"daintiest" poems
The Key To Success
A leaf has many veins connected by the midrib, similar to the Corolla in flowers connected by the sepal,
A stem has many leaves, connected through it, even the roots in this design- fibrous or tap are in their own way special,
Many stalks form a branch, many branches form a tree but all connect at the base, the trunk,
This happens in every tree, but to rebirth has to separate some chunk,
The message being conveyed by nature is unity is the key to success in this world where every person is a different type of petal,
Land Of The Ganga
In this Garth, trees are never watered by a soul, but the river Ganges herself,
The trees even after sinking inwards into the ground, continue to bloom in themselves,
Filled with myriad species of undreamt trees and the rarest of all florets in the daintiest of bowers
The most prodigious banyan tree with about three hundred aerial roots is the main
attracter
A tree that stores water is one of the hundred phenomena in the Botanical Garden in the land of the Ganga itself
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
I grew into a woman of mountains
and ridges amongst tissue
even peach fuzz can’t conceal
the daintiest of dimples
then spiders ****** me dry
and my insides liquefied
my ******* were the first to go
the second my femininity
looking good is being dry
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 4:23 PM UTC
My eyes are not sunlit windows to my own self, rather dimmed and tinted blockades to never give you a full picture. They are not a colourful array of flowers, they are dull and wilting weeds.
My lungs cannot breathe in and smell the roses because they are laced with tar, and not enough oxygen from shallow breathing. They are restricted from fulfilling out their purpose so I can feel 'okay.'
My ears will not listen to the buzzing of bees and the gentle wind- they will, however, listen to the screams between them and confuse help with hate.
My tongue does not taste of honeysuckle and mint, but rather ash and dried blood from tasting my existence. It formulates words laced with too much sleep and too little self care.
My fingertips do not touch as if I am handling the daintiest of flower petals, instead they trace a gravestone between my ribs with a purpose. They tear at my own skin and hair, or at least try to.
Do not devalue my battleground of a body by comparing it to a garden
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
Thy September wind is most winsome today.
Seest the lovliest of lilacs and lillies sway ?
Seest the daintiest of daisies dance away ?
Seest the tangoing tulips seductive at play?
Seest them now, beckoning thee?
Hearest the lissome buttercups rejoice?
Hearest the lucid charm in their voice?
Hearest the lithe of the Myrtle tree?
Hearest them now , whispering to thee?
Nov 26, 2010
Nov 26, 2010 at 2:26 PM UTC
♥ Bake your love into little jam **** Heart s
then fill the daintiest bone china teacup s
from fresh pots of liquid wisdom tea se
Add some tweedle-dee lump s
maybe one, or, stir in two
Jokers, for a special brew Now, would you like to pour, or, shall I?
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 8:55 AM UTC
Oh as the grass does grow
And the river does flow
When I hear the wind blow
It is then that I know
How He has made me
More unique than the tallest tree
More precious than the daintiest of bee
More close than that of the morning breeze
It is then that I see
How it is all his fame
That by his vein
And in his name
And with my shame
It is then that I proclaim
How He has kept his promise
Being the one who is sinless
Loving me when I did not want his kiss
He found me in my remise
It is then to see this
Wonderful
Lovable
Merciful
Unshakable
The One who was and is
And is to come
Who was then
And then was done
He is the Son
Of the One who made all to come
You know his name
He is without blame
But yet he came
To take away all the shame
And give us his first and precious name.
He is Jesus
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 10:58 PM UTC
Her mind
was a Möbius strip
which every now & then
she offered a sip
like a too rich wine
which offended the palette.
She acted like a
fictional character
in an outrageous
historical novel
her bosoms
almost hypnotising one
into ripping her bodice.
She acted out
her life
as if she was a Colossus
like an Ozymandias
before it all went wrong
& some guy called Shelly
happened to come along.
She was an aria
in the opera of her life
but right now
she was just sipping from the daintiest of cups
& laughing hysterically at something I said
(which I hadn’t considered funny)
spraying in my astonished face
a soft mist of hot
Earl Grey tea.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 3:16 AM UTC
The bones of you spoke to mine,
finger and thumb picking the ivory,
screaming softly at daintiest pushes
and ground sweetly at my bones.
My hands washed over the high keys,
though settled for the low. You see,
my fingers ached without yours.
They suited the high; they were nimble
and sharply caught each note,
whilst I kept the wallowing octaves
moaning like an ocean’s breath.
Now the hammers thundered softly,
they plummet through the sails
having had lost that lengthy breeze,
tumbling into a lonesome abyss.
I had you, though now your chime
resonates right through the depths;
it leaves my heart crying for a shine,
a glimmer in the dark. These bones
play bones, and a piano plays me.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 7:16 PM UTC
When I wake up in the morning,
I have rocks in my eyes that'll put your rings to shame.
I'm not the daintiest of women
I square my shoulders up and try to brace myself for the fall whenever I wear four inch heels or higher
I like t-shirts and sweatshirts with sassy and cool logos
Comic strip socks and cufflinks catch my attention before any dress would
I'm not perfect.
My hair is not always combed and I've never heard of another woman who has intense OCD but is at the same time extremely unorganized.
I'm a walking contradiction, an enigma to say the least.
I can eat brownies but react to cake.
My breath doesn's smell like apple pie in the morning and my pajamas consist of boxers and shirts three times my size.
I have a slight lisp when I speak and a face that refuses to soften even when I'm happy.
No I'm not mad, I'm good..
Thats just how my face is.
I don't believe in promises made by people because i've witnessed more broken ones than those fulfilled.
I'd rather let my yes be my yes and my no, a solid no.
I have a soul so old I could've kept your greatgrandma company and yet a spirit so young you'd think I was five again.
I've yet to find the balance.
I don't catch people's eyes the first or second time but I heard third times the charm.
I'm simply Geraldine.
I snort when I laugh and **** in my sleep
And at times I burp out the alphabet.
I'm just me.
Some days I'm sweet and on other days insane.
I break my own heart at times before anyone else gets to it
But one thing's for sure is that I am fearfully and wonderfully made
And my flaws are a thing of beauty to the heart meant to love me...
for me
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 12:41 PM UTC
He asks me to choke him about fifteen times a day. Fourteen times, I do, but the fifteenth, I take his throat in my hands and I kiss him everywhere he used to hurt. Somewhere along the way I lost track of what it meant to hurt. I tip toe tightrope walk across the tiniest line between good pain and bad pain and I am wearing the daintiest dress you’ve ever seen.
I wonder if a younger version of myself, even a year younger, could look me in the eyes and tell me what they thought they were doing this whole time. I wonder if I could hand that version of myself a sliver of a clock, a grain of sand from an hourglass, a tick of a kitchen timer so that she could have something to stand on, from a step stool perspective of what this year would bring.
When he grabs my wrist and pins me to the sheets like a butterfly, he uses his eyelashes to tickle my cheeks.
When he looks at me and my stomach drops, I tell him he’s handsome and he tells me he needs a haircut.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
thy lips damask in the daintiest rose’s hue,
thy cheeks a garden sprinkled with dews,
thy moans shake, shatter, the coldest mountain,
thy laughter, the sweetest tune.
i wonder thus try to measure thy strength;
how could a small figure, contains so much beauty,
an astute aspect that’d **** sanity for a while,
or forever, if thee attempt!
Aug 4, 2014
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 9:13 AM UTC
*For my little Fairy
The one with the daintiest wings
Of sheer gossamer
And the one with hair of satin blonde
And with the prettiest blue eyes ever
I am sorry if I ever hurt you
I am deeply sorry
I love you
My friend who's a F.A.I.R.Y!!!*
~Marian~
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 9:37 PM UTC