Long Earring Poems
Long Earring Poems. Below are the most popular long Earring by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Earring poems by poem length and keyword.
She wore a dress in the color sin
and walked with thunder's grace,
a shadow lit from deep within,
with fire upon her face.
She left the party close to one,
her heels in hand, alone,
they say she whispered to the moon—
“Tonight, I’m heading home.”
But morning came, and she did not.
The chapel bells were grim.
A crimson streak, a silver spot,
the trail grew cold and dim.
They found a heel beside the drain,
an earring near the stairs,
a smear of blood the size of rain,
and whispers in the prayers.
The papers roared: “A girl in red!
A poet may be linked!”
His verses read like hearts gone dead,
his alibis all blinked.
He wrote of girls who vanished fast,
of lips and death and sky,
and Rosalie was not the last
to haunt his lullaby.
Detective Maren took the lead,
a woman sharp and slow.
She followed every crimson thread
the town was scared to know.
She found the Poet’s secret book,
with names in ink and dread,
and there—the line he never took:
"…and then she bled and bled.”
He never made it to the court,
he jumped before the trial.
They found his boots, a final thought—
a carving on the tile:
"Remember me, I told the tale
the world refused to see.
But stories shift like autumn gales—
the killer isn’t me."
Six months from then, a letter came,
no name, no scent, no fold.
Just blood-red ink and ghostly claim,
a secret left untold:
“You followed every thread I wove,
each clue I laid with care.
But who first whispered from above?
And why was I found there?"
Maren sat still, her coffee cold,
her hands began to shake.
The story cracked. The pieces told
a truth she did not fake—
The heel? She found it in the drain.
The earring? She alone.
Each breadcrumb laid with quiet pain
by hands as cold as stone.
For Maren was the girl in red,
reborn with borrowed face.
She’d killed her past and called it dead—
then stalked it like a case.
The Poet wasn’t pure nor clean,
but guilt was not the thread.
She needed someone to be seen,
so she became the dead.
The missing girls? Her mirrored pasts,
the selves she left behind.
And Maren walked the line she cast,
rewriting in her mind.
So if you pass Saint Cecilia’s hand
when fog begins to climb,
don’t trust the badge, don’t trust the land—
some ghosts commit no crime.
Indirect interference into interesting iconographic inked inner initiative is not a carefully stepping clam, a carved tree cake nor a dune of a moon. Taking no bistro out for a walk or a cafeteria for a swimming lesson. For galas are won by astronomical gesturing garages who can do a high speed sprint in a pool. And high jumping competitions are competitively won by a zero rated steak sandwich with extra relish and cheese. Well that helps with the balance. Wow. Even eggs, explosive electric eels, erotic earwigs, economic ecliptic eccentric elves, and a fortified frog are capable of racing a tidal wave. Perfect. Pass. Perfect position. A country manor is not maneuvering on a dry day. Dry days deliberate drying dresses. And dance of the nine millimetre worm can be most admired in a pie of a circus tent. Whirling around carrying eighteen batons, a baseball, a silver jacket encrusted with rhino slices, snake shoes, and a tiny earring glowing. Lights that are lit at that moment will ensure a beacon built. And beacons are not big bakers they are brilliant bringers and bombarding battlers. So not a duty seen before in a table spire leg of a nineteen century church with a nice arrangement of flowers and candles. Watch how it moves around in the dining room. Arlington National Bank meeting Arlington castle in a tank ranking above all the little poor people. Nineteen fifty one and three quarters through the year but now overseas known as an overweight quarterback. General-purpose general genes. And the light from a single bin can foresee an evening gown in a long moveable mirror. Mirrors message movements making music movies. Instantaneously it is. How rather remarkable don't you think? And now take a little pixie and have a little dance in a bathroom. Great. Especially when carrying ten loaves of bread, seeded buns, apple cakes and the mucus from a very fat slug is said to be gold in a full moon. So kiss a grass snake and lean on a temple. Forty forms frolicking. Going boing. Wow. Marvellously enchanting is an armpit aroma? Hahaha the glass is staring at nothing today. Hahaha disrupted drainages hahaha left wing right tail light hood bonnet boom. Boot shaped milkshake on a intersection. Xxxxxxx millionaire monsters. Chat cheat. Xxxxx psycholinguistics z Z Z Z Z bang bang bing bongo. ***
Form:
Exercising belief about unknowns.
Makes sense to take your best guess.
Using history, numbers, extrapolation.
Getting the trajectory right for re-entry.
Few dissenters left for climate change, evolution.
Nuclear power brings a process to earth
that occurs only in space. Dangerous
but necessary? Not a risk-averse weasel.
One among many mammals is the weasel,
not known for its consideration of unknowns
but, for its extreme caloric needs, considered dangerous.
My wife says in England violent gusts
forced a locomotive off its tracks. One interpretation
might reasonably be that the mother, earth,
has stopped mothering man. We're entering
a period of unknowns and must evolve.
What might this involve
and what adjustments are possibly feasible?
Walking rather than riding to the subway entrance,
using less electricity until more is known,
preserving agricultural soils and forest land,
buying fewer plastic contraptions.
My brother's washing his pajamas less often.
None of this may make the slightest difference
in how the earth and the sun and universe revolve.
But we are human and addicted to action,
the probable less attractive than the possible.
Also, there's no percentage in respecting death
unless it's imminent. Better to remain centered,
focused on food, child-bearing, war and the poem.
All driveways plowed, all lawns mowed.
Just in time before the first snow, I raked our leaves.
Two eight hour days. What percent of all time is that?
Draw a ray with point A the first pile of leaves
extending to the extrapolating end of universe.
.01 of Aaron. Zero of Zach.
Hawks playing, hunting, mating, canaries in the mine.
Having been too many places to count.
Sex bars, infant formulas, fire crews, last rites, permanent jobs, traffic
tickets, judges' chambers, out houses, wedding banquets, boiling
teapots, frantic centuries, facial tissues, presumed innocent, clear
intentions, stainless steel.
Spiderweb glove. Deerfly earring. Daddylonglegs seeingeyedog.
Memorized songs. Privatized loans.
You cannot know what you're doing until you've done it.
Erudite sweep the floor. Articulate make the bed.
Infrared town hall. Crab nebula. Your last crap.
Eye of the tropical January sun. Slouching toward temperate zone.
"Girl with a Pearl Earring" is an oil painting by Dutch Golden Age painter Johannes Vermeer, dated c. 1665. Going by various names over the centuries, it became known by its present title towards the end of the 20th century after the earring worn by the girl portrayed there. Wikipedia
Artist: Johannes Vermeer
Dimensions: 44 cm x 39 cm
Location: Mauritshuis
Created: 1665
Period: Dutch Golden Age
Medium: Oil on canvas
What do you tell me, My Beauty?
You turn and stop..,
you look at me with your wistful eyes,
your luscious lips are apart, but you remain voiceless…
The pearl in your ear shines ~
light on your face shimmers mysteriously,
your eyes are calm ~ reflecting, refracting
the depth of your emotions…
those dove-like eyes are artist’s inspiration!
The topaz blueness of your headscarf
with which you have covered your sensuality,
surround your face with serenity of
the ocean, gleaming emerald green
of your dress evokes the unspoilt
beauty of your youth…..
You are not what you appear
to many souls in this mundane world…
they don’t see the painter’s Muse…
You are the nymph, who visited me
for a rare moment of tranquility,
the Pearl shone, an iridescent
gem sparkling, opening your heart~
You remain immortal in my creation...
my masterpiece?!
April 25, 2022
For Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
THIRD PLACE
Surely I am He
I am of the son ship
I AM King
It is God’s privilege to conceal things
And the king’s privilege to discover them
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
If I remove as a man, the impurities from gold and silver
If I remove the wicked from the kings court
O’ God Oh, how I await
As I sit at the table
It surely is a privilege to discover those things
The conceal things, you’ve brought you bring
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
I AM KING OF The Height of Heaven and the Depth of the Earth
Timely advice is lovely,
Like golden apples in a silver basket.
To one who listens, valid criticism?
Is like a gold earring or other gold jewelry
Trustworthy messengers refresh like snow in summer
In you I remove as a man, the impurities from gold and silver
In you I remove the wicked from the king’s court
O’ God Oh, how I await
As I sit at the table so shall I be strengthen as we eaten
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
If your enemies are hungry, give them food to eat.
If they are thirsty, give them water to drink.
You will heap burning coals of shame on their heads,
And the LORD will reward you
I AM KING OF The Height of Heaven and the Depth of the Earth
Putting confidence in an unreliable person in times of trouble, Hallelujah
Is like chewing with a broken tooth or walking on a lame foot
Singing cheerful songs to a person with a heavy heart
Is like taking someone’s coat in cold weather
Or pouring vinegar in a wound
Timely advice is lovely,
Like golden apples in a silver basket.
To one who listens, valid criticism?
Is like a gold earring or other gold jewelry
Trustworthy messengers refresh like snow in summer
It is God’s privilege to conceal things
And the king’s privilege to discover them
No one man living
Nor womb-man knows
The height of heaven
Nor the depth of the earth
Surely I am He
I am of the son ship
I AM King
I AM KING OF The Height of Heaven and the Depth of the Earth
12/18/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Referencing Proverbs 25
War and Harmony
I caught the red eye to meet my warrior only to be met with war.
A night of hot passion that time has caused us both to long for.
A harmonious melody fills the room from fulfillment and bliss.
See you later sealed with a kiss as our throbbing groins persist.
I walk with a jolly gait in my step until I a single gold earring stubbed my toe.
Now filled with fury as I wonder whom else has been sleeping with my G.I. Joe.
Salty water now free to flow from a broken gaze as I noticed the typewriter in my peripheral.
I take a seat to compose a letter to him about how this love was to be a duo and not a Trio.
He left a half of pack on the desk within reach, he must have known that I’d be needing one.
Smoke caused a fresh pair of lungs to gasp and cough like a beginner at the end of a long run.
I pecked the keys abruptly as I added cigarette butts one-by-one to an already filled ashtray.
Which resembled a two toned rainbow of bright red and gold with its backdrop in gray.
I slip my hands into a pair of soft white lace gloves as I walked towards the nightstand.
My fury is softened as I realize that loyalty must be a requirement and not a command.
I opened the drawer to discover two plane tickets to Hawaii, paper clipped to a wad of cash.
A note which read “If you found the earring don’t jump to conclusions and leave in a dash!”
“I need your full trust so I hope and pray that your assumptions don’t lead you to act rash!”
“Oh and about the earring you will find the match to it is located in the purple velvet sash.”
I opened the sash to find an invitation, he wrote, “Please become my wife underneath the sun!”
Now feeling foolish beyond measure, I’m reluctant to read on any further, for I already feel stunned!
He said, “I hope that your search led you to a desired treasure, Please say yes, because World War II may come fast.”
“I need to know that when I return home that you will be my future from a more pleasant and harmonious the past.”
Let me describe to you...my face, how I look
Taken from my photo...on the face of my book
I have one crooked eye brow...the one on the right
It grew back that way...when I shaved it one night
The wrinkles in my eyes...are spread like a bare tree
As for hair, I've got some...and that's cool by me
The bridge on my nose...and to your accord
Looks like to me...to be straight as a board
Twas a hole in my left ear...now fully closed
Back when, I wore an earring...when I wore wholly clothes
My chin swiveled slightly...'cause I'm chewing on gum
In the depth of my cleft...there's a scratch from my thumb
A rough scruffy face...from a two day old beard
WHAT! There's a tag on my neck...now that's a bit weird
I just noticed it now...while observing my cleft
It's sticking out below it...an inch to the left
There's a scar on my lip...below my mustache
That I got while fishing...an accidental knife slash
My face as a whole...narrow, and thin
Been out in the rays...got a tan on my skin
Ugly, I am, nah...but some might think so
Their heads must be big...eh, what do they know
Handsome, am I...not to sound bold
A good looking man, from my wives...I've been told
The whites in my eyes...all blood shot and red
From staying up late writing...when I should be in bed
Good-Night!
Okay, this isn't completely true. The photo wasn't from my book, it's me now. I don't have one crooked eyebrow, I have two. I'm NOT cool with having just SOME hair. The bridge on my nose is slightly crooked. The hole in my ear is on my right side, my chin is swiveling, but not from chewing gum. I have no cleft, the scar on my lip was no accident. I have no tan, it's winter. I am not ugly, I am handsome (lol) My eyes are blood shot, but not from being tired. And it's 8:00 I'll be up for hours.
Besides that, everything else is one hundred percent true!
The Metaphor Of Your Face Poetry Contest
Sponsor: John Lawless
11-22-2019
In a room bubbling exuberance
and a gaiety crowd dancing to beats
we sit across each other ten feet apart,
his whispering pulses become audacious
every second approaching my heart
and I shiver as they unravel my layers,
intimate desires beneath naive smiles.
Flickering lights on his velvet skin,
topaz brown eyes decipher my love,
unveiling pearls behind chandeliers
as I make nervous moves to blanket them
in timid blinks of my lush orchard,
but he knows for I see him smile,
his blazing patience till we escape
this cacophony to face each other in euphoria.
Beads of sultry lemonade on his lips
kiss my fingers as I touch my glass,
he seems jealous of my crystal earring
embracing my cheek, entwined with my hair
and I envy his cotton white shirt
draping his ocean of passionate dreams.
He folds his sleeves, I tie my locks,
we've taken our first steps,
now ten steps apart drenched in mists
of our heated breaths we float at night,
our glances intermingled in frequencies,
that only our fingers can decode in smoke,
weaving patterns in the air between us,
my anklets kiss my fragile feet,
embellished in raging storms we drown,
in waves of hushed union escaping through vents
of a moment standing still known just to us,
pouring through crevices that moisten parched lands.
He has read my fantasies in folded memories,
electric touch flaming my passionate side
as his fingers hold mine in our recluse.
We've made love without physical touch,
and now we dance on pearls of octaves,
intertwined with beats on the surface,
curling in laced rhythms of ancient *ragas.
*Ragas are musical melodies for improvisation akin to a melodic mode in Indian classical music, considered a traditional means in music to evoke certain feelings in an audience.
June 28, 2020
Sensuality Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Silent One
~Winner: 2nd Place
Father and Mother,
years and years have gone by
yet love has kept its home in your eyes.
You've got a love you can sink your teeth in,
you've got a love I can believe in...
Like fresh cut lilacs
and the swing outside
on the very best tree besides
the Cherry and Maple,
Bradford Pear and Apple
we all used to climb
in the summer heat,
running fast
on dewy grass
wearing bare feet.
Dad and Mom,
we Maple Tree love you.
Although things have and will change,
something about your love
will always stay the same...
Small house
in a small town
white-gold rings
and life's simple things
are what you're about.
Three kids who adore you with all they've got.
You're rich with what can't be bought.
You've got a love like:
that
I was four years old
with my two favorite people,
holding on to my fishing pole.
I hear Dad's laugh
and look, Mom fell flat
in the river
with water clear up to her shoulders
and we all laugh.
Yeah, you've got a love like: that
You've got a love you can sink your teeth in,
you've got a love I can believe in.
Like huddling together
through a storm in the summer
looking at both of you I wonder:
Aren't you afraid of anything?
You...weren't.
After we caught fireflies
Mom, you helped me name mine
and let me keep it inside.
You nursed Joel back to health
after the bee hive
and earring incidents.
Susanna too with her 'Job' blisters
and falling off the slide on her head
and you pulled out the stones in my knee
while I ungratefully screamed.
And Dad with your arms of love
coming in for an 'everything's ok' hug.
Thank you for that.
Dad and Mom
we Maple Tree love you.
Small house in a small town
white-gold rings
and life's simple things
are what you're about.
Three kids who adore you
with all they've got.
You're rich with what can't be bought.
You've got a love like: that
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.