Long Jeweller Poems
Long Jeweller Poems. Below are the most popular long Jeweller by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Jeweller poems by poem length and keyword.
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
Jovial Dr Jekyll played for juvenile Justice
a just jaspered journey
jokingly jumped a joyride
to juicy jukebox jabbering
in jackal jackboots
from nearby jungle
Dr Jekyll clasped a jackknife eating
jambalaya to justify a
juggled juxtapositional
jurisdiction jamming
as jugular vein jingled jewels
joyfully jauntily jaywalking
to a jay named Jim Jolly !
Onward he jumped to a
Jungian junction
Jupiter jocund watching his
journeying joints
journalese seemed a jibe jig
but neither Jewess, Jesuit
or jeweller jiggled this job
So he jerked his jess
like a jape for Japan
Jejuning onto January for the
next jangle of jasmine
No jellyfish was Dr Jekyll in Jordanian jerkin
though sometimes Mr Hyde
with jeroboam swirling alongside !
Tiptoe the finest, fine twine, needle-eyed thread
and a glitzy sequined clasp, tiny
tweezer-tie it finger-tip fast with a nuanced knot -
my, my, the pedantic perfection of the master jeweller.
I have the servile subtlety of thick thumbs,
all clumbsy carpals, my fudging finesse
better suited to a beanie'd stevedore, loud lugging
heavy-haired harbour rope to ship-secure
a brutish lump in the line.
Tongue tied up, spun on my own silver yarn
like a crystal jeweller, giddy with champagne giggles,
dizzy on a spinning chandelier high strung from the pressed ceiling.
Oh non, pas moi! Mine is more an oiled elegance,
heavy handed, ham-fisted like a scabby wharf rat,
chased and unchaste.
Dextrous in the strangest ways -
gutsy and glamourous,
ours is a nuanced life of grunting grime
with the briefest flashes of bedazzled dance.
I want you to meet my mum
Oh no, not the mum
That means I could be the one
There goes the fun
Time for a ring
That couple thing
Need a plan
Insanity is in the man
Hun, I’m slightly gay
It’s always been that way
I try to hide it
But it just won't go away
I know babe
That’s what I love about you
You’re feminine too
Man, what have I done
Where do I run
Okay, plan two
Hun, think of the kids
What would they think
Daddy wearing a dress
Their little faces
Such a mess
Don’t worry babe
Take my hand
Let me introduce you
This is my mum
My god, what a body
So fit
Where’s that jeweller
Book the church
I’ll marry her mum
And then some
I’m in love
Babe, don’t get carried away
There's something I have to say
It’s about my mum
Hun, tell me all
Write it, ten feet on the wall
Watch me fall
Babe, my mum’s my dad
Aren't you glad
You being that way too
So understanding
It was like God sent you
Okay, I've kind of went numb
Something just registered
Call me dumb
But It seems to me
Or maybe I’m slow
Have I just joined a feckin freak show.
LUCKY MAY
May, May is welcome
And by these roads, these lanes
Young people come to home
To sing to my sisters.
What pretty they are
With her golden hair
And coloured lassos
And my mother combing them
To disentangle it.
That is their faces
What face so bright¡
Their lips, what loveliness¡
Painted with lipsticks
Where the same Cupid
A Kiss plant.
Their eyes, waht pretty and lovely¡
As star lighting the same Sky.
Their snub noses
(I wish I could to have them¡)
Silver twists are
That none of the jeweller
Knows draw
Only mother Daniela
As their ivory teeth
And their two little bust
Behind their white blouses
As two early lemons
With a dress of virgin
With brads in its shorts
Straight to the point
Axle of dancing and music
Moving their nice legs
And their agile feet.
And Me, now, an injured angel
With all my features as seraph
Imploring to our mother
That she plays a May with me
Dressing me as my sisters
With Rosemary flowers
With legominous flowers
Puting in my hand
A palm of Sun and Moon
As my lovely sisters
Because I want to dress as a little girl
And don’t want to be more
The Little man of the home
In the Lucky May.
Stunning purple full of beauty and grace
I still can’t wipe the smile from my face
Today I purchased an amethyst ring
It is very subtle not full of bling
You saw on my face the joy it will bring
You re-sized it for me so it would fit
I would have paid extra but you wouldn’t hear of it
You gave me a discount and then you did say
Could I clean your sapphire ring for you today?
So now I have two shiny rings one old and one new
But when I wear them I will always think of you
I am sending this poem to the Jeweller in Haworth Yorkshire – he truly made my
day with his kindness
Jan Allison
5th August 2014
LUCKY MAY
May, May is welcome
And by these roads, these lanes
Young people come to home
To sing to my sisters.
What pretty they are
With her golden hair
And coloured lassos
And my mother combing them
To disentangle it.
That is their faces
What face so bright¡
Their lips, what loveliness¡
Painted with lipsticks
Where the same Cupid
A Kiss plant.
Their eyes, waht pretty and lovely¡
As star lighting the same Sky.
Their snub noses
(I wish I could to have them¡)
Silver twists are
That none of the jeweller
Knows draw
Only mother Daniela
As their ivory teeth
And their two little bust
Behind their white blouses
As two early lemons
With a dress of virgin
With brads in its shorts
Straight to the point
Axle of dancing and music
Moving their nice legs
And their agile feet.
And Me, now, an injured angel
With all my features as seraph
Imploring to our mother
That she plays a May with me
Dressing me as my sisters
With Rosemary flowers
With legominous flowers
Puting in my hand
A palm of Sun and Moon
As my lovely sisters
Because I want to dress as a little girl
And don’t want to be more
The Little man of the home
In the Lucky May.
Huddled in Burton's doorway, head down,
the windblown rain at almost forty five degrees
soaking me from the knees downwards.
Reflecting on the paving, the red, amber and green
from the traffic lights heralded a wave of white from passing headlights,
like theatre curtains opening.
And centre stage stood I.
The clock at Samuel's jeweller said nine seventeen.
I thought I blended in well- the tailor's dummies in the windows
either side of me, equally well dressed, stared vacantly
into a dark alien world. I envied them.
They were dry.
And not waiting on a first date.
A quick glance up.
The clock said nine seventeen.
They say that time slows down when you're idle, or impatient,
and I was starting to bow to this unproven scientific truth.
Two pretty girls strode past beneath a mangled umbrella,
one briefly threw a smile my way, almost lost in a giggle.
I counted my twentieth chorus of red, amber and green.
It was nine seventeen.
She said she'd be here for nine. I looked at my watch.
Ten O'clock.
The bells of the Guildhall and the Cathedral smugly agreed,
H. Samuel had been lying all along.
The rain had stopped. I stepped out into the throng of couples,
dressed in my singleness, as the girls with the broken umbrella,
now discarded, approached.
No giggles- she gave the same smile, but her eyes knew my plight,
then she shrugged.
I found a bar and sat in damp trousers with a beer, and watched the big screen
to take my mind off a wasted evening.
The rugby was just finishing.
God does have a sense of humour,
England beating France-
Seventeen points to nine.
25th June 2018
For contest 'nine seventeen', sponsor John Lawless
The old woman came out of the eye hospital,
After receiving the news, she was going blind.
She was feeling very depressed, not just about her eyes,
The state of the world in general.
After her hospital visit, she and her husband went to lunch,
They sat talking for a long time about times gone by and
how people seem to them to be less caring and sharing
today than in the war years of their youth.
After lunch, they went to a jeweller to have a necklace chain repaired,
the assistant was helpful and said that the necklace needed soldering
And direct them to a shop that could help them.
The shopkeeper remarked how thin the chain was,
He said he would do what he could, come back in an hour.
When they returned, the chain was nicely wrapped and soldered,
The shopkeeper handed the package to the woman,
Saying that he could not take any payment from her,
Because the chain would keep breaking and the pearl drop
On the chain was worthy of a better chain.
He was a jeweller who sold gold chains,
He did not once imply that the woman should purchase a better chain
from him.
He was an honest, sincere, thorough gentleman.
The woman felt uplifted by the goodness of the man.
And he knew the reason that she looked so radiantly happy,
And it had nothing to do with money.
Although we all enjoy
Looking at beautiful things,
Appearance is shallow
And often means nothing.
However, if to take a deeper look
Is the option we choose,
We'll find colourful qualities
As jeweller finds rainbow hues.
For like the facets in a diamond,
True inner beauty radiates.
A mere glance will miss so much!
Just a thought to contemplate.
The most extraordinary people
Are not the glamorous who pose.
Their beauty lies in who they are
And is as delicate as a rose.
They may not have a nightingales voice
Or the perfect figure.
But their hearts are golden
And couldn't be much bigger.
If you base your estimation
Of a person on their looks
You forget that this is just a backing
To their story book!
Taking time to turn a page or two,
Do you know what you will find?
Someone truly beautiful
Rare, precious and kind.
My grandmother passed on her untarnished eight bangles to my mother,
My mother passed on the same exquisite bangles to me,
I asked my daughter when she got married “do you want these bangles?”
She said “These are pretty, but too tiny for me - I won’t be able to wear them.”
The jeweller had a suggestion-
After all, they are all precious metals! Twenty-four carat!
He turned those unadulterated gold into an elegant necklace.
My heart sank parting with those ornate pieces,
which connected me with the women,
who paved my way so that
I did not have to live the life they did.
Now those bangles shine only on a picture of me in a wedding dress!