Long Cufflinks Poems
Long Cufflinks Poems. Below are the most popular long Cufflinks by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Cufflinks poems by poem length and keyword.
"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
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The lace of her glove catches
on the splintered railing~
a pause, unnoticed.
He twiddles with his cufflinks
borrowed, mismatched
gleaming in the afternoon sun.
They stand beneath the white lattice,
two figures pressed like flowers in a book~
her gloves clutching wilting lilies.
Paper lanterns above them
sway like porous promises,
their glow diming at nightfall.
The minister’s words dissolve
into the hum of crickets.
A single bee drifts
through the maid of honor’s
yellow roses.
The gazebo,
weathered white,
holds them all
for just that moment,
before the photographs
turn sepia.
*You may read the accompanying memoir vignette that inspired this poem at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/last_train_to_paris_13604
"Gutter Hearts"
He’s got a gutter Heart
bleeds words that birth
diamonds sharp on his tongue
They hit her like
bullets from an Uzi gun
Silent, her heart implodes like molten marshmallow
She’s standing in the cafeteria
moving grease with a smile
that cuts his goat’s cheese like sharp steele
He licks his fingers
his tongue stings, he's still burning in Chile
while his mind calculates her
Unknown to him
She moves white white to black calculated,
his cufflinks are mounted with Pearls
She spells him
a long sentence
dripping from her eyes onto
an empty plate of dreams
He writes what comes to his mind
on a paper napkin, a story
smudged with tears and cigarette ash
the words slip out slippery
antiquated, smashed.
“What would you like?”
she takes his order
“A Normal Girl,"
he passed his payment in cash
She smiles
and thinks, he’s the No Go Zone
He’s living in another world.
(LadyLabyrinth/2019)
The blonde went down
with not must resistance
shunning off a stressful afternoon
the scene played of society, high
as I peered at all the pretense
and pretend of an I want to be
better than you and me
old men with young jewelry
cradling arms and new cufflinks
with crosses that will never be blessed
but undressed with tightly shut eyes
Cubans smoked, killing air
drifting from an aging beat
chords crafted with ease
toes tapped on the edge of my seat
the moon peeks and says goodnight
the chair nods off unaccompanied
the grifters scrounge for a dollar
I stand up, it's time to go eat
AS I WATCHED MY GRANDDAD LOOK AT MY GRAMMIE
HIS EYES LIT UP SO EVERYTIME HE'D SAY SEE
THE BEAUTY OF A WOMAN IS IN ALL THAT SHE DOES
I LOOKED AT HER WRINKLE HANDS MY EYES A FUZZ
AT WHAT HE SAW WHEN HESAW SO MUCH LOVE
SHE SMILED SO HEAVENLY AS HE'D SAY MY PRETTY
I LOOKED IN THE MIRROR AS I YOUNG AND WITTY
THEY DANCED AND GLANCED IN EACHOTHERS EYES
NEVER HAD THEY EVER LOOKED WITH DISPISE
HIS SMILE WAS SO BIG SHE FIXING HIS CUFFLINKS
AS HE SPINNED HER AROUND THE KITCHEN SINK
SHE LAUGHED AND SUNG SO AS HER HANDS CLAPPED
THEMAN WAS STUNTED BY THIS VISION OF AGE
MOST MEN CARRIED LADIES FROM A MAGAZINE PAGE
THIS COUPLE OF SUCH APPRECIATION SO MUCH JOY
SHE WAS LIKE A MAIDEN AND HE AS A YOUNG BOY
I ASKED COULD I CUT IN AND HAVE JUST A DANCE
HE SAID YOU'RE TO OLD AND SASSIE NOT A CHANCE
YOU SEE THE DAY WAS YOUNG AND SO WERE THEY
SO WE MOVED THE TABLES AND GOT OUT OF THE WAY
WRITTEN BY MRS. YOLANDA NICHOLSEN 11-17-2004
DURING A BLIZZARD SUFFERING FROM PTSD PENT UP
WITH TRAUMATIC BRAIN INJURY AWAITING TO TESTFY
IN A MURDER TRIAL IN TAMPA BAY STARRING AT MY
POP VEGAS MAGAZINE SO THIS WAS WRITTEN
FOR MY GRAND PARENTS ROOSEVELT AND NONA
THE HOUSE OF NOTES WHERE THE BLUES JAZZ CARBARET
WAS QUITE VIVID MY BEING A WRITER IN HIDING FROM
MY KILLERS MY STALKERS I NEEDED TO CONCEAL
MY IDENTITY FROM MY STALKERS WHILE THAT MURDER
TRIAL WAS GOING DIDN'T WANT MY JAMAICAN
KILLERS LOCATING ME BEFORE THE TRIAL BEGAN
SO I CREATED MARIETTA KEATING FROM MY POP
VEGAS MAGAZINE HE SAID I HAD MARIETTA'S EYES
THE SHOWGIRL ON THE COVER WEARING FEATHERS
ON THE COVER MARIETTA THE JEWISH LADY FROM
WW11 MY POP ALLOWED HER TO SEE HER HUSBAND
WHO WAS HELD CAPTURED BY THE GERMANS MARIETTA
KEATING BECAME A VERY IMPORTANT PART OF MY EXISTANCE
MY WAY OF GIVING A TRIBUTE TO MY IRISH ANCESTORS
FROM KEATON IRELAND
NO DIFFERENT THAN MARIO PUZO WRITING IN HIS
SUITER NYME CLERI OR YOLANDA CORNELIA GIOVANNI JR.
SUITER NYME NIKKI GIOVANNI COPING WITH SEVERAL
MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES INCLUDING A FEW ALTO EGOS
MARIETTA KEATING BECAME JUST THAT AN ALTO EGO
BECOMING ONE WITH YOUR CHARACTERS OVERTIME
THIS POEM IS A BEAUTIFUL TRIBUTE TO MY GRANDPARENTS
WATCHING THEM DANCE LIKE THEY WERE FOREVER AT
THE HIGHSCHOOL DANCE AT 81 YEARS YOUNG
they met, once upon a time-
her silky hand melds with his
for but a moment
an exchanged glance, fleeting
chocolate brown orbs
swimming in pools of milk
ebony hair dancing across her
backless gown as she walks away
walked away…
swirling visions fill his head
dreams of her upon his bed
spinning, thrashing to and fro
stars put on an astral show
future bride on horse so white
sparkling jewels illume the night
speaks his name so sweet and low
eyes that cast a hopeful glow
calling, begging for his love
angels dance a waltz above
off they ride into the sun
forevermore they’ll live as one
‘twas the night they met
her heart stolen-
tapered black tie suit, cufflinks of gold
matching his golden locks
momentarily awestruck, diving into
piercing deep blue eyes
was all it took to set her blood afire
his seductive smile teasing
it’s way into her heart…
late at night when the world is asleep
she’s up thinking about him,
secretly hoping he’s dreaming of her too
when she finally closes her eyes
she drifts off, and in a moment of time
she’s with him, ready to love him
bands of gold glimmer like starlight
her silky gown drops gently to the floor
Andromeda turns her gaze
lost in love’s embrace
they burn like the midnight sun-
forevermore to live as one
she glances his way
her heart smiling, believing-
meeting him was destiny
she walks past his desk
drinking in another fill of him
if only she could tell him…
if only he could tell her...
he catches a glimpse
from his lonely cubicle
the nape of her neck beckons
a tender kiss, well-placed-
before long he's lost in a daydream
An honor to collaborate with July Morning
It began with a bargain on a winter night,
When the cupboards were bare
And hope sat idle in the corners.
He came with frost on his collar,
A gentleman adorned in a burgundy suit
Polished alligator shoes, crimson silk tie,
And a smile too white, too wide.
He introduced himself only as “the Tooth Fairy.”
There he stood ancient and ravenous
And far from a myth.
"One tooth,” he said,
"And I’ll make sure your family's cup is always full.”
The first time was seamless.
A gold coin under the pillow.
The table groaned beneath the weight of food.
A whispered thanks into the dark.
Over the years,
He returned.
Never taking more than what the child had already lost.
Never asking for more than what the parents freely gave.
At first.
But he began to linger.
Amber eyes tracking the child’s growing frame.
"That one’s almost ready,” he’d murmur,
Adjusting his cufflinks,
The back of his claws brushing the cherub’s cheek as she slept.
The coins grew heavier.
The meals became gourmet.
The house—envy of the neighbourhood.
The family’s laughter grew louder—until the child stopped smiling.
By adolescence, the milk teeth were gone,
But he kept coming.
“You owe more than you think,” he growled.
They offered him trinkets.
He chuckled.
They begged for mercy.
He showed them the contract—
Signed in murmured consent,
Sealed with the shedding of innocence.
He took their hopes.
Then their dreams.
Then the light behind the eyes.
The house is still full—
But now, only with silence.
Beware pacts made in the dark and a pocket full of promises.
Not all that glitters is gold.
Not all monsters bare their teeth.
They call it a temple of knowledge,
but the walls were never meant for thought—
only the careful curation of power,
where names are chiseled in Latin
and inheritance is mistaken for intelligence.
The gates are high,
not to keep the world safe,
but to keep the chosen ones in—
a factory of fathers’ sons,
daughters of old wealth
repackaged as prodigies,
spitting polished syllables over wine
they never had to earn.
They sell wisdom like a relic,
ancient and gilded,
but it’s just debt wrapped in ivy,
a hundred-thousand-dollar handshake
to certify you belong.
Here, history is optional—
revised at the convenience of kings,
rewritten in marble by men
who inherited their ethics like cufflinks.
Nothing before them was ever great,
nothing beyond them will ever matter.
The professors teach compliance with a flourish,
disguising obedience as philosophy,
praising innovation—
so long as it rhymes with profit.
A degree here is an invitation,
not to brilliance,
but to the table—
where policy is printed
in the blood of the voiceless
and the world is divided
between the invitees and the extras.
They call it education.
They call it prestige.
But the only lesson they’ve ever taught
is how to keep the gates closed—
how to stand behind them,
smiling,
while the world burns.
Daddy!
You had to drive me to school everyday and pick me up.
I was only six and we had noschool buses.
One wintry afternoon, I came out, a blizzard whirled all about.
Wearing no boots or leggings, ah~ but were more than loving.
Dressed in your overcoat, suit, gleaming cufflinks and Borsalino hat,
You came in my direction and carrying an alpaca blanket.
Like Sir Galahad, you scooped me up, and carried me to the car.
You never let me get into a cold car, did you?
The grand car was running and toasty warm.
You carefully set me down on the back seat.
I felt like your little Princess, being covered me with that fur
blanket and your love.
In that car, which was shiny, classy and beautiful.
The girls at school teased me mercilessly after this.
Teasing me, that they were better because they took a bus?
Their Dads worked for others and could not leave!
You had your own business and worked from early morn till night.
These same girls who teased me, did not seem to mind when you
picked each one up for a party of mine!
And never complained when you bought and delivered the classroom
Christmas tree, seven feet tall!
****So for you, Daddy, I want this in writing!****
You were one, class act! And although in heaven your daughter, is mightily proud of you, and that is a loving fact.
MY WISHES, TO A FATHER, ELEGANT AND SO GRAND,
SO LOVING,
BLESSED CHRISTMAS TIDINGS!
From your grateful daughter,
Panagiota
12-5-2020
7am PST