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Isaac Jul 2018
There is a power that unveils loveliness
hidden in everything, even in ugliness.
An x-ray that shows you all the good
inside of things that normally would
seem so ordinary to the average eye.
You need to realise that beauty is shy.
You don't have to search the world to see her.
Just look with an eye that goes a little deeper.
Take the time to notice what no one else will.
It'll heal your heart. A truly amazing thrill!
Written 28 July 2018

When you have honour, you see things that many miss out on.
Pagan Paul Jun 2017
.
Thy loveliness be fyne arte
powdered 'pon a velvet page.
Thy heart doth sing lullabies
penned in a lovers cage.

Thy loveliness be crystal jewels
studded 'pon a silver thread.
Thy breath doth fan the fyres
stitched in a lovers bed.

Thy loveliness be sweet dreams
strewn 'pon a meadow fair.
Thy nature doth perfume give
flowers in a lovers snare.

© Pagan Paul (14/06/17)
.
Timothy Aug 2017
Sweet Springtime blossoms bud and bloom again
     When all that Winter frost is done away
     Each nodding stem, each petal zephyrs sway
That’s laden with petrichor after rain.
Hard by the lea and meadow grass and grain
     Which toss about in breezes from clouds gray
     Along yon wold where creeks flow all astray
And ferns beneath old oaks trees bend and strain.

     O yet with gentle passing day and hour,
All emerald green trees resort their dress
Which one beholds with awe all eagerly;
     So bask in joy and gather up a flow’r,
Time now to cherish Spring in loveliness,
For soon cold Winter comes on greedily.
12 May 2017 7:50pm EDT
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2018
I come from sunlight,
      The sweeping of leaves,
      South London streets,
      Lurburnum seeds;
      Hot semolina,
      A spoonful of jam,
      Hands full of gooseberries,
      That's who I am.

      I come from rose petals,
      The sound of the fairs,
      The smell of candyfloss
      Mist in the air;
      I come from warmth,
      My parents hands,
      Outings to parks,
      Both small and grand.

     I come from knowledge,
     True and false,
     From nursery rhymes,
     And stories and pictures of God;
     I come from gentleness,
     A quiet afternoon,
     From visions of loveliness,
     Sewn on a spool.

    I come from two worlds,
    With different ways,
    A threaded pearl necklace,
    And sensible soles
    A mother and father,
    I think I knew,
    I came and I wandered,
    I looked at the view.

       By Mary **
Poem inspired by the Slam poets on BBC
Laine Viv Aug 2014
I've told people not to let others
plant flowers inside them,
for they will leave,
and all the loveliness inside them
will wither and die

I've said it as if
it's the simplest thing in the world.

But clearly, it isn't.

And you don't get to choose
who will do it,
when they will,
or whether they will.
You won't feel it when they finally do.

One day you'll wake up
with a garden blooming inside you

until they leave,
and you've got nothing
but tears to water what they've left.
Cress Rosario May 2014
Happiness is what I found in you.
Loveliness is in your heart, so true.
No doubt you are the best as ever.
I will love you more until forever.

When I'm down, you keep me up.
When I'm tired, you'll tell me to stop.
Whatever my pain, you know the cure
I know your love for me is pure.

So today is made for us to treasure.
Every single tears, pain and pressure.
To celebrate the only truthful lover.
Happiness forever with you my Mother.
SC Kelley Oct 2018
The Kiss

Poison
Long lasting
Stinging
Loveliness.

A moment
Lasting
Forever
Yet
So quick.

Hearts
Beating
Throbbing
Fluttering.

Lips
Tangled
Locked­
Harmonizing.

Minds
Fuzzy
Confused
Yet
definite.

Bodies
Warm
Cl­ose
Touching.

Memories
Existant
Looming
Forgotten.

The Kiss

~S.C. Kelley
For those stuck in a moment of unsure bliss
Connor Aug 2018
Pleasing each other in the perfect
black night
(wretched forest)

Hands gripped tight against your waist,
on my knees, the dirt below digs into my skin
which is okay
We can hardly be heard midst the lively pandemonium
surrounding our loveliness

Drop-down
like a Luciferean Prima Donna
in silk /
walk on flowers of both Hemispheres
telling me how much you adore me & you

As equals in our posture-possession
unable to stand straight/shrouded by holy creamy
doves closing-in
muffling our mutual shrieks (as to be private and without gathering too much a crowd)

O Autumn Calypso
keeper of the scales, of the riddle
& the promise simultaneous -
- I am your victim and your master, trafficking our fragility
into a glorious Unknown, shade & essence of leaves wavers in the quieting hour,
seduced - transfixed & ravished in a wondrous spectacle
with Enchanter's nightshade laurel endowed on high

****, close and
hot - unrehearsed arias told by tongues  -
while we seep further in a hallowed guise/harp misplaced -
excommunicated from the Stead we traversed
before on ideal grounds – too late to remember or
repent – dabbling in magic with our double identity - now one insoluble drapery of illuminations
being shepherded into a ferocious
intoxication of its own fluid magnificence – a Narcissus gazing back, decaying with vehemence
Zuzanna M Dec 2013
This boy was one of a kind. I knew he was the love of my life, but I was afraid I wasn’t the only one sharing the same belief. As I said, he was the one of a kind, special in the natural and comforting way he made You feel around him. He was too humble for the talents he had and way too smart for the beauty he owned.
 I couldn’t always guess what he felt when he played his music, but I could always know when he felt sad. He didn’t talk much, but he enjoyed writing little stories about other people, capturing them as they were. I believe he knew much more about them then they knew about themselves.
I didn’t always know what his purpose was, but somehow he was amazingly sure in his uncertainty. I wished I could see the world with his eyes, I wished I could look to the people as he did. In his eyes You could see the reflection of the world’s loveliness. He always found a way to surprise me, either with the things he knew, could or have done. He knew exactly how to touch your soul, or at least he knew how to reach mine, and as he was the only person able to do this I knew that he was special and made for the greatest things.

Sometimes I feared I loved him enough to die of pain of belonging.  I couldn’t stand the thought of life without him or of life with different him.  I couldn’t stand the pain of being close enough to feel the envy of losing him for something else and I knew I simply couldn’t live without that pain either. But I was happy though.  I was extremely fortunate as he loved me and I loved him back like nothing else in the world. I wouldn’t trade any moment with me lying on his chest, kissing my forehead, touching my hair for anything in the world. He was simply the sweetest thing and the aim of all my actions.
I wished for the long and happy life with him as I was sure everything would turn out to be wonderful in his hands. He was the first boy who made me dream of getting married and I loved him dearly, praying to God every single night to keep him from danger and misfortune.

Still I lost him.

I have felt I was going crazy in madness of late hour, noises and images were blurred, my actions automatic. I was living, but I wasn’t alive, all my will was gone, his absence was unbearable. Nothing was ever going to make any sense. I was lost without him for ever.
Marigolds Fever Aug 2018
Endearing Old world
Her heart shattered into tiny pieces
Felt as though she had nothing to say
only slight whispers
She found herself looking for solace
wondered why the owner of her heart won’t make peace
And reflected about pain you might feel
Does it feel like hers
Even though you cast a shadow of loveliness, beauty and mystery
Inside you
She touches your soft branches
Tears look up to you
Begging for your comfort
Your vibrations to heal her heart
Her soul connected to another
who walks along ur dirt crust
It cannot relay with all the fuss
Asking you to completely discuss
For it is you that she only trusts
Burlesque fatuous is the implication of your emotional daily pretentiousness. I am seldom, otherwise a psychopath, able
to own fraternity which I can't
discernment or jester because there is an art to love and ******
And it's a conventional edit to your own dullness. I am vivid,
Debris to impersonation.
I am absent but identical
to thin air. I am a Prometheus
Arabian night in Lysistrata premise.
My words may remind you of the day I held your eyes in infinite cluster. Perhaps my love isn't enough for you to understand. For example, the glassed vain is paralysis iridium illicitness which is svelte to inadmissible synthesis. The cloud let are torsion, assail with cypress and impossible solariums; and the propane was a sensation of disjointed loveliness.
Every time I go for a walk, mosquitoes understand my lonely talks because they sip my blood at a quarter past ten but these glazed roads scrutinized my wrist, escorted vernal preposterous blue/purple relentless ghostly cheekbones.
Thought I could festive the blaze among the cedar bridge road
but take a pause and look at my skin and thighbones,
Preterists to flowered unless I smile and tell you
"This is heartbreak"*

*Unable to keep up with your facetiousness, personality failed me temporarily. Mind melting in a moment of dissonance,
This cognitive refrain refracts the 'I' that oscillates accordingly.
One's morphology, tuned to its own metric of change.
Hypnos whispers and sleep beckons, taunting insomnia (which makes a mockery of all humans) but Morpheus has no time for anything less than grandiose archetypes.
Last night I may have dreamt or drunk some foolish things, told people the truth untruthfully, let slip more than I should have.
What a pity, secrecy. They say
information wants to be free.
Who lingers in the details?
Past memories are liberated only by the present. I stand here in the downpour, soaking it all in.
Compassion, god is in the rain.
My fulgurite heart resting on the palm of a deity, at a tilt, slowly it's sliding off; when it fell I gasped.
The reflection of wide eyes in each of its atria, emotion flowing through these venae cavae, those
dilated eyes shimmered before it shattered, gleaming with passion. Us, in the blink of an I.
written on May 13th, 2017.
Idea Image Imagine Mirage Imagination Ghost Spirit Angel Love
That is how I describe you. That is how I see you. You look so beautiful every time I see you. That is the way you are. I see you pass. I see you for a moment. Then I try to see you again after that and you are gone. I'm not sure if I really saw you or if I just imagined you. Then when I go around I see a flash of beautifulness and loveliness. Then I see you smile. And I fall. Lovely. That is what you are.
Ines Rose Jul 2018
I toed the ocean’s green.

It took me to his face,

a match in colors,

his eyes and this water

both hypnotizing,

like a moth to a flame.

But the sand was coarse

unlike his smoothness,

coat after creamy coat of membrane thin

porous loveliness, to let him live and breathe.

It looked unreal -

him a doll,  and this sea

a painting -

‘twas all too much beauty

to encompass in one place,

one body.

That’s where balance storms in,

for the water she roars

she shouts and she tugs.

His eyes tug too, at my heart.

With matching habits

they pull and smash me

then carry me out till someone

cares to find me.
Another one from the archives.
I'll have to find the date.
Chris Saitta Apr 24
You who have lifted up your sunburned face,
Long-told of peasant warmth and the forest tableaux.
Barefoot, you brought the book of hours upon dusty roads,
Ungoverned, little flower from Jeanne to Lourdes to Lisieux.
Our Lady, osculum pacis, the kiss of peace in wood and stone.

Burned out to those dusty eyes,
Now-empty look of rosework from the forest-fall of sunlight.
Medieval prayer, earthly-dim to its rafters of oak,
Come un-cinctured in ashen cloud of amice and alb,
And the murine blackness of plague-like smoke.

Birds that sit blinking at the winged fossil of intrados,
Pipe air through your own ribbed vaults, organum pulse.
Let the city rise in your vining voices—and hold the note.
The great ***** intones from the runs and pedal stops,
Along the turbid streets of the rue de la Cité to the empire of catacombs.

Beside his candle, the monk in sadness knows
All loveliness of heaven except his own.
Our Lady, every sunset is your faded candle hour of peace, for us to know.
Holy Father, so passes worldly glory,
Over the roofs of Paris like fire-scorned and leaden wings.
Travelling with me were two friends
An elderly gentleman and She
They stretched out four hands
In a beautiful glance
And took me with them
On an unusual dance.

One full of snow and bluebell’s bulbs
The other carried words taken down
From his shelves
We shared the sunlight on a good day
And visions of loveliness to treasure
Always.

Love Mary ***
lucav Oct 2018
empty is all she feels
around her his smoke is curling
slowly unfurling some sense of joy
darkness and bitterness darken her colors
he adds his loveliness into her canvas
colors spreading between one another
killing my darkness within
friendliness saved her gently
weeping her canvas clean
both happy once again
SC Kelley Aug 2018
Your infectious smile,
Like a drug with uncontrollable side effects.

That real, genuine laugh,
Sweet like damp pines.

Those piercing, beautiful eyes,
Sharp enough to rip through my chest and suffocate my heart.

The lips that drew me in,
Like rosy vines tugging at my soul.

Your fine brown hair,
That tangled my mind with absolute rapture.

Arms of ivory gold,
Wrapping me safely with false bliss.

Your angelic body,
Tailored so perfectly to mine like destiny.

A soothing voice of honey,
I could listen to for hours with a simper reply.

That is just the beginning,
Of what makes you lovely.

Only the start,
To a story of your undying loveliness.

~S.C. Kelley
For My Love
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
LITTLE RED PLANET

Like a perfect little planet
the tiniest strawberry of ever & ever

sat in the universe
of your palm

us two
nothing but specks
(you in a blue dress)  

in the middle of the hugest field
in the world

green as
Forever is.

“Eat it..! ”
you laugh
“...in one bite! ”

Offering me the little red planet
in the universe of your open hand.

I lap at it
licking up the taste of it

intense as
the taste

of ever & ever is

the deliciousness
of your laughter

but the money
in the meter of memory

runs out

and the loveliness
of your laughter

delicious as
a little red planet

(the salty tang of your hand)  

hides
once again

in the mystery of Time
poetryaccident Sep 2018
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.
The poem “Beauty Hides” was inspired by my friends who are truly beautiful even if they don’t acknowledge their inherent attractiveness.
poetryaccident Sep 2018
They say clothes make the man
I’ll bear witness to this plan
with a bodice made of silk
complete with trim at the wrists

a joy is found in the gown
confirming wants beyond a curve
when witnessed by the common soul
all to puzzled by the choice

while the reference may escape
no understanding of a need
still the essence firmly stands
savior to internal angst

consider beauty’s measurements
against the need of happiness
past monuments disconnect
from the realm of here and now

a peak of leg becomes enough
when the curves are found dull
asking why the fabric lays
on a form in such a way

these blunt plains defy sight
even while the blessed garbs
wrap the shell with loveliness
excitement found within the self.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180928.
The poem “Wrap the Self” is about individual fashion choices.  They are both honest unto themselves and peculiar to others.
BEVAN May 20
Happiness dwells inside of you
and in you resides loveliness so true.

No doubt you are the best for me ever
and I will love you more than forever.

When I'm down, you keep me up.
When I'm tired, you’ll hint to me to stop.

Whatever my pain,
your tenderness is my cure.
I know your love for me is pure.

Everyday is made for us to treasure.
Your every single heartbeat is my pleasure.

With you I am smitten
and happiness forever for you,
my faithful kitten -

to Miki my cat.
Ormond Nov 2018
.
In the love field are colours at prayer below sun,
The dissipated shades in morning give way—
A hush of dark stamped out for choir that comes,
Each flower sings saviour, each petal a blade.

Happy heads affixed their stalks, free as wind,
Unfurl each day, great vessels, stationary sails,
Louder than any pride could break or cast a sin,
Wild are the flowers that rout, rooting in vales.

In the love field, shadows are writhing with clouds,
Underthings of truthful sun, weightless in the skies,
Pilgrim eyes are watered upon entering this proud
Watercraft of blossom blowing up mad secularity.

To spy upon such sprite loveliness we are lost,
Strangers all, the mindful beauties giving scents,
Luminous pupils tearing high into eyes of gods,
The painted harmonies chime, fixed in the lent,

Tithes of rain and sun shower, raise bloom of tower
Cathedral where dead plains are ribbed from ash
And brazen head of stranger is schooled by flower,
In moments fled from city stalls of steel and glass.
.
Connor Feb 26
Where is that amicable child now -
Running with scissors towards the summer to cut the sun down
Like a dazzled godhead balloon out
Towards a vast cosmology carved of orchards (to lay and die in, cradled in blond sweetness which glows & glows brighter
In the loveliness of death)

Traces of fir fragrance mingle with the damp grass filled with sadly deflated stars - candle keepers pace the borders of the grove glad and passing, awake to the transitory nature of brilliance (all things disheveled and clean will await the final culling / faces of roses / phantom laughter out the door - into the garden - through the roots of the trees - settled)

Four black motes stained on ivory wings cross mildly accompanied by rain, a gypsy's kiss quivered forth from undiscovered beds - remembrances, a parade for quiet insects, a time for repose & evenings dedicated to spaciousness.
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