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.
Some years ago
The economy set us back
Like many others
There was no money for extras
So, on my wife birthday
I made my wife breakfast in bed,
Like I do most every morning, but
THIS time I gave her the one gift
That I could afford, a poem
Nothing special, just to the point
Dear
I wanted to get you a diamond that's blue
A pair of earring all shinny and new
I couldn't buy you, new shoes or a shirt
Some socks or a blouse, a purse or a skirt
A bucket or box, or a bag full of cash
A Party or Ball, even a Bash
A candle or card, with ribbon and bow
I really would like too
I hope that you know
I sure couldn't get you, all of these things
And I feel like a frog, more than King
I wished I could get you the moon, up above
But the one thing I got you
"IS A MAN FULL OF LOVE"
HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE !
(Yes girls, I did make it up to her soon after, In Diamonds & gold)
The husband said, “I must confess
my car is a horrendous mess.”
He knew his wife could not ignore
health hazards. She would do this chore.
She offered, “Take my car to work
while I clean yours.” He wore a smirk
as off he drove. I’ve got ‘er trained,
he thought, and she has NOT complained!
That night he found his car half-clean.
He growled, “What have you done between
the time I left and now? She said,
“Look what I found.” His face turned red,
“You found your earring! I’m g-glad,”
he stammered. “Why are you so mad?”
She countered, “NOT mine, as you know!
To us, you’ve struck a grievous blow.”
He begged her for a second chance.
“I promise I won’t even glance
at others.” She said, “This would be
for you at LEAST chance number three.
“My third chance?! NO! I cheated once,”
he vowed. She screamed, “You’re such a dunce.
Last month your car smelled like cologne.
Pack up. Get out. Leave me alone.”
June 21, 2022
entered in the One in Five Contest Placed 2nd
Sponsor: Joseph May
Through the gap between the closed drapes
A maid peers in a daze
An ashtray upon the table
Held her undiffused gaze
Clearly there was bright red lipstick
Circles upon some butts
A golden earring lies close by
Lying cheat drives her nuts
The fog lifted revealing all
Airline ticket back home
A scoundrel, cheater, liar, creep
In the night he does roam
A teardrop fell upon the floor
As the click opened lock
He slept peacefully this last night
Gun shots silenced by the clock
Last chapter typed upon white sheets
The typewriter now still
Headlines plastered across front page
Lovers in motel were killed
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest: Chopped III
Form used: Poulter's Measure, Syllable count 8,6,8,6 with the rhyme on the six..Some lines might be slightly off..
Inspired by those separated by WWII, their sacrifice, and the brothers and sisters who are now joining those they lost so young...and, this day in the Ukraine once again...
I never thought I'd miss the clickety-clack;
like a tap dancing minstrel - hour on hour
the carriage would slide,
only to pause for a cigarette and more
thoughtful inspiration.
As smoke ribboned, you would write again
in its foggy veil, and I would nod off
leaving you - a misty aberration.
I cherish that now...and the earring
in my breast pocket, golden, like my memories
and my promise to return it to you
will be kept, no matter...
Your novels used to be of love,
of plane tickets to romantic beaches,
instead, you write now of beaches
where soldiers die and lovers cry.
My strength lies in your embrace
and thoughts that still hold you.
Be safe, and write of love once more.
(A fictional letter from "Harm's Way")
On my sixty-first birthday...
I was in for a surprise
Family and friends joined me...
All the gals and guys
As they slowly came over...
One-by-one
I knew my night would be filled...
With lots of fun
My dear friend Roy...
He had showed up late
Alone he came...
For he had ditched his date
I had to laugh'''
When I saw what Roy was wearing
Fuzzy socks and croc's...
And a pink pearl earring
Although, I'm not gay...
My dear friend Roy is
He can live how he chooses...
It's none of my biz
My party went on...
Till late in the eve
So I opened my gifts...
'Fore my friends had to leave
Roy gave me his gift...
With a bow on the box
When I opened it up...
It was a fuzzy pair of socks...and croc's
Fuzzy Socks And Croc's Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Francine Roberts
6/18/2021
Inspired by the Painting "A Girl With A Pearl Earring" by Dutch Golden Age Painter "Johannes Vermeer"
What are you telling me, My timeless Beauty?
You turn and stop..,
You look at me with your plaintive 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 serene ~ reflecting, refracting
The depth of your emotions…
Those dove-like eyes are the artist's inspiration!
The topaz blueness of your headscarf
With which you have covered your sensuality,
Surround your face with a serenity of
The ocean, gleaming emerald green
Of your attire evokes the unspoilt
Magic 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 shines, an iridescent
Gem shimmering, unfolding your heart~
You remain eternal in my imperishable creation...
You linger in hearts..... my masterpiece!
My wife may go, but I must stay
My unused ticket in my hand
Her flight is finally underway
The Nazis held my full dossier
The word had come from high command
My wife may go, but I must stay
Our cigarettes within the tray
With lipstick stains upon her brand
Her flight is finally underway
My passport stamped with letter "J"
A clerk is typing - I am banned
My wife may go, but I must stay
One golden earring gone today
The other one tight in my hand
Her flight is finally underway
I lied: "It's just a short delay."
Perhaps one day she'll understand
My wife may go, but I must stay
Her flight is finally underway
November 29, 2014
Notes:
1936 - Jews no longer allowed electrical/optical equipment, bicycles, typewriters or records
1938 - Jews' passports stamped with a red letter 'J'. May not be used to re-enter Germany.
Some have passports removed to prevent them leaving the country.
For complete list see http://www.bl.uk/learning/histcitizen/voices/info/decrees/decrees.html
A lipstick stained Camel butt, on the full ashtray rim
A golden earring on the floor, how does this story begin?
The Smith Corona silent, paper stuck in the machine
When someone ripped it out they left a mess to clean
An air ticket on the floor, unused it would appear
What happened to the owner something’s wrong that is clear?
A telephone receiver burring on the desktop
No one put it down, the call they didn’t stop
A tissue on the floor, all shredded up and wet
A sign of great misery, a mystery still as yet.
A newspaper screwed up and thrown upon a chair
A missing child is found, she had better get out of there.
A body found, a Camel butt by her side
The car ran off the road, what a way to die
The madam of murder and mayhem will see daylight no more
And now the devil’s a waiting to open his fiery door.
A lady looking lost, approaches a child alone
She dangles one gold earring, with a pretty stone
This is for you child if, you but come with me
Another child is missing, didn’t anybody see?
One earring, one cigarette butt, but she didn’t work alone
Her partner in crime, a woman warned her on the phone.
Destroy the ransom note the child has now been found
The ticket is now no good, we must move underground.
For those unsure and there are some, Camel are a brand of cigarette.
©Mandy Tams
The tear upon her cheek he wished to wipe away
and yet, did not, it held, like glycerine, the candle glow
that lasted beyond the cheese, mediocre claret.
It did not flow as tears ought, from what he had said,
confessed; in defiance lay its beauty and its power
and yet neither knew nor, at this moment, cared.
He looked not into her eyes but at the tear
but she looked into his, for she already knew.
And the tear upon her cheek he wished to wipe away
glistened like a pearl earring in the fading light
echoing the gifts he gave, promises he made
refusing to flow, reflecting his silent stare.
A word to the wise should suffice
And shouldn’t need spouting it twice.
It really makes sense
Unless you are dense
To follow your own good advice.
In my case, it’s all about ears,
For an earring, at times, disappears.
So I purchased some backs
Which lets me then relax,
Since to lose one is one of my fears.
In my home, though, I sometimes forget,
For a lost one’s not much of a threat.
I’d not planned to go out
But I did and, no doubt,
You can guess why I’m feeling regret.
Yes, one half of the pair that I wore
Slipped away on the street or the floor.
Though I searched where I’d been
With no luck, my chagrin
Is about that advice even more.