"tiara" poems
Dear soulmate
No we haven't met
At least not yet
For all I know you could be a princess,
with a golden tiara and attendants
Or the daughter of a peasant,
uncouth and ill-bred in the sight others, but to me, nothing short of pleasant
No we haven't met
At least not yet
Dear soulmate
Last night I dreamt of you again,
a thousand dragons for you I had slain
On my heart you placed your hand,
beaming with joy, oh my fair lady was I glad!
Oh my fair lady was I glad!,
when to the beating of our hearts all night we danced
Fell on our backs and at the stars we gazed,
Oh! their resemblance to your eyes left me amazed
No, we haven't met
At least not yet
Dear soulmate
Beautiful becomes meaningless for it cannot describe you
Perfect ceases to exist for it fails to define you
The universe must have been the one that birthed you
Or an angel from heaven must have sent you
From porcelain clay God must have made you
With his own breathe, life, must have gave you
In my dreams I stare in your eyes
In your eyes I witness the sun rise
As the sun sets I picture you walking down the aisle
Oh daughter of a goddess, in your soul I would love to set sail
Oh daughter of a goddess, without fail, by your side i would love to grow old and frail
No, we haven't met
At least not yet
Dear soulmate
No, we haven't met
At least not yet
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 10:38 AM UTC
pretty pearl anklet
adorning your foot
tiara crown
princess ***** cow
all dressed up in a dark red
cherry sequined
come **** me dress
black lacquered nails
body beautiful prepped
for ordeal by gang bang
and pretty girl strangle
torture blood ****
wiggle wiggle
**** pink aglow
glistening hive
your mouth piece
bilingual
fucky and baby talk
all manicured and bejeweled
glitter and tears
***** food
inch worm lover
little bludgeon
your excited
for a bed of nails
what a luxury
legs spread wide
***** drool melt
your scent
a silk **** cocktail
in thick puce
stained pink milk pom poms
****** beyond tabulation
come sweet cow
its time for slaughter
down on your haunches
you look up
thrilled
dark dreams do come true
i love you
like the bog loves bones
embalmed in spice
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
little missy mouse she just long to be a little ballerina
for all the world to see'
she took a trip to russia far across the sea
to become a dancer with a ballet company.
she packed up her tutu and tiara too
to be a ballet dancer and make her dreams come true.
she praticed all her moves and spiining on her feet
trained every single day till her training was complete
now her time had come to join a company .
and a ballerina now at last would be
she began to dance like she never danced before
little spins and pirouttes the crowd all shouted more
they stood on there feet now a star was she
a famous ballet star just like she longed to be
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
A few things for themselves,
Convolvulus and coral,
Buzzards and live-moss,
Tiestas from the keys,
A few things for themselves,
Florida, venereal soil,
Disclose to the lover.
The dreadful sundry of this world,
The Cuban, Polodowsky,
The Mexican women,
The ***** undertaker
Killing the time between corpses
Fishing for crayfish...
****** of boorish births,
Swiftly in the nights,
In the porches of Key West,
Behind the bougainvilleas,
After the guitar is asleep,
Lasciviously as the wind,
You come tormenting,
Insatiable,
When you might sit,
A scholar of darkness,
Sequestered over the sea,
Wearing a clear tiara
Of red and blue and red,
Sparkling, solitary, still,
In the high sea-shadow.
Donna, donna, dark,
Stooping in indigo gown
And cloudy constellations,
Conceal yourself or disclose
Fewest things to the lover--
A hand that bears a thick-leaved fruit,
A pungent bloom against your shade.
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Messy hair,
Baggy clothes.
My appearance may be bizarre,
But my thinking glows.
Smudged mascara,
Faded lipstick.
Trying to keep up my tiara,
But I’m a little pessimistic.
Five-inch heels,
Bright red dress.
My attitude is my appeal,
My knowledge is what’ll get you possessed.
Not saying that I’m perfect,
Not saying that I’m the best.
But just be careful,
My success has gotten you oppressed.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
Loons in the vineyard – sound the alarm !
Satan is milking his metaphors.
Such silly music portends no harm;
call home the cows and open your doors.
Brian Hugh Warner, a paleface freak
after finding his mom’s mascara
darker enlightenment did seek
and crowned himself with Baal’s tiara.
Scary drag-queen, scandalous, vain
Marilyn – the creepy thespian
rolled that fish-eye and snorted *******
like Crowley… how pedestrian.
Flashing his glowing cataract,
he gave the mommies quite a fright.
Censorship launched; no badder act
did sail (or assail) our sinking night.
Gothic dim-wits purchased CD’s
bought the goods, pierced parts, wore black.
(Cause for certain parents’ unease:
MTV’s Antichrist on the attack).
Son of Man – or rather, Manson
Milked to the max his demonic cow;
playing Satan’s naughty grandson
showing the flustered milk-maids how.
Urban legend surrounds this fowl
(those ribs removed – like Adam’s sin!)
Is he a misunderstood night owl –
or a has-been loon in a loony bin?
Rock-stars age (well, most) like a cheap wine.
or else in the way once-ripened grapes
withering, sun-struck, off the vine
transform, with age, into wizened shapes.
No – I am wrong. They age like prunes;
plums thus pass into their glory.
Even Luciferian loons
find lakes of fire at end of story.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
When she became the prom queen,
She was the prettiest thing they’d ever seen.
Soft gold curls spill over her back,
Bright green eyes, no sign of decay inside.
A spotlight shines down enhancing her cream-colored gown.
She beams as she accepts the crown.
She kneels down and throws up blood.
Her head comes up in a white marble tiled bathroom,
Starting to stench.
Staring deep into the reflection in her mother’s mirror,
Slowly withering away.
Pills spill around the room
Sitting by the window
She stares into the sun.
Waiting for a crimson bouquet,
And a plastic tiara
She powders her face,
Peachy pink cheeks on pale white skin.
She colors her lips and paints on a smile
Slips on a dress that flows to the floor.
They call out her name,
Lost in a daze she walks out on stage,
Stands all alone.
And when they crowned me the prom queen
I was the ugliest girl I’d ever seen.
-Inside on the Other side
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 9:14 AM UTC
I don’t remember exactly when Budberg died, it was either two years
ago or three.
The same with Chen. Whether last year or the one before.
Soon after our arrival, Budberg, gently pensive,
Said that in the beginning it is hard to get accustomed,
For here there is no spring or summer, no winter or fall.
“I kept dreaming of snow and birch forests.
Where so little changes you hardly notice how time goes by.
This is, you will see, a magic mountain.”
Budberg: a familiar name in my childhood.
They were prominent in our region,
This Russian family, descendants of German Balts.
I read none of his works, too specialized.
And Chen, I have heard, was an exquisite poet,
Which I must take on faith, for he wrote in Chinese.
Sultry Octobers, cool Julys, trees blossom in February.
Here the nuptial flight of hummingbirds does not forecast spring.
Only the faithful maple sheds its leaves every year.
For no reason, its ancestors simply learned it that way.
I sensed Budberg was right and I rebelled.
So I won’t have power, won’t save the world?
Fame will pass me by, no tiara, no crown?
Did I then train myself, myself the Unique,
To compose stanzas for gulls and sea haze,
To listen to the foghorns blaring down below?
Until it passed. What passed? Life.
Now I am not ashamed of my defeat.
One murky island with its barking seals
Or a parched desert is enough
To make us say: yes, oui, si.
'Even asleep we partake in the becoming of the world.”
Endurance comes only from enduring.
With a flick of the wrist I fashioned an invisible rope,
And climbed it and it held me.
What a procession! Quelles délices!
What caps and hooded gowns!
Most respected Professor Budberg,
Most distinguished Professor Chen,
Wrong Honorable Professor Milosz
Who wrote poems in some unheard-of tongue.
Who will count them anyway. And here sunlight.
So that the flames of their tall candles fade.
And how many generations of hummingbirds keep them company
As they walk on. Across the magic mountain.
And the fog from the ocean is cool, for once again it is July.
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✿⊰✲⊱✿
"She's finally here!" Sue claps as we all rise
from our seats and walk to the Ballroom.
There they are, atop the marble steps!
Queen Donna and Dean of proud Vesian,
both dressed in bright red. The couple faces
each other with loving smiles as the cacophony
of cheers and claps echoes through the great
Luciuscemi Palace.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
From afar, I study Donna's beautiful gown;
the shade of wine, made of velvet, her sleeves
long and puffed. Her bodice embrodiery is
extraordinary; patterned with red Rose of Vesian,
but since her marriage, she added a white
one. The embrodiery comes alive under the
light of chandelier; glittering with intricately
cut rubies and agates and sunstones for
Donna's red roses, emeralds and peridots
for the coiling stems and thorns, quartz
and white opals and moonstones for
the white roses.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Her hair in a curly updo, ringlets framing
her wise and kind face with a simple white
diamond tiara resting upon her head; a simple
rose chain and earrings to complete her look.
In contrast, King Dean wears a deep crimson
coat of red and white roses brocade that falls
past his knees and above his ankles;
slits on the sides and on the back as well,
I imagine. I can see the black lining
underneath that fine coat.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
My feet were too big
so the glass slipper wouldn't fit
I hated housework
so no band of merry dwarves
I had frequent nightmares
so no peaceful sleep interrupted by a chaste kiss
I liked my hair short
so no prince tugging at my hair
Words, too often, hurt
and I am a bigger beast than any man I've met
No tiara for me
I will settle for a sword
No hero for me
I will be my own hero
No fairy dust for me
I will conjure up my own
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 4:35 AM UTC
Imaging you when you were a school girl
Mini- sarong, small white shirt
A bag jam-packed with books hanging on your shoulder
Tiara in head, and two queues like two small dark snake
And those long eye petals highlighted with collyrium
Your two sapphires fluctuating in deep Blue Ocean
Impish humming birds were humming with their assiduous tongue,
to get your attention.
Let the Almighty curse their tongue was your supplication
Walking in two fickleness legs, licking an Ice- cream
Bewilderingly, you became my “A Midsummer night’s dream”.
Each second I encounter you in my Ruya
For years you are my Ruya.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:06 PM UTC
tiara
you call your cuts failures
and your blood a testament
to all the times you didn’t succeed
but living is an art
and you are clearly an artist
so don’t tell me there’s no reason why
you are still alive.
when the cops came
you swam through a crack haze
to the window
and jumped
i wasn’t there but i can see it so vividly now
you thought you’d land like a cat
but your legs gave out and snapped like popsicle sticks
you shrugged off the pain
and choked on blood
as you dragged yourself across the lawn
there was a warrant for your arrest
you decided to give up
and wait for them to find you
collapsing in on yourself on a moment’s notice
is your specialty.
laugh about the man who cheats on you
dream about stabbing his ex-girlfriend
tonight i will not give you knives girl
you know the world is a harsh place
learn to navigate it with no razors.
you are not a crown
to be worn by others
you like to make sure people know
you are a tiara
and you will weigh heavy on their heads.
tell me you are stupid
say the methamphetimes made craters in your brain
as you peer at me over your physics textbook
that you call light reading.
lament about the classes you failed
as you strap jigsaw puzzles together
with the scarred arms you carry
the split skin you once opened
out in the open.
are you calling me stupid
by playing this lying game?
tiara
you are all cat eyes
a frail body with an endless appetite
we both secretly derive joy from the money i spent
slipping you candy bars
and the flowers i left by your door
that you dried between the pages of books.
you have not been outside since december
i want to bring you more than flowers
i want to bring you grass and dirt, trees and roots,
birds and mice and worms
i want to give you life
i want you to run your fingers through it lovingly.
you shoulder pain so indifferently
i want to make you cry
for more beautiful things
i want to grab your tender wrists
and fill them with the sunlight.
when i left i hugged you so tight
you said you’d see me
all the big plans you had
i knew you were lying again
i know you cried that night.
tiara i love you
you are someone who needs to
bear the weight of those words
not the pain of never hearing them.
that is what you needed to hear
why did i never say it.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
Once upon a time
In a land close to here
There lived the most beautiful princess in all the land
She ruled the kingdom with a crystal tiara
On top of her head
It was the day that her tiara shattered
That she lost all hope to go on
She took the broken pieces
And tore away and her beautiful, pale skin
Staining herself with crimson
No matter how hard she tried
She couldn't fix her ruined crown
She couldn't put the pieces or her shattered kingdom
Back in place
Once upon a time
There was a prince
Who was the most mighty and the most kind
Prince in all the land
He heard of the princess' troubles
And rode in
On his metaphorical white horse
And carefully picked up the pieces
Of her shattered crown
and broken kingdom
He put them back together
In the most careful manner
And placed the crown back upon her head
Saving her from what she had done
But no matter how carefully the prince placed the tiara
It always hung
Just a little bit crooked
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
How am I supposed to react
When inside my own body
I feel so trapped
I'm expected to be what I present
But that doesn't reflect me
And this person you see, I've began to resent
Her pronouns don't feel like mine
And they haven't for a while
But changing them has helped over time
Sometimes it feels okay
Others I can't take it
Because how I feel changes day to day
The girl you see who wears the skirts
Who wears makeup to be confident
Isn't a girl at all, and feels like dirt
When you call me beautiful
I don't know how to feel
It feels so unusual
My body doesn't feel like mine
It belongs to a woman
If it didn't maybe I'd feel fine
My clothes don't reflect me
Neither does my makeup
This isn't who I want to be
I'm scared I'll never look neutral
Maybe you'll always see a girl
It just feels so brutal
The person you raised
Isn't who I grew into
I'm a new person today
I've never came out
But it's because I'm still so unsure
And if I told you you'd feel doubt
You raised a girl
Not someone doesn't feel right
A child who'd grow to wear dresses and pearls
I was always your princess
Never your prince or neither
But I've never felt secure in a dress
I'll never feel feminine
Not how you perceive it
But how I feel it is relevant
The tiara never fit my head quite right
And the long hair felt wrong
I wish I could change overnight
One day you'll know
I'll explain it all to you
But until then, I'll continue to grow
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 4:14 PM UTC
pink silk, floral embroidery
black ribbon, white trimmings
paired with soft slippers
& a twinkling tiara
Bibbidi-bobbidi- Boo!
mirror flashed, smiling sweetly is a princess;
skirt floating & feathery feet pivoting
dancing in the woods with merry deer
& singing birds
follow the faeries, drown in their music
the shinning flutes & playful pipe
luring one to a gentle doze
low bells chiming
woke up to an enchanted ruin,
go home, go home
crawling thorns & ****** roses
greedy crows & harden earth
body bursting & long limbs stretching
mirror grinned, a princess no more
but a grown woman
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 11:25 AM UTC
I'm going to L.A. and I'm going to smoke and wear black
What a rainy day
I would be safe and warm is I was in L.A.
Flower's dancing in the rain
Dream brother, dream brother, dream brother is on my mind
Jeff Buckley, hell yeah
Oh how sad
It's too cold to wear only my ******* and long t-shirt
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
That soft and jazzy sound on my mind
You know, when I get tired of life I listen to Elvis
I need my man, I need somebody
I don't want to listen to oldies all alone anymore
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
My red, velvet party dress
Feeling **** killing you
Feeling '50s queen in my heart
Living like a homeless, but c'mon
My red, velvet party dress
Feeling **** killing you
Feeling '50s queen in my heart
Living like a homeless, but c'mon
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
Only Emerald Cat can save me
I don't feel inspired anymore
Gimme that tiara, princess everywhere
Honey, welcome to '50s
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 8:38 AM UTC
Must be from France , western European .
Dedicated equestrian , painter and poet .
Aristocratic by blood , proper family .
Well educated in all the facets of life .
Regal as the diamond jewels of the tiara worn like a crown .
Long black hair waterfalls over her shoulders .
Rose red lips that beg to be kissed .
Perfectly structured cheeks
And the round innocent eyes
Of an angel seeking wings to fly .
And if the eyes are the windows to the soul let my ship sail on in
Seeking safe harbor within
Sneha's eyes .
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
Most people grow gardens with flowers and peas.
But I am not most people.
My garden is rather unique.
Come quickly outside if you dare take a peek.
Follow me out the door
but don't be too hasty
I will return you here looking awfully pasty.
Into the woods we go
with a feeling of unease
remind yourself you may turn 'round if you please.
You wear an expression of bravery
plastered to your face
I'll warn you that is entirely out of place.
My garden lies far, far away
The entrance: this long narrow path
Upon return I suggest a nice lukewarm bath.
We march on silently
Straight to my clearing
Where all that dwells is hardly endearing.
We arrive at gates
I push them wide open
and glance at your face, the expression most potent.
You stare out at my garden
Your weary eyes cautious
Searching for normality with obvious malice.
There is nothing of that sort to be found here.
So sorry to disappoint you, my dear.
From the unicorn pasture
to the golden archer
near the tentacle bed
and the swooping vulture
Round the corner lives my large pet dino
being lead by a petite albino
by the pond grows my crop of egg head
while nearby lies a heard of enormous sized rhino
Your gaze falls on my pink sparkly pegasus
being rode by a tiara topped princess
on a field of grass that is blood-red
bordering a lake worthy of the great greek god Isis.
As I watch your face change with shock and a pinch of delight
I see you won't put up a fight
You'll help me grow and raise my unparalleled garden
You might even defend it and be my trusty warden.
All that matters is that my garden is safe.
And to be honest, I couldn't be happier.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
Pretty white girl with that ghetto *****
Pop that *** and drop that ***
And grab your self-esteem off the filthy floor
Those steel bars of indecision
Once made this caged bird sing
Despite her tattered, weakened wings
Those rainbow feathers will lose that shine
Small town girl with a dream of...dreaming
Lose your hollow, bitter past
It left you many moons ago
You're a superstar my ghetto girl
So glimmer and shine and smile with sincerity
The world doesn't need to love you
If you just love yourself...
I've seen you shrinking day after day
But this fading just needs to stop
Mirrors are one-dimensional
But the world has that extraordinary depth
Like you Sabrina
Your tiara has been tarnished
And it's long after midnight o'clock
But you can always be the belle of the ball
It's your party if you want it to be
So stop crying and enjoy it
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 6:36 PM UTC
This is the closest thing to honesty.
Every quote you’ve ever heard about
treating your woman like a queen
is right.
But it's not true.
A queen. they say. Treat her like a QUEEN.
But what is a QUEEN?
You, who have never bowed your head to kiss the earth, who have never sworn fealty, who've never beaten your brow against the rage of a world - how would you understand a QUEEN.
We have this image of spoiled royalty
a pretty princess dress
a tiara
a girl in a high tower
or a woman, on a throne, cold and dismissive.
But that's not right
a QUEEN is DUTY
to the people
to the land
to a kingdom.
A QUEEN is a country.
A QUEEN is only ever A QUEEN.
You have a choice.
Blessed are you, man.
You have a choice.
Be a peasant
a blacksmith
a merchant
be anything in the world.
But treat your woman like A QUEEN.
So be a knight.
Not a knight in shining armor
She doesn't need to be saved.
She's A QUEEN
She walks with crushed empires in her shoes
She rises.
Maybe blood drips from her sword
Maybe it’s a slaughter
But she builds the empire.
My head is my throne
My lip is my kingdom
My eyes are my army
My breath is my law
My hands are my sword
My heart is my crown.
I am a country at war
an empire in birth
a court on fire.
I am a warning
and a reminder
There’s a reason why, exactly, the QUEEN is the deadliest player on the board.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
I jumped from couch to couch, avoiding the floor that was lava.
The balloon soared and floated in the air, and it could not touch the ground.
Circus animal cookies and chocolate milk were there everyday.
When I was small, the world was big and magical.
My role models were Barney and Babar, Kermit and Elmo.
I wore pink leotards and frilly tutus and stretchy slippers and shiny, black tap shoes.
I’d look up at the sky to see that fluffy white clouds were bunnies, hippos and butterflies.
When I was small, nothing was impossible.
Parks were kingdoms and the jungle-gym was the castle.
My glittery costume gown and my plastic tiara meant I was a real princess,
Peter Pan would come take me away, to live in Neverland.
When I was small, I was immortal.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
*Wanton moonlight,
filtered through a fine white net
of cirrocumulous clouds,
so delighted by their caresses
splashing noiselessly
in to the blue pool,
wears an alluring tiara,
a crust created by fine foam,
does a squiggly dance
in the heart shaped pond,
where waves make beams
swing around non stop.
The silver white lilies,
one by one touched by this magic,
comes alive, open their eyes
drink from the fountain of
moonlight and join the dance.
The love pair, in their nocturnal
love games are lubricious to the core
having lost their hearts to both
the ethereal beauty and the arrows of cupid*
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:12 AM UTC
Evening colours
come crooning to me in the swallows
flying by:
saucers in the sky,
as I wait for the bus
that will go and halt on the wall
in my living room.
The evening is somewhat dull now,
let me hurl a few stars
at the horizon:
I have a dozen in my purse.
All of them gifted by you,
collectibles, kissables.
My tiara princess, the hair-band
is your secret wand.
Ah, my leg, it's
stuck in Grosvenor Road.
So I hurtle back. and loop forward.
Folding memories neatly into my
back-pocket.
There's a Divergence Theorem
gone missing here, volumes
are not going sheet-smart.
I want my nj's.
I could drown in those dimples.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC