"forhead" poems
Isabel met an enormous bear,
Isabel, Isabel, didn't care;
The bear was hungry, the bear was ravenous,
The bear's big mouth was cruel and cavernous.
The bear said, Isabel, glad to meet you,
How do, Isabel, now I'll eat you!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry.
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,
Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.
Once in a night as black as pitch
Isabel met a wicked old witch.
the witch's face was cross and wrinkled,
The witch's gums with teeth were sprinkled.
** ** Isabel! the old witch crowed,
I'll turn you into an ugly toad!
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry,
She showed no rage and she showed no rancor,
But she turned the witch into milk and drank her.
Isabel met a hideous giant,
Isabel continued self reliant.
The giant was hairy, the giant was horrid,
He had one eye in the middle of his forhead.
Good morning, Isabel, the giant said,
I'll grind your bones to make my bread.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She nibled the zwieback that she always fed off,
And when it was gone, she cut the giant's head off.
Isabel met a troublesome doctor,
He punched and he poked till he really shocked her.
The doctor's talk was of coughs and chills
And the doctor's satchel bulged with pills.
The doctor said unto Isabel,
Swallow this, it will make you well.
Isabel, Isabel, didn't worry,
Isabel didn't scream or scurry.
She took those pills from the pill concocter,
And Isabel calmly cured the doctor.
6.6k
Girl, are you belong to
De Beers Premier Mine
Come to me, I preserve you
and make you mine
My love is like
Champagne diamond
I've somany colors to put
all your worries behind
Let me be a Wittelsbach
in your crown
So that I can smooch your forhead
Let me be a White diamond
in your ring
So that I can kiss your fingers
I'm sure, being with is like staying
in a Cubic zirconia
My love is more denser;
I will never let you hurt
Girl, you are a Koh-I-Noor;
everyone fights for your beauty
and value..
But I'm Robin hood;
I always fight for your good!
----de3pak
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
i wish i wasn't so afraid of my forehead.
afraid i'll brush my bangs just the wrong way and someone will remark
"my god! that girl looks weird with her forehead showing."
afraid like i could change a part of my face.
i guess i could if i was one of those rich ******* on "housewives of ---"
or jwow on jersey shore
i could go shopping for new noses
and larger cheek bones.
like changing a feature of my face will make me more wantable
when it's the crap that comes out of my heart people don't like
instead
i wish i could bare my forehead
stick my middle finger right up there for all to see
but i am afraid of my forehead
what is a forhead?
just a bit of skin
just a little forehead
that is what scares
this redheaded leopard
this is why lionesses hide in kitchens
majestic ************* that should be out there running things
this is why there are no women presidents
because we are afraid of
ourselves
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
Blood is good on muddy hands,
Worn from work,
While calluses harden.
Blood is not good,
On the blades,
That litter your dresser drawer,
In the middle of the night.
Sweat is good,
When coming off your shoulders,
From running,
In warm air,
Through your yard,
With friends around you,
Laughing at your races,
While sipping lemonade,
Under the stars.
Sweat is not good,
When its on your palms,
And the back of your neck,
And drips from your forhead,
From shaking,
And breathing to fast,
From rocking back and forth,
On the floor,
Because your brain,
Is bleeding out of your ears.
Tears are good,
On lover's shoulders,
With your hand on their stomach,
Feeling,
Life.
Tears are not good,
On phones,
Over messages,
You screenshotted from 2 years ago,
Because you just want to feel something again,
Even heartbreak
...
B
L
O
O
D
.
S
W
E
A
T
.
T
E
A
R
S
...
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC
I wake up from dreams
With goose bumps where your hands used to go
My dreams remind me what you looked like
My body reminds me what you felt like
My empty bed reminds me what you feel like
Your phone number reminds me you're not just a phone call away anymore
And my friends try their damnedest to remind me 'This too shall pass'
This too shall pass
But my heart is just starting to break
The dog days are not done
The pain is just beginning
And my heart will have to break up all the way
Before I can start to fix it again
I don't have much super glue
This will be quite the patchwork job
I get goose bumps on my finger tips
I get goose bumps on my chest
I get goose bumps on my thighs
I get goose bumps on my arms
And all I can hope is that every now and then you wake up with goose bumps too
This too shall pass
I don't want this to pass
I just want to be in the past I'm living in, in my dreams
Where you still sing to me the lullabies I sing to my son to help me sleep
And you wake me with gentle kisses to the forhead
And rubbing my hands with your fingers
My bed used to be such a perfect fit for me and you lying in this huddled cold mess of sheets
I can hardly find it in myself to take up more space then my pillows
You always took up more space then I did
And since you replaced yourself with the pillows
Nostalgia won't let me stretch my legs
I want to stretch my legs
I want to run away from this
But I can't run from pain
Can't run from goose bumps
I can't run from dreams
I will eventually have to close my eyes
And when I do
I will see yours open
Looking into mine
Saying I love you
Like you mean it
Like you always did
But didn't always mean it
Or at least you don't still mean it
I'm too young to be burdened forever by something I didn't choose
Like not having you in my life
You owe me too much still
Like a song on the piano
Like salsa lessons
Like a night out
Lilke teaching me how to fish and ride 4 wheelers
Like midnight phone calls
Like more good mornings
And less goodbyes
Like tomorrow
Like forever
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 3:42 AM UTC
To pelt the world in ice and graves.
To feel how quiet this part of town feels
When the lites turn on we will not sleep.
We will not dream of anything tonite
We will run like the chinook salmon runs
To flood the world in rivers alive
With pain the pain of peace.
The pain after loss.
What will come here when the hedges pop
Out like boxing gloves.
Out of me is songs apollo sang.
Out of him and I we dance with
Wounded leggs. And prove
How sweet salt tastes on gashes of death.
How sweet to taste imortality when
The cars speed.
What now is a world full of saints.
To fill markets with fresh fish.
And throw the bottles of whiskey
Where they belong. Where they are warm
Proves how hot my sweater gets when my
Forhead clams up.
My scarf unwraps and we run
With out our cloths down pearl street.
Let there be muse forever on feet and side walk.
We mustnt forget why we break free from
The shakles of eternity.
The horrible shakles of wild life.
Are finally pure gold.
The softest medal to bend.
And we leave the tempting
Medal behind and choose to
Drink the rain drops.
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 1:08 AM UTC
There's nothing quite like cuddling you
Early in the morning
While the house lies still and quiet
And it feels like all the world is fast asleep
Your bristly chin rubbing across my forhead
Your eyes smiling seductively with your **** lips
Hungry, yet gentle, your fingertips move across my hips
I burrow down against your chest
There's nowhere safer than here in your arms
The scent of your skin like Linus' blanket to my soul
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 4:49 PM UTC
The ashes of love linger on my forhead
of burned up discarded thoughts
like old letters in a fire pit
incinerating to dust
and I watch the fragile remains
drift off onto the block
with hungry little hearts
picking them up
I didnt smile at the hands
who dreamed of pretty doves
I smiled at the children running a muck
Someday they'll know how I have grown
Someday they will drownd their dreams in that little wishing well
and I will apologise and tell them of Santa Claus
How beliefs can be magical
but beliefs they just are
I remember howling with that pack of dogs
but now it's just me the pack ran off
When they ask me, whats the meaning then?
I'll brush them off
like the ashes on my forhead
like the running wild dogs
The truth is it varies for everyone
You have to find it within yourself
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 11:07 PM UTC
You are indefinable,
perfectly perplexed between a periapse of compassion
you are..
the light between colors, that blends everything together,
you are the smell of cooking spices and the strut of a supermodel
you have the smile of an angel, the cheek of a demon
you are a time capsual of happiness and a roving epiphany of delinquent change.
a goddess of chaos and order squished between two slices of cute and served with a side order of Mine
so smile sweet heart, brighten those chameleon eyes
let those lips make points at either side
let your hair hang losely over that speckled forhead
that serves as a runway for my kisses
smile sweetheart.
I love you
LG
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 5:43 PM UTC
...and going to state...action.
The jade edge of the writing compartment showed luminescent in the venetian-split rays of an afternoon sun.
Pillar Vas-Gurta gestured a heavy mop like hand towards the cigar case.
Take as many as you like, he mouthed. But everything suspicious
caused in me an urgent decline. You are always too generous Pillar,
I uttered with feigned diplomacy; the dense undertow carrying off the forfeit.
Why are the Arm-ericans not displaying a greater sense of co-operation,
Pillar questioned the telephone in thick Polish, and to me the single nod of a telephone rung off, his reply was as good as a grunt.
As he finished the call; Ah now, come sit young Valentin, if you’ll none of my Cubans come sit and sip Cognac with me at least, spend a moment with an excellent mint.
Untroubled by the American question, Pillar, eyes like hurricanes, hair curled on his forhead with the oil of a whistle, teeth forged, as if by a village blacksmith, patient and keen to devour conversation, was not a man to be declined twice in one afternoon.
Pillar was a man who’s stubble grew as he considered each of his thoughts: and the skewer fed silence that connected fear with steel.
I sense Valentin you are withholding something, are you troubled, rumbled the Polish border, is the Cuban smoke a little too dense for your sensibilities, My friend, my friend you are troubled, so tell me.
Please. I answered for the cognac. And for the writing compartment.
I see it is from Gabriella. His flash, dense and swift as a school of minnows turning their escape into silver, caught me unaware; the weight in my question.
He loves this woman. Here it is then. Even Pillar is vulnerable.
You do not answer Valentin. No I’m sorry, I mumbled. Something troubles me. Please tell me Pillar, why am I here, why have you called me.
Ah the question that cuts to chase the rabbit. As you say. Or something like that, no. You are here Valentin because I like you. You may think, there is nothing I like, and that also may be true. But the cigar must be smoked to appreciate its fullness.
And it that moment, Pillar reached for the razor in his sleeve. Before he was aware, I had seen the gesture. The heel of my shoe captured his nose. The cognac glass filled slowly; a distortion of colour. Pillar sat motionless at his desk. Draining with the final swill. The jade edge of the writing compartment offering a seal of approval; Gabriella's last kiss.
The cigar case remained open and untouched.
I had taken as many as I'd liked.
...and Cut..
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
I curl up into my softest femininity
and then drown myself in thoughts of warm skin
Im hanging off the balcony
the railing pushes into my stomach
and the sharp pain executes my hunger
but only briefly
I scent myself
with myself
and imagine the tasting of the ocean
the burning of salt water
in the eyes
in the wounds
cleanse
deeply into the barren core
suffocated by the surrounding of nothing but air
molecules trangressed
needing freedom
Im trapped in a jail cell
nobody can reach my hands
I have the key
who will persude me
to drench the curtains
rip them from shoulders
my legs
and my back
damp and heavy
forhead creases
cosmic realeses
joyous wonderful
contraversy breeds heavy sighs
between lover and victim
positioned in between the biting of lips
and the thunder of thighs
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 10:49 PM UTC
Beneath the dusk skin
lies a noble heart
the alluring smile
with captive warmth
Those hazel eyes
wandering unknown universe
And thick curly hairs
as downstream river course
Lips uncovering your smile
revealing the heaven for a while
Forhead as a rose petal
voice is divine to tell
You are beautiful my girl
A lost priceless pearl
wish you would have known this
wish this mirror could've you convinced
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 8:01 AM UTC
Shallow breaths,
fists knuckled,
beads of sweat forming on my forehead.
The tension was very palpable,
and so was the nervousness.
I remind myself, take deep breaths,
but as the time draws near,
all I can do is watch,
and to hyperventilate.
Shallow breaths,
fists knuckled,
beads of sweat forming on my forhead,
The tension was very palpable.
And I was nervous.
I didn't know if it was because,
of my impending performance,
or if it was because,
of the events that would happen when this is all
over.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
I feel piece on your voice,
And i love when you smile,
I can stand look to you for hours,
And quiet for so long.
I feel safe on your body,
And i love when you hold me on your arms,
I can stand feel your heart beat for hours,
Quiet for so long.
I feel loved when you kiss my forhead,
And you can keep do it,
Quiet for so long.
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 2:48 PM UTC
You slap my thighs three times.
Clap!
Clap!
Clap!
Pain erodes in my thighs,
Stinging moves and up down my legs.
Anger builds in my chest,
Rage spews from my mouth.
Pain.
You evoke pain into me.
***
Pain.
Most men like to evoke pain into their partners for ****** stimulation.
Slapping
Hitting
Spanking
Those are all painful.
I dnt think you realize the abusive monster resting dorment under the facade you show.
A powerful being, strength of two men.
Your arms take control of my little figure.
Slap!
Slap!
More pain, more stinging.
I lay in bed wondering what will it take for me to get up and walk away.
A bruise lip or busted forhead?
Eventually that monster is going to get hungry
And these little appetizer hits isnt going to be enough.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
Silence,
In the mind
Is what he strives for-
Ushering sweet shushings
Destined to fall-
Desperately,
Hopelessly,
On deaf membranes-
Eardrums cluttered
And cloistered
By juggling run rampart-
Amuk.
The color of blood
Seeps down his forhead-
Sweatdrops glistening
Their crimson beauty-
Reminders that his sight
Is still unseen-
Cataracts unsheathed
Beneath Winter's chilling kiss
Of endless doubt and drought.
The frozen beauty captivates,
Encapsulates his mind,
And all his eyes roll back,
And his hands are useless.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
It seems
you've managed to gouge out
another chunk of my heart
...
took your time
to make me feel it,
every bit of it
...
Wormed those fingers of pain
right in
...
down to nauciously scraped
nerves
...
dug in so deep
must've been so ******
to find it was hollow?
...
Oh sweety,
with your forhead
planted in your palms
You look so lost?
Didn't think of the cost?
did you?
...
Oh,
how well
in our misery we soak
one day king of hearts;
next day broke!
...
you didn't think
id let it go
so easily did you?
...
I have a habit
of scaping the mess
under my nails
...
love is such a
gruesomely pretty colour
...
Cheer up!
...
I feel so much better!
...
now that I've taken
a good chunk
of yours.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
A neon advertisement of Elizebeth Arden was sparking in a wonderful 3D
Array
I was passing thru Shanklin, Heading towards Sandown
And beyond Black Gang Chine, Heading up to White Cliff Bay.
Walking thru a prehistoric night,
And Evelyn suggested that we liberate a boat-
I replied, Why don't we awaken our ghosts
to float on the still night airway ?
240 feet above the Chanel aqua-spray,
Aware of only night from day,
And however angelic my love is,
Her personality can revolve in a mysterious way,
She blessed my notion
And her first idea joined the corrosion
At the foot of White Cliff Bay.
Her eyes spoke to me.
You are only as conscientious as your persona allows.
We watched the angry coast, Coaxing and tormenting
Where the ancient ocean bows
And nature steps over a part of time
That tells of it's own decay,
And man has no part here to play,
As the wet chalk laments to the sky
And the Devil crashes into innocent pacified
Clay, Chaotic and ruthless against a naked White Cliff Bay.
This is how I came to be,
Shaped by the perpetual onslaught of endless sea.
Knowing that the harm that has been done to me
Can never be justified,
Just as childhood promises always have their fruitition shunned
As every story book lied in the same fixtures where faithful ancestors
Were betrayed
As they knelt in hell - Burning as they prayed
To a God who was now a witness here on White Cliff Bay.
But I feel a new direction is drifting my way
And she touches my forhead I feel okay,
And the whole unexplained truth of life is now unfolding
Like the relics and the fossils of White Cliff Bay,
And the new life I am holding.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
she gets up from bed
and applies her foundation
starting from her forhead
then down to her eyes
hoping to erase the cries, bruises
and the lies from last night
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
him, a tiny
catastrophe,
speeding into the void coy.
easily disposable. the paper
head can only fold
so many times.
yet mind
the liminal and
you too
can heal.
— yes,
even you.
this
thought
came
with a routine flat gaze
through smudge on the window
on a train. it arose
crouching
orthogonal, from
one space where
felt helicals hold
the pause of holy.
he knows
this place
not well.
he feels
inadequate
to the task.
like it’s too late.
like he is an idiot.
like his time is up.
each of
his small rooms
that make him
him is
coated with a
light film of whetted necrosis,
the sharp dust, to come.
but at the epicenter
of each sits
an old woman with
braided hair blacksilverwhite down
to her knees, speaking
looping words which, upon
hitting stolid air of
pyramidal hymn, manifest
sound images in three directions:
of those horrors to come
that, if not
taken at a glance,
annihilate;
of wobbly peace
and tranquil eddy
‘round-the-rock
that heal, all in all;
of fretted final causes
where arrow of our earth-shot
finally ends up. and
upon her forhead
writ in the ledger
of four parallel
wrinkles were:
tremulous
is the inside,
keep a rattle
close by, seeker
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 1:16 PM UTC
A body exhausted, full of dead bodies of former selves
Sunken blackened eyes, deep wrinkles in the forhead
Hands that shake and hum, with no true stop
A voice that is weak, fatigued at the mere action of speaking
It is a trial of pain, that it has to go through
No sense of peace or content, only dread and struggle
Wandering aimlessly in a fog
With no hope of finding direction
Is this the fate we all share?
This connective tissue of the human condition
All that we are born to do, is simply exist
With no real hope or happiness
I do not wish to believe that to be so
But, as these days grow longer
And my will loses more and more petals
I am unsure that I can see the better angels
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
A beauty of wonder lies apon you're lips, where a rosey red lipstick gloss run from the tip to the very last drip, a bit of love lies on it's surface, but only the right person gets of it what is worth it, it's a mystical element the lips, backed with plenty of emotions including a kiss, but what makes a kiss so passionate, is it the love you see in there lips, when it forms a bend only you're head can fit, or is it the magic of the lipstick touching you're forhead, willing to stick onto you until you go to bed, symbolising you're love, as well as you're mark on there head, making them yours for now, and until the end, and until they decide to wash it of again, a kiss has more feelings then love, it can be a mark or a sigh, from the heavns above, not even an angel could explain, the beauty you're lips can obtain, the beauty of the lips could go on forever, but at least we are always here together, so lets make the most of the kisses we have, and cherious each one as if it was our last.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:34 PM UTC
Her naked body
Always turn you on!
Her soft skins prospected love shower
Not any hone!
Her hairs to prevent your time to go any park, forest such as garden!
Because once time you'd play it by your fingure,
That time those peace gives you so much pleasure!
Her forhead makes you craved for kiss
The time you should framed those moment scared to miss!
Yeah.
Every girls want such a seemly gaitey.
She's have a dark deep eye!
There'r only place for beautiful spy!
May be is perfect place to dive
Without any rive.
Trust me it's doesn't matter you knows swimming or not!
Her eyes is only satiety for you.
That,time you realised don't need find any kind of paradise!
Because her eyes perfectly allocate to rise.
May be you don't need any wet
Her lips's enough to comfort het.
Her naked neck make you hardly, feral love
And gives you pleasure around like long rove!
Her breast make you thirst!
Not only compress nor ****
This orgnan to help act excited hardly ****
Doesn't matter are she's have a
flat stomach or fat!!
She's the only one who'r able to cover inside
Your love! Within till 9 ******
Is really good pleasure through your penes!
She steed canvas on the ground,then rises like an acrobat!
Those steed deep dark and strong,
Sometimes plop-egg, drop-egg!
Earn kudos from the eartsy folk,
Be hip --- plucky 'lay an egg!
Every months how much she's suffered to ****** pain!
Only due to blood rain!
From hip to legs make you dabbler in *** activity!
her legs gives to indicate to make a fascinating moment.
Her legs like a ride
Which could not make your emotions hide!
Jzt **** out every parts!
Think 'bout tommorow uh'll have not this type of love kart!
Her barefoot on your foot
She treads softly!
Without any costly.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
I love you
A little boy sits in his third grade classroom
He wonders why he hasn't any friends
He asks his mom
"Why!"
Why do they look at me like I am different
Why am I so alone
I love you
A few years later on the soccer field
A boy from the other team nocks him over
Instead of anyone helping him up
They all laugh
Even his own team.
He asks his coach the next day
Why no one helped him
Instead his coach walked away
I love you
Finnaly he graduates high school
Everyone around him is hugging and celebrating
Except the three foot radius between him and the nearest person at any time
Before he could leave though a girl walked up and hugged him
When she let go three years had gone by and she was in a beautiful white dress and the boy now a man smiled
I love you
The boy loved his wife
Every morning he called her beautiful
Every night he kissed her forhead before sleep
Even the day he got the call that his mother had unexpectedly passed away
I love you
The boy missed his mother
He he looked for her in the clouds
In the Bible
In the bottom of every bottle
I love you
Along came a day when his wife told him to stop looking and read
Three hours later she was packed and the divorce papers were signed
I love you
He cried that night
He missed his mother
He missed his wife
He looked to the sky and cried
"Father!"
Why am I alone
Please don't let this happen to me
I love you
That's all he heard
When he woke up he realized he was not alone
He had God to lead his life
You see when the boy asked his mother
"Why!"
Something special happened
That night he dreamed a life without
God
He soon learned God was always saying to him
I love you
He realized real friends aren't had
They are made threw life long experience
God placed the boy at a crossroads between
Love
And
Anything less
The boy now knew he simple had to chose love
He knew he could because
He was loved
I love you
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 10:30 PM UTC