Parlor Poems | Examples

Parlor Fresco

On the parlor wall, a canvas frame 
Adorned with whispers of a fascist game 
A warped impression, born of decadence and sleep 
The perfect lie, where dreams and nightmares creep

A stenciled girl with eyes of distant gray 
A masquerade of innocence, in every way 
Her beauty is a snare, a trap to ensnare 
The unsuspecting heart, with promise and with care

But I see through the veneer, the artful disguise And in the darkness, I find my compromise

On the parlor wall, a perfect crime 
A '68 FBI wanted poster, faded design 
A lazy Vargas pinup spread her thighs 
But I see only the thrill of pale, painted lies

The Mona Lisa's smile, a ruse and a birth 
A masquerade of irony, dancing on moth- eaten earth She hides her truth, a promise kept from sight As I piss on the pyre, the charade takes flight

The Picture on the Parlor Wall

When midnight flames flicker aesthetic reveries,
releasing ashes of rainbow petals,
upon the canvas of undressed seasons,
I delve into blue blurs of butterflies,
framed in floating colors of nostalgia,
aching for dried dyes to home this scraped heart~
hanging loose, within smoky imagery,
as if every pigment will sprout from lilies of longing.
But can memories thaw frozen zeal,
illustrating steamy sunsets with liquefied rubies,
to unveil a timeless era, retouched and restored,  
from the dust of dusks composed in surrealism?  

And I, the splattering of an ink-blot,  
persist as a dramatized kiss of tongue-stroked silence,  
like a portrait, isolated in artistic utopia,
as love is more than a metaphor that speaks to the moon;
a pastel palette textured with melted roses~
  saturated stars can interpret…

The Picture on the Parlor Wall

I’m followed by two eyes that gaze out from
the picture on the parlor wall. Those eyes!
If they were real, I think I would feel numb
to know from nowhere I had seen arise
a monster from the dirt that was the grave
of my great-grandfather; his photograph
conveys he was a Scrooge that barely gave
a care for family or for his staff.
Infamous was he; arrogant as well
(as we’ve been told by Grandma). She would know!
His eldest, she will swear he’s gone to hell.
Her reasons she recites to us blow-by-blow.
The picture won’t come down, for in his will,
that was his requirement. He rules her still!

The Picture On The Parlor Wall

There by the window is a huge portrait
It is quite whimsical yet dark despite sunshine
The eyes seem to follow you when you walk by
And it is rumored the woman was blind
But she had a sixth sense telling fortunes
And it is as if her portrait still reads you
I feel her soul seeping in the photo like an old tea bag 
Such a handsome woman who had no glasses
Her eyes seem to always see despite the blank stare
Beneath the fluff of eyebrows peering below her huge hat
Her dress was colorful once now faded by time
She was known to be kind but eccentric but 
A bit rebellious for a woman of her day
Each time I look at the eyes 
I feel a strange sensation
Like she is not finish telling fortunes
Was she greeted by the death angel upon her end
Or did she rebel and descend to hell
Perhaps we find out when it is our time.

The picture on the parlor wall

The picture on the parlor wall
Framed, not too big, and not too small 
Charcoal stems, red poppies— that’s all
Some flowers— short, but others, tall
Mom found it in a poster rack 
Loved it the most of the whole stack
It’d beautify the simplest shack
(Yet then my mom would want it back)
If you know who the artist is
We would like to support their biz 
To hear that someone says it’s his 
If we’re asked if it’s lovely?— ‘tis!

Sampler On the Parlor Wall

Picture on the Parlor Wall 9-27-24
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Sampler on the Parlor Wall

Shadows born from dawdling light
Stretch across a firelit room set with porcelain cups,
From tea parties long ago and faraway,
With an invitation to sample sweets and savories
Like the sampler on the parlor wall.

Beneath neat rows of alphabets stories gather,
Verses stitched with silk and dreams
And numbers that taught a woman’s craft –
A child’s wishes fly with birds and lady bugs –
Wishes to convince a suitor at the door of her wifely worth
In tidy stitches foreshadowing an orderly life.

A young lady-girl in pantaloons and blue sashes
Weaves circles of symphonic dots in French wheels
While lazy daisy chains meander on her linen fields -
Magic flares in her zigzag lines, her wishes on wooly stars.

No signature remains from her little hand -
Her hearth, her home, her heart –
Only a legacy of butterflies and roses sampled on a parlor wall
And a tiny scarlet dot of imperfection like a signature remains
Embroidered into a sampler embracing each dawn and dusk.

The picture on the parlor wall

The picture on the parlor wall
Is dishevelled and dramatic 
It's sullen bronzing ornate frame
Belies something problematic 

The imagery is deafening 
The figure stands enigmatic
The scenery bereft of life
Is staunch and proudly Pragmatic 

The figures eyes are dark and blank 
With a mindset automatic
As she follows you around the scene
Her body remains static

The picture on the parlor wall
Sees all

Picture on the Parlor Wall

She'd been staring at me since I can recall.
A da Vinci saccharine smile painted on her lips
that I'd traced with fingertips in my youth.
Forsooth wondering, "Who are you, comely lady,
and why does no one ever mention your name?"

Eyes of melancholy, but not a tear had she spilled.
For years now, I'd asked that the truth be told
why she'd been given a place on the parlor wall,
yet no one speaks of her with honor or a trace
of how gracefully she sat on that stiff backed chair.

A fetching look adorned the face of this exquisite lass, 
whose lustrous raven hair was released from its chignon.
What sin had she committed that's kept her story hidden
and her name omitted or deleted from the family Bible?
In gold gilded frame, what blame does she still carry?

What thrust and parry duel must she have fought,
perhaps for love. Her presence hangs in oils but despoiled.
Aged painting of this alluring woman remains a mystery
to me, but I see in her eyes, a familiarity I recognize
each time I peer into the mirror on the vestibule wall.

The picture on the parlor wall

In my grandparents' parlor, shadows fall,
Where a princely figure picture hangs upon the wall.
His mustache high, with sword and gun in place,
Yet now, a puzzled look clouds his face.

The tall clock ticks, though faint its steady chime,
As if it's lost its grip on passing time.
The deer head stares, the tiger skin lies still,
Both relics of a past with frozen will.

Dust gathers thick on vanity’s grand show,
The once proud room now waits for time to go.
This house may fall, its charm erased with ease,
A place where ego reigned, now lost to breeze.

The prince looks on, confused by days long gone,
As all his grandeur fades at break of dawn.

The Picture on the Parlor Wall

All became purview in her constant gaze ~
eyes that followed, no matter my corner,
nor settee where fleur-de-lis begged recline ~
and, no peace was found in voyeuristic laze.
Even in the vestibule - through the door
            she stares
~ her beauty lingers there and captures 
daydreams that share this moment in time.
I wonder ~ did the artist love her too,
he, who captured every seductive line
of wanting eyes and impatient grin?

How can one wish they'd never met a painting
   without knowing ~ lost love...

A picture on the parlor wall

Who is that I ask 
inquiring of an old black and white photo 
on their parlor wall 
they look at me strangely 
having no clue 
they tell me it came with the building 
and it just fit the decor 
how odd I say 
owning a picture 
that holds a thousand words 
and you have no recollection 
of their story or their memories 
that stay trapped forever 
behind clouded glass

Parlor Portrait

When Grandpa died and his clock still ticked,
he fell from a ladder by a tree -
nor could that clock on the wall predict
when I died at age twenty-three.

A traveling artist, who, out of luck, 
implored gramps (...how'd he know his name?) 
My grandpa was kind.  A deal was struck.
Soon his picture was in a frame.  

The parlor portrait's eyes would follow
me, conveying every feeling.
Kindness and cheer, I could swallow,
but remonstration sent me reeling.

A frisbee stuck in a tree, so high,
Grandpa said he'd retrieve it for me.
Just hold the ladder, please, small fry?
and that's all that he asked of me.

Nobody knows that story but me.
I sway gently as the wind does blow,
from a branch on that sycamore tree, 
but the eyes on the portrait know.

The Picture on the Parlor Wall

On the faded wallpaper what do I see,
an old picture on the parlor wall.
Many years ago grandma took it,
Sis and I were young and having fun.
On that very hot summer's day,
we were in shorts and pigtails.
Grandma always said she loved that picture,
we did not know why because we hated it.
With grandma long passed,
I can now see what she saw.
Two cute girls having way too much fun,
on that very hot summer's day.
Like the faded wallpaper on the parlor wall,
the picture and time have also faded far away.

In a Parlor Reading a Book

Here I set in a parlor reading a book,
gotta keep my face down, don't wanna look.
 It's all women and girls in here except for me,
I'm waiting for my mom to get done you see.
 They all keep telling me go ahead your next,
oh I feel like my world has now been hexed.
 I can hear what these girls will be saying in the classroom,
tomorrow when school's goin, I'm skipping, not facing the doom!
 For the now I'll set here and read a book,
back in the corner of this girl filled Parlor's nook!

Hope Is a Parlor That Gives Valor

Try to be happy dear,
Instil into heart cheer,
Keep your mind clear,
Soul, with hope, steer.

Never entertain fear,
As worry turns severe,
Allow not doubts near,
Give not to gossips ear

God will surely interfere
If you pray despite tear,
God will secretly appear
As, prayer, He does hear

In a gloomy atmosphere
Peace will just disappear,
Solace is given by prayer
Due hope, it will deliver

A wise heart is hope-carrier,
A wise mind is ever sincere,
With an oath, start the year,
Never feel you are inferior

At you when adversities jeer,
Become a very firm believer,
God will remove every barrier,
He will bless you to be happier

When you try to get silver,
Gold, prayer will deliver,
Forget the Lord never,
Thinking you are clever

Believe in God's power,
He makes peace flower,
In bliss, He helps us tower,
He is noble souls' lover

God loves a true toiler,
He makes him not suffer,
He gives the best offer,
He fills kindly his coffer

If your mind gets fever
To God, hopefully refer
Your state, He will infer
And give the best buffer!

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