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Grace May 2017
Nimble fingers
Across shoulder blades
Strumming collarbones
The sweetest sound
To touch your ears

Lips made to stitch
Where bumps and bruises
Decorate
Peach thin skin

I bet your body could blush
A deep sunset red
Blanketing my favorite skyline
So picturesque
Even Picasso would hold his breath
jaden Nov 2016
So I guess this is it
the end of forever
No one could've seen this coming
the separation of past, present, and future

Past:
A smile from you
could spawn
a kaleidoscope of monarchs
in the pit of my stomach
I fell in love
with the way you rested your chin
upon my head
We were invincible
I could have laid in your arms
for years
I would have
I had enough hope to feed a village

Present:
You tell me
this was long overdue
that we're past our prime
But there's no expiration date
on the sound of your laughter
No ending to the euphoria
the elation
brought on by you
You get me higher
than any drug on the street
How do I explain to you
there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them
Today I am a quiet shade of blue

Future:
People will ask me
what was loving him like?
And I will smile
and say
it was as if
the sadness had never swept me
under the rug

I will tell them
how I felt whole
how you gave me something to look forward to
I will tell them
how you lit a fire in my chest
and evacuated only yourself
No words
No warning
Not even the butterflies
made it out alive
I should have known this was coming
by the way you always reeked of smoke
and bad intentions

You see
I confused you for someone
who would hold my hand
when things got dark

I just wish I had some closure
Soul Scribe Jul 2018
The Sun, of fire and beauty
Destruction and Life.
Something so magnificent,
You can't even look at it.

My son, of fire and passion
Life, until death.
Something so magnificent,
You can't look away.

Maybe we don't look at the sun,
Because we are afraid that we
Might not be able to let go
Of the beauty, that might just end up,
Destroying us.
Compares true love and that which appears to be love, but will end up destroying you in the end.
Nadia Jul 20
Standing immense, limbs wide
an entire universe exists inside

Rooted deep, fast and strong
Under these branches I belong

Sitting solitary but never alone
On a moss-cushioned throne

Lit by sunshine or moonbeams
Through lush green canopy seams

Songs of leaves dancing on breeze
With birds & insects as they please

Observing nature’s many faces
Honouring her myriad graces

Breathing out peace and bliss
This magnificent tree is happiness

NCL July 2019
prince Nov 2018
Magnificent was the colour of the skies and the rain that danced on our bare skin.
Magnificent was the fingers that interlaced, like soft lips and soft bodies, soft eyes
Magnificent was the taste of her love and ecstasy brought with each touch tonight
Magnificent I felt, my hands all over her heart, her body, I did not know where to begin
Magnificent you were, melting under the heat through the cracks of my fingers, astonishing
How do I even describe, the burning feelings, the feeling that swallowed me whole drowning in the lies
Our dance, tempting and I cannot resist until the end of the song, until the end of time.
I know of its nature, I know it’s wrong but why do I still continue, still continue to sin?
Magnificent you were, drowning in my arms, feeling each and every moment fill you up
Magnificent was the night, the day, the afternoon. The sun sets and burns, the orange of the sky fills your room
Magnificent, magnificent, your voice will break if you continue on and whine like that
Magnificent was each touch, sensual and breathless, my hands trailing down her soul and into her mind, ready to corrupt
Magnificent was the smell of lust, the revival of each burning passion felt that will lead to my doom
Magnificent, Magnificent was she sitting in heaven alone, perhaps my heart isn’t good enough, just not good enough for that. -
her
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
“The love for equals is a human thing--of friend for friend,
brother for brother. It is to love what is loving and lovely.
The world smiles. The love for the less fortunate is a
beautiful thing--the love for those who suffer, for
those who are poor, the sick, the failures, the unlovely.
This is compassion, and it touches the heart of the world.
The love for the more fortunate is a rare thing--to love
those who succeed where we fail, to rejoice without envy
with those who rejoice, the love of the poor for the rich,
of the black man for the white man. The world is
always bewildered by its saints. And then there is
the love for the enemy--love for the one who does not
love you but mocks, threatens, and inflicts pain.
The tortured's love for the torturer.
This is God's love. It conquers the world.”

~ Frederick Buechner, The Magnificent Defeat
Robert G Page Aug 2013
By
rgpage

The cool evening breeze filled with a scent of approaching rain.
Caught by playful window shears
as it passes through an open pane, to reach their  
length and breadth toward the waiting bed.

He was a lover of music and his woman,
a passionate man with a sensitive heart.
She was in love with the melodic way  
his gentle fingers moved with sensual touch
over her soft silk like skin of art.

He started gently around her ears softly prying
them open with the quiet richness of her melodies.
Each note of his gentle kisses leading her to a sensual abyss,
easing her down from the edge, controlling her descent, to her goal.
Down the swirling dark and light blends of the music rendered from her soul.

She was his instrument on which he placed
his soft loving fingers, moving them effortlessly,
caressing her most sensual delicate keys…Each body part
smoothly rubbed added richness to her sensual sound driven by lust
and loving trust.  

Her ******* he fondled, licking and kissing, squeezing and rubbing.
Silently giving thanks, to her creator for such an amazing instrument.
Both of her hands with long slender fingers tangled in the long dark locks
of his hair as she eases her maestro’s head up tighter against her soft
beautiful mounds.

The loving melody continues with his touch now joined with the sound
of raindrops splashing into uncovered metal buckets and cans. The drops
carried on the breeze through the playful dancing shears came through the other end as nothing more than refreshing cooling mist.

Her body was his loving piano, and as with the 88 keys of his magnificent
Baldwin, the sensual areas of her equally magnificent body, when properly stroked,  filled not  only the bedroom but the whole house with the most glorious ****** notes known to man.  

After a while the symphonic ****** builds as he masterfully impales her with his instrument of love coming into constant contact with the one special key of keys. Its special sound as his strokes came harder and faster brought the whole master piece to a beautiful melodic end as the two lovers bath in the rain’s gentle mist…
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
Touch as the fervent feeling seek to know the ambiguity of it,
Feel as the ****** of a sparrow wing crept upon my dreams,
Fathom as the grief of rocks shrieked on deserted mountains,

And the Sky was blue
Touched by a Crescent Moon
Unraveling the hidden truth
How life was promised to me and you

Awe as landscapes vanished from distant perplexing shores,
Sigh as Long ships sailed on white ashes coasting inherently,
Fright as the voluptuous sights, faking wonders in my night,

And the Sky was blue
mellifluously My Heart as to see
a magnificent feeling to be free
the beauty relentless, endlessly weave

Pray as the growing wind whisper, a phrase to forever keep,
Kneel as crowds offered Him, a gratitude of rejoicing praise,
Trust as dandelions glides, the strength of His binding faith,

And the Sky was blue
for God is forever faithful & true
to broken lives, he one's renew
Keeping his promise to come again soon

Awake as the daybreak reveal, memories of our love revisit,
Sing as angels on white veil’s, bring you to heaven's place,
Gone is the world I once knew, eyes closing as my soul flew,

Amen...
HAVE A BLESSED SUNDAY..
PSALMS 23
#God #Heaven #Sky #Nature #Creation #Peace #Rest

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
lifeonLSD Oct 2018
— - —
Call it magic if you may
the sun, the moon’s pray

Constantly chasing each other
day after night, night after day

Such a perfect contradiction they make

Putting together the right ingredients
to complement each coloured ray

When one were to fall the other
would silently rise, filling its place

With every small step they take,
synchronicity follows without ever
missing a beat

So on they move

Completely balanced,
without anybody taking the lead

In the beauty they unfold upon us
this has to be
one of the most wondrous spectacles
if you ask me

Words are unable to measure
by any means their lightning show
how they glow with a radiance
that highlights their power and control

Or how they never let
each other down
Or stand in each other’s sway

No envy I feel
nor does appreciate is able to say

The truths about their nature,
always ready to unveil
hidden in every passage lay
the constant sacrifices they have made

The forces that pulls
each other so close
the same it pushes away, too

If one steps out of place,
all falls out of space and will be let loose

With lightyears of travelling
they unified their bond but are still
bound to live in separation

I admire you,
from a far

An admiration so magnificent
it cannot be free
One of the most magical things
enabling us to see

Right on time
as ever so soon

The dance
between the sun and the moon.
— - —
a mere spectator
kyleigh g May 2017
flowers bloom
revealing magnificent petals
shining with vibrant hues of
red, yellow, and orange.

but:

they only last
for so long.

the good thing about flowers
is that even when they are long gone,
the memory of them remains.

forever in our minds
still as brilliant and bright
as they once were
when they were living.

all I ask
is that you please remember me
as if I were a flower
I'm not even sure if this makes sense. It's just something I kinda thought of in class earlier today.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2017
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal

the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir

Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide

His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst

needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time

Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding

The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being

A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.

~

The Twist

This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.

Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.

I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.

For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.

It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers


by Nat Lipstadt
one of us, his tongue Moses-stung, with a hot coal of language's divinity
~
this would-be poet,
weighty troubled by misdirected words
of a musing troubadour,
for if ever a reflecting pool ought be
a two-way mirror reconfigured,
this poem is deservedly reversed
and of him homaged

by time, well weathered the poem above,
it's simple elegance tips and tilts the scales,
double blinding the justices supremely,
binding them for honesty for the subject,
is the auteur, one who sees too well
and yet l!
cannot perceive himself in his own words,
when now needs the judgement of their verdict
and your worthy recognition

now I ken better distance 'tween artist and art,
I, a workingman's daily dallying in simplistic machine craft,
my works deservedly lost in the waterfalling
of the endless also rans

non-nebulous distances.between skies of
Oregon country blue
and
the worldy worn asphalt grayed words of a graying man aging,
then let clarity speak, in plainest harmony,
know my deference’s soars to the high above,
one of us at birth, god gifted,
not I,
one of us, his tongue, like Moses-stung
with a hot coal of language's divinity

blessings, the keenest of nature,
where they divide and how they intersect
his brimful heart in our eyes fulfills the passerby's thirst
for revelations, small shards of shared sensibilities

my voids filled by the words of his quill

"to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees"

This was written April 15, 2017
for Harlon Rivers
by Nat Lipstadt

behind the poems,  travels another world…
Vicki Kralapp Oct 2018
I step into the crispness of the Door, just past the peak of color,
and the smell of smoked wood fills the air.
Trees draped in yellow ochres and burnt siennas
overlook the paths and sidewalks of dappled leaves.

Lake Michigan, angry teal with late fall wind,
rolls in against massive rocks skirting its shores.
Whitecaps, balancing on the tip of each wave,
surf their way into shore and crash against breakwaters.

Winds whistling through the silver of leftover leaves
flit each like whirlybirds as they reflect the midday sun.
Feathered cattails, backlit against the morning sun,
line the roadsides while they wave goodbye in the wind.

I breathe in the color as it fades against the afternoon sky,
while collecting the stunning hues in photos and tasty delicacies along the way.
I bid farewell to the fish boils, cherries, apples,
and views of magnificent bays as I make my way back home.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
D Awanis Apr 2017
We were born in different shapes, colors, and size
Not a single embryo was able to decide their DNA or blood type
But that shouldn't make us less humans than the others
It's the diversity that makes us exquisite and beautiful

Break down the stereotype that beauty is fair skin,
that beauty is a skinny and blonde-haired lady
that beauty is wearing clothes with branded labels
that beauty is applying tons of foundation and mascara

Who are we to determine the standard of beauty, anyway?
While each of us is God's creativity,
authentically made by His hands

Who are we to judge God's taste in art, anyway?
While each of us is uniquely magnificent,
as His creations are never less than a masterpiece

Keep in mind that the real beauty lies within ourselves,
beneath our skin, between our thoughts, and inside our soul
Embrace your inner beauty
The grey hair on your head are moonflowers
The wrinkle on your forehead is wine
You need to stop worrying about your body
Cos when I look at you, you’re doing just fine

Stop weighing the things that aren’t important
Cos the valuable things cannot be weighed
Like the air that we breathe or our feelings
Or all the beautiful memories that we’ve made

And what about the magnificent souls inside us
The spirit that tragedies couldn’t break
You cannot weigh the experiences that made you
Like those moments we spent sitting by the lake

The scar on your cheek is a white butterfly
The fat on your tummy is snow
You need to stop worrying about your weight
Embrace yourself and let self doubt go
Khoi-San Jul 2018
As the sunflower drops in afterglow
of shade  
And the gloss of the gleem fades
across the moonlit shadow
We are summoned by the horizon
into the magnificent light that offers
no shadow
The light of God is perched on love
without  side effects...without a shadow of doubt...crossing the night
into  dawn
The light of God holds no shadow it only awakens to love
zebra Sep 2017
she was queen for a day
brought to you
by
the Red Cross
and
Freezone
to lift off
those painful foot corns
and lets not forget the good folks at
HEET
for those  aching back muscles
strong
yet doesn't burn
and comes with a handy dandy applicator

she could have anything she wanted
all she had to do
was ask for it on
TV
after becoming the winning contestant
for a life more tragic then all the others

the competition was stiff
who would break hearts the most
and get the biggest ovation
for all who came to see the suffering
and move the needle
on the
life ****-o-meter

which lady of endless sorrows
would be the gleeful queen
of white knuckle terrors
the winner
of the race to the bottom
circa 1958

and i was eleven years old

the winner was wrapped
by her very own glittery subjects
in a  plush royal queens cape
and placed upon her crown
a twinkling tiara
then enthroned
and bestowed a bouquet of flowers
from the magnificent
Carl's of Hollywood

she a mottled exhausted woman
withered by life's harrowing cruelties
hollowed by fear and heaping despair
flickered like staccato lighting
on black and white TV
for all of America to see

cause every
dinner cookin
vacuum cleanin
dish washin
bathroom scrubin
dirt sweepin
house wife goddess
of the vacuum cleaner and handy scrub
would flop herself on the couch
with a jin and tonic
put her feet up
hair in curlers
before dinner
and dishes
for the squabbling  brood
and her very own tyrannical
Ralph Cramden
huba huba hubby
king of her cracked castle
and
grab a pack of
Marlboro's.
Pall mall reds
Kent's
or
Chesterfield cigarettes
blow smoke
and watch
QUEEN FOR A DAY

today's
QUEEN FOR A DAY
Miss Clarice Williams
trembling almost to the point of tears
implored humbly for a gurney
so that her fifteen year old son
who was mentally slow and shot in the stomach
could be rolled outside on the porch
and feel the sunlight on his face
for the first time in years

they lavished her
with the Bomgardner Hydro-level cot
for the paralyzed
sure that it would do just the trick
plus
a miniature transistor ham radio
so you could even
hear what there sayin
all the way in Japan
plus
a Teltape tape recorder
and a brand new
automatic laundry machine and dryer
from the nice folks at Westinghouse

but thats not all

a star studded vacation
where the stars stay
at the deluxe knickerbocker hotel
where you can lounge at the pool
or your own royal suite
and have dinner
at the exotic
Polynesia Beach Combers
Wicki Wicki Room
all the way in the land
of the
hoochi coochi
Ira Aug 2018
The Fire-Brush is alive As The wind blows around,
Causing there seeds to be flung abound.

The wind turns red and seeds shred the sky,
My face is filled with ****** specks and I see the wind dance with the red and blue July.

The blush of the tree I sit in shakes,
As the firey skies make the blue trees bark quakes,
And the crimson seeds overtakes.

The wind then blows pass with all the fire brushes spawn,
Letting the sky clear beautifully like a new dawn.
I, swaying in the blue trees red leaves smile,
as I take off all the seeds from me.

Then I looked up to see the cloudless sky,
And gaze at magnificent red, yellow and blue sunset.
The seeds then glow red in my hand, and I smile,
because now I have a night light waiting for the dawn.

I look down at the brush and see the red gone,
All taken by the wind, all the seeds to be spread on,
All to be thrown across the world for the brushes lineage to give spawn.

Now I wait for the dusk and the moon,
Letting the Fire Brushes seed shine,
As I wait for that faithful dragoon.
I based this off a picture I was shown by some random internet ******* Chatous. So I dedicate this poem to her.
Grassblade Dec 2013
Sledding, a white flurry of glitter
Glass trees throw soft needles a-sprinkle
A blissful silver rocket. It all flies by
Sparkles of diamond on the ceiling or sky

Radiant light, its fate to be wrinkled
by the dim labyrinth of this shining prism.
Gray aurora, dancing in the diamond rain

Iron curtains hide the truth
Glass and pains of steel, in a prism of gray
Do you see windows or mirrors?
All I see, a magnificent pane

A merry toast! To all I say cheers,
with a smile worth its years.
Lift your brittle glass as you would lift a curse.
And drink heartily from the once molten, crystal sand.

Drink the guile and drink the hate
Drink the lies of shame and berate
Drink to see that a flower in  gray
is a prism for life, not a fancy bouquet.
Elysianne Sep 25
Whenever I see two trunks of a tree
joined together as twins
I think of you
and wish we could share their bond

I'd gather all the water and air in the world for you
to watch you grow
into the magnificent and majestic being
you were always meant to be


— Elysianne
It’s so beautiful to find twin trees in forests.
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