Curtsies Poems | Examples

The Gate

"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find"
A scarecrow debates with the rust of his mind,
He’s stitched from the thoughts that the dreamers outgrew,
Wearing boots full of echoes and logic askew,
While time ties its laces with fragments of chance,
And memory curtsies in yesterday’s dance.

A teacup of thunder, left out on the sill,
Hums songs to the rain with a whimsical will.
It waits for a hand that remembers its glaze—
The brushstroke of lovers, or half-written praise.
A spoonful of silence stirs sugarless tea,
Brewed strong in the absence of who we might be.

"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find"
Lies a map of all places we’ve yet to unbind,
Drawn in invisible ink from the mind’s other side,
Where calendars melt and assumptions subside.
Each hinge is a riddle, each post is a guess—
A portal disguised in familiar duress.

The gate never opens, the gate never shuts,
It just creaks with the weight of the ifs and the buts.
It’s watched generations hang keys they outgrew,
And whisper their whens into skies fading blue.
Still it stands like a question the past left unsigned—
"By the squeaky old gate that tomorrow will find."

Vermilion, Maybe

A parrot, a toucan,
a horse’s head,
and a girl in red shoes
follow a manikin
walking like an Egyptian
into the room
where I used to dream.
None of them speak.
They just rearrange
the brushes on the table
and wait for me to notice
what I left undone.

The Virgin of Guadalupe
smiles at their shenanigans—
a parrot on her shoulder now,
the manikin offering
a rainbow shoelace,
like a ribbon of penance.
Her mandorla ripples—
not with judgment
but something warmer,
forgiveness braided with laughter.
She doesn’t speak,
but the shoelace glows
in her open hands.

Then the toucan sneezes
and vanishes in glitter.
The girl curtsies to the Virgin.
The horse’s head rolls
against the leg of my easel,
and comes to rest
facing me.
I still don’t know
what any of it means—
only that I’m reaching
for vermilion, maybe.

Proper Poetic Pose

Cleverness curtsies to content.

Cursive Curtsies

Cursive curtsies
greet your yearning
heart, unfurling
again after
winter's burden,
like a garden's
first crocus, a jolt
to the senses.
Lilac leaps from
monochromatic
monotony,
pickwick stripes rising
from dormant burrows,
no longer afraid
of uncertain skies.
Invited pigment
revives, 
ignited with
a tiger's pulse,
like your page
decorated in 
heartbeat artistry.
My lungs lift anew,
blooming with
freshness' debut.
Impromptu whispers
kiss another line,
finding their 
icy wait
reciprocated
at the garden gate.
.
4-9-2021
Anacreontic Verse Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One

Judgment of Own Writing

From where I lounge, my muse curtsies
In reverence and sheer adulation ;
As eloquent verses bleed the parchment
Rippling on like an intimate tune:
Now, a spotlight flashes upon me
Hands clasping the gold laurel...
This judgment only I would determine
Assured, own poetic voice is inimitable.



---------------------
3/24/2019
You Be The Judge Contest
Written for Bobby May   Rating 5/5

The Knot Garden

~The Knot Garden~

Weave up and down, now in an out.
Where does it start?
Where does it stop -
The dance, this lively garden gavotte?

A circle of Thyme, like ladies fair,
Joined with royal ribbons of Sage
Woven throughout with Tarragon’s leaves,
Rosemary’s boughs – handsome as lords.

A stately pattern of no mean estate
Made with Marjoram and Parsley in hue,
An intricate knot, noble in origin,
Sir Basil and Savory in delicate steps.

Oregano bows and Peppermint curtsies –
A duke and his duchess
Entwined in the waltzing
Of ancient design and arrangement.

Lines intersect with flowers of Anise,
Squares within circles – pungent with Dill -
Carefully planned, a castle garden dances,
Intertwined in delight by a King for his Queen.

Dedicated to the reproduction of a medieval knot garden at Filoli Gardens and Estate.

Something New

The ballerina with her coquetry
and prince with yawning tights his legs stump me.

Her twirl a-spin with graceful poise so long.
The twaddle of his movements poor ping-pong.

Unhandsome chin and rabbit ears so dull
But Alice charms before the queen of bull.

Her ruffles white, she curtsies with a kiss
the redness of a playing card’s abyss.

A timed waste for the prince - he scorns his watch.
His buffoonish pants made of trips and starch.

The queen, she’s not amused — “Off with their heads!”
“I shall have rabbit stew and corset seeds”

The ballerina begs with lashes long
The queen so flatly states her wish “S’long!”

Just then a storm reshuffles deck - a win.
The queen’s been tossed - the duo rides their Schwinn.

To find a finer ballet stage just in
The precise time for girls and rabbit-spin.

10/22/2018
Try Something New Poetry Contest
Sponsor - Nina Parmenter
With dodgy rhymes

Faded Farewell

Faded Farewell


The lust has faded from the Red Maple.
She now stands, wallflower-like,
amid the climactic color
of New England’s reddened cheeks.
Stepping back, she curtsies,
acknowledging beauty’s cycles.
Fulfilled by summer’s lust
she rests, sated in the dwindling
warmth of her spent lover,
shivers in the flaming chill
of Summer’s parting kiss,
withdraws to dine on dreams
of Spring’s gentle breezes
arousing her to wakefulness.


9/14/2017

submitted to – Poems that paint a picture 2 – poetry contest

Friendship

When I see you, I will be in mood of happiness
When I am alone, I will feel that there is no one 
to entertain us.

You are the one who helped me in all my difficulties,
I will be thankful for all your curtsies.

But my life doesn't ends here;
There is still more to hear.

You walked with me in all my Happy moments,
You cried with me in all my Sorrow Moments,
You are the one who handled all my Precious Moments.

Sometimes, I feel that you will leave me and go anywhere
But I feel, you are in my Heart forever.

You were there with me Before, And
I know you will be with me Thereafter......

And we sail in a ship for our life
It's nothing- But Friendship which  never dies.

The Lonely Feather

Elegantly it is ushered to the ground
Escorted by the warm currents surrounding it
It bows and it curtsies and it never takes "no" for an answer
Wanting to dance until the music of the moment surrenders

It is still.... and yet it glides....
It glides like an eagle soaring in majestic flight
Ever so often it pauses to soak up the sounds of nature
Then.... it continues on in its plight to find shelter

Dancing, bowing, and being escorted by things that cannot be seen
The faith of the little feather begins to mature
It knows not where these things come from 
Only that they have been there all along

Softly, carelessly, floating to the ground.

Gwendolen Song
October 10, 2016
In the year of the Lord

Dancing Doreen

...for Ralph McTell


Gorgeous in her gown of purple silk 
     she is exquisite. 
Her partner in his patent leather
(potent lover) shoes is the perfect fit.

They enter competitions where 
they always take first prize.
Gliding to the sounds of Guy Lombardo
they are the top-flight graduates of a 
well-respected dancing enterprise.

It is the night they have been waiting for -
the National Prize - and she is confident 
     that they will win the day.
When the judges read the scores they 
come in third... there's nothing she can say. 

Beside herself with disappointment
she seeks the spotlight as the orchestra 
plays 'Moonlight Serenade.' She twirls 
and curtsies in a transport of delight,

and she dances
                    dances
                         dances,
        long after there is any music...

Security is summoned,
       and then an ambulance,
            but nothing in the world can 

                     stop her dancing...
                                        dancing....
                                             dancing.....

Dancing Doreen

...for Ralph McTell


Gorgeous in her gown of purple silk 
     she is exquisite. 
Her partner in his patent leather
(potent lover) shoes is the perfect fit.

They enter competitions where 
they always take first prize.
Gliding to the sounds of Guy Lombardo
they are the top-flight graduates of a 
well-respected dancing enterprise.

It is the night they have been waiting for -
the National Prize - and she is confident 
     that they will win the day.
When the judges read the scores they 
come in third... there's nothing she can say. 

Beside herself with disappointment
she seeks the spotlight as the orchestra 
plays 'Moonlight Serenade.' She twirls 
and curtsies in a transport of delight,

and she dances
                    dances
                         dances,
        long after there is any music...

Security is summoned,
       and then an ambulance,
            but nothing in the world can 

                     stop her dancing...
                                        dancing....
                                             dancing.....

She Curtsies

Oh, My Love!
She Curtsies,
Oh, My Love!

For Aeons,
Graceful,
Oh, My Love!

For All To See
Her Earthquake
My Fear...
Oh, My Love!

She Curtsies,
'Til Time Stings No More
The Memory Of Forever.
She Curtsies,
My Love.

Dreaming In the Library

This genteel lady contemplates,
   A pensive glance across each page.
   Her book by choice; deliberates.
   This novel from a bygone age,
   A sad romantic love affair.
   With wistful smile, then vacant look,
   Partakes the comfort of a chair.
   As perfume lingers on the book,
   Imagination will impart,
   This fantasy inside her head.
   A young girl with a broken heart.
   Her handsome suitor, she thinks dead.
   Some time goes by, more teardrops flow.
   With gentleness i brush her face,
   A smile appears and then i know.
   Once more she's played with style and grace,
   An actress with the leading role.
   Sweet memories, are fading fast,
   This library, it soothes the soul
   Since days of splendour, long gone past.
   She waves and curtsies; no ones there.
   A far off voice inside my head,
   Broke memories we both did share.
   Wake up! It's time to go, it said.

   8/ 10/ 2015.

This Shoe

There was An Old Women in This Shoe...
She had so many Children that it felt just like A Zoo.
She taught Them love,read poetry,and books...
They choose anger,hatred, and would not even look.
She taught Them reading,arithmetic,and writing...
They chose pain,aggravation,and dynamic fighting.
She Taught Them to Be Honest,truthful,never to fib or lie???
They chose words with devious vulgar meanness and demise.
She made Them scrap books with animals and art work of every kind.
They chose alcohol,drugs,Drug Dealers,and misery;Why???
She married a disease She knew not of its' severity or  how to beat...
These Children All adopted it and low and Behold became rather weak.
She resort to teaching Them how to Pray to God and have Mercy.
How They forgot Her,All Their Manors,and those taught curtsies.
She would still Pray for Them to Her very last Days smothered By Kids.
You know;They came in All Sizes;Big,Medium,and small Bids.
Oh How She would Say,"Please For The Sake of God!!!
She happens to Be Gone In there live now...
As Precious as Her words were...
They still Haven't heard Her and just nod.

By Charlene L.Wilcox 09-20-2014

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