Short Bric A Brac Poems
Short Bric A Brac Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Bric A Brac by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Bric A Brac by length and keyword.
cloves in oranges
cinnamon and rain
steam condenses
on cabinets and windows
and as tears
on bric-a-brac angels
purely decorative
their existence in
my mother’s kitchen
I never understood
When something of substance is written,
It impedes the senses.
When bric-a-brac is offered,
People flock to it.
At the end of life
Those of common taste
And full of depravity
Will never escape
earth's gravity.
Instead of a purse, Miss Prudie Plunkett carried a frumpy sack
Brazenly swiping, filching, odd & ends and bric-a-brac...
Until one day at the five-and-dime
The store clerks gave her a terrible time
Banned her for life and labeled her a kleptomaniac!
A kiss corrodes on the statue’s lips,
Frozen for centuries,
A tear made of marble softly slips
Downward. But no one sees.
The tourists walk past, indifferent.
Bric-a-brac, they ignore.
Erotic emotion in stone’s all spent,
Cold as the art gallery’s floor.
The stumble blocks, the parts and pieces
An exchange is met and cold conversation clings
Heavy as an ant under solar demise, a magnifying glass
Casual tumble-down into irrelevent, replaceable poses
It amounts to silence trapped within frames
Broken glass and bric-a-brac
create a special place to dream
your own niche, a loner’s paradise
a nirvana, where you can relax
fill it full of comfortable things
pretty items that you have collected
bric-a-brac that you love
bring in scents that bring joy
sights that help your heart leap
people who uplift you
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
Waif.
Land outstreches.
Wooden bric-a-brac, the dead man's coat
And shoes.
Dowager.
The mirror is a blade
Slanted and glittering.
A world within a world,
A sea upturned.
Decadence won and lost.
Earth
The skins.
A shade of untermensch.
A shade of obscurity.
Foreign clothes,
The blood of Eden.
These are the combinations
A lock and a lock.
Question mark throughout.
Sepia, sepia, sepia.
Salvaged trinkets from less mindful times,
doodads and trifles - mainly yours.
Electrical dinosaurs,
wrapped in wires and plugs – mine.
Not much furniture: particle board,
cheap impulsive clutter.
Browsers turn over knickknacks,
hope for an overlooked value;
we have none.
We have this jetsam, and this, and this
and that.
Treasures in-between bric-a-brac
and thingamajigs -
almost priceless, almost worthless.