Long Tiaras Poems
Long Tiaras Poems. Below are the most popular long Tiaras by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Tiaras poems by poem length and keyword.
Is there a junkyard for old tiaras and outdated ball gowns?
Where does Beauty go when age has taken her crown?
Removed atop her head and passed onto the new,
smiling gracefully her rein is over her chapter is through.
The walkway has shortened the stage has reached its end
her audience abandoned her, few remembering her when.
Beauty dissolved in creases and folds.
faded pictures tell numerous stories of desires untold
lost sapphires, rubies, diamonds and lace
torn denim, short skirts and selfies have taken their place.
Roses soon wither fallen off of her pole.
Tower high stilettos now traded have soft flattened soles.
Waken one day unable to recognize this new face.
Searching for the old one but never finding a trace
of that person who was familiar, and she once knew
who was young and beautiful, without even trying to.
Haunted by yester years with memories complete.
when she held love’s attention and men fell at her feet
Commanding the room as she swung and swayed,
Beauty was immeasurable but there was a debt to be paid.
New beauty surrounds her with past souvenirs.
Reminders of time ago and broken-down years
now she’s invisible as she dissipates in the background,
with a crooked tiara and wearing last year’s ball gown.
'''''''''''''""""~~~"""""""""""""""
as daylight flows on floors of meadows’ weave
like tiny fingers silent in silk of sailing traces
this landscape travels on her fragile, hushed heave
and when full morn speaks in syllables of pink laces,
i climb her flights of smiles to touch those tender graces
just a glance of champagne cheeks through her secret seat
makes hours sink in seconds breathing psalms of time’s aces
then i’d go deep for a pageant of your tulips upon my feet
as i hide snuffed sighs claiming eyes that await my reply
of a love as pure dawn giving wings to flowers’ poised paces,
the treasures in my chest are not tiaras or diamonds sold high
this, my rimless devotion will plant years gold with praises
your comfort in blaze of thunder, i’ll gladly give raw braces
a lifetime of caress to guide our lanes pastoral and wild we’d greet,
savoring flute, butterflies and giggling shells on winds’ embraces
then i’d swoon for a pageant of your tulips upon my feet
have i grown weeds in yarns of time, answer not yet said?
a flick of hope blows on this my airborne soul for returned praises
oh, my waters entice me as potpourri of my lady’s rhymes are fed,
when she stalls, then crawls on wanderings of night’s mazes
her quiet flush textured with pleas of patience on moon’s faces,
this silence has many altars adorned by veils of her sun and sleet
still, i stay with serenades to dust her feathers too shy for chases
then i’d swoon for a pageant of your tulips upon my feet
the absence of her eloquence jail me in chapels’ clumped vases
till she, lady of my velvet dreams, lit my passion’s fond heat
our hands shall wander unto rhapsody of faraway places
then i’d swoon for a pageant of your tulips upon my feet!
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Fancy
Fancy rushes by in silk dancing shoes,
Stars within her steps,
All plumes and feather boas
Leaving clouds of spangles, bits of sparkle,
Floating in the air -
Trails of rainbow ribbons,
Sequins grinning as she passes,
Ignoring glares of mauve and mustard
Clinging to sashes scattered with ducklings,
Buttons and bows hanging on
In the spinning tornado of free floating ruffles
As bright colored polkadots tumble ‘cross flowing capes
While beads and bangles, diamonds of dewdrops,
Strings of pearls,
Waltz with bright and shiny spangles
To bounce alongside wild menageries
Of mismatched
Plaids that look cross eyed at checks
To flirt
With spiraling pin strips in diagonal dances
Begging exception from lacy flounces,
Romping through grids
Yellow pink and purple green,
And twirling hems of dizzy fringes
Revealing pearl studded petticoats
Giggling at gossamer scarves
Under the spell of a magic wand decorated
By glittering hearts
To cast a kaleidoscope of spellbinding colors
Throwing greetings to wide eyed stares,
Amusement ogling
Fancy frolicking with Whimsy at her side -
Hugging, embracing, cousin Serendipity -
Ambling down the broad tree lined lane
In gloves and floppy hats with paisley bands
Or rhinestone tiaras
Tripping toward teatime
With scones and clotted cream.
Today, Heaven made its wings out of the clouds,
and it's raining on people with angels and flowers,
The sun is red like a bashful child,
and the field is filled with poppy flowers dancing in the breeze.
A ray, wanting to be chicer,
has associated discreet with a daisy,
because both had the same thought;
to be tiaras for those on earth.
The trees are dressed in fresh green,
A spring wind, whistles a ballade for panpipes,
The birds gather in choirs and chirp a new song.
It's May, and I am happy!
Every night I dance with the stars,
I'm thinking of Eternal Spring,
A drop of Heaven smoothly dripped into my soul,
Ah, how beautiful the month of May is!
I live in North East Florida
That's just a hop, skip, and a jump
From the land known as Georgia
Where "Honey Boo Boo" once held court with her mom
If'n you never knew "Honey Boo Boo"
You're in for a treat or more than one
She was a multi car train wreak
That you couldn't turn your bugged eyes away from
First let me explain the state of Georgia
So this family ya'll will understand
Not long ago they re-dirted both paved roads
Said progress was getting way out of hand
So with that said and done son
With formalities out of the way
Lets turn our attention back to our star attraction
And see what all she had to say
Her fame started out on Toddlers & Tiaras
Reality shows we all seem to love
From The Crazed Housewives to The Kardashion's
America can not get enough
And since it's on T.V. it's gotta be true
Did you ever try her drink sensation
Of Red Bull and Mountain Dew, she liked to call "Go Go Juice"
It'll put hair on your derriere for extra pad in relaxation
And who wouldn't want to see a six year old
With that kind of Hellacious Buzz
What went through my mind when I looked at it was
Ahhh, Redneck Motherly Love
So now do you redneckonize her
Where all I just said is quite true
A dolla used to make her holla!
I sure miss "Honey Boo Boo" on the Boob Tube
As I'm sure all of you do too...
Tippy toeing across the desert sand cracked Cement stepping stone road
We venture towards The blooming onion bonfire that Rises like a medusa’s hair in a galaxy fueled by the heat of a dying star
The raindrops roll down my china doll cheeks
Makes my hair glisten like candlelight hope diamonds
And the rain washes away my feelings of self loathing
This weathered couch so lonesome in a field of curious horses
Seats sociable strangers Intoxicated with vodka mixers and self pride
Under an umbrella a polish model speaks broken English poetry Cuddling into my side instinctively she acted sisterly
My body was their hurricane shelter and my arms kept them from harm
He slid in on the ancient couch to seek momentarily comfort from the soaking tsunami
Faded........floating on a wave of intoxicated insta-friendships that we made only in our kindergarten years
when we wore tiaras and over sized dresses wide eyed and gaped toothless
Imagining what greatness would become of us Superheros and Princesses
The bass of the stereos fueled masculine desires for destruction
They tossed the grandfather couch into the flames and became a beaming beacon of light in all the darkness the smoke spiraled as the fires creeping fingers consumed the skeletal remains of the chesterfield.
Twas cremated at the early hour of dusk
University was just the eclipse in our eye lids
Life is a wayward hurricane NASA plane emblazoning on a rainbow runway
spin yourself faster than a ballerina collapsing into the tutu frill.... brighter than a lantern fueled by essence of a thousand swarming fireflies
Our naiive youth is but the past, we left it behind in this catacomb laid to rest
Form:
Written: November 20, 2025,
***************
The future is not a place—
It is a quidnunc calyx,
a capacious chalice
for those who dare to drink
the elixir of their own becoming.
Dreamers do not sleep.
They careen through cloudscapes,
gamboling past the gaudy gates
of flapdoodle and fear,
flaneurs of the ineluctable.
Their thoughts are canorous,
etched in hieroglyph and hex,
diaphanous as sky skims,
yet fierce as a hoyden’s howl.
They do not dissemble.
They rake through the rubble
of dismal days,
threadbare but unbroken,
writhe into catharsis
and call it art.
Their hearts are fipple-fluted,
gargling with garrulous grace,
eloquence stitched into
the petiole of every breath.
They wear tiaras woven
from wisteria’s bloom,
not crowned with the weight of hubris—
and gently lighten the heavy load.
Borne by the forgotten and the lost.
They are fetching,
felicitous,
iconoclasts of the somber.
They do not fear the gaseous unknown,
nor the egregious elision of comfort.
They are the herons of Elysium,
gamboled and glorious,
Each dream is a byzantine map
to a future
Only they can read.
So believe—
not in the desultory hush
of what was,
But in the foison of what could be.
The future is yours
at the behest of beauty.
Written: June 05, 2026, for a contest sponsored by sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
********************
Cimmerian commonwealth
nursing holy brews
churning mysteries
with argent wands
Titans in penumbra
lean close—
brewing enigmas
with argent stems,
greasing the gears.
A grimoire of governance
flutters open,
pages full of
incondite lore
and hornswoggle headlines
nobody fact-checks.
Power studies itself
in a cracked mirror—
greed blooming
like desert weeds
that never dies.
Chiefs grin
their counterfeit harmony,
buying belief
at clearance prices.
Sages—late learners—
soothe the crowd
with honeyed noise
and velvet fog.
Farewell speeches flare
incarnadine,
promising everything,
delivering vapor.
Morals limp in last place
while oily fingers
rake the jackpot.
Imbroglio eternal—
truth rationed
in dogmatic chains.
Skyfoam slogans rise,
tiaras of lies
wilting under their own shine.
And we—
visceral, wary,
perpetually bemused—
watch the circus
spin its cabotage wheel.
Yes, yes—
The Illuminati runs the day.
Sure, mate—
and I’m the Pope
of Broadway.
Today’s Briana’s birthday
So we celebrated large.
Her boyfriend and his mother,
For this epic day, took charge.
We hadn’t met in person
For some fifteen months or more
Since Covid, helped by distance,
Came around and slammed the door.
We drove for two plus hours
For a meal in their back yard
And this is what was waiting:
Pink balloons, some clothes, a card…
An Elvis photo in a frame,
A CD and two mugs,
A necklace with a heart, tiaras
And some heartfelt hugs.
Brett grilled some yummy burgers
While his mom provided sides.
There was music and a birthday cake
And so much love besides.
What a wonderful reunion
And a way to celebrate
Both a birthday and a taste of
Future meetings that await.
*Briana is my daughter. She and Brett met
at a special needs camp over 20 years ago.
It matters not she said.
What we do.
No one cares.
I picked a snail off the sidewalk and hid it in the grass
knowing the four-year-old might smash it.
No one listens, she said.
No one cares.
I don’t matter.
I knew she was fishing, but I was tired of playing this game.
It is a cyclical conversation she has with everyone.
I took her daughter’s hand and we began to skip.
Stacy giggled, delighted.
I try to give her as much joy as I can.
Understanding what living with her mother must be like.
We stopped to make dandelion tiaras.
I brushed her hair and she leaned over and kissed me.
Her mother rolled her eyes. Why can’t you be serious? She asked.
Did she not realize that we were actually doing things that matter.
While all she is doing is talking about the opposite things?