"pinkish" poems
Such luscious lips, with pinkish glow!
She's beautiful.
Her chapped lips, faucet like,
cascade only words of kindness..
She's beautiful.
Such pretty,alluring eyes!
She's beautiful.
Her heavy-lidded eyes : a pair of lenses
capturing only great sharp shots,
they see clearly only the good in people..
They never despise.
She's beautiful.
Such a lovely, curvaceous figure!
She's beautiful.
Within the slim figure, is a soul
who'll share her food with the hungry,
even if it means she'll be left with nothing
for dinner.
She's beautiful.
Beauty is only skin deep..
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
New
Like the dawn
The glorious sunrise
Pinkish hues awash with silent beiges
And the sun
Is a fiery orb
Coloring life into every living thing
I feel the new
With my breath
In and out
And I think of the ocean
The powerful ocean
I can feel it within my heart,
The waves rumbling through my veins
I can see the new
In not so distant visions
Of a future full of growth
I’ve healed so much
And yet there’s more
More of the new
I open my doors
Let it all in
All the gloriously soothing beauty
Of life’s simplest pleasures
Healing me
There’s been a crack made in my lifelong illusions
I’m beginning to feel clarity, and not confusion
Saying yes yes yes
To more beauty.
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 8:54 PM UTC
*In tropical seas,
A pinkish-red coral pose,
Like piece of jewel.*
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
The heady perfume of the
Arabian Attars
is
in the air!
A lunar litter
brings Eid
Antimony sulphide
of the downcast eyes
and the pinkish nails
have been painted with henna
Eid is a glorious gift
Bliss is blossoming
The blessings are blooming
The fragrant roses
and the white jasmines
are being elated by
a joyous colour
of the festivity
The nameless
nightingales
are singing the paeans
We're being showered
with Salams
Eid Mubaraks
are echoing
The cheerful children
are being
over the moon
Eid is marvellously nice
and we sacrifice.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 9:21 AM UTC
I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow,
Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted.
Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:41 AM UTC
Nina pranced about
the lush green grove.
The pitter patter of her footsteps
like raindrops on the ground,
and her movements,
like a fog rolled through a valley.
A white satin leotard
decorated with flowery lace patterns
A tutu that blossomed
from her slender waist.
Hair elegantly tied back into a bun.
Face, filled with symmetry, lightly made up with powder.
Her cheeks flushed with a pinkish red blush,
but natural like her lips of pomegranate red.
The grove,
short deep green ryegrass that rolls over the lumpy ground like moss.
Trees shade like many arms shielding many eyes.
The pure white light of the sun shone through the canopy in beams.
Nina danced furiously intent and
music box intricately
in and out of the beacons of light
as a ballerina should following a lifetime of training.
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
Hey, remember that time at the dock?
The jellyfish floating serenely beneath our feet,
Their pinkish hue, transparent in the black water.
My feet dangled off the edge, yours dangled further,
But the gentle waves caressed the jellies below us still.
They drifted by, not knowing nor caring of us,
Yet we watched their careless path.
The cool night's wind ushering them along their way.
Hundreds of blush-colored jellyfish just out of reach,
Sliding silently out to sea.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
His home is an orphanage
in downtown Belize.
Triple-decker bunk beds
topped with ***** stained mattresses
fill each room.
An abandoned 10 year old
lies paralyzed on the floor;
"Don't touch him. Nobody ever touches him."
A small child covered in sores
sleeps in a puddle of his own *****
I offer a container of pink Play-dough to a boy
who proceeds to sculpt me
changing the pink to brown
with his ***** hands.
When he is done,
it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Allen"
He tells me about his dreams of leaving Belize
and becoming a U.S. soldier.
He tells me of how his mother,
a **** addict,
dropped him off at the doorstep when he was 8 years old
and how he remembers
the look of fear and disappointment in her eyes
every time she looked at him
and saw his father.
His favorite color is blue.
Together, we make bracelets with colorful beads,
and as I stand to leave
he hands me a pinkish-brown heart
warm and sweaty
from his ***** hands.
And in return
I hand Allen,
and every child like him,
my own heart
red and ******
dedicated and passionate,
foolishly and hopefully attempting
to change the world.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 5:05 AM UTC
There was a
girl, girl
dyed her
hair, hair
got
red, red
got every-
where.
Her hair
bled, bled
down the
drain, drain
clogged
up, up
the red came
again.
She tried to
keep, keep
her passion
tame, tame
the
beast, beast,
who always
stained.
But after many
nights, nights
spent al-
one, one
drove her
out, out
of her
home.
She followed
him, him
and his white
shirt, shirt
got red
quick, quick
-ly he was
hurt.
She tried to
flee, flee
so he could
live, live
a happy
life, life
without
strife.
but,
The man
smiled, smiled
a pinkish
grin, grin
-ning because his
hair, hair
was her's
twin, twin
hair was
blue, blue
like the
sea, see
his hair runs
too,
and
two
plus one makes a purple
family.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
you were so caught up
in the sweet melodies
crawling up the caves
of your pinkish ears,
you cant even hear
my heart crying out
for you
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
His home is an orphanage
in downtown Belize.
Triple-decker bunk beds
topped with ***** stained mattresses
fill each room.
An abandoned 10 year old
lies paralyzed on the floor;
"Don't touch him. Nobody ever touches him."
A small child covered in sores
sleeps in a puddle of his own *****
I offer a container of pink Play-dough to a boy
who proceeds to sculpt me
changing the pink to brown
with his ***** hands.
"What is your name?"
"I'm Allen"
He tells me about his dreams of leaving Belize
and becoming a U.S. soldier.
He tells me of how his mother,
a **** addict,
dropped him off at the doorstep when he was 8 years old
and how he remembers
the look of fear and disappointment in her eyes
every time she looked at him
and saw his father looking back.
His favorite color is blue.
Together, we make bracelets with colorful beads,
and as I stand to leave
he hands me a pinkish-brown heart
warm and sweaty
from his ***** hands.
And in return
I hand Allen,
and every child like him,
my own heart
red and ******
dedicated and passionate,
foolishly and hopefully attempting
to change the world.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
I'd love to peer into that brain of yours and see the actual mechanics of your thinking. Where those creative juices of yours throb and pulse. Ya, I'll drink to that.
Maybe use one of them scopes to explore the left ventricle of your heart (you know, that chamber of the Heart that pumps blood through the aorta). Figure out that sensitive heart of yours.
Explore the rubber consistency of the lining of your lungs. With that heaving chest and ******* of yours, those lungs must be so healthy in their pinkish hue. Just some barstool thoughts while waiting for closing time.
Staring into this shot glass in front of me, my memory harkens back to the time you cut your arm and I ****** the blood from it, so salty and all. I want to bottle you up in a liquid formula or capsulize your essence in a unique pill form where I can digest and absorb you and grow new cells from the energy I receive from the calories of your precious body.
Maybe with the power of your bodies flesh I can grow a sixth toe, develop a third eye, build an ***** I love you so much I could eat you up!
Barkeep says this is last call so I better drink up and be on my way. I wonder what your left ventricle really looks like under close inspection?
Just wondering, do you have any x-rays of your body I could have?
See ya, Creepy Ray Ray
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
Bursting pinkish white blossoms
fall in spring patterns
The air is filled with connecting one being to another
Each being is enthrolled with the heated day
Birds chirp on nature's timetable
in genetic rhythm
The new warmth envelops your body
like a true lover
Your body relaxes in each step that is taken
Spring skies vanquish the dismal grays
revealing a sunny and blue canopy with white billowing clouds
Still and at ease are your and my thoughts
as remorseful thinking is now of cheer
And the relaxed happy chattering
of outside people break the harsh-winter silence
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
*Inside the tropical seas,
Sits a pinkish-red coral, in a lovely pose,
Like an elegant piece of jewel,
Concealed underwater, at dusk,
Unveiling, as the sun graciously arose.
Reflecting a fine portrait,
Of nature's gifted qualities,
Beneath the azure skies, and surrounded by sparkling waters,
A spectacular picturesque scenery,
Releasing all of my worries and ties.*
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
the heart feels a gypsy
the mind a vagabond
the eyes get misty
by the lilies in the pond
bloom the petals pinkish
smudged with streaks of white
swaying slow by wind's kiss
glory displayed bright
upon the slender neckline
crowns of innocent smiles
fill all dark with sunshine
wipe out weary miles
o traveler feel the invite
merrily pause to respond
be a while in sunlight
among the lilies of the pond
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 10:05 AM UTC
It is raining, today.
It's raining cats and dogs.
And in this rain they reconcile,
The greatest lovers
The soil and the skies.
Earth blushes while the sky gently bathes it in love
The first rains are enough for confessing
The first breeze enough for the nod
It's raining heavily
And the skies are full of lightning
There is thunder and patter
And two hearts with great love for the latter
And wild they are
loud they are
carefree they are
They bring peace to each other
Even be the temporary stop to wars during their brief meets
They bring joy to the farmers And peacocks welcome their date dancing to rain beats
And now the rain lashes against my window
As if to ask me if it was time for it to go
In such whelm and restlessness and helplessness
Not wanting to leave
It says to Earth
'Oh dear, peacefully you sleep
If I stay for longer than this
My life giving nature will become poisonous
Your heart will weep'
Then rain showers tears against the Earth
And with resilience, escapes
Before the morning comes and before it's lover awakes
But even after the pours have gone, the Earth is left with its heavenly smell
And the coolness calm enough
And at the beauty of he Earth
From far away the watchful eyes of the skies throw a contented pinkish-orange smile
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
Your embarrassed skin obscures my vision
Until I take off my glasses, always in the way,
Everything works around a pinkish hue;
All in my sight clamors for a chance, too, to kiss you.
We navigate the crowds of cool hipsters
Smoking away their silhouettes; we're invited
Only 'til breakfast, then we've got to go.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 2:21 PM UTC
Blush!
The blush of pinkish,
As flamingo fandangos,
In rhythmic tangos,
Long legs centrally bent as she stands,
Flamingo masquerades as delicate swan!
Sort of strutting,
Elegant,
Thought not!
Woman masked as flaming flamingo.
Lady tall in height,
Wistfully wishes on starlight night, bright,
Clear eyes sparkle,
A tint of mystery's mystique,
No teardrops,
He fed her fire with touch of love,
As if were both sent from above,
Two strange birds can only tell,
If love will grow or tears well!
Passion kissed her on her cheek,
Left her blushing scarlet,
Jesus wept and cried out loud,
'This woman,
She's no harlot,'
Both dangling suspended in ether clouds ,
Dozy as hell,
These two dreamy birds are two of a kind,
No similar creatures will you ever find,
He struts peacock feathers glory.
She blushes,
Escaped from love story!
Eccentricity,
Idiosyncrasies,
Rule the day,
Hurry up,
Bring him back my way!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 5:33 AM UTC
Inside your little mouth, a crucifix and a hula hoop plant great capers on the short hash marks on your glossy pinkish lips. Like a boardgame I can't win all by myself or a song without a tune, like the melody that chases strangers, or any words that precede goodbye.
The future is coming quickly now, serfs lining up to set fire to their nostrils, take the cue ball and whet their mass wicks for the apostles. Anecdotal anomaly that J-walk over crosswalks whose life then becomes an apostrophe. Morbid fixture on the substrate, creatures limitlessly nodding. A grape-sized egg fills its own unit and erupts to shape the outlet. Your verb-legs may appear demonstratively while you crowd surf, we should play the music louder while we practice all our dance work.
Sunday morning we wake up stiffly, my jowl hurts from mouthing softwords, the nights' adventurous perversity of thwarting dinosaurs with Cobra Starship. Even the back room closet manager gave us enough bleach to see our eyelids, frothy nictitating flitters drop freshly severed lashes that inspire wishes and sultry playlists.
Consecrated mien market of company meals. Underneath the cable cars the dye blunders sores in my eyes. Said I had to go, said I had to die. Said I had an itch but I couldn't get in front of all of this and unwind. Between all of the bees and buttered flies he made it hard for us all to survive, or service this state of our lives. I recall schoolyards where children paid to their dimes for us to see the spaces in the middle of lines, the circles on the circles we liked, stuck in bubble baths with crayon all on their hands. For the price of staying alive I deliver a bribe to sway eyes from the crimes of street dwelling inner-city sinners with stomach contents' upsetted by the rough ********* of heavy petting. She eats red licorice rope with with my fingers rubbing on her tongue. A pedagogy I use to teach, but pretty much no longer have a use.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 12:28 AM UTC
It's been awhile
since I've seen your face
in all that it is --
your inviting dimples,
the flecks of gold in your eyes,
the pinkish tones in your lips
-- and I can't take much more of it.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:39 AM UTC
She laughs, he smiles.
The black forest taste he could only taste at the peak of light beams
Her laugh seems similar, quite similar.
Her haha's outcasted the glooms and dooms
Just as the black forest melted on his taste buds when sun rays streaked upon his shoulder blades.
She cracked a joke, he laughs and nods
Intellectual is what they might say
A brainy maniac she is, who could co-host a sitcom
His Friday nights would now only be filled with her wits
Replacing all the beers and stouts for a while
His once bumpy and rocky throat is nil compared to the highly raised cheekbones visible during a good laugh
But one day she cried.
The guilt he carries overshadowed his sympathy.
Her big swollen eyes
Her pinkish and warm face which was covered in dribble
Hadn't he known?
All those time he made somersaults, he was drown deep below
He could breakthrough,
but was too mesmerized by the mermaid's blinking fishtail and scaly skin.
And she saved him
From being turned into a merman
Only then he was back to square one
Where her laughters, her jokes and her sobs are actually his sugar crush, his Gatsby gold
As always, she was after all, his soul saver.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:48 AM UTC
Greens and gold of lattice work cascading down the tree,
This epiphyte, so infinitely, delicately free.
A lattice work of green finesse, a miniature Cezanne
With exquisiteness of spiky bloom embellishing it’s charm.
Cascading down the grizzled trunk of gnarled and twisted hand
The hosting ancient Kamahi looms loftily, so grand.
Looms aloft with leafy bough so softened by the show
Of ruffled, pinkish bottle brush amassing high and low.
Hordes of buzzing, bumble bees so clumsy in their way,
Tumbling from flower to flower collecting nectar’s day.
With afternoon the waning sun lies hot on sultry air
And little girls in pretty frocks skip by with not a care.
Summer grasses long and dry stand statuesque and straight
With sweet laburnum’s perfumed heads a nodding by the gate.
Young heifers graze in clover in the dell down by the brook
And the fantail dances daintily seeking insects in the nook
There’s a special, quiet majesty pervading here, so fair
With the thistledown afloat, so still with golden motes in air.
Fills my soul with gentle feeling and a rolling tear, unplanned,
For this blend of quiet ambivalence through my beauteous rural land.
Marshalg
“Foxglove” Taranaki.
NEW ZEALAND.
19 January 2014
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
Columbine upon my desk,
a dusty pinkish
unstable shade of purple -
aquilegia vulgaris -
thought to be thankless,
even a sign of ingratitude
this Orphelian flower.
Mine has ten doves in a circle,
though tradition claims it seven:
Holy Mary’s footsteps,
Isaiah’s Gifts of the Spirit.
For me it must remain those final bell-like
chords of Messiaen’s La Columbe,
described in his mother’s verse as
'Cloches d’angoisse et larmes d’adieu’.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:46 AM UTC
Shroud, encompassing
The blanket over my head I am the twin of
The sleeping spring, hers is snow my sister
The one I actually like
The unending winter, blank white
Now I see why animals hibernate, in the winter there is
No color to paint your thoughts on The sky is spliced with the ground, blazing white unending no limit to ponder
No sky to ponder the limit of (lim as x approaches 2, calculus, my bane)
You tip-toe through pure white banks, your soul is ***** in comparison you are old ugly jiggly and soft in comparison
To sharp clear fractals, individuals sparkling even in the whitesky's frank stare whiteground whitesky white
I don't add up I don't add up I don't add up I don't add up
They say this is the longest winter ever recorded for Canada
People joke we're Canada we live in igloos anyways I can confirm
This is wrong; I have distinct memories of spider-holes in damp dead grass
Furious water rushing down rock blasted for a highway
Warm sun damp air damp grass rubber boots and most of all
Bluesky greenbrownground an imperfect world to wonder in
To not feel incomparable to
Mud as jiggly and soft as fat and muscle layered on bleach bones, bone marrow chunky porous redbrownred
No white to speak of, even my pale skin is pinkish dotted with islands of moles
When I wake up the blanket is a shroud over my head to block out the light and now I understand what I must do
Hibernate and forget like the bears I miss
Let the white light filter through colorful sheets I will feed off the blue light instead
Remember, it can't last forever somethings gotta give
Express sympathy for the car crashes and wait.
Patiently.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:58 PM UTC
Smooth porcelain skin
lungs, a vibrant pinkish hue
The crux of the problem
enamored by the image of her
indifferent to the soul of her
unflinching in his deconstruction of her
a terminal case
without restrict
he breathes in crisp tainted air
exhaling in a roar of satisfaction
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC