"preciousness" poems
Maelstrom of emotion emboldening an eye opening betokening of an attitude full of alluring arousal
Walking thesaurus as fluid as a notable chorus playing in accordance with an authentic Baroque performance; silver-tongued eloquent deliveries enthusing an amusing musing
Roaring reassurance of being on the prospect of procuring central evidence - the preciousness within choosing a gained conscientiousness approach promotes an unadulterated antidote
Introspection of one’s predilections stirred the modern, robust direction toward the recollection of a pristine, internal haven nurturing relaxation and crystallization.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
Today, I’m sharpening arrows
to aim them at
politicians with snouts in the trough,
clerics who preach peace for themselves
but hatred about others,
academics who promote freedom of speech
but run a Gulag Archipelago
for those who don’t follow their own ideas
or buy their textbooks,
hypocrites everywhere,
celebrities in general,
people who don’t smile,
people who aren’t nice,
(why are they here?)
fanatics, tyrants and power mongers,
(there are a humungous lot of these)
boring people,
(they wouldn’t be boring
if they could just try to engage a little more)
and those who block supermarket isles
with their trolleys while they stop and gossip.
I’d really like to put a few arrows in their butts
to puncture their pretensions and hear
the subsequent hiss of preciousness
unless they sincerely promise
to be more considerate
and try to love a whole lot more.
Now. I don't insist they have to love prodigiously,
but I reckon they could lighten the **** up
just a little, and try to laugh more frequently.
That's all.
Mike T Minehan
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
Jonathan Anderson's collections walk a confounding tightrope between naïveté and decadence. Much of his new menswear looked like clothes for a futuristic, spiritual retreat (Anderson himself said he wanted something "laid-back, Zen-like"), but the buckled patent shoes were purest dancehall honky-tonk. The fitted leather jackets were pretty flashy, too, especially when contrasted with multi-pleated pants in plainest calico or denim.
"He took himself seriously," said the voice-over that launched Michel Gaubert's stirring soundtrack (a journey all in itself), but that felt like Anderson poking a little fun at his own expense—or at least anticipating reactions to his quirky rationale. He insisted his collection was actually like an imaginary world that a child might create for himself, akin to the tree houses he and his brother used to build. The preciousness that such a boy would bestow on things that are essentially valueless was reflected in the ordinary objects—keys, tools—that were transmuted into jewelry, the board game that mutated into a constructivist jacquard, and the calico or denim artfully constructed into the pants that made up the foundation of the collection. Some of the models were carrying a small metal frame on which curious little things were suspended, almost like charms to ward off who knows what.
That subtly occult tinge has become something of an Anderson signature, the way he disturbs the refined with the raw, for instance—a thin strand of bamboo or a bandage of calico nipping the waist, or a crude smear of paint across a tulle top so fine it is barely there, or even a white feather stuck to a shoulder. Such touches feel last-minute spontaneous, but also off-kilter, which is exactly where Anderson wants to keep us. But his work is now so consistent that off-kilter is proving a rather pleasant place to be.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
She's beautiful
And young
But she is afraid of love
She wouldn't want to cry again
Since her dear one ran away
You loved her
But she's not who mama wants ;
She's yoruba.
You can't look at her anymore
Ever since you rose her belly up
And left to marry Amaka
The girl is sad
She is tired of life
Not knowing who to confide in
Or share her pain with
Because you too don't care
Just like her only dear
You are busy biting her skin
With the stigma you show!
She's just a kid
And should be in school, we know.
But you led her on to this road
You told her not what she should have known
You thought children of 'adays know
But look...Ola is now one month old
She feels bad
But you're now a father
Why not be glad?
No.. You still fear her father
And not anymore in love with her
You bring her fresh tears
But shower Amaka with care
And look... Your baby is fatherless
Or without a father's care?
You may have broken her,
You all...
But not her beauty
For inside her lies preciousness
Like every other girl child
And take her as your pride
Even though she's not your heir
And don't break her heart
Even if you stopped to care
oh! not to throw her out,
If she has ever erred
Oh child,
Show care.
...........................................................
©Uzor
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
) ::::O:::: (
/// • ||
<>
( • ) ( • )
--------////----------
The road to the hills
We follow
The sun is bright
The reasons are so
Immaculately clear
///
We have preserved
The purity of Sight
We have guarded well
Our children and the Life
//
We have seen
The earth itself destroyed
Only one Road remains
//://
Follow
The hills will not be there for long
They too ----- betrayed
Leave while you still have strength
///
Take with you all you can
This is the Road of MAN
/::/
Follow
The reasons are so
Immaculately clear
The purity !
The preciousness of Life !
•
Take with you all you can
This is the Road of -----man
This is the Road of ------- MAN
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
I see them pause to talk and wonder
What could be said between the ages of old and young
Of womanhood in full bloom, womanhood at near end
Except if not by word then by presence speak
Of the preciousness of life begun between their legs.
.
© 2016
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 8:06 PM UTC
Everyone tells you this.
And if you haven't heard the phrase yet,
Well, I'm saying it to you now!
But, WHY is life precious?
It's not like life is rare.
Easy to create,
Easy to ***** out.
So why does it hold value?
WHY is life precious?
Well, let me tell you, friend!
Life is what you're experiencing right now.
And I mean more than just your consciousness!
I'm talking about that friend you see every once in a while.
The one who makes you laugh!
I'm talking about that family member who cares deeply
Even if you don't know it!
I'm talking about that stranger who smiles your way as you walk past
Even when you feel sad!
I'm talking about that spiraling, shifting, cloud that is an experience,
Equally complicated for you as it is for everyone else.
Sure, life is easy to begin,
And SUPER easy to end.
But when EACH and EVERY life is so complicated,
THATS where the value comes in.
Because one life is different from another
In just the SLIGHTEST way, enough to make it where you can't get that life anywhere else.
So, life is precious,
because it's just so ****** COMPLICATED.
And when a life is removed from that web of connectivity,
it feels as if an entire balance is thrown off.
So, why would you end it?
You don't know what's going to happen next!
One day you could be down,
The next you meet someone beautiful,
or see something amazing.
You're never gonna know what happens next,
because with life, comes complicatedness,
and with COMPLICATEDNESS,
comes preciousness.
Think of it this way:
YOU are:
Perfect
Real
Exceptional
Caring
Intelligent
Open minded
Unique, and
****
And there will never be another you!
So, don't take that away from us!
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 3:27 AM UTC
Imagine if it cost your whole days
wages, just to feed on bread;
If external forces made you suffer
The indignity of debt.
Imagine if the war torn middle east
Had a minute's silence for fifty dead;
If Palestine, Iraq, Afghanistan
Had a minute off for breath
Imagine if a days work came with
a twenty percent chance of death...
Now picture that scene in the Caribbean
Bathing, lounging, plunging, dancing
The preciousness of life it seems
is purely based on address.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
All the roads, footpaths, and roughened trails of my beginnings
Lead me to the map of your heart, that long buried treasure.
I will trace words and phrases along the contours of your lips,
And glide cautiously across the footbridge of your wanting.
You will be stilled by the weight of my breath upon your brow,
And you will know love at a pace that awakens you to your own preciousness.
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
Put past
The pretence of protection.
Propagandising
her preciousness
is prohibited -
proprietorial
preparation
for ***********
Parents paw
the pretty pretty
Pa approves the partner
partner plucks the petals,
proclaiming
‘She pleases me,
pleases me not’ -
matters not one jot.
Pet and preen
her perilous perfection
a prophylactic
precaution,
in place
of progression,
promotion,
professional appreciation.
Proud paternalistic patter
imprisons.
Presidents pronounce
on *****
parroted by ******
and pissheads.
Petty, pathetic
and petrified
of power,
placing people
in parentheses
participating
in playground politics.
I’m sick
that this
paralysis
persists.
Past to present,
passed down
passed over
passed off
as perfectly
practical, natural,
a place for everyone
everyone
in place.
Please.
Parade our pride
in pyrotechnic protest
in partnership perpetual,
productive, progressive
people
as people
as people,
powerful
and equal.
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 12:36 PM UTC
Loves sees the bands, colors of a rainbow,
And in their perfect stratification,
Begs to see more, what else there is to know
Between colors’ identification?
Loves sees the spectrum, red to purple hues,
Where seven colors, beautiful enough
Disguise preciousness hid within their views,
Vibrant colors the peak, love sees the trough.
Love sees beyond the discrete colored bands,
To join red and orange, yellow and green,
Blue intertwined to violet like held hands,
Love asks what magic is there in between?
Love sees rainbows, but is not satisfied,
That line between colors intervening,
Spanning the sky, but look deeper inside,
Love asks to see beauty’s inner meaning.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 10:06 PM UTC
which breaks the faceless crowd
a gush of blissful warmth
soothing as autumn sun
fiery as raging storm
the earthiness of fields
and scent of blooming slopes
the wilderness of sky
a bustling city's soul
she is the riddling key
hint of a dreamy life
window which breathes the sun
blesses my being with shine
a nebula of birth
crucible of synthesis
my sermon on the mount
my fall into abyss
complexity of life
simplicity of smile
the fleetingness of wind
purposelessness of time
a father's solemn wish
a mother's selfless prayer
immortal as the sea
lover's listless despair
patience of dormant seeds
the certainty of death
innocence of a child
preciousness of breath
vapors of firmament
helplessness of loss
a tease of sun and clouds
the curiousness of God
she is the judgment day
a dream of languor warmth
the solace of my pain
cast in a fervid form
for she is all there is
and all there'll ever be
an era of romance
the reason for my being
as tranquil rainbows dim
and stars bestow a treat
my muse forever sought
i yearn the day we'll meet
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:58 AM UTC
An ant repeatedly told
she loved him so much,
he wasn't astonished a bit,
knew life was incredible
it's a pin point of *****
to dull the existential pain,
how would he forget this ant
if not an ancestor,she may become
a descendant, a bond for ages.
"The grain of sugar
you allowed me to take
made me look sweet as I
shared it with my buddies,
though you aren't aware of it"
A cloud told that
she once made him stand
under the umbrella of
her cool shade, and that
experience did transform her.
"So tired you were
your eyes were dreaming;
while being dismembered
by an adamant wind,
inch by inch, I struggled
to hold myself together
till you could find a
new shade, before I am dissolved
by external compulsion.
Those moments I lived for
the love of you, so pure
expecting nothing but
fulfilling my karmic, dictate,
gave me the insight,
to remain a cloud in spirit, ever
though not in my form any more.
Your songs of loneliness
made me overwhelm,
I am essentially water
that flows towards the ocean,
containing meanings dense
the song you have sung
in intense pain, was
an experience; walking through
glowing embers of coal,
for all who commingled
with my flow to ocean."
The tree had a rare radiance
it told him pleased,"Like me
you too have the crown,
a cloud of dancing thought waves,
that has silver lines,all the time
you sit and contemplate,
Every one has a Buddha
reclining inside,if you care
to think the way out of all miseries
he would be awake and smiling,
the compassion incarnate.
I appreciated what you did
that marked, I thought
the beginning of the light
that drives the ignorance of
darkness out from mind.
I did it by showering flowers
were you aware?"
"Karuna" she whispered as if to
emphasize it's preciousness
"Compassion" is what the most,
the world now lacks"
It could make the world a garden of love,
That's what reflected on me
when you sat underneath me
and gazed in to the far galactic
turbulence that is a saga continues,
how many moments of gold,
we were gifted one by one!
"Karuna" is the jewel, the Buddha
the enlightened one's words
did sow in us, with the touch
of a transforming thunder."
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 2:37 PM UTC
Preciousness in a bite
It is the taste of hope
That I choose to savour
After every bitter tragedy
Sweetness in a breath
It is the scent of hope
That I choose to take in
After every stench of disappointment
Gentleness in a look
It is the sight of hope
That I choose to see
After every soreness in the eye
Bliss in a thought
It is the memory of hope
That I choose to remember
After every pound of headache
Happiness in a soul
It is the feeling of hope
That I choose to feel
After every shattering of the heart
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:25 AM UTC
I’ve become more aware lately
Of the preciousness
Of time
The way my little brother smiles when I walk in the door
The wasp that kept circling around my Grandma and I today,
When we were sitting outside eating lunch.
The way the streetlight looked through the trees
My silhouette on the pavement,
Reminding me
How much I’ve been wounded and yet
I’m still here.
The little girl that stood in the middle of a puddle,
Stomping and laughing
In her pink rainboots.
“Gotta have fun on a rainy day somehow!” Her mother said to me
As I stood there smiling,
Noticing the beauty
In the simplicity of that moment.
Time is precious and life
Is a gift
And it’s completely irrelevant
If anyone would disagree.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
*Who else but only the miser knows
Preciousness of attachment!*
He would not easily give up, not easily part
Loss of what he values easily breaks his heart!
He demeans not one object, knows to love not discard
Treasures each possession, each zealously guards!
Nothing for him grows old, with each he’s intimate
His ownership is blind, associations passionate!
Never demean the miser, rather adore his commitment
None else but only he knows true meanings of attachment!
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
And we didn't even talk about anything real
And when you kissed me it felt so sad,
and I was difficult to dismiss,
But thought hey at least I'm with him and I have something to feel.
And after we had *** you fell asleep and I stayed awake watching Ancient Aliens.
And when I looked over at you,
faraway and safe in your own world,
Where you didn't carry the burden
of feeling forced to talk to anyone about anything that is actually real,
not in this outside paradigm but the realest thing you have,
what is lulled in your heart,
that which you hold so close and so coveted and so hidden
and I knew you were gone.
And I saw then that you have been gone for a long time,
that you tucked your heart back into it's secret hiding place a long time ago.
And maybe when I found it back then,
I didn't know the preciousness of what I had,
and maybe you didn't know if you could trust me to possess it
or maybe I never found your heart at all,
way back then your heart was still just where you left it
All I have now is that look in your eyes when you tell me you can't stay
when I reach for your hand and you brush it away
A lesson learned in love, may it never again feel so cold
And if I ever run across that look I found in your eyes again,
I would sooner sell it to the devil then give away my soul
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 8:22 PM UTC
I hear my father's voice
Everytime I speak
Left with little choice
That he's a part of me
I hear it in the slang
My Southern nasel twang
In everything I say
As I venture through my day
When I look into the mirror
It's my father's face I see
The older that I get
Looking back at me
I see the many lines
He had in his sly smile
The kindness that he held
When I gazed into his eyes
I also hear his laugh
In the jokes I tell
When the aftermath
Doesn't go so well
Trying to get the crowd
To smile I still try
The way my father did
As he made his way through life
I always feel his love
From beyond the grave
The preciousness in the gifts
That my father gave
Every single piece
Of his memory
That my father placed
With love inside of me
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
When I'm being weighed down,
by your heavy rain clouds,
I feel our time running out,
Is this our finale?
I feel like I'm chasing a ghost,
Tracing you along the coast,
a preciousness I treasured most,
What are we worth?
Recently,
I find time evading me,
like a forgotten dream
and I stand frozen in time.
I want to take a train back to Sunday Simplicity,
When I knew right from wrong ,
the distinction was easy.
So I won't circumvent, or pretend
that I want crazy.
but a crazy that's simple
and I know it's what you can't give me.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 5:40 PM UTC
Emotional scars, not wounds, document
the totality of my Life experiences;
even though my spirit hasn’t yet shed
its temporary, earthly encasement,
this fleshly clay of human brokenness
cautions me to always be ever mindful
of my blessed Lord and His sacrifice.
Pretending to overlook the preciousness
of this gift of Life, that was bestowed
to me, was an act of absolute foolishness
that kept me apart from Him; ignorance
on my part, insured that Grace flowed…
until my insight was lovingly obtained!
Being honest, with myself, allowed me
to be humbled and bowed before my Lord.
Through genuine vulnerability, I gained
my connection me to a God of redemption.
Though I have suffered, like many others,
I’m not alone; a pained confession of my
brokenness led me towards… His Salvation!
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
What will it take to feel again?
Something other than the feel of skin on skin.
This non-emotional mess that I'm living in.
Will I ever feel the kind of love that makes your knees weak,
or the bone deep hatred that makes your soul weep?
Must I be numb to all the things that supposedly make life beautiful?
Grass so green that it brings tears to your eyes, the laughter of a child and the preciousness of their smiles..
What is wrong with me?
I want to know what it's like to feel human.
The only thing I feel is tired, tired of pretending.
My smiles are so fake, a **** star would be impressed.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Crafted with preciousness
She is a living Museum
Reflecting kindness, loyalty and love
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
A Fancy Word For A Plug
That’s how it opens, from the end ripped off, the open end. Good bread, meh. The best bread I can find
here right now.
every afternoon someone finds everything they’ve thought they’ve ever needed in the trove of glances stalking their eyes stalking back at someone only
five minutes ago they may have called them, stranger, but brilliantly they have hope now, or the illusion I had thinking I’d be able to please every woman I’d ever take to bed
being fifteen years old can do that to someone who spends nights after high school smoking his father’s marijuana. It’s funny how glances and stares are all a single man needs to feel empowered by a woman
like he’s just captured his muse in a butterfly net. This is before he learns not all lepidoptera are butterflies, before he learns to transmit his rattling indecipherable hormones to her antennae, but never to touch the wings.
He is a stalker of wing-touches, with a fancy diet to guide him through the unforgivable minutes he tricks himself into thinking he can make anyone happy, he carves a topaz vase he hoards the few moments before any voice should trammel these moments whose preciousness isn’t foretold by nearly a decade.
Everyone wants to escape someone to move from one silence to another, they put on a show if only to escape everyone they ever went begging eyes from in a not so distant past.
I used to last eight or nine times a day in college, I made a collage of faces for a Freshman-studies course, as if there was no price too vain for me to expose my soaked and fleshy junk. That was until I started guilty catching stares, taking away a gaze from another’s gaze, becoming Casanova for a moment, then again it’s still hard to resist something I know six billion people are wanting to put inside or be put inside.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 3:11 AM UTC
Yes, I’m scared. Scared that endings will come too soon or changes will prevent this path to you. That I’ll waste more time, more years never having touched your skin under your clothes, or cupped the palms of my hands around your face, stroking your cheeks with my thumb. Never swept your hair back from your eyes and pushed my fingers through the length, down to your neck where I feel the connect of our skin and breathe you in with deep inhalation and heightened senses, savouring the preciousness of that moment. I fear never getting close enough to feel the energy pull us closer, where breaths get slightly deeper with attractions magnetic draw as I look slightly to the floor, thoughts of that I want you more. Desire bubbles in my chest as I return my view back to you, we seem to have floated a little closer. I hear the thuds in my chest echo through my head. Your face so close to mine, our eyes meet again. I see your lips and my internal voice seems to speak out loud. It feels like slow motion now, as are lips meet, you kiss me. Not feeling this doesn’t feel like an option.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 9:32 PM UTC