the sole heir
to eight hundred thousand acres of rich and fertile land,
eight humble hamlets,
two towns of consequence,
four great and ancient halls,
five noble ghosts,
three of the largest rivers in the land,
two lofty peaks,
and a holy abbey of barefoot nuns.
In this immense area of land
worked thousands of living, breathing, feeling human beings,
each one
helping to create for this single person
a wealth so enormous
that its measure remained a mystery,
yet was carefully and daily overseen
by an army of managers, accountants, and esquires.