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Ylzm May 2020
Zionism is Hagar, and Jerusalem is Ishmael
The Dome of the Rock is the Abomination
The little horn is plain to sight but unseen
So too the Rock, foreshadowed again and again

Ishmael's thorn deep in Issac's heart
Jerusalem never shall be again
But when, not if, the thorn is pulled
Earth shall gush blood as a heart ruptured

Can the wicked's blessings be good?
Does the wicked bless for good or evil?
Or is the blessed of the wicked just as accursed?
And thus Jerusalem blessed of Trump

But unseen, unknown, stronger by the day
The assembly is gathering as Mount Zion
Not one bone out of joint nor broken, fitly one
The Peace of Jerusalem, the Bride of God, awaits
When you are blushing and hiding yourself, your beauty is reflected by your thin dress.

you are bowing down your eyes, and my heart is beating .

your eyes are like lake in which i want to sink .

your lips like leaf of rose.

you are not less than moon , like everyone want to see moon , like that i want to see you again and again.

by coming in my arms and let remove the veneer of shyness

Get so immersed in me that one body is two lives.

I want to behold you every moment, do not blink my eyes, let me see your such a spirit
This Poem for newly married couple at First night ( golden night )

It's touching the heart
Bus Poet Stop May 2015
~

a woman, weeping,
at her own wedding dinner,
copiously, bleating sobs,
unsignaled, unprovoked, inexplicable.

misunderstanding guests,
shifting their weight
from foot to foot,
searching for a combo-pose of
of joyous discomfort.

all is well, say the wedding singers,
hymns of wedding songs they perform,
encouraging the standers-about
to dance,
all whom are inconsolably confused about
the wed woman's recognition of a
moment's milestone marker
which distinguishes, her totality,
feeling the differential between
the miles ahead,
the miles already passed,
but cannot answer
the singular considerable consideration question,
is this mine, the right road
and am I
who I am supposed to be,
or the supposition of others

which is why bride weeps at her wedding

~

a sober, industrious, quiet man
of many middle years,
seen sway dancing on the lawn
at 6:00 AM,
to sounds unheard,
was it music, voices,
a breaking point,
the birth of madness?

we, who watched from within,
behind a safe boundary
of glass and stucco and timber,
jealously considering alternate theories
of creation of the universe,
dual roles,
observing guests and voyeurs,
prayed for ourselves,
desirous of his wishes granted,
swayed with him,
in flagrante delicto,
co-conspirators unseen,
but jailed,
behind protective walls of
glass and stucco and timber,
sotto voce confessing priest-worthy sins
while protesting their innocent knowledge
of a man's delightful craziness,
a distraction from
weeping brides

~

the parents posts to Facebook
pictures of children,
warily unaware that their favoritism
is slip showing

oh they favor the youngest son,
beautiful Joseph with many colored coats,
possessing the practiced cuteness
and skillfully employ how to manipulate it sweetly
on suspecting adults

the  eldest daughter,
unconsciously,
is the child made over
into a physical representation,
a manifestation of themselves preserved
as parents are wont to do
just because
they can
~
the swayer wedding guest
pray~dances to the tune of:

give over, her to me, to me,
to replant her unsuspecting
in garden wild,
feed her colors of her as yet unthought of,
foresee her aching beauty,
teach her freedom dancing by the sea,
weeping at her weeping
at her wedding
simpatico with her,
confusion and joy and fear

which is why the man sway dances
on the lawn at 6:00 am and weeps
copious bereft and joyous,
at the possibilities of conquering life
and foresees
the child wedding weeping
and weeps in anticipatory empathy sympathy
at their cojoined
kinship fate

~
Carlo C Gomez May 2020
I remember when I first saw you
in such a state,
shifting with the direction of light,
viola shaped,
the boudoir door slightly ajar.

Rings exchanged,
veil removed,
the bells had chimed for us,
and then for
ships in safe harbor.

The pitter patter of
surf cascading in
from an open window,
otherwise hushed,
turnt and *****,
dimples showing
whether you smiled or not.

Turnabout was fair play
--azure hues in moonlit pastel
caressing the folds and ties
around midnight’s chemise
--the lure of velveteen
and vast soft canvas of pearl
--areolae circles and quaint triangles
in the thick of things,
gift-wrapped in elegant fur.

Belle-chose, under
the waxing, waning crescent
of dainty omphalos, yawning in chiaroscuro,
red-faced and piqued,
quite shy coming out of the shadows.

The batting of lashes,
the lingering scent of bouquet
--like the seduction of flute song,
I followed and followed
until thoroughly lost within you.
Michelle May 2020
I collect you words
Like the flower petals that fall
From the bride's hair.
O eternal circle
Hovering around the fourth finger
I only wanted to feel you
As you dissapeared.
Sometime, I feel like my heart is glass. Like it shattered many years ago, and I just cannot help myself but to run my fingers against all of the sharp edges. Why does it feel so good to bleed?
Mrs Timetable Mar 2020
Did you forget to kiss me?
Did I forget to kiss you?
No
He forgot to say
“Kiss the bride”

Finally
Sealed by the
The touch with lips
Never a day goes by
With a forgotten kiss
Our “kiss the bride”moment was funny. It was forgotten to be said and he presented us as as married couple and we both turned around and just stared at him like “you forgot something!”
Emily Feb 2020
she's as beautiful as day and as mysterious as night
her feelings change as does her leaves during fall
the changing colors and emotions
a great oak tree now feeling cold by winters embrace with no colorful leaves but instead branches that show her majestic story of pain, sorrow, and love
she's a worrier, a soldier in this battle of life
and then when the war of society and sin is over in spring she dances and rejoices with the winds and rain and sings the song of new begging that yet to come
then finally she joins the sun and the clouds
sharing her life with others during the days of summer
she's a home for creatures big and small
shes a shield of protection
a mother caring for her child
a bride preparing for her wedding day
Carlo C Gomez Feb 2020
Reti opening
Or Pirc defense?
It generally leads to
Closed positions in a classical system:

No one questions what is vogue.

We're nothing more than pawns
--the cat's paw--
Familiar with all sorts
Of unpleasantries.

The Queen Bride,
So modern and comely,
She can do as she please
Until her game runs out.

Pawn to f4.

Your King is not long for this world.
Better learn a new strategy, stat.

The lookouts inform
The time hath come
To steal her majesty's
New clothes,
And pretend not to see
What we see.

For whatever words we may use
To clothe our fears,
The fabric cannot protect
Us from them.
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