Medallions Poems | Examples

At Winters End

Rise Up
ryes on the rise
with soothing flours
and Spring flowers
Rise Up
with handfuls
of caraway seeds
at Winters End
all your cares will cease
Rise up
ryes on the rise
the aroma of sunrise
the butter
on your bread
Rise up
to toast and jam
dancing
through your mourning
for scripture says
Joy cometh in the morning
Rise up and kneel
before the King
ryes on the rise
with resurrected flowers
medallions of
daffodils, lilies and a memory stone
the heavy plank of death
rolled ‘way by chosen angels
Rise up
to a day reborn
beauty from ashes
blind eyes opened by faith
ryes on the rise
molasses-colorized
rose-colored glasses
not a lie
God cannot lie
Rise up
raise palms straight to the skies
Taste and see that the Lord is good
I’ll take a bite now
with thanksgiving
the whole loaf will last
forever and ever
opposite of
til death do you part
I will join the holy throng
as a seed planted
in eternal Spring
Rise up, y’all
meet the King of kings

Observing a Cliche From a Rocky Promontory

Above the heat
the sky is flecked with ice.

The sun is no longer burning,
it’s a ghost lamp swept by the rags
of a coat-tailing wind.

There it is - arriving out of a hazy distance
a living cliché, a Bald Eagle
It must have caught a thermal.

I think of all the medallions and coins
it has been stamped and embossed upon;
here it is
an existential exclamation mark.

The eagle veers away
turning deeper into the ice-blue.

No one witnesses this,
even my eyes watch cynically,

the jaded disappointment of this sadness
is darkening my sight.

All hail to the he American eagle -
slowly disappearing.


© 59 mins ago

Eyes Like Yours Set All Apart

Set smoke, so sweet, so delicate
Something fuliginous, so intricate
Ocher bronze is all that I can see
You're beautiful, a dime to me
Spheres of the purist maple syrup
Sums them up; affectionately
Flowing through my heart, forever over my soul
Suspensions of golden medallions, never to control
Carob or chocolate cold never be
Subbed; for your lens looking at me
Caliginous, foreboding, but never forbidden
Like a chestnut mare; not broken, or ridden
My devotion is firmly planted, in your Earthly visions
You absolutely slay me with your warm decisions
Whimsical; they are made of fine mahogany
Eye's like yours set all apart; yet set me free

Colvenge' Measner

She wanted the dinner to be specail so she asked
her specail freind to fix it for her.
she would offer both  roast pheasant and chicken
combined with fried polenta with
 buttermilk ,bacon bits redbell peppers, chives and asparagus.
Sagey dressing. Garlicey mashed potatoes, and gravey.
goat cheese/cream cheese herbed pastries.
garden salad with croutons, and a savory Catilina dressing.
Boc Choy and cabbage.
roasted butternut squash medallions.
a rich poundcake and brioche bread pudding
with eggnog, dates, coconuts, dried cherries, and dreid mango:
served with vanilla icecream and toffee.
an offering of wines.
All to get people smiling.

Midnight

Parents raise their young 
In efferent flavor of 
The new sunrise. 

But as the great star sets,
We become beasts that hunt
For nothing less than
Suppression. 

Medallions are too effervescent 
For this ridiculous perversion.
I stand center stage un-claiming
A sweated brow now. 

To anticipate silver is to
Masturbate an antithesis of meaning. 
This proposal disturbs my silence
And I refuse in a tantrum—revocation.

Confection

CONFECTION    Laraine Kentridge Lasdon

Everything I am seems to belong to someone else
Everything I am seems to be someone else

Imagine a memory mirror
framed with pearlescent medallions
painted with miniature portraits of apples, 
ginger toffee, and glutinous gummies.
Day and night the mirror reflects
blue-green fields or star-filled skies,
ferris wheels and carousels, 
and a young girl
alone, insubstantial,
dressed in spun cotton candy,
sweet, hoping to be liked
in her fairy floss robe.

The glass shatters
my reflection, shifting light,
mirror image wounds,
blood flowing backwards.
I pull thin sharp shards
from the shattered glass
with my bare hands
rendering all semblance,
remembrance, unreliable.
I smile a satirical smile,
a baroque smile of a girl 
of a girl who accepts stories
of familial gatherings, embraces
that were never for her. 

Everything I am belongs to me
Everything I seem to be, I am
There is no mirror.

Dandelions

Dandelions are Mother Nature’s gold medallions,
Hated by master landscapers as obnoxious weeds
Marching across manicured lawns like battalions,
A whiff of wind releases thousands of their seeds.

written January 27, 2022

Rose Ladies

Rose Ladies

Lovely ladies, Tiggywinkles, to my garden return
Good as Gold after absence from winter’s sojourn

Shirley’s Bouquet – blue tipped rose acclaimed
American Beauty a winner proclaimed

Spicy perfumes from Brandy - First Love -
Calls Whisper out - petals of white like mourning doves

Midas Touch gown glows bright as Sugar Moon
Queen Mother, Sunburst in Carousel swoons

Ketchup and Mustard ready for a Garden Party
Hot Cocoa in Sterling Silver served up so smartly

The Dark Knight looks out for purple Intrigues
Neptune on guard coming from twenty leagues

Swan ladies so graceful tell of Sutter’s Glory
See constellations and pale Virgo’s story

Olympiad sighs for races with stallions
Gold, silver, Bronze Star – precious Medallions

Shares Anna’s Promise, Tiffany’s First Prize
As Just Joey and Blue Girl in Iceberg fantasize

With Peace they arrive, some in Tropicana dress
A Double Delight, Mr. Lincoln, to beauty confess.  

These are the roses that grace, and have graced, my garden with a few minor exceptions.

3-10-21
Contest: List with a Twist
Sponsor: Charles Messina

The Poet From the Hood

poet from the hood

rapping to himself 

entirely misunderstood

expressing his emotions

his whole life full of nothing but chaos and commotion

imagination is his escape potion

thankful to be alive

mentally exhausted of the daily grind and strive

lyrically inclined

words swarm in his eclectic mind

like bees near a hive

no pen, no paper

only a white tee, grey sweats and street jive

open-word, open-street mic

many people in his life on the pipe

latch-key kids sit quiet in the dark from fright

gangs beef on the corner at night

fast money, fast cars they chains be all gold medallions

hands full of rocks and ice

sometimes he wished his neighborhood was a little more nice

poet from the hood 

what would, what should

perhaps one day things could

…no rings, no chain

just his sidewalk poetic game

only the locals know his name

Welcoming Shelter

There’s an aged Eastern cedar tree
not far from the steps of my back door.
Enormous and quite old it harbors
a full range of flora and fauna
that have sought refuge amid its arms. 

I reckon it soars 60 feet high
with an amazing 30-foot girth.
In winter, frosty mist on needles–
faux snow covers its verdant branches–
although it remains green winter-long

Welcoming woody fragrance in Spring
attracts curious creatures of trees–
working tirelessly to build their homes
in the evergreen’s burgeoning boughs–
a comfortable coniferous cool residence.

The cardinals staking my feeders,
fluffed and braced against the chilling cold–
medallions, red on silvery green–
Christmas’ reverberant Friendship Tree
reminds me of friends and family.

My enduring evergreen shares its
sheltering arms and embraces all
who come, as a nurturing mother
providing food, comfort, and kindness
to any seeking safety within her.

Observing a Cliche From a Rocky Promontory

Above the heat
the sky is cooling, it’s blue is flecked with ice,
its ghost-written lamp
swept by the upended rags of 
a coat-tailing winds

It is a fact 
that standing on a high ledge sky-watching the distance
is quintessentially majestic
whether you are a Hitler or a Gandhi
it is its own poetry, 
I would strike a heroic pose,
but assume no one else is watching.

There it is - arriving out of a far place,
a living cliché.
The Bald Eagle is high for a natural born scavenger,
soaring above this place where no rabbit runs to hide.
It must have caught a thermal,
let the sky fly it up here.

This whole scene is symbolic.
I look behind me, still no one else here. 
It comes nearer,
I think of all the jaded medallions it has been 
stamped and embossed upon,
yet here it is
just an existential exclamation point in time, 
as I am.

For a moment I am clothed in a noble grandeur
then in a bitter blink
splattered by a smearing of unspeakable crimes.

The eagle veers away
turning deeper into the ice-blue
perhaps it was alarmed or dismayed
by this self-regarding figure 
posturing for posterity
upon a highly shaky prospect?

Culinary Sonnet

Figs stuffed with proscuitto and mascarpone cheese,
a plate of bacon wrapped scallops and pineapple.
French onion soup is bound to please
or garlic steamed mussels with which to grapple.
Artichoke hearts smothered in sherried cream;
pears with sugar and cinnamon in butter sauteed;
pork tenderloin medallions make a demi-glaced dream
while crisped lyonnaised potatoes are made.
Now with a sip of Pouilly-Fuisse'
tastes flush the palate like a gourmet concert.
A toast to good friends on this wonderful day
as ice wine chills to serve with dessert.
A plate of old fashioned Bananas Foster-
perhaps in the morning, eggs benedict with lobster!

Sticky Love Medallions

3/4 cups of cilantro
1 cup of chopped red onions
1/4 cup of crushed garlic
1/4 cup of chopped gingerroot
1/2 cup of celery chopped
1 cup of chopped red pepper
1 cup of lime juice
1/2 cup of honey
5 tablespoons of white distilled vinegar
3 tablespoons of liquid smoke
2 cups of coconut milk
4 cups of Coca-Cola
2 cups of spiced rum
2 cups of water
5 pounds of fresh pork hocks
3 tablespoons of salt
2 tablespoons of cayenne pepper
5 tablespoons of fish stock

in a large lid pot cook for 2 hours, or until fork tender.
 1 cup of degreased broth
1/2 cup of white vinegar
1 cup of pineapple juice
1/2 cup of chopped pineapples
1/4 cup of honey
reduce by half and top hock and serve with a garnish of green onions!

Strong Bura

STRONG BURSA
COMPLINED ABOUT
THE PRICE OF
BEEF CHILLI
VERSES
PORK CHILLI
AND RELISH.
IF ONE IS TWO FOR SUM-THANG?
AND THE OTHER IS HALF THE PRICE OF BOTH.
IS THE OTHER TWO FOR WHATEVER THEN?
CAUSE I WOULD HAVE
ENOUGH TO GET THE
SPICY HOT NUTS
AND THE FOUR DOGS THE BROCHURE PROMISED.
BAD NOUGH THOSE PUNKS WANT US TO BY ALL THE TICKETS TO GET IN.
BAD ENOUGH WE NEED THE DISK-COUNT VOUCHURE
BUY THE SODAS, MAN DEEZ SUM BADTHYMES WFOR FOOD AND STUFF.
WE SHOULD HAVE GOT, GAMBLES DRUNK, AND GOT HER TO FIX THOSE
TURKEY LEGS AND TATY-SALLY.
WE WOULD'VE SAVED AT LEAST $20.00 DOLLARS.
SHE SAID ALL SHE NEEDED WAS THEM FRESH HOCK MEDALLIONS FROM GISTER GRAB, AND SOME GINGEROOT GARLIC AND BEER, AND WE'D HAVE SUPPER REAL CHEAP.

Unforgettable

I wonder, myself whom I venerate

the voice of my heart if loud fair enough!

the hive of my life I strive to relate

aspire to unleash my wonders, seems tough.

To craft a soul of light, creed of the core

the quest for mines of gems never shall end

the harsh thrusts I've learned not to deplore

for every stance there shall be a firm stand.

Pearly prints along your path, your voice carve

sound sounds are seized and unforgettable

medallions feeding souls to never starve

the bliss is a blessing increasable.

Sowing abiding beauty has no price

Unforgettable seeds reaped by the wise.


June 27th,  2018

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