Poetic T Aug 12

Beyond repair
              they said.

But I saw more.

So I wove gold
        within the cracks
sealing heartache

to make your
flaws
         beautiful.

Imperfections are elegant.

These howling winds are calling out in disbelief between the leaves in the trees and those weeds around your name.

These howling winds a-rattle my bones and this pouring rain never seems to end and these tiny rivers carry dirt from your bed on to my shoes.

You always looked so elegant in white and marble white suits you well, or so it seems.

These howling winds carry melodies somber and forlorn upon their backs and sending chills up my spine.

These howling winds scream at me in howling tones, "C'est la vie! Such is life!"

And I'll howl back.

I never expected to be the woman cauled in grace,
the tall beauty who caught herself in movement
elegant enough to make her a force of nature.
I drift through life like a leaf on water,
aimless and carefree. Words of ruth
tumble from me like a wolf howling in vain,
desperate to be heard. My youth has stained
the derailed girl I was when I was old.
Those crumbling bones were wrapped up
in an unexpected life - bones growing
into momentous trees, dancing
among the clouds like skyscrapers. I am
the floating girl wearing red in a sea
of black, melding and merging with the world
like the ever-changing depth of dappling light.
I am the beauty in a whirlpool of chaos, floating
out into the ocean, washing out to sea,
leaving only my handprints in the dust
and a train of thought woven
with the realisation of who I truly am.

~~ Somewhere along the line I stopped being the storm and became the blue of the sky. ~~

elegant
walks like she is being judged
turns around
expecting a crowd

the occasional humble
she does not stumble
societies opinion
fear of demoralisation

she could be herself
but she tries to be
someone else

Angie S Dec 2016

she reaches out before her,
gazing longingly into the sky,
and draws her arms back to her side.
her chest rises and falls.
her feet begin to push against
the ice and she glides like
a dove riding atop a gentle breeze.
she crosses her steps with elegance and
swiftly flies to the end of her terrain.
as she turns to return,
her knees dip and spring,
propelling her into the air.
her legs cross at her ankles
and she becomes a twisting airplane.
her feet find a landing on her thin blade.
she leans into the center of the rink,
clutching her leg,
and spins with a slow, melodic grace.
as she lowers into a crouch, her tempo rises,
and she becomes a brilliant storm on ice.
again she rises and she strikes a stellar pose, head high--
she tells her audience
the queen has arrived,
and she wears ice skates.

originally written 11/12/16. i emphasized description of the skater in this poem and tried to use metaphors relating to things in the sky. no real deep meaning to this other than just to imagine... speaking of skating, who's watching yuri on ice??
Mims Oct 2016

Elegant fingers.
Picking apart.
Light beams
Shining above.
Apple trees.
Listening to.
Buzzing bees.
Diaries.
Life stories
Poetry

Lydia Hirsch Oct 2016

I was quiet because I didn’t want to wake you.
You looked peaceful, and very
sleepy, hanging over me in your cocoon,
a child again, or from another planet, that was
it.

You often slept this way (your green eyes, I
kept thinking, were seeds), but I knew time
was limited (your eyes closed, at peace).
How many times would I see you like this
before one of us died?

I want to look at you so that, if you die,
I will have your green eyes (which you cannot
will away, so I must steal). I observe you,
worry that my stare will wake you,
but you sleep on soundly.

That is what I adore about you.
You sleep soundly at night, never snore,
never wake when you shouldn’t, never
dream anything that isn’t beautiful. I liked you
best when you were sleeping. You slept so
sweetly (and time was limited, so I
sought to immortalize your elegant rest).

Leal Knowone Sep 2016
She

So many may attempt to use words to describe the beauty in her eyes, but I do not attempt to hide behinds words that pale in comparison to the truth.
The true site of beauty she is, and the power she holds in her hands,
in her eyes, and between her thighs.
Idiotic mumbling, or dead silence may be more appropriate,
then trying to find the words that will never be as elegant as she.

Silverflame Aug 2016

Flute
Elegant, fragile
Captivating, enticing, comforting
Cleansing your soul, intensify your spine
Alluring, controlling, compelling
Powerful, sophisticated
Saxophone

I wanted to create something different, so I decided to give a diamante poem a try. Perhaps not the best, but it sure was a lot of fun.
I play both flute and saxophone, so I thought it was a great idea to "compare" them, in this kind of poem.
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