Short Antiques Poems
Short Antiques Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Antiques by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Antiques by length and keyword.
TV host, Tim Wonnacott,
About antiques, he knows a lot,
In hat and tie he'll always dress,
Are you ready to Bargain Hunt? Yes!
aisles of antiques
corrugated with named streets -
cups, saucers and book bindings
…stomach’s churning. i’m paying,
booking with dog-eared treasures.
7/27/2021
She collected
his every phrase
like an assortment
of antiques.
She realized
she could also
sort them by date.
2/21/2021
Credit: Someone You Love Is Gone by Gurjinder Basran, Page 21
Joys doze between antiques.
Faceless memories soar.
The breeze, through cracked tiles, leaks.
Doors, with their coarse voice, screech.
Filled with footsteps, floors squeak.
Mute musings reach their peaks.
Antiques gathering dust on hidden shelves.
Bits and baubles from kinder times.
Can you hear their stories amidst the silence?
Do you care to learn from the past?
Each day the dust gets thicker as the memories thin out.
Antiques in the attic,
amazing oil paintings
are coated with thick dust.
Albums of photographs,
await my teary eyes.
Auntie has passed away
and I must clear her house.
Inspired by Pleiades A contest
10th August 2016
Antics dealer
I dealt in antiques as well as antics
Once chased a sterling ‘bronze’, very unique
It stood its ground and just blushed
Till, by and by, I felt bushed
And chastised, quit things risqué and of risk.
03 jun 12
an old lady sweet
with much clutter of antiques -
the cookie is burnt
_______________________________
March 17, 2019
Poetry/Senryu/I went to visit
Copyright Protected, ID 19- 1125-538-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
A politician from a town outside Dallas
is cruel corrupt, mean and callous
He takes funding from schools
builds his friends swimming pools
and buys antiques to furnish his palace
A STRAND (1072)'
Sponsor: Brian Strand
First Place Winner
2/12/22
Written 2/11/22
she used to have skills
at a telephone switchboard
today she is scared
of cell phones and computers
my mom is one sweet antique
writing poems by hand
and reading hard cover books
I know little of
the functions of a smart phone
I’m becoming my mother
Antiques
He is there,
Grandfather Clock like,
a throwback to another era.
His finely chiseled and polished edges,
the scrapings of life,
the worn, faded, varnish.
His value
should have increased with age,
as with the clock.
Their timeless presence
sweet mementos
of a dusted past.
We do it to Live.
We set out to find it,
In our own ways.
We search it
In places, in people
In liquors, in antiques
In words and in drugs,
In marriages, in walks
In food and in paintings
In oceans in deserts
In love and in death
We learn how to laugh
as a way out of our pains,
We go and seek it
To live.
I love to write
To express
To find myself again and again
Through these words
These forms of expression
Creative trials
Far from tribulations
Because it's evident
That I'm rewriting narratives
Hashing out lines of craze
That could help me survive
Survive times of growth
Turning antiques into diamonds
The best thing you can leave your children
Is not money, antiques, a car or a house
It is the ability to generate hope and enthusiasm
If they have that, they have everything
The best way to generate it is to give it to others
The more you give, the more you receive
A simple formula that works
Try it today if you can
THE CANDLE
candles gulp and flicker
in a new altitude
old caves of crazy
waxed out warning
stars
plummeting to their
dark new address
less stressed
than before
in absence I revolve
shrouded in my resolve
of deceitful sheets
a constellation
shattered rainbows
and chandelier
antiques
© Kim van Breda
THE CANDLE
candles gulp and flicker
in a new altitude
old caves of crazy
waxed out warning
stars
plummeting to their
dark new address
less stressed
than before
in absence I revolve
shrouded in my resolve
of deceitful sheets
a constellation
shattered rainbows
and chandelier
antiques
© Kim van Breda—11 December 2015
Gold Doesn’t Tarnish
Gold doesn’t tarnish
and the pinky poesy ring
which grandfather found
while plowing his field
is as bright as the day
it was first slipped it
on her finger.
But the promise
of love inscribed within
still shines though their
fingers are long gone.
(Inspired by an episode of
the British Antiques Road Show.)
If a man won't come
to life if he doesn't integrate
the landscape,
if he doesn't share the
humanity and the
nature he will be condemned
to be a fossil,
and will live in the collection
room antiques,
or museum turn
one piece... !
He liked new shiny
Wanted everything chrome and fresh
Everything modern
She was old-fashioned
Lived life surrounded by antiques
Her dress had lace
He drove a sports car
’51 T-bird for her
Nothing in common
Married thirty years
Their true love was amazing
Ask their six children
If you don’t believe
Ask their sixteen grandchildren
Opposites attract
If the man doesn't come
to life, if he does not integrate
the landscape,
if he doesn't share the
humanity and the
nature, if he will condemn
to be a fossil,
and he will live in the collection
room antiques,
or museum turn
one piece... !
The Passion
It was a burning need
the desire to hold and hoard
not cars or rare antiques
but small and natural things
coloured stones from a beach
pales driftwood’s sculpted forms
parrots’ feathers of every hue
and discarded skin of a snake
such wonders of diversity
a bower built of treasured finds
until they overwhelmed my home
overtook the room for me.
Distress!
Driven by time
tension, traffic, turmoil,
Washington D.C. drags me down.
Taking the train to nearby Kilmarnock,
antiques and art shops fill my day.
At KC's Crabs and Cues,
food and pool will
dis stress!
April 26, 2017
Sponsor M. L. Kiser
Contest Name Give me a Rictameter!
Kilmarnock is a place in Virginia about a hundred miles from DC.
These are antiques the old lady said.
All of them?
She nodded.
Even these?
I held up a Fisher Price toy barn.
Especially that! She said.
I left feeling bewildered.
I had just held up my children’s favorite childhood toy.
Are my children also antiques?
And if they are antiques,
Where do I stand? What does this make me?
I got into my covered wagon and put a comforter over my head.
n Earnest's evocative Emporium
there's odds ends a whatnot or two
or they can do a brickbat
novelty knick-knack bugaboo
all nice and bright as a button
altho' they're twice as kitsch
odd oddments and sodments
curious curios contained in a niche
as well as folderol and bric-a-brac
brought from across the border
but the house specialty is really
antiques made to order
The moon’s peaking tonight.
It’s June with her strawberry cheeks.
Not time for fright or flight.
Childlike brilliance of us antiques.
We look upon the past,
Shimmering diamonds in rough.
How long will our lives last?
So much blither-blather seems fluff.
(Hyperbolically, seen it all.)
Still, the strawberry moon excites.
(T.V. shows in the Fall.)
Life is full; so’s the moon, it’s light.