"newlywed" poems
Small town people
Small town minds
Gossip turn sour
No secrets left behind
Small town girls
Small town boys
Turn off the lights
Lock up your toys
Small town crimes
Small town night
Light up the fires
Creeps into sight
Small town games
Small town sins
Newlywed murders
Takes it on the chin
Small town stories
Small town fairs
Drowning in the lake
Nobody cares
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
When she falls into sleep
Beside me every night,
I'm often haunted by
All the promises I made decades ago.
So easy to make when
Dark feelings were out of sight.
Since then I’ve broken
The locks on almost every door.
In newlywed bliss she was
Sleeping next to me one night.
Still in that distant land
She suddenly sat-up
On the edge of the bed
With her back facing me,
Looking into the dark closet
Next to her side of the bed.
She called out my name several times.
Already awake, I answered,
"What’s wrong?"
With back still turned,
She answered,
"I’m not talking to you,
I’m talking to the other Danny."
As in a darkened closet
My darker-half was first revealed.
My love and I were newlyweds, but
In one year was the uniting of the pair.
Through all these years,
She has sensed with empathy
My loss of peace and spirit
And at least tries to fill-up
The deep, dark empty spaces
That are in the many chambers
Of my damaged heart and soul.
Only this depth of Love can,
In its ineffable heat, melt
Away all traces of impurity,
If you let it.
I have learned to let it.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
So young and newly married
Hanging on by the thread of love
Sometimes though in life we see
That thread isn't wound tight enough
Through the daily struggles
Most of them unseen
What happened to the newlywed
Where went all the dreams
Holding on
Barely holding on...
A father and husband out of work
A family living out of the car
Is this the American dream we've built
Is this now where we are
Cardboard serves a purpose
As a bed and a homemade sign
To keep the cold off of the floor
Hey brother can you spare a dime
Holding on
Barely holding on...
The doctors diagnosis
Doesn't give much hope for life
Just a simple six months ago
There was no thought of dying
Even less hope in your case
Just prolonging time
You could spend what little you have left
Or go ahead and say your goodbyes
Holding on
Barely holding on...
No matter your life's lot
The position that you hold
We're all in the same boat on the same stream
Trying to stay afloat
There are so many different scenarios
Which could haunt many a page
That in life continually follow us
Throughout all our days of
Holding on
Barely holding on...
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 8:32 AM UTC
A newlywed man was talking to me, saying that
he and his wife had just become homeowners yesterday.
"Last night was our first time in our new house,
but I didn't close the wood stove right... It burned to the ground
in the middle of the night"
He was clearly intoxicated, downtrodden and red-eyed.
It was 10:17 am in an airport bar, and I was four beers deep waiting
for my 12:26 pm flight as he was telling me this.
I looked away from the clock and into his eyes and said:
"Well it must have been a great housewarming."
I killed the rest of my beer and went for a cigarette,
and never saw him again.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC
As the story goes, my newlywed
Ancestors, in accord with
Tradition, drank mead
-Honey wine- for the first full
Month of their marriage.
Honeymoon.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
My name is Joseph
Am a Jewish bachelor
Or call me a male spinster
Am a poor penniless carpenter
Am pushing forth and back my plane
And waving my old claw hammer
Hitting the nail on the head
And chopping of its ears by my adze
In the entirety of Israel and Hebrew world
My beautiful Hebrew fiancée is Mary
No she is already my wife , Mary wife of my youth
She is pregnant minus my nuptiality
Minus my conjugal enfranchisement
And the man who fertilized her
Was witnessed and flunkeyed by Gabriel
The airy voice in the amorphous whirlwind
Without form and shape but erotically crazy
How sad; I am a victim of the spiritual powers that be
My jealousy of humanity will be condemned blasphemous
Kindly come and feel with me, please feel for me
How do you see? For someone else
To have *** and *** with your newlywed wife
Or your beautiful *****
Or your lovable concubineous fiancée
Until he makes her pregnant with male foetus
Then he commands you to marry her
Because you are only a humble wood work
He commands you to accept fornication
As immaculate *** that yield holy pregnancy
Holy conception but nothing bad or foul,
What if that male foetus comes out a son
Who resembles foreigners from beyond the mountain?
But not me, his head having shape of a hook
I am annoyed with this heaven chauvinist religion
This horrible anti-human relationship
From which I will be degraded and come out ignobled
And the one who impregnated my wife
Will be exulted and ennobled to the throne of glory
His son and himself they will be made an exalted religion
But I will die desperate as a carpentering lout
A worthless Jewish oat, reeking a foul stench
O Death! Come take me away from this humiliated life
I don’t want to see this Jewish Mary with her bulging belly
Her beauty and sexuality has made me a village pumpkin
She is in no way a ******
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Creating beauty with beautiful flowers.
Touching soft petals.
Removing dead growth.
Combining colours, shapes, and sizes,
to create dazzling works of art.
The art of flowers.
Beautiful flowers.
Soft petals in vibrant colours.
Scents of sweetness to my nostrils.
Packaged up and sent or given.
To bid farewell to the dead.
To congratulate the newlywed.
To welcome a new baby into the world.
To cheer the sick confined to their bed.
To keep the romance alive to the married.
Creating beauty with beautiful flowers.
Watching how they bring joy to those who receive them.
This is what I did.
When I was a florist.
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
She gives us fevers and wraps us in time. She is the newlywed- our metamorphosis. Death clings to her open grave. Her movements are the executions of precarious and docile prejudice, ganged upon, and drenched in oblique misunderstanding and very indirect confusion.
We are all grocery shopping now. Your weapons of delivery are broadcast in takeout, Chinese or Szechuan Broccoli Scenario #96:
Where your mother finds I have taken the Mercedes for morning lemonade stand gallivanting, early Beach Boys mixtape scenarios fulfilled.
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
loneliness
is when you have watched your favorite show
so many times
that you, as well as your family,
know the complicated theme song
and everybody sings along every night
as you sit down for dinner in front of the TV
and then you watch it at midnight
when no one's awake
and you let it play without singing
love
is eavesdropping on a sister and brother
walking behind you,
the sister as high as a kite
and the younger brother wearing a leather jacket
as he holds her hand to lead her through a forest,
and you realize they love each other
more deeply than you could ever understand
and they always have
and always will
happiness
is
healthy babies being born,
healthy soldiers coming home
sadness
is
a newlywed
dying
on her honeymoon
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
THE WIND blew and touched the leaves
With his gentle seductive kiss
He promised a paradise abroad
More beautiful than this.
How irresistible was his caress
How captivating his charm
Soon leaves yearned to travel far
In their new lover’s arms.
In dreams like a newlywed bride
The leaves resolved to start anew
And readied soon to ride the wind
To old friends bidding adieu.
Quickened now the wind’s speed
Once leaves unhooked from tree
The romance showered ebullience
As leaves floated carefree.
But suddenly the wind swayed
Away from the promised land
Drifting close to a naïve daisy
Telling tales from a wonderland.
The leaves fell down and laid forlorn
Soiled, dusted, thrown away
Soon joined them a somber daisy
As the wind rocked the hay.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 1:11 AM UTC
Photographs sure carry a weight, don't they? The black and white and sepia tones speak with a voice that has known sorrow.
They tell the story of fifteen minutes between small talk and bad news.
Of a motorcycle, a truck, and a bottle.
They inform wary viewers of a Saturday funeral.
Only six sunsets after a Saturday marriage.
They advise a newlywed widow to let go, to open her heart to love once more.
Although they know she can now only live in fifteen minute increments.
"But maybe," they say, "she will never take 900 seconds for granted again."
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:27 AM UTC
Windows were once green
bricks fabulous red
upon the wall daylight
glowed like newlywed!
So lovely did it stand
the toy house in the moon
did it ever happen
didn't it end too soon?
Words were fewer then
wild thoughts ran galore
of mysteries now boxed up
behind tightly shut door!
Who stole the girl cutest
was it time or a man
that left her robed whitest
spinning the widow's yarn!
What really it yields
the house that once was red
with love and bricks was built
then broke and never remade!
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 10:43 AM UTC
Your skin pale from
Winter. Smooth as
Female Nature Herself; as silk,
Yet warm as young
Motherhood, electric
As newlywed love.
I whisper improvised poetics
Between lips that know each
Pore of your perfect person.
I kiss clichés on your cheekbone,
Nouns on your nose.
Bury my face in your sweet
Eternities of seraphim scented hair,
And pray that the poem
I leave on your parchment skin
Remains unread by
Other readers.
You wrap your covers around
Me, unfolding, then folding,
Unfolding, then folding,
Like a slowing butterfly mid-
Butterflight.
And I add a poem to everything,
As always.
A poem the exact size of a
Lady loved, -the sound of
Waves of Wish upon Thank,
And the weight of
The world's only
Actual
Church.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 8:42 AM UTC
From the north military trail,
A purchase escorts with purpose.
Compassion leaks from wires.
A newlywed smile. A pair in ecstasy,
acknowledging a departure with time soon enough.
Eighty year salutations.
Twenty year questions.
There is.
Core drilling in Paris.
Exodus.
Wearing glasses
underwater.
My time is now
finished.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 8:34 AM UTC
We are constantly being defined by labels
As if that is all that matters
Oh you're a teenager, all you can do is wait tables
Im a wife, I'm a daughter
Until all that shatters
Widow and orphan, newlywed or divorcee
Freshman, gothic, black or white, king and queen.
Workaholic, hobo, immigrant, pale face
The only label that should matter
Is us -
The human race.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
you are twinkling christmas lights over a snow-covered city.
you are the smell of the pavement right after it rains.
you are the silent hum of a hummingbird's wings.
you are the toothless grin of a month old baby.
you are the punchline to the funniest joke ever told.
you are the satisfaction of doing everything just right.
you are the shadow of an old church in the middle of summer.
you are the love letter a newlywed husband gives to his wife.
you are the crumpled pages of a book that has been read over and over again.
you are the cool breeze that blows through pretty girls' hair during the spring.
you are the ladybug that lands on the shoulder of a young boy.
you are the feeling one gets after they've had their first kiss.
you are everything that makes this world such a beautiful place.
d.l.b.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC
Ice sleet and rain
Oceania swift Ballerina
Doesn't ever complain
Sea shells swirls
Turquiose pool lips subtle
By sand count me Inn sea
A message wine bottle
Two souls million
light years
Star* fish wand of mermaids
Newlywed beds happy lad
A fan of tails what curls
OH! Oceania lips
It's a girl!!
Cherubs shy and fickle
"OH! hiccups to tackle better
Wishng well weather do tell
Whether or not together"
Rain drop eyes to lips stain
Driftwood the sea ladies
Hi! gents social events
Sticks and stones wont
break her baby cakes
Words high lakes of birds
On the wire smart phone
Lips swim I-Tune him
Internet surfer
Mansions of mind drifter
Oceania chapped lips
The secret spy gulp
Sailors wave they need help
Nothing but blue skies
OH! you got the tools
By land our lips engraves
the heart of rocks
Oceania sea writing goods
is how you hooked me
Eyes of the sweet rebels
the sea castle
Once upon a fairytale
"Robin Hoods" cobblestone streets
Water adventurer blazng heats
Lets ocean down the kiss of sweets
Do you get my drift fishing buddies
Words like buds weepiing willow
Evergreen shadow swim further
Don't start difting from
Sea space red breast Robins
Lobster lovers say "Grace"
Home by the sea place
I miss Mother* and Father
Holidays never swim away
Nov 28, 2019
Nov 28, 2019 at 5:54 AM UTC
The moonlight deprived
those couples of an Asian slum
as if herded together in a plastic drum
who lived in a roofless brick- less shove
much like a Mal- functioning, Primes-stove.
It also deprived those, whose
tin- sheet- roof bore gaping cracks
as the results of heavy monsoon downpours
as the result of
unruly monkey- like clouds’
aqua- missile- attacks.
These youngsters were robbed by the silvery - mask –clad
bullies of the moonlight
who shackled them in their homes and held them tight.
It robbed them of the throbbing- pillows of arms
of caressing balms, of cuddles, of charms, of lullaby- songs.
As a giggling newlywed bride pointing index- finger at sky, said
" I am scared of the full moon,
as I proceeded the other day to hug my man
he stared from above , like a mischievous goon. "
It denied privacy to the folks
who sobbed in embrace together in pain.
Their elder son was, in a religious frenzy stabbed
and the middle was crushed under a streaming train.
It denied the anonymity to the bald tooth-less woman
who was caught sipping coke from the fridge
and who, by her grandson was whisked
from the kitchen Store- room
--- which she shared in her late husband- built- house,
with a jumbo mouse--
and asked to sleep on the fan- less Veranda.
Where she lay reminiscing the crate- fulls she stuffed,
-- as she smiled and coughed--
into her fridge,
in her youth
of Cokes and Miranda !
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC
I treasure my blossom / like a flower she shall grow and blossom
I cherish her skin /fearing the worst when day it will rotten
I curse the moon / faces he changes some grin some scheme
I hold her face closest / when she misbehaves , outside in woods , to the window she will scream
I pleasure my blossom / poems she begs for so I will always write more
I answer my blossom / questions of home ? but here she will stay , here where it is warm
I dream of my blossom / her pedals lose color in colder season
I pollen my blossom / by moon fall we will know if conceived was daughter or son
I bury my blossom / this cabin is silent but loud like wind
I cry for my blossom / our child starved without a drop of milk
I need a new blossom / a daisy field is over the hill
I find my new blossom / but another gardener is there ; another I shall ****
I walk with my blossom / she holds onto my wrist tight with love
I carry my blossom / through the doorway as newlywed
I fight for my blossom / scoundrels or sheriffs couldn’t fathom our celibate matrimony
I lust for my blossom / how she smells and reminds me of my last family
I yearn for my blossom / she cries with tears - soul curling callings of pompous proportions
S H E . N E E D S . T O . C A L M . D O W N .
I pet my blossom / hum out what she needs to hear now
“The day we decay in the casket we share ; we will stare so close nose to nose. No need to breath so faint and vigorously into my ear , Im here , my dear , forever through death. Let the worms feed on us both , when our story is told , in books or songs of romance envious audience will dance. Hold onto my flesh if you need some more , in the cupboard I stored , another layer for warmth. You smell of dandelions your hair like straw , I swore I saw your shattered kaleidoscope garnished glare elsewhere before. Your soul is sown onto my own how humbled I am to have you back home. Sleep now. H U S H . N O W. Wipe tears of joy off of your porcelain skin. You will wake to my eyes , every day , every night , I will hum you asleep sing you my eulogy again again again. My most precious flower , with such a solemn smile , lips so cracked kiss so sweet , your flower will bloom with a blossom none have seen. Goodnight fare love greet me with glee inside your dream.”
the ambience of woods / the sirens of crickets
I close my eyelids on the floor beside my blossom
s i l e n c e
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 6:38 AM UTC
The daughter married off went to a distant land
Leaving them to rue absence of her tender hand
He would till the garden she would tend to him
In that house the couple passed days in dream.
*How love hides itself for years stubbornly mute
Till loneliness gives it a face grows it a firmer root
In the tears of sunset years brings it one restart*
Once more finds the door to the old couple’s heart.
Two doves of love they looked standing at the gate
In the evening hours together two perfect soulmate
When one day told her wail she lost her living spark
Dropped down dead her man in the garden at his work.
Months passed and she would be seen alone at the gate
With a vacant look in her eyes in white mournful wait
Pleaded though her daughter she should live at her place
The widow clung to her wish of staying at his address.
She lived few more years then went to look for him
The house was left empty like an abandoned dream
A notice was hung on the gate it was put up for sale
The couple was forgotten their memory soon grew pale.
On my walk by the house if I happened to look at it
Would think of the days they spent in love so sweet
The iron grill was rusted and cobwebbed was its door
As if never would come there two loving souls anymore.
This morn as I was passing by saw a woman's face
Standing at the weeded lawn of that lost address
In my eyes danced a thrill into the heart it spread
Must have made their love's abode a couple newlywed.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
His whole life unfolded like a well written manual, everything was planned, his own design,
In a search for feelings lost in time,
His own guidance was the anchor that kept his ship ashore,
One day he had planned to not guide himself any more,
To reel in his anchor and float into the deep sea.
One day he had planned to let himself be guided by the darkness that swallows all,
His death was all but accidental,
His death was all but unplanned,
He wanted control over his entire life and so his death was a part of that.
He had written his letters,
Though he doubts the words will ever seek to be read,
He had cast aside the schackles of his labor,
The one thing where he had no control, And he had sold his house to a newlywed couple,
They had something he had never planned on achieving.
Now he had taken a lift up 9 stories high,
Up a building he had always admired from afar,
A piece of architecture he could always appreciate.
He stands with his toes over the ledge,
Most hesitant when faced with a leap this far,
But he had planned to make it quick,
So he jumped and fell,
He had planned for it to be cold,
For it to be fast and swift,
Yet he could've never planned on,
The view from halfway down.
As if time had stopped,
All the feelings that he thought he had lost reveal themselves stronger than he had ever planned on,
He didn't want his life to be over,
He never planned on this feeling.
And before he could exclaim to God for mercy,
Just as he had planned, the concrete made him meet his end.
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 7:23 AM UTC
A crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red
in the maple's crook she's hiding.
Her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed.
A carmine blaze upon her breast to mark the place she's bled
like a penitent confiding
A crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red
The purple splay of sunset now reveals a fraying thread
in her tiny breast subsiding--
her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed.
Beneath her injured wing, she hides her tawny head
as the sun is lower gliding
a crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red.
The summer grass, soon bereft, would take her place instead
except for circumstance dividing--
her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed.
The presiding night has finished; the ceremony said--
her new master toward the threshold swiftly striding.
A crippled dove is dying; her wound a dusky red--
her heart her wedding song; herself the newlywed.
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 1:05 PM UTC
A triangular table built with friends when I
was twenty, carving wood and hammering
nails between statistics lessons, laughter,
ouchs, cigarettes and uncountable glasses
of wine. Dark red rivers misted in smoke,
clouded memories drowned in fumes, as I
watched and encouraged far more than I crafted,
the construction of a project pervaded
with great expectations. A distinctive telltale
air pertaining only, to those beginning life
with a deep gut feeling, suggesting endless
possibilities and naught limits a strength
strictly reserved to youth. Fell in love
with one of the makers, summer affairs in three
months turned, into a family. Dined on triangle
every night until, I graduated and bore
my first child Plato. Moved to the other side
of the city leaving behind, the artefact
in co-builder’s hands and lover’s best pal,
he who impeded prenatal doubts with candlelight
monologues on change and importance until
he too left, for Mexico newlywed, to my old-time
school friend. History intertwined and table given
to another witness of manufacturing days living,
by the Roman lake. A new wave, of dinners
reuniting friends between marketing campaigns,
laughter, feeding bottles and uncountable glasses
of better wine. Table metres away deposited
in the garage as I, conceived my second child,
Eleni on a New Year ’s Eve neglecting
its presence. Splitting up from my lover to bond
a little further, changing house once more
to grow. Moving to France as lake inhabitants
moved to Sweden, kids’ father into their home,
keeping an eye on the rotting triangular table
for two years to fly by and see me return,
harboured by he who never lets me down,
a year to recover from adventures
and deceptions, new friends hardly replacing
those who left, gazing at the table to reminisce,
promising I would bring it back to life as soon
as, yesterday came and so did strength, for me
to retrieve, clean, polish and place the relic in
the centre of family abode, and write this ode.
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 2:28 AM UTC
let's see, what time is it?
alright it's 3:13
this guys on the threshold of death
alright, well
I'm pressed for time
let's just make it incurable
i know, it's too bad
but, this guy's got a hair across his ***
i don't why
i mean come on, his mother was 81
she lived a great life
she had to network outta here
i never intended to start stacking bodies
into human columns, but there were problems
we had problems,
you want to start exchanging roles with me
you're gonna lose
you want to test me...bang....tsunami
not enough, i can try this....
how about an earthquake,
not really feeling it yet, not really touching you personally
this guys in his car, driving down main st during busy season
this is gonna hurt, anybody scared straight yet?
what??? still not enough???
alright...this newlywed couple, you know the pastor & his new bride
on their way to the Caribbean, finally sitting in 1st class...
here we go...this planes turning around.....
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 7:19 PM UTC