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malluraeh Jul 24
so many unique and talented persons
you‘ll think;
am i one of them?
i don‘t know.
but i think there are only two possibilities
either there are these rare humans that are born every few years or
we are all rare and talented
Just what am I meant to be?
Hands on the piano
Brush on the canvas
Voice on the microphone
Hands on the papers

But do I stop there
Or is talent channeled forward?

Why stop at destiny
When I define it?
Masha Yurkevich Dec 2018
It's been a while since I've seen
my Grandmother's hands.
Tough and rough,
some rest they demand.
Those talented, caring hands of hers.
Pretending to be so much, even a nurse.
Her hands have been so long on this Earth.
And they've done much more than their whiles worth.
Kathryn Irene Sep 2018
Perfectly beautiful
Imperfectly heartbroken
Entirely talented
Wasted creativeness
Full of potiental
Waste of space

Utterly and completely perfect.
View more poems on my instagram
www.instagram.com/SkullsNB0nes
(I wrote this light hearted communique years ago when thy youngest of deux darling demure offspring found more enjoyment then she would as a soon tubby celebrating nineteen orbitz round mister Sun).
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Just my luck on a freaky Friday, while living in another world unfettered from the parent trap that a life-size machete conveniently available to fend off mean girls racing in their life-size love bug christened “Herbie fully loaded” while cranking up the song “ultimate” somehow found me to get a clue that raven-symone a prairie home companion.

Please pardon this bard of Belmont hills for brazenly barging into your life – without even so much as a gold plated invitation. The nerve of this nattering nabob of Narberth to perform a google search in an effort to pay homage to such smart as a whip wealthy woman, whom maintains lustrous beauty even whence approaching the half century longevity chronological benchmark.

A whim to scribble stream of consciousness thoughts about the mother of one constantly caught in the infamous cross hairs of media blitz krieg must induce chronic ferocity against this plague of tabloid locusts.

Such scrutiny seems to be the price one (and/or her/his kith and/or kin) must unfairly pay to be in the limelight of fame and fortune.

As one absolutely anonymous any man ambling along the boulevard of broken dreams, I envy luxurious lifestyle of the rich and famous as all my children (two teenage daughters) freely scamper away from dark shadows indicating the edge of night as the world turns.

Also, no great expectation (by dickens) goads me (an ordinary mister mom manning the ongoing – nearly infinite – needs and wants of thy fourteen and twelve year old lasses, whom contribute immensely to a more purposely driven life no matter they present untenable wishes.

Back in the day when this papa could afford plethora of fios cable channels, but mainly thru the subtle influence of thine younger offspring (who will celebrate her thirteenth anniversary of existence on this temporal plane or rather oblate spheroid in space), I chanced to watch television programs with Lindsay Lohan as one (if not) the leading actress(es) and found the characters she portrayed quite entertaining to escape the cares and concerns of an uncertain global state of affairs.

These days, aol headline pages incessantly splash with minor infraction(s) that inevitably lands your lovely Lindsay incarcerated for mere misdemeanors no doubt stoking the fires of fervid frenzy within your being.

Only heartfelt commiseration found me to tap out this missive (while a golden opportunity existed to co-opt our only macbook – while the spouse soundly sleeps and thy progeny preoccupied with interpersonal connections) to express said sentiment of compassion and adulation for a most superlative maternal role well done.
trashcanpoetry Sep 2017
as far as she knew,
nobody had cared.
x-y-z... straight to the very end.
internal self-doubt
exemplies itself in her head.
traces down her spine,
yells until she just can’t take it.

(now read straight down the far left column)
Vale Luna Jul 2017
I can't tell if you're talented at this
Or if I'm just
Easy like that
Because every move you make
Drives me crazier
Than the last.
i wish to reveal a most precious thing
as Spring has begun
my dearest Daddy’s Birthday is done

he is not a man of celebrations
i want to disclose this personal’s manifest

as his blueprint, i am really beatific
i am very fortunate to be able to recollect
all and everything

to be your beloved daughter
is one most precious and delightful evidence

such a coziest feel to have you in my presence
you embody all that is calm and peaceful
no other impervious Daddy then you, my handsome sensitive

your BirthDay, dearest Daddy is never nebulous
the reputations you left us are all fabulous

you told me tales, they are in fact realities
you are one of a kind, your mind so sublime
you constantly cared and loved me, i am your prime

i love to tell superlatives about you
you deserve the most, dearest Daddy,

i am very proud of you, of your humor and your visions
your cartoons, drawings, and your fascinating paintings
you conjured magic in all your writings

C.C. was your weekly talkings
Charlie was your weekly walkings
in the world of Charlie Chan

i am very fond of you, my very talented Daddy
i know your world too, owned by you as a stage performer….
i remember everything, every detail hidden in my mind

i wish to reveal the most precious thing
last night i went to your place, i was wondering
you were not there, i started sobbing….

© Sylvia Frances Chan
21st March 2017
May he rest in Peace. May he have a Happy BirthDAY in Heaven on the 21st March on Tuesday....
He died too young too soon, my greatest grief on that day.
The Lord gives, the Lord takes at His Time....
Lunar Oct 2016
"I know what you're thinking," he says. "That today's just like any other day. That today is just your birthday; that other people are also born on the day you were born. And you're thinking: what is even so special about this day if other people are born too? If other people are much more talented, beautiful and lucky souls, then they deserve so much more than I do."

She replies him with a silent smile, waiting for him to construct his words-- to see what he could possible come up with to make this day, at least, brighter than the others.

"You know I love you, and I say this to you everyday. But just like any other soul, you are just as talented, beautiful and lucky. And what makes you special is that your existence makes me talented, beautiful and lucky in return. That's what makes you special to me. And I don't think I need a special or certain day to say all of this to you, because you're special in your whole life, from the moment you existed. You don't need a special day-- you have a special life."

She nods with a tinge of pride for him as it dusts her cheeks: she is glad she has someone like him who understands her.

He finishes, "This is why you're special to me. This is why I love you. And in the least, this day is a little more special that the others."
Dear Kyara,

Here's a writing for you. Even if you think this is just any ordinary day, i hope you realize you're no ordinary girl or ordinary friend! Enjoy and always be happy, and keep safe. I love you! :)

-Madge
DivineDao Oct 2016
Precise ~ Devoted Poet ~You Are ~
My Beloved !          
Strong & Talented
As 100 Swift Tennese's ~ like no one
I've ever known!

Momentarily staring at
Your wonderful new saten
Cushions spread on the soft
Cosy home couch, you start to dream.

You dream like a daydream, feast till
The Night~visions turn hills into glorious
Mountains; where tear lakes evaporate
like the blissful cat's desires are satisfied
Wrapped up in a mutual mamalian love,
Meowing beneath your open balcony.

Your writing routine wakes up
Around the narrow Time lapse,
Where vicious minutes start to
Melt the unbearable yearning
Seconds. And where ... thick velvety
Midnight's Mystery tickles your fancy
Creations and wild urges then come
To an open space. . . frivolously
And wonderfully on time for:


Your poetic stories

Immortaly ingraved into the Highly unstable environement, overwhelmingly enticed by electomagnetic bits and bites.
They ~ sometimes dictate the pace of your heart
Beats

And within your imagination, you hear Her heart poundings, precious throbbings, trembling like a sycamore tree seeds swirl into the deepest well
Wonderful 'art~land
You sigh first ... Then ~  you scribble something nice
about Her:



"She presses the sweetest hot strawberries and mixes my mind, oh God, how I wish I were there with my kitchen wand excatly on time!
And oh, gosh, how golly good this scent's alluring~ coming from Her oasis of natural treasures. I need you to put all those smelly spices and sprinkle them over me ~ how deeply I need these sweet pleasures ~ coated with brown sugar in dice, please roll me around, dance me to love,
I'm your divinity devotee
Exquisit like vanilla stick
more than plain mon-ami, my seeds may disperse now
Fluently and blend into something more nice. . .
It makes me so lovesick!
When my heart jumps for the jam!
When ***'s on fire and I ~away from thine eyes. .  .
When she pours some water on a top of sweet pile
She starts dancing on music, stirring
The molasa's fry, burnt slightly 'n dry!
Home made yummy jam is good for you!
Her love brewed delociously for me and You!"


My beloved poet, may I announce my deepest gratitude and love toward your
Efforts which you extract from the dawn and dusk sunrays, from dew drops on young leaves, from the enchanted poetic forests.
        Even when you solely think about writing
The Poem For Your Modern Milady .  . .

Dali's Time howls in anticipation wanting to run Free from the world's metal shackels and Stradivari
Nods with approval to you, my lovely, maestro.

You grab your ancient pen
Fill it with mysterious ink
And think of Her great *****;
The ceilings in your room start
To breathe, and the thunderbolts
From your glances hit the darklit mirror
Surface where you rehearse how deeply you'll love
Your lady one day (or one splendid night) with the single glance from your eyes and
Struck her down hard, to steal the kiss  before she'd even awaken to presence of Us and prop herself up on you
Lovingly

"Oh God, if only she'd read all of my poetic symphonies, she'd surely show up!"

Intensity of your yearning thoughts makes your hair do genuine spikes up,
Transcribing your alluring magnetic
Poles blown in all directions. The cycle od eternity swallows you again, and you write, and you write like you're never going to die, whilst the invisible
Chorus in the corner chants cravingly:

"When she occurs, if she occurs ...
The day will come, The night will fall ..."

Then you focus on the common daily
Occurances and you try, really try hard
To catch the semi rhyme in the net of your words just to simulate the ordinary life
And re~create the metaphors to shine like Primavera from this mediocre mundane mush ~ highly intense witty
Poetic stories. You do amuse! The reason is
The Existence of Your Witty Wonderful Muse

And you capture:
The most bizzare details of life;
The others ~who inspire you~ are
Those who are unbalanced, madly
Intoxicated with poisonous pains of love,
Standing alone on the shores of Adriatic sea
Only to feel the future coming in in cadence
Only to learn how to release the real
Tears with style. The poet's still alive !In continuous unrelentless waves. Magnificent &
Unendless as any deep ocean does. Caress  depths of any being wrapped up in  luminous aquamarine shades.
You love your lady beyond harsh
Rocks. Beyond land's division belle borders ~ like a lunatic throwing a flickering flame,
{ the mojo of your gentle love }
Amongst the tidal waves in hopes this love's
Abide to your lady ~ will suffice ~and last at least to Another day amids this utmost ferociuous, horrid Tempest of i's
Impermanent dreams.



Night being born out
Of the velvety Midnight ~
Your cauldron of poetic
Flavours and spices
Gracefully starts to boil.
Dear fellowwriters. Glad you made it to the bottom of this well. ;)
I deeply feel for you, and if there were some minor or major unpleasant occurancies while you were reading this toooloooong story telling poem about
One Particularly Fantastic Witty Poet ~ The story writer ~ . .   and you came across some gross gramatical nuances, spelling errors etc. Please let me know!!! I'm flawed, yet unrelentlessly trying to be better or at least good enough ( for all those who are Perfect :)

Love and many blessings, Divine Dao<3
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