"prepossessing" poems
In my hour of childhood
I was simple-hearted and free.
The notion of existence
Intricately confounded me.
The true nature of my essence
Was not of my discerning.
To be—right here and now
I did not find such concerning,
If existence is a concept
Then I am the spawn of chaos.
Truly, those of lack of truth
Cannot bear what is definitively best
Existence is brief, and life is a flower
Prepossessing and free, but gone in an hour.
This was my cognition set
In a world consumed with children's life bets
There is nothing in my trials,
Nought in my sentimental thought
Nothing in my possession, not at all within pure dreams
That has the strength to restore my blessed, beloved simplicity...
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
The stars hung low that night
To hail the girl who sat on the rooftop
Of a filthy run down cottage
At the end of the 'Homeless Women' lane
Her knees were scraped with callused fingernails
That bled against the chips on the wall she had climbed
To watch those pretty little things shine
And sigh with wonder against the solitary night
The emptiness in her stomach growled
But her wild eyes devoured the moon
Maybe the night resembled her tattered black dress
And stars were just despicable holes in the fabric of sky
Greasy auburn hair hung limp against her skimpy frame
Not many would find beauty on that haunted face
But there was a prepossessing in her pain
The way she never truly had things to lose
So she loved everything we seldom bother to.
It was a cold night on a full moon
The homeless girl breathed her last atop a red roof
No one remembers a slovenly girl with wild eyes
A homeless girl who died in her true home,
Her personal paradise.
Maybe she was only fifteen
But not many can claim
They've worn constellations on their body
Maybe she found her peace
And landed the stars while we were asleep
Maybe the way she died
Is the way most of us fail to live
Maybe we should love the way
A homeless girl once did.
May 3, 2018
May 3, 2018 at 10:30 AM UTC
And in darkness she was most comfortable, it was where her demon friends came out to play/
it was where her notions and reality combined to create this prepossessing paradise
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
shaving my skin with that dry old razor i wont talk no i wont even scream
shave my mind and maybe ill be happy again
shave my words shave them down until maybe they make some beauty
shave my thoughts and maybe you'll find some sense
shave my soil shave it all away and ill be your slave
shave my feeling and maybe you'll feel like me maybe for a minute
shave my face shave my brows shave my hair
shave me down all that i am
shave no cut. cut deep into me with that razor blade
stripe me of my flesh warm and still strong you can have it
stripe me of my brain still ticking and prepossessing still electric
just don't
have what you want but don't take my friend please don't.
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 9:49 PM UTC
She is fond of sunsets,
yet prefers sunrise.
She cares about the weak heart,
yet is uncaring about her own.
She is surrounded by devils,
yet manages to find angels.
She is kind all the while,
yet mean at times.
She is faithful to the windy winter,
yet admires the soft summer.
She is passionate about her love,
yet apathetic in an irregular manner.
She is roughly foreseeable,
yet effortlessly unpredictable.
She is able to be whole,
yet unable to have a piece.
She is easily melted by the fire,
yet controls the tough cold core.
She lives in her own fantasies,
yet awaits an unpoetic reality.
She is a prepossessing paradox.
- Aishwarya Kulkarni
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 2:26 AM UTC
She was 25 years young.
and beautiful
beautifulˈbjuːtɪfʊl,ˈbjuːtɪf(ə)l/
adjective
pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically.“beautiful poetry" synonyms: attractive, pretty, handsome, good-looking, nice-looking, pleasing, alluring, prepossessing, as pretty as a picture; More of a very high standard; excellent." he spoke in beautiful English”
She made everything feel temporary
my problems
my fears
my thoughts
my love
She was just amazing, wonderful even
She had dark, tousled hair, and the most beautiful eyes; I got lost in them every chance I got
They were brown eyes, but **** they were mesmerizing
They would glow in the light and I couldn’t help but fall into them
She had the most Delphic and inimitable tattoos that I’ve ever seen on one single person, they decorated her porcelain skin perfectly and poetically.
I liked times where we would just lay, with our feet tangled together and I would trace one of the tattoos and she would reminisce about it and the experiences she had during that time in her life.
Her knowledge amazed me, she always kept me on the edge of my seat with her stories
Her voice was one of the things that captured me, her melodies and her lyrics. She knew I loved jazz, we would go to record shops and we would scope for the good ones and at times I would stop to look over at her and she’ll be staring at me. I complained but god knows I loved it. I loved her.
I loved the times when she would walk over to the single window in the cheap motel that we stayed the night or two at, and she would light a cigarette and scold me for being around the smoke; but she would cave and hold it up to my lips and she would look me in the eye as I cough the smoke up.
Those were the time I loved
They were the times I lived for
She would always tell me to not love her
That she wasn’t worth my innocent and tender love
But I disagreed
Time and time again
She was everything I wanted but didn’t ******* deserve
But what significance are all these words coming from a sixteen-year-old, who is now learning and experiencing life?
It was bound to end.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
Am I
beautiful
adjective
1.
pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically.
"beautiful poetry"
synonyms: attractive, pretty, good-looking, nice-looking, pleasing, alluring, prepossessing,
as pretty as a picture;
to you?
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
Your shadows cast down on the lonely spirits
Bringing with them intricate visions
And emitting longing desires
With searing memories that are cutting but so prepossessing
Residing between the clouds of the evening and the curtains of the dawn
You are both mysterious and majestic
With the moon as your crown
The stars as your wealth
And silence as your robe
You gaze with eyes
Open and wise
Into the universe above you
And see all of the depths of life
You listen with ears
Sharp and careful
To the sighs of desolation that flow ever so quietly
From the ever wakeful souls and the ever restless minds
You whisper with lips
Soft and sanguine
Into quiet rooms
Bearing peaceful slumber and secret dreams
With hands
Mystic and powerful
You close eyelids gently
As you guide hushed minds and aching hearts
To a world more kindly than our own
Lovers get lost in the folds of your dark and endless ensemble
And the lonely-hearted weep at your feet
You feel their unfading longing and despair
And lull them with your soft sounds and quiet presence
You are a friend of lovers
A consoler of the lonely
The minds of poets stir at your forthcoming
And hearts of prophetic stature awaken
As imagination and inspiration are both
Born and nourished under your guidance
You are a monarch to the poets
A vision to the prophets
A confidant to the thinkers
Ever so tragic
But ever so beautiful
You are home to the intellectuals and the visionaries
The writers and the artists
Over time you have revealed your secret purposes unto me
You have transformed my fear of the darkness into tireless trust
With your magic fingers you touched my mind
And my thoughts poured out in stardust
And flowed like a river beneath the moonlight
You kissed my spirit
Became my most trusty companion
You accompanied me in times of joy and in times of sorrow
You caressed my cheek and kissed my forehead
We grew closer and closer
Until we became one in and of the other
For within my dark self there are twinkling stars
That scatter passion throughout
And within my heart lies a struggling moon
In which doubt surfaces with the dawn
And comfort envelops me as the evening retreats
You awakened my soul and instilled peace deep within
I am covered with a veil of mystery
Given unto me from your own mysterious shroud
I, too, am a night
Quiet and profound
Yet fettered and unruly
Strong and exalting
Wise and amiable
Yet cryptic and capricious
For there is no real beginning to my darkness
And no real end to my depths
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
You, a prepossessing rhapsody
beguiling in a sincere
bursting my day with melody
though you are in a silence
It's such a pleasure to hold
you, within an utter buoyancy
with you, I am literally told
not to rely on certainty
You, a vivid exquisite
I admiringly adore
with such a solemnity.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
There's a girl
Who I've never seen before until last week,
She passed me as I was working the cafe -
The perfect natural shade of red-orange hair;
****
Her hair was enough to make me fall in love and go crazy over her
Her messenger sling bag over her left shoulder
Thick homemade cloth headband keeping her hair pushed back
I wondered if her name was Autumn
It should be,
Her ravishing hair would make it all fall together perfectly
And I never thought I'd see her again,
But I did
After I closed up she was waiting outside of her next classroom
I told myself it was just pure coincidence,
But I saw you yet again Miss
Friday I was working the coffee cart making deliveries
And I stopped
Only to see you come down the stairs,
A few seconds of uncertainty rang through me
I could only tell by your hair
But at that moment,
You wore a long cardigan sweater with a hood over your head
And as I started to look away slightly disappointed it was as if you heard my mind;
Your hands came up grasping the edge of the cloth
As you swiftly flipped it down;
I never knew
Such a simple action could be so magical and graceful until then
I saw you in all your elegance
And my heart raced;
Such a prepossessing creature
Love tell me,
Why are you so **** gorgeous?
I remained staring at you,
Smiling like a ***** as other people saw me and passed,
But you kept walking away
Your back to me and knee-high boots clicking away
Madam,
Is this still just a coincidence?
Or is this now destiny for us to meet?
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
Beautiful is something we either never take enough time on, or always take too much.
So **** you, with a pearly white smile on my face.
Because today, I will write about something beautiful, and I will remember the way it begins with the letter “you” or “why” or “you are the love of my life.”
And you are, there is no will, there is no way, of denying such solidly factual things.
But lightning never struck twice in the same place where I come from, and if we grew up in the same neighborhood, it might be easier to understand.
Pretending that love is just a thunder storm, and flickering lights are just temporary, is nothing but a permanent thought.
And you are tattooed right on my brain stem.
So if you are going to take me in your right hand and pull me close and let your eyes fall slightly until our lips are doing the same
please think about how many storms have turned into hurricanes
and how many hearts a hurricane can ****
I know, this was supposed to be beautiful.
But mainly, beautiful things have to be truthful.
And the truth is not always pretty.
But you are breath taking
I think that is why there is still an ocean between us
but I am willing to drown.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
Flowing, gentle water by the sand and silt.
Glowing moon reflected by the river.
The splashes and the soothing waves,
like music to the ears.
The voices of crickets.
Cool breeze pushing her hair off her face.
Sand and stones pricking her soft palm,
feet dipped in water.
All worries forgotten, washed away,
as she sat by the river side,
gazing up, towards the heavens.
While everybody was fascinated by the city lights,
she wondered about those twinkling things in the sky.
A calming presence, away from the crowds.
A prepossessing sight she'll never forget.
Nocturnal hours by the river.
The beauty of life captured in a few moments.
An admirer of the Creator, she is.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
Des Moines
Monks
Filthy knees from fresh plowed earth
When Jesus spoke of the least of these
This is where he meant
Windmill shadows unassuming
Tickled by forgotten trains
This quiet soul is full of gardens
Growing everything but up
Content to work for working’s sake
Habits sweaty and faded blue
Here is a life lived by the sun
For prepossessing daughters
Here is a life in solitude
Outside the reach of urban wake
Where God has called apostle farmers
Their harvest is a silent one
Overalls and liturgy
Parables they will reap
Sowing seeds in humble penance
The earth their common creed
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
I remember when your favorite thing was to love me.
When you couldn't wait to hold me.
When your heart longed for me
But one day the light was gone
The prepossessing light that gleamed
In your eyes filled with galaxies
I look up at the sky
Tiny dots emitting light
Amongst nothing but
Blank space
Outer space
I see distant heavenly souls
Across the void of our galaxy
Distant light traveling millions of miles away
In some predestined way to reach pmy mind
I can't comprehend the complexity of this universe
I can't fathom the vastness of it
How insignificant I am to all of it
Without you I was lost in it
Tangled in all the possibilities
Sure that you would save me
Waiting for you to save me
from the catastrophe
Building in my mind
Meanwhile, you were lost in someone else
While I was stuck in the same spot you left me
Wondering what it was that I didn't have
What was so different
And yet again I felt insignificant
As if I was staring out in the vastness
Of an empty space
Again
You don't know the ache in my heart
Every time I repeat the toxic phrase
painfully over and over
As if I was saying it for the first time
"It's alright if you stay forever with me.
and it's alright if you're waiting on something else"
But if you know,
if you know
that what we have is real;
then it's alright if you love me.
-k.w
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
He was bound to the skies,
She was tied to the seas.
They spend their lives apart yet,
the way they glimmer at the horizon is prepossessing
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
I feel like a monster holding a flower in the cup of my hand
So tender, so prepossessing
Before you came into my life, I feared nothing
But now, now, all I fear is myself
And in all honesty, I am so afraid
I don't want to crush you
I don't want to promise anything I cannot keep
But I can assure you, I will be everything I can, for as long as I can
And I can only hope that is enough
I know you are so willing to love, and I know you probably won't like to know that I cannot surrender to love
I am terrified of the words, "I love you"
But I want this
I want you
I want us
I want this with every fiber of my being
I want to be able to love you
Give me time, for I am more damaged than you will ever know
I need time to heal
The only thing I ask from you is your patience
You are so wonderful and I know you do not deserve to put up with someone as broken as I, but never leave
Don't give up on me darling, please
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
This is the poem about itself
In a futile attempt at meta cognition
Why would a poem detest its own self?
Why bother discerning purpose beyond all else
*Why do I consider myself an anathema
When others behold and perceive me as beautiful
I'm devoid of a body to do anything dutiful
Nothing prepossessing, not even a cuticle*
For what, after all, what role do I play
In a convulsive storm of life each grim day
Bleak—the subtlety of shame, agony of dull pain
Haunting me! What less may I speak
*I constantly ponder my creator's reason
For penning me in that malevolent season
Was I evoked by boredom or pain?
My consistency only denotes dismay.*
This is the poem about itself
Ruminating the hell of all hells
A poem of darkness, perplexity too
What is my meaning, why?—I now ask you
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC
Get lost in the garden of my lustrous thoughts
Drown in the sea of my aesthetic touch
I'll have you feeling high without snorting a line
Dive into my sternum and climb down between my ribs
Lay down in the valley of my prepossessing lips
I'll have you feeling high without snorting a line
Have the audacity to trace every scar engraved on my disordered skin
Caress the strands of my hair and let your fingers and thoughts get lost
I'll have you feeling high without snorting a line,
high without snorting a line.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
She writes with a poet's passion
Emancipating her strong feminist emotions
The reader's filled with ecstasy
Simply in love with her rich vocabulary
Her words so strong
Her rhymes, shares a rich bond
The ebullience with which she writes
Graceful, always with a smile
Her devices so prepossessing
Simply mesmerizing every being
There is nothing she can’t conceptualize
There is nothing she can’t contrive
Her every world is magical
Her flair, simply phenomenal
Her ingenuity is myriad
Her world is simply red
Her creations, so enthralling and ardent
It can send people into a dreamland
Her eyes sees a different world
An enchanting, mystical land of words
Her rendition is stupendous
Her imagination is tremendous
She illuminates like an anecdote
Capturing the reader with her word
The writer so passionate
Her works, so easy to impress
She’s the poetess of mine
And she writes this rime
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
i wish you didn't
exist
i wish someone with such a unique personality
was merely fiction
i wish that prepossessing face of yours
wasn't real
i wish i could
turn the handles of the clock
in reverse
so that i would've
never met you
why did you have to casually
saunter into my life
and fill me with felicity?
like it was nothing
like i was just another experience
and completely ignore me
and shut the door, our door
as if you were content with that
as if we were strangers again
i hate you
for making me
fall in love with you
sheerly, by being yourself
why couldn't you be
chicanery and lies
writing this makes me
want to talk to you
but at the same time
i want to ignore you
like you did to me
until the point
that i almost doubted
my very own existence
and i never thought that
i'd be doing this
because
i tried it once and failed
miserably
but this time
i'm determined
i will maim and forget
everything that you were once
worth to me
and the sad thing is
you probably won't even care
because there are so many
other people that adulate you
just like i do
you're probably used to
all of this doting
i should've known
before falling in
much too deep
into this dystopian nightmare
being in love
with someone that couldn't care
any less about you
makes you feel inexorably forlorn
and dense
and just worthless
so now i know what to do
i'll look back to this
every time you visit my reveries
i'm closing the doors
and they're going to stay shut
forever
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 7:56 AM UTC
Dear sunrises and sunsets, why must you be so different? Your beauty has a significant impact on others, as well as myself, and we are sorry for sometimes displacing your grace. The way your colours dance around the presence of the sun and the clouds, combined. Some days you don't appear in places, but we know you are always there, somewhere. Maybe at a different time. Always there. There is never a day where we are not blessed by your nature, the prepossessing sight brings joy to all. We thank you for that.
Dear sunrises and sunsets, why must we be so different?
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 6:33 PM UTC
The air matches the forest deep.
Its Auburn glow weaves congestion into thick dimensions.
The grass, and leaves, and trees coexist in this moment of surreality.
A sepia trim around a coordinated portrait -
The eye cannot adjust to a moment irreplaceable.
A melting slathered teardrop falls slowly.
The tree's push this far into the sky -
Not pushing, but holding, rather.
As a weeping mother catches her child and slowly descends them.
She cannot hold forever,
and the red of scars, disaster, and reflection advents.
She let’s the child wander;
Developing.
Enveloping.
And black does become the night.
Delicate, and sluggish, this darkness falls.
Her arms can bear no more,
as the sunset-soul consumes an arcane definite.
Droning below the lake,
of which no hills sit near.
Charcoal weighing down the once prepossessing light -
of nature’s *****
A soft whisper,
And death.
Dreams…
And guilt.
"Free us of his torment!”
Cried the leaves: post-wilted.
"He’ll devour us by his own light!”
Shrieked the trees: un-guilted.
"Why entwine such sedulous melancholia?”
Squealed the breeze: pre-juilted.
Oh! Do despair in blessedness!
Oh! Does the flora mourn for her exaltation!
But…
Oh,
Does his darkness revile the ***** soul -
In impassioned ecstasy.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
I wrote a poem about a lie you told
but instead decided to commemorate
you in a better light, probably because of
Paul Harvey's God Made a Farmer,
rememberin' you hoist a bale up at least
three stacks, starin' off into the distance
as you curled baling wire together, looking
like some **** painting
probably because I know that if you were
out in the woods up behind the hay shed,
I might've mistaken you for a wounded buck,
all caught up in wire, struggling for whatever's
left of you, with your antlers speared
through clumps of spinney--what a sight.
that even though your heart's in a different place--
albeit a different country altogether, that you are
your own state and nationality, even when your
pride is the biggest plot of land from here to Oklahoma
City--
Your chest reminds me of the helm of a ship, and in my mind
you're still an old tree, gashed and notched with chopped roots
that cleave the earth and ripple above ground in grey knuckles
of european beech wood. You try an' grow into whatever you
can and whoever you can, *marriage ain't **** just as long as I'm happy* carved into your branches that I tried to smooth over as
gentle as I could without comin' on too strong--but, darlin', you
never wanted a woman's touch anyway.
Still beautiful as ever--your smile still'd be enough to warm my hands
and I wasn't lying about the way you stand makin' me feel some sort of
way, clinging to your neck and losing feeling in my shoulder
biting your lip hard enough to make you chuckle and memorizing
the specifics of your spine--
so now at night I might be caught thinking about the way you'd feel
if I whispered your name--
but you said it yourself that actions mean more than words, that you probably wouldn't remember something you said two weeks ago so
what's the use in me callin' you a prepossessing man (see also: imposing), I could write more about just your forearms and continue
comparing you to trees and bucks but none of that really matters, I realize. To someone who wants kisses and thighs and just
the outsides, you're fascinated by my spirit sayin'
you ain't ever felt this way, and I wonder why.
Why?
You're not into that kind of thing, but I am that kind of thing.
so, say no to me again.
like you mean it.
keep sayin' it.
keep sayin' it.
you had the answer all along.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:54 PM UTC
It's more contagious than the common cold,
More addicting than any drug,
More beautiful than any sunrise,
More comforting than any physical touch,
More entertaining than any movie.
It contains more magic than Houdini,
Contains more sparks than the 4th of July,
Contains more dreams than a thousand years of sleep,
It holds more hope than anything in the world.
Everything in the universe is out of focus
I can't see anything,
Except for one thing.
Something unbelievably real,
incredibly prepossessing
and Insanely attractive
A Smile...
Your smile to be exact.
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC