Long Pretty as a picture Poems
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A Magician we see
Standing so tall
Using his magic
To hypnotize all
Sitting beside him
A High Priestess of power
Pretty as a picture
Soft as a flower
Her lady, her for
The Empress of worlds
Lavish surroundings
Exquisitely pearl
The Empresses man
So high and respected
Emperor of worlds
Or so as elected
An old man of knowledge
The Hierophant so wise
Ask what you will
He'll tell you lies
Two people in love
The Lovers embrace
A candle lit evening
Lust just a trace
The evening then ends
The Lovers elope
In the Chariot of emotions
Only each other devote
Justice comes forth
Our decider of fate
Who'll die with honour
Who'll die with hate
The Hermit an example
From loneliness so deep
A fear that his reality
Will make him take that leap
Then some of us are lucky
The Wheel of Fortune spins free
They live a life of happiness
In perminate luxury
Then some people although
Are born with natural Strength
They fight for their happiness
Who ever they're against
Other people will fall
They become a Hanged Man
Their soul is slowly dieing
Forever eternally damned
Death some do call this
It's why we have been born
For each and every person
Eventually will mourn
Then Temperance calls an order
For the peace must remain
Life she states is serious
Not some childish little game
The Devil begins to laugh
You silly silly fool
All lives that are living
Are my personal playing tools
The Tower is my saviour
My evil evil abode
Unwanted souls dwell there
So stay out of my road
Yet far up above
A Star is shining bright
Filling up that darkness
With a spiritual white light
The Moon is always watching
Helping us to see
Preventing us from falling
A hero he must be
Then the Sun begins to shine
In every person's heart
The good bad or evil
Their never far apart
Judgement then prevails
In all of our lives
As a woman has a husband
Or man has a wife
This is how people
See the World today
So full of hard decisions
Never time to play
So just maybe we all are
Seen as simple Fools
Hopefully you realise
We're humans not tools
This poem is how I see the major cards of the tarot
And the very 1st poem I wrote
O, I love the word "beautiful" and I use it all the time. It is my favorite word
by far and quite versatile too. I use it to describe things that take my breath
away. So, here is a short list of some of the things and feelings I use it for:
Alluring, and all of this thing we call Earth
Bewildering, brilliant, beguiling, butterflies, bees, bird songs
Charming, clouds sailing across the sky
Delightful, divine, dreaming silent verses, dew
Exquisite, enchanting, elegant, entwined and ethereal
Fair as a rose, fluttering wings, foggy scenes, flowers in bloom
Gorgeous, graceful, galloping horses
Heavenly, hair flowing like a river, hushed evenings
In the shadow of nature, in dreams, in poetry, infinite blue skies
Just letting my words fall on white
Keeping memories locked in my heart
Lovely days, love to behold, laughter like music, leaves falling, life
Magnificent, my kitty cat, my garden, mornings, mother and father
Nothing is more joyful, gleeful than happiness
Oh, an azure sky in summer, ocean breezes caressing
Pretty as a picture, promises like delicate flowers
Quiet, quiet forests, quiet peaceful mind, quiet contemplation
Radiant, resplendent, ravishing, raindrops and drips, rivers flowing
Stunning, sublime, shades of time, soft snow falling, stars
Totally fanciful things that take my breath away, sea shells
Utterly blissful feelings, under the summer sun, uncharted paths
Vast open spaces, velvet dark nights
Winsome, wonderful, words that weep, waves crashing on shore
XOXO and Xmas (like kisses, hugs and Christmas)
Yin and yang, yoga, yesteryear yore
Zephyr winds and zigzag zebras leaping
___________________________________
August 17, 2019
Poetry/List/Beautiful
Copyright Protected, ID 1173-868-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Favorite Word
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
First Place
Dreaming of Scotland
She was as pretty as a picture.
Fate had brought her to me at a dark tavern in Germany.
Her raging brown eyes and
auburn hair across gentle and soft shoulders.
Her fragrance of flowers open my senses to her beauty.
Her Scottish accent made me wish to hear her sweet voice.
I was told to be kind to her.
Love was dead to me and
I was infected with rage and hate.
I tried to escape her beautiful face,
drinking and trying to blind my hunger for happiness.
She found me at the tavern.
She wrapped her arms around me.
Kissed my neck, face and lips.
She whispered "Love is a powerful storm.
Please don't speak and allow us to love."
In the mist of softness and opening new doors to joy and bliss.
Sometime you forget to create a safety net to protect yourself
and your sweet love.
A warm Germany summer allow two people to fall into the mercy
of a sweet love. Swim in the gifts young hearts can understand .
Summer was ending,
my Scotland beauty was going home.
She told me of Scotland.
The beauty of the country and the good people.
I told her,
I wanted her forever,
I talked of marriage.
Love took my hand.
She whispered.
"We had a short time to stay together.
I allow you into my heart. Sometime words don't mean a lot.
Love never does died. It only falls asleep till we can open the
door again."
She went home.
I got lost in the booze and liquor,
allowed the deserved load of pain to overtake my kindness.
I still went to the small lake.
And I dreamed of Scotland.
Defined By Idioms
Naked truth, bent nails
dead men tell no tales
bad Apple, broken mirrors
burnt out light bulbs, crocodile tears
spilt milk, goose chase
two cents worth, rat race
rotten egg, bad to the bone
eagle eye, no place like home.
bat from hell,
pulled punch
big cheese,
no free lunch
can of worms, bleeding heart
knock on wood,
till death do us part
bite the bullet, checkered past
good as gold,
last laugh
burning bridges,
ball of wax
hold your horses start from scratch
wooden nickels ace up your sleeve
hair of the dog
all Greek to me
axe to grind
behind the eight ball
bigger they are
the harder they fall
jack of all trades cat's got your tongue
fair weathered friend
like father like son
small world
on thin ice
speak of the Devil roll of the dice
blood's thicker than water
lie like a rug
dime a dozen
when push comes to shove
dog eared pages
eye for an eye
bury the hatchet how time flies clean as a whistle C
chew the fat
crime doesn't pay. cover my ass
throw me under the bus gentle as a lamb
cold shoulder
hit the fan
buyer beware
woman's work never done
never say never
takes one to know one
come Hell or high water
pissing in the wind
pretty as a picture through thick and thin
beat a dead horse pass the buck
whole nine yards down on my luck
life’s a
don't rock boat
needless to say
go for broke
My life is the sum of trite cliches
Jaded expressions
so worthless so worn
I couldn't give it away
She's wound up tighter than an eight day clock.
She likes to roll, and she likes to rock.
She loves playing with Barbie better than she likes to eat.
If you want her to perform, just take a seat!
There's a song in her heart from morning till night.
She'll belt out "Row Your Boat" with all of her might!
Her hair, long blonde locks, she tosses to and fro.
She has a face as round as the sun, and her eyes all aglow.
Her voice is sometimes as soft as a whisper in your ear.
With quiet and childlike phrases, so sweet and so dear.
Sometimes her voice is as loud as thunder!
Where does all that energy come from! I often pause to wonder!
She's as soft and delicate as the sweetest tropical flower.
Beneath all that, she's bubbling forth with such utter strength and power!
I see her standing before a mirror, in her mother's slip and floppy hat.
As pretty as a picture, I admired her as I sat.
She's holding a hairbrush, (as a microphone, don't you see?)
Through the mirror I looked at her, as she glanced back at me.
She cast a one sided smile in my direction.
I laughed softly to myself, filled with such affection.
Only time will tell us just what her future holds.
Her life will surely take many twists and turns and folds.
But for today, I'm sitting here enjoying what I see,
Just Morgan, her mirror, her microphone and me!
Form:
I Love my Love.
.
I love everything about my special love
She’s so sweet and precious with a little girls charm
But all woman personified
And I still find it hard to believe
Such a sublime beauty slumbers by my side
Could give her tender loving heart to me
Making me believe in myself
And seeing what others cannot see
.
I cannot help but smile
When I watch my angel awake
Those big sleepy beguiling mirrors of heat and soul
Her soft textured tresses tussled and teased a mess
And how she thumbles to find her pink slippers beside
Our our feathered nest
Her statuesque shapely nude silhouette
Bathed in morning shade and sunlight
The magnificent curvy body she gives to me
To express my feelings for her and please her needs
Every night
.
She often dresses to please me
And knows how to turn me on
The embers still warm and aglow
After the flames of passion are gone
.
The sweet odour of her natural scent
The pleasant taste of her smooth skin
The soft enticing pouting pillows of heavenly bliss
Where I place my warm eager lips
When we kiss
As pretty as a picture
As sweet and as juicy as the sweetest peach
Hanging from a tree
And well within my reach
.
She is more and so much more
Than I could ever need
My love for her is in every breathe
And every hearts beat.
.
Peter Dome©2020.
Normal people come in packs of six
Some are born in cardboard boxes
In suburbs, in summer, in campers
In the middle of the middle night
In middle class somewhere on a train
Between clicks and clacks on railroad tracks
Rich people shower frequently in power
In God we trust the upper crust to play
Normal people want mobility Up
To supper in good company
To be pretty as a picture on the beach
To frolic in the waves of milk and honey
With apologies to Jesus people sing
Sometimes flat or in harmony
Sometimes in black and white
In dance, in fire, using gravity
Normal people come in from the cold
Candy sweet and happy to be seen
Some come from baby factories
From across the street in greeting seasons
Middle class people love the poor
They love themselves much more
That is why babies are born
Subways are for pedestrians
With no class and in transition
Travelling from left to right
In nature train people are always in motion
Moving on is always right
The mundane remain the same
With Happy Hour and a six pack waiting
Somewhere down the line the land cracks open
It is another earthquake opened with a smile
To My Daughter-in-Law,Aimee-Leigh.
What a beautiful name for a wonderful girl,
Who sets my heart in a whirl;
As pretty as a picture,a heart so big and true,
With a love so pure and perfect,sent out to me and you.
Contrite and sweet,proud and strong,
A melody,to a beautiful song;
Your always there, to show your love,
Just like an angel,sent from above.
It does my heart such pleasure,
Your ways I truely treasure;
As in this life,you find your way,
And also help others,along the way.
God saw my heart,He knew my need,
For the daughter-in-law,that I did plead;
I thank Him for each day,for your place in my life,
And,that my son,found a beautiful wife.
Your welcomed,in this family of mine,
Forever and always,till the end of time;
Thankyou so much,for your love and your care,
And for being my daughter,so true and so fair.
I'm priveledged to know you,as a daughter and a friend,
And to know,you are some-one,on whom I can depend;
God bless you today,and forever more;
And,know that I love you,of that you can be sure.
By Sharon.L.Leonard. 8th,November,2007.
Normal people come in packs of six
Some are born in cardboard boxes
In suburbs, in summer, in campers
In the middle of the middle class
In clicks and clacks on railroad tracks
Rich people shower frequently in power
In God we trust the upper crust to laugh
Normal people want mobility Up
To supper in good company
To be pretty as a picture on the beach
To frolic in the waves of milk and honey
With apologies to Jesus people sing
Some dance in fire merrily
Normal people come in from the cold
Candy sweet and happy to be seen
Some come from baby factories
From across the street in greeting seasons
Middle class people love the poor
They love themselves much more
That is why babies are born
Subways are for the pedestrian class
Travelling from left to right transformative
In nature train people are always in motion
Moving on is always right
The mundane remain the same
With Happy Hour and a six pack waiting
Somewhere down the line the land cracks open
It is another earthquake opened with a smile
The dark spill muddied my canvas:
Made its mess, dislocated light
And thoughtful lines to the edges
While it claimed the center for spite.
It seemed like all was wrecked.
The time I'd worked nightly
To craft something perfect
(Or at least not unsightly)
Laid to waist.
A vision erased.
But then, I spied a photo of the original.
I thought it would be pretty, as a picture.
Instead, I noticed flaws so visible
They would lead a critic to stricture.
It looked off-colored or drab in places.
Contrived and technically bad.
Downright mediocre and graceless.
My memory of the thing had
Rendered more precious and dear
The plainness this new light made clear.
An impression most unimpressive.
The thing once grieved not worth its mourning.
No longer the crafter obsessive
Or wracked with yearning.
What a stroke of luck!
Now on to scrape the surface
Or from a new layer construct
An entirely new interface.
The choice entirely my own
Blank space for the unknown…
With no room left for you.