Best Matrons Poems
"Tease for Two"
“Ein bisschen Zucker
mit Ihrer Sahne, Sir?“
German accent
smoky toned
she purred
Periwinkles suavely winked,
then played with his -
cufflinks
“Not now Schvee Tart”
he said holding his attache tight
looking across the room
grinning Lupine Blues
a slight smile on his lips,
bemused,
“Service calls,
her name is
"Q”
Across the dance floor
all eyes turned
Parting tall bus boys, handsome waiters
matrons with their peach blinis, their tart apple martinis
flustered debutantes
all poetic unsure
first time daters
dilettantes
rubbed their -
eyes again, they blinked
made way, made room,
for Q's
sashaying soliloquy
serious multi tasking
sensual stiletto Hell-on-High Heels
slick Scarlet lip-glossed
VaVaVoom
As it should be
entertaining control,
further into the room
across the dazzling polished dance floor
no pastie tasselling girls
on well-oiled silver poles
The Special Agent
slinked
The Old Boys
raised their drinks
He stands
She sits
"Ist das eine Waffe
in deiner Tasche,
Special Agt Schmidt?"
She glances at her
Bulgari Serpenti Incantati
and in English says,
"This better be good,
Now is not the time to quit"
Like a wolf
Periwinkles
grins
"Q," he low growl says,
"I propose a change in destination,
I've taken the liberty to buy you
feathers for your wings -
tickets Q...."
then flirtatiously adds,
"Simply adore your bling"
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
1. lupine/wolf
2. lupine/lupinus, genus blue flowering plant
3. Libertango
Categories:
matrons, adventure, humor, romance, word
Form:
Romanticism
When I look on my life that's now half-spent,
I sigh the loss of youth that's forever past,
wishing myself better Fortune's consent,
love, friends, and wealth with naught to lose or waste,
but for the mean expense of young love lost;
despising this, I oft' bemoan the loss
of vestal company's first time the most;
for matrons offend like mouldering moss,
which, like Time's sure, inexorable march,
destroys the juvenescence of life's spring
year by year till extinguishing Youth's torch,
a dead flame for which I am most desiring.
If I could live and love anew once more,
I'd not err this time: and lay a rude whore.
Categories:
matrons, life, loneliness, longing, loss,
Form:
Sonnet
Now I lay me down to sleep,
I’m feverishly counting sheep …
Hoping that the perfect number
Rewards me with a dreamless slumber.
Envisioning the sylvan state,
I close my eyes and concentrate
On willing ev’ry fuzzy shape
To leap in order through the gate.
I trust they’ll form a proper queue
And, decorously stepping through
In ranks of three for my review,
Pass by my vision ewe by ewe.
But will they do this? Will they ‘eck!
They’re making me a nervous wreck!
They leap the hedge, and come back round
And thus my counting do confound.
And then they dance! I swear they do!
They link their arms and sashay through …
They buck-and-wing, and twist, and spin,
Each sheepish face a saucy grin …
And while these woolly matrons rumba …
I’ve clean forgot the flippin’ number!
So then I’m back to number one
And wishing I had ne’er begun!
Till, once more, frazzled and forlorn,
I’m wide awake to greet the dawn.
Categories:
matrons, animals, funny, me, me,
Form:
Rhyme
9 KISSES IN THE LIBRARY
First kiss meandered through Sci Fi by the purple
wall. The tender second kiss arrived around the bend.
mumbling 3rd and 4th excuses as she frog jumped
twin matrons chatting with their dead and absent friends.
Sweet and slow-- the next three left her breathless--
Zinged and knocked her senseless to her bony knees.
She braced herself--for just two more--oh, please--
At 9pm she's startled by a subtle shoulder tap,
Bodice ripper pages shuddered with a final schoolgirl snap.
Categories:
matrons, on writing and words,
Form:
Lyric
Kindheartedness to me
Comes in many forms
Being fostered and cared for
As my young life storms
Born to a mother
Who decided to leave
But this seven year old
Never wanted to grieve
For his words became true
As he grew through the years
The matrons in children's homes
Replaced his tears
As he grew to his teens
With his friends he did stay
For their mother became his
So many mothers to this day
As i look back
To the women in my life
They all became my mother
And saved my life from strife
Kindheartedness to me
Came in many, many forms
So many unlike my mother
Seen me through the storms
Categories:
matrons, social, thank youlife,
Form:
Quatrain
I had survived how many summers? Five?
Six? 'til, self-taught, I learned at last
of terror that lurks in situations
which those I trust (myself included)
would swear offer only perfect safety...
My ball rolled under my Grandma's house
and I, well-guarded, scuttered after to retrieve it,
mindless of the tarry soil fleeced with fluffy,
small red feathers, newly molted by matrons:
hens that clucked contentment,
set upon their hidden egg troves.
Spying their nests, I thought to rob them
and so earn a Grandma's love for a city boy
unversed in country ways. Thinking, I acted,
reaching for a nest unoccupied,
half hid behind a house block.
I closed my soft, expectant hand
upon a wriggling creature coiled among the eggs,
drew back like lightning to watch
a brightly spotted snake slide off
into the farther, deeper darkness
amid a squall of squawks.
Emerging empty handed, terrified,
it wasn't Grandma's love I earned that day.
I have always since encountered similar brilliant colored
dangers whenever I have thought to grab,
for myself or others, unclaimed treasures
in strange places, in warmer or in cooler weathers.
Categories:
matrons, childhood, education, family, life,
Form:
Narrative
Matrons decked in thick jewelry
who find pleasure in soft chuckles,
exploring the art of rumor
long their hours... fulfilled or empty?
Grook Contest for Silent One
2/15/2016
Categories:
matrons, nonsense, words,
Form:
Grook
They are the last ones by the peaceful shore
under the gloomy twilight darkening tones;
one holds a seashell in her cupped hand,
a delight for two Mayflower matrons.
Her fingers brush off all grains of sand;
such a revelation astounds even more.
Perhaps in Plymouth they never saw
a similar one, being far from any beach;
the curiosity they display is very raw,
nothing ahead of them is out of reach.
Taking a stroll before sunset is utter joy
while their soul search for inner serenity,
but besides stilness there is another reason,
to admire the awesome works of creation.
They will take this gorgeous seashell home,
put it on a window sill next to an Amish stone
whiter than a grand cathedral's round dome;
no match for the ocean's waves rolling ashore.
Categories:
matrons, creation, emotions, faith, peace,
Form:
Rhyme
What do I know of that young woman...
She never dared..and I was not allowed.
Hellion drained at last courageous
Holding on to remnants of electric beauty
Dying of neglect
Perhaps..in spite of duty.
And I suppose (to some sublime extent)
All that is known of her
Would make good kindling
Around suburban campfires glowing tastefully,
Where discontented matrons, still and all
Practice that much maligned art
Of fundamental
Character assasination
Behind a well dressed back - or two.
And here I am in a large bed waiting
Listening to the heartbeat of a ticking clock:
Lonely - lonely - lonely
Waiting for my nails to dry...
A pretty vanity left unsaid;
My favorite color,
Mandarin Red....
Categories:
matrons, life,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
How I did Sixty Years of Marriage
“How long have you been married?” people often ask.
“And what made it last?"
My next door neighbor sent me a tweet:
“It must have been easy 'cause you can't hear each other speak.”
There are a couple of secrets that you should hear
My family and hers were friends for years.
When we first met I liked her a lot
Were told we played in the same sand box.
Family social photos appeared on same page
“Society Matrons and children of young age.”
I grew up with her brother
And we both liked each other.
As kids we collected bottles for two cents
And bought ice cream with money well spent.
We both joined the same college fraternity
And pledged to be brothers from here to eternity.
His career after college brought him great fame
Became a neurosurgeon of the brain.
His young sister, my future wife
Went to Smith for her college life.
Only two hours away, yet never asked for a date
But she fixed me up anyway with her roommates.
Thought I would be drafted after graduation
So I joined the Navy to help save our nation.
On New Years Eve came a quirk of fate
Call from her brother said his sister had no date.
A tradition at midnight -date sits on your lap
Lights turned off and try not to get slapped.
Only a minute went bye
When she let out a large cry.
I said "What are you fearing?"
“Turn on the light, have lost my earring!”
Well it broke up the party as we searched and we groaned
Found nothing so we all went home.
Six months later, I picked up my Sport Coat
“Found this earring in breast pocket” was a note.
I immediately gave her a call
She laughed and said would see me that Fall
Well we started dating and got married next Spring
All because of that beautiful earring.
We now have great joy
That we raised three handsome and intelligent boys.
Categories:
matrons, age, anniversary, devotion, life,
Form:
Rhyme
happiness
i have spent this life
with mermaids and maidens
the most beautiful of women
who made words like sweet perfume
flying above me are valkryes and fairies
long looking for my soul
and how they could bless me
lovers and mistresses made of the earth
built in human weaknesses from birth
they answer my calls with words
of worth, pecancy and flirts
also in my kingdom are queens
and princesses
perched on high mountains
and lifted heavenly
men with pen's exalt their beauty
because it is their solemn duty
to worship each other in this way
some search for saddness
and saddness they deliver
some search for gladness and
it too is in the quiver
some are sinners
some are saints
some from out of musty
books they paint
emotions or some worthy cause
matrons and the mothers
who could only live
by the graces
only a mother could give
i've laughed with these women
and cried on their shoulders
enough time has passed that
they've made me grow older
daughters and sisters my next of kin
i shared with you my secrets
my poetry with in
and sang my songs
of juvenilia
and angels that brought
lucidity and luciferous
to dark caverns of
inhumanity
gratis for the guilty
words describing filthy
from those who
writhe in pain
cowgirls and tomboys
you know who you are
with words of encouragement
you made me a star
and to add to the list
one vixen and one witch
one who's been deleted
and the other
i don't know which
but they all make out the
women i love on the soup
they turned out to be
a tight little group
i think i've added all to my list
especially a woman
who's name rhymes with bliss
so here's to you all
i give you this
a great big hug
and great big kiss
Categories:
matrons, epicwords, me, me,
Form:
Name
Summon the patient matrons from their hollow galleys
Waiting on the edges of the musical drums within the flesh
None will know a return
In the outpouring of words, the distance becomes a rather familiar apparatus
And eerie reflections upon the surface raise the darkness in a dance of ageless allusions
The gnomes sing into your oasis a monotonous insinuation
Held in the hands of passing expressions, who peer out through cogent faces
Until the contingent hours of darkness
Here they find endowed jest pardons
Sensing delicious manifestations of thought where none urge linger, but refuse in leering
And I pre-tinge my calm
Watching the calamity swerve ahead of me
And crash by an oak tree
Where the strangest things are bound to happen
Far under, the gaze deepens, something brilliant in disguise
Far under, the absurdity rises, as I speak with what words I’ve been given
Of the end
A speechless zero-time
Categories:
matrons, visionary, , Lullaby,
Form:
Free verse
The esteemed guests streamed into the candle lit
Foyer and dissolved into a sea of idle courtly ritual,
Landowners, majors, magistrates, slender maidens
And fair matrons all slithered into the modestly gilded hall so
Discreetly adorned by understated gluttony. Their lofty manners,
Their shield ; their feigned courtesy, disguise for icy hearts.
Only a thin veneer of silky decorum coats their acrid tongues,
For them, honest men are but emotional beasts to be
Snared and skinned by slander most gleeful and vicious,
Leaving in their wake their perverse masterpieces—
Hollow shells that would make a taxidermist proud.
Petaled confetti is set adrift upon powdered faces and intricate wigs lost in Laughter, Chatter, and the Clatter of soles ; and as Measured gaits of the Minuet Mingled ‘Mongst The Music and Morphed into the Milieu, well bred ladies politely pricked with veiled Slights of envy, and the men indulged their ornery humor, turning giddy at the sight of Misery, their openly secret delight.
Meandering through the dense meadow of decadent masters are the servants who carry Silver platters of pheasants and plum wine. Their obedient stony facades hide hearts That lust after larceny. Birds of the same feather, separated only by station.
Alas! Heaven cries as it looks down to judge…….King Yama lets out a sigh and asks:
In this hall of monsters, who is modest still?
In this world of wickedness, who is upright still?
In this land of lies…..who is honest still?
Poem released into Public Domain
Original published on my blog: purelandsutras.wordpress.com
Categories:
matrons, dance, evil, music, spiritual,
Form:
Prose
It was one of those splendid mellow golden days
in early autumn when many trees, though still green,
begin to betray a trace of red or yellow.
In the afternoon I took little Eleanor to the park
just round the corner from where we live.
I came across a man whose hair, greying slightly,
was swept back to hide a bald patch. His cheeks
were hollow and he wore bifocals:
"Der Hund tut nicht beissen!"--he reassured me
when Eleanor ran up to one of his hounds.
Only little children and dogs were worth knowing,
he said, the rest he didn't give a hang for.
Eleanor was accosting all-comers--frosty matrons,
flint-faced marchers who had calculated that
the most direct path between A and B led through the park.
Then she joined in a knock-about game of football
till a young Turkish lad, shrewd in psychology,
gave her a spare ball to play with all on her own.
Her euphoria was ended when, carrying her trophy off
she tumbled down a six-inch hole. By the time
she'd recovered, the ball, ineluctably, was somewhere else.
Unabashed, she toddled to the playground, where
she found some children digging away in a sandpit.
She brought out the mother in a girl of eleven
and bathed in the glow of much adulation,
too young to know divisions of language and custom,
to be aware that the minutes were fast ticking away.
Then I looked at my watch: Well past six, almost dark.
Despite my entreaties, Eleanor remained unpersuaded
that it was really time for us to go.
With what vehemence she kicked and screamed,
how transfixing her glares when I got the pushchair
and strapped her down. She made me feel
what a pig I was all the way home.
NB. Der Hund tut nicht beissen - The dog does not bite
Categories:
matrons, autumn, child, father daughter,
Form:
Free verse
Coiffed petals glad tidings tell
Vintage red cup raised to the sun
Whose heat mellows hearth's veil
Enticing host signals feast hath begun
Aromatic vial with sweet scents stew
Hypnotizing fumes already suitors cue
Maitre d' winged banqueters will review
Whizzing minstrels waft toward rendezvous
Arriving guests with sweet libations do woo
Neon-draped Bumble bees enter flickering buzzing strobes
Metallic Green bees browse corridor; each succulent scent probes
Ebony-caped, Wasp beetle antenna fondles light, delicate lobes
Orange, sequined Monarch butterflies prate in paper machete robes
Salivating, virile male patrons imbibe freely from nectar fount
Nubile, female matrons nibble heartier fair; pollen from stamen mount
Categories:
matrons, animal, celebration, sweet, sweet,
Form:
Rhyme