Parlors Poems | Examples

My Town

Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town
In my little town
“My Little Town” by Paul Simon



My Town
I walk the streets of my hometown,
the prodigal son returned for a visit.
I wanted to see the old place after
forty years away.
My first stop is the place where
the death spiral began.
The old brick building that housed
Johnson’s lingerie factory long abandoned.
Countless generations had worked there
and jobs were plentiful and easy to get..
But government regulations, outrageous union
demands and cheaper labor overseas
caused its demise.
I walked up Main Street, which was a
bustling market place when I was a child.
Now, all that remained were CBD joints 
and tattoo parlors and a coffee shop.
First the pharmacy closed, then 
Mason’s Department store, followed
in quick succession by a host of
other long-time establishments
as the locals began the exodus
to a new land of milk and honey.
The few reaming locals looked
like ghosts wandering in a lost world.
I’m ready to move on as there is
nothing left but the dead and dying
back in my little town.

Myrtles Plantation

Myrtles Plantation has twenty-two rooms
Ghosts travel through there, some kicking in zooms
Identical parlors for women and men
Haunted house tour here is about to begin

Don’t come to Louisianna and ignore this tourist sight
The nightmares she will give you will last at least one night
Poltergeist just headed down by the silvery cold pond
Six hundred acres of which ethereal spirits and ghosts are very fond.

Common Sense Nonsense - Series 201

Common Wisdom is not really either. For example ..
1. Let the past bury the past

Can not be done that way.
Use funeral parlors, or celebrate a dead person's with memorial

When Jesus said similar words, "it was to rebuke a procrastinator, "Let the dead bury the dead." The living dead make much of human traditions including ceremonial matters. Real life is in God, his living word. Not in idols!

2. What goes around, cones around.

How much time you have? 

If it's a shooting star, comet, quasar, or even an Everest climb, you need intervals at the very least.

Forever

We don't discuss death
Civilized folk use funeral parlors
Funeral at home? Why on earth
We're good, clean entrepreneurs

The next generation never learn
How death is life, too, recycling
Part of life, why fear it, discern
God gives us children to go on living

Truth

She sat at your table
You laughed at her jokes
She saw then, but couldn't believe
It was all an orchestrated hoax

You invited her to afternoon lunches
But left her to find friends
Her presence made a difference
But not enough for the lies to end

She beheld the scuttlebutt 
You four crowded in static whisper
She was too white for your dark
Drink and tattoo parlors to appear a hipster

You received her flow of life
Inviting your leeches to glow bright
Siphoning energetic creation
So you could be THE light

She said nothing..just walked away
Hoping you would return in time
You did, with gestures of value
To ensure she was still in line

...to bow

TRUTH doesn't speak
She stands in LOVE
Scales in hand
Inside Mama dove 

Court is in session
Only WORD has the floor
TRUTH was never alone
Daddy God has cut the cord

...to lies

Written by Trudy Schrader on 03/29/2022

A Poem Lovely As a Flower

A poem lovely as a flower! How could one not be moved
By a blossoming beauty in celestial contours grooved

A flower is grace and elegance incarnate
It is fragrance and loveliness- aggregate

Burning in flame, bedecking hills and vales,
Some bloom to die unnoticed in lonely isles!

Nodding in glee with the gentle touch of winds
They remain bees’ and butterflies’ bosom friends

In beautiful parlors, they proudly reside
Over the freshly dug up graves, they sadly preside 
       
Like stars in the firmament, on Earth they shine
Who else other than God, their beauteous form design? 


Entered for Brian Strand's Structured 
Poetry Contest
Placed First
March. 3.2022
A Poem Lovely as A Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Margarita Lillico

O Righteous Me

Whores of Babylon, I breathe amongst you everyday 
 On city streets, in country lanes, along lone alleyways 
  Selling illegal merchandise, cheap, tainted, unrefined 
 Tempting this incognito angel, back into my own kind 

  Dens of iniquity, hedonistic programs, carnal pleasure 
 Take me to your pimp, I’ve got a wallet full of treasure 
  Bring good gear, Snow White, not crude crystal meth
 Tonight I’m getting wasted, to within one inch of death 

  Seedy massage parlors, proffering rubdowns, with oils
 This upstanding citizen, on tables of unembellished soil
  Licking toads back, my penchant, as I pray to the gods
 Yapping like a puppy, choke chained, spanked with rods

  Cesspools of assignation, motel rooms, knocking shops
 Gonna keep banging up, til my veins collapse from shock 
  Tomorrow chase the dragon, before addressing a church
 Sermons of fire and brimstone, damning you, is my purge. 

By
David Kavanagh

My Dreams

Some of them are drifting vapor,
fluid pastel flavoring my tongue.
When awake, they linger like nectar,
or the hidden symbols of Jung.

Others are more like nesting dolls,
hand painted selves inside of selves,
secret centers wrung in reluctant recalls.
Narcotic sleep concocts misshapened shelves.

Still others are Fabergé eggs,
grandiloquent intricacies, ornate and refined,
interior parlors absent of regs. 
Fantastic reservoirs are carefully designed. 

But most of them are made of celluloid,
cinematic  and impossible to avoid. 

Published in the first PoetrySoup anthology- 11/20

Beautiful Sadness

Beautiful sadness, I am that I am
a glorious winner
does life understand?
I’ve done enough frowning
cried enough tears.
There’s no sadness present, 
only reason for cheers.

Melancholia, they used to say
lavender sadness back in the day.
Ladies in parlors with flutters and chills,
Freudian theories, shock treatments and pills.

Beautiful sadness,
an oxymoron like midnight morning
or the darkness at dawn.
Sometimes in the moment 
of a disapproving frown
you can catch it trying
to turn around.

Beautiful sadness
what life’s all about
the anger, joy, faith, hope,
fear and doubt.
Why is life beautiful 
if it’s so sad?
Each day has some beauty
to make us glad.


7/18/19

Sun Light and Tantrums

The little boy tends to be ornery
Especially when he is a giant 
One who hates light and planets
One who grows out of control
Out of sight with a love of tantrums
And when he throws them look out
Bad things happen around the world
When he stomps Tsunamis come
Earthquakes crumble mountains
Finger nails break in beauty parlors
A cry for mommy and a thumb goes in the mouth
Heard around the world in horror 
The little boy grows larger by the hour
Then leaves the planet as it grows tiny
He must live in outer space without his toys
More out of control than ever he gets mad
Then scoops up the sun in his little big cup
Covers it with his hand and screams ouch
Tosses the sun in the nearest cosmic ocean
To snuff it out and stuff and because he can
And because he still hates light and planets
And what they stand for
Tantrums are not very nice
But they are a way of life

Summer Delight

An afternoon stroll, sun-tans on the balcony
Sipping lemonade, such a sweet summer delight!
Basking in a breezy, indigo summer morning
An afternoon stroll, sun-tans on the balcony
Lounging beachside with Piña colada in hand
Alfresco lunches, heading to ice-cream parlors 
An afternoon stroll, sun-tans on the balcony
Sipping lemonade, such a sweet summer delight!


Summer Fun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nayda Ivette Negron
Date written and posted:06/13/2018

If We Had More Time

There was a time
not so very long ago
when clopping horses
and sighing sleighs
and paddle splashing canoes,
and then, later, trains
and electric streetcars
were the resounding heart
of multicultural transportation.

And local newspapers
with indigenous, 
perennially planted village editors
among ecoschooled
one-room patriarchal chiefs
competed only with local gossip
in barber shops
and beauty parlors
for communicating hearts,
listening among each democratic trusting,
sometimes mistrusting,
but rarely anti-trusting, other.

These were slower
and in some more nutritional 
ways more goodfaith experiential based
and less indoors extracted,
distracted from outdoor Earth voices
singing resonance,
preaching resilient multicultural climates
of and for co-redeeming health
as Original Intent
of Paradise WinWin Wealth.

There were these times
when horses and sleighs,
mules and oxen,
cattle and pigs,
camels and llamas,
and then, later, bird flight imaginations,
bikes
and ecoschools
and organic composting gardens, 
electric streetcars and trains
were the heart of multicultural
PositivEnergy communication.

Hypodermic Illusions

Pine needles fall on manicured lawns
  on quiet streets where elm trees grow
 But in their midst a demon yawns
 And screams through veins from which it flows

 Hypodermic illusions line the curb
 where cars are parlors for getting high
 Overdosing in the suburbs
 The inner city has no alibi

 A nightmare on elm street 
 and Freddy Kruger is nowhere in sight!
 But the boogeyman does not retreat....
 yet some will not awaken from the night!

How Poetry Began

How Poetry Began

There was no explosion in the voided void
No weight to metal or components foreign formed
Science and religion married off their children
Philosophy and rhyme were named
They were circular at first and they too gave birth
To reason and jungles minding their own business
Triangles triangulated, circulated in an ink filled well
Pulled up like the dark ooze and tar 
That once was dinosaur remains
Set upon the quill or filled the pen of mighty men
To dot humanity with a verse
It was suggested, the first delicate words arrived
In gold parlors lined in silk, over saffron tea
Reading leaves to young maidens who, surprised
Touched by lovers on the bosom from behind
In actuality 
Poetry began inside a cave right over there
That’s it!  Just on the cliff outside the cave
Just past the very next thought
Sitting side by side on this once empty page
Of memory and age, hanging on the edge
Passion, rage, love and silver birds
Got their start out there as well


Created on 9/12/14 for How Poetry Began- Poetry Contest

The Evolution of Tiffany Lamps

Tiffany lamps
were invented by
girls in 1888,
to soften the walls
of quiet parlors
where men were
hushed and sat
politely with hands 
between their knees.
.
The grace was
stolen in 1992 when 
the symbols of New York
Jets replaced the flowers
and Tiffany
lighted laughter
on the bars 
where trumpets blare.


*I recently started a home job of ghost writing little articles 
for company blogs and promotions. 
I made a poem from one of the essays about Tiffany sports lamps.

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