Best Daintiness Poems
I search,
Am I a lost cause?
I speak to all, to friends
To enemies.
Where can she be?
My love is nowhere to be found.
I search for her daintiness,
Her dark black fringe,
Her lithe contours so marvellous.
Her red full lips.
Am I pursuing a foolish dream?
A glimpse.
That’s all I ask.
I will be in paradise.
Tell her it was just a random remark.
I love her till the end of times.
And I wander around the main streets,
Searching,
Searching.
I am not much I know,
But I need her.
I saw a glimpse of her.
She smiled.
But it could not be her!
Her hair was red.
Could she have played a trick on me?
I only see red now.
Curtains, at Grandma’s house,
hide the inner sanctum -
memories remodeled.
—Quote by Poet
I Recall Curtains
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
Village without curtains; and lace.
One bow on a pine, lopsided star.
Intricate lace is snow white.
Many pines in the mountain skies,
the chimney and post office spire
pointing at the twinkling stars, all
hover over the curtainless village.
Rocking horse and spinning top, highlight
the two-storied “Toys and Games.”
I wonder who lives upstairs at the “Bakery.”
Such a teeny tiny village offering, yet
the daintiness embellishes a Winter wall;
Loveliness is lace; I recall curtains.
Pods appear upon the sprigs of green reaching skyward
covered in early morning dew.
Soft yellow petals open and fold down forming a blanket
upon which the trumpet center will rest.
The sun shining down on the daffodils give a feeling of
daintiness to the flowers.
One of the most beautiful flowers seen swaying in the
spring breeze.
A sign that spring is indeed bursting at the seams to be
born again.
As the spring season arrives and Easter approaches the
daffodils will be in full bloom.
The trumpets reaching to the sky in a wonderful display
of beautiful colors.
Again year after year these precious flowers return to us
once more to admire.
on his regal waves
galloped by my gallant knight
marvel to behold
his daintiness is a prize
I wish for a tandem ride
March 8, 2015 7.30 pm
Flawless Aster under Auspicious Cloud.
I find myself under an Auspicious cloud.
My sweet dreams overcome the flaws in disaster.
Smoothing away all my flaw's in my fear.
I slept under the star shape like an Aster.
Vanishing away the ugliness of my nightmares.
I awaken to a peaceful morning of tranquility.
In a fragrance path leading me to my own Dynasty.
I saw the solution that disabled the flaws of our unity.
Using myself perception of my abilities.
I am overwhelmed by the flawless gloom.
Accepting the careless ways of my responsibilities.
Surrounded by the human bloom.
I am cheerfully flowing out a perfectiveness of a glow.
My flaws have been cleansed and purified.
I joined the flowers of the radiant promising future.
To accomplished life in an auspicious way.
A flawless look into the obvious day.
A beautiful elegance in our harmonious way.
Unmarked in every soul with a purple ray.
Faultless, blameless, no need to beg and pray.
Unhurt like the beauty we find in the sky.
You hold me close with the whole feeling of love.
I am the Auspice in your eye.
Undamaged me with the atmosphere of your Aster wondrous sky.
Unharmed you stand in front of me.
I'm wild like an Aster flower in your hands so perfectly.
Smiles to the world full of flawlessness.
Like a diamond found in nature untouched and unbroken.
Spoken words clearly come out bless.
A star, two flowers, a cloud, an imaginable token.
Symbolizing the love with no weakness.
Impacted on kindness and daintiness.
Waking up to the the worlds of reality.
I turn around like the moon.
On my taste buds I flavored the blossom smell.
The brightness of a flawless day.
I brush the dust of my shoulders.
I have no anger to castaway.
I've earned no fault when it comes to reason.
Now it's time to comprehend to live in the new.
Forbid my self to dwell on the old.
Look into the beauty that our future world holds.
Close the vision that we only see things for its flaws.
Clear your mind to inner self of mortality.
Longing to see the Aster in the dark sky.
I own the impurity of my air to the Auspicious cloud.
To absolute revive the love of the things that are alive.
By: P.D.
Since early childhood I was aware of my sorroundings;
looking around with the interest of a grown-up man,
waiting for the golden sunrise with rosy streaks
to rise from beyond the Paterno Mountain...
to dazzle a southern boy with vivid dreams.
The clock-tower, in the Fallen Soldiers memorial square wreath-adorned,
stroke seven to announce the coming of a quite day
in a valley, where orange blossoms strongly perfumed
welcoming spring in all its daintiness and cheerfulness...
as shallows retuned home flying over pines groves covered with gray.
My chestnut-colored hair was gently brushed by a whimsical breeze,
spreading the scent of jasmine's bushes wilting down;
that's where robins took shelter when the summer sun
was at its hightest peak and trees glistened and swayed to please
a curious and adventurous southern boy with vivid dreams.
Ever wondered how I had gotten to be an elaborate poet in childhood days,
exploring everything to express myself in the most unique ways?
It was love of Nature and its splendor breathed in with appreciation
that made me who I am today, and wiping away the tears of golden age,
I feel the fanthom of my presence wandering down a silent lane swarmed with sage.
Night came with willowy shadows, carrying out their nocturanl task...
not to frighten me, but to bring the brilliance of gleaming stars so perfectly aligned;
and I dreamed with relief, knowing that there would be no endless wait
to be overwhelmed with a mystery only revealed to a child with vivid dreams.
I looked further above, beyond the stunning, starry sky as the brightest light shined.
The country I am writing about is Italy
Frosty wind touches my skin
As I sat down and reminisces my kin
And then I look up to the wondrous night
And see the stars burning their brightest lights.
Oh! how lovely to see them beyond the nocturnal sky
To see their lights that shines for awhile
How beautiful they are as they reflect their splendid lights
That inspires my soul to live with pleasure and delight.
I wonder if how God flung them in the sky
With all their daintiness and elegance
Like gems on royal crown it took its resemblance
Oh sparkling stars, How I wish I'll never die.
I meander my way through the hills, noting the pretty violets.
Their daintiness delights me, so I sit, trying not to crush any.
An impossible task. While I am down here, I notice the morels.
My hand reaches past them to feel the bumpiness of the tree moss.
The sun has greeted me; I see a diagonal sun stream lighting the meadow.
I lean against the trunk of the oak and study the prettiness of this valley.
Since I was a child I always wanted to be a grandma and live in the country.
I never wanted to cook or bake, so I don’t.
I sit here, loving the sound of crickets.
Was that a frog? I get up to wander to the pond. There are minnows there.
I can practically feel the cool water on my fingers; I stare at my age spots.
When did I grow my grandmother’s hands? I wonder if I still have my freckles.
The ones grandpa used to tease me about when I was nine. I will look later.
the evening was quite rushed as dalloway sat
calling to the tamed and wildly educated
an yet the daintiness allowed an infatuated
nest of kindness inspite the poised night
that brought such a gracious glare in sight
while the meaning of a lighthouse sung soft
away from the dark stairs and garden loft
the day turned down a silent orange sigh
between the gleaming spears that went on by
casting over shores and river banks
while the shores sung o'glory to all of her tanks
while the canvas shouted out a quaint theme
bringing the sand to rise the river streams
as patience so galently removed an yet
the sunshined at bay without even a fret
as the wind rushed through the crowded breeze
leaving little room to even raise a sleeve
while the cape cod was surely missed
as it was the purity of freedom so well kissed
for the days grew short but war indeed is no sport
Your beauty and your daintiness
I always love to see
There's no one else no where on Earth
More beautiful to me
Among all the lovely flowers that spring
makes bloom on warm mornings,
I chose the daisy for its daintiness
and bright color as the golden hair
of that first love at the age of seventeen!
Irene was realistic, unlikely me: a delusive dreamer;
we could have been great friends or even soulmates!
I dreamt of children and their loud laughter,
of joyful days spent in that meadow of daisies...
showing our affection as we played together!
You should have seen me picking up those yellow daisies
and putting them in her long, blonde hair,
as sunrays highlighted it with much radiance;
that image truly harmonized with Nature
in that meadow of daisies and it became almost sacred!
I went back there at the end of summer
to reminisce that lovely face so lit-up with joy,
but thoughts of nostalgia incited some tears;
beautiful one, reappear in that meadow of daisies...
beautiful one, let my kisses be your ecstasy!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
gently we measured
our compassionate realm
I was takened by the mental storm
of quiet gestures beckoning
the calm bayous the sinking earth
of hanging moss craving darkness
while seeking lights inner most hues
catered to the wild eyes of daintiness
and empty sorrows kindered between
a bias immortal sphere within thee eternal
wrath folded beyond di Vaticans core
beneath the rubble of solid structures
formed from masses of rotting flesh
and the bindery of soiled stained
souls of cold shattered existances
beyond the robe an awakening era
permitted silence among
the sheepcotes again
through a weakened weariness
reaching clawing clinging to a timeless cradle
a quickening naught of emptied virtue
while death had resided in me
underneath a slab of raw gravel
apon the holy see
I saw thee standing on the Parra grass
With all thine elegance and daintiness
Thy pulchritude is like an expensive glass
Oh! Thou art the image of my happiness.
On thy hands is rolling rope
As an heirloom from thine mother dear
With all the courage and hope
Shining brightly without a fear.
How lovely to see thee when you sway thine hands
Holding the rope of memories
How beautiful thou art when you take a glance
This takes all my deep-down worries.
I hear the pleasant sound of thine voice
That can captivate the passing boys
‘Tis your songs can heal the broken heart
As you sing it with joy and with art.
When afternoon come, you need to say goodbye
To the Parra grass and butterflies
Heading towards the lovely home
To the place where you belong.
the evening was quite rushed as dalloway sat
calling to the tamed and wildly educated
an yet the daintiness allowed an infatuated
nest of kindness inspite the poised night
that brought such a gracious glare in sight
while the meaning of a lighthouse sung soft
away from the dark stairs and garden loft
the day turned down a silent orange sigh
between the gleaming spears that went on by
casting over shores and river banks
while the shores sung o'glory to all of her tanks
while the canvas shouted out a quaint theme
bringing the sand to rise the river streams
and patience so galently removed an yet
the sunshined at bay without even a fret
as the wind rushed through the crowded breeze
leaving little room to even raise a sleeve
while the cape cod was surely missed
as it was the purity of freedom so well kissed
for the days grew short but war indeed is no sport
Do we not procure enough happiness in our dull lives?
When someone else is amply satisfied with themselves,
Otherwise, how much joy does one merely receive?
When someone else gains trust and in you can believe.
We should all endeavor to esteem and regard every one of us.
A more peculiar companion or family isn't genuine, thus.
May our excursion be one of happiness and daintiness?
What's withal in all we serve and heed, with spiritedness,
To set up an external assessment for everyone clod.
It is out of the compass of any individual who isn't God.
Regardless, there is pain and gain in the present situation.
Otherwise, there is a service of both joy and tribulation.
His power, weakness, and feelings were frittered away.
It's paradoxical since he was destroying his own joy.
Written: December 21, 2021