Best Cheekbone Poems
Dream
My mirrored reflection silently speaks
You honor me with your vulnerability
Your scars of life
Your unhealed wounds of betrayal
Dream journals tattoo your body
Your open arms of desire call to me
With eyes closed I sense
Whispers of your silky wings
Fluttering against smeared panes of glass
Separating us in the night
Your voiceless screams
Crushed pink musical notes hover close by
Magical music envelopes me
Dancing sounds emanating from
The depths of your kaleidoscope soul
A rebirth of desire
You are my child
My eyes call to you
Fragile strands of distance
Separate us
My child
I long to touch you
To hug you
To comfort you
Our palms meet
Mirroring one another
Rising them above our heads
We create a circle of life together
Only the transparent looking glass
Keeps me from feeling
The warmth of your touch
I read stories to you
You cannot hear me
I turn the book around
Pressing it to the glass
Not knowing if you
Can interpret the words
Hello my dear child
I am here to make you smile
I will dance for you
I will pantomime
I will become a dynamic octopus
Changing color and form
Before your eyes
I reach through the glass
As it liquifies and melts
Coating my fingertips
Hands and arms
In a warm embrace
I find you in the blur
Lifetimes pass
Time Inhales
Grasping blindly
I cup your shoulders
Bringing you to me
Dissolving all barriers
I press you against
My beating heart
Sweat glides down my cheekbone
Caressing your forehead
Leaving salty trails
Child of mine
No greater honor
Has been bestowed on me
Allow me to help you heal
As you have healed me
Cherished
Line drawings
Smiling suns
Red Dogs
Green Trains
Spider webs of glitter
Paper mache bowls
Painted in Aztec colors
Fill my dresser drawer
Remembering sugar cookie stars
Coated in Thick frosting
Sprinkles
Burnt edges
Many skinned knees
Broken spirits
Bactine and Bandaids
Notes by my bed
“I love you Mama”
These moments in time
Stored in the locket of
My heart
Forever
I kiss you now
Silence swarming with noise
Sounds blasting, like a war
Penetrating proof of the clamorous
Blare, blaze, flaming craze
Hues of doubt pouring out on the calm
Darkness sinking into the heart
Hushing the sigh, the breath, rhythmic
Beating of a song, like the tear
Sliding helplessly along the cheekbone
This is the silence, the dread
Grief that complements the death
One who has gone on to the eternal
Without the hope that comes to those
Who know the love of a Savior…
Grace that brings peace in abundance
Promising of a hereafter who is perfect
Soaring with light, love, laughter… calm
That fills the spirit with joy – forever
Eternally silencing the doubt, the fear
The darkness that is so overpowering
For the heart who doesn’t feel His breath
Pouring out tenderness, warmth, hope
On the spirit who glows with His brilliance
Love that is pure, flawless, complete…
Breathe deeply the wonder of Jesus, the King!
YESTERDAY
Tears dripping down as I watch my baby suffer in silence,
for this afflicted disease has no understood known cure-
I can handle family disputes, madness and worldly violence,
but losing my precious baby girl I just cannot endure.
Without my sweet Lily I’d lose everything secure.
TODAY
Tears shedding without control as I lay one pink carnation.
I see her tired eyes closed laying in a casket made of gold-
Why would God allow me to live through this situation?
My only wish was to watch her sweet little life grow old...
Say one last goodbye and let go of her hand that I hold.
TOMORROW
Tears will still be needing tissues as I remember her bitty hands,
how will I ever forget that beauty mark on her right cheekbone?
I had dreams of raising a baby with new and exciting plans,
maybe I would have done something different, if only I’d known-
Now her father and I are in the dry wilderness lost and alone.
*Dedicated to my sweet niece*
Date Written: July 25, 2016
Under the oak tree, next to the river,
With NONHLANHLA my sweet rose.
I look at her lips and the big blue eyes.
I take her hand gently and bring it close to my lips
I place my hands lightly around her waist, oh so sweet
I wrap my hand around the nape of her neck and gently pull her toward me
I put my hands on the sides of her beautiful face
Using my thumb to sweep across her cheekbone
Oh, so sweet
I gave her a few light kisses on her cheek
I whisper all the naughty things I have in store for her
Then moved to her forehead and her mouth
Lightly pull at her bottom lip with my teeth
I watch her eyes roll back in her head
I rake my fingernails down the side of her neck and back,
And tug her hair after warming her up with some soft, sensual kissing
Oh, so sweet
Start with a closed-mouth kiss, and then barely part my lips to add a hint of passion
I hold her hand, touch her waist and cup her jaw
She breathes through her nose and exhale softly into my ear
The waft of warm air make my whole body tingle
I continue with my tongue exploration inside her mouth
And give her bottom lip a playful bite
Oh, so sweet.
Note:NONHLANHLA, girls name in Zulu language meaning ``luck``.
My heart's chart is a one line
the machine screams and bleeps
A part of mine has gone
Apart it has torn even the spine
couldn't stand alone ,your breath is what keeps
my lungs inhale and even my cheekbone
is weary ,floods of blood my eye weeps
"I miss you" my heart whispers with a mourning tone
to the heart within that leaves
The machine makes a bleeping sign
"God bless you"my heart is a stone
on which your name sculptured ,in my heart alone
the bliss has gone with you ,I 'd forever sleep
Till you came back ,the ups and downs;on that chart
would again be shown
Virtual Fantasy
by Odin Roark
So innocent they
But three years old
Wanting parent look
Upon their face
First on paper
Crayon scribbles
Then long waits
Yearly Halloween
And make-believe
Come paint-on tats
Just like mommy daddy
On leg
Neck
Heart
Then to legal age innocence
Crow’s feet cover
Cheekbone carving
Botox injections
Steroid Adams
Enhancement Eves
Fast forward
Beneath gender façade
Lurks a swirling cauldron
Marveling in grease slick color
Oil running hot
Engine never cold
To be
Is not to be
Man and woman
Where molten-hardened
Eruptive cycles
So often masked
Addictively rush tomorrow’s reality
Meanwhile
History ever fading
Continues priming expectants
Reminding Barbie doll captives
And GI Joe dreamers
Tomorrow’s headgear fantasy
Comes with warning
Virtual sympathy
Not included
Delilah is a temptress with the magic of allure,
but special potions or devices aren’t required by her.
Women notice (enviously) her flawless skin so fair
and the unusual style of her lustrous long sleek hair.
She walks into a restaurant, a club, or any place. . . .
Silence falls as everybody’s gaze rests on her face.
The eyes of men are quickly drawn to a rosebud mouth
before they ever let their lustful eyes start traveling south.
That perfect mouth is painted pink. She lays one fingertip
seductively upon her pouty luscious bottom lip.
She wears a look “come hither” with the freshness of a girl,
and violets adorn her silky chestnut locks that swirl.
But merely entering the room is all she needs to do
for everyone to notice her most beautiful tattoo.
A rosy blossom at her eye the people see begin
to bloom out toward her cheekbone, and then narrow toward her chin.
A mark of beauty like no other they have ever seen:
this flowery tattoo must be the symbol of a queen!
Delilah only looks upon a man; his heart will burn,
and then he will do anything, this woman’s love to earn.
But the poor unfortunate with whom Delilah leaves
will taste forbidden fruit, and afterwards, he grieves.
That’s because Delilah cannot be with just one man.
This was the condition of another’s vengeful plan.
Because she spurned a powerful ancient god above,
he ruled that she would come to earth to never taste true love.
To keep her beauty, she must feel a mortal man’s desire,
but having one man more than once extinguishes the fire.
Should she stay with just one man, the tattoo near her eye
will fade away and like that flower, withering, she’ll die.
So the temptress - never staying in one place - moves on.
A night of passion, then her victim wakes to find her gone.
Having spent one night with her, his joy stays in the past,
and she, that lovely goddess, is denied a love that lasts.
Written by Andrea Dietrich
Inspired by the contest: "Tell Her Story"
Sponsored by ~ Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Piercing my heart:
Her nose-pin twinkles at me,
Her lip-ring smiles at me,
Her dark eyes make me lust,
Leaving everything like rust.
Her cheek-piercings make fake dimples,
Fake eyelashes arise ripples,
Inside my heart.
She is a prostitute from Havana,
I first met her in a sea-side cabana,
On my head, she fastened a cool bandana,
Every night, she gives me insomnia.
Tiny star tattoos trailing her waist,
I want to keep her in my vest,
On me, she pours liquor of zest,
With her I’m never exhausted.
To her tunes, I’m devastated.
The navel piercing makes her sensuous,
She makes my heart joyous,
The tattooed sun under her navel,
and the inked baby angel,
Are enough to create a novel,
About her.
I can’t forget the cross tattoo on her backbone,
And the chuckle of her cheekbone.
I can’t forget how her toe-rings caressed my body,
And her toe-rings were gazed by me.
To me, she means joy,
Her cupid tattoo is carnal envoy.
She showers drops of joy,
With tiny stars convoy.
I kissed the tribal tatt on her lower back,
I’ve loved her for god’s sake,
Her sensuality makes me shake,
But I am not fake.
I desire to bed her every night;
I desire to be her personal knight,
Loving her is my birth right,
I conceal her inside.
She is my secret passion,
She is my strange obsession,
I can tear away all taboos for her,
She has pierced my heart.
I love the way she smokes a cigar,
I love how she applies glitter,
I love the way her lips shimmer,
But I hate the way she ogles at strangers.
I depict her face on my life-canvas,
I inscribe her name on each piece of paper,
She makes my days luminous.
She is invincible and incredible,
In my life, her presence is inevitable.
I wish I were a gem of her necklace,
I’d ward off her foes like savage,
I’ve kissed her anklet,
I’ve loved her restless,
She’s made me mad,
And colored my fad!!
I was beaten into silence as a young
child from my father's brutalizing rage
and psychological torture.
When I was 5, a man exposed himself, to me
I ran fast terrified, no words spoken.
When I was 21 my boyfriend said, “I’m going to
F-Up your pretty face so no one ever looks
at you again, with that, I had no words.
When the ER doc urged me to tell the Police
this boyfriend fractured my cheekbone and
blackened my eyes, I had no words.
When riots broke out in high school, a large boy
shoved me against the wall, his hands on my
throat, he yelled say something, I had no words.
When several powerful lawyers I worked
with made sexual comments, I quit instead
of finding my words.
When a careless driver struck me down
altering my life, as I lay in the street,
a crowd around me, I had no words.
While visiting a relative, her drunken boyfriend
kicked me in the eye almost detaching my
retina, in court I cried, no words spoken.
At a club, drank soda, got dizzy; a guy put me
in his car, as I vomited; he threw me behind a building;
I never spoke of this attempted rape.
When my ex-husband committed
emotional & physical crimes against me,
I left without a word.
Still society has bullied me into silence otherwise
risk the harsh judgment of their punishing
remarks on my character.
Today, my words are not so eloquent,
but they contain hard truths, as
God is always my Witness.
I stand here in front of a fractured mirror
Tracing veined lines and blemished pores,
That in my waif-like outline I dream
About spring’s young complexion…ripe virginal
The glint of nubile aura humbling dawn's luster.
Pity this lady; she’ll never understand
How her portraits are becoming duller now…
The texture of a hollow cheekbone, a saggy neck
Reflects all the vanity disguised as anguish;
My fear slowly withering under piled rouge
Only to crack along a theatrical stage of old reruns,
Blurring eye- mascara with heartbreaks concealed
Against twilight's kept illusions.
Pity this lady, a backstage prop , anonymous
Reliving her glamorous world lost in time’s curtain call—
Within a verbose oration across a dim looking-glass,
I stand farther away, paint my famed mouth
And wave at a vacant arena,
Consumed by an explosion of stars pouring on my face.
10/10/2018
-----------------------
Contest of Craig Cornish: I Stand Here
Prithee how could i describe thee
You are the morning glory, beauty and virtue,
Mind and soul symbolically personify
Your image send relief to ease my longing soul,
I can hear your silence subdue lonely voice
Whispering, calling me to your fathomness
To behold the voluptuousness, vigorousness and graciousness
In inviting sensuous lips
Teeth lighting darkly the cave of pout,
Rebuff any unworthy restless freaky tongue
Spiritual super-face primers fill the crest and crevices,
Smoothen the canvas on the foundation
Bringing aesthetics of lustfulness, admiration and appreciation
The romantic sable almond large eyes,
Leer into my throb
Warning, keep looking you will never find exotic eyes like mine,
Pretty ridge in-between your kissable sculpted nose,
The whiff of embroider lost in your love lavender rose,
Engraved on your surrealist cheekbone
Accentuated your strawberry skin,
Tattooing the landscape of your unblemished skin,
Tampering manicured fingers fringe by fairy nails
The pride of Emerald embedded gold ring on forefinger
Usher beholder to sensual kiss,
The raven hair adorn in spirited luxury orchid
Full body falls helplessly on your restful shoulder,
Spilling a crop of curly hair into a free dance,
Ojibwe goddess i will like a hug and kiss,
To cuddle but not smoother you,
To explore your innocence
And discovers honest and thoughtful,
Caring and clean, independent and fun,
And full of energy.
I like to pretend this is just another hand-me-down story by my grandmother,
another black and white 1950’s photograph tucked away in a shoebox,
that the first time
a glass of whiskey scorched through the cataract of his veins
never spilled onto my face like a test tube exhausted in blood,
saturating my cheekbone like a steam room and
dashing the walls of my chin into his knuckles
was just his way of telling me, “I just want to protect you.”
The second time was just a joke, I promise.
We were playing “pretend you were my wife”
Would you etch the contours of your fist
on the corner of my right eye like?
Making it harder for my peripheral vision to detect your next muscle.
Making it easier for you to see me inside out,
as if this whole time you were searching for my mother inside of me
“Yes, a little closer to the bone, would you?”
He left the shadows of his knuckles on my neck like a pearl necklace
“I could hear them contracting at night,
the bruises trying to find a blanket under my skin:
it gets cold when he is around.”
The third time was less painful.
My muscles were immune to his mood swings.
I didn’t flinch anymore.
My body was a dummy:
fearless and helpless.
I earned each swing like a dog treat, he said.
So the next fists became an epulotic agent for the bruise before and after it.
I expected them with good intentions like birthdays.
Felt them like panting flesh fixed in a coma.
This was normal.
By the end of the month,
my face was an ant farm,
overwhelming with caverns.
I would tear from each cleft as though
my face was a strangling sponge,
after another striking dinner.
Unassuming spider makes his web on a tree
It is small but to me
It is a special key
For it reflects web of life therefore destiny
With spider web basking in star light
Or in the morning as above it birds take flight
Covered by dew like moon’s tears to the eyesight
It is a delight
Located between cheekbone and backbone
The brain is a web on its own
And in our biology are all things by it known
It can foresee some of its future but it is never written in stone
But mind that needs no reference point at all
Being just second consciousness but what of most high of them all
What reflected in spider web what we in our first state call destiny would fall
And for that supreme consciousness what would be what from our perspective we call soul
When Dad called me ugly, stupid
and worthless, as that little girl, I lost!
When my mother couldn’t protect
me from the cruelty and abuse
at home, I lost!
When a bad man came into
my room and frightened me
me as that little girl, I lost!
When my boyfriend blackened my
Eyes and fractured my cheekbone,
I lost!
When my precious dogs, Rocky and Brownie
died in my arms, I lost!
When a car struck me causing
me to suffer life altering
injuries, I lost!
When I received the call
Your Mother is dead,
I lost!
When I watched my loving and honorable
Brother, Jimmy succumb to cancer, I lost!
When I realize there isn’t anyone
Or anything else to fight for, I say to you
for one last and final time, I lost!
Frosty's squeeze was Freckles Snow
and frosty saw her well.
Her button eyes would warm his heart
and leave him weak to tell.
Her smile was like a clever seal
with lips in brilliant red.
The two of them red pepper stands
to knock a snowman dead.
Her nose was just a little thimble
cute enough to thrill.
Her head topped off with rhubarb bands
this red-heads looks could kill.
A bonnet sat on top her head.
It knitted and it stitched.
A strap below her under-chin
to see that it stayed hitched.
For such a lovely snowman
Freckles surely earned her name.
Some thirty dots per cheekbone
of black pepper on this dame.
The hottest freckles on the snow
that Frosty'd ever seen.
And Freckles blushing modestly,
attractive to the scene.
A woman Frosty cherished dear.
Her looks not all there was.
For Frosty knew of Freckle's love
and warming that it does.
When at that time began to melt
down-poring from above.
When Freckles noticed he was gone
and Frosty was in love.
So on that day a puddle sat
down at Freckles feet.
But don't be sad cause Freckles cried
and both went down in heat.
Now Freckles Snow and Frosty Snowman
are puddles in the street.
Them both remembered for going away
that once again they'll meet.