Best Comeliness Poems
Born into this world as a humble, helpless Babe
Christ increased in wisdom and stature
Grew up in favour with both God and man
Baptised publicly by John the Baptist
Tempted by the devil, but overcame him
Preached the gospel of the kingdom of God
Befriended the publicans and the sinners
Turned the water into wine, did miracles
Cast out demons, healed all kinds of diseases
Backed up twelve fishermen as His disciples
Taught them, led them, and washed their feet
Spent three and a half years moulding them
Broken, He prayed in the garden of Gethsemane
His sweat as blood, such spiritual agony
Ready to do the will of God and drink the cup
Beaten and scourged on the way to Calvary
A crown of thorns placed upon His head
Spat upon, mocked, and smote by the soldiers
Bruised, He was crucified on the cruel Cross
He hung there with no form nor comeliness
Reviled by passers-by wagging their heads
Bereft and forsaken by His own Father
Carrying the sins of the entire world
He suffered and bled, but forgave and loved
Beseeching His Heavenly Father to receive His Spirit
Lord Jesus Christ gave up his ghost on the Cross
And the veil of the temple was torn from top to bottom
Buried in a new rock sepulchre, the stone was rolled
The tomb was sealed and the watch was set
But on the third day, as prophesied, our Lord rose up
Behold, there was a great earthquake
The angel of the Lord descended from heaven
And rolled back the stone and sat upon it
Bewildered, the women heard him saying,
“Fear not, ye seek Jesus who was crucified,
He is not here, for He is risen, come see where they laid Him”
Brutal death could not chain our Lord,
He overcame it and appeared to His disciples
And was carried up into heaven
Believe on the Lord Jesus, He was crucified for our sins,
But He resurrected from the dead, never to die again
Now He sits on the right hand of God, interceding for our sins
Beloved, He will come back one day
Not as the Lamb, but as the Lion
To take His loved ones unto Himself
Before it is too late, accept Him into your heart
You will enjoy peace, love and joy, which this world can’t offer
Repent, believe and rejoice for the Lord Jesus Christ is alive.
9th April, 2022
For Regina McIntosh's "Easter" contest
Like A Dream..
Like the days in The Cradle..
Like the tale of Samson's Riddle..
In The Wake of your Fiddle..
Our Waists In Consortium..Like Beaded
Eroticas Wiggling..
Like A Dream..
Our Stroll Hand-In-Hand By The Beach..
Like Heights We have Reached..
Like The Sweetness Of Depths Unsearched..
Like This Pen I Screech..
Like Those Verses Of Wisdom We Thus
Preached..
Like A Dream..
Like The Wisdom Of Great King Solomon We
asked the Father For, In Tones that
"Beseech"..
With His Divine Wisdom and Grace We
Revolutionized Souls That Once Thought and
Acted As Leeches..
The Weight and Comeliness Of These Lines you
Call Speeches..
Like A Dream..
Like God's Kiss On Our ForeHead..
Like His Comforting Voice In Times Of Sorrow
and Distress..
Like The Outpour Of His Salient Breathe On
Our Humble Souls..that Guided Us to The
Crest,
Like A Dream..Hardwork and Its Little
Stress..
Like A Dream..In Luxury Prepare to Take Thy
Rest..
To Listen To The Voices Of My Childrens'
Playful Shouts and Screams..To Dance This
Dreamy Waltz What Shall It Take..To Show Our
Gratitude To The Almighty Please Tell Us
'What Shall We Shake'..
Like A Dream..
Like The Flavour Of These Rhymes..
Like The Heart-Felt Savour Of These Cleverly Structured Lines..
The Happy Ardour Of Such Salient Chimes..
Thus Read..What Joy We Thus Feel In It We Sublime..
Sweet Rhymes Thus Played On Musical Strings Of Time..How Happy..
Thus Life Is But A Dream..See Through.
Your ocular perceivers are the most resplendent ones ever kenned to mankind, they are as abstruse as the ocean and yet so captivating, The word dainty was engendered when they have no words for your lips, Your smile gladdens the heart of a man as wine gladdens mans heart, Your voice bring ecstasy and drives out sorrows within the soul of the hearer, Your face is the most elegant impeccably proportioned in appearance, if an artist is to do one final piece of art, they would be probing for you because they ken it would be the impeccable piece. Your personality is so genial, fun, doting, and so alluring. Viewing your disrobement is like a thunderbolt of sexual pleasure even a dysfunctional man will stand erect by the view, Your voluptuous body is more than that of a damsel and Aphrodite is less resplendency compare to you. I feel like I fulminated you cause I have degrade your resplendency by defining, describing, and comparing you with words of comeliness. You are not to be compared by or describe by any man. Cause your resplendency is that kind of resplendency beyond description. You are crafted by God himself, the greatest artist of all time. Thanks to your father and mother for not utilizing condom to bring out the definition of comeliness into this earth. You are the hyperbole of resplendency.
Her smile is unfit, as it illuminates beyond the masses,
a misfit in a world of hollow and half-hearted expressions,
The connection to comeliness, its source, not here –in there, away from the
world, but evident to all in it,
It doesn’t fit; I don’t want it to, to make repulsive beauty to compel
compatibility, not I
Let this oddity rivaled by no other be with no other,
Exposed for all its imperfections, her smile is faultless in its reflection,
Wrought in purity, her smile is unfitting, this world has no place for it, unable
to comprehend, it only tolerates it -though in her smile, I extol
Her smile is not right, it’s wrong -it’s so wrong!
In a world where good is bad, dishonesty is rewarded, and
obnoxious behavior celebrated,
Her smile is not harmonious, nor is it congruent in this,
the space it finds itself
So much for honesty and charm I guess, but her smile is laced with both,
as it exudes outward in the form of facial light,
Shining in a world hidden behind shaded lens,
Though in my heart there’s connection, interpretation, processing,
Her smile and my heart intertwine in a mesmeric negotiation, a tacit form of
photosynthesis as her smile sustains and quickens the tempo of its beneficiary
Her smile is tragic, a tragedy unseen since the demise of young love in Verona,
A beautiful tragedy: a flower’s last bloom before death; the serenity in the eye
of a deadly storm; life lost to save another; pure love given yet not returned
-so tragic,
Tragic, there is no pedestal high enough to place her smile on,
So tragic, the sum of all the world’s beauty is soundly out match by her smile,
Tragic, the smile I see, isn’t seen by all,
So tragic, at best, this turned about world will only ever squint in its presence,
Tragic, her smile is so unique; therefore one of a kind, meaning sadly no
replica exists,
So tragic, my angst at my heart’s inability to arrest her smile’s every beam of
light, at best exhibits my selfishness,
Tragic, my definition of you -I mean...her smile…counts for so very little
Written in Afghanistan -28 JUL 2013
He gave her a bunch of roses
deep red and highly scented
sweetly he romanticizes
With loving heart, her, he teases
with his love before her casted
he gave her a bunch of roses
Some may think he needs new lenses
for with comeliness not gifted
sweetly he romanticizes
With all her sweetness she cleanses
a pure soul she had been granted
he gave her a bunch of roses
Her sense of fun amuses
with her he is so enchanted
sweetly he romanticizes
Over which ring he agonizes
choosing one that could be flaunted
he gave her a bunch of roses
sweetly he romanticizes
I wrote this for a reading I am doing on Valentine's Day yet it is also for all lovers everywhere
WOMAN OF VALOUR.
where art thou gracious woman.
Peaceful being, strength and beauty at your fingertips.
Adams fantasy, Eve's descendant.
A trophy you are, A queen like Esther.
A child of royal priesthood
You shall strut on a bed of roses.
God's grace and mercy at your favour.
Where art thou lady of comeliness.
The pulchritude favourable
Inner beauty lovable
Thou shall be better than before
An increase in your humanity
Woman of valour, an extraction from his rib you are.
Woman of valour, his helper you shall be
Building bonds greater than that of Ruth's and Naomi's
Proverbs 31:10 A woman of Noble character
Where art thou woman of the 31status
Where art thou women of valour
Past, present and future.
Where are you beings that nurture?
Blessed is you woman of the 31character
Blessed are you woman of valour.
Tin-tin®
.
Such has passed
the flower
her soft touch
her
pure loveliness
allure
comeliness
such has passed
the precious days
which count
she was born
Such shall not pass
the promise
from the One who
did raise our Lord
“to raise all
who are His”
As old as the beholder all that He made it was very good then multitudes of similitudes throughout the ages of grace some fair to be as close to the original some lost in their own vanity from garden of His pleasure to the pleasant to make one wise like a flaming sword the selfish beauty mark because of the reward lay bare their own shame but for His own graciousness a promise given to one day restore the innocent virtue of beauty upon one came the violence blood and gore reclaims the defamed to but on course those from whom worldly beauty had swayed no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him. but perfection's beauty loved us to the end and one-day beauty will again be very good
egotism's display but pure Love is not in vain the promise well kept
An eloquent stutterer he was,
whose anecdotes were luscious and true
he lived in the days of aesthetics,
but had no comeliness in size or stature;
His teachings were unadulterated and void of fallacy
Ipso facto he was condemned to the gallows,
he tasted of the legendary hemlock potion
And died before he lived.
The hope of the living
None would hope, like a destitute, by the roadside to rot,
With their eyes and other vitals, by the vultures pecked out,
Oozing a cocktail of body fluids, unsightly like yellowy snot,
And their putrid stench pervading the air, around and about.
But, most would hope, though with a morbid fear of the end,
That a garland at least, or an array of floral comeliness,
Would from an acquaintance, a relative, or a good friend,
Adorn the dark envelope, of their cold and silent loneliness.
That, dark clouds of grief; torrents of tears, their signage,
Would thicken the air with anguish, as the news is broken,
That their journey had ended, if even with a high mileage,
And threnodies would be sung; words of their good spoken.
That, as the wreath(s), though freshly made, goes withering;
Memories of them, slowly, yet surely, goes into the obscure,
That of their good, even the winds would go on whispering,
As weeping usher their metamorphosis into organic manure.
Yet, most by their lives, do not on any place such a burden,
Or, on the elements, tales of good to convey throughout time.
Positive impacts, as engravings on steel quenched to harden,
We all must first have on people, to justify such hope, as a prime!
Oct. 1, 2017
You ask me now to sum the beauty in sun's eyes
And make of love the distinction that love despise
And all figures come only to my praise of the gift
God gave to Adam, when he unreplenished, adrift
Midst loneliness and impotence, found sleep blessed
To wake and find his rib enclothed with loveliness
Would you call the virgin mother frigid, cold
Who felt God's heat and furnished men his gold
Zeus too often imitate and did not once procreate
Beyond the fiction of the mind. All flesh fornicate
That cannot yield like Mary did to quiver and moan
To bear the first command to all; all pleasures groan.
The stigma then maligns my rib and cuts my breast
For only truth is beauty in all her virgin comeliness
Undemured, undefiled, stained by circumstance, and pure
The heart aches for beauty and found in Eve no cure
Just Mary Magdala, my passion's patient bride
Goddess of the penitent, queen of desire's tide
That like the moon brings sweet glow upon my bed
She copulates with the sun, and trees that naked shed
Themselves, like arthritic Simons, pay in rich spice
To luxuriate in the pleasures of her passion and vice.
What then her breached external form a little stained
The rich stream of heaven kept not disdained.
Measure this then against rebellious Eve, who crave
Man's pleasure but disdained to concieve; the rave
Of her autonomy to be as god, and provoked the earth
To crown an Astarte, Anat, Venus, Aphrodite as worth
To which some like Delilah or Helen made men bow
And worship in wine drenched mud the grovelling sow
Think of it, I never thought my mother panted or sweat
To shed a seed, for her purity repudiated such a threat
That I was concieved by the pleasure that first the pain
Mother is too chaste, and stainlesss all mothers remain
The mind rare permits sister or daughter expansion of gene
And yet unweb the stigma projected unto the queen
And where the stigma sits their lolls the brooding heart
Aflamed, the loins deep ocean longing to break apart
The solid rock that love strike to feed the egg athirst
The tongue languishing to bulge night's breast in verse
The hand to strip the curtain from the flesh, the skin
To meet as one, joy in joy, and love in love enmeshed.
When fate decides to bring you love
Clouds moved to show the stars above
You the crowning jewel of the stratosphere
Your breath of incense pervade the atmosphere
None to compare at such radiant comeliness
If I should fail you I crave your forgiveness
I’d be heartbroken if I should ever lose you
Because I feel I am wearing the luckiest shoe
I thank fate that of all I was the chosen one
To reciprocate the love of one second to none
Thank you, for excavating from dead tongue
Under midden of lies
The archive of our own history
The outlines of identity
So we under obscurity white sheet
Could find resurrection of self
In another voice oppressed
But unconceding of its comeliness.
Before I grew old I was only school
Afraid to be nobody unless I conformed
To class, and status and creed.
I could not see then how I consented
To condone the designation of a weed.
Before I was old
I did not even know weeds were revolutionaries
Resisting the pharmacopia of gods
And heal me in the old ways again.
Let this vernacular, this dialect
From in between the interspaces of existence
Reworking the problem of my preservation,
Let it flowers like weed
Gushing from unexpected places after rain.
Thanking you for understanding how to spade
With it the introspection of itself
Match with veins, leaves and flowers
The pattern of remain alive.
The tongue is archive of the soul, and language
The repository of all the culture holds.
Sure, folk songs are sweets, but our stories are more
Than words. Babel has no meaning
If it confused only words to flock in nearer trees.
Something deeper there was lost
Perhaps the lens by which we tell who we are
The frightening part of God,
The vision that must be consumed in hell
The staircase that if we trod
Would tear the scream of worlds from us
Making a new dilemma out of dust.
I sing not for Babel heights but the rights
To flock the founding tree of truth.
Thank you, for permitting me to speak again
To taste the lilt and roll of visceral sounds
Wearing glottis masks and labial screens
Spreading the germ of belief
And the sanctity of self in an ubiquitous air.
Folk people, balmyard man, healer
Kuminah giver, obeah veteran
Abeng blower, anancy teller, long spoon cook
Your anthropology will be the first page
Of my exumed biography, my life given back
Like raft to me. I am going to dig the moon.
Oluwapemi... your name is soft to the ears... your name speaks peace...
Your name is the soothing ointment of the troubled mind
It sounds like the luculent laughter that comes with the dawn when the turbulent Night is conquered...
It is the extant song of the cuckoo bird in springtime when the greenery blossoms,
and it echoes like the plaintive notes of the first rains sent forth to quench the thirst of the long dehydrated Savannah...
Oluwapemi!
You are the dew of my morning, the freshness that envelops my Night,
and your even-tempered voice like my mother's, is like the cicadas that heralds the break of my dawn
You are the beam from which I draw my strength; the roof over my head, the lintel of my shelter-the pillar thereof,
and the marble upon which I cast my verse...
Oluwapemi!
Your breath is enlivening like the tender breeze that blows beneath the tamarind tree at dusk when the Sun is at rest...
The scent of your hair is like the smell of cinnamon, like the surpassing fragrance of cassia,
your haloed eyes, mild like a dove's, are the Sun and Moon of my Earth, your face my dazzling mirror!
Your waist to the shoulders is like cornfield in the Savannah upon which the young deer gallops,
the verdure on which the reindeer refreshes, the resting place of the poet,
and with your limbs like a wild gazelle's, you leap gracefully against the vanishing rays of the ephemeral sunset...
Oluwapemi!
Name of gold-that is the name that brings comfort to the restless soul
Oluwapemi...
Lady of the Sycamore, epitome of purity, healing balm, priceless jewel, glittering gold
My song, my Muse, my goddess!
You are black and beautiful-the true colour of nature;
and your beauty transcends the laws of time which makes you the delight of the poet...
I will proclaim your name... I will proclaim your name...
Oluwapemi... Oluwapemi... that is your name
Diamond in the morning sun, fresh wine from the vine...
My pride, my mirth, my perfect poetess!
Who possesses the semblance of your comeliness?
AS OPIUM OPINED
On the mantle of my memory over fantasy’s fireplace is the remembrance of that one most precious evening when snow consecrated and baptized our roof along with its promise of a childish sleigh ride in the morning
But that single cherished night meant so much more than the next violet colored dawning
We watched as the flaming fireplace splashed dancing and ever changing shapes and shadows upon the wall of imported Spanish clay
Images you imagined and described in such a childlike and universally unique way
It was a moon’s minute after the joy of a snowball throwing and love growing day
“Oh honey, that shadow looks like a cameo of a lady from the eighteen hundreds who once knitted two pairs of mittens for her twins
And that one looks like a guppy with his flighty colored fins”
I was left breathless at your beauty and the fantasy you wove with wonder bewitched by your giggle witnessed to by your winsome and wide eyes
As you allowed a fairy tale combined with youthfulness to become our guide
We were already middle aged but the middle of that night created the height of heat
And your attempts to decadently decorate the dull spaces in the living room of my life were deemed complete
The shadows still danced upon the wall but our eyes were shut tightly and forthrightly while wrapped in a mystically magical embrace
You wanted those shadows to remain alive so I stoked the logs just in case
As the fire fueled passion while I gazed at your silhouette so silken and sleek
Then we closed our eyes once again and let our lips, although silent, begin to speak
They swore allegiance and reliance for the two of us to share
While the fire flickered on with finesse and fiery flair
My head would have been in the clouds but the nighttime sky projected only stars
and swear I your countenance of comeliness could heal even the scars on Mars
while you formed words akin to the purest Oriental opiate that sent me two galaxies high
But those words, as did the shadows cast, faded at your final and forever “goodbye”
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