burried and cured in sod's wallowing gallow
ground as tender flower of wonder
reading worlds into the hands
mired in swallows and clawed
she began trunks of brooches
for her second son
to flee the falling failing rakes
bested in deserts earthen ovens
rebuilding the gingers shant, easily
carnate fury, easters menage
blurry tests to bleak to smear
exposed to a heartless ember of septs
reticent snakes frail and drunk
back to the chest my second sons hum.......
county claire, connaught, easter risings
All forbidden to this girl,
my Gran's sweet precious treasures,
pearls, brooches, earrings and things _
these treasures now . . . mine
______________________
October 25, 2022
Poetry/Dodoitsu/Mine
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1496-834-25
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bitesize No. 54
sponsor, Line Gauthier, Judged 11/08/2022
I have a collection of antique things;
antique brooches, hair pins, and necklaces;
I love the charm and enchantment each brings _
My captivation has a recklessness !
Oh, I love the lure, the pull, the quest,
and when I find a treasure I feel blessed.
______________________
October 08, 2022
Poetry/Rhyme/Captivation
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1493-222-08
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Captivation
sponsor, Julia Ward, Judged 12/23/2022
Third Place
Wayward stars seduce with a wink and a spumante brooch.
Enticing us to come near for a closer look.
To frolic in inter-dimensional playpens.
Swap stories about peace and plagues, love-lust and rage, war cities and cool glades...
Exchange recipes for hope and faith.
The stars plead with us to intermingle.
Procreate to advance our species.
Into a speed-of-light entity.
Capable of everlasting peace.
`
stuck between smoke stack volumes
in alphabetical order
woven metal bodies
straight lines leaving little to the imagination
some big, some small
from exhausted paint rollers
leaving their mark
just outside of the jewelry store
crushed cigarette butts on the ground
falling between the cracks
of walkways reflecting diamond brooches
you can’t afford
designer dreams offered at half the price
where the sign in the windows reads
“anything you want”
and you do
scents drift between stone columns
fast food lines move slower
as fries fall to the bottom
to be found later
when the traffic light finally turns green
and you run out of gas
stalling at the crosswalk
of where you never wanted to be
11/1/19
For the: Anything you want Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
9/14/17
Televisions getting muted
Signals getting lost or boosted
Meanwhile people hooted
Brooded and continually feuded
Was not one to make my drinks diluted
Made me snooze quick or feel rebooted
Having solutions
Handling problems without saying "Houston"
Already proven
Am only human
Not trying to jeopardize the world, because I don't want to see it ruined
Those that were undisputed
At one point or another, got uprooted
Who are you trying to kid
Hating is all that you did
Making sure, I soon win
And that I doom him(them)
Somewhat reclusive
Yet elusive
Not one to make excuses
Or rely on ruses
If you want to be intrusive
Then in the end, the evidence will be inconclusive
Went with and against the blueprints
How I meant to do it
Am one of the truest
With my music
Some folks scrooges
And others stooges
Grandma wore occasional brooches
Mom said boy stop being foolish
And so stupid
Took some cruises
Throwing up Deuces
Middle age woman from Tallahassee
believed she was something very classy.
Finger rings
Brooches, things
But time had warped her hourglass chassy
Beaches are where breaches adorn like brooches
Waves curl up to breach the surface of sea,
Then break, plunging headstrong to broach on shore.
Wales and dolphins breach off the beach with spit and spurt.
Crabs and worms breach the sand with holes and borrows
Waves and ripples crease the wet sand with furrows
The surge of tide erodes and reworks the inlet channels
A beach is a shore breached and broached in dynamic equilibrium and flux
Eroded, exposed then sand deposited, accrued and hoarded
With sediment piled up in reserve in dunes, hills, swales and shoals
Birds breach the sky and pierce the scenery
Footprints broach the serenity of beach expanse
Beaches - breached and broached are designed to cope.
Jewels in mason jars,
jangle, jingle bracelets;
jagged, uneven gems-
Jaunty old style brooches,
jazzy costume trinkets;
jade, priceless? Maybe, just
junk- odd bits and pieces.
____________________
March 3, 2017
Poetry/Pleiades/Verse/Jewelry
Copyright Protected, ID 17- 881-662-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Pleiades J
sponsor, Kim Merryman
Third Place
Holiday season
Shopping spree;
Downtown bazaar
~~~~~~~~~
Easy atmosphere
All sorts of stuff;
Bargains galore
~~~~~~~~~
Table stalls cluster
Mini display items;
Souvenir trinkets
~~~~~~~~~
Crowded commotion
Zesty curiosity;
Sellers and buyers
~~~~~~~~~
Tucked in a corner
Custom-made brooches;
Artistic flair revealed
~~~~~~~~~
Flea market bazaar
Noisy excavations;
Happy discoveries
~~~~~~~~~
Vendors preside
Over special goods;
Come buy, come buy
~~~~~~~~~
Business pulse shows
Some transacting briskly;
Others just waiting
~~~~~~~~~
Weekend bazaar
Cash and carry ventures;
Curious smiles escalate
~~~~~~~~~
Buzz of discovery
Pretty and cute things;
Happy exchange
~~~~~~~~~
Voices float and fill
Seekers finding wares;
Easy breezy bargains
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
29 November 2014
Singapore
Morning ignites a murder of white crows.
Roosting in the loft of spruce, maple, and oak.
Preening moon and star from death's fertile dream.
Ribbons of sunlight wrapped tight, ancient scrolls.
Window ajar, enter angels donning brooches of mint.
Crows perched lightly upon honey-kissed bedposts.
In each platinum beak, they carry one corner of my ghost,
lifted toward an ember of pulsating eternity.
Garnished with pearly crown and secondhand wings.
Outside, the crows lined up along golden cobbled clouds.
Motionless, like a rosary of gleaming white stones.
Whispering, whirling secrets of galaxies and geodes.
Drifting about, chrysalis-brained, rose petal-hearted.
Leaving behind glittering pools of scented hieroglyphs.
Orange robes enchanting the horizon with lavender mist.
Butterflies released from blue granite chrysalis.
Riding a stream of cherry sunbeams and glitter.
The echoes of a rainbow are a grand place to live.
,
A damsel longed for a knight
a man to fight to fight for her causes
with whom she could love and unite
To be with for eternity
to kiss him under the arches
a damsel longed for a knight
A fine brave warrior to fight
protect her from evil witches
with whom she could love and unite
Dance a few reels with tonight
wearing a dress with fine brooches
a damsel longed for a knight
A knight to help her feel safer
a man who would spare her farces
with whom she could love and unite
At last she met her shining knight
together alone she blushes
a damsel longed for a knight
with whom she could love and unite
It is a shame to have money and never enjoy it
It is disappointing to have power and never use it
It is pain to have people and never feel loved
It vanity to have the world and not its maker
It awful to be full, but never satisfied
It is pathetic to have men on your side but not God
It is terrible to have brooches and not know
It is troubling when we have been good to men but not God
It is meaningless to have life and not know who gave it
It is scary if all that is contained in your heart is blood
What is it then sorrow or pleasure?
Sorrow is sour but not always sorrowful
Sorrow in God makes you sore higher and higher
Pleasure is sweet but not always pleasurous
True pleasure is from the right hand of God the Father
So I conclude;
It is tragedy when you have God, but never acknowledge him
But the biggest tragedy is to die and God wants you to live
WINTER SOLSTICE AT NEW GRANGE
Sun seems to have gone away -
Light bonfires! Pray she will return!
Our calls to her rise with the burn:
Winter solstice the darkest day.
Our hearts at New Grange will fill:
Trees evergreen are cut for scent;
Dancing and singing with energy pent;
Warding off this dark day’s chill.
Mark the path scant ray has found -
Only in this, the shortest daylight,
A dawn hardly changed from night,
In long dim passages underground.
The pale ray tells this day is worst,
Buried ‘neath our secret mound
Built in strongest fortress round -
But tomorrow will be the first
Of better days when wine and meat
And proud bronzed brooches
Shining as the light approaches
Will cheer the clans to dance and eat.
...........................................................
Poem about Celtic Winter Solstice Holy Day
for Deborah Guzzi's competition.
The antique barn has treasure, junk,
Stacked together in the dust,
Some worn-out tools, and one old trunk,
Massive padlock sealing it with rust.
What hides inside? Some rare old book?
Heirloom brooches of old gold?
We pay five dollars, and we look—
Rotting newspapers, must and mold!
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