Best Cheek Poems
She has a mole upon her cheek;
A blemish of which we dare not speak;
At the thought of it her mood turns bleak,
But I think it adds to her mystique.
No other beauty to her can compare.
Her facial features are perfect and fair,
But all she can think of is that blemish there
And plucking, each day, her small mole’s hair.
I love that mole upon her face;
It keeps her humble, this mild disgrace.
Her vanity it helps to erase;
And empathy fills in its place.
She is unaware that beauty is her prize,
So much so she doesn’t realize
She is out of my league in other’s eyes,
And now is my wife to their surprise.
So thank you God for giving her that mole;
Such a subtle mark that helped save her soul.
Winning her heart was my ultimate goal;
Being a humble beauty is her perfect role.
I'd turn the other cheek, but here's the thing
that cheek's been slapped before, and there's the sting
Eileen Manassian
You shouldn’t ‘ve said that, bite your tongue
You said I look old, but you know I’m still young
If ever a wiz a wiz there is ??
I’ll bite my tongue and feel its fizz
You said I look fat, or something like that
and that I’m a tired, bitter ol bat
You know I’m a sweet young dainty thing
I’m the morning glow you find in Spring
You say that I’m just a crabby shrew
Bite your tongue and shame on you!
You know I display no angst or drama
I have the kindly aura of the Dhali Lama
You said I can’t write worth a dam
I never said I could but now and then
get in a slam!
You call me an egotist, a narcissistic freak
You must know my words have been tongue-n-cheek?
You shouldn’t ‘ve said that, bite your tongue
before you shoot hurtful words for fun
My tongue is bigger as you can see
I’ll pull its trigger like a gun then flee
I may be too tall and you an elf
It’s on the tip of my tongue…
All that’s said reflects yourself
In the end, the only thing that counts
If there’s any love in you, any ounce
We’ll bite our tongues and
forgive the fuss, which drains the light
from all of us
It’s written in quotes, psalms and clichés
Never your innate decency betray
Follow your own worthy words
search within and find someway
She barks, "Turn your cheek!"
She leaves her handprint on it.
"And now the other!"
Bare Faced Cheek
I’m a night wanderer of streets
Once was picked up by the police
Thinking I was a sneaky thief
The truth is that I just don’t sleep
I pleaded down upon my knee
Eventually was set free.
They could not put me in a cell
Because I'd said that I wasn't well
So I saunter o’er lonesome road
I’ll do a streak if feeling bold
I love to hear the ladies shriek
Once they have sneaked a crafty peek.
I stroll where’re streets are dark
Because my face is badly marked
The misses she'd throw things at me
Said that we two weren't meant to be
But she always aimed at my face
Now I look an utter disgrace.
Should you conceive that I am mad
No I’m not, just awfully sad
There’s no way I can face the day
Wouldn’t have it any other way
I saunter along lonesome streets
Because I have the bare faced cheek.
*+*
25th September 2022
today a baby died
a girl was raped
a boy was shot
someone got divorced
someone lost their dog
a car broke down
a flower was trampled
someone broke their arm
it rained
it flooded
there was a fire
there was a tornado
someone was given a diagnosis
someone failed their test
someone lost their job
someone broke up
someone broke down
someone burned something
a letter didn't come
someone declared war
someone didn’t show up
someone showed up
someone left
someone returned
someone got lost
someone was found
someone got lucky
someone’s luck ran out
someone lost a limb
someone lost their life
and
someone hurt your feelings
sorry
time
to
summon
solitude.
rest my tired soul.
breaking down while the seasons change.
weary my heart has been, an armor of strength I need.
the past is not the present and tears will not bring change, time to honor you and myself.
a perfect flower I will place on your grave as a kiss upon your cheek, knowing you will still be by my side, you're forever watching me.
©Holly P. Moore
February 2013
'Twas the night before Christmas
On the village square.
Carolers were singing.
Everyone was there.
My daddy was a baritone
But his falsetto filled the air.
Mama shrunk his boxers;
They're not ready-to-wear.
He asked Santa for some new ones;
He didn't dare go bare.
So, on Christmas morning,
Santa left a spare.
Now daddy has a pair
That couldn't give a care.
He's back to singing bass
Thanks to his Duluth underwear.
November 29, 2019
There once was a girl named Sabine
The cutest one I’d ever seen
She had curly hair
And a teddy named Bear
And her bedroom was perfectly clean.
Sabine had a brother named Jude,
A generally radical dude,
Who liked to play games
And call Sabine names
Until Mommy said, “Stop being rude!”
Jude and Sabine lived in France.
Their parents had met at a dance.
Scupper, their mom,
Had said, “Whoa, you’re the bomb!”
When she first saw their daddy, named Lance.
Along came a baby called Paul.
He started out small but grew tall.
He slept through the night
In darkness and light
And his parents said, “We have it all!”
Lance built his family a house.
It was just the right size for a mouse.
And a spider or three
And an ant colony
And a partridge, a quail, and a grouse.
The lot of them moved to a shoe.
A kitten lived with them too.
His name was Réglisse
And he loved to eat grease
And the occasional chocolate fondue.
The garden they grew was a dream.
The bees in it made clotted cream.
The milk cows made honey
And the apples looked funny
And Scupper killed weeds with hot steam.
A pigeon lived in the arbor.
The grape leaves provided safe harbor.
It pooped on the bench
But it spoke quite good French
And eventually found work as a barber.
All of the children grew up.
Their parents adopted a pup.
Jude made perfumes
Sabine painted brooms
And Paul invented the cup.
The shock of the slap, the sudden
attack leaving you off-balance, reeling,
smack reddening in astonishment like an enforced blush—
a mark of antagonization as if some cold hand
meant to remold your mouth, gag
words of love, truest scripture, the peace of non-religion
that is Christ who longs for us to befriend:
the thief, the whore, the lost and infirm, every cursed Judas,
all races and ages, unbelievers, the rightfully imprisoned and even
the tyrants of today who defile a faith by delivering blows
though the other cheek is willingly offered,
turned by the Holy Hand, so softly, meekly, adoringly ...
His kiss, ready in the breeze, the Messiah’s healing balm.
His warm heart within you, calming your storm.
I love the mornings
That is the best time to rise
The purest part of day.
I’m an early bird
No one else is awake yet
I smell my coffee
The quiet of mornings
Is when I'm most connected
A sacred time for me
I wake it’s still dark
I feel refreshed and ready
And kiss morning’s cheek
A few hours past midnight
from a nightmare I wake
my heart is a pounding
and I'm pondering fate
My temperature's rising
there's sweat on my brow
all from the pictures
and the feelings allowed
It all started like this
when we were sitting alone
you brushed back your hair
and didn't look at your phone
Your eyes locked on mine
hung on every word that I said
I went in slow for a kiss
but you turned your head
You talked about true love
and a friend that you knew
how she's sweet and endearing
and available too
In the dark of this night
as I toss and I turn
does this bring me closer
to the questions that burn
I will love you
Regardless if you hate me because I'm not white
I will love you
Even if your nickname for me is Spic
I will love you
because I can't remember a time when putting my energy into HATING you has EVER brought me closer to happiness
I will hug you
Because there is no reason to fear skin darker than yours
I will embrace you
You don't have to wonder why my hair reaches for the sky like a tree and doesn't flow down like a river
You can talk to me
It's not my job to educate you but it is my job to care because I can't remember the last time I've seen someone help anothet up! Instead of looking the other way or pushing. them. down.
You can love WITH me
I love my culture and I will gladly open my arms to show you salsa, bomba, merengue, bachata and Sofrito
I will not turn the other cheek
Because you never gave my ancestors the free will to turn it
You took and kept ON TAKING!
I am not the immigrant
YOU ARE
I did not come here, you brought me here
You are not american, the people you call Indians
are
You may have been born on this soil but your family tree grows elsewhere and on dirt you probably have never seen
My ancestors told me to tell you
That I love you
and to show you the kindness you never showed them or us
No matter what color you may be or where you come from
We are still born from the same ancestors
We are all humans
I will love you
because we are still family
Tonight,
I wanted to sleep
Without writing any word
For your smile.
Tonight,
I wanted to pretend
I am not touched by your beauty and your style.
But
To convince my words,
I had to show your picture to my heart.
That is when
I noticed the dimples on your cheeks.
Trust me,
It made your picture the purest art.
A grocery shelf in Soup Creek
Has been vacant throughout the week
With Pinkerton care
Now Vegemite's there
Tom's living on bubble & squeak?