"enchant" poems
#*Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast
has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
heaving with song
The mystical feathered troubadour's
swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;*
rousing *a lonely heart's esprit
to fly away unfettered
in constellations of song
How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
when you wish upon a star
Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!
Rolling like trailing thunder;
tucked and tumbling ―
somersaulting,
celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy
A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
dreaming of that shapeless
w h o o o o s h ―
gathering beneath
~ uplifting wings ~
Suddenly ― gliding freely,
winging gracefully
upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song
Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle
... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
if my heart had wings*
imagined by: Jesse Stillwater
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
"Why one writes is a question I can never answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me – the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.
...
"We also write to heighten our own awareness of life. We write to lure and enchant and console others. We write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it. We write to teach ourselves to speak with others, to record the journey into the labyrinth. We write to expand our world when we feel strangled, or constricted, or lonely … When I don’t write, feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing."
('The New Woman', 1974)
22.6k
The candle light flickers with such intimacy,
Celeste bodies colliding in allure,
Leaving only marks of compassion,
Turbulence and vile noted under the moon light,
As people envy our love in the other room,
The charisma and sparkle in our synchronization,
The heart melting and charming sensations,
My feet limp and my head spins,
With every stroke and touch that you trace along my back,
Goose bumps seem to increment,
****** emerges that weaken the chains in my soul,
Hangover
Strengthening my love and awareness towards you,
Enthralling enchant,
Chamber of secrets revealed,
A new dawn seen,
Replete words,
Embelleshed and kept,
Diffusing angst and reviving love beat,
Singing me deep lullabies as I sleep.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC
If rightly tuneful bards decide,
If it be fix’d in Love’s decrees,
That Beauty ought not to be tried
But by its native power to please,
Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell—
What fair can Amoret excel?
Behold that bright unsullied smile,
And wisdom speaking in her mien:
Yet—she so artless all the while,
So little studious to be seen—
We naught but instant gladness know,
Nor think to whom the gift we owe.
But neither music, nor the powers
Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer,
Add half the sunshine to the hours,
Or make life’s prospect half so clear,
As memory brings it to the eye
From scenes where Amoret was by.
This, sure, is Beauty’s happiest part;
This gives the most unbounded sway;
This shall enchant the subject heart
When rose and lily fade away;
And she be still, in spite of Time,
Sweet Amoret in all her prime.
7.6k
I always thought that I would always have the same favorite perfume forever. I honestly thought no other scent could be more enticing and lovely. But lately, it's not my perfume that is forever lingering.
You're in my bed,
You're in my hair,
You're in my head,
You're everywhere.
You're my favorite perfume<3
I could wear you in January, I could wear you in June,
I could wear you forevermore,
You're far more special than Juicy Couture, because I sure can't buy you in a bottle at the store.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
If I were a witch; I'd cast a spell,
And put an end to lies men tell.
I wouldn't enchant their ****** nose,
But the place from where ***** flows.
I'd raise my wand, purse my lips,
And call the World to witness this,
*"When men lie without a flinch
Their ***** shall shorten by an inch
And if they try to spin a tale
Their ***** shall, decrease in scale
And if they raise a deceitful stink
Lo and behold, their **** will shrink
Every time they make up lies
Their ***** will contract in size"*
Making a molehill out of a mountain,
Will affect their natural fountain.
And planet Venus in the sky will look bigger than the ***** in their fly.
They will have to altogether give up lying if they don’t want their manhood dying
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 3:45 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Every year to me, now and then
Families and hollies filled with merriment
Only steps away of the outside snow
Sprawling emotions underneath the mistletoe
Glisten, the pavement covered in hue
Journey of a thousand crystals falling anew
The icicle dew at the gutter lines in row
Constellation tales upon the sky-light glow
Enchant pines adored by ornaments
Treasured memories flew like a firmament
Wreaths to every door, signs of triumph & joy
Bringing glad tidings from God's little boy
Trains in and out of the winter-night
Gifts and glory offered with endless blithe
Hymns from a choir trailing every post
Greetings to an old friend even to the unknown
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 10:56 AM UTC
Spare me the misery of your absence, my dear
so that I do not grow delirious without you.
One day without those tender blue eyes
and I am lost in a fog of my self-pity.
The joyous cadence of your laughter and smile
never cease to enchant me day after day.
But where does your loyalty lie, my dear?
I shall not question your motives, love
for by faith and God you leave my side.
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:21 PM UTC
I admire your each step,
I admire the mystery around you,
I admire each syllable of every poignant word you press to paper
and the words you do not.
I admire the love you proclaim to have for her,
and if I knew her,
I should think I'd admire her too.
I don't know you
nor shall I ever,
but I can still watch you walk the school halls
and wonder what makes you tick,
what your family does and doesn't do,
what you were like as a child
how you became like this
and how you are able to enchant the world with your writing-
making me eternally frustrated with my own-
ranking my words by whether or not you
like or comment or repost them-
which you don't,
thus I feel a failure.
You have a purpose with your words,
something to say
and you say it so strong
and with such beauty
and heartache
I crave the next time you post-
and I'll evermore continue to wonder
how you became so mighty.
Do you work on your poetry or is it natural?
is it because you read so much?
is it because you don't waste countless hours on the computer
or watch TV?
How did you become you
which is so admirable
and mysterious
and deep
and talented
and unique?
I know I don't have a right to ask these questions
and with what little I know about you
I certainly don't have the right to admire you
and I don't deserve to know your life story,
but I'd like to know anyways.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
We were supposed to be art
Art in the form of beings
To see, to touch, to evolve with
From the waters, to art
Electricity & salt fueling us
It is all falling, slipping
We are to enchant one another
To feed off the energy produced
By the touch of two eyes
Staring at the moon
Drinking the Spanish wine
The words we speak
The lust that drives us during ***
It is all to have been art
They shoot each other,
Some hate one another,
Others are blinded by themselves
Do not disappear, great art
We are here in the gardens
Inside the paintings
All around the city glowing together
The voice of art is real but fading
Some pretend, no substance
No passion, no sensitivity to the energy
But here it is, a truth to be told
We are to be art, daily
In our sleep to create
In our actions to be alive
And in our minds to explore all worlds
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 6:34 PM UTC
you're asleep
and i'm staring at you
i'm so transfixed, too spellbound
i touched you with my eyes
from the tips of your hair
to your arm wrapped around me
then i go back to your face again
and i realized that
conscious or not
you still mesmerize me
you still enchant me
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
They say a rose by any other name will still smell as sweet
But what about another color
Will a black rose still captivate the heart
And remind you of love?
Or will it be ****** doomed and cast away
Its aroma enchant you and fill you with lust or will it remind you of death and decay
This ***** is strong
Its stems carry the burden of people forgotten
This ***** is dangerous
Its thorns stab and *****
In the name of vengeance
Vengeance for every rose cast aside for its imperfections
This ***** is beautiful
Its petals flawless and noble
A red rose thrives in the sun and wilts under pressure
But the black rose
Grows in all conditions
Plants strong roots in concrete
and despite the odds
I rise!
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 8:58 PM UTC
Once in every man's life,
He should be brought to his knees by a beautiful woman.
She should level him. She should hypnotize him, and warp him with her wit beyond recognition. She should give him hope, and then break him.
She should enchant him with her charm. And then curse him with reality.
Her departure should rock him to his core. It should shock him. It should send him reeling for weeks and months after the fact. It should bring up insecurity he had no idea was there.
It should be a mandatory part of becoming a man. A rite of passage that shows him he has no rights to have. If he is broken, he will not break by his own volition. If she is cold, to another he will be warm. He will have no pride or defenses left. He will protect, he will pursue, and he will come to her rescue because he will know.
He will understand his own pain and never wish it upon another. Every man must be destroyed.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
Sapphic sapphires glisten in the moon
These ladies say that Hades makes them as dry as a sand dune
Maleficent and Cruella mark their spells on their heads
And quietly they tiptoe and sneakily their treads-
Move with a rhythm only grace can create
Enchanting are these women, seeing them is fate
To be an audience member to their auras and their moves
Is an opportunity that is divine, spiritually proved
Indigo in color, L words leave their lips
Straight and curvy bones and fat vibrate from their hips
They mesmerize, they enchant, they let their inhibitions soar
Until they dance away, unhinged, and you can't see them anymore
Remember this encounter, it is one that will inspire
It will make you feel a type of way, it will ignite a fire
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 10:13 PM UTC
"You're the Ariel to my Prospero"
He says grinning
with dagger pearl teeth
that could nibble my ear
or easily rip out my heart.
Ignorant of his mundanity
He does not know of those
who came before.
Names are relative.
"You're the Puck to my Oberon"
"You're the Tink to my Peter Pan"
Heard 'em all.
Plight of the Manic Pixie
Not Dream Girl.
Charming Sassy Childish
girl.
Sidekick Extraordinaire.
But lower than Robin to his Batman.
Messenger, Trickster, Mischief Maker.
Companion.
Adventurer.
with a temper ten times his size.
A power unnamed. Unused.
Never Enough.
Never enough
to Want to challenge her master.
ProsperoOberonPeter
I will drink the poison for you.
I will sink the ship.
I will find the ****** flower
and enchant the Fairy queen.
Follow orders, then twist them.
With some glittler and a devilish smile.
Crazy Tiny
girl.
Too pixie to hold on to
Catch me Boy!
Alreadycaughtnoneedtocatch.
Little ****** Manic Pixie
Yearning for a kiss
a touch
a word.
When you're a manic pixie
there's no trio
no male sidekick to choose
over
the hero.
But the hero gets the girl.
Manic Pixies live to serve.
Not dignified or wise enough for Royal Athena.
Not ruthless enough for the Dangerous Diana.
Without the darkness of the Morrigan.
Virginity isn't a choice.
It's part of the job description.
Could I be your ladybird?
Feb 1, 2014
Feb 1, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
He whispers their name like a prayer,
says it carefully, beautifully as if it were the names of the goddesses.
He bathes them in praise
but is drowning them in holy water.
Repeating their sacred name
over and over and over,
blessed so that he can say he’s become enlightened
once he’s received the holy communion of their body
on his lips.
He’ll call them royals.
Dressed in purple
lifting them to their highest class,
placing them on a pedestal
sitting them, perching them delicately
on the throne held up by their womanly duties,
their feminine expectations.
He’ll call them his queens but in the end
he will commit treason against their realm.
Suddenly they’ll become a witch,
a hypnotist.
He says they enchant him.
Trance him with how they dress, move, breathe.
He’ll create signs of black magic in their eyes,
rituals in their steps,
and chants on their tongue.
Blaming his actions on theirs,
“they made me” he says
so he’ll have an excuse to curse them back.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 7:26 PM UTC
If I am to die today
to live last hour and pass away
to end a gift I did receive
a chance at pain and joy and greed.
Then the thoughts inside my head would die
my secrets, loves, my thoughts and lies.
And that is why I'm writing this
a poem to express my wish
to let you know the things you shouldn't
so when I die my life it wouldn't.
My life would live in knowledge kept
in things that others wouldn't let
people know about their lives
their secrets, loves, their thoughts and lies.
Poetry is the art of uniting pleasure with truth
someone once said to try and sooth
the truth they hid from all the rest
who ignore the art, who aren't impressed.
You see poetry is more the art
of uniting truth with what's in heart,
be that pleasure, pain, pride or glory
it's all expressed in one short story.
Such as this about my thoughts
for when I die I think I ought
to let you know my boring story
about my pleasure, pain and glory.
The problem is you see I can't
find a story to enchant
that does not lie, distort the truth
that would not make a better youth.
For now I've realised if I die
today, tomorrow I'd have to lie
to be remembered, kept it thought,
that's something I was never taught.
At last I know what I'm to do
to be remembered, and be true
I'd have to tell you things I shouldn't
so when I die my life it wouldn't
be forgotten, as with rest;
I'd be at peace, completed quest.
Apr 26, 2012
Apr 26, 2012 at 5:57 PM UTC
Desperate kisses
Taste roses and peaches
Grips hair
Breath trembles
Desire
Lust
Craving
Yearning
Velvet bed
Tight flower
Hot sheets enchant
Untie corset
Unhook garters
Fingers dance slow circles
Pouring wax
Stroking oil
Soft hips
Tongue stroking...
Strawberry shudders
Unyielding teeth
Weak pleasures
Sultry sway
Heightens raw need, greed
**Burst Cherry
Exquisite cries
Swimming body freely
Skin glides
******
Penetrate
Damp Rhythm
Primitive, Swollen, Ragged, Fevered**
***
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:22 AM UTC
*You speak to my soul and make my eyes smile
warm as sunny days, enchanting as moonbeams
your thoughtful words permeate my very being
I carry your friendship as a precious locket
always available to hold dear and admire
safekeeping next to my heartbeat's ardor
scripted designedly in golden stanzas
pendant's everlasting imprinted verse*
For my sweet friend, you know who you are. xo
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
DEDICATED TO OVI
*I see your words and I see peace
I read your lines and I find bliss
You mesmerize us with your poignant thoughts
Like rain that drops on the window pane*
WHEN MIDNIGHT FLOWS
Like lilies that turn and turn and swirl
Like the bird SPARROW
Cocooning the earth
*You tell your tells like a Movie
Your poems are like splendour falls
With words interwoven and intertwined like peace
Like rainbows that knit the sky
Like when the cloud bursts and cry
Releasing her emotions as rainfall*
ENCASED IN GLORY AS THE MOON
YOUR POEMS MESMERISES US
*your lines ENCHANT us
You bring ethereal joy to this land of poetry
Filled with sadness and pain
Where every poet
Where every writer
Where every reader
Run into
Seeking for refuge
Seeking for that
Bliss
And like*
**THE STARS GUIDING THE MOON
IN COSMIC YONDER**
*your words shine down
Invading our deepest pain
Releasing our anger and anguish
You shine down on us
You light our paths in this den
And for those who do not like you
I say they like to be*
SHROUDED
*In darkness
But still
Shine*
OVI
*shine
Shine bright the way you are*
**You
Are a STAR
Shine bright through your words
SHINE OVI SHINE**
JUST FOR OVI ODIETE
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 10:28 AM UTC
Angel
My angel
Won’t you sing your sweet song
Fly with me far
And stay all night long
I’ll hold onto you tight
Wrapped in your wings like snow
And everything will be right
Until one of us must go
Tomorrow
Tomorrow
I’ll see you again
We’ll gambol and descant
Remember until then
It is my heart you enchant
My heart you have won
So angel
Sweet angel
Know you are the One.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 11:05 PM UTC
Poet ancient dear
Stay with me ink lover
I take the heart not just a hat"
The sweetness you given me,
poems ink more mystery
takes my breath away
stay with me.
Timeless hour glass.
Where you hold me tight
In your arms deep in the night
you enchant me with your charms
all of the night I hear your heart
beating against my own
you paint my gloomy sky with
each one of your sighs
wrapped around me
many lifetimes can't suffice
I crave to see the me in you
silver E.T mine melt my gold
I live under your willow's
dream spell, stay with me.
~~~
Mr and Mrs Andrews
@ Karijinbba
Oct 6, 2021
Oct 6, 2021 at 10:18 PM UTC
In early, or late spring
the daffodils appear, to enchant us
stems are firm, while
holding clusters of bloom.
they enhance our views...our spirits,
arraying our horizons, with fresh hope
fresh perspectives
never giving space to doom.
daffodils
are offered, not singly,
but in bunches,
just like the way a mother gives herself,
never just a piece,
she reaches out with her hand
when in fact, she has offered her whole body
always...with open arms.
Most times, she wears lively colors
of white, yellow, gold, and green,
whatever the season,
whatever circumstances she may face
her smile, her warmth,
are the most colorful parts of her being
There is a lilt in her eyes,
in her actions...in her songs...in her words
in her dance...as she does her chores
such a miracle, all these graces, she offers
On a sunny and windy day
a mother is like
those dancing daffodils
on the hills and wayside
staying strong enough, while
swaying...to the winds of life
not to fall down...or be blown away,
she may be silenced by frustration and worries
but never surrenders to ensuing hardships
just choosing to be quiet...seeming dormant.
She is both a bulb...and an all-season root crop,
stuffed with needed energy
quiet underneath when the cold season comes
but never dead...never fallen
always gathering, saving strength,
for when a storm in life comes
not one to mope...but one to ease
...like a healing balm.
A mother is a rare kind of a daffodil
one that gleams with bright lights, and bold colors
all year round...through all kinds of weather.
Sally
Copyright May 8, 2016
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 8:27 PM UTC
A life dedicated to serve both God and Man,
A Srilankan beauty with an Indian fragrance.
Came into my life like a sweet soft melody,
Teaching me the Doh, Reh, Meh of music and the depth of life.
A pianist, a perfectionist, a disciplinarian;
A teacher, a friend and a sister.
As I reached great heights and moved on,
You remained in the shadows like the wind beneath my wings.
The creator has called you back,
To enchant his paradise with your music;
Knowing that your memory will echo,
In every note of music we hear!
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 5:24 AM UTC
laced with lovers lonely thoughts,
We prowl.
a handful of shadowed sinners
veiled by the illusions of sainthood,
We lie.
etiquette adapts to enchant.
laugh to lure, touch to trap,
We ******
clothes clutter the carpet.
with the courtship climaxing,
We ****
before the sun can show your shame,
We leave.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 7:38 PM UTC