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Mary Gay Kearns Aug 2018
So beautiful lay you all
In your tiny beds
Cuddled up with
Panda,  Firstlove,
Tiny tears and
Little fingers curled tight
Knees rolled up
I leaned over you all and kissed
What was my great delight.

We went about together
Down the roads and parks
Caught a train to London
The museums and the art.

You grew up, gently, slowly
In each other’s arms
We made Chocolate Easter
Bunnies and Christmas shower.

We touched the lights together
Sang each other’s songs
Four wonderful children
Never got it wrong.

Love Mummy xxxxx
went to a wedding
seven yellow ladybugs
male bug changed his mind.
Through vines indeterminate
Red cherry eyes peeped,
And spied two forms,
Fleshy pink and brown
Trees, tangled at the roots,
kissing in the canopy.

The garden was our
Discotheque, the sullen
Moonlight reflected
On the Black Beauties,
Twisted black mirrors,
in the garden of joy.

O, to again be mov'd
By your heirloom lips,
I'd give it all, the earth,
the sun, and the water.
A sacrifice: my Homesteads,
for a home.

Soil runs dry.
The sun scorches.
Plagues run rampant.
We burn, we are sacked
and pillaged, and destroyed.
Roma, Roma, Roma.

Maybe the rain,
Or sweet shade,
Or gentle sun,
Or simply the need
To be so defiantly
alive, will bring us again,
And I will drink you up again,  
Do we have a transforming party?
From one soul to another.
Exchange space and time zone landing.
likewise, sunset kisses,
sun ray rising,
sea-waves waltzing with sea wolf’s tide plunging.
Together,  they are chanting.
Do we have a transforming party?
Deep learning birds or beauties shifting?
Would that mean: when those blue sea birds move to a cold mountain.
If he was there for his bathing beauties?
Followed up with another poet on ‘ birds’ poem.
By Angel. XJ 22/06/2019
Morgan Mercury Oct 2014
I never thought I would fall for you twice,
but here I am writing this poem.
I'm just a dandelion lost in this greenhouse
surrounded by these blooming beauties.
But hoping, hopefully
you would make a wish out of me.
You've got this look that makes me crave adventure.
You've got mountains in your eyes
and the northern wind in your soul.
I can't remember the last thing you said to me
and that's okay.
We never talked much thanks to my anxiety.
I'm not too far but my words have failed me so many moons
how am I suppose to talk to you?
You've got your future gripped tight by the wrist
and my hands are lost in all this space.
Maybe sometime in the years to come, I'll discover your footprints
and remember my high school crush all over again.
I'll stop and think if you're out in California making coffee for people,
like I overheard you say you wanted to do in math class that one time,
or strumming a guitar solo on stage somewhere in the city.
I just hope wherever you find yourself in time to come you're happy and smiling brighter than the stars.
I know not much will happen in these last eight months we have together,
but I want to thank you for the day you introduced yourself to me because you knew no one else in the class.
I know I'm just a dandelion in this great big greenhouse,
but I'm just really happy that you noticed me.
Robert C Howard May 2017
Through an open window, I hear
      the Big Thompson's steady music
drifting up from the valley below.

May breezes and gentle rains
     coax the snow-capped peaks
to surrender their alabaster cloaks
      downslope into gathering streams.

Silhouetted by light from the waxing moon,
      a cinnamon bear lopes along water’s edge,
pauses for a draught and meanders on.

A bull elk newly coifed with velvet antlers
        folds his legs beneath its belly
and kneels into grasses beside a tranquil pond.
        while the Big Thompson rushes on.

Spring beauties, calypso orchids and geraniums  
       shake off their winter's sleep and
dot every vagabond trail and verdant hill
        while fresh new leaves adorn the aspen boughs.

The Big Thompson inexorably presses on
        bound for rendezvous with time and space
and tumbles into the always patient sea.

© 2017 by Robert Charles Howard
SunFlower Sep 2015
So sweet with every taste of sugar
Chocolate drops gooey, goofy, goodness
Warm, soft, edible, delectable, incredible
Beauties, that's for sure.
Why are they so appealing ?
Is it because of looks.
Or is it because I'm extrovert.
Or is it the taste.
I am a hopeless introvert ---
Dawn Maiers Jan 2015
You say I'm controlling and a sneaky ***** but you don't really know me, you only wish.
You want your freedom, your brunettes, red heads and blondes.
All your beauties keep you love drunk and high strung.
Go ahead and write them your lyrics & sing them your songs.
When you realize you miss me
I will be long gone.
You think one of them will bring you happiness but guess what? Your wrong.
One day you'll wake up reeking of *****, smoke and *** and you'll realize that the hole you're trying to fill is not full yet.
You'll think of my love then, this I bet. How I gave you my heart, all the memories of me you've tried so hard to forget.
Eventually all your beauties will tire of your ******* and mind games and you will be left alone with nothing but your aging face, regret and shame.
Kind of a long one. Sorry. Lol
Would all men dreams for beauties?
It might be more like books
As wise as you cannot
judge by looks...
When you didn't want to finish reading
You put it down... no heart was bleeding

A book will never fuss or force.
It will stay with you
throughout the night...

It wasn’t crude. It wasn’t cheat
It won't keep shopping LV bags
à Avenue des Champs-Élysées

It does caring. It does charming
It will share the pressure with mysterious pleasures

It’s not always soft. It isn't warm without tentions
But it does' keep you
safe from harm.

When you set a preference book list
It has its charms
it may hold your soul in its arms.
Wouldn’t you think on it again...
... BOOKS should be
             more like Beauties
#Beauties # books
Max Dec 2018
I’m falling for you
Like the leaves in
You brighten me
Like the sunbeams through
Grey clouds.
You color me
Like the trees in
The forest.
You warm me
Like the fireplace
In my house.
I’d wait for you
All year
And when you're there,
I can’t stop
Admiring your beauties.
I love you.
Autumn is sooooo lovely just like you:)
White flag
Wordsmith Aug 2018
Most heavenly of places, this world now
Of endless beauties, a sight that wows
They're statuesque and wax-like, but hey don't fret
No wrinkles to combat, nor ripples of fat

Gazing into their arresting green eyes
That of the rabbit's, resemblance lies
Uncanny it is, this puzzling scene
Manufactured they are, from the same jellyfish gene

And since its time to seek paradise,
My wandering hands caress the prize
To search for weakness, now I must
No amount of fondling, stirs any lust

I've come so far, and this is what perfection costs?
The smoothest of skin, has left all thumbprints lost
A sci-fi piece. A world where women have their genes edited and are manufactured to perfection. The result of placid, animated statues however fail to arouse the faintest stirrings of lust.
Carter Ginter Dec 2014
The pills taunt me from beside my bed
as I lay here, tortured within by each
painful heartbeat burning within my
chest and weighting my back to the lumped brick
of springs and polyester fiber.
Those blue beauties sleeping silently in their
sun fire home, why can't I sleep too?

One, two, five, ten, my throat counts
my way to freedom
Ironic, how we all have different definitions of
salvation. I adopted these babies to
"save myself," so the doctors think

Tonight it's Judgement Day.
This is super ****** up and probably terribly written. These anti depressants are affecting my ability to write.
Apporva Arya Jul 2017
Spent childhood ,
dreaming of a prince and castle.
Grown up and learned
All beauties Don't need beasts.
Everybody changed .Now its my turn.
Nisrine Marwan Dec 2018
love is an ocean
And i fear being fully submerged
i don't know if i can hold my breath for long enough
to see the beauties and the life it has to offer
but do i have really have to breathe when i'm lost underwater with you?
Lily Aug 12
These dark days
Are beautiful as
The bare, withered tree.
The birds are gone,
But the gray is silver.
I have not yesterday,
But I learned the love
Of the beauties of today.
Inspired by Robert Frost's "My November Guest"
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2018
I took the left path where hydrangeas grew and sleepy primroses under woods, edged shady trees.
The empty stream ran quietly dry
With grass cuttings piling high.
If one peeped, one would find tiny creatures
To cast a sparkle here and there, a delight.
So on tip-toe, with sandels bent
Up high I reached to take
The plastic fairy as she twirled a pirouette
In a theatre made by chance.
Reflected in a silver mirror intwinned with ivy branch
A mottled foal tends his dreams and Chrismas robin chirps.

My brother took the right hand path where the trees grew fruit
Ripe berries from the gooseberry bush bulged their prickles.
Dangling from hawthorn now a cowboy with a hat
Looking for his fellow Indian with the yellow back sack.
Sheep gather in a hollow, dark, protected from the sun
And Mr toad, now lost of paint, has turned a bit glum.

And so we leave our woodland friends and travel up the *****
Winding round the rose bed and goldfish where they float.
Then up we climb, the middle route, to jump the pruned clipped
The lawn divided in two halves, a contemporary taste.

Now we're nearly at that place where if one was to turn
Could see down across the land
To the sea and sand.
Of all the beauties that I've known
Nothing beats this Island home.

Love Mary x

My grandfather’s retirement bungalow was in Totland Isle of Wight.
It was named Innisfail meaning ‘Isle of Ireland’.
Behind, the garden led down to magical and delightful to children who came as visitors. My grandfather would prepare this woodland with some suitable surprises.
The garden and woodland deserved its own name and in retrospect
Is now named ‘Innislandia’ to suggest a separate, mysterious land.
Beyond the real world.
In the poem A Country Lane on page 8 the latched gate is the back gate to my grandparent’s garden and bungalow in Totland as above.
John Garbutt wrote the following piece on the meaning of the name 'Innisfail'.

My belief that the place-name came from Scotland was abandoned
on finding the gaelic origins of the name.
‘Inis’ or ‘Innis' mean ‘island’, while ‘fail’ is the word for
Ireland itself. ‘Innisfail’ means Ireland. But not just
geographically: the Ireland of tradition, customs, legends
and folk music, the Ireland of belonging.
So the explanation why the Irish ‘Innisfail’ was adopted as the name
of a town in Alberta, Canada, and a town in Australia,
can only be that migrants took the name, well  over a century ago
to their new homelands, though present-day Canadians
and Australians won’t have that same feeling about it.

The bungalow was designed by John Westbrook, who was an architect, as a wedding present for his father and Gwen Westbrook.
I do believe he also designed the very large and beautiful gardens.
It is there still on the Alan Bay Road. Love Mary xxxx
Ormond Feb 2015
death dirges

Frogs in distance sing  .  .  .
Foxes, herons, join in too,
  .  .  .  A round of croaking.

love gifts

Her gift of flowers  .  .  .
Came at night without garden,
  .  .  .  Were picked in bedroom.

twins demure

Full moon and she  .  .  .
Beauties without crescent smile,
  .  .  .  Naked in starlight.

light music

Before even sun  .  .  .
Gleam opens to paint each day,
  .  .  .  Beauty in birdsong.


After sun showers  .  .  .
Sparkle of rainbow colours,
  .  .  .  Busy hummingbirds


Hollow sound through trees,
Naked and bare branches sway,
  .  .  .  Old winter creeping.


She wanted a child  .  .  .
Rushed from one suitor to next,
  .  .  .  Clock set to maybe.

super villain

Truth once singular  .  .  .
Mucked all up with politics,
  .  .  .  In cowl of falsehoods.


Blood spills in gardens  .  .  .
Naïve worms torn from loose grounds,
.  .  . Red robins, green lawns.


Each spring miracle  .  .  .
Trees blessed by caterpillars gifts,
  .  .  .  Holey hands of leaves.


Ripples lead to bows  .  .  .
After fish breaks the water,
  .  .  .  A kingfisher dives.


Steadfast as always  .  .  .
Wildflower in sun and rain,
  .  .  .  Showing true colours.


Chaste lovers wonder  .  .  .
How bodies weather the cold,
  .  .  .  Never knowing touch.

swept away

Suddenly we kissed  .  .  .
At beach as tides rolling in,
  .  .  .  Drowning by ocean.


Her red hair so long  .  .  .
Brushing my face, hiding eyes,
  .  .  .  A kind entrapment.
Under the umbrella of the moon
I saw the dancing moon on her feet
I lost  my sanity to wonders
I saw unknown worlds in reflections
It's  the mirror of the moon
In luminous sea of the deep
Exposing  rolling beauties in rainbows
As the deep sinks into the abyss' abyss
To be unravelled by ancient wisdom
At the feet of  an insane search!
The world too deep to comprehend. The simple fact is that we can only know in part but we must keep searching .
Eleni Jul 2017
With her cowpoke
She went riding out with him
One dark and windy day.

The desert had forsaken their love and left their hearts astray.

As sharp as a cactus' spine, her lips did pine for days.

They sat around their victim's pyres tasting burnt bone, curdled blood.

She saw the mess of her cowpoke, blonde and brown beauties layed in the mud.

She asked why must these girls die
If their looks were truly good
He mumbled that his heart had been broken by the stormy flood.

So they swept across Arizona with it's bright windy haze
And withdrew their revolvers with eyes that met in gaze

They downed a couple of beers in the dusky saloon
Until right in front of them was the old rusty moon

Tonight she will riding out in the ****** lands
Where with her man she'll be soaking her rigid hands

In wine that oozes from the corpses in the sands
And in the sheets ridin' she'll take command.
Just a crazy cowboy song I wrote inspired by 'Riders in the Sky'. It basically describes a cowpoke couple who are murderers in the desert and their anti-platonic, ****** relationship.
Moushumi Sinha Sep 2018
I forgive you
Yet not forget
The bluish hue
With a scarlet
Tinge on my cheek...

Your abusive taunts
Endlessly woven lies
Alcoholic brawls
The redness of eyes
Glaring at me
With naked dislike
Of me and my family
And all my tribe...

Yet I always pardon
As this is a **** curse
Bestowed upon
Me for using your purse
To meet my needs
How can I forget
Those early deeds
My wants were met
With your toil n sweat...

I truly forgive you
As you earned fame
Women too came to woo
Without any **** shame
Threw themselves at you
For wealth and name
Success in your head
Women by your side
Your drinking was raised
As guilt made you hide
Behind the glass and smoke
You made your life a living joke...

Forgiving I have to be
For when you compare
Those beauties to met
I am just dumb and fair
With a plain Jane face
And meagre background
Who brings you disgrace
To those who surround
You and your basking glory
Yet I belong to your days of penury...
Anne J Feb 24
Her Imperious Canticle rewarded
From the butterflies of monarchy
Mermaid scales are her bouquet
A ombre is the debut
Crystal corals are the stars on her face
Below pink rings that scale a tune
Which the winged beauties will charm in too
An amazing debut for the see through
Of a dynasty that glows in the prism moon.
My first poem of 2019, based on this amazing artwork:
Please follow this artist, she is astounding. Also, I tried to make an unrhyming poem that instead focused on description...Free verse is the name of the genre, thx Flo for reminding me lol
kirk Mar 2018
Two souls alone so far between only nights are calling
Shinning stars pointing the way an affection so enthralling
Shimmers over tranquil pools the crescent moonlights falling
Meetings of two lovers hearts before the mornings dawning

The anguish of a waiting heart the flutter of a wing
Beauties small enchanted voice hearing the Fairy sing
Dreams of love's compulsion, her song the wolf will bring
Within two hearts both shall meet on silvers entwined ring

A curse that's placed is broken a drink of pure tranquillity
The Spirit of the Wolf is called upon a test of his nobility
Flight of the fairy's soft élan her grace and her gentility
Brake the curse before the dawn the tranquil pools ability

Moonlight shines through the night sky a twinkle in a star
Sparkles touch the waters edge those loves that leave a scar
Both must drink before the light love's lost forever far
Glimmers of hope a small sip Wolf's howl at what they are

Transformations will occur love will always intervene
Magical flickers catch the light and wherever it is seen
Once a fairy fluttering now she's a proud Wolf queen
Wolf's are always calling where tranquil pools have been

The souls of two true lovers, will never be apart
Differences are overcome, from Loves intervening heart
Tranquil pools compulsive dreams, those feelings from the start
When two hearts are intertwined, that's true loves unique art
zebra Mar 2018
i am a fallen star
bornless, motherless
gripped in a wet black screaming tunnel
hiding in pulsing
slippery walls
all red uterine tears
afraid to come out of her
hiding under mothers dark dress
i am a soaking wound in her
descended soul
born of blood and seed
a skull under pressure
****** by gravity
swallowing mud
beaten with sticks

cold grips cotton swabs and cloth
held upside down
and spanked

now i eat the world
and it digests me
always praying from whence i came
to a lord on some far off parametric edge
a glittering kingdom

i am no thing
stunned thoughtless
to discover
that in ******
we are closest to God

more then flesh cries
when lost in its swoon
we are
all halos
fire flares up the spine

and lost in paradise
we are found
in beauties eclipse
all burning moons
Monika Layke Jun 3
I’ve always dated beauties
but thought I’d try an ****.

Because prettiness turns unappealing
maybe ghastly could become alluring.

Boy - was I mistaken with a simple
surface calculation.
Fruitful morning in glory
At portal of rising glory
In explosion of glory
Running rivers of glory

Zion train is our palace
Enveloping our skies
With rainbows of beauties
Running from east to the west

It's morning of beauty
Come my beauty for my glory!
Sandra-Lee Hutt Aug 2018
I am the boardwalk lover, bringing shade to the ocean-side.
I love the boardwalk "not just sometimes",  "just the summertime".
Beauties, Babies, Bare chest, Bare backs following family and
friends to a beach path overlooked by sunny skies, flowing grains
of sand sloped and settled down from beach chairs, sand buckets, sea
shells, lobster tails and crab claws.  Here I am, chasing pecking pigeons
away, not just in the summertime, but all times.  One can view a  pigeon's
life, routine labor tasks, they peck, pick, echo sounds to their colony of
many, more than just a few fly along in flight, follow the strolls of beach-goers,  bikers riding close to the rails in sight, those carrying and tasting walk-away bites during the day right into the night.
It is a "pigeon steal of a meal"....I see the sand castles standing tall, artistic
creations piled high from a boy, a girl or someone who stands tall. Never "Under the Boardwalk".... One can lay, sit, stand or stoop on the beach free of shade, guarantee a tan, just in a day, blistered and buckled even the ocean waters won't wash away....
Tea Nov 2013
Letter to the boy who never writes inked words that spell out   I   love   you. But still his ink bleeds in ways I have never seen and it captivates the art inside me. The words them self may not be saying what I wish to hear but the portrait drawn in each letter is creating a beautiful big picture. I am glad you let a lovely spirit bring you to rainbows found in music that spills from your room. You see beauty everywhere and always point it out
I standing right beside you and  I can’t help but feel left out
So I see the fall and all you awes and then I look inside of me
Look hard
Alone and
Scrutinize myself
So here are something s
For between… just you and me

1)When I blush it may not be the subtle pastel you would choose,
But it blossoms on my cheek the color lovely. Crimson colored glasses show all my venerability, making me something authentic. And I like it most days. You can choose to hide your face, to look away but I love the way I am burning.You can't choose my pink or pick it.It is the color it is… well its authentic

2) I care about others to the point of it being a sickness. I have numb hands because anxiety acts in quickness, just like my reactions I am real, emotional and passionate. I see my beauty now and think you can’t have it. Even if I agree about all the other beauties you refuse to see me, and I am lovely, bright, I fit my hands just right, my legs are long and strong and remind me that my feet are my wind, a feather taking me to every place I have ever been and will be.

3) When you talk your words form poetry, but you can give up any time to get to know me, and I’m a piece of art. My colors are what words were made for. My beauty bending the conceptual understanding of language and a word itself. My eyes at any point in time saying more than your fingers ever could, slowly typing out word that beat out simple meaning. Tears fall from me heavy as bricks falling from a height, weighed down with the sorrow picked up through my life.

4) Im not bitter because you didn’t think I was hot. Because shallow boys make me their toy and they all want to play. And that makes me bitter and fules me with hate.  It was nice to find someone who cared a little more, who knew there were four letters to my name. who talked and shared interests. Only bitter now because you like my inside colors, but you didn’t think I was pretty enough to paint. And the deeper pool really was just vain. Tipping at the edge I am just pulled down the drain.

5) Is a secret. I use to hate my smile; my teeth are far from perfect. People were mean, you can say anything about it and I can say I have heard it. Red lipstick is my purple hard. Showing I made it through something mean and mad, perhaps I wish I hadntnt but I had and this is my prize. This is the honorable reminded I wear it with pride. Beaming, my red lips framing what had held me back from smiling for years. And I smile from ear to ear its beautiful.

6) A confession, I hate that you don’t see me, but I love what I see myself. I wish your hand writing wasn’t more appealing than the empty echo of what they tell.
So here is a letter to a boy, who writes in lovely scroll. Who couldn’t love me, if he knew me all. Simply said, I hope you find someone right, not me ever, not me tonight. Bitter without the sweet. To the boy who only writes but doesn't read, who expresses but just cant see, to the other lovely soul confused by all the color... I just needed to write you one last letter.
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