"cheery" poems
He is there for you, He will always win, He will help you, He will stop the spin
He is our brother, He is always caring, He will comfort you, His love is always sharing
Though times are dark, and life seems weary, through His never-ending tenderness, we will be cheery.
Jan 17, 2016
Jan 17, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
"but why me?"
i asked him.
"out of all the girls
who are the elegant roses
or bright sunflowers,
graceful tulips,
or lovely orchids,
why pick me,
a lone, little daisy?"
he laughed,
"well then:
oopsy daisy,
then you must be
the best mistake
i have ever made.
for through
your white petals
and cheery yellow center,
innocence and beauty
is portrayed."
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 7:17 AM UTC
With gentle cheeky smiles and cheery cheers,
You endeared yourself to your deary dears,
My jealousy rose up like the towering tiers,
of classic wedding cake infused with beers,
Drunk even more in love without you here,
Us becoming strangers made me shed tears,
Somehow your babbling is a delight to hear,
But you're getting far away, not even near.
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 5:28 AM UTC
I dream of a day
When "coming out of the closet"
Isn't even a thing anymore.
When "straight" is just a direction,
"Gay" just means cheery,
And "bisexual"
Isn't even a word anymore.
When people look at someone
And see a human,
Instead of a stigmatized word
Defining that person's way
Of loving other people.
I dream of a day
When a man
Can hold another man's hand,
Without the people around them
Whispering "Oh my god, is he gay?"
When a girl can kiss another girl
Without being called *****
Or attention ******
Or "barsexuals."
I dream of a day
When love is simply that,
LOVE.
Not something political,
Or religious, or controversial,
But just something beautiful
Between two beautiful
Human hearts.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:42 PM UTC
Heaven and Hell,
I taste when i'm with you.
Heart as cold as ice,
yet warm like the grassy fields of the spring meadows.
You were the hurricane, chaotic and unforgiving.
But with every storm, lies a rainbow radiating every inch of beauty within.
Your mind beautifully balanced,
a mysterious blend of dark and cheery.
Your existence, like the gleaming rays of the sunrise.
Bringing new hope after a dark and cold night.
You are the bitter sweet of life.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
* soft spoken intro *
*The tree,
With its lights,
***** and tinsel,
Garland, excitement,
Of these nights,
The mistletoe and a star…
Ornaments,
See the candy canes,
Icicles,
And a door wreath,
On a cold,
Snowy Christmas Eve!
Toys of Elvin-creation gleam, faces of the children they smile and beam, pitter-patter sounds of feet stomp -ing; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Santa Claus and Christmas-time, sing a-long with our cheery rhyme, nothing ever feels so fine; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Spicy scent of pumpkin pies, hear the reindeer when his sleigh arrives, toting presents that jolly guy; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Santa, St. Nick, Sinterklaas, around the whole world in one night -no pause, and a childhood feeling that’ll never be lost; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A night of magic you won’t believe; it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Tally-Ho! Jolly-fun! The night ain’t over till Santa’s done; a night of magic you won’t believe, it’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
It’s a cold snowy Christmas Eve!
A cold snowy Christmas Eve!
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
The smiling face often lies ,
No one knows , what it hides .
It is easier to curve your mouth ,
Then to let the pain come out .
The smiling face ,my mirror shows
Hides every stories which I know
I deceive others with my cheery facade
As they do the same , they too are flawed .
There are few true smiles ,
Hardly seen much awhile.
But they fade away fast ,
Because happiness do not last .
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC
They say women are like flowers
delicate and beautiful, cheery and colorful.
Put them in a vase and care for them daily
And they will make everything look better
with their aura. You'll fall in love.
Believe me.
But
She was not a flower from the gardens
She was more like a wildflower growing between
the cracks of a rock. Almost like rebelling against
the nature's rule.
She was alluring in her own ways yet no one
would ever dare to pluck her.
No one could ever love a wildflower in front of a rose
But
No rose could ever be free like a young fiery soul.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 1:54 AM UTC
My humanity's in jeopardy every single day
Do I have the right clothes?
Do I have the right nose?
Did I say what I should say?
I'm constantly worried and in such a hurry
Did I make my own meal?
Did I work or did I steal?
Should I open up or conceal?
I'm always tired from pent up desire
I'm listening to the hum
From the people and their guns
Trying to ruin all my fun
I'm being told that love won't grow old
But it's stifled and stopped
These floating heads talk
About it around the clock
I'm just weary from always being cheery
I want to be alone
Not chained to a phone
Or hearing the public groan
If I'm 21 now then I'm too dumb anyhow
To fall in love or work
I'm just a coffee clerk
Spit on my college shirt
My self-worth isn't tied to this earth
It's tied to a wire
That leaves cities on fire
I can't get any higher
I feel like a little boy playing with little toys
Why do I have a voice,
If I don't have a choice?
Am I just radioactive noise?
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
Let me tell you a story about a busy steet in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world.
Somewhere near the end of this busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, there was a flowershop.
It was a lovely old place; an elegant building surrounded by beautiful gardens with daisies and daffodils and roses. It had bird baths where the cheery cardinals and bluejays stopped by for an afternoon splash, and even a sprinkler for the young children to run around in while their mommy's and daddy's were picking out pretty flowers.
Now, inside this flowershop, there were rows upon rows of pots filled with any type of plant you could imagine: dragonsnaps, lilies, zinnias, tulips, the whole lot. Baskets of flowers hung from the ceiling, overflowing with bright colours. Every once in a while, petals would rain down and the entire shop would look magical.
Everyday, people of all ages would dash into this flowershop. Men in suits, looking to find the perfect gift for their dates. Ladies in dresses, picking out just a little something to look nice in a vase on their dinner table. And of course, the gardeners, with their overalls and ***** fingers.
So, as I said, busy people on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world would dash into this busy flowershop, then dash back out and get on with their busy lives. Always looking for the most ravishing type of flower, the ones that could catch your eye as soon as you entered the shop. Never focusing on anything else.
What no one realized was that there was a small flower placed near the back wall of the shop. It was never moved; always been in the same exact place ever since it arrived at the flowershop years and years ago. The owners had stopped watering it, so the flower was beginning to shrivel up. Most of the petals had fallen off and were now laying in a sad little pile on the ground, and the few that remained had turned the colour of black.
The little flower got sicker and sicker every day, but it never lost hope. Every time the suited man stopped in, or the lady with the dress, or the ***** gardener; the flower would use its last bit of strength to make itself noticed. It stood on its tippy toes, perking up and spreading its wilted petals and frail stem as much as it could.
No one saw.
Then, one day, when the owner was sweeping the floor of the flowershop, he saw something near the back wall. Something broken. Crumpled. Blackened. Ugly. Dead. Something that once was beautiful until it stopped being noticed; stopped being loved.
You see, in a busy flowershop on a busy street in a busy city in a busy country in a busy world, no one's ever going to notice a wallflower until it wilts.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 6:47 PM UTC
Pizza--the only I want to poor my feelings onto
Because when I think of its filling capacity--
Its carb-heavy, fat drenched, and sugary-savory goodness--
I honor the people who continue the artisinal craft.
Pizza--it's the food for all hungers.
It fills you with energy when you're high,
Just after a win with a cheery, rowdy gang of five.
It's the traditional topping on the pie.
Pizza--All and everything, when the time calls.
When the emptiness cannot be filled,
Let it be filled with years of associations.
All in good company, Pizza, my best friend.
So I met a new person today--quiet and resourceful,
She was counting her inventory,
Solving a problem set or learning a new trick.
I barged in while she put aside her life for mine.
She said, "What may you have, sir?"
"A medium with pepperoni," I said, "and linguica, please".
That was all that's said as she carried on her fees.
"That'll be $18.05," and a shot of guilt charged me.
Pizza, though poor my feelings how expensive the taste!
When, just then, she collected the money
The pizza was all too simply done and I was on my way.
I was the one left, saying, " Well, enjoy your weekend!"
But as I drove and the pizza aromatized,
Neither she nor I were free from capitalized.
A self-disciplined pizza artist, stripped of her dough,
Like the boy who made chocolate with a molinillo.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 2:40 AM UTC
There the merry hologram glowing blue purple blue
Cactus human cherry on a stool
Beyond the window he would not look
Inside the sky made of wood.
The barber talks to his ferns
The flowers he understood
The living they earn
Sparkling its rough nails of your barber.
The breath and life he will spruce with apple-pie order.
He listens to
Each one story
Always about a time
A time which was cheery.
He looks piercingly to all their prickly
What he touches intently
To turn the time that latches onto your head which started feeling heavy.
Lifted into glee so jolly and carefree.
A man
Or the boys
They finally stand up easily.
Capes dusted
Top hat powdered
Their voice of fears collected as tips
For pricking up his ears.
The door that opens in the end
The swirling light that beckons
Hair became a way to lighten ---
When times get rough and belligerent
Cut it off, rugged and ruffian.
The barber hears him and all
The others like soldiers
They share their laughs
Troubles leaving shoulders
Leaving like a waterfall.
The barber knows everything
The barber knows all.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
The child alone a poet is:
Spring and Fairyland are his.
Truth and Reason show but dim,
And all’s poetry with him.
Rhyme and music flow in plenty
For the lad of one-and-twenty,
But Spring for him is no more now
Than daisies to a munching cow;
Just a cheery pleasant season,
Daisy buds to live at ease on.
He’s forgotten how he smiled
And shrieked at snowdrops when a child,
Or wept one evening secretly
For April’s glorious misery.
Wisdom made him old and wary
Banishing the Lords of Faery.
Wisdom made a breach and battered
Babylon to bits: she scattered
To the hedges and ditches
All our nursery gnomes and witches.
Lob and Puck, poor frantic elves,
Drag their treasures from the shelves.
Jack the Giant-killer’s gone,
Mother Goose and Oberon,
Bluebeard and King Solomon.
Robin, and Red Riding Hood
Take together to the wood,
And Sir Galahad lies hid
In a cave with Captain Kidd.
None of all the magic hosts,
None remain but a few ghosts
Of timorous heart, to linger on
Weeping for lost Babylon.
4.8k
Born in nineteen thirty five
To reside at "Tick Tock park"
A whole life marred by damaged lungs
Yet, gracious was his heart
Known to his friends as Ginger
This man of arduous health
He possessed an ever-cheery smile
Wit and intellect his wealth
Passionate was he for art
Racehorses, jazz, the Goons
And chrysanthemum had more value
Than mankind racing for the moon
With his water colour paintings
He tried to leave his mark
But alas his dreams were halted
For no mercy has the dark
Of the protagonist of this ode
I shall say only this
My father was a brilliant man
Who I shall always miss
Jul 31, 2012
Jul 31, 2012 at 6:07 PM UTC
The third moon brought forth from the shadow dark.
Gentle breeze freewheeled across the lakeshore.
Windswept was the air, in peace night was marked-
Unyielding stillness, blooming fairness more.
Silky pastel cloth, gushing curtain soft.
The window let in hushed waft soothing cool.
Fixed firmly on shore with poles planted stiff,
A pavilion meek light heartened the pool.
By the portico was a tree bent down
Whose white flowers bloomed lovely as a nymph.
Its jagged branches, lumped of golden-brown,
Delicately grown each emerald leaf.
Underneath its shades were cheery plantlets;
Pebbles hard and cold; red earth spongy ground;
Flying whirly bugs, glittering bead lets.
Fair maiden deferred, there then can be found.
Pleasing to the eye, that dignified dress
In white noble silk with fine needlecraft.
Regal as she stood, just for a mistress.
Mystic was her eyes, a soul was grafted.
Filled with potent life in her burning stare.
Profound as the deep, tranquil as it surge.
One may glimpse straight to, utmost one can't bare.
To its mysteries, one gave in and urged.
Verdant her hair was, hearty as it shone.
Longer than she was, white as the moonlight.
In her neck are chains, beads and shells she owned.
Varies in sizes, things that make her bright.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 5:30 AM UTC
i saw a beautiful red rose that sat in a field of wilted weeds
and as time went on
and the weeds grew more and more plentiful
the rose remained the same
just as cheery and red as before
and i was brought to the realization
that it's possible for a something so beautiful to be surrounded by
such insignificance
something with so much life
can exist in the middle of emptiness
although it may seem like everything is dead,
there's always a little hope
always
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
Monica,
she said her name was.
Of course I didn't believe her,
but it wasn't important.
What was important,
when she met me
with a cheery professional
smile
at the window
in the waiting room
of Anfu Massage,
was that she was
willing
to take me by the hand
and lead me
down the very dim corridor
into a dimly lit room
with a bed
where she and I shared
an hour of
******
pleasure.
She made me feel
like a great lover
and gave me her best
imitation of passion
so skillfully
that I believed,
because I wanted to,
for that hour
that I was
making love
to my lover.
I used to agonize
and feel guilty about it,
but in this solitary
autumnal season
of my life,
haunted
by the ghosts
of loves lost,
I am grateful
for even this
sweet counterfeit.
And, yes
I revel
in her gentle feminine
warmth,
her softness,
and in the primal
connection
we make.
Somehow, it
feels like
it is keeping my heart
alive.
Jan 11, 2011
Jan 11, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
4:21am
Tue
Aug 12
<*>
restless is the thinking brain,
rapid repeated beating
from an overheating sun
in a room of full-on dark,
difficult to weep,
harder to silent breathe,
one listens to his arrhythmic heart,
sending out messages incessantly & incomplete
every single sin ever committed
comes in with cheery face,
a greeting of, still here!
in this ,
our temporary final resting place
finish us off by completion,
makes us full of restitution,
by seeing to our undoing,
revolving, unending, the finally of sufficiently
those old curses
we can only face
by turning our faces away,
drop in, like best friends, come to sunrise visit
though dawn is yet eons of minutes far away,
though relief can never be fully attained,
though "though' is the first ****** word of excusal,
though betrayal is always next, the secondarily, refusal,
there is never a dot of period,
only a comma of pause, because,
there is no ending in completion
only in forgiving by your harshest critic,
yourself, yourself, our selving,
this unsolvable function of forgiveness upon this,
this, the two-days of Tuesday,
to day
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 4:56 AM UTC
Is it acting
or adapting?
smiling for the show
of customers:
bright, dapper,
cheery and proud -
pushing product
with a knowing smile,
words animated,
confident and collected.
once they leave i sit and
ponder, I see the stars
in their films and admire
from afar, lamenting that I
cannot act - but can I?
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
When I return to Hope
it will be the height of summer's warm July
I'll stroll the gravel road to take the cutoff path
gathering lupine wildflowers, breezy among the dewy grass
make my morning way along heaven's labrynthine trail
with chirping cheery bird, sweet songs or distant calls of loon
where blue of sky is woven wild with magenta all abloom
and I will lose myself most complete
immersed in nature's room
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:22 AM UTC
¸.•°”˜ƸӜƷ˜”°•.•.
*I have this place where I go
when I need to be all alone.
I call it my place,
a place where the hurts of the world
quiet down and fade away.*
***I have this place
no one knows about
between a field and a willow tree
along a pastures edge.***
*A place of beauty, where my fingertips
can paint over all the wrong
and all the pain I feel
in colors bright and cheery.*
***A creek down around the corner
I go to when
things get oppressive
dark and hard.***
*It’s a place of peace, where the fears
of my heart slow and still…
A place of calm, where the oceans
of emotions lay at my feet
and weep no more.*
***And I sit there
I don't know if I meditate
there in this place hidden
but I get peace
I see love I hug this earth.***
*It’s a place where I can breathe,
where I feel sheltered, protected
from the coldness outside
of my canopy of shade… It’s my place.*
***They go to their place…..
……they visit very often...***
¸.•°”˜ƸӜƷ˜”°•.•.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 5:09 PM UTC
Annabelle does sit at play,
In her usual, cheery way.
She does not worry, nor does she fret,
She hasn’t reason to be scared yet.
Then, the seizure overtakes her,
Perhaps caused by a noise, an innocent whir.
“Mom, it’s happening”, she cries,
With her hands she covers her eyes.
“Annabelle, Annabelle, ‘twill all be fine,”
We calmly say, with deep fear inside.
We knew that this was epilepsy,
I wished it wasn’t her, but me.
But she endured the pain and strife,
Now a part of her daily life.
She was strong of heart and head,
Even in her hospital bed.
After a minute, the nausea stops,
And our level of fear gradually drops.
Annabelle returns to her lovely self,
But we know that more seizures will take this sweet, young elf.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
crystal water, silky skies, sun kissed skin,and bright blue eyes. deposits of sand across burning skin changes a person from dark and weary to bright and cheery. the waves move like the words passed between each, crashing against every thought pondered on the beach. barely able to move after the fun, body aching red from the blazing sun.
at least it was worth the while.
(j.a.r.)
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
There was no knight to rescue me
that night - just a gentle breeze, whispering the secrets of the earth
The cheering of cheery companions taunt me -
Go and join in, have some fun
The night is sweet, the night is young
Empty glass bottles fill the house,
Not yet shattered, but waiting to be
The clinking of alcoholic beverages between each merry soul
Good to see you again my friend,
Good to see you again
Somehow, some thing is missing
Something isn't right
The gentle hum of the party's vibes as it swings into life
distracts me from my sole intention:
Keep a low cover, don't make any noise
Keep a low cover, stay away from the boys.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 1:26 PM UTC