Pinken poems on Hello Poetry

MsAmendable Nov 2015

Breath froths thick from my lips
Like cotton,
Drawn out into the thin autumn air
Forming gusty halos,
Wreaths of white,
Cheeks and nose pinken
From the crystal kisses
Placed gently like angel wings
Tingling with magic
In frosty air

#breath #fall #angel #halo #cold #mist

Roseanna H May 2013

Dawn breeding

My petals have again turned pink,
tipped with a blush of red
isn’t that wonderful?!

the morning autumn sun slowing warming them
the dew that comes with dawn moistening them.

And isn’t that wonderful?!
to see ‘the girl who was killed by love’ blush again?
to see her grow soft when he arrives at the party?
but she isn’t your toy, your example, your experiment..
she isn’t what you break and send away to be repaired.

No,
don’t thank yourself for letting me go
Don’t use my petals as an excuse to throw away the harness of blame,
of guilt.

Petals can open,
and pinken,
and bloom.
But do you ever look inside?
Do you ever see from the top
down?
What if you did?

Inside,
you would find a girl
Crying..
Broken,
by the memory of love.

By the lesson you taught her
‘Love never stays’.

Magdalyn Feb 2018

muneca

words cannot describe
the surrealness
of discussing the future, holding the future, like a ball of ice
that will pinken your fingertips,
and in the moment you feel incredibly small.
when your heart ******* aches in the most melancholy way,
not sad, just
quietly startled,
seeing love around you, pressing at your temples
white hospital walls,
sore throats,
*** in cars,
passing through the front door at midnight,
cold blankets.
being the definition of a word.
hating the fact that I'm looking back at myself currently, through memories, and that this moment isn't even that good but i'll think it is later.
knowing,
just knowing
everything and nothing all at once,
and the pain of thought.

teen years.

PK Wakefield Jun 2013

Untitled

i my lips have been

(to fling across impossible darkness)

A kiss

a curling
a soft
a mouth
a such achingly
a stupid and.

Across feeble immortal night
a blade of light
might that it would
its cut to part
that inken hood

to sleeps where curl'd
in girlish winking pearl'd
your heart's body
to cup it in my pinken furl

and a bit of sting
by Spring of pollen
your comely wisp
deepishly to imbibe

lifting thy swollen stupor

(press back the leaden lid
)

scully Dec 2017

someone

sweating palms pushed against fabric;
bits of someone caught between fingers-
someone writes about
relevance and hesitance and hysteria
and pushes their palms against fabric,
separated parts of someone from
the portion of that which has unraveled.

artificial bulbs pinken a room;
someone has the
nerve to blush at the framework-
someone writes about
panic and anguish and bitterness
and brushes their hip against a nightstand,
sewing drunk secrets into verses and
chanting their correspondence to
a moon in a window.

a sloppy mess of blankets form a pile;
bits of someone caught under the covers-
someone writes about
homelessness and destitution and hurt
and kisses open mouthed visitors,
tracing teeth with tongues and
knotting a grip in hair to
hide a hand that trembles.

someone writes about the five stages of grief,
a sloppy mess of what
you love forms a boulder on your rib cage;
someone writes about a bed and a rock and a pebble
and wants more from the
untouched sheets
than gravel under bare feet.

bluevelvet Jun 2017

Dust

The lacrimal caruncle
swells with blistering feeling,
flooding out the medial canthus.
It streams down the nasion,
dancing over the pinken,
inflamed to a roaring raw cheek.
Landing on dirtied and tore cloth,
used with the moisture to wipe
all the dust away from every memory,
even when it's possibly too late.

Now there is hardly anything
to be discovered in all of this.
You have done a decent job,
your hands are tired from it all.
Weak and brittle,
you still know now.
You know it could go every single way wrong,
it could be a waste of time,
it could hurt you beyond any kind of repair.

But you know.
You know it's him.
You know it will always be him.
It will always be him
that you wish to lay beside,
it will always be him
that you want to feel,
it will always be him
that you feel everywhere you go.
It will always be him.

And no one else.

— The End —