"beautie" poems
Fatima Latima
I had wished I had no gift of sight
That the worst I could endure is hear you speak
And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation
You may not be a thief
Nor **** daughter of the dayspring
But definitely my heart you stole
I speak of the daughter of Arabia
Aesthetically, she rocks
The queen of the pilgrim sands
And aeonian desert stones
Beyond the hijab
Artistically knead with consummate craft
Like the relics of Mecca
Blest by the prophet’s bones
The blessed
I see torches
Beaming with intelligence
Within those mascaras
Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant
A lulu class botany
She fixes a searching gaze
As she saunters close
And the stride and tread
Beats a drum entrancing
Soothed in her solacing spell
I give in, to her lullaby
She halts her perambulation
Stands magniloquent and stupefy
Like some pop diva magazine pose
Or Victorian secret shot
A tactical derangement of her gluteals
As she rests her palm in its cleft
I feel contractions, my dartos muscles
The blew of summertime
Gently beats her exceptional form
Her belt submerge her thigh crevice
Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat
Built by the dainties and delicacies
Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef
As her silken dress slithers and gowns
Under the breeze bulging and blooming
Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore
As she bends down
To assuage the burlesque
The sun specula lilts her sensational
Her smile apologetic bids me stillness
I am caught staring
Guzzling down her scent and
Feasting on empty imaginations
Of What If that accentuate the mind and
Speed a hormone
And I pray I sin no more
Next time we meet and I see her again
For I am but a writer
Learning to use my pen and paper
And hope you but forgive
My linguistic impotence
When I make my confession
Employing too plain a language
When I say thus;
Her smile is classical
Her walk magical
Her beauty celestial
Her stride sensational
Her religion ethical
Her character spotless
And that leaves me breathless
And forgive if I step on broken toe
And try speak of the unspoken
Her ****** is sacred
Her being a type that dresses up
In the milliards of brutes dressing down
And shamelessly style it fashion
I must see a priest
One confession I ought to utter
And even vociferate abroad
For once I had fallen in love
With an Arabian Beautie
A ****** of Mecca.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC
I presse not to the Quire, nor dare I greet
The holy Place with my unhallow’d feet:
My unwasht Muse pollutes not things Divine,
Nor mingles her prophaner notes with thine;
Here, humbly at the Porch, she listning stayes,
And with glad eares ***** in thy Sacred Layes.
So, devout Penitents of old were wont,
Some without doore, and some beneath the Font,
To stand and heare the Churches Liturgies,
Yet not assist the solemne Exercise.
Sufficeth her, that she a Lay-place gaine,
To trim thy Vestments, or but beare thy traine:
Though nor in Tune, nor Wing, She reach thy Larke,
Her Lyricke feet may dance before the Arke.
Who knowes, but that Her wandring eyes, that run
Now hunting Glow-wormes, may adore the Sun.
A pure Flame may, shot by Almighty Power
Into my brest, the earthy flame devoure:
My Eyes, in Penitentiall dew may steepe
That bryne, which they for sensuall love did weepe:
So (though ‘gainst Natures course) fire may be quencht
With fire, and water be with water drencht.
Perhaps, my restlesse Soule, tyr’d with pursuit
Of mortall beautie, seeking without fruit
Contentment there; which hath not, when enjoy’d,
Quencht all her thirst, nor satisfi’d, though cloy’d;
Weary of her vaine search below, above
In the first Faire may find th’ immortall Love.
Prompted by thy Example then, no more
In moulds of Clay will I my God adore;
But teare those Idols from my Heart, and Write
What his blest Sp’rit, not fond Love, shall endite.
Then, I no more shall court the Verdant Bay,
But the dry leavelesse Trunk on Golgotha:
And rather strive to gaine from thence one Thorne,
Then all the flourishing Wreathes by Laureats worne.
2.3k
Availons twain twixt thus brighte biste
Hestorienne devoureed Christe
Holloe tou tu esn't et est.
Louvre, Le Louvre ist mi.
Bootes of sootes clamour shouerin'
Flouer in heand, beautie en Maie, Marche und Aprille.
Mama et moi no us or tu terrile.
Caspidate, inspedre, endre, spedistor, fouallona, mortalivus, vieliefe.
Good God, just confess already!!
I love... Ilove... Ilive, lie, liove, lovie,
She kissed me once on my cheek, deadly and deathandmorteanddeadandlifelessandvieless and now i love her, i want... ive never loved anyone, but now i know. I'll name him Theo, because of our God complex and i love you.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
I've seen you once before in a dream I do believe
you're beautie kiss the scar that was my pain
and do I thought of you
each day that past from then on
wishing my slumber will bring you're return
still I awake to sheer lonelyness
& only the cold air to tuch my skin
tears mead my eyes as red as love-love that only you can previde
I fear I must edmit you are only the past
the past I never known
now with love on my mind I will see blood
for no one
writing thes words that bare my soul
for no one
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
You where the varry essence of me
when I knew myself
not the bleach blond waxed painted
shadow of the preson I was
But the deep, dark, hungry, youth
full of expression art & tears
But you went away taken me with you
leaving me shallow with nothing to feel
nothing but make believe, unlike you
you are truth, beautie, soulful passion
That is you
PASSION
that ran thrugh my vains
peniteeding me with realizem
feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling,feeling......
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 1:48 PM UTC
You where the varry essence of me
when I knew myself
not the bleach blond waxed painted
shadow of the preson I was
But the deep, dark, hungry, youth
full of expression art & tears
But you went away taken me with you
leaving me shallow with nothing to feel
nothing but make believe, unlike you
you are truth, beautie, soulful passion
That is you
PASSION
that ran thrugh my vains
peniteeding me with realizem
feeling, feeling, feeling, feeling,feeling......
Dec 21, 2010
Dec 21, 2010 at 9:50 PM UTC
shake shake shake
spritz spritz
a mosquito falls to the floor
I pear down and see its little legs trembing, shaking in death
they twitch in a frenzy
i am sad of what i have done but i know that it is better than being bitten
so above all their is beautie
in death
but do not get used to the daeth
or else you will enjoy kiling so be safe with your use of kemikals such as spritz
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 10:51 PM UTC