Long Her beauty Poems
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She is sweet and enigmatic
Her walk so conspicuous
How dare I go there,
With all her enigma
This surely won't end well.
She walks towards me
And courteously asks to sit beside
I hastily agree
Words that fall from her mouth
Are nothing but pleasing,
Dropping innuendos at every given opportune.
We delight in wine and she matches me glass for glass as she seems nonchalant to its effects.
Her eyes light up the room or is it the wine taking its toll?
Her beauty lies in comparison to none that my eyes have lay upon
I sit with an Aphrodite but yet
I wonder what she sees in me?
I stare at her as I fathom,
It suddenly dawns on me.
She is the kind who swallows cork for coin, The lady of the night.
That's the only conclusion I have
A woman all alone in a bar
What else could she be?
I decide to tread path on a more direct route
And arrive at point.
I ask her in whisper,what reward she will require for me to see what I was longing for?
Her dress part from her body.
She scowls as she breaks word
"I am a Lady seeking a Gentleman"
She stands and walks away like Cinderella only this time she leaves no glass slipper,
Leaving me mortified
For I sat with a lady and only just realized it Now.
Form:
Dorka’s dainty darling double wide was dazzling in the dilapidated trailer park
She was the beautiful boisterous, bouncing bohemian other trailers aspired to be
They planted geraniums, lilies and lilacs, trying to duplicate her gorgeousness.
But none could compare, for her beauty was within as well as without.
Dorka was the epitome of what all homes strive to be – loving, and nurturing.
Her kindness was well known and revered. She shared wisdom and wealth.
Other homes could not be her, but they could aspire to attain her attributes.
They resolved to be kind, generous and their lovely roses grew in buckets.
As I caught a glimpse of her heart
and a glimmer of her soul:
her beauty and charisma, like kindling,
fueled passion's flame.
And an outpouring of emotions surged
from my heart;
splashing against my soul.
A teardrop of hope trickled down my cheek:
tethered to the vitality of my youth
and the hopes of a romantic fool.
Her smile said everything.
And like an Angel sent from God above,
she imbued my heart:
with an overwhelming feeling of love.
Finding the courage to speak;
I fumbled for the words:
as I stared at her in awe.
And yet, my feelings flowed freely,
gently guiding her heart to mine.
And thus,
I was able to assure her:
that I'd found my Juliet;
and she, her Romeo.
Gloria Dubbins - not much of a name,
but trust me on my judgment, gentle reader;
in terms of Beauty, she was Hall of Fame.
We’re talking – let’s see – nineteen seventy-two,
but I’m the keeper of the Gloria Flame,
and still to me she’s better, and more true,
than all your Taylor Swifts or Amber Heards.
She did the things that gorgeous women do -
in essence, nothing. Gloria had no words.
Intelligence? Commitment? Are you kidding?
For babes, that stuff is strictly for the birds.
She sat immobile and observed the bidding.
I’ll tell you this, but won’t apportion blame.
You, too, would be as motionless as cedar
if you’d been dealt her hand, to play The Game.
She’s not the kind you wound up talking to.
Her presence smote you with a sort of shame:
she struck you dumb: the words would not come through.
And Gloria didn’t gravitate to herds.
Perforce, she rowed her own sublime canoe.
Her beauty left her friendless, like the Kurds.
What was her view of Comus? Little Gidding?
I don’t have – no, I never had – a clue.
Enigma fits her. Easily two-thirds
of all the girls acknowledged her as leader,
but oddly she was Nothing Like A Dame.
A Poet
A poet takes the time to think the unthinkable
Using just the right words to make people aware
They set emotions to fight the good fight
They make people understand others differences
A poet can end the needless deaths of a war
They can show the pain behind a child’s tears
They can use imagery to show what cannot be seen
Their words can make a small flower seem like the entire world
And make the whole world seem like a pretty flower
A poet can share Heaven and they can create a Hell
They can make people see the beauty in a passing cloud
They can hear the music of a breeze travelling down a wooded valley
Their words can show even the purest form of love
A poet writes not for money or fame
They write because they feel a passion others cannot understand
They write to share their feelings and thoughts
A poet writes because it is in their nature
A God given blessing that they cannot, will not ignore
They just hope that someone will read their work
And they will, even for a moment take time to think
Maybe remember how wonderful the world and her beauty is
If they do a poet will smile and their purpose will be achieved
That is all a poet will ever ask
On the night Harry met Meagan Markle,
He couldn't believe how she sparkled,
For she was quite a dish,
And he made then a wish,
She'd be his for he was already partial,
To the way that she stood, walked and spoke,
And he made it plain it's no joke.
He took her to wife,
And she ruined his life,
Compared to before now he's broke;
For his grandma is England's queen,
And folks bowed when he came on the scene.
Now he's Meagan's toy boy,
But she's still his joy,
He's too blind to see through her scheme.
She wanted to be a big shot,
But her beauty is all that she's got,
And with stars in his eyes,
Harry reached for his prize,
And wound up with a high maintenance snot.
She tried to cash in on his name,
But the royals won't play that game.
They called her trashy,
Said she was too flashy,
And that her whole family's the same.
Madison belonged to my grandfather
a decaying house a legacy left by him to me.
As I approached her I could see a part of the roof
was dangling on one side
like a lopsided grin she greeted me.
Her body looked poisoned
with green moss growing all over
The bloodless creepers like veins clung
as if it were choking the very life out of her.
She looked lifeless and damp like a broken body.
She stood high on a hill she had a full view of the valley.
As I reached her, I could hear her whispers
like silent screams, letting off steam
I stood still seeping in her beauty
which once she used to be,
it was a shame now the frame that greeted me.
The windows looked like small eyes
peeping out of the creepers and staring down at me.
I drove my car into her porch
which was covered in weeds
looking like a hairy chest to me.
I fumbled to unlock the great oak door
which still had a shine
like glossy lips, they were inviting me.
I stepped into the house and saw
my favourite staircase as a child
which I used like a slide, bringing back fond memories.
I slowly limped up the creaky stairs
the dust was thick and made me feel quite sick.
I turned to my right and entered
a bedroom nice and bright
a rosette mirror that belonged to my grandma
looked back,I looked a sight as she hung prettily,
I left the room and climbed down the stairs gingerly.
I exited from the back door into the garden
whose grass had grown like a little boy
to a grown man like me.
There were ferns on each side
which looked like hedges
I turned the corner as she stood now quietly
looking at her new owner,
to bring her back to her former glory.
19.07.2020
Decaying House.
On the twenty-first of September, 2025,
I, Helios, god of the Sun,
entered the Sixth House
and found Virgo waiting—
the Virgin, radiant,
her light softer than dawn.
Her beauty was not flesh alone,
but the balm of the wounded soul,
a healer of what is broken.
I said, “Let us celebrate,
for the eclipse belongs to us.”
Virgo smiled, yet whispered,
“What if Luna, your wife, finds us?”
And I replied, “Fear not—
she will only pass by in silence.
For tonight, I dwell in your house.”
I gazed into her eyes
and kissed her with the fire of the Sun.
Yet as my flame longed to consume her,
she wept and said,
“I am a Virgin—
I can only unite in the intercourse of souls.”
And so it was:
in that sacred eclipse,
I entered not her body but her spirit,
and I was made whole for the first time.
Refinement, purity, and sorrow
were written upon my light.
But the shadow moved,
Luna returned to her throne,
and Virgo faded back into silence.
Since then I burn in the sky,
forever longing for the Virgin
who healed me once,
yet can never be mine.
Like honeydew her sweetness flows
Caressed by wings of butterflies
A gift from summer to the eyes
With nature's song her beauty grows
With melody of falling rain
As sunshine plays a warm refrain
A kiss of sunlight and she glows
And in the morning dew at dawn
Her fragrance in the wind is spawned
But now the autumn wind doth blow
And thus my lovely summer rose
She lies but yet in sweet repose
A change of season and she bows
Suspended in the autumn's chill
Yet she abides in beauty still
~~
Like honeydew her sweetness flows
With nature's song her beauty grows
A kiss of sunlight and she glows
But now the autumn wind doth blow
A change of season and she bows
~~
With skin as smooth as silk
Not a blemish to be found
The epitome of a free spirit
Walks barefoot on the ground
Her beauty is natural
Mother provides the finest clothes
Her passion, exploring nature
Barefoot everywhere she goes
Nothing like the other girls
Content just being alone
After school her shoes go flying
With her bare feet she roams
Fields stretch out before her
A figure in the distance
She boldly approaches
Bare feet scarred from resistance
For days and days her mother cried
Praying they would find her
There's something here, the men reported
Bare feet and a rope to bind her
Another blessing stripped from the earth
Only footprints left behind
Now, adorned with miraculous wings
Her bare feet, God doesn't mind
How she made it into this world
No one can quite say
She was an angel of God
Sent to guard the very grounds, she played