Best Lapel Poems
Look past
the faded little girl braids and bows
in a polaroid picture
buttery yellow skirt
curtsying a smile
frog prince
imprisoned in her palm
under a creamy pound cake sun
(her grandmother’s recipe
sugar and spice folded carefully
with love and guilt
into a thick summer sky)
daisies like polka dots
piecemeal on her bonnet
seem to stare down
her face with jaundice eyes
slanted above ensnaring weeds
swirls of sorrow linger
in knee-high field
where flowers grew wild like
freedom once felt
Look closer picture fading
She is running
legs bent shouting from the page
stockings peeled off
lanky legs running
through her pain
till her heart detaches
from a barefoot soul
She still feels spiky burs in her heels
drops of blood
zigzag numb
beyond the treeline
memories meld
love and loss
euphoric rush warm winds fuel
an urgency her creation
until lightning strikes
her grief rushing to catch up
through crushed wildflowers
fragmented patterns
under paths at her feet
tears flooded her field overgrown
She remembers to forget
Her mother
buried under
a distant willow
She was taught
by her grandmother
to be composed
poised like other girls
wad up unpleasant feelings
slip them into a corner
of the cedar chest
under layers
of afghans and quilts
she laid them to rest
long ago but
never stopped
her fidgety legs from weaving
through floral tapestries
of field and meadow
wild brush turned emerald green
in mourning
Her daddy passed away
ten years ago today
He was buried with wildflowers
tucked softly
in his lapel and praying hands
he always said windswept blooms
reminded him of his girls
If you look closely at the picture
of that faded little girl
you will see her running
from the graves
as the wildflowers crush
beneath her feet
The parade is marching to the beat of the drum
With the skirl of the pipes with their distinctive hum
Everywhere you look there's bright shades of green
It's the day of the year, that the Irish love to be seen.
During the great famine many were forced to roam
And settled in far away places, that they now call home
But their hearts are in Ireland and there's no better way
To connect with fellow country men on this very special day.
But it's a community event and people from every nation
Join the proud Irish for the craic, in their big celebration
Each county has a banner and folks proudly march behind
Many with green foliage on their lapel, it's shamrock you'll find.
After the parade it continues, with music dancing and song
And if there's celebrations near you, make sure you go along
You'll be given a big welcome, it's the Irish way
And join in the fun celebrations on this St Patrick's day.
Written 17th March 2022
HAPPY ST PATRICK'S DAY
(Craic- In Ireland it means having a great time)
This day, in America, we remember those who died in battle:
MEMORIAL DAY — IN LIME DEPOSITS
In lime deposits, memories live on, as torrential flesh dies.
Cries in sunshine and rain, flower up bloody sacrifice.
The hopeful blooms of freedom’s caustic cost —
The poppy seeds would last, yet nowhere ne’er suffice.
On her proud lapel, dripping with measured tears.
Upon her adorned wrist the pressure of passion petals.
The nettles that fell the fighters of shivering yesteryear.
Still jewels shine, from the home, where the quivers settle.
How thick and plush, a ruddy head rush, the beautiful field
Of poppies that spread, endlessly abroad in Eden’s bower.
Reflective hourglass sands of the past, present and future.
Repopulation of the sullen earth with faithful ruddy flowers.
The crimson crib of a lover’s garden, salted with personal tears,
Whilst life traverses, without morse code, to one’s brief generation.
War but a scourge on man’s back — the epitome of Calvary’s cross.
A long line of souls, lifted upon an unselfish tree, of love’s veneration.
5/28/2018
What flower am I?
I represent my country which I love,
Springtime and I go hand in glove.
To see me makes everyone smile,
I grow in every garden can see me for miles.
My vibrant colour yellow and bright,
I blow my own trumpet, Cos I know I am right .
If cut I don't last, just a day or so,
So please in your garden let me grow.
My scent is not noted as a perfume,
Yet a tub of me fills up a room.
On March 1st my significance will be on a high scale,
When I am worn in the lapel, of everyone, from Wales
I am a daffodil, I herald in springtime
Growing straight, proud, cos it's forgiving time.
Meaning of Daffodils.
Give daffodils to someone when as a token of forgiveness or give them away as a token of appreciation for their honesty.
Penned 3 May 2015
The day the earth stood still,
bells suspended in the tower,
chimes froze in vacant space,
nullified the hour.
Her veil like spider web,
stiff with Winter frost,
hung upon the mannequin head,
poignant and lost.
His buttonhole carnation,
a bullet wound lapel,
blood red with cautious dying,
in the dresser fell.
And all the best laid plans
unravel seam by seam,
faint echoes in an empty church,
never more to dream.
The Rose is the ultimate floral Queen!
A radiant beauty. Colourful blooms.
A feature of any idyllic scene.
Some live in gardens, others brighten rooms.
Delicate. Precious to the beholder.
A symbol of affection in romance.
Nestled in a lapel 'neath a shoulder
For a wedding, a funeral, a dance.
Appreciate their glory. Sing their song!
A sweet aroma have some, others none.
Don't take them for granted. They don't stay long.
Suddenly they season out and are gone!
Spiky leaves and petals tender,
Grace our vision with their splendor.
Written 17th September 2022
(My first Sonnet)
Your brown eyes compel
Bring out this desire
Wishing to hide in
Your lapel, maybe
Upon a high wire
You touch the bell
Sparks will fly high
From your soft hand
Igniting flames
That only
Death will squelch
But maybe
I will
Love you
More
Contest: A Diminished Hexaverse
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
Date: January 16, 2021
1Your brown eyes compel 5
2Bring out this desire 5
3Wishing to hide in 5
4Your lapel, maybe 5
5Upon a high wire 5
6 0
7You touch the bell 4
8Sparks will fly high 4
9From your soft hand 4
10Igniting flames 4
11That only 3
12Death will squelch 3
13But maybe 3
14I will 2
15Love you 2
16More 1
Results
Grammar Mistakes
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Spelling Errors
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Clichés
No clichés found. Congrats!
Chuck looks slender and charming
wearing his black
tux, white silk shirt, black
tie, black rose boutonnière on his lapel ,
and polish black
patent leather shoes;
drives up in his black Cadillac.
Chuck, a Texas oil tycoon, is a character,
drinking a glass of Black Crow whiskey.
Charlene, his foxy lady in black
dress and sable, diamonds woven in her black
hair, playfully flirting sips champagne.
Black twilight night emergent rays
cast twinkling stars through crystal chandeliers.
Cheerlessly, the black raven spies.
Chaffinch tips it blue-grey cap,
chirps under the black shadows of the trees.
Black sleek cat with white lighting eyes,
lurking in the moonlight, sighs.
Black gold drilling,
is Chuck’s conversation with his chairman.
As music plays, Charlene dances with his partner.
8/25/2021
not for contest
just musing
We Will Party Like Theres No Tomorrow
Weekend is here, there’s
Excitement in the air,
Well-wishers all about,
Illuminating lights of colors bright,
Literary elite ready for the night, riding in
Luxury limousines both black and white!
Premium Members, novice Poets and Guest,
All enjoying an evening without stress,
Reveling in the aura of the extravagant venue,
Their eyes quickly graze, the lavish menu, with
Yearning feeling of a night without an end!
Lapel Tuxedo’s, bow-tie intact, Lame’ Shawls, jewelry adorned,
Impeccable taste, impressive look, attire proudly worn!
Kudos received, astonished with dis-belief, for my expertise,
Elated by the recognition and honor of unexpected prestige!
Turntable spinning sounds throughout, during poetic interludes,
Heads nodding, fingers snapping, small talk and finger food!
Entree’ soup and salad consumed, now time for the main course,
Roast Pork, Chicken, Ham and Fish, with a vegetable medley of sorts!
Effervescent drinks of sparkling colors, bubbles that tickled pink,
Sweet potato and Pumpkin pie and German Chocolate cake!
Now it’s time to take a walk, onto the terrace for a view,
Of the beautiful night sky, glittered with stars and a lovely halo moon!
Tonight’s a first, never to forget, treasured memories we’ll hold onto,
Oktoberfest unlike the rest, no ghost, no goblins, no growls, no boos!
Music, dancing, fine food and beer, topped off with souvenir Stein,
On each table a picture lay, among autumn leaves entwined!
Rings of earths colors, brown, green, orange, red and yellow,
Reminds me of the beauty, within each unique fellow!
Oddly enough it is time to end, until next time, and,
We’ll party like there’s no tomorrow!
Written: © 10/27/16
Submitted for: WILD ACROSTIC - Poetry Contest
Sponsored By: Julia Ward
Poem, I thought is just play of words and syllable
As breakfast of juice and toast laid out on table
Was fiancee's maiden breakfast, joined in dress with lapel
Napkin laid on my lap as table manner
To capture slip of drop or missed bite that may scatter
Drop did fall but the breeze from fan tossed it farther
Spoiled dress of my fiancée, upset with quizzical stare
Sorry did I say
Gave my virgin napkin to wipe stain away
Fuming, she threw her napkin at me that on her lap lay
Her spoiled napkin stained my dress by the way
Cursed Self less, more stupid fan
Rotating blades, cutting air, throwing breeze without aim
But tossed the drop dot on fiancée, oblivious of decency or shame
Switched off fan in fury, but angered everyone all the more
All loathed me for silly manners
I swore never to have breakfast on table with others
Since then, squat on floor, switch off fan even of next chamber
Avoid napkin, even to wipe hands, after breakfast is over
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
© Hitendra Mehta
Entry for Members Contest – My Worst Poem Ever by (Destroyer ((Poet
Said an aged woman
"My son is lucky,
Got a job in little town;
Never mind my loneliness,
My son should rise,
Live good life;"
After some weeks and months,
Son left to town;
Each Saturday and day off,
He visited mom,
Stayed together,
Enjoyed moments of bliss;
Days and months passed,
Son got better responsible job;
Too busy in work,
Coerced him miss weeks,
Months meeting mom;
So isolated;
Impatient bewildered Mom,
Said once to son;
"O my son, O my son,
Feel suffocating in lonely days;
Come soon it's long no see,
Relieve my loneliness";
Son visited as often as could,
But not as frequent as in past;
Unable to visit oft,
Shifted mom to an old age home;
Days and weeks
and then months passed;
Only son was always in her mind,
Always blessed him for his rise;
Too busy son visited not too oft,
Hoped, prayed for good health of mom;
A few days later,
An urgent telephone call
From the old age home;
"Your mom is serious
Urgent, come fast,
If you want see her,
In her last days of life";
Son rushed with girlfriend
As his son;
Mama said nothing,
Gestured her love to all,
Held the kid in lapel,
Gazing son, said;
"This old age home is too hot,
Even food can't stay fresh for long,
Arrange the fan and fridge,
Tears in worried son's eyes,
Said "Will arrange the same in hour or two"
Mom in silent assuring smile said,
"No, my son these aren't for me,
Am towards the end,
Few hours or a day left;
These are for you my son,
When you go old,
And settle down in old age home";
Crouching his head, tears in eyes,
Kissed mama's hand;
"O mama, O mama, I always
Expected you asking need,
But ye only gave in whole life,
Nothing ye expected
Except my good health and rise;
Even while enduring pain and hardship,
Ye worried of me and my pain;
© Sadashivan Nair
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
It does not ask anything of others.
It doesn’t moan.
It doesn’t complain.
It often goes out of its way to hug others.
Love is never boring.
There is never a dull moment when we are walking in love.
We are carried on the wings of angels who are sent from above.
Love is never self-seeking.
It thinks of others before it thinks of itself.
It has no time for a pity party.
It only wallows in happiness!
Love is eternal.
Love is patient.
Love has all sorts of lifetime benefits.
I wear a rose of love on my lapel today.
I share its scent with all who are near me.
Amen.
Based on I Corinthians chapter 13.
Your smile illuminates
The darkest parts in me.
Leather bag draped
Over your brown tweed jacket.
Your silver lapel badge,
Winks in the sunshine.
The scent of your perfume
Drifts on the breeze.
I want to hold you, to love you.
Your eyes, like cool, blue, pools
Invite me to dive, to luxuriate
In the depths of your beautiful soul.
When all the bombs have fallen
And life has crushed the stars,
I will remember those rainbow days,
The sun and soft rain on your face,
Your strength, your beauty, your grace.
And love will flood the arid ruins
Of a lost and empty life.
Logic- well it doesn’t seem to really fit after all this time.
But emotions though; now that’s a different style of fit isn’t it?
Hush puppies with spiked heels and retribution cushions;
Comfortable yet attractive to the practiced eye right?
On a single lane highway that circles the inner fringes
They go laughing uncontrollably like drunks on an early binge.
And as the depth of their imprints go deep into the ground
One pictures that they are often lonely when there’s no one else around?
.
And attached to the lapel as if in display;
The badges painted red and labeled justified;
Signify the claim of a higher understanding;
Yet too often they are driven by a need to manipulate;
What they can never truly own.
“God bless us all when the door is shut behind us,
only then will we breathe our first breath,
and awake
from the long dream…”
Forging past the indisputable summit onto the
shelf of the perfect medium (ah, ‘tis noble here!)
he sits, contemplating his balance. He does not sweat.
The winds breath breaks upon his predestined neck,
bestowing the gift of lily white scent upon a lapel that’s
stiff, yet pliable – just stiff enough. A 72 degree sun
shines its neutrality, (fueling his desire for nothing at all,
just the concept of sun giving heat, like a heartbeat,
unnoticed in its certainty) upon his stagnant face.
He is wearing his favorite pants (soft, worn jeans with
a little give, but not enough so that he forgets to hold
in his stomach), and from the ample pocket, he takes
an apple. It is a Red Delicious. Not quite living up to its
name, but unassuming and secure in its redness – he eats.
It’s not the best apple he’s ever had, but its good enough.
The vultures, native to this coveted desert waste circle,
vying for the core of his Non-Delicious, yet edible fruit.
And as he Bites into the last white taste of just fine, a glint
of sunlight flashes briefly – like infinity within dreams,
off of the vultures black eyes. And all at once he knows –
everything is. The death birds orbit the terracotta desert
peek (red and inviting in its dry and unforgiving reality),
the bird turns away so fast after catching his eye,
he forgets that he’d ever seen its pulsing recognition.
The forgettable sunset mollifies him - sedates him,
pacifying his every forgettable non-movement.
It is then, when the last dripping light of day descends
behind the obvious rock mount; the definite edge
of darkness falls. Shadows creep slowly and quickly
across the terrestrial rock spine, (engulfing its redness
in its totality) leaving just the remnants of burgundy
skin between yellowing teeth, and a deafening black desert.
As the sound of raucous wings and ripping jeans dominates
the guttural desert - the vultures take their coveted prize.
*Reposted for Deborah's Something Wicked This Way Comes, Wickedness Contest. :)