"comeliness" poems
~
Underneath a crushing moonlit
Roses are dancing in a glow garden
Cram of comeliness whispering through my pensive
Applaud an agitating mind of dragging love
That submerging under a poetic passion
A wild **** of beauty wishing to crave a romance
Stressing on mind that makes
Bubbles of emotions simultaneously,
Touching and filling the empty dreams
That essence of heaven creating the melody of divine music
Passing through the poet's nose and nails
Deep ache popping at the heart and stone
There render of love conceiving to catch a **** of heaven
A tangible gaiety that creates so surprising illusion
The glimmer chords becoming to splash
The utmost inflames growing to outburst,
Bursts into the fire of gaiety--
Psyche pouring a fathomless passion till the twilight
Where there I am dancing alone with my shadow,
Ah! my Love--
Oh! my Love ----
What a Crushing Moonlit!!
~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
Calm, sad, secure; behind high convent walls,
These watch the sacred lamp, these watch and pray:
And it is one with them when evening falls,
And one with them the cold return of day.
These heed not time; their nights and days they make
Into a long returning rosary,
Whereon their lives are threaded for Christ's sake;
Meekness and vigilance and chastity.
A vowed patrol, in silent companies,
Life-long they keep before the living Christ.
In the dim church, their prayers and penances
Are fragrant incense to the Sacrificed.
Outside, the world is wild and passionate;
Man's weary laughter and his sick despair
Entreat at their impenetrable gate:
They heed no voices in their dream of prayer.
They saw the glory of the world displayed;
They saw the bitter of it, and the sweet;
They knew the roses of the world should fade,
And be trod under by the hurrying feet.
Therefore they rather put away desire,
And crossed their hands and came to sanctuary
And veiled their heads and put on coarse attire:
Because their comeliness was vanity.
And there they rest; they have serene insight
Of the illuminating dawn to be:
Mary's sweet Star dispels for them the night,
The proper darkness of humanity.
Calm, sad, secure; with faces worn and mild:
Surely their choice of vigil is the best?
Yea! for our roses fade, the world is wild;
But there, beside the altar, there is rest.
2.3k
cease awhile
and hold commune
with his fabrication
and admire
every cordant note
of a symphony yet unwritten.
t’was a nymph
saw i a-Maying
her comeliness
beggared the reach of art
outreached my arms
to touch her tidy traces
alack, gone she
in the mists of morn.
the moon-kissed bed
was light and life
with verdant dewy leaves
astride the speechless
mountain tops
a journey was begun
to rain again
his darts of gold
to every waiting one.
the blanket of
the skies was azure blue
on limpid waters seen
along her hurried way
she dropped those
gaudy flowrets beam.
saw i her locks
in every nodding palm
‘neath the tropic sun.
t’was birds do counterfeit
her melody the
rustling bamboo stole.
they utter now
sweet words of love
as winds doth
beat and blow
the roar and rush
of the swollen river asks:
what is it to you?
sprightly now
the winged ones
from bud to bud alight.
athirst, searching for that
self-same delight.
the crown of earth’s
flowing seas of grass
its mighty arms apart
attentive to the
incoherent whispers of
the breeze that chances by.
what now
messengers of the skies?
what saw you beyond
the floating clouds?
what find you at the
end of the rainbow?
what secrets lie hid
in yonder hills?
pray tell this
to the hurling spar
of the ever-running brook
for down and down and down
she goes to her anxious
ocean-brother.
could she have paced
the grotesque shore
to appease the bleating sea?
now she laps up
the sand-white beach
now she beats
the rock-bound shore with
shrill indignant murmur.
the shore and plain
nod assent
nay, my search is done.
twelve knotty hours
of day are gone and still
my find is none
to tease the gloomy
brow of night
aflame is all the west
in its expiring redolence
my happy nymph adieu.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
There is something about this
House in Hackensack...
It attracts people...like a magnet.
They often gather here, and
They are welcomed any time.
Eyes and souls surround,
Even strangers are drawn to it,
Like bees attracted to the flowers.
Reunions are looked forward to...
Even short chats and visits
For some coffee or wine
Are always welcome.
This house....
It makes people want to come back...
It's not just the food,
Or the help it offers...
The comeliness of the place,
The people that live within...
The noise... ever-present,
The shaking of the stairs, when the boys
Chase, tease each other...
The squabbles, replete with tears...
Cabinets are real heavy,
With weight-y stories to tell...
The bedrooms, so inviting, where jokes
And giggles underneath the covers
Could be heard till late hours of the night...
All gather in the kitchen,
The hub in this house...
Family, friends...even new guests
Do not go to the living room...
They walk straight to the kitchen.
There, where the home scents
Exude warmth,
Fragrant with home-cooking.
The long dining table says it all...
A different kind of music
Plays every time
And invites everyone
To stay for a while and relax...
It beckons each time...
It whispers...
"Go, find your corner...do your thing,
You'll be okay..."
And so, the cozy sun room became
A favorite spot in that house,
Where beautiful poetry bloomed
At any hour during that whole month.
From out front, along the street,
Circling around to the backyard,
Then back inside...
It has now finally dawned on this clouded mind,
What that "something" is...
This house, metamorphosed
From an old, kind of cold Victorian, to a homier,
More comfortable modernized domicile...
Now radiates with love, warmth and kindness,
The energy emitted by the family living within...
The people are the crown and the charm...
They are the smoke coming out of the chimney...
The A U R A of this house, standing proud
Along Catalpa Avenue.........
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Sally
Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
When I behold a forest spread
With silken trees upon thy head,
And when I see that other dress
Of flowers set in comeliness;
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which like a pinnacle doth show
The top, and the top-gallant too.
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an oval, square, or round,
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie;
Next, when those lawny films I see
Play with a wild civility,
And all those airy silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting so;
I must confess, mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.
1.6k
Isaiah 52:14 As many were astonied at Thee His visage was marred more than any man, and His form more than the sons of men.
Isaiah 53:2 For He shall grow up before Him as a tender plant and as a root out of dry ground; He hath no form nor comeliness and when we shall see Him there is no beauty that we should desire Him.
3 He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief, and we hid as it were our faces from Him; He was despised and we esteemed Him not.
4 Surely He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem Him stricken, smitten of God and afflicted.
5 But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him; and with His stripes we are healed.
6 All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way and the Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all.
7 He was oppressed and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth; He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before his shearers is dumb so He opened not His mouth.
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 7:04 PM UTC
for you
Never have I seen you,
or touched thy breeze-smoothed skin,
caressed the rounded angles of thy cheekbones,
with the worn~smooth heel of my thumb
it matters not
for long and forlorn,
have I come to love you
fat or pretty,
your physicality is inconsequential,
we have bound and blind~binded
our visible connection
by oaths and contemplations,
all codified in worthy action verbs
whispered in each other ears
we have spent our nodules of time
silently caressing,
word gentling,
and falling in love
this night has brought me
no sleep,
this day has brought me
no pecuniary relief
but words embellish me with hope,
dress and drape my face with
coming attractions,
for that alone,
*as if more were
even possible,*
I tell you this
straight out and unconfused,
I adore you
we are a lyric, a harmony,
an aesthetic unique,
for you have never seen my face,
yet this night,
thy comeliness has
stirred and up lifted,
thy tone and tiny gasps
my sundered parts
refilled and reattached with our own esprit de corps,
ethereal, ephemeral, yet so real,
I raise them,
to my lips,
and feel you as I do so,
gentling my cheeks
with your breathes breeze,
asking me live with joy....
tho never have I seen you
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:22 PM UTC
Like this to me doth this issue seem:
That a man falling in hot love with
A fraulein at first--a verily dream
Damsel--would be thinking forthwith
The world of her, and would not
Notice in her even a single fault.
And he all earthly treasures may
Her promise--saying things that never
To light would come in order to sway
The heart of that babe like Lucifer
Eve deceived. "Make my mouth thine pit,
Peach, and i'll swallow up thy sweet ****
Yet having wedded her at last whom he,
By her comeliness, was moved; why then
Would a man his wife--the perfect lady--
Afterward seek to divorce? Most men
Do choose alone by our wandering sight,
Seeing not marriage with an eternal insight.
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 7:13 AM UTC
Her pink bud did enrapture his gaze
The everything about her did amaze
Within him she did wake robust ardency
Nothing quelled the resolve of his desire
The sight of her instigated a fire
To be in steamy rapport twas his wish
How he hungered to taste of her dish
Captivating twas the rose's potency
Her comeliness did verily pleasure
His every thought taken by her treasure
Night came that time to imagine and dream
Whereupon his being could meld with her
Neath the lunar spell his mind did meander
Twining in her petiole's sultry stream
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
I tastest t'is wind-ah, still far too sour, and bitter,
And whether it shall get better, I never knoweth;
But who says t'at our past woes are tethered to our sorrow,
When two souls doth align-and find once more-a brighter shelter?
For every real love shall neither be wrong, faulty, nor mean,
Whenst beauty is appraised, it shall stay humble and remain unseen;
For its comeliness is just like a warm-hearted sparkle,
Even friendlier, than life canst once assume-or handle;
Though ethereal still, in the vagueness of my succulent mirror.
For look-how it returns my kisses not-but tempts it into shabby remorse!
Ah, yet I imagine how it might-and might just feel, to kiss thee,
And free myself-from t'is emptiness which hath oft' set me alight, in agony;
Without thee now, I am too frail and not very strong;
I loveth thee better still-and hath been awaiting thee all along.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
Maybe the distortion of this portrait will create an even more captivating picture than viewed before.
The difference in the pigment of pixels may provoke a deeper message,
triggering currents of the subconscious to bring beauty of illustrious moments ashore.
Perchance an installation of last minute alterations won't lead to abdication but rather depict a trail of a beneficial journey embarked.
It'll be titled. . . "Matters of the Heart"
An abstract image of two roads diverged apart.
And when viewed from different angles, it's comeliness is untangled.
Conveying new meanings of art.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
Spoiled. Quite unlike your usual
Presence in a room, tonight you
Carry with you an immense weight.
Dragging along your creme draping,
You stroll up to the window and look
Out. God bless your beauty.
In divinity, it is thought that there will
Be a reckoning. I hope that they use
Your judgement. What do you see?
The waves roll in, crushing the grains
Of sand beneath its own immense weight.
You’ve been spoiled. Your whole life
Has been closeted to the comeliness of
The coast. Dreaming of simmering
Love affairs and social meetings in
Coffee shops on the tumultuous avenues of
New York City. You turn and begin to walk
Towards the roaring fireplace.
I’ve heard that you covet bedlam.
Some find the eroticism of chaos to be
Unnerving. Irritable, even.
Your guilt draws you downward,
And by the time you reach the
Mantel, you are crawling.
Your sobs echo through waxed halls,
And quiet dormitories.
You toss your weight into the flames
That lick up all of the love letters and
Empty plea bargains that have paraded
Around your thoughts for so long.
In divinity, they may refer to you as
An infidel. Someone whose faith has been
Spoiled. But I think “martyr” is more suiting.
You sacrificed yourself for more sins than your own,
Your weight was not yours to carry.
But only God and I know that, so here’s to you: The Infidel.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
I will go.
And I will know.
The comeliness of night,
The futility of fight,
The fickleness of might—
I will go.
O vainglorious combat,
I will go.
Go gracefully, I hope so.
Go brightly, I don't know.
Go gently, I will go.
I hope it will be so.
Well, no.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 9:58 AM UTC
Constant cloak accented of moss and vine and bubbles of fungus,
Adorned lavishly with baubles of shining dew and pearly snails,
Bronze berries refracting rosy light from a warm, pink sky,
Surely woodland pageantry is best observed at Dawn.
Or helmeted with blankets of snow, bristling with spears of ice,
Perhaps the queenly winter tree is the paragon of comeliness;
Or that softly dripping fountain, shortly after summer rain,
Is there a fairer fragrance than the perfume of pine and petrichor?
Oh! Can men with minds of concrete, spirits of styrofoam and steel,
Remain long disenchanted, cold, in spite of savage sylvan beauty?
Cannot the blooming orchard, decked with petals and busy with bees,
Suffice to empty the heart of gravel and flood the soul with verse?
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 12:41 PM UTC
I will use the water
In your bowl
Lighting a fire in a cave far away
Flower your soil
Make it a garden of bouquets
Of petunias and water lilies bright as the dark lakes
In some functional world
Where we can be together
On the rivers,
By lake shores
There are plenty of chores
That water bowl is empty
As the heartbreaks are plenty
There are no chances of surviving in this
Fine, the old town of wars and running soldiers
That's the title of my next *** tape
As the wishes for borrowing instances from a stranger's eyes
And there is no choice of friendliness in the eyes of comeliness
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 2:02 PM UTC
Passage departs every instant till death
I gratify to hold dear with earth's comeliness-
Oh! My darling red rose florescence's for you!
Is it the ease cadence of one else?
I have an err of passion while I will hit the road-
Oh! God how roses become fade!
Could you conceit?
Oh! God how much credence I grasp from you! !
Benevolence - Amour-Inspiration!
Time and tide hasten so zippy-
Thee devotion should be ended very soon.
@ Musfiq us shaleheen
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Beauty hides from itself
seeking shelter from the doubts
even as the world attests
splendor stated in the flesh
goddess walking in plain sight
this glory is granted to the few
is bequeathed without regard
to acknowledgment repaid in turn
a waking dream of loveliness
enough to launch a thousand ships
disregarded by the one
directing fantasies of the heart
sham daydreams evoked by curves
lines conflating with desires
suppleness leads the urge
to recognize comeliness
ruby lips deny the claim
to the body that puts to shame
the vast majority of their kind
only fair in contrast
this belle exclaimed by the crowd
I’ll lend my voice to the cry
the reluctant may forget
perhaps they’ll recall through this poem.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180916.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
Among the Gorgons that counted three
Touched by comeliness being mortal only she
Beauty that in awe of the universe bowed down
Her glorious sumptuous hair a glowing grace
More exquisite than Aphrodite’s star-studded crown
Pursued and seduced by Poseidon was fair Medusa
The God of the jade seas and cerulean oceans deep
In the sacred temple of Athena
His unrelenting passion for her was consecrated
And evermore in her submission would she weep
Their love spill upon white sacred stone floors
Insulted and in her anger
Athena cursed Medusa to times end and in the word’s, cruelty seep
A serpent's tongue and venomous black eyes replaced the orbs of blue
But behind the monster’s mask
A rare beauty never more wakened would sleep
Writhing snakes replaced the queenly vision of her hair
Hideous, grotesque an unhuman crone
A horrifying sight to be shunned
If to look upon her any fool dare
Her darting eyes turn all to stone
The ill-fated union of Medusa and Poseidon yielded two children,
Chrysaor and Pegasus
Who sprung from her neck upon death
When with but a stroke of cunning Perseus shining blade
Her head severed from her body fell to the floor
To be presented to Athena in homage and honor as a gift.
All Rights Reserved @Tammy M Darby Nov 17, 2019
All Material Stored in Author Base
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 12:57 PM UTC
A MORNING STORY.
She appears,
the Morning Princess,
decked in
dew-fresh, see-through
dress of
dappled grey net and
followed
by cloudy attendants.
Around her
blankets of night, now
folded away
show a starry-diamanté
blue petticoat
which she knows, though
patched
will still be attractive.
Dawn Lady,
now plays central-stage,
starts gliding
side-ways and bows to the
up-rising Sun
who strides into view and
smiles roundly
at her obvious comeliness.
He surrounds
her with ***** intentions,
drowns that
dappled laciness in huge
newly-found heat
and the two,
thirsty for copulation to
begin, dance
in showers of fated rain.
She blushes
before capitulation as
maids should
but Morning Princess
soon becomes
mated, crowned then
as Day-Queen,
and feeling quicken the
baby inside
who in due time will be
the next
Morning Princess, this
Lady sighs as
she shyly remembers.
Nov 15, 2016
Nov 15, 2016 at 2:24 PM UTC
moving and tripping gently to your side
my face oblique, sweetly set, decries.
direction set by pointing intention
if there's passion it's of my declension.
meekly set and paler than a daisy
defenseless some man incited tupour,lazy.
you are easily rolled by part made bold
absent lust . closed. resist ****** cold
barriers hold until scent comeliness
my gentle sincere words do espress
fluid accompaniment of hands
brought together applause in lands
where acorns ride on veiny rods
and lovers smother the others sobs
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 6:25 PM UTC
Hold the sky lest it falls
when beauty pulls the clouds
crushing walls that project
to save the world from itself
allow light to pour within
with revelations few admit
still the brilliance will persist
as resistance is suppressed
two columns meant to preserve
decorum based on best intents
crumble when the comeliness
presses charms without regret
fay innocence displays a range
blue to pink with in-between
flow to violet as pillars fall
leaving want to mark the way
the sun and moon become one
androgyny is for the best
when the globes are conjoined
to see the grace at last combined
allow the sky to tumble down
beauty comes in many forms
denying walls that most may view
with pure desire as reverence.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20181231.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC
I have seen the marble arch
and was not afraid. The
comeliness of it's curved
surface paused me. Your
song whispered of birds
felting by, of fallen kings and
reasons.
I have time on my hands to
listen. Hallelujah. For my
steadfastness in love has left
me
bereft.
I swore to all the kings in the
Bible. I offered my skinned
knees, for solace that I was heard.
Hallelujah
There are cracks in my head,
my ankles are shackled. No
music but a laugh echoed
side to side.
I will go down to the river to
find God. Your repertoire
is complete.
Why a monk Leonard? The
music of the ages was written
without your melody and
I sank beneath the river
like a stone.
But you're not there. Your
music sustains me. I walk
out, wet and cold.
Hallelujah.
I am redeemed from the
nightmare. I step on your
music as a soft petal.
I am for a moment, relished
and shriven.
Hallelujah
Caroline Shank
Dec 20, 2022
Dec 20, 2022 at 10:04 AM UTC
Beauty bespoke as vision’s sign
witness to the singular
borne to flesh within the span
of millennium allowed for man
line and curve combined to form
proportions blessing only one
with no dispute possible
for Venus incarnate once more
now the universe must concede
to lesser forms forever more
comeliness that will fail
to match this dream in wakefulness
the future must be endured
with loveliness that’s a mere shade
bereft of charm to sway my heart
when the apex has been named
years turn on time’s wheel
memories flash to reveal
sight elated by beauty’s form
fay illusions cast aside
now returned on wasteland’s paths
denying the garden of apple’s branch
that knowledge of pure grace
condemns life to charm’s lies.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180925.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
(Happy mother's day)
Dear American lover,
I know I don't have
the voice like Micheal
Jackson, but I surrender to
the comeliness of your voice.
Beloved white skinned
lover,let the purity of your
love pass through my soul
and let me feel its greatness.
They saw wrinkles on your
skin, but I saw lots of pretty
dimples and immense beauty.
They said you're aged and
fade-out, but I said my eyes
saw agility and maturity.
Dear American lover, I know I
have no golden wealths like
Bill Gates, but I have fiona
and flora of love in my heart
to give to you.
Give me your trust and I
shall install it on my young
agiled and poetic heart.
Dear American lover, let us
take a love flight to the United
States; Maryland where your
umbilical cord slid away from.
Come and take me away to
your heart where I shall dwell
in there forever.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 12:33 PM UTC
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
my excerpt is a sketch of Sulty,
and those nostalgic memories.
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
I sketch ravishing images of her,
my nightingale.
Anytime I take my pen to write,
I carve no shenanigan images
of her, but of the comeliness
of her love twitching my
blood stream.
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
my ink is full with the gravity of her
love, ready is my pen to write of the
bonny of her beauty.
Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 8:16 PM UTC