"cherishes" poems
He smiles.
His future is thought out.
His favorite color is yellow.
He can speak Spanish.
I frown.
My future is a mystery.
My favorite color is black.
I speak only English.
He's talented. I'm worthless.
He's a charmer. I'm a repellent.
He's hardworking. I'm spoiled.
He cherishes. I push away.
Can our opposites really attract?
Maybe in one way.
Fore he is the light that brightens my darkness.
But I shall not be the darkness that destroys
his light.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
1253
Had this one Day not been.
Or could it cease to be
How smitten, how superfluous,
Were every other Day!
Lest Love should value less
What Loss would value more
Had it the stricken privilege,
It cherishes before.
9.1k
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**”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light
Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”**
~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)
<>
First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,
at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee
it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue
simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul
here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:05 AM UTC
One day you'll find someone who makes all those broken pieces of your heart feel like the most beautiful jigsaw in the world, who cherishes your cracks and fills them with gold dust.
She wasn't wrong when she said you deserved better.
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
Heartbeat,
Heartbeat that went live when I cried into the world
Heartbeat that went up the first time I felt happiness
Heartbeat that went up the first time I saw my mother's smile
Heartbeat that goes up every time I am with my friends
Heartbeat that goes up every time I hear his voice
Heartbeat that now goes up with every scream in the world
Heartbeat that goes up every time an innocent soul is taken away
Heartbeat that shatters at every time I hear a girl's cry in the air
Crying for her life and mind taken away by devil's in human shapes
Heartbeat that screams every time inhumanity wins over love
Heartbeat that finally goes up with every hope
Heartbeat that still believes life is worth living
Heartbeat that cherishes life and happiness
Heartbeat that protects true friendship and soul connection
Heartbeat that I listen to, heartbeat hidden in my heart
Hearbeat that pours my soul's scream into lines
Heartbeat that guides my mind out of the darkest depths of despair
Heartbeat that will stop the day I'll leave this world
Heartbeat that will seal my journey
Heartbeat, heartbeat, heartbeat...
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 4:58 PM UTC
Oh this feeling, the way you make me feel
is naught but solid and true. Ever present,
and always makes me feel slightly delusional,
it sometimes falters, but is widely consistent.
Theres a shift in the weather, a difference in the air,
its something of a sweeter aroma, delightful to the senses.
Its calming, giving rise to these joyful fantasies, but they are
sometimes taken to far, so I keep them penned up behind fences.
There are adjectives plenty to describe you,
and many qualities can be ascribed to your name.
For your heart is golden, your words wise, your view
on life is positive and difficult to thoroughly maintain.
Your profound adoration for puppy, child, and rose
Is much to blame for my insane admiration of you.
Theres something about your personality that grows
increasingly in such favour of something within you thats true.
Ay, yes, Its true, theres something wonderful about you,
It sees me through the deepest swells when I am blue.
I could sit in your presence and be grieved by sorrowful news,
and still you'd bring me comfort, and remedy my bout of the blues.
Why do you hide away what beauty you possess,
don't flaunt it true, but please don't sequester it.
Make proud your heart in your beauty, as it pleases
the eye, and makes glad the soul who cherishes it.
I find myself laid low to the ground,
when your hand lowered extends out toward me.
I find myself happy and in the presence of love found
and in my arms, is the person who sees me free.
There is something in me that wants me to scream
nothing of pain and agony, but in joy and profound happiness.
For there is something in my life that whilst it may seem
temporary, is the permanent source of so much joyfulness.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
Open, oh eye of ones heart
The spiral of desire continues with no end to it, if lies are to pollute the world it is time to purify yourself from them all, one by one.
A hearts eye, sees through lies, but that is not its only purpose in a chest full of light and compassion in which it can greatly be found,
It serves so much more, all sealed uner a truthful surface and a righteous core, careless about anothers looks, the way they speak, superficiality such as shallowness are wiped out by it completely,
The hearts eye sees anothers soul and what they truly are, a judgement far away from personal preferences or falsities caused by instincts of ones heart which are likely to bring light headed frivolity,
It cherishes the good, the beauty of the soul except for wealthy appearance, mavelovence within greedy devilish behaviour and spite,
Projected like a story, the fear of what they see is but of themselves, if such an eye hits a devil right on the head, exposing his treaciousness
What lies behind such a courtain of darkness, may it be good? Evil ?
Come pray by my side, if you shiver from that far away I cannot help you, as sadness clouds your vision in a courtain call of pure grief,
Let me open your eyes, so your wounds may heal.
~ Umi
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 6:19 PM UTC
The tears of love in my heart can neither human nor spirit understand,
for my heart is bruised in grief.
The pains of love in my soul can neither words nor speech utter,
for my soul is soiled in sorrow.
The wounds of love in my spirit can neither care nor treatment heal,
for my spirit is sealed in distress.
My heart desires you though you have refused to change your mind.
My soul seeks your love though you have refused to come back.
My spirit cherishes your love though we can't be together forever as lovers.
But,
lf we are not meant to be together as lovers,
why then does this feeling hurt so much?
If we are not designed for each other as one,
why then does my heart cleave to yours?
If we are not destined for one another as soul mates,
why then does my spirit cherish your love?
It hurts to know that we can't always be with the ones we love.
Seeing that we can't be together forever as lovers,
for my inability to change the destined destiny;
and my inability to change your mind.
My prayer is that you find the love of your heart.
My desire is that you find the desires of your heart.
My passion is that you find the love of your life,
someone who will love and cherish you.
The tears of love in my heart, you alone can clean.
The pains of love in my soul, you alone can stop.
The wounds of love in my spirit,
you alone can heal.
With tears in my heart will your love be seeked,
though am bruised in grief.
With pains in my soul will your love be cherished,
though am soiled in sorrow.
With wounds in my spirit will your love be desired;
though am sealed in distress.
My life was lived in loving you, now you leave to love another.
My heart beats for yours, knowing you alone can clean my tears.
My spirit seeks your heart, knowing we shared so much.
Oh! The days of sorrow and loneliness has caught up with me.
A broken and wounded heart you leave me with.
A new path you are treading without me.
A new life you are moving to, without me.
Nevertheless,
my heart frees you without any guilt.
But remember it hurts to love and not be loved in return.
We promised each other to live together forever as lovers,
you assured me of dying by my side.
All these promises are now forgotten.
Goodbye my friend.
As you leave me to groan in tears of loneliness for love,
remember my tears are ceaselessly running;
wailing and waiting for who will clean my tears of love.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 11:32 AM UTC
kitten
eyes so bright
alive
sweet
demure
you’d be
a great mother
wife and lover
you’re the type
of woman
a man cherishes
steps up
willingly
provides protects
builds a family
kitten
will you marry me
have children
live happily
to the end of eternity
with me
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 10:15 PM UTC
A fatherless woman walks in the street
She struts the streets at night
She walks without a purpose
She seems empty and vague
Her wild crazed eyes glance at the blue men
A paper bill gives her death
Her mother told her daddy loves roughed edged woman
That he cherishes there empty hearts
She promised she would be loved by daddy
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
strike my eyes lovely
for S. B.
by way of introduction,
when you have gone to confession,
freely admitting you have nothing left for others to harvest,
no seed to plant a new crop, and lies and laughter, interchangeable,
there is no poetry left, not even raisin scone crumbs,
one good friend informs that a forgotten five month old poem,
a computer has selected & resurrected, for distinction
so months later you snicker for you have been seriously
self-kicked away from writing, all your vocabularies,
trite and yellowed overused, and you read
really good poetry and are
slapped-seen-outed by the impoverishment of
your own no-winsome word-smithy,
no delusions, even this, but a-quick script, more a thank you note,
and it’s the only lasting quality is the
genuine nature of its intent
but the poem itself falls bottom of the cliff, short on quality,
a victim of your dissatisfaction
let me explain better
she messages you while the time difference works in her favor,
she reads while you sleep the sleep of the soul-exhausted,
she, scoffing at your claims of motivation deprivation,
as she cherishes this forgotten one,
with words that cannot be ignored
the poem**
strikes her eyes lovely
daggered, this morning phrase cannot go unchallenged
for this a compliment that any poet would
weep for, be inspired by, stung into action,
provoked, ego flattered and challenged to-do more-better,
what writer could want for anything more!
who can own this ability
accept this ultimatum of success, a cross-word crucification
to strike down lovely
the readers eyes, almost all once,
almost excuses me forever
for trying and failing so many times
you smile
but not in the chest where
lovely
needs to strike you
for if you cannot strike the readers eyes again and again, then...
let the moment gleam, and then disappear,
again and again, stored but not restorative
11/21/18
Miami
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 7:49 AM UTC
Blessed is a soul that lives freely,
Free from the world’s tragedies and pains,
A soul that cherishes life happily
Like a child with no bargains...
Fly like a butterfly
And be as free as you can be,
Find peace within the sky
And move as quiet as the sea...
Try to free your soul and mind
And watch as He puts upon you his love
Leave the material world behind
And forever we’ll be together in the heavens above...
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
Poet: be gentle with yourself
never compare yourself to the coffee house across the street
the one that looks so lonely and wise with it’s brewing tales
and tea leaves
do not forget that you are a magician’s tarot cards, fate
holders and dream menders and plot twisters
poet: be gentle with yourself
you are a small wind hiding from the storm
but trust me your calm will come
remember that you are made of the stars and the universe
and that every atom inside of you is alive just like how
your words are
poet: be gentle with yourself
I know how it feels to hold back from writing
because you depreciate your own self worth
but trust me
the sun shines every day
just to catch a glimpse of you
and the moon cherishes your
fluttering eyelids the way I
cherish you.
Mar 26, 2014
Mar 26, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When all artistic, damaged or insomniatic souls
Feel like they're completely alone
Even though we're all awake and feeling the same thing.
12am is still too loud, still too car engines and shouting,
And 6am is too light, too exposing and awake, aware.
It's blackness but for the starlight puncturing holes in the sky,
That's when the magic arises and enchants us.
The way the moon looks at us and begs us to untrouble our weary hearts,
So we do it, and we do it willingly.
She is the most unfaithful lover, and it is beautiful.
How she cherishes each whispered secret so deeply
That it leaves a crater on her being.
How she takes on our pain unflinchingly,
And only needs 28 days to feel whole again.
There's a time, somewhere between 12am and 6am,
When the most trapped souls can feel such freedom.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 1:43 PM UTC
Beauty cherishes love when comes up to the brim
Whosoever is in loves with Allah, Allah loves him
When honesty and sincerity overcome intentions to trim
When light spreads then no situation remains grim
When one looks towards Allah then Allah showers graces
Then he does not Alone but benefited all his races
Allah for His kindness does not need any or more basis
He is so beautiful that His beauty sneaks through faces
We all from Allah to Allah and go back to our Lord
Hence we are contented we belong to Him being His ward
Journey of life will be over whether simple or hard
All unverse belongs to Him from every inch to every yard
I claim and proclaim to be gifted slave of my Master
Whenever I seek His help He graces me so faster
He holds my destiny destination being the only Caster
How supreme is the creation and how supreme is the Master
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 12:42 PM UTC
You have fallen once again.
Little do you know, nor realize,
that when you reach out your hands
to find support to lift yourself back up,
it is actually my hands
pulling you to your feet.
I exist mainly in your thoughts.
Someone who has touched your life,
with my kind words and gestures.
I have laughed with you;
I have cried with you.
I am the one whom you have shared
your life with - your thoughts,
your hopes, your dreams, your desires.
I have been there with you,
through your most joyful times,
as well as, your darkest.
Most refer to me as a true friend.
Those who really know, call me an Earth Angel -
a guardian sent from Heaven,
with a soul as gentle as the breeze,
which dances through your hair.
One who places you in high regard,
and cherishes you deeply.
An Angel who thinks of you often,
cares for you, worries about you.
One who will never forget you.
Forever know this Angel is
closely watching over you.
My eternal presence surrounds you,
always waiting for the time
I am needed the most.
Trust that I will never
fail you, as my place is by your side.
Find solace in my words and actions,
as they guide you on whatever
path you choose to follow.
I am there with you, always….
Vicki A. Zinn
2012
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
Boy sees flower
Boy waters flower
Cultivates
Cherishes
Admires
His flower
Man sees flower
Man waters flower
In a lush field
He lays there seeing
The beauty she is
Cultivated
Cherished
Admired
The flower knows
Because she blooms
Every day
For him
May 27, 2022
May 27, 2022 at 1:26 PM UTC
Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had substance
I would sing for freedom’s song.
I would sing, as does a blackbird
With a resonance so clear
As to wake the deaf of humankind
And hound their jaded ear.
To awake their sense of sameness
To jolt their sense of fair,
To arouse the warmth of brotherhood,
To cleanse our racist air.
For the blacks, the whites, the brindle
Are homogenously one,
You break the skin, the blood is red
We’re born beneath one sun.
Each man loves his mother’s warmth
Each man holds his wife,
Each man feeds his children
And cherishes his life.
So where’s the racial difference?
What makes this problem start ?
What prompts the cold Kalashnikov
To **** that other heart?
What prompts back alley beatings
Of infidels who stray ?
What price religious difference
By men who say they pray?
Who is this God who fosters war ?
How can he profess to be
A champion of sanity
To unleash this killing spree ?
Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had wisdom
I would sing for freedom’s song.
I would sing for racial harmony,
I would sing for such a day,
That men could laugh together
Be they black or white or grey.
Marshalg
For the United States of Humanity.
2 July 2011
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 12:15 PM UTC
He told me that he loves you truly
And also he cherishes me dearly
As a friend or as a lover I do not know
I do not want to know –
He has great plans for the future you see
He mentioned to me his wonderful dreams
I do not know if it includes me or not
I do not want to know –
He visits me on Mondays and Thursdays
He said you deserve the weekends
Sundays are for family he told me
What am I then - ?
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
If love is a fire,
this is a funeral pyre;
ashes falling
like nuclear winter.
Like a blowtorch,
*** had soldered us together--
I'm too paralyzed by fear
to hope for something more.
Only in the black of night do we see each other.
We barely speak
outside the foul-mouthed foreplay
and passionate epithets exchanged
in our sweat-soaked moments
of collective agony.
Like so much of my life,
this has to hurt to feel good.
A smack on the *** must suffice
when a kiss on the lips can **** you.
I don't dare look at her face.
There's so much I say
in spite of myself—
A litany of confessions
in my expressions.
Not that she would notice--
her eyes are outside,
aimed at a horizon I can't see.
We share this silence
because it's the only thing
either of us still cherishes.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
You're worth more than a poem.
But for now,
I'll try my best to make this much more than just a poem:
but a message from me.
What you don't know is,
every time she feels down, she rereads all your kind words.
When she's bored, you're not on,
she rereads them.
She spends all her time thinking about you.
She cherishes you,
You're the best she ever had.
She takes everything about you,
devours them, slowly savoring all the good bits (which is everything),
and then keeps them tattooed all over me,
never to be removed.
Each and every letter, engrained onto me with a flourish,
a kiss,
trailing her hands behind, stroking the way the gorgeous letters look
all aligned together to make such beautiful sentences.
Her eyes trail every word,
her hands caress the wonder machine that brought her you,
her ears thrumming with the sounds of you,
the music notes floating into her ears,
the way water flows,
for you are better than just any ordinary ocean.
You may call her an ocean,
but you are more than that.
The ocean only takes up 75% of Earth.
You are much more.
You are her sky,
her universe.
You hold the stars in your heart,
twinkling like little rubies.
Just like the moon and the sun,
you see everything.
The clouds are your façade,
and the rain,
your tears.
Beautiful.
And all she wants to be is the satellite,
to explore you and learn everything about you,
to always circle around and around,
to never leave.
I know you won't break me,
or her.
And for that,
I am forever in your debt.
So come to me when you need me,
I will do anything to serve my prince.
With Great Love,
The Creep's Heart
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
My husband won’t have *** with me
Although he’s fine sending pics to his friends.
He cherishes their reactions.
Always at my expense.
I’m stuck hiding in the shower
To get myself alone.
The only time I can scream in pleasure
Is whenever he isn’t home.
I’m starting to feel like I’m not pretty.
So I sext strangers online.
My husband won’t have *** with me.
I don’t know why this is.
So all I have are fantasies.
Of me and all his friends.
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 10:12 AM UTC
The artist chose concrete to sculpt The Kiss.
Playfully made the woman taller than the man,
his gaze uplifted, filled with total captivation ---
lemur eyes, mustached smile, desire unmistakable.
Her arm about the nape of neck, hand caressing cheek,
certainly she cherishes him, intentionally stokes his passion.
Concrete the perfect medium for immortality.
This image implanted firmly, as I take my morning walk,
when it hits me, somewhere between Key Bank,
7-11 across the street, and John Deere lawn equipment,
why it is, women place such importance upon relationships,
why they love us, despite flaws numerous as wharf rats.
They have an unremitting need for romance.
That's what the sculptor knew and finally I do too.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 8:46 PM UTC
I have to say the canvas has been painted over yet again.
Can you not decide as to what is pretty?
Skulls bashing for a piece of flesh is not a picture worth painting.
Sir,
If you were to paint with the fire of the sky, people will still find reason to hate you and your art.
For you see people are selfish and believe what they want to believe.
A painting of blood looks beautiful to a lover of bloodshed.
A painting of flowers looks beautiful to lovers of serenity.
Fine art is dead; people look at the Sky and laugh at him despite his beauty.
Meanwhile, those who don’t find humour in the sky, laugh at the ground because they do not see any beauty in dirt.
Be in love with the dirt, appreciate both the dirt and the sky.
For a true artist makes the dirt beautiful and the black of oil he cherishes; for you see:
Both at one time were your forefather and your fore father's father.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
There is in sadness a sense of Fall, of spacious leprosy where crippled thought like the outmoded nymph dies behind each tree, and childlike peeks out to let at least childhood disbelieve in its unhappy end.
There is in sadness, a branch that holds the once-upons, the happily-evers, and the destined-to-bes, a sweet find for all in grief. Each stem lends momentum to their pluckings.
There is in sadness, a young man who cherishes dead leaves. He lately held waxen happiness and knew this as his permanence.
Feb 14, 2022
Feb 14, 2022 at 7:20 PM UTC