you have small hands.
I looked at them,
How they shook
I placed them on my elbows,
Its okay- mine are smaller.
I looked at this girl,
Like I'd never seen a person
And placed my hand against hers,
both small, with graceful fingers
Finally grasping the concept
Of not always being alone.
I wish it was easy for me to do what you do,
But I have never been very good at opening myself up.
You do it with such elegance.
Your every word begs for attention and leaks a little of you into the air.
People breathe you like oxygen,
and have come to need you even more.
You are life.
Your eyes tell me what mine could be like
If I dared to follow in your
Albeit complicated footsteps;
once again you are the first one on the dance floor,
But the beat I hear most clearly when I'm around you
Is not the one you inspire Club One to clap to.
One million loose-lipped ladies and never a line about you,
because no one has it in them to talk about what isn't in you.
You are a poet's dream.
You are pure beauty in its rarest form--sincerity.
You are every coin thrown in a hat,
every victory yell,
every unexpected smile at the turn of something new,
every bird who refuses to fly in a pattern.
You are what's inside every note.
You are fiercely loved.
You are frustratingly, and unfathomably,
too good for words.
and only the sunshine deserves you.
Beautiful, Giant, Graceful
The sky is so dark, yet so bright.
Opposite my chamber window,
What does it mean when my heart wants to sing ?
And laughter cross my mind .
On the sunny roof, at play, two doves on the ledge
Watching me why I play ,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day watching me sing away
My long day at play another day passing by ,
What does all of this mean for doves to watch over me ?
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet as they can be ,
In this old world we live in , We we're not made to knowing
How to love a darken world ,
Squalling the first two years of our lives ,
In times if we see things like this , so beautiful like these doves
It is something you want to put in memory ,
Graceful games and friendly meetings, with so much singing ,
Do I daily watch and seeing the doves at play !
For these happy little neighbors that I call my own
Puts a smile on my face ,
These Doves always seem at peace ,
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.
My faithful little friends I love the way you play.
To run after material fame
Counted not rich sensitive game;
Among wealth, sex and love affairs,
Character is above all arbiter.
As adorn ornament each bridal's limb,
An artist make active clumsy-wart-stone;
Company bear trophy by aggressive troops
Oblige character graceful at distress grown;
The character die seldom minus bloom,
Yet en-lights personalty fade in gloom;
Usually left little paid proper care,
Although always seen inclined sincere;
Certain place customary said temple
Where almighty's statue noted install
Estimated body deserving only when;
Thermal of character never fall;
Effort need to build the character
Honesty and endurance are weapon mere;
By effacement total thought rankle
And block pulse hide egotism perennial;
Good name lost can regain later
But character pleases rare if blot;
A richest jewel survive human tread;
Turn soul ill, fret, spiritless on rot.
i was brutally attacked
the other day
though people were unable to see my wounds
i was assaulted by words
strung together in careless sentences
they made vicious weapons
of various differences
these word solders lined up
ready and eager
when they attacked
it was graceful and ruthless
left my feelings
gasping for breath
pummeled my heart
the wielder of these word solders
was blind to my brimming tears
and hurt expressions
as my attackers continued
to rip my insides
i had to
protect my fort
from further damage
i ushered my mind into a cellar,
self-consciousness and gasping feelings
into the doors of my heart
it was total lockdown
windows were shuttered
doors were double locked
my retreat was noticed
they now knew damage was done
but not the
spectrum it was on
they knew enough to see it hurt.
they strolled up to my heart in lock-down
slowly with a white flag
as they came closer i unlocked and looked
through the peephole
there they were
asking "what's wrong?"
saying sorry in a roundabout way
i opened the door for them to enter
i took a closer look at the flag
it was white
but around the edges
it was red
there would be more attacks where this came from
[Sidra of the Stars]
a goddess has awakened
eyes slowly open
light reflects off the irises
(recessive blue alleles on chromosome 15)
my name is Sidra
and I will not be diverted.
I stand under sol
I stand under the earth's satellite
I stand in the vale.
look upon my feet
the fine lines of support
and strength of design
golden light showers
my long legs
strong and graceful
gaze upon my curves...
look at my golden arms
that comfort babes
dig into the earth
and create abstractions
hands and fingers of elegance
given to me by my grandmother
nails to claw and hands to hold
look at my long neck
draped in silver metal and black glass
falling between my breasts
hips compliment the
curve of my spine and
the upward tilt of my chin
my hair is a golden light
shining over hoops of silver
and diamond studs
crystal pierces my nose
lips soft and full
eyes lined in black, never faltering
this goddess is aware
I will not abide
because you lack the courage
to face me.
I will not abide
or syrupy black selfishness.
I will not abide
I will not abide
I am Sidra
I move swiftly in the night
pen to paper
my body moves
sensuous and confident
lips curve upwards
the day descends with
distractions pulling awareness
into waves of concentration
tiny fragments of
thoughts and ideas
begin to build
for later contemplation
I know the minds of men.
I will not be diverted.
My power has been revealed.
I will protect the unprotected
And I will stand
Made of stars
And unleash Hell.
I will reign terror on your ego
and bring the sword down
on your garishness.
Naked and bareback on my warhorse
I will strike you down with silver spear
and you will pay for your misdeeds.
In all my thundering beauty
with nothing but logic and art
I will slam you to the wall
and declare you a fool.
I am Sidra of the Stars
I stand in the vale
I will not be diverted.
falling has never been a graceful act
it has always been a bit messy
over time we learn who to fall for
and we try not to get hurt
but over time I have not stopped
I still fall in love with the same men:
hey you look kind of broken
well I'm broken too
we can work perfect together
learning about our scars
and soft spots
actually don't worry about me
I love you too much
be as happy as possible
I will try to fix your broken parts
and try to fill your broken heart
just please never be sad again
I can't take it when such a soul
with the sadness we both have
I'll be okay
Don't worry about me
I can handle it
I've always handled it
I have to handle it
I love the flowing waterfall,
With graceful sounds it roars,
And flows down the cliff.
Surrounded by ferns and palm trees,
Is its gushing water,
I love the flowing waterfall.
Such a beautiful waterfall,
It's mighty sound echoes through the mountains,
With graceful sounds it roars.
I love the sound of the waterfall,
As it's roar echoes through the mountains,
And flows down the cliff.
a/b/c, d/e/A, f/g/B, h/i/C
To make the Cascade an even longer poem, use more lines in verse one. For example, if verse one has 6 lines, the poem must have seven stanzas so that each line of verse one is reused as a refrain in each following stanza (a cascading effect).
One tickling of my breath.
One naughty fantasy.
One piece, of forbidden bliss.
One haziness I chose to feel.
The seventh drip, of my virgin blood.
The light on the very tip of my tongue.
The fire of my thoughts; my minds, and even my slightest, hesitation.
A charm so genuine, clear, and vibrant;
But never raises; nor becomes too petulant.
A crush I firstly detested,
but to which now; I am most heartily attached.
And all in all, the prince I once prayed for,
the man I ever so sincerely dreamed of.
O, my Kozarev-
my very, my very own, Kozarev.
Had I not attended to yon duty that night-
There might have been no Kozarev at all;
Ah, that one night-that was indeed so blinding and tantalizing,
Yet full of auspicious words, and weary tasks;
And I felt a lot of fantasies were whirling about me-
Speeding about like they had never been before;
Making my auras more visible, and my shy lips form and seen more,
Ah, but all was, and still is-because of thee, Kozarev.
Ah, Kozarev, do you know not-how I often picture thee;
Thee with fits of exuberant temper; or joys so enigmatic, and tender.
Sometimes you startle me, or become simply too childish but lovely;
And offer a love I have never been used to, or shall be used to-or either.
I am charmed by your presence;
For 'tis much more valuable than any slice of gem;
Nor a number of countless diamonds, or divine salutations.
A love so vehement, a love too virulent.
A love not so tough, nor one too dramatic;
A love that fears betrayal and torment,
A love too expected, but never grow, nor be chaotic.
Ah, and sadly perhaps you are the last love-but the one
that shall never grow, regardless of how handsome you are;
Still, you are too far, and far away, from my felicity;
You are like an evil hero urging to be my temptation;
You adore my morning and flirt with my afternoon-
With some shy shades, that sadly shall disappear-or fade away, too soon.
Ah, Kozarev, you are real, but sometimes unreal as a painting;
Your heart knows not sorrow; nor desperate cries-that are all honest,
For your heart is not yours now, but someone else's.
Ah, how a woman-a similar being to me, can be so fortunate-
I know not how, for she is in possession if thee, and thy very fate;
She who shall live by thee and by thee only, grow old,
She whose hands are to be so lucky in thy marriage.
Sometimes I understand not, how I can be so bold,
And wordless-upon your very mentioning of her name,
For as I say nothing, my warm blood still gets cold,
For my heart is torn, and turned into raw pieces of shame.
Ah, Kozarev, but still-you know never any of this suffering;
Over a joy that I cannot reach, over the half of my heart, that you make missing.
Ah, Kozarev, perhaps you shall never read any of my poetry,
nor know anything else about me;
For your heart is altogether too lively and swift;
With secrets I cannot see; and stubborn closures I cannot lift.
But do you know that sometimes I dream of thee-
and our charming melancholy Sofia?
Ah, those dreams-dreams that are so purely thick, but solid-and sweet?
Dreams that I cannot forget-or simply cannot forgive.
For you are there-always, even only as a shadow in my dreams;
Just like you are a shadow in my reality-ah, you whom I greatly miss,
But sadly can perhaps never become my real lover-oh, my true gentle lover!
For you only care about everything of her-and not mine;
But you know not-every single mention of her name is a curse to me,
Even though you say everything so smoothly-and gently,
Still I hate knowing that she is your destiny,
One that celebrate the sanguinity of your lips,
One that your adorable being shall desire to keep.
Ah, and not-and not me, and perhaps never be me,
I-who love you with all the discourses, and powers-of my might,
I-who write and dream and think about you all day and night;
I-whose heart grows, and thrives in your very irresistible delight,
I-who in your absence shall scream inside, and be tainted and blurred, by fright;
Ah, Kozarev, you know my being-but indeed! Indeed you know not-everything;
You know my poetry-but one you never read; nor one you ever sing;
You know not what I endure, you know not you are in truth, my heart's darling.
Ah, Kozarev, thinking of her fills my poetic blood with anger;
I am like a dying bird-tearing through the air with mad wings;
From the pain of death-until I am killed in the hands of my hunter-
And you know not, my hunter is her;
She, whom your idyll is depended on,
She, who has stolen thy heart-and left me alone,
She, who is my tragedy, and on top of all-my blood-red misery,
She, who has caused all this gloom, and tragic poetry.
Ah, if only couldst fate tear you apart and blow her away-
And should you turn to me, I shall give you only the brightest of days.
I shall cuddle you, and bewitch you-with open arms;
I shall praise you, and make you mad-with the comeliness of my charms.
I shall love you-and turn to you with my whole paradise;
Where the sun is shining and fills our very souls with bliss;
I shall make you feel none else but wonder and victory;
I shall make you feel but tenderness, and the finest linings-of destiny.
And Kozarev-if possible, I wouldst be glad to be your sun itself;
I wouldst be blessed as one full of courage; and one thoughtful, and brave.
And then, just beautifully as I shall paint this stunning love in your heart-
I shall duly, write on thee all more deeply, and more eagerly;
I shall paint thee as one so insanely handsome as the rainbow-
I shall play your melody on my dearest flute;
And turn alight, everything that was forgotten-everything t'was mute.
I shall be your star, and be your sole, finest future,
I shall be your grace, and for your every wound-the most awaited cure.
And at last-I shall open my very door to you, and make everything delightful; make everything but sure.
Ah, Kozarev, do you know not-how meaningful you actually are to me,
More than I can ever comprehend; nor I can ever desireth myself, to be.
Oh, Kozarev, for you are even more dangerous than this sullen peeping fog,
For you own my heart the most; and be the one it has always sought!
Ah, Kozarev, show me then-how graceful paths of delight can be;
As well how holy and enduring lightness of heart is, and how sacred-suffering may be.
Ah, Kozarev, I love you; for you shall always be my little, little twinkling star,
And thus my poetry is dedicated to you-you whom now stay still afar-
But to my dear heart is a one closest, and the soul I desireth most;
And from whose charms I can no more escape; nor more can I hide.
Ah, Kozarev, just this time-and perhaps t'is time only,
Read now one part of my poetry; and tell me a line-of one pretty loving story;
And just once only-look at me more and give me that lovely thrill;
Listen to me t'is very time, so that you'd finally understand-what I feel.