"loveliest" poems
Your name is the loveliest word
I've ever said. In my life
I've never known someone like you.
Your aura is a quilt
that I could spend all day in
if you'd let me.
I think the chances of me meeting
another you are absurd
and I find the whole idea
to be terrifying.
I could make so much room
for you in my heart.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 2:41 PM UTC
Moths are swatted
butterflies kissed
Pollution in fog
but beauty in mist
Shades of skin
the lighter adored
Loveliest lauded
the average ignored
Wilting flowers
tossed and snubbed
Only the beautiful
are cherished and
loved
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 1:01 AM UTC
I. The Mermaid
I am six years old,
and I am obsessed with Ariel
from The Little Mermaid--
she is, by far,
my favourite Disney Princess.
I want to be exactly like her--
hair billowing in red swirls
around a heart-shaped face
and eyes so blue they put the very
ocean to shame
(my sister has blue eyes too, you know,
and, to this day, I still envy her,
for her eyes are the loveliest
characteristic of her Beauty--
and believe me, there are many);
purple clam shells vibrant
against porcelain-doll skin
and fully blossomed *******
(in three years from now,
I will begin
to grow *****
elementary-school style,
over-ripe.
B Cups going on C cups
fated to become D Cups,
plum-sized
in comparison to the
budding mosquito bites of
my fellow classmates.
Barely a child,
womanhood threatens
to sexualize my girlish body
before I truly know
what sexualization is);
fins cutting through the water
gracefully in all their
green, iridescent glory
(little did I know that,
as I grew older,
"cutting" would adopt
a far more sinister meaning
in the context of my life).
But,
despite my admiration for Ariel,
I fail to understand her desire
to abandon her
under-sea rendezvous,
sunken treasures,
oceanic melodies to
"be where the people are."
This lack of approval I foster
exists due to the fact that I am
a firm believer of the magic
the aquatic realm (and Disney)
has to offer.
To this day,
I continue to maintain my stance--
that Ariel had been terribly wrong
in the choices she made--
but I have become cognizant of
different (and better) reasons
to argue my position;
after all,
and as a cartoon crab
had so wisely declared once,
"The human world--
it's a mess."
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 10:29 PM UTC
Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair
As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee,
Whereof the articulate throbs accompany
The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair,—
Sweet fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware,—
Oh let thy silent song disclose to me
That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree
Like married music in Love’s answering air.
Fain had I watched her when, at some fond thought,
Her ***** to the writing closelier press’d,
And her ******* secrets peered into her breast;
When, through eyes raised an instant, her soul sought
My soul, and from the sudden confluence caught
The words that made her love the loveliest.
13k
A gentleman of gentle deeds,
whose smile surmises his thoughts.
A simple man of simple gestures,
whose kindness has never been fought.
His words clever,
his ideas charming,
his romance soft yet strong.
Enchanting eyes, endearing lips,
his promise an elegant song.
I want a gentleman,
to run with me,
through fields of yellow and green.
I choose the gentleman,
the careful man,
the loveliest man I have seen.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 1:01 AM UTC
#*Jesus entrusts
the most luscious of
blessings and the rarest of
secrets to the most desperate and
thirsty of souls, for He delights to place
the loveliest of wings on the lowliest of worms*#
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 5:16 PM UTC
You are indescribably beautiful.
More than your breathtaking smile.
Or the way you look at me with those gorgeous brown eyes.
You are beautiful in this supernatural way that makes me yearn for an explanation.
It is such a beauty that makes me feel complete.
A tremendous burst of euphoria and bliss just by the thought of you.
Your bewitching emanation that makes my soul electrify.
As if we were split in a ****** world to search for one another.
Your immense beauty that is far beyond the physical.
It makes me suffer in the most amazing way.
Forces me to watch every careful step,
To not shatter the perfection of a thousand lifetimes.
A beauty that makes the world seem brand new and brilliant.
You make the flowers bloom fuller,
The grass greener,
And the birds sing finer.
You are the deity my heart has struggled to search for,
The divinity my soul has craved,
And the magnificence I have only dreamt of.
Your presence makes this life hold a more significant meaning.
You are the loveliest being,
I have ever had the pleasure of sharing an existence with.
You cause this intoxication in my very soul,
And make my heart skip every beat in the most tremendous way.
You have brought new meaning to my life.
Things that were once a blur now makes sense.
You have given love "at first sight" a true meaning.
~S.C. Kelley
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 9:36 PM UTC
*She is on the street in her little kiosk ,
at the break of the dawn ,
When many are still on a lucid dream.
Selling the most delicious of grapes
Sourced straight from the vineyards
Assembling the previous day's discards all in a tray
Discards For humans it maybe ,
But
for her birds its a treat to relish .
Swooping
down for it ,day after day..
Mostly bought by the morning walkers ,
Many in numbers are they
old patrons , as they say.
Every day she sells her wares
Holding the loveliest of smile
That I have seen in years,
All Knowing , the pain that she hides behind .
Never misses a day nor business,
And back home she is before sundown.
Only to return the following day,
With a new stock ,at the break of the dawn.*
Jun 11, 2017
Jun 11, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
Your beauty radiates like a flower in the moonlight
For to me that is the loveliest atmosphere
And you are the loveliest vista
Be my midnight flower
Let us count the years
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
hi my name is broken and
i once caught my father using all his teeth hands lip and tongue on a woman that was not his own
outside my bedroom window,
i spent the night trying to convince myself that
love is real love is real love is real
because after that i wasn’t ever really sure.
hi my name is survivor and
i was once a punching bag for my stepfathers anger and houses in the country will forever terrify me
all because of a random man and his prying fingers and his sticky gum,
and then there’s this third set of bones and dark flesh that made me so afraid of my own skin i had to tell myself
i am beautiful i am beautiful i am beautiful
because hate and death wasn’t my only option.
hi my name is butterfly and
i once broke every bone in my body falling so hard for a girl with the loveliest voice i’ve ever heard but she had other bodies underneath her
thick brown belt
she wouldn’t let herself feel all the things i felt,
i spent thanksgiving in a mental hospital chanting over and over
i am lovable i am lovable i am lovable
because without even trying, she had managed to convince me that i wasn’t.
hi my name is destroyer and
i chose water over blood because blood burned and drowned and buried me ten feet down all at the same time and i didn’t want to die because of them
anymore
i split in half all the walls and windows and doors to my home,
i needed to do and be what was best for me so i told myself again and again
i’m not alone i’m not alone i’m not alone
because all i felt was the aftermath of being the very thing that broke up my home.
hi my name is lover and
i tend to give too much of me way too quickly because i don't fall in love, i dive with feet facing the sky, head towards the concrete
and i wonder how i end up being so broken and incomplete
so i wound up all the glue and all the tape,
i muttered over and over in between each breath
fate isn't fake fate isn't fake fate isn't fake
because my heart always seemed to pound a few beats behind, a few beats too late.
hi my name is suicide and
i stepped in front of trains and bullets and knives and i hate yous and you’re nothings all looking for a father that
never really wanted me
he broke my throne, i cut more than just my hair, i no longer want to be here,
and i screamed at the top of my lungs because
it’s worth it it’s worth it it’s worth it
it just doesn’t feel like it anymore.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 6:57 PM UTC
I. Herself
To be a sweetness more desired than Spring;
A ****** beauty more acceptable
Than the wild rose-tree’s arch that crowns the fell;
To be an essence more environing
Than wine’s drained juice; a music ravishing
More than the passionate pulse of Philomel; -
To be all this ’neath one soft bosom’s swell
That is the flower of life:—how strange a thing!
How strange a thing to be what Man can know
But as a sacred secret! Heaven’s own screen
Hides her soul’s purest depth and loveliest glow;
Closely withheld, as all things most unseen,—
The wave-bowered pearl, the heart-shaped seal of green
That flecks the snowdrop underneath the snow.
II. Her Love
She loves him; for her infinite soul is Love,
And he her lodestar. Passion in her is
A glass facing his fire, where the bright bliss
Is mirrored, and the heat returned. Yet move
That glass, a stranger’s amorous flame to prove,
And it shall turn, by instant contraries,
Ice to the moon; while her pure fire to his
For whom it burns, clings close i’ the heart’s alcove.
Lo! they are one. With wifely breast to breast
And circling arms, she welcomes all command
Of love,—her soul to answering ardours fann’d:
Yet as morn springs or twilight sinks to rest,
Ah! who shall say she deems not loveliest
The hour of sisterly sweet hand-in-hand?
III. Her Heaven
If to grow old in Heaven is to grow young,
(As the Seer saw and said,) then blest were he
With youth forevermore, whose heaven should be
True Woman, she whom these weak notes have sung.
Here and hereafter,—choir-strains of her tongue,—
Sky-spaces of her eyes,—sweet signs that flee
About her soul’s immediate sanctuary,—
Were Paradise all uttermost worlds among.
The sunrise blooms and withers on the hill
Like any hillflower; and the noblest troth
Dies here to dust. Yet shall Heaven’s promise clothe
Even yet those lovers who have cherished still
This test for love:—in every kiss sealed fast
To feel the first kiss and forebode the last.
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Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
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I could write the loveliest poem ever,
A lonely dove went cooing by and by,
Yonder rill, yonder hill, yonder river,
Whilst it winged into a clear blue sky.
Lovely is the sky in her robes of blue,
Velvety blue I mean, as eyes of thine
Never bestowed upon any seraph,
That upon my soul kindled love divine.
I could croon the loveliest tune ever,
And whisper it upon rivers of time;
That fairly stream by and by forever,
A tune that in thy heart could ever chime,
If only I could glance at thy bright eyes
To once stray upon shores of paradise.
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 9:15 AM UTC
The shadows have their seasons, too.
The feathery web the budding maples
cast down upon the sullen lawn
bears but a faint relation to
high summer's umbrageous weight
and tunnellike continuum-
black leached from green, deep pools
wherein a globe of gnats revolves
as airy as an astrolabe.
The thinning shade of autumn is
an inherited Oriental,
red worn to pink, nap worn to thread.
Shadows on snow look blue. The skier,
exultant at the summit, sees his poles
elongate toward the valley: thus
each blade of grass projects another
opposite the sun, and in marshes
the mesh is infinite,
as the winged eclipse an eagle in flight
drags across the desert floor
is infinitesimal.
And shadows on water!-
the beech bough bent to the speckled lake
where silt motes flicker gold,
or the steel dock underslung
with a submarine that trembles,
its ladder stiffened by air.
And loveliest, because least looked-for,
gray on gray, the stripes
the pearl-white winter sun
hung low beneath the leafless wood
draws out from trunk to trunk across the road
like a stairway that does not rise.
4.7k
Mom is such
A special word
The loveliest
I've ever heard.
A toast to you
Above all the rest
Mom, you're
So special
You are simply
the best!
እማ
‹እማ› ልዩ ቃል ነው
በጣም ተወዳጅ
ሠምቼ ከማውቀው!
ብርጭቆአችንን እናንሳልሽ፣
ከሁሉም በላይ ከፍብለሽ፣
‹እማ› አንቺኮ ልዩ ነሽ
በቃ በትንሹ አቻም የለሽ!
(በሔለን ስቲነር ራይስ)
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
Loneliness is like hunting for redwood trees
Their gnarled faces
Gritting teeth
They bite the loveliest poison
Out of all the holes your heart couldn’t fill
Sprout carnations
Sprout dahlias
All crimson petals
Blooming from the places
You wanted to be held
Loneliness is a garden
That no one tends
So you choke on the roots
Your tongue turns green
And little tendrils tickle up your throat
Looks like worms at first
But those come later
Pretty soon you’re planted
And collapsing blood red beautiful
Loneliness kills you sometimes
Turns you into a garden after you go hunting
For redwood trees
And on the brief occasions the light breaks the treetop
It shines on you
Just a few red red flowers
A little girl sees one maybe
She plucks what’s left of you
Places you in a vase
That sits on a kitchen table
Without much sunlight
Loneliness is you in a vase
Trying to be as beautiful as you can
Before your petals fall
And your stalks wilt
For a girl
Who thought you were worth taking home
Long enough to brighten up a kitchen
A few days maybe
That’s all we can hope for
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 4:10 PM UTC
a rich panoply
of umber and gold
contrasting against
the conifers green
a glorious sight
to behold
one of the loveliest
ever seen
Aug 4, 2012
Aug 4, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
n. A homesickness for somewhere you cannot return to, the nostalgia and grief for the lost places of your past, places that never were.
insatiability makes its burrow
in my gall bladder,
wringing bile from the *****
craving toxins to purge.
i thirst for sweet lexical gaps,
holes in patterns,
dots that don't make shapes
but still gladly connect
komorebi
n. The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees
loveliest in the distinction
it is only komorebi
once filtered, green soul
bleeding through
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
3.8k
I sit here and let this Punk Rock fill my mind
it's like a sweet drug, just so ******* kind
Madness and violence then swirls the room
that's ******* it, get ready for doom
I'm so angry and I need a release
this violent girl has broken her leash
You created this beast, you little ****
I am no longer that little runt
I'm ready for destruction tonight
You better hide, cause my mind's not right
I want to pit and smash your head
**** you, **** you I wish you were dead
I'll connect my steel toes with your face
be ready, this isn't delicate lace
I hate you and want you to hurt
Your the ******* bottom, nothing but dirt
The dirt I stomp on and kick around
This Punk Rock is the most loveliest of sound
I'll rage and swing my fists about
I'll knock you straight the **** out
I hate you and want you to bleed
**** you
cause
Punk Rock
is
all
I
need
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
It was you, Atthis, who said
"Sappho, if you will not get
up and let us look at you
I shall never love you again!
"Get up, unleash your suppleness,
lift off your Chian nightdress
and, like a lily leaning into
"a spring, bathe in the water.
Cleis is bringing your best
purple frock and the yellow
"tunic down from the clothes chest;
you will have a cloak thrown over
you and flowers crowning your hair...
"Praxinoa, my child, will you please
roast nuts for our breakfast? One
of the gods is being good to us:
"today we are going at last
into Mitylene, our favorite
city, with Sappho, loveliest
"of its women; she will walk
among us like a mother with
all her daughters around her
"when she comes home from exile..."
But you forget everything
3.5k
my first
a lion inside a boy
a full moon (i thought you gave off light; you only reflected mine)
a breathless english winter, pale and icy
an explorer of collar bones and thighs and shoulder blades
my love, my life
the loveliest flower, or perhaps an entire garden
a time traveller (you showed me the world at 5.30am)
a stupid teenage boy
july 28th to november 4th
a semicolon - a story to be continued;
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 1:58 AM UTC
Swift as nightfall, it closes in
Rolling over sea still as glass
Thicker than smoke, darker than sin
The fog, it tumbles in an impenetrable mass
Blocking out the early light of day
With tiny footsteps it creeps to the dock
Softly stirring secret shadows
Standing quiet, observing, I in my night frock
Some part of me still dreaming of distant meadows
Moving swiftly, it devours the very last of the sun’s rays
I wrap my robe around me
Making my way out of doors
The fog, it deepens, struggling to be free
And like a cat, crawls on all fours
Up and over and past the bay
Frightfully quick now it surges on
Some part of me murmurs that my feelings are wrong
My mind urges, “Do not fall prey to nature’s con!”
Yet the sweet, seductive calling of the fog’s siren song
Sends me dreamwalking into its heavy gray
My spirits start to soar
Engulfed and held by the fog’s thickening grasp
Against my mind’s desire, I want more
And as the fog turns suffocating, I gasp
Falling to my knees in this place I long to stay
The fog, ever enveloping me in its endless cloak
Whispers words of freedom like the loveliest of poem
I close my eyes, tripping, slipping, fumbling, tumbling, giving in to the beauty of the smoke
Knowing deep inside that I am home
And in the fog, forever I lay
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
What dawn-pulse at the heart of heaven, or last
Incarnate flower of culminating day,—
What marshalled marvels on the skirts of May,
Or song full-quired, sweet June’s encomiast;
What glory of change by nature’s hand amass’d
Can vie with all those moods of varying grace
Which o’er one loveliest woman’s form and face
Within this hour, within this room, have pass’d?
Love’s very vesture and elect disguise
Was each fine movement,—wonder new-begot
Of lily or swan or swan-stemmed galiot;
Joy to his sight who now the sadlier sighs,
Parted again; and sorrow yet for eyes
Unborn that read these words and saw her not.
3.3k