Best Jeweller Poems
Huddled in Burton's doorway, head down,
the windblown rain at almost forty five degrees
soaking me from the knees downwards.
Reflecting on the paving, the red, amber and green
from the traffic lights heralded a wave of white from passing headlights,
like theatre curtains opening.
And centre stage stood I.
The clock at Samuel's jeweller said nine seventeen.
I thought I blended in well- the tailor's dummies in the windows
either side of me, equally well dressed, stared vacantly
into a dark alien world. I envied them.
They were dry.
And not waiting on a first date.
A quick glance up.
The clock said nine seventeen.
They say that time slows down when you're idle, or impatient,
and I was starting to bow to this unproven scientific truth.
Two pretty girls strode past beneath a mangled umbrella,
one briefly threw a smile my way, almost lost in a giggle.
I counted my twentieth chorus of red, amber and green.
It was nine seventeen.
She said she'd be here for nine. I looked at my watch.
Ten O'clock.
The bells of the Guildhall and the Cathedral smugly agreed,
H. Samuel had been lying all along.
The rain had stopped. I stepped out into the throng of couples,
dressed in my singleness, as the girls with the broken umbrella,
now discarded, approached.
No giggles- she gave the same smile, but her eyes knew my plight,
then she shrugged.
I found a bar and sat in damp trousers with a beer, and watched the big screen
to take my mind off a wasted evening.
The rugby was just finishing.
God does have a sense of humour,
England beating France-
Seventeen points to nine.
25th June 2018
For contest 'nine seventeen', sponsor John Lawless
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
Jovial Dr Jekyll played for juvenile Justice
a just jaspered journey
jokingly jumped a joyride
to juicy jukebox jabbering
in jackal jackboots
from nearby jungle
Dr Jekyll clasped a jackknife eating
jambalaya to justify a
juggled juxtapositional
jurisdiction jamming
as jugular vein jingled jewels
joyfully jauntily jaywalking
to a jay named Jim Jolly !
Onward he jumped to a
Jungian junction
Jupiter jocund watching his
journeying joints
journalese seemed a jibe jig
but neither Jewess, Jesuit
or jeweller jiggled this job
So he jerked his jess
like a jape for Japan
Jejuning onto January for the
next jangle of jasmine
No jellyfish was Dr Jekyll in Jordanian jerkin
though sometimes Mr Hyde
with jeroboam swirling alongside !
Although we all enjoy
Looking at beautiful things,
Appearance is shallow
And often means nothing.
However, if to take a deeper look
Is the option we choose,
We'll find colourful qualities
As jeweller finds rainbow hues.
For like the facets in a diamond,
True inner beauty radiates.
A mere glance will miss so much!
Just a thought to contemplate.
The most extraordinary people
Are not the glamorous who pose.
Their beauty lies in who they are
And is as delicate as a rose.
They may not have a nightingales voice
Or the perfect figure.
But their hearts are golden
And couldn't be much bigger.
If you base your estimation
Of a person on their looks
You forget that this is just a backing
To their story book!
Taking time to turn a page or two,
Do you know what you will find?
Someone truly beautiful
Rare, precious and kind.
Tears bring the eyes its shivering spangle of stars
In liquid pools dilating light
The firmament spiraled to bandage time’s scars
Shining in empty bowls night
And sometimes the common carbon of the air
In soul deep fires like butterflies
Becomes the diamonds from our despair
Uncut by innocence to prudent eyes.
And you from your shining White House saw
The fluid dreams of frigid seasons
Bent to touch us, and in your warmth to thaw
The icy conducts of pride’s false reasons
We had only eyes to tell the luster of our glee
Muted with wonder at your love
Bridging the callous constellations of history
To dent the songless cages for each dove
How shall we thank you for feathering our dreams
To vault the pole-less blue of sky
Dear First Lady, the joy that in us stuttering gleams
Make us the jewels of your eye
You bring us hope, you shining tiara of the sultry past
You jeweller setting us to shine
Against rabid scorn of white winters' withering blast
No cheap rubble again, the stones you leave behind.
my dirty little stones in a pouch
received in a hotel one night
slid them under my pillow
dreamt sweetly
opened the pouch in the morning after breakfast
saw dirty little stones
wondered what they could be
went to smith the jeweller
sat on the couch as i waited for him to wash them
came to me holding something glittery
it was diamonds
i jumped up and down
told him he could sell them on a black market
take his share
i locked them in my safe at home
would you like to hear more
before i do that
i have to go and testify at the hague
diamonds are forever and you too should have them
Stunning purple full of beauty and grace
I still can’t wipe the smile from my face
Today I purchased an amethyst ring
It is very subtle not full of bling
You saw on my face the joy it will bring
You re-sized it for me so it would fit
I would have paid extra but you wouldn’t hear of it
You gave me a discount and then you did say
Could I clean your sapphire ring for you today?
So now I have two shiny rings one old and one new
But when I wear them I will always think of you
I am sending this poem to the Jeweller in Haworth Yorkshire – he truly made my
day with his kindness
Jan Allison
5th August 2014
Louis the Fifteenth, king of France,
Adored Madame du Barry.
His royal ardor was not bound
To the person he did marry.
His paramour was hard to please.
The king brooded day and night
On what act of loving kindness
Might appease her appetite.
One day he called his jeweller,
Whose face turned pale, then green,
When told to make a necklace
The likes of which no eyes had seen.
Vanity of vanities! Let nobody forget:
All humankind proposes yields to a Higher Will.
For the king lay dead and buried
When it was time to pay the bill.
They asked:' Who has got the money?
Who is there so rich
As to settle payment
And haul us from this ditch?
Louis the Sixteenth was now king,
But not long on the throne.
To purchasing the necklace
He himself was prone.
His wife strongly objected.
She thought the whole thing crazy.'
'We need to spend on self-defence:
More vessels for the navy!'
Now Cardinal De Rohan was a worldly priest,
Not averse to 'oo la la.'
Especially not in the matter of
Jeanne de la Motte Valois.
As a young girl she was naughty,
But she confessed in style.
The priest let her off counting rosary beads
All for the sake of her sweet winning smile.
Jeanne told the cardinal
They could have a sales deal signed
As friends at court had signaled
That the queen had changed her mind.
The queen and cardinal soon met
And the queen signed with aplomb.
De Rohan was too befuddled
To sense something was wrong
The queen received the necklace
But the queen was not the queen.
Charming though the lady was,
Who knew where she had been?
The necklace was picked to pieces
And sold off part by part.
O woeful desecration
Of this glorious objet d'art?
The cardinal faced the music
A victim of delusion
'Gullable, not guilty,'
came the court's conclusion.
Madame de la Motte Valois
Had no basis for a plea
And she was branded on both arms
With the letter V.
This letter stood for 'Voleuse,'
Meaning in English 'thief.'
Somehow she got to London,
And there she came to grief.
When fleeing from her creditors,
She fell from an upper floor.
Those creditors she did escape,
But only at death's door.
During her interment
Wagging tongues spoke of her guile
But someone chirped in her defence:
'But she had such a sweet winning smile.'
A draftsman called Tom bought a ruler
He gave it to colleague Talulah
Astounded to find
She paid him in kind
And what he needs now is a jeweller
LUCKY MAY
May, May is welcome
And by these roads, these lanes
Young people come to home
To sing to my sisters.
What pretty they are
With her golden hair
And coloured lassos
And my mother combing them
To disentangle it.
That is their faces
What face so bright¡
Their lips, what loveliness¡
Painted with lipsticks
Where the same Cupid
A Kiss plant.
Their eyes, waht pretty and lovely¡
As star lighting the same Sky.
Their snub noses
(I wish I could to have them¡)
Silver twists are
That none of the jeweller
Knows draw
Only mother Daniela
As their ivory teeth
And their two little bust
Behind their white blouses
As two early lemons
With a dress of virgin
With brads in its shorts
Straight to the point
Axle of dancing and music
Moving their nice legs
And their agile feet.
And Me, now, an injured angel
With all my features as seraph
Imploring to our mother
That she plays a May with me
Dressing me as my sisters
With Rosemary flowers
With legominous flowers
Puting in my hand
A palm of Sun and Moon
As my lovely sisters
Because I want to dress as a little girl
And don’t want to be more
The Little man of the home
In the Lucky May.
I want you to meet my mum
Oh no, not the mum
That means I could be the one
There goes the fun
Time for a ring
That couple thing
Need a plan
Insanity is in the man
Hun, I’m slightly gay
It’s always been that way
I try to hide it
But it just won't go away
I know babe
That’s what I love about you
You’re feminine too
Man, what have I done
Where do I run
Okay, plan two
Hun, think of the kids
What would they think
Daddy wearing a dress
Their little faces
Such a mess
Don’t worry babe
Take my hand
Let me introduce you
This is my mum
My god, what a body
So fit
Where’s that jeweller
Book the church
I’ll marry her mum
And then some
I’m in love
Babe, don’t get carried away
There's something I have to say
It’s about my mum
Hun, tell me all
Write it, ten feet on the wall
Watch me fall
Babe, my mum’s my dad
Aren't you glad
You being that way too
So understanding
It was like God sent you
Okay, I've kind of went numb
Something just registered
Call me dumb
But It seems to me
Or maybe I’m slow
Have I just joined a feckin freak show.
LUCKY MAY
May, May is welcome
And by these roads, these lanes
Young people come to home
To sing to my sisters.
What pretty they are
With her golden hair
And coloured lassos
And my mother combing them
To disentangle it.
That is their faces
What face so bright¡
Their lips, what loveliness¡
Painted with lipsticks
Where the same Cupid
A Kiss plant.
Their eyes, waht pretty and lovely¡
As star lighting the same Sky.
Their snub noses
(I wish I could to have them¡)
Silver twists are
That none of the jeweller
Knows draw
Only mother Daniela
As their ivory teeth
And their two little bust
Behind their white blouses
As two early lemons
With a dress of virgin
With brads in its shorts
Straight to the point
Axle of dancing and music
Moving their nice legs
And their agile feet.
And Me, now, an injured angel
With all my features as seraph
Imploring to our mother
That she plays a May with me
Dressing me as my sisters
With Rosemary flowers
With legominous flowers
Puting in my hand
A palm of Sun and Moon
As my lovely sisters
Because I want to dress as a little girl
And don’t want to be more
The Little man of the home
In the Lucky May.
If you were the model,
I would have learnt to paint,
laugh if you were comedian,
And sorry that you ain’t.
If you were an author,
I would always read your book,
If you were a runner,
I would time each lap you took.
If you were a milkman,
I would have an extra bottle,
If you were an f1 driver,
I’d cheer your full throttle.
If you were a singer,
I would listen to each tune,
If you were an astronaut,
I’d watch you on the moon.
If you were a banker,
I would ask you for a loan,
If you were a jeweller,
I’d watch you with precious stone.
If you were a teacher,
I’d be the best kid in school,
If you were a swimmer,
I’d admire you in the pool.
If you were a fundraiser,
I’d put cash in your tin,
If you were a barmaid,
I’d be ordering a gin.
If you were a dancer,
I’d watch every graceful move,
And if you were a scientist,
I’d watch you theories prove.
If you were a carpenter,
I’d watch you hammer nails,
If you were a train driver,
You’d keep me on the rails.
If you were a jockey,
I’d be cheering for your horses
If you were a soldier,
I’d cheer you within the forces.
If you were a tour guide,
Then I’d love to watch the view,
Yes, anything you were,
Then I’d be there because it’s you!!
Seeing through the red filter
the sun reflecting on his
iris....
Viewing details through a
magnifying glass...
A microscope..
A jeweler forges his metal
Sets his stone.
Paying attention to detail
he etches every little hair,
every little speck.
Observing nature's moods,
shifts,changes,he records+
draws in his journal his
discoveries for this new
Season.
Fashion house store, jeweller
Bistro, awned tasteful -
Spin out each of your light's
Burnt orange, tactful
This chill eve's way, waist-wrapped
Mists two, affianced.
For this one fine purpose;
Conspicuous doth
Show up, honours a love.
Soft, warm, now enhanced.
I spent my day shopping for rubies,
But couldn’t decide on the best,
Some were quite shiny and sparkly,
But shapes nice on some of the rest.
Some of them lined up on brooches,
While others in gold plated rings,
And some of them forming a necklace,
And others in quite abstract things.
“They’re holding their value, these rubies”,
Each jeweller said as I viewed,
I listened to all of their sales talk,
While trying to not seem too rude.
Then as the day drew to concluding,
I saw what I knew was the one,
I entered the shop really quickly,
Before the chose item had gone.
He told me the year manufactured,
The year that my mother was born,
There were traces of wear on the necklace,
But it showed it was lovingly worn.
He asked if the purchase was special,
I nodded, the rubies did glint,
He saw I was looking quite solemn,
That gave him a bit of a hint.
With tears in my eyes while explaining,
I said that my mother had died,
So this something special, my purchase,
He didn’t quite get it but tried.
I explained I’d been tasked with instructions,
Today for the rubies to come,
For her wearing in peace as she’s buried,
For Ruby’s the name of our mum!
Entered in First Line Prompt - 3 contest
Judged 28 July 2020 n/a