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"blush" poems
They ask me if I still love you. I blush, grin and say; of course. Why? Because your eyes are of the most utter ocean blue, but other days they're the currents of the stormy grey sea. I see a current of salty water, deep, once blue, but now a faded grey. I see a bundle of darkened grey clouds in the distance, and the thunder rumbles from your irises, and I hear it pound in the back of my mind. I wonder if you knew. I see a spark of lightening flash, only once in a while, while you look at her. My throat corrodes with bile. She says she sees green demons lurking in the depth of my own ocean currents, and I shrug. What am I supposed to say? I know you think about her. Night and day. The hardest part, is a generic, old saying. If you love them, you let them go. If they love you enough to stay, or to come back, you never let go. But you haven't come back.
0
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
They ask me if I still love you.
#*O morning sky of endless blue Tinged with purply-pinky hue You tell me of His mercies new Whose heart pursues my own O geese in wingèd winter's flight Your honking cries arouse delight And lift my gaze to seek thy sight As wooing from His hand O softest breeze which skims my face And stirs with such mysterious grace My soul to reach for Love’s embrace You brush me with His kiss O snowflakes falling to the ground You pierce my heart without a sound To crave a purity only found Beneath a bloodied cross O setting sun in half-light glowing Waning day’s last glorious blush showing You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing— This life is fading fast O stars of midnight’s blackest sky Paraded forth, you pull my eye Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry: “I’m coming back for you.” O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing, With haunting echoes faintly singing, “Lose all of you in Him.”*#
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Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 10:09 AM UTC
Ode to a Winter's Day
Why do they call crushes crush? I walk by you and start to blush You smile at me and I think I died inside I realize you smiled at her and I start to cry Meaning of crush is they crush your heart They mess with your feelings, tear you apart
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Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
Crush?
My name is Sara, a transgender chick Wanted a ***** was given a **** I hide it in knickers of satin and lace before sitting down to make-up my face, Next the prosthetics, I'm using two bits. Stuck to my chest, they'll do as my **** Now for my legs I'll put on false tan, I wouldn't do this if I were a man Alternative nights, a t-girl delights to sit on her bed and pull on new tights. I'll put on a dress, a cute one no less. Then for my shoes, high heels I choose A sandal style shoe as every girl knows not only looks cute, they'll show painted toes A bit of eyeliner, eyebrow definer, lipstick and blush, I'm now looking lush. I stand in the mirror all ready to go, there's only one question I just have to know. "Does my *** look big in this?" Poetry by Kaydee.
0
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
TGirl.
. *Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl an enchanting spell when spring comes by here Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly like the newness a love once tenderly embraced Songbirds in your garden sing of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,   the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls                             A song of honeyed bees'  sweetest stinger, and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween all you wish for and all your wanton needs Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming, sensual, untamed carnal grace A picture perfect natural beauty; sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume For to colour a heart's blank pages rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy .., enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound a passing moments innocence lost to steal away like rumors of gold These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,   as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness when pricked by a thorny rose   The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache onto the page ... sweet naivety stung by a mesmerizing dart to the heart Songbirds in your garden do sing of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose* Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
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Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
Songbirds in your garden sing
. *Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl an enchanting spell when spring comes by here Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly like the newness a love once tenderly embraced Songbirds in your garden sing of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,   the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls                             A song of honeyed bees'  sweetest stinger, and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween all you wish for and all your wanton needs Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming, sensual, untamed carnal grace A picture perfect natural beauty; sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume For to colour a heart's blank pages rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy .., enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound a passing moments innocence lost to steal away like rumors of gold These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,   as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness when pricked by a thorny rose   The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache onto the page ... sweet naivety stung by a mesmerizing dart to the heart Songbirds in your garden do sing of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose* Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
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38
Oh!  There it is! The blood of my Mothers’ Sins Blossoming on My white sheets Like a bouquet of English roses. A shame - Laundry day had Been yesterday.   My thighs have been painted Rouge - They blush Like my cheeks When my gaze Lingers on my body Too long in the mirror As I put on my Sunday dress. The needles in my Lower back fill my ****** with blood - I am a woman now - And as such I must Wake before the sun And wash my sheets And my body Before anyone has a chance To smell the iron and the shame Between my legs.   I have never been so Acutely aware of my body: My sore ******* feel like Overripe tomatoes ready to burst, My stomach bloated and taking up Space I’m told is not ladylike - My head throbs, my limbs ache, and I continue to shed my insides. How is it I never noticed The cry of my body before? A week of blood Before I have served my sentence For a woman Who dared to disobey - I clean the stains And wash myself Away.
0
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
************
Natuklasan ko na pagkatapos ng lahat ng hirap at sakit na iyong naranasan Makakangiti ka pa rin pala muli Pagngiti tulad noong unang beses **** makatanggap ng laruan galing sa iyong magulang Tulad noong unang beses **** makausap si crush with matching blush Tulad noong pinagtripan nyo si classmate na uto uto (mga bully!) Tulad noong sinagot ka na ng nililigawan mo Tulad noong nalaman mo na crush ka rin ng crush mo at ayun naging kayo Tulad noong nalaman mo na wala kang grado na singko Tulad noong natanggap ka sa una **** trabaho Tulad noong pagtanggap ng unang sahod na pinaghirapan mo pero sa magulang mo lahat mapupunta Tulad noong napromote ka at unang salary increase mo! Tulad noong sinurprise ka ng mga kaibigan mo nung kaarawan mo Tulad noong pagkatapos ng una niyong halik ng iniibig mo Tulad noong nakikita mo na unti unting natutupad ang mga pangarap mo Sa paglipas ng mga araw Matutunan mo Na pwede kang gumawa ng mga bagay na makakapagpasaya sayo Tulad ng isang ibon na lumilipad kasabay ang hangin
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Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
Pagngiti
*here's how it happens the morning after you reach into the drawer where the your t-shirts live to find it austere you'll shrug because you're still drunk & you can't remember when last it was that you had something wet or how long it's been since you made the floorboards blush or why the carpet is upset who wouldn't be the contents to the upended ashtray strewn around the apartment resemble the aftermath of the smallest war to ever take place in norfolk some midnight thief must've made off with the lighter because it isn't in any of your favorite spots maybe you chucked it along with a hundred other things that make noise when they land in the neighbors yard you won't remember putting the refrigerator's belongings in the bathtub or scrawling a buzzard on the bedroom door but then again who would you'll pretend it's spring again before putting on your winter coat to go out front with a cigarette in your mouth you'll hope for a passing stranger to *** a light from or drag yourself to the corner with couch cushion change to buy a new lighter and on your way you won't bother looking back this is just another day on eggshells for no reason another november choking on birthday candles on your way home you step over beer cans the kind you fell in love with and wonder who had the last laugh last night or if anyone said a word at all it might've been another moment of clarity it might have been some idiot savant any adjective that feels like home anything that keeps you thirsty*
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Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
plain as day
*here's how it happens the morning after you reach into the drawer where the your t-shirts live to find it austere you'll shrug because you're still drunk & you can't remember when last it was that you had something wet or how long it's been since you made the floorboards blush or why the carpet is upset who wouldn't be the contents to the upended ashtray strewn around the apartment resemble the aftermath of the smallest war to ever take place in norfolk some midnight thief must've made off with the lighter because it isn't in any of your favorite spots maybe you chucked it along with a hundred other things that make noise when they land in the neighbors yard you won't remember putting the refrigerator's belongings in the bathtub or scrawling a buzzard on the bedroom door but then again who would you'll pretend it's spring again before putting on your winter coat to go out front with a cigarette in your mouth you'll hope for a passing stranger to *** a light from or drag yourself to the corner with couch cushion change to buy a new lighter and on your way you won't bother looking back this is just another day on eggshells for no reason another november choking on birthday candles on your way home you step over beer cans the kind you fell in love with and wonder who had the last laugh last night or if anyone said a word at all it might've been another moment of clarity it might have been some idiot savant any adjective that feels like home anything that keeps you thirsty*
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59
i love you this morning it's a come home safe morning fog on the road & no seatbelt kind of morning the sun is over easy & nothing's on fire there's punctuation where i don't want it and extra love in the glovebox of my car been thinking about being honest how these poems are all me but they tell the story how someone else might believe it happened within reasonable doubt no copy & pasted love letters no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day' try a little tenderness in my ears and today there are instruments in the back of my head i think you love me because i'm sunburned felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again and i think nobody gets what that means except maybe you i just tell them i love the scenery that somebody must've made these trees blush just for me you know how i love to change the subject i bet they'd love the view i bet you would too and all these metaphors for other things are beside the point this is a metaphor for why i don't wear my seatbelt a metaphor for why whiskey knows me better than you could ever try to all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars are doing that cliche thing where they talk quiet jet noise & some lumbering giant made everything shake not those hand metaphors not another one of those & keep the sea to yourself i think it was a train it's sound hugged the embankment for a moment and then trailed off into nowhere and that's kind of like me how there's a town called 'rescue' close to my home & it's no coincidence that i've never been there
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Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
river music
i love you this morning it's a come home safe morning fog on the road & no seatbelt kind of morning the sun is over easy & nothing's on fire there's punctuation where i don't want it and extra love in the glovebox of my car been thinking about being honest how these poems are all me but they tell the story how someone else might believe it happened within reasonable doubt no copy & pasted love letters no 'who ever says hello first gets my attention for the day' try a little tenderness in my ears and today there are instruments in the back of my head i think you love me because i'm sunburned felt it in a 'come hell or high water' kinda way, that 'touched from far away' kinda way that 'if i touch this piano one more time one of us is going to break' kinda way and i drove over 17 bridges yesterday and today i'll do it again and i think nobody gets what that means except maybe you i just tell them i love the scenery that somebody must've made these trees blush just for me you know how i love to change the subject i bet they'd love the view i bet you would too and all these metaphors for other things are beside the point this is a metaphor for why i don't wear my seatbelt a metaphor for why whiskey knows me better than you could ever try to all the buildings seemed to sag yesterday and all the stars are doing that cliche thing where they talk quiet jet noise & some lumbering giant made everything shake not those hand metaphors not another one of those & keep the sea to yourself i think it was a train it's sound hugged the embankment for a moment and then trailed off into nowhere and that's kind of like me how there's a town called 'rescue' close to my home & it's no coincidence that i've never been there
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60
I can no longer hide My soul ignited once disparaged I long to share it The chills in my spine put into words Lips on skin Eyes filled with sin What is this sensation I drip colors you cannot see Heightening my passion Enhancing my touch Raw emotion channeled as such My desire aches The color of flush My cage breaks Expressions of lust I do not fear it I can hear you blush My favorite sound Our souls combust
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Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 11:41 PM UTC
I drip colors you cannot see
If I could look into your eyes, I would tell you how I feel. If I could look into your eyes, you would see that I'm for real. If I could look into your eyes, you would see I adore you most. If I could look into your eyes, at the same time I'd hold you close. My heart is a lock, but my darling, you are the key. I admire you so much, you just don't know what you do to me! Tell me what you want. Your wish is my command. When the chips are down, then by your side is where I'll stand. I don't care about your present. I don't care about your past. All I want is a chance to be with you is all I ask. I watch you from a distance. I desire your affection, but when you look my way I have to look in another direction. I try to gather my thoughts. I try to make a way; but when I see you, I loose control, not knowing what to say. How could I come across to get my point of view? I wonder if you even know that I have a crush on you. I adore everything you do. I cherish everything that you say. You make me blush, smile, laugh, and sing...you surely make my day! My whole day could be bad. I could be sad and blue, but you change it all just by simply looking at you. So I hope you get this letter; being with you is my only wish. I will now close this letter and I seal it with a kiss. Please accept my letter, for your affection I desire. Signed, sealed, delivered, it is I, your secret admirer.
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Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
Your Secret Admire
Are you a witness of the precise moment on that very proverbial, unpredictable day when everyone did mind the gap but the Ramadan moon took a step? None could time it at first, as if it got out from a black hole or an uncharted water well: down the trail, who can tell? Now a day or two is gone, has passed by. The moon is in the fast lane soaring high, and fills the orb with serene soft light. Ah, buddies catch up, the suave fireflies. Tons of these stay awake in the night. Before they fly away, vanishing afar into the epic portion of the night. A confluence down the black moon, only to catch a glimpse of any pattern: a morning star or a forming pin bar, a slice of light on a gingerly lit chart. Premiering the Eid moon’s first blush. Yet, if only one can time it, when will it flash? Deep down a black moon, all eyes black out. Still, how can one sigh though? Ah, the unpredictable black moon, should it show just a peek, showers the earth with Eid’s joy! Will it show up in no time, far from the sight— galaxies light up the shady nook of night. A houri in the Eden rings the alarm. The veiled bunch of fairies push the sky. Every star throws its hat, only to tell first when a crescent moon will crop up And with the first spill of moonlight, topflight it goes, pushing the boat out! A walk down the black moon without a light or water gone into the blue, As though walking dead, blindfolded. No pattern, decimals of Pi undefined by design, but spot on gets to the apex spike! There’s still an unmarked blank space the light on this way doesn’t paint. And this time, the time won’t tell is there anyone who can is anyone’s guess. So should the houri dare to run, then cherubic she be on her flawless flaw, rushes to ask the Queen of Heaven! Oh, good luck to her, a wild one. Time the black moon, its first glance precisely when the Eid moon will crop up. Enlighten us, we are more than curious. Tell us, too—don’t just tweet it to the stars.
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May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
The Ramadan Moon
Are you a witness of the precise moment on that very proverbial, unpredictable day when everyone did mind the gap but the Ramadan moon took a step? None could time it at first, as if it got out from a black hole or an uncharted water well: down the trail, who can tell? Now a day or two is gone, has passed by. The moon is in the fast lane soaring high, and fills the orb with serene soft light. Ah, buddies catch up, the suave fireflies. Tons of these stay awake in the night. Before they fly away, vanishing afar into the epic portion of the night. A confluence down the black moon, only to catch a glimpse of any pattern: a morning star or a forming pin bar, a slice of light on a gingerly lit chart. Premiering the Eid moon’s first blush. Yet, if only one can time it, when will it flash? Deep down a black moon, all eyes black out. Still, how can one sigh though? Ah, the unpredictable black moon, should it show just a peek, showers the earth with Eid’s joy! Will it show up in no time, far from the sight— galaxies light up the shady nook of night. A houri in the Eden rings the alarm. The veiled bunch of fairies push the sky. Every star throws its hat, only to tell first when a crescent moon will crop up And with the first spill of moonlight, topflight it goes, pushing the boat out! A walk down the black moon without a light or water gone into the blue, As though walking dead, blindfolded. No pattern, decimals of Pi undefined by design, but spot on gets to the apex spike! There’s still an unmarked blank space the light on this way doesn’t paint. And this time, the time won’t tell is there anyone who can is anyone’s guess. So should the houri dare to run, then cherubic she be on her flawless flaw, rushes to ask the Queen of Heaven! Oh, good luck to her, a wild one. Time the black moon, its first glance precisely when the Eid moon will crop up. Enlighten us, we are more than curious. Tell us, too—don’t just tweet it to the stars.
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49
The thought alone;     the naughty idea     of pressing my mouth     against her pink lips     persuading me to     persuade her to blush.
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Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
Persuasion
Winter is cold-hearted, Spring is yea and nay, Autumn is a weathercock Blown every way: Summer days for me When every leaf is on its tree; When Robin's not a beggar, And Jenny Wren's a bride, And larks hang singing, singing, singing, Over the wheat-fields wide, And anchored lilies ride, And the pendulum spider Swings from side to side, And blue-black beetles transact business, And gnats fly in a host, And furry caterpillars hasten That no time be lost, And moths grow fat and thrive, And ladybirds arrive. Before green apples blush, Before green nuts embrown, Why, one day in the country Is worth a month in town; Is worth a day and a year Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion That days drone elsewhere.
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19.4k
Summer
Ode to a Sunflower I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light. I was walking alone in desolation when I encountered the blinding sight of my sunflower. There it was staring at me with its inviting eyes, eyes which seemed a little lost, a little troubled, a little like mine. My hand trembled as it wiped the disbelief from my vision. The seeds which I had planted in an attempt to dispel my restless woes had sprout up in a seemingly un-fertile place, a place where I could not fathom I would find my Sunflower. But there it was in all its beauty: eloquent, mysterious and enchanting. A vivid portrait of heavenly grace. all could witness , yet, one could possess. I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light. From the moment I found my sunflower I did my best to nurture it, watering its spirit from sunrise to sunset. The beauty for which it possessed was captivating; stirring my very being like no other flower has prior. I spent days, months and years analyzing this gem. I wondered why this sunflower was so singular in its splendor, why after so long in my possession was it still shining brighter than a summer star painted against a black night. My admiration and love for this sunflower matured uncontrollably, cultivating in a whirlwind of blissful sunshine. I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light. Though my sunflower possesses the strength of a thousand armies and the magnificence of a thousand smiles, I sense a feeling of weakness when the wicked birds of prey attempt to uproot it from its rightful plot. I caress its pedals and speak to it softly assuring that there is a purpose for the gloom, and that upon all of us the rain of opposition will fall. I clutch its head into mine as splendid pedals of fluorescent beauty tickle my face, making me blush with joy. I whisper to my sunflower as I drop my seed next to her stalk, and I tell it that no matter what storms may sing, there will be no challenge to our garden as long as we continue to grow together.
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Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
Ode to a Sunflower
Ode to a Sunflower I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light. I was walking alone in desolation when I encountered the blinding sight of my sunflower. There it was staring at me with its inviting eyes, eyes which seemed a little lost, a little troubled, a little like mine. My hand trembled as it wiped the disbelief from my vision. The seeds which I had planted in an attempt to dispel my restless woes had sprout up in a seemingly un-fertile place, a place where I could not fathom I would find my Sunflower. But there it was in all its beauty: eloquent, mysterious and enchanting. A vivid portrait of heavenly grace. all could witness , yet, one could possess. I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light. From the moment I found my sunflower I did my best to nurture it, watering its spirit from sunrise to sunset. The beauty for which it possessed was captivating; stirring my very being like no other flower has prior. I spent days, months and years analyzing this gem. I wondered why this sunflower was so singular in its splendor, why after so long in my possession was it still shining brighter than a summer star painted against a black night. My admiration and love for this sunflower matured uncontrollably, cultivating in a whirlwind of blissful sunshine. I dare not speak against her beauty; beauty which encompasses the spirit of truth, the spirit of faithfulness, the spirit of light. Though my sunflower possesses the strength of a thousand armies and the magnificence of a thousand smiles, I sense a feeling of weakness when the wicked birds of prey attempt to uproot it from its rightful plot. I caress its pedals and speak to it softly assuring that there is a purpose for the gloom, and that upon all of us the rain of opposition will fall. I clutch its head into mine as splendid pedals of fluorescent beauty tickle my face, making me blush with joy. I whisper to my sunflower as I drop my seed next to her stalk, and I tell it that no matter what storms may sing, there will be no challenge to our garden as long as we continue to grow together.
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8
I have been attracted to you for a while but didn’t think you felt the same. but infact you might even like me more. you think i’m beautiful and special indeed. you’ve trapped me in your heart and blue eyes you tell me you were to shy to tell me, but i was too shy to tell you. do you love me? do I love you? do you love me afterall? you say things that make me blush. and tell me what i want to hear. you call me baby and your love. things really did work out, didn’t they. I’ve missed this feeling of love. i guess you just might love me after all.
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Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
Love Me After all
My skin illuminates your body with my touch, your body quaking from the rush. My aching ***** -- eager with lust, paying dutiful attention to your pearly gates. With zeal they await, to invade your presence with my grace. filling split with my space. in one fulfilling embrace. Your tender folds aroused, enclose my arousal. swollen with desire, swallow me whole like a mouthful. legs spread -- wide open and exposed. your plush lips, blush with lust. as your body erupts.
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Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 11:56 PM UTC
Lustful Thinking
the daisy in the vase sits by the window with its feet dipped in water its drooping head drinking in sunshine yet it doesn’t stop the blush pink from littering the countertop in hues of brown leaves now, shrivelled prunes ripe of its existence love me love me not the daisy in the vase remains only a single stalk.
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Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
daisy
*Long lines looped the carousel the first time you gazed my eye, mounted on that chestnut mare, grasped tight to the reigns up high. I see his face around the bend, a corn dog in his hand. Locking eyes as I rise. I blush, above the crowd he stands.    Light flickers, mouths water delicate contoured lips laugh. I smile. The music hesitates along with my breath. I think I'll be staying awhile. Bewildered and a little dizzy, I dismount with a giggle. I lick my dry lips, dreamily, hoping he is single. With the wind, a light mist blows. I can see her slowly get wet, stumbling she falls my way. I'm excited, this day isn't over yet Drip, drip, drip upon my face, anxiously, I turn to hurry. In my haste, he catches my waist swallowing... I fall covertly. Lips moisten, I pull her near a kiss, slipped, tongues twirl, wanton whispers whisked away, drenched deep passion's unfurl. A stranger's kiss upon my lips beneath the dreary skies. Soaking wet, I'm still on fire He caught me by surprise. A stranger's kiss upon my lips beneath the queching skies. Heaven sent, a burning desire; she, such a welcomed surprise.*
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Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
The Affair At The Fair (A Collaboration)
raindrops faintly laughing as they prance                                                 along the leaves watercress dancing gently twirling slowly                                                           in the creek a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper                                                            against a tree the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones                                                              of red on green a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry                                                                but bravely greets the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent                                                                                   things unseen                                   ©2016janetaylor
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May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
sweet dawn's morning
And she was tired, but not of me. She’s such a sleeping beauty, That I could stare at her all day. Look at her, God! Just look at her This day can’t get any better. Isn’t she pretty, like some deity? She blushes, she smiles, She looks at me, from miles All this while, looking at her I realize already, that I’m into her She doesn’t speak a lot, Her eyes do it, taking her part Whenever I say I love you, Her lips go wide From smile to grin, Grin to blush If this isn’t worth falling for, What is? She lifts me up, when I’m down, She thrashes me, when I’m dumb She cooks for me, when I want it the most She showers love on me, when I need her the most. And then she hugs me tight, All worries were out of my sight. That’s when I know, I’m hers, No worries, Coz she already knows, she’s mine ~ PG
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Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 3:02 PM UTC
That beautiful night!
Paint me a picture Of your skin Does it bronze beneath the sun? Or sizzle and blush Like your cheeks When you’re in love? Is it soft to the touch Like when your palms graze The smooth surface of water? Or rough around the edges Like your favorite book And its lovingly worn corners? Does it melt in the heat Like sweet syrupy treats Dripping through your fingers? Or does it welcome the winter With wide open arms As if greeting a lover? Paint me a picture Of your skin
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Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
Matisse
I'm too shy to say my thoughts. I'm too shy to speak up. I'm too isolated to make many friends. I'm too isolated to defend. When you find me some paper, or a gentle screen, I'll speak up, and I will say what I please. I will rant, I will rage. I will create a war, though it doesn't seem me. The thoughts in my head, kept quiet until now. I have found some paper to make my crown. Don't put me in public, don't put me on stage. I will only blush and stammer away. I am an introvert, so quiet, you see. But I am the loudest of the three.
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Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 2:22 AM UTC
Introvert
I can’t help how my cheeks do flare, And my smile shrinks and shy’s, When at me he stares, With those naughty blue eyes, Ice blue screams adventure in his heart, Different shades where emotion lies, Making me blush his untrained art, With those naughty blue eyes, Ice blue eyes have me intone, I can’t help the butterflies, From only he alone, With those naughty blue eyes, Ice blue eyes plead him wise, He’s made me a klutz, With those naughty blue eyes, Naughty blue eyes, That so my passion entice, Naughty blue eyes, You got me thinking twice, Ice blue eyes that whispers depth, Subtly watching me he tries, He’s got me perplex, With those naughty blue eyes.
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Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 6:10 AM UTC
Naughty Blue Eyes
i have fallen in love with the blush of the cherry blossom the delicate scent the bloom on the branch i have fallen in love with the cascade of the cherry blossom the clusters like grapes and patterns of light and shade i have fallen in love with a pink so pink fresher than strawberry ice-cream or revlon’s baby pink gloss i have fallen in love with cherry blossoms in the breeze petals flutter and hover like snowflakes in the night i have fallen in love with every day, every season, every flower every birth, every death, every sickness because life changes and alters i have fallen in love with life, with love, with pain i have fallen in love i have fallen in love
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May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 5:31 AM UTC
lessons from the cherry blossom