Long Boutonniere Poems
Long Boutonniere Poems. Below are the most popular long Boutonniere by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Boutonniere poems by poem length and keyword.
"If home is where the heart is and the heart lives in memories, remember that the past was just a second ago".
(Sand Promises)
Just like decor from long forgotten proms,
balloons and crepe left tangled in the sky -
a beachball clings where rafters echoed songs,
and breaths were lost when love became a sigh.
Once tightly held, old promises would fade
like salutations in a book of years,
now yellow with the memories they made
and fragile, like a page-pressed boutonniere.
Yet smiles recall a love-stained rented tux
- the sand you shook from puff sleeves made of lace,
were lost within emotion's melting flux,
while tears of laughter glistened on your face.
Those pieces of the life we leave behind
are paths to home for pensive souls to find...
The all too common
American squirrel
can become quite whimsical
in the random coloration
of their normally grayish hides.
Some are attired in formal black,
some in a fetching Albinus white,
and every shade in-between.
Little red,
unlike those rare British squirrels
(which are naturally red and fluffy),
displayed an unusual coat
of a fetching russet hue,
which many noticed
complemented well
any autumnal season.
Sad to say,
yesterday a hawk got him.
His remembrance service will be
held next Wednesday
at eleven-thirty a.m.
at Jake's gastro-bar and grill,
A light Rosea will be served.
Mourners are suggested to wear
(as a gesture of respect),
a boutonniere or other small reminiscence -
something a little red.
We are trying to one up each other as usual – another story teller and I.
Our stories are getting wilder, less plausible, and we are laughing.
Suddenly I remember my pal Gertrude’s story.
I am pretty sure it was a lie, but it made a terrific story.
Gert was married to a man who was a rounder.
He started going out on Saturday nights, all slicked up and handsome.
He did not take her.
Refused actually.
About six months later her friends said he was getting married.
They had been invited to his wedding – next Saturday.
On Saturday he dressed especially nice with a boutonniere.
Gert said “You look good enough to get married.”
She said he did not even blink.
He did get married to the other woman, illegally.
I have no idea if the other woman knew he was already married or not.
Let’s see you top this story, I thought
There was silence.
Then we both burst out laughing.
Fragility of Wealth
by Odin Roark
He had known riches,
This man wandering desolate landscapes,
Once so generous of harvest.
But now…
He had seen it coming,
It was but a matter of which dawn,
Which sundown
Which star-filled night
Would be the last.
Acceptance was hard.
Most everything was gone,
Leaving behind a barrenness,
Likely past any will to start over.
Nature was tired.
And…
He too was wearing down.
So much.
So fast.
It was only yesterday
That he lingered there,
Peering inside the darkened diner,
A favorite he so often visited.
The lingering image of its pink and green neon,
Now but broken glass,
Its always bright surroundings
Just another dark remnant of what once was.
Only the ghost of his friendly waitress remained.
Enamored with her focus, he used to tell her
As he read her philosophical scribbles
Just below her “Thank You” part of the breakfast check,
“You’re an idealist in a funeral parlor.”
But he looked forward to the always provocative thought
To help another twenty-four hour stretch of fear,
The ever-present rich man’s curse.
“Happy people are the only people, the rest are only human.” Fullmer
“The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved.” Hugo
And then there was the quote that brought him to where he was today.
“Most men pursue pleasure with such breathless haste
That they hurry past it.” Kierkegaard
He’d lost track of the miles covered,
But glancing down, incongruity stared back at him.
Why here?
Why this place?
Why a star fish?
This once deep-water testimony to life,
Reduced to a still life intransigence of purpose,
Insisted the man consider his own evolution.
So…
Why had man been made to challenge
The many storms and waves Nature had in store?
Had civilization just plain f**ked up?
Yeah…
Well…
He too would soon be dead,
With only his dapper suit
And plastic boutonniere
To die with.
Perplexed, he gazed down at the once alive creature.
How does such beautiful simplicity
Retain so much of its treasure?
One day whilst going out to play
I felt a plop upon my head
Oh what was that, I cried out loud
Then spied the largest blackest cloud
Maybe a warning of more to come
As he flung a raindrop just for fun
Or was he laughing; having a joke
Intending to give me a jolly good soak
Imagine my joy when combing my hair
For this tiny wee raindrop was still hiding there
Like a beautiful sphere; a boutonniere
Secreted and safe she was inside her lair
Translucent and fragile, cupped inside my palm
I held her gently, so not to cause harm
But sadly the raindrop she rolled on my floor
And vanished completely; I saw her no more
Cherishing memories of a single raindrop
Still yearning to feel that magical plop
As rain clouds appear and gather above
I look to the sky sending kisses and love
Written 14th November 2018
Competition entry for The Raindrop
Sponsor Craig Cornish
Standard Contest 160
Brian Strand
1st place
Clouds spiral down and curl around to touch me
—not those western drizzle shrouds
baring a soul of misery mizzle
...though I adore a good wallow in sorrow —no
these clouds come from yonder bluebird wilds
white cirrus wispy and whispery dance around me
I steal one to wear across my shoulders
like a platinum’s blonde’s faux stole
they come to me like papier-mâché angels —no no
that’s too cliché… and passé for I’m far beyond
the Godly touch of angels… hmm.. they come to me
like a lover —no too easy …like a heartbreak-er lover!
yah I’ll go with that and get a taboo tattoo of his name
anyway the clouds they find me where I stand
dissatisfied with being satisfied
the result of my cool cat face seduction
I wear a crimson bee balm boutonniere
display it on my plunging V lapel but
it attracts wasps instead of honey bees; I find
danger brings a secret pleasure to my displeasure
my leopard print pants (red sky colored)
stirs sir knight with his bridled gaze and walking stick
he watches my next move on the chessboard
tries to guess my breezy strategy
my hands behind my head legs crossed
maybe it’s a white crested ocean I'm floating on
—or wrestling with— either way
I’m here to play and paint a displeased scene
watercolors? they’re just transparent hues
applied to my white background
depending on the mood of my mood ring —but
when acrylics bleed it’s harder to see the scene
colors escape their space creating a slurry
of what is where where is when when is why
and why don’t know why ..what?! but I know how
blurry lines take on a life of their own
and shapes a new fate from ‘no gesso’ mistakes
I could switch my style to snarly tiger stripes today
and gladly take that horse-headed knight down
that wooden old guard has new orders
he’s suspicious of me scrutinizes me
but only half as much as I’m used to
his right hand on his monocle
—the other eye blind
just beyond the reach of his walking stick
I free my torso of its purple grapevine corset
uncinching my fake waisted form —I muse
if my time as a wastrel was wasted or invested
oh …the monocle is telescoping me again
I shimmy lose my butterfly wings
slap him as I flap them and fly away
it’s hard to know if I’m still beautiful
or if I’m just broken
—either way I embrace the rainy side of the rainbow
happily discontent
She was an orphan with an ax to grind wanting nothing from no one.
Gifted with flaming red hair and freckles she was quite the eye full
Each day she ducked around in rubber flip flops picking remnant leaves
and discarded petals from the ground, in her neighbor's backyard, .
One tiny bud
cute little boutonniere
fell to the ground
Like herself this tiny petal had seen better days. Tucking it in her smock
she scrambled on her knees in another patch to find more of them.
another petal,
she began to melt
beneath a fractal sun
Juniper Bleeding Berries they nicknamed her cuz her lips were always bloody and chewed. Also known as the hairy red fairy, they poked and taunted in a jail called Reyhanli.
she found a bleeding red one
mad as hell
with a shake of the trellis
she spilled out the rose petals one by one. Without a sound they fell, never stood a chance. Picking up an handful of soft crumbled petals she tucked them in her smock. Bet they felt misplaced there in her sandy pocket, Like herself she thought as she left the others behind, to mulch and rot inside the ground.
The vast array of colored lights illuminated the jovial faces of the youthful teens
As Ms. Durmstrang antiquely waltzed with Mr. Chestwood.
I sat alone as I watched my velvet red date swiftly fly through the crowd,
being swept off her feet from every well-dressed, cordial gentlemen.
The cushioned chair was soft, though.
It provided me with all the comfort and support I needed.
I didn’t care that she left,
I didn’t care that my feeble heart was shattered once again.
So I left.
“She can find her own ride home,” was a mantra of mine on the way to the car.
I sat for awhile.
I don’t know why, but I did.
A strong aroma of roses plagued my nose,
Swelling up from my blood-red boutonniere.
The blood-red boutonniere Valerie deceived me with.
“Why am I crying? I never cry.”
I drove home before my emotions could consume me further,
listening to melodic tunes to calm my inner most concerns.
When I arrived home it was nearly midnight,
and right above me were thousands of stars mocking me with their vibrant glow.
All the stars, nestled in the ambient twilight, sitting, staring.
“Shut up!” I screamed as insanity pumped vigorously through
my veins.
The brown hue of my eyes were flooded with fiery rancor.
I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take the pressure.
I couldn’t take the cold-heartedness.
I couldn’t take the aching.
I couldn’t take being mocked.
I couldn’t take being, being
Used.
Used for my father’s money,
Used as a punching bag,
Used for my empathetic ways,
Used for my unwavering ability to never say no.
I sat in the dew covered grass, illumed by the pale moonlight,
and as I gazed into the endless eyes of the sky, I became empowered.
Perhaps with my own fear, or eccentric thoughts, but I felt electric.
“No!” I screamed.
“I said no! I will not go to prom with you!
No, I hate football!
No, you cannot punch me!
No, I don’t drink!
No, dad, you cannot hit me!
No, mom, you cannot get wasted tonight!
No, God, you cannot keep me here any longer!
No. No.”
I did it you know.
I stayed true to my word.
I did it.
Rusted Steel,
I said no to life.