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There exists a monster
Called The Jeweler.
Everything she sees has
A price tag attached
With a superficial value
Stamped on.
The lenses placed over her
Since the day she was born
Have corrupted all purity.
Forever complimented on
Appearances and mocked for thought,
She believes herself to be
Perfectly normal
Judging every living creature
For beauty and value.
Stars in the sky are meaningless
Like the grades from school,
She only wants materials
For improving her station.
From the boy down the street
To the Prada bag in hand,
Nothing worthwhile is free.
The only pleasure she knows
Is derived from an illusion
Of being a princess.
She is cold and calculating,
Countless crushed hearts
Have been left behind her
And she smiles fondly
At every tear she extracted.
Tragedy is her destiny
Do we blame the product
Or the ****** up society
Producing more daily?
The disheartening truth is
She The Jeweler exists
Inside of everyone of us
From you to me and beyond.
So who the **** do we lay
The blame on?
The society or the product?
The society or the product?
******* answer me!
Wrote this earlier today. Hope you enjoy~
Dawnstar Sep 2019
Four enchanted rainbows
From earth's fair far corners
Surge west at red canyons,
Cris-crossing my heartstone.

One by one, each sect fades—
Blue, yellow, every shade—
Becoming one pure white.
The Sky Jeweler fuses
The flowing lava streams
(Decanted airs, sunbeams)
With cloudless glints of light.

O jovial Jeweler,
Take this magic mission:
Cast a precious diamond
From carbon flakes and coal;
Meld my multicolored heart
And make me truly whole.
Sometimes I sink into the couch when I'm deflated,
Then I jump up, limp over to a crutch, and become fixated.
Carvin a rut, punchin myself in the gut, getting faded.
Even the most fortunate son has misfortune to come.
I don't believe in bad luck.
I believe that you ****** up and that luck is based on mistakes, so you're the one that makes it.
Don't blame the universe for the problems that you've created.
Live as an example of someone who is always elated to view all things as a whole,
And chooses to focus on what's good for his or her own soul,

Fully accepting the ugly and embracing the beautiful,
Not reachin a peak then sinkin so low,
Just grind up some tea and speak to the old
Who inhabit the art that you teach, but don't reach for the gold,
Cuz focus on money keeps you away from your goals.

Restore your faith in humanity.
Replace it with insanity.
Product placement causes cavities.
Your plan is ****** sick.

Weekend warriors,
Just a buncha losers, all a buncha boozers.
Ya’ll take all the cash you earned and get your wrists slapped
Cuz you hand it all back to your rulers.

Put a rock on your lady’s finger, take a trip down to the jeweler, and then later you can trade her in for a sequel of half the value like a gamer, but who are you kidding, you ain't no player.  
By 2 years and 3 babies later you’re filing papers,
And the rock gets used as the paper's weight,
And who gets to keep it is a bigger debate than
Who has to get up and feed the kids every morning before eight,
And rush em off to school before beatin a desk for 5 days straight.
But that rock ain’t worth ****, isn’t that great?

She drowns in a pool of tears while he drowns his in beer til he gains enough courage or cowardice to stand on the tracks
And waits to be splattered like paint on the front of a freight.
Or maybe it’s the other way around since all males and females don’t share the same traits.
Either way they're all left with the same bad taste in their mouths, and they can't spit it out, no matter how much they try to *****, cry, smile, or pout.
So they just wait, and they wait, and they wait, and ask "Why?",
But that's not what life is about.
Get up. Get Out. Step away from the couch.
Start stepping to the beat of your own drum
Instead of beatin the beaten path;
Trying to climb a ladder with no rungs.
A refined freestyle from the other day.
Joe Cottonwood Mar 2017
You, my old companion,
I’ve junked three trucks and still I keep you.
Buried five dogs. Raised three children
who are now raising children.
And still I wear you.

You jingle when I walk.
Nails clink in pouches.
The drill in its holster slaps my leg.
The hammer in its clip spanks my ****.
You bristle with screwdrivers, chisel,
big fat pencil, needlenose plier.
You call attention. Random kids
who have never seen a tool belt before
follow me around asking
“What are you doing?”
Then: “Can I help?”

You smell like me (and I, like you).
Leather, fourth decade.
I’ve washed your pouches with saddle soap,
sewn your seams with dental floss.
Now the web of your belt is fraying,
wrapped (silly, I know) with duct tape.

Your pockets fill over time.
Once in a while I remove every tool,
every last ***** and nail.
I hold you upside down and shake.
Sawdust, a dead spider, little strippings
of insulated wire will fall out.
And once, my missing wedding ring.
It had broken. I had taken it to a jeweler
for repair, but when I got there
I couldn’t find it. A year later,
you coughed it up.

When your webbing finally snaps,
when you drop from my waist,
maybe it’s you, old tool belt, I’ll take
to the jeweler for remounting,
for buff and polish. He’ll understand.
First published in *Workers Write!* April 2016
Sarina Dec 2012
Jesus looks so ruby red, dead
and your purring
wracks some embryo to

life, gave it a foreign ring –
hand-tested gold or
diamond surfaced from oceans:

or not, no.
No, it is just a mirror
and you are what makes it

look so beautiful, breathing
sea-salt and gasoline –
one perfect drop found a well

and down, down, down
it fell. I caught ants, I smashed
in their hissing heads.

Yes, yes, so red.
God would be proud of the
mystery you and I have kept.

We drag him along like a light,
lantern bleaching flame,
but as soon as the sun hits,

he, too, drops into a haze –
and lands cross-legged, think?
There is a jeweler up there

that makes his ankles shine,
they are bolder than the moon
cousin of his best side,

as you are mine. Mine,
some sort of wordly delight –
bravery, diamond, and be alive.
Nolithando Nov 2014
My biggest prayer is to love her right
I want to…
Love her like Christ loved the church
Love her like her Father in Heaven
Loves Her Love her like the Holy Spirit loves her soul
And love her like she was created to be loved

But sometimes….
Sometimes my flesh tries to intimidate me with that kind of love
Its like my spirit cries out from the depths of this corrupted prison
With the voice of abel screaming that
I have not loved her to the extent Christ loves the church
I want a crucifixion type love

Everytime I hug her I want my arms to be spread out on the cross
And I want to die to my childish ways
Everytime I look into her eyes
I want a crown of thorns to be placed on my head and surrender my thought life to her honor
I want the walks we take in the park
To be nails driven into my feet so that they will lead her with the authority of Moses
I want a crucifixion type love

I want my side to be pierced every time we laugh together
so that ill always remember that she is my rib
Everytime I sleep and dream of her
I want my back to be beaten with a catonine tails
so that I’ll always carry her burdens for her
Everytime I’m not with her
I want to stand before pilate and stand true to my relationship with her
I want those who have seen me to have seen her in ME when we are apart
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that will cause dead men to rise
When people gaze on us, they want to know who is this Christ that we speak of
Everytime she falls I want to take her in my arms like my cross and carry her up to calvary
I want men to mock me for not wanting to be like them
For not wanting to squander my love on various women
But to have the passion to pour out my love onto one soul for all of eternity
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that was predestined before eternity
I want a love that was birthed in my mother’s womb
I want a love that is willing to give up this world for her
I want a love that is immaculate
I want a love that makes the angel’s wish they were in our shoes
I want a love that will make me pray to God and say
Who am I that YOU are mindful of me to bless me with her
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that bleeds purity
I want a love that people will lie on us just to see us split apart
I want a love that will make me run away to a far village,
build a mansion for you with my bare hands
and send you love letters every day reminding you of me
letters that you can keep in a book and spend time reading them every day
I want a love that will make my spirit pray for you
I want a love that will make me walk on water
in the middle of the most dangerous storm for you
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that my friends will betray me because of my affection for you
I want a love that after we’re gone,
that for centuries to come men will aim to follow in our legacy
Everytime I rise in the morning
I want it to be my cross being raised upright for you
To stand on the hill of my life and portray a beautiful sacrifice
I want to be placed into the tomb of your heart
The Tomb that your mother and father built
I want a love that will rise with all power over adversity
I want a love that people will flock to see if it is real
I want a crucifixion type love

I want a love that shows my yearning for you
I want a love that even when we argue,
I still have a burning passion & desire to be with you
I want a love that heals
The kind of love that covers the wounds that were dug deep by the knives of infidelity and insecurity
I want a love that makes God get up and dance around his throne every time he sets his eyes on us
I want a crucifixion type love

So with all of that said
Lord, give me the strength to love her like you love me
Like the way you didn’t consider being equal with the Father a thing to be grasped
But you came and gave up your throne for the filth of this world
And in love, you served In the same way
Let me serve her unconditionally infinitely
Let me MAN UP
And quit wasting time playing games
and pursue her like you pursue your church
Because you have chosen me to be entrusted with her heart
So let me cherish it like a jeweler cherishes a diamond
Let me examine it and find out every minute detail about her worth

I want to love her
like Abraham loved Sarah
Like Isaac loved Rebecca
Like Jacob loved Rachel
Like Boaz loved Ruth
Like Solomon loved his Queen
I want a crucifixion type love

So into your hands I commit this relationship
Because I want to love her like you Love your church

I

WANT

a

Crucifixion

type

love
A fell in love with this Brent Rice piece the moment I heard it.
Andie Beier May 2013
god, you've excited me ever since sense of this fashion was foreign to me
the plagiarist ways that dictate my emotion will keep a safe distance at bay
i'm vying for the rose of her rejection
the dream was gold, reflecting her perfection
sweet, nasty girl, i'm inside of you under your fur, not unlike her
we'll take away smiles with the cold sweats and terrors incurred, evermore
Jon Tobias Dec 2014
The metal in this brass knuckle heart
punches my chest from the inside out

The valves, a semiconductor for the static
electricity of your touch

Who ever thought a defibrillator could be so soft?

And in the challenge of this love
I wonder what kind of mettle you're thinking
of now

And I think patience is found
on a molecular level inside the iron
in your blood

And love then, a stone ground down
from your ashes

I mean, pressure and heat are
what diamonds are made from

Tell me again of the struggles you shone through

And through that logic, we are precious stones
but so much softer than that

I want to hold you like the focused light
from a jeweler trying to make a sale
but so much more earnest than that

And what of the contradiction
between hardness
and softness

Because there is you

How can you be so hard
and so full of life?

How can you be so beautiful?
Marieta Maglas Jun 2015
Sulim said, ‘’the moon rises on the sky like a child.’’
''The jeweler is going to come tomorrow to
Bring me jewels for those wanting their life to be styled.
Although I can't sell them, I want all her dreams come true, ''


Frederick said. She replied, ''I can't wait to choose them.''
''They are expensive, and it's hard to find customers.''
Sam said, ’’ increase the price when two eyes light on a gem.''
''I have to deal with the coast-men, who are expert smugglers.''

'' 'Twas another world, when jewelry meant a business.
I had to wear a lapel clip to be fully dressed.''
Sam said, ''to the jewelry theft, I'm an eye witness.''
''To protect this ship from pirates, I'll do my best.''

He kissed her, '' you're the most important jewel for me.''
She touched her womb, ''this fetus is the most important.''
''And I hope he will become what I want him to be.
I know he feels, even his feeling is quite dormant.’’

(After a few seconds of thinking, Frederick continued to talk with her.)


''Are you sure it's a boy? '' ''I am absolutely sure.
Moreover, he will be like his dad.'' The man held her
Into his arms, '' I'm strong enough this fate to endure.
Is he as beautiful as me? '' He played with her hair.

Dreamy and meditative, Geraldine told him,
''He's already a sailor in my womb.'' He laughed.
''Son, I want you to hit her a little in a gym.''
She exclaimed, ''he moved.'' ''He’s maestro at this craft.''

(Early in the morning, Frederick and Geraldine woke up. They used to sleep in the same bed, although she was pregnant.
She had to prepare the breakfast for the sailors, and he had to go to the nautical bridge to take back the control of the ship.)

''You'll stay at Lisbon for a few years because the child
Must grow up enough to be taken with us on the ship.''
''I do not let you roaming through the freedom and the wild.''
''I don't go, I stay with you, '' he whispered lip to lip.

''Are you afraid of losing me? He asked tenderly.
''I'm afraid that something bad is going to happen.''
''With five belly dancers around fashion'd slenderly? ''
''Imagine this! You're going to be a real captain! ''

He laughed. She gave him a pat on the back with her cushion.
''Do you see those five lateen sails? They dance in the storm.''
He wanted to make love with her, but she kept on pushing.
He immobilized her screaming ''Love me to keep me warm! ''

Ismail knocked on the door and told Frederick that the jeweler was on the ship.

(to be continued...)

Poem by Marieta Maglas
PrinceAlexander May 2016
My reader, looking at the ring, have ever you been caught
On efforts, spent to make it, sudden flashing thought?
About sifting through waste rock to find the rare gem
Where mother-nature hided it from curiousity of men.

About jeweler's stone cutting skillful labor duty
To grind the gem, exposing all it brilliance and beauty?
About ring design, embodying stone in golden artful frame
Creating masterpiece to glorify forever craftsman's name?

Likewise, in poetry, the sense of being attempting to extract,
Bard feelings puts in words to shows time's connection act.
People wonder, how can Christ, be all things to everyone?
Without the proper perspective, Truth can be missed.
So carefully consider some ideas presented here,
before these spiritual concepts are mistakenly dismissed.

To the BUILDER, Christ is the Sure Foundation.
To the ARCHITECT, He is the Chief Corner Stone.
To the GEOLOGIST, He is the Rock of Ages.
To the SCULPTOR, He is the Living Stone.

To the STUDENT, Christ is the Incarnate Truth.
To the PHILOSOPHER, He is the Wisdom of God.
To the BANKER, He is the Hidden Treasure.
To the PREACHER, He is the Word of God.

To the DOCTOR, Christ is the Great Physician.
To the SERVANT, He is the Good Master.
To the THEOLOGIAN, He is the Author of our Faith.
To the EDUCATOR, He is the Great Teacher.

To the JEWELER, Christ is the Pearl of Great Price.
To the ARTIST, He is the One Altogether Lovely.
To the HORTICULTURIST, He is the True Vine.
To the FLORIST, He is the Lily of the Valley.

To the STATESMAN, Christ is the Desire of all Nations.
To the CARPENTER, He is the Eternal Door.
To the PHILANTHROPIST, He is the Unspeakable Gift.
To the LAWYER, He is the Lawgiver, Advocate and Counselor.

To the BIOLOGIST, Christ is the Life.
To the ENGINEER, He is the New and Living Way.
To the TOILER, He is the Giver of Rest.
To the SINNER, He is the Lamb Who takes all sin away.

Our Christ is a multi-faceted personality,
Who has something for everyone who comes to Him.
Therefore, we should continue to rejoice in Who He is,
by offering heart-felt praise through songs and hymns.



Author notes
Loosely based on:
Col 1:15-18; 2 Tim 2:19; Eph 2:20; Isa 26:4; 1 Pet 2:4-12;
Matt 28:20; Cor 1:24; John 1:1; Heb 12:2; Jer 17:14; Matt 19:16-17;
John 1:3; Matt 16:13-17; John 3:1-2; Matt 13:45; John 15:1;
SoS 2:1; Hag 2:7; John 10:7; Cor 9:15; James 4:12; 1 John 2:1-2;
Isa 9:6-7; John 14:6; Heb 3:1-4:13; John 1:29

By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2012, All rights reserved.


This poem is not meant to serve as an all encompassing list of professions; for example, here are a few more viewpoints not mentioned:

To the BAKER, He is the Living Bread.
To the JUDGE, He is the Righteous Judge of all Men.
To the NEWSPAPER, He is the Good Tidings of Great Joy.
To the OCULIST, He is the Light of the Eyes.
To the SOLDIER, He is the fortress.
To the CHRISTIAN, He is the Son of the Living God, the Savior, the Redeemer and the Lord.
JAM Oct 2021
Oh, my name is Jack Stewart,
I’m a canny gang man
And a rovin’ young fellow I’ve been.

I’m a piper by trade,
I’m a ramblin’ young blade,
And ‘tis many the tune I can play.

Now here’s a simple song
To say what they done.
I told them about all those fears
And away they did run.
they sure must be strong,
And they feel like an ocean
Being warmed by the sun.

Their mouth is open wide,
The lover is inside
And the tumults done.
Collided with the sign,
They're staring at the sun,
They're standing in the sea.

I’ve got acres of land.
I’ve got men at command.
I’ve always a dollar to spare.

Note the trees because the
Dirt is temporary.
More to mine than fact, face,
Name, and monetary.

Put money in my hand and I will do the things you want me to.
Vanity overriding wisdom, usually common sense.
Should I delete it? they said they'd read it.
They promised they would never ruin it with sequels.

So come fill up your glasses of brandy and wine.
Whatever it costs, I will pay.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day.

Now picture this, I'm a bag of *****, put me to your lips
I am sick, I will punch a baby bear in his ****
Give me lip, I'ma send you to the yard, get a stick
Make a switch, I can end the conversation real quick
Okay nobody speak, nobody get choked
You wanna here a good joke?

The comedy of man starts like this:
Our brains are way too big for our mothers' hips,
And so nature, she devised this alternative:
We emerge half-formed and hope
whoever greets us on the other end
Is kind enough to fill us in.
And babies, that's pretty much how it's been ever since.

Now the miracle of birth leaves a few issues to address.
Like, say, that half of us are periodically iron deficient.
So, somebody's gotta go **** something
While she looks after the kids.
She'd do it herself, but what, is he gonna get this thing its milk?
He says as soon as he gets back from the hunt, we can switch.
It's hard not to fall in love with something so helpless.
Ladies, I hope we don't end up regretting this.

That was then,
this is the twenty-first century,
And there’s too much aggravation.
It's the age of insanity,
What has become of the green pleasant fields of Jerusalem?

This is the age of machinery,
A mechanical nightmare,
The wonderful world of technology,
****** hydrogen bombs biological warfare.

There used to be a guy for this type of thing,
An underwater guy who controlled the sea,
Got killed by ten million pounds of sludge from New York
and New Jersey.

Water dissolving and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Under the water, carry the water
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean
Water dissolving and water removing.

Then there’s the creature in the sky
Got ****** in a hole, now there's a hole in the sky
And the ground's not cold.
And if the ground's not cold, everything is gonna burn.
We'll all take turns,
I'll get mine too.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the cold again after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground.

So I ain't got no ambition, I'm just disillusioned.
I'm a twenty-first century man but I don't wanna be here.
My mama said she can't understand me,
She can't see my motivation.
Just give me some security,
I'm a paranoid schizoid product of the twenty-first century.

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily
Oh joyfully, playfully watching me.
But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, oh responsible, practical.
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Oh clinical, oh intellectual, cynical.

Then I had visions, I was in them.
I was looking into the mirror
To see a little bit clearer
The rottenness and evil in me.

You know I think my schooling was phoney?
I guess it's hard not to agree.
You say, "It all depends on money
And who is in your family tree."
Right (right), you're ****** well right,
You got a ****** right to say.
Right, you're ****** well right,
You know, you got a right to say.

Been around the world and found
That only stupid people are breeding,
The cretins cloning and feeding,
And I don't even own a TV.

Put me in the hospital for nerves
And then they had to commit me.
You told them all I was crazy.
They cut off my legs, now I'm an amputee,
******* you.

I don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control,
No dark sarcasm in the classroom.
Teacher, leave us kids alone.
Hey! Uncle Sam! Leave us kids alone!

We wanna grow up to be
A debaser.

“Look at me, look at me
Hands in the air like it's good to be
Alive and I'm a famous rapper,
Even when the paths are all crookedy.
I can show you how to do-see-do.
I can show you how to scratch a record.
I can take apart the remote control,
And I can almost put it back together.
I can tie a knot in a cherry stem.
I can tell you about Leif Erikson.
I know all the words to "De Colores",
And "I'm proud to be an American".
Me and my friend saw a platypus.
Me and my friend made a comic book.
And guess how long it took.
I can do anything that I want cuz

Who gives a **** about an Oxford comma?
I've seen those English dramas too; they're cruel.

So, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth.”

“Look at me, look at me
Just called to say that it's good to be
Alive in such a small world.
I'm all curled up with a book to read
I can make money open up a thrift store.
I can make a living off a magazine.
I can design an engine
sixty four miles to a gallon of gasoline.
I can make new antibiotics.
I can make computers survive aquatic conditions.
I know how to run a business,
And I can make you wanna buy a product.
Movers shakers and producers,
Me and my friends understand the future.
I see the strings that control the system.
I can do anything with no assistance because

I give a **** about the Oxford Comma!
I climbed to Dharamsala too, I did.
I met the highest Lama.
His accent sounded fine to me.

Now, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth”

Comedy, now that's what I call pure comedy.
Just wait until the part where they start to believe
They're at the center of everything
And some all-powerful being
Endowed this horror show with meaning.

Now, Uncle Sammy, did you hear about this one?
Tell me, are you locked in the punch?
Sammy, are you grinding on a pelvis?
Hey baby, are you losing touch?

If you believed they put a man on the moon,
If you believe there's nothing up his sleeve,
Then nothing is cool.

Moses went walking with the staff of wood.
Newton got beaned by the apple good.
Egypt was troubled by the horrible asp.
Mister Charles Darwin had the gall to ask.
Well I took out my dogs and them I did shoot,
All down in the county Kildare.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day

And in the Twenty-First Century
From the height of the highway onramp we saw,
Two dogs, dead in a field,
Glowing on the oakland coliseum green seats wasteland,
Dogs, dogs we thought were dead,
They rose up, rose up when whistled at,
their rib cage inflating like men on the beach being photographed,
A guard dog, guard dog, for what? for what?
Against tofers ellis pennyless athletics fanatics,
Getting into games through a whole in the fence,
For the owner of the blue tarp tent,
Pitched by a creek beneath an onramp,
In the privacy of the last three,
Skin and bony tree, devoid of leaves,
And us undeceased, and our new cds,
Dippin' on goodies, oakland
it's hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead under a sky so blue.

But you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

I’ll say they secretly long to be some part of a car crash,
Long to see their arms stripped of the tendons,
The ****** of swelling exposed veins,
Webbing the back of their hands,
To be a red tendoned dog,
To be red tendoned dogs,
Blood breathing by the side of the highway.

Oh, their religions are the best.
They worship themselves yet they're totally obsessed
With risen zombies, celestial virgins, magic tricks.
These unbelievable outfits.
And they get terribly upset
When you question their sacred texts,
Written by woman-hating epileptics.
Their languages just serve to confuse them.
Their confusion somehow makes them more sure.
They build fortunes poisoning their offspring,
And hand out prizes when someone patents a cure.
Where did they find these goons they elected to rule them?
What makes these clowns they idolize so remarkable?
These mammals are hell-bent on fashioning new gods
So they can go on being thoughtless animals.

See the dwarfs an' see the giants,
Which one would you choose to be?
And if you can't get that together
Here's the answer, here's the key.
You can freeze like a a man of century thirty.

I'll save my breath and take it with me
Till a hundred years and so
Shame you won't be there to see me
Shaking hands with Charles de Gaulle.
Play it cool an' Saran wrap all you can
Be a century thirty man,
You can freeze like a century thirty man

So I live like everyday is my last,
But I plan for tomorrow as if I will never pass.
A Pharoah on the subway
Who never had dreams of jets but fell asleep on run ways.
I just know that one day, that anything I needed I could mold.
Get everything you want it ain't always good for the soul.
A mix of self-worth, some help, a little control,
And I don't know the rest, good as mine is your guess,
The recipe ain't the best, to make it though is our quest,
And if you choose to accept, the meaning of life is yes.

So, we ain't going to the town,
We're going to the city.
Gonna trek this **** around
And make this place a heart to be a part of, again.

That’s the dream but
There are times when all the world's asleep,
The questions run too deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned.
I know it sounds absurd,
Please tell me who I am.

Is this my starring role
Or just a cameo?
Who am I living for?
Well, I can't take no more,
'Cuz when it rains, it pours
What am I living for?
I don't got much, but I got heart and soul.
I found myself through all the highs and lows.
Oh Will I drown in the pain,
Or go dance in the rain?
What am I living for?

So, I can lead a nation with a microphone?
And I can split the atom of a molecule?
Look at me, look at me
Drivin' and I won't stop
And it feels so good to be alive and on top
My reach, is global
My tower, secure
My cause, is noble
My power,
is pure.

And it’s the end of the world as we know it.
it starts with an earthquake
Birds and snakes, and aeroplanes
And Lenny Bruce is not afraid
In the eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
World serves its own needs
Don't mis-serve your own needs
Speed it up a notch, speed, grunt, no, strength
The ladder starts to clatter
With a fear of height, down, height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games
And a government for hire and a combat site
Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry
With the Furies breathing down my neck.

Paranoia, paranoia,
Everybody's coming to get me.
Just say you never met me,
I'm running underground with the moles, digging holes.
Hear the voices in my head,
I swear to God it sounds like they're snoring.
But if you're bored, then you're boring.
The agony and the irony, they're killing me.

I’m dead but the world keeps spinning.
Take a spin through the world I left,
It's getting dark a little too early.
Am I missing the dearly bereft?

Timmy, Timmy, Timmy Turner
He was wishin' for a burner
To **** everybody walkin'
He knows that his soul in the furnace

Young man walkin', wishin' for a burner
Four, five, six, ten ratchets on 'em
Ten men with 'em, ten clappin' on 'em
Dead men with 'em, dead men, get 'em
Four-five rip 'em, four-five zip 'em
You talk money, young men get 'em
Beluga, beluga, beluga
he fell in love with the Ruger
he fell in love with his jeweler
he fell in love with the mullah
It's all about the rule
It's all about the move
It's all about the rules

That was then,
Now I am a man, man, man,
Up, up in the air
And I run around, round, round, round
this downtown and act like I don't care.
So when you see me flying by the planet's moon,
You don't need to explain if everything's changed
Just know I'm just like you.

So I pull the switch, the switch, the switch inside my head.
And I see black, black, green,
and brown, brown, brown and blue, yellow, violets, red.
And suddenly a light appears inside my brain
And I think of my ways,
I think of my days
and know that I have changed.

So, be easy and free,
when you’re drinkin’ with me
I’m a man you don’t meet every day.
a lyric poem
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
The simplest word is hard to say
once blood has leaked within the brain.
The internal fires of life have died,
though the exterior seems the same.
He struggles saying yes or no,
He suffers visibly with pain.
His family, sadly, watches on
As the patriarch plays his endgame
Its like a cosmic jeweler tried,
To make a brilliant diamond cut;
If successful, it would have shone-
But he missed his mark and
  marred the stone
IN a jeweler's shop I saw a man beating
out thin sheets of gold. I heard a woman
laugh many years ago.
  
Under a peach tree I saw petals scattered
.. torn strips of a bride's dress. I heard
a woman laugh many years ago.
Yasha Harkness Jun 2015
when I die
I'd like my ashes to be made into a diamond.
that way when the jeweler shapes it and sets it in a pretty ring for my beloved's grandchildren/descendants
that will be a better rendition of me,
a properly shaped, smoothed and polished human-that-was.
I like to think all the bad qualities I know I possess would be pared down to a socially acceptable version of me that you would, finally, be proud of.
Ryan Croft May 2014
I notice that the hair is gone
so did the frog.
I can help to hold the tears back
I know its all my fault
the cigarette stains on my fingers are back
I washed you the dishes and put them on the rack.
you wanted a full commitment and I failed.
You cried you eyes dry
I ran and ran and ran.
i didn't know it was this bad
I ran and I ran.
I'm horrible at this poetry
and I read yours just now
you deserve that colata ring that i saw at jeweler
you should know that my heart will never mend
If I had one more Chance I would never let go
I would consider it sacred all the way to the end.
I lay here on the floor
no bed nesscisary
im afraid to get up
it just to scary
you say that I'm so smart
I think im so dumb
maybe just I drink or hit or just one
until it all goes numb.
If you were able to come back
we could build a snowman
And I would be a real man.
Ok......byeeeeee
Richard Riddle Apr 2014
The store would soon be closing-
it was fifteen to the four-
When the bells began to jingle-
as the old gent came thru the door.

A "dapper" chap with a bowler hat-
a three piece suit, to look his best-
And when he turned, you could see it--
a watch fob, draped across his vest.

With a pale, and wrinkled fist
in his hand, he firmly grasped-
A black, and polished "walking stick",
which added to his class.


He stood there, as if frozen,
poised upon the floor-
As his eyes perused the displays,
neatly placed throughout the store.

"Gentlemen, I would like to see,
your "time pieces" of variety-
Pocket watches, by which they're known,
and since a child, I've always owned."

From his accent, he was English-
with a bit of Scottish brogue-
Perhaps, here on a visit-
or on a trip around the globe.

"Allow me sir," the clerk replied-
to show you all our stock-
"Some pieces are rather old and rare-
and kept under key and lock."

He laid his hat atop a case-
and propped the stick against a wall-
Then began an examination
of those "time pieces", one, and all.

The mantle clocks began to chime-
and a cuckoo came alive-
The old gent seemed astonished-
that his "time piece" noted "five."

"Gentlemen, I must apologize",
showing a little red upon his face,
"But, I'll be back on the 'morrow'
to this fascinating place."

With hat in hand, he placed it-
hiding hair of solid gray-
Then doffed his hat, and smiling-
stepped through the door and walked away.


At closing time, they still weren’t through-
for they all had a job to do-
They had to clean the entire shop-
and each had a choice, broom, or mop?

Shades were drawn across the doors-
as each began their chosen chores,
When one called out, in a voice so thick-
“that old gent forgot his stick!”

There it was, the "stick", often called a "cane",
for their use is much the same-
Standing *****, against the wall,
with a shaft, a half inch thick, and thirty-six tall

But, it was the "hilt", the handle,
also called a "haft”-
That was the perfect compliment
to that "straight and perfect" shaft.

It glistened, and reflected-
and a joy to behold-
For that haft was fashioned
in 18 karat gold.

Oh, it was beautiful, don't you see-
from a pharaoh's treasure, it could be-
How could such a piece be left behind,
a piece so intricately designed?

On many accessories of it's kind-
there is a space, that is designed,
Either on the top, or on the side-
to which a name can be applied.

Ah yes, a person, perhaps someone of fame-
for in old fashion, style, and script,
Was etched the name of
"Noah Zane."

The cane was wrapped in  jeweler's cloth,
and placed inside the safe-
For the "old gent" would be returning
to this "fascinating place."

With a sigh, I have to tell you,
tho' sad, but it's a fact-
That "old gent" who had the stick-
he never did come back!

Shops of like were "queried"
both jewelery and the pawn-
And neither hint, nor clue was found-
for that "old gent" was gone.

So, what has come of the "stick",
or "cane" you wish to call?
I'm sitting here looking at it-
for its mounted on my wall.

(Thanks folks, for your patience)
copyright-richard riddle- April 15, 2014
The walking stick/cane has been in possession of my family
for 83 years. In 1932, San Diego, California, my father was employed as a jeweler/watchmaker, and was working the day the "old gent" visited the store.
Richard Riddle Feb 2015
The store would soon be closing-
it was fifteen to the four-
When the bells began to jingle-
as the old gent came thru the door.

A "dapper" chap with a bowler hat-
a three piece suit, to look his best-
And when he turned, you could see it--
a watch fob, draped across his vest.

With a pale and wrinkled fist
in his hand, he firmly grasped-
A black, and polished "walking stick",
which added to his class.


He stood there as if frozen,
poised upon the floor-
As his eyes perused the displays,
neatly placed throughout the store.

"Gentlemen, I would like to see,
your "time pieces" of variety-
Pocket watches, by which they're known,
and since a child, I've always owned."

From his accent, he was English-
with a bit of Scottish brogue-
Perhaps, here on a visit-
or on a trip around the globe.

"Allow me sir," the clerk replied-
to show you all our stock-
     Some pieces are rather old and rare-
and kept under key and lock."

He laid his hat atop a case-
and propped the stick against a wall-
Then began an examination
of those "time pieces", one, and all.

The mantle clocks began to chime-
and a cuckoo came alive-
The old gent seemed astonished-
that his "time piece" noted "five."

"Gentlemen, I must apologize",
showing a little red upon his face,
"But, I'll be back on the 'morrow'
to this fascinating place."

With hat in hand, he placed it-
hiding hair of solid gray-
Then doffed his hat, and smiling-
stepped through the door and walked away.


At closing time, they still weren’t through-
for they all had a job to do-
They had to clean the entire shop-
and each had a choice, broom, or mop?

Shades were drawn across the doors-
as each began their chosen chores,
When one called out, in a voice so thick-
“that old gent forgot his stick!”

There it was, the "stick", often called a "cane",
for their use is much the same-
Standing *****, against the wall,
with a shaft, a half inch thick, and thirty-six tall

But, it was the "hilt", the handle,
also called a "haft”-
That was the perfect compliment
to that "straight and perfect" shaft.

It glistened, and reflected-
and a joy to behold-
For that haft was fashioned
in 18 karat gold.

Oh, it was beautiful, don't you see-
from a pharaoh's treasure, it could be-
How could such a piece be left behind,
a piece so intricately designed?

On many accessories of it's kind-
there is a space, that is designed,
Either on the top, or on the side-
to which a name can be applied.

Ah yes, a person, perhaps someone of fame-
for in old fashion, style, and script,
Was etched the name of
"Noah Zane."

The cane was wrapped in  jeweler's cloth,
and placed inside the safe-
For the "old gent" would be returning
to this "fascinating place."

With a sigh, I have to tell you,
tho' sad, but it's a fact-
That "old gent" who had the stick-
he never did come back!

Shops of like were "queried"
both jewelery and the pawn-
And neither hint, nor clue was found-
for that "old gent" was gone.

So, what has come of the "stick",
or "cane" you wish to call?
I'm sitting here looking at it-
for its mounted on my wall.

(Thanks folks, for your patience)
copyright-richard riddle- April 15, 2014
The walking stick/cane has been in possession of my family
for 83 years. In 1932, San Diego, California, my father was employed as a jeweler/watchmaker, and was working the day the "old gent" visited the store.
Let’s make this our night.

Let’s kick our good habits
and grow our bad ones in neat
rows of dandelions
and ponder what marks
**** from flower.

Let's fill a jar with memories
and dash it against the ground
when it's full so we can play
with them once more.

Let’s empty our brains
like a register full of quarters
chase them along the pavement
and roll them into neat piles
to trade for pennies.

Let’s cut holes in our pockets
and fill them with time
until the last echo of
a tick splits our emptied skulls
and drains out the nothing.

Let's rob a jeweler
and give diamonds to the homeless.
Their babbles are endless
and they've earned something for that.

Let's ink our pens with the clouds
and write odes to the sea
where they meet and watch them turn
orange then red then purple then black
then dissipate with wind.

Let's read tea leaves and palms
like books written by wise
old men with wide smiles
and wider minds.

Let's blow out the city lights,
dance with the stars,
and apologize profusely
for stepping on their toes.

Let's wash our hands with acid
and leave empty fingerprints
on likewise glasses
staining breathless lovers'
heaving antipathy

Let's play to lose
and throw the pieces
about the floor when
our plan goes awry, smiling.

Let's slowdance to anachronisms
while the ether whispers
around and between us and through us,
until it settles in us.

Let's watch the clouds
from atop a sinking city
and marvel at how the water's
lovely this time of year.

Let's fall in love
and drown together
in whichever order
the universe decides.

Let's make this our night
It may be our last.
(c) Tyler Ryan Rodriguez 2010
Neville Johnson Nov 2016
The hat he wore with ease
Indoors and onstage
The raspy baritone, the sage
The jeweler with words
That sparkled in our minds
The smiling cynic
The optimist at times
Brave, uncompromising
Knowing it would soon end
We wanted it darker
He knew we did
So he gave it to us straight
Our rhyming friend

I've been to Hydra
Stood outside his home
It's a simple place
Where cars do not roam
I breathed the same air
Marveled at the deep blue sea
I was drawn there by his spirit
By his poetry
And now he's gone
We shall carry on today
We have to
He would have wanted it this way

And we will surely miss him
For us, he does pray.
Lazarus Poole Jul 2011
WAKING UP, OPENING AND RUBBING THE SLEEP FROM MY EYES,

AND LOOK OVER TO MAKE SURE SHE’S STILL THERE AND YES YOU ARE TO MY SURPRISE.

THE MEMORIES START TO COME UP LIKE PREVIEWS OF A MOVIE,

YOU MOVE A LIL AND I COULD TELL THAT, MY LOVE IS STILL SLEEPY.

I REMEMBER THE FIRST DAY WE MET, SHE LOOK AT ME AND SMILED;

NOT KNOWING IT WAS THE BEGINNING OF MY DEMISE.

I TRIED TO PLAY IT COOL AND NOT LET HER KNOW THERE WAS SINGING IN MY HEART,

I GOT TO TALK TO HER, I GOT TO HEAR HER VOICE, I CAN’T LET THIS FEELING GO, I GOT DO THIS SMART.

SO I WALKED UP TO HER TRYING NOT TO MAKE MYSELF LOOK A FOOL.

PLAYED IT MY MIND, BUT I JUST ASK AND PLAYED IT COOL.

AND EVER SINCE, A SMILE HAS BEEN IMPLANTED,

MY WORLD HAS SLOWED DOWN, NOT SO FRANTIC.

THAT’S RIGHT, LOL, WE’RE CRUISING AT THE RIGHT PACE,

AND THE BETTER WE HAVE GOT TO KNOW EACH OTHER, IT FELT YOU WERE IN THE RIGHT PLACE.

I CAN’T BELIEVE GOD LET AN ANGEL DOWN FROM HEAVEN TO BE BY MY SIDE,

AND BECAUSE OF YOU I HAVE BECOME EVEN MORE HUMBLED AND FULL OF PRIDE.

NO EYELINER, LIPSTICK, OR BLUSH.

I KNOW I LOVE HER; THIS IS MORE THN SOME JR. HIGH CRUSH.

SO, TO COMPLETE THEMY FAMILY PUZZLE,

I STOP BY JEWELER AND A FLORIST FOR WHITE ROSES; “TWO DOZEN!”

SO I CALL YOU AND SAY, “HEY LOVE, HOW WAS YOUR DAY? I MUST SEE YOU.”

SHE SAYS, “HEY BABE, HEARING YOUR VOICE JUST MADE IT GREAT. SURE!”  SHE HAS NO CLUE.

I APPROACH HER WITH CONFIDENCE IN MY HEART AND MY STOMACH HAD BUTTERFLIES,

BUT I KNEW THIS IS THE MOMENT, SO I CROSS ALL THE T’S AND DOT ALL THE I’S

SO I KISSED HER AND GAVE HER THE ROSES;

SHE STILL DON’T KNOW I’M ABOUT TO PROPOSE.

EVERYTHING BECAME TOTALLY STILL AND STARS WERE SO BRIGHT,

IT WAS THE PERFECT SUMMER NIGHT.

AS I GET DOWN ON MY KNEE WITH TEARS FORMING IN MY EYES, “AS I LOOK UP TO YOU AND GOD, PLEASE SHARE MY LIFE?”

“PLEASE BE MY BETTER HALF, MY SIGNIFICANT OTHER………………………………………….MY WIFE.”
NeroameeAlucard Nov 2014
An uncut diamond is like a person,
The have more flaws than things that
Draw them to other people but
Much a diamond all of us need a jeweler to
Cut away these flaws so we can be seen
For the priceless gems that we are
Here to add beauty to a dark and depressing
World in flames where almost nothing stays the same
But true love and friendships and even thoughs
Are questionable at best
once again, one of the first poems i ever wrote... god i ****** back then.
Maxine Robbins Oct 2014
I am abrasively myself forever and always
I come off as an awkward, perverted, introverted lady
I tend to overthink everything anyone ever says to me
I am heavily affected by things other people aren’t
I put deep meanings on things I shouldn’t
I believe every word of my horoscope to give myself a little hope for the day
I cling to my remaining friends with all of my strength because I am already lonely enough
I am a hopeless romantic but pretend I’m not cause I gotta keep up my reputation
I have a reputation for being hard to talk to but easy to get into
I want someone to love me so sometimes I believe if they get into me they’ll love me then
I know that is a stupid idea but I just can’t help thinking it because its called making love right
I get angry very quickly if people don’t reciprocate my friendship at the same level I give it
I tend to ride a tidal wave called depression that has its ups and downs
I plead with my head every day that I don’t go under and drown
I hate hurting someone’s feelings even if by accident I will never forgive myself
I don’t care if you hurt my feelings at all I have my walls built up so don’t worry
I have compassion flying out of my chest for even the most spoiled rotten people
I will take a bullet for a stranger if given the chance because they deserve to live
I don’t know if I deserve to live though sometimes I truly wonder
I still miss the people whose friendships I have lost even if it was years ago
I believe every human being is good despite their obliviousness and their selfishness
I do my best to help my single mother even when she doesn’t see it
I love my little sister like my own child and I take care of her like it
I have passion for everything I do from my job to just being in school
I grew up way too fast and I get angry because no one can understand how I think
I guess its because I have no father and try to take care of my mother and myself
I think I may be one of the only kids who do that
I was not born into a wealthy family my mother is a grocer and my father was a jeweler
I have more pride for my parents than kids whose parents are CEO’s and business people
I believe I have learned more about being a good person than people who are handed it all
I would rather die than do nothing with my life
I could never live with myself if I didn’t put others before me
And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Robin Carretti May 2018
Walking, talking, eating,
One lover only baking,
hum waking- up
Is anyone good
at loving?
Always
giving
metals
The modern
love robot

((ATM))  
machine
There is
no
place
Oh! Yes
Lend me all
lovers
at my home

The ((OZ)) fame
Artsy Auntie
(EM) so lame

Listening to
(REM)
Headrush
Makeup
blush also
*** in-between
My break up
My lunch hour
All over again
throwing
cash
way off the street
look out I almost
crashed
_


That Casanova
racer
slim
reducer

My
((ATM))
Sexter machine
Pixstar diet
Laughing to
the bank

You are
better
But in the
least seeing
Her for what
she is
The beauty
she is making
up the beast
He is the
Eight personalities
Burnt money
Miss French fries
Baby blue eyes cry
My cash went dry
Henry the eighth

The love affair in
September Goth
Just recently shot
Lord of the rings
Be sure you don't get
the blues
She-devil jeweler
Saphire I
got rushed
She fires out!!
She Forgets **
The finest
champagne
candles

On the tenth
Cash reminder rush
I cannot recall
how I
got here?

I will be back
for the cash!!
That gave her
Total recall

Over there
someone
left more
cash
Someone
overloaded trash
What cash potential
her  best clothes

He looked like
moon dancer
Jacksons five
black glove
Casanova the
best climate
For Cash
Australian mate
Jumping
Jack Flash
You cant always
get what
you want
But if you try
sometimes
You might get
what you need
Don't rush
your life away

With that
Casanova
Don't rush your
stars of
the Nova Scotia
This is comical so about cash time just rushes by in a flash.
Who do you love to take your time this world is crazy you may not have the time
Maxine Robbins Sep 2014
Sometimes I like to think
That you just moved real far away
And that you got a job being a jeweler
At a different far away jewelry store
Because you hated working
For your father who never
Believed in you the right way
And that you just couldn’t drive
That silly old van hours to see us

And then I remember
I drive that van now
I have your guitars on your rack
In my room near the window
Eggay the cat is here
Not at your Fishtown Philadelphia house
I wear your ratty denim coat
To school to feel your embrace
When I cannot keep a smile on
I keep your bifocals locked up
In a display case with your
Memorial pamphlet
That says you were buried
On January twenty first
Of two thousand ten.

I do wonder on days like this
What you’ll say to me
When we see each other again
I wonder if your tears will be so real
Like they were when we had to leave
The vacation early because I ****** it up

I wish I could inhale your scent
Of cigarettes and beer and
Father

I wish I could remember what you sounded like
So crisp in my head
Yet the fear you caused absent in my nerves

I still remember every tattoo you had
Encompassing your whole body
In a beautiful mural
Like the ones we’d see
When you drove us from mother’s home
To yours

You had Julia in purple on your left shoulder
Overseeing the chinese dragon
That flew through the mountains and sunshine on your arm

Rayna’s name was inked underneath that same arm
And my name inked underneath the right
Mine sitting underneath another dragon
Sweeping through a thunderstorm

On your one leg was a blue diamond
A homage to your passion and your life
On the other was a daddy sea horse
With its two babies in tow

On your back was a few odd ones
Aliens smoking a joint in their ship
A heart made out of machinery
And knuckles punching someone’s teeth out

I remember being so proud
To have a daddy who was so
Unapologetically himself
Despite him being unapologetic
When he hurt people

And I am still proud to say
I am your daughter
Who is just as uniquely unapologetic
For who I am
As you were
Love you daddy
T Stevens Feb 2014
Watching kinectic motion ball strikes.
Hearing the cleaning lady enter.
Trying to work but I keep thinking of you.
What are you doing right now?
I pick up my cell phone and wish I could call.
I sent her away I want to be alone to think.
My time with you on net has been great.
Your personality is as gorgeous as your face.
You get me and give me reasons to smile.
I wake up happy knowing I can chat with you.
What am I doing on Valentine's day?
Reading dozens of cards I bought for you.
I wanted to FTD several dozens roses.
Where to have them delivered?
What I wont hear on or get on Valentine's day,
"LOVE THE FLOWERS" and no hugs.
I walk past the same jeweler's every day.
I want to go in and buy you gifts.
Confession time - I special ordered off line.
On my desk is a diamond choker, earrings
and matching tennis bracelet.
The best money can buy.
My heart still skips a beat
I still get butterflies in my stomach.
I have hopes that next year
wont be another lonely Valentine's day.
Keeping your gifts safe.
I'm disappointed but not upset.
I'm the understanding type.
By now all who read my poems including you knows this is about you Betty Ponder.
I want to give you a big bear hug.
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
Robert C Howard Sep 2015
MUSICA ANTIQUA

I - Time Keeper

Prize of a difficult hunt
fresh meat seared in the fire pit:

The ****-clothed victor
severed pieces with his flint
to feed his mate and son
then idly stroked a hollow log
with his crimson tinted club.

He picked up the pace
when the child began
to laugh and whirl
about the flames -
his mother' contented smile
telling, that for a spell at least,
serenity ruled the glade.

II - Found Flutes

In a time too early for telling.
one of our kind unearthed
a dry hollow bone and blew.

Its tones were pleasing
but many more could be found
by scoring several holes in its side.

Though carbon dating may tell
to a millennium or so, when,
no one can ever say why.

III - To Build a Lyre

A Grecian soldier on a cyprus stump
cut holes in a bow too lax for arrows
and gently swept his weathered fingers
across the new strung cords
then composed a lyric to Pan's amors
and a second to brave Alexander.

The soldier, well pleased
resolved to fashion a nobler frame
for his dulcet strings
and raised worthy songs
to Apollo and Terpsichore.

MUSICA MODERNA

IV – The Music Press

In his modest shop in Venice
Ottaviano Petrucci turned the wheel
and pressed notes to paper
for music's first edition.

Squares and diamonds peppered the staves
and tunes of Obrecht and Josquin des Prez
soon graced the salons
of Europe‘s most elegant palaces.

V - Sonata Pian e Forte

From a desk at St. Mark’s in Venice
Gabrieli pondered a question,
“How can an echo’s diminishing sound
be shown in a music score
so that one group of brass
can reflect the other
across the cathedral's nave? '

With two simple words he shifted forever
the course of music’s stream.
For the leaders he marked down “forte, ”
and their its echo marked down, “pian.”

VI - The Master of Cremona

Stradivarius extracted a maple sheet
From his curing vat in Cremona
and hung it to dry with the others -

Then taking his carving knives
He sculpted a cello's scroll
while a golden sheened violin
awaited his finishing cloth.

His secrets expired
when his time was fulfilled
but his magic sings on forever.

VII - Theodore Boehm, designer - flutist*

A gifted precious metal smith
desiring a more supple flute
applied all his art and skill
to its maze of rods and keys.

Each trial was scored
by his ears and fingers
until the door was unlatched.
to euphonious efficiency.
Clarinetists then coaxed him
to fashion their keys as well.

So behind every dixie licorice stick
or Debussy’s pastel faun
stands a persistent man
with a silver flute and
a jeweler's patient hands.

December, 2007
IndiGo Aug 2017
These decorative shackles I wear
Make me feel superior I know if my ancestors were to see me, they’d look in despair
I wear my diamond choker
And my gold rope chain slangs
I can’t wait for chaining day as I pride fully walk to the jeweler whistling and sing
These decorative shackles I wear
Ease the generational pains of the slave and tribal warfare
I know if our ancestors were to see us now, they’d see kings, queens and heirs
I sail the Atlantic ocean in large ships in awe at the view and the majestic blue
Ironically my ancestors sailed before me, but in slave sloops
Forgetting that this water tells my story, his-story and has my blood too
Only the strongest melaninated few surpass this ocean leaving a few behind
The only time they were freed from their shackles was when death took over
Deposing them over board
Never to see beyond that blinding hopeful horizon line
These decorative shackles I wear
These expensive whips I own- merely make up for what my ancestors never owned
If our ancestors could see us now
I wonder if they’d be proud
Perhaps they would frown and say
“You’re the modern day slaves now.”
From chains to chains you see how the cycle of black lives go
We’re the new era slaves this story is yet untold
These decorative shackles we flaunt and wear
Help to make the
European man billionaires.
These decorative shackles and chains make me feel free
It’s like I’m buying my form of freedom concealed as luxury.
So funny how you love someone
&
In an effort to let them go
You latch onto someone else

My Muffin...

Crazy how people effect your life
It has only been a month &
He is a distant yet present memory

I was in love with a man that I could not be with
So I found myself wrapped up in

My Muffin...

Such a big prize wrapped in a small package

How would you feel if you held it in your hands &
Then were told you couldn't have it?

Its Tragic!

I refused to cry over men long ago
But this one?
It hurt... I still didn't cry
Now it is hard to remember what it was like
The good times
Like my mind completely blocked the memory
I can tell you everything i know about him
But phone calls are faint...
Imagine it from my eyes for a moment

My Muffin....

He is this gem.
I researched it once or twice but never thought of collecting it
You learn more through a familiar source
Then it is in your possession
You hold it delicately at arms length
So precious yet so dangerous, you think
How will you ever handle such a thing?
You eventually build up the courage to
bring it closer to your chest
Then the Jeweler comes & says
"Sorry, they didn't tell you, you were only here to babysit?"
Even after i had polished it
grown attached to it
willing to call it mine
It wasn't even an option the entire time
That is when you learn that not all things that glitter, shine
Poem 8-- Muffin
Completes Collection
DP Younginger May 2018
She.
The girl who catches the eye, like fireflies in the fog,

She.
A majestic mountain, towering over my every thought with clouds of tomorrow,

She.
Fingers like feathers, tickling my heart with a few short strokes,

She.
A smile so free, teeth like ivory keys shining in song, a tongue giving directions,

She.
Unbelievably shadowed by immense rays of fascination, I can't look around her,

She.
So innocent and strong, a face solid with concrete dimples, weighing the world down with her happiness,

She.
Loves me and I her, eyes like sparkling diamonds, hoping that I can be her jeweler, selling my love at half price,

She.
Looks at me with this fierce growl and I stare back with prey-like tendencies,

She.
Is more amazing than a soft winter blizzard, quietly falling over and over again, for me,

She.
Is.
Beautiful.
First poem written in 2018. Very simple with no edit.
You call me
A poet and a thief,
So let me indulge thee
I'll make this short and brief,
We're all alike you and I
A tooth for a tooth
And eye for an eye,
Makes us thick
As thieves in a booth
No lock to pick,
If the door is open
Why still do we break in
To steal a heart
Is this a sin?
If done with poetry
The rules are faulty,
Meant to be broken
Golden token
Means; there's not a ruler
That can't crack
A diamond jeweler,
So we find ourselves back to back
Meeting on a level plain
Stealing syllables from the insane
We interpret and manipulate
All vowels and consonants in prose
Burglars thorns and words a rose...
©okpoet
Devin Bardot Feb 2014
Mind of steel

Heart of glass

Achilles tendon, again you bust your ***.



Sheets of petals

Bed of nails

The compassionate's downfall never fails.



Jeweler's eyes

Plastic blade

Aspiring to sculpt diamonds, rubies, and the sort.



Shaky nerves

Hands of clay

Always left broken, under the same damage report...
June 2013
Richard Riddle Mar 2016
The store would soon be closing-
it was fifteen to the four-
When the bells began to jingle-
as the old gent came thru the door.

A "dapper" chap with a bowler hat-
a three piece suit, to look his best-
And when he turned, you could see it--
a watch fob, draped across his vest.

With a pale and wrinkled fist
in his hand, he firmly grasped-
A black, and polished "walking stick",
which added to his class.


He stood there as if frozen,
poised upon the floor-
As his eyes perused the displays,
neatly placed throughout the store.

"Gentlemen, I would like to see,
your "time pieces" of variety-
Pocket watches, by which they're known,
and since a child, I've always owned."

From his accent, he was English-
with a bit of Scottish brogue-
Perhaps, here on a visit-
or on a trip around the globe.

"Allow me sir," the clerk replied-
to show you all our stock-
Some pieces are rather old and rare-
and kept under key and lock."

He laid his hat atop a case-
and propped the stick against a wall-
Then began an examination
of those "time pieces", one, and all.

The mantle clocks began to chime-
and a cuckoo came alive-
The old gent seemed astonished-
that his "time piece" noted "five."

"Gentlemen, I must apologize",
showing a little red upon his face,
"But, I'll be back on the 'morrow'
to this fascinating place."

With hat in hand, he placed it-
hiding hair of solid gray-
Then doffed his hat, and smiling-
stepped through the door and walked away.


At closing time, they still weren’t through-
for they all had a job to do-
They had to clean the entire shop-
and each had a choice, broom, or mop?

Shades were drawn across the doors-
as each began their chosen chores,
When one called out, in a voice so thick-
“that old gent forgot his stick!”

There it was, the "stick", often called a "cane",
for their use is much the same-
Standing *****, against the wall,
with a shaft, a half inch thick, and thirty-six tall

But, it was the "hilt", the handle,
also called a "haft”-
That was the perfect compliment
to that "straight and perfect" shaft.

It glistened, and reflected-
and a joy to behold-
For that haft was fashioned
in 18 karat gold.

Oh, it was beautiful, don't you see-
from a pharaoh's treasure, it could be-
How could such a piece be left behind,
a piece so intricately designed?

On many accessories of it's kind-
there is a space, that is designed,
Either on the top, or on the side-
to which a name can be applied.

Ah yes, a person, perhaps someone of fame-
for in old fashion, style, and script,
Was etched the name of
"Noah Zane."

The cane was wrapped in  jeweler's cloth,
and placed inside the safe-
For the "old gent" would be returning
to this "fascinating place."

With a sigh, I have to tell you,
tho' sad, but it's a fact-
That "old gent" who had the stick-
he never did come back!

Shops of like were "queried"
both jewelery and the pawn-
And neither hint, nor clue was found-
for that "old gent" was gone.

So, what has come of the "stick",
or "cane" you wish to call?
I'm sitting here looking at it-
for its mounted on my wall.

(Thanks folks, for your patience)
copyright-richard riddle- April 15, 2014
The walking stick/cane(banner photo) has been in possession of
my family for 83 years.
In 1932, San Diego, California, my father was employed as a jeweler/watchmaker, and was working the day the "old gent" visited the store.
Love of Mercury Aug 2014
Raven haired gives shadow
Returning no light
Dark eyes bleed fire
Glimmering light
Sharp tongue desire

A faceted soul,
More than sides to a coin
Mirrored Gemini, teeth bite
The long other side
From murderous delight
Love's deepest desire
Longing, welling, romantic

Like a diamond you shine
Uncut, raw passion
A jeweler's bind
Pieces of lapis
Vein fractured soul

Beautiful and broken
Delicate, strong to behold
Like a feathered breeze
You want to take flight
To love you is to hold you,
Give you touch, but
Forever you cringe

The lessons you learned
Affection is not told
History is family
Totally unknown
Approval denied

Fairy desire
Princess' hero a lie
Nothing to live for
Everything must die
Cruel reality's lie

My heart breaks, always cries
To hear you defeated
I listen to your whys
Let me help heal your hope
Build a future, so fine
Build dreams together
Please, Babe, try
I love you, Honey
Each facet, a surface so resplendent,
Till ground away with endless polishing
To find innate sparkle magnificent,
O’er timeless glow that we’ve been cherishing.

O the eons spent on its perfection,
Dulled easily without the jeweler’s lens.
What gain had from chiseled vivisection?
To scratch the surface with corrosive cleanse?

What value is in diamond edges smooth,
Where lines mark surfaces with precision?
Is natural shine too luminous to soothe,
So we treat works of time with derision?

Hardened we underestimate its glow,
Its care requires the finest instrument.
The process used to make it shine was slow,
But dulls with the pressure of improvement.
Instagram @insightshurt
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
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