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
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.
Oh Valentine, Oh Valentine,
Please won’t you be my Valentine,
I love you oh so very much,
I always hunger for your touch
I think about you all the time,
I know that one day you’ll be mine,
Friends say, you're pretty as a picture,
Of Greek and English you're a mixture,
I want to ask you to marry me,
To understand what you mean to me,
You are my everlasting destiny,
And bring me to the brink of ecstasy,
We’ll build a love nest in a tree,
Like the birds we’ll fly so free,
We’ll have one girl and a little boy,
Who’ll bring us so much fun and joy,
So Valentine, my Valentine,
Please be my own dear Valentine.
His name sounds like water
like waves on the sea
like a summer breeze in the tallest tree
Zachary, Zachary, Zachary
His face is pure white
he has a beautiful smile
he is the romantic candle in darkness
He is the sound of the poem
the sound of the music
the rhythm of rhyming words
He came and casted a spell
he came and showed his existence
Even though he's too far
I remember every action of his
Him laughing and smiling
Geez, his warmest hug
his charming face
I don't know what to say
He's unexplainable
he's a dictionary itself
he's as pretty as a picture
They are right when they say
love drives you crazy
love makes you blind
love makes the world go around
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
It's April twenty-fifth and it's still snowing,
Lightly raining down upon the town.
Pretty as a picture, wind is blowing,
Melting quickly as it hits the ground.
The streets awash in slush it wets my shoes,
So rubber boots are needed to transgress,
The puddles 'long the street where once there grew,
Small flowers 'fore the winter put to rest.
It's the last snow of the year and cold and wet.
Jack Frost has packed his bags and finally left,
But there's a chill still left behind lest we forget,
That he'll be back again a lingering guest.
For now we're looking forward to the summer,
Days of picnics, barbecues and summer sun.
We'll forget when minus ten seemed a bit warmer,
As we frolic in the sunshine having fun.
A father photo-shopped a picture of his daughter who took her own life....
Pretty as a picture
She smiles at you
With faraway eyes
Forever young now
Remember her in happiness
In love so precious too.
© Paul Warren Poetry
#1
That's a tall girl,
lean and tan,
pretty as a picture.
#2
This kid's short,
pale but chubby,
and yes, pretty in her hazel eyes.
#3
This girl, with curly hair,
fair, pretty, lean.
Not very tall, not very small.
#4
This shy girl,
with milk coffee skin
and bright black eyes.
#5
This girl, with a moon of a face,
long chinese eyes,
smile lighting her face.
#6
Twin of #5,
looking nothing like her sister,
Darker, slimmer, and hyperactive at times.
#7
this tall girl,
thin hair in two tight plaits,
tries her best to play the clown.
#8
Enter her, small in size,
nerdy looks overpowering:
making her pretty smiles smart.
And except herself, without a reason,
bother about the figure of #8.
Are they jealous of her:
being 15, but too small for her age?
Or are they just bullying?
Either way, it's not their figure...
She’s the colour in a rainbow
The sun breaking through a cloud
As tasty as the best Bordeaux
You’re the stand out in a crowd
She’s the topping on a cupcake
The light from the brightest star
As pretty as a picture
You’re the one who has my heart
She’s a model in the making
The raindrop on a flower
As alluring as a mermaid
You’re a woman of my dreams
She’s like honey from a bee
The sweetest of the sweet
As delicate as a butterfly
You’re a moonbeam reflecting off the sea
She’s an actress on the tele
The woman’s got it all
As famous as the Mona Lisa
You’re my imaginary fling
In another frame of mind on the horizon built of art
Stationed on the high plateau still rising with the sun
In a cedar home, cathedral ceilings incomplete of features
Massive crystal windows installed to take advantage of the light
Modern art mixed with ancient masters hang themselves
On plastered walls not quite ready for a conversation
As the mind goes deeper into contemplation of the sight
Thoughts about it all stretch out in pastel ingenuity
Overlooking all this excitement
The endless ocean with rogue waves steps in the mix
Fifty foot high rolling monsters crash over to oblivion
Crash against the rocks below the home under construction
Diving back into themselves on tides as if they were alive
Controlled by no one with the wind as they collide
Sun light is the only witness and perhaps the little man
Inside the house, inside his mind, as pretty as a picture
With nothing else
Gorgeous trust me ( real title)
I look at you, you'er as skinny as can be.
You look in the mirror it's an elephant you see.
Gorgeous comes in big and small , trust me.
But beautiful is what I see, before me.
You're as pretty as a picture, cute as can be.
Like a flower off a Japanese cherry tree.
So charming and gracious so carefree .
You would be any mans cup of tea.
I hope these words will make you see.
You're the jam on my scone the sugar in my Tea.
The girl of my dreams the one for me.
Now give us a cuddle ya silly old be .
comp entry 06122016
Robin Redbreast.
When I see the Robin Redbreast sit upon my windowsill
I think of when the snow falls and everywhere seems still.
Pretty as a picture as the gardens dressed in white
there seems to be a peace on earth as life vanishes from sight.
Cause people in their homes will stay to keep themselves
safe and warm.
As out there in the garden there's brewing up a storm.
I look and see more snow fall, three weeks and it's there still.
So is Robin Redbreast upon my windowsill.
I feed him nuts, bread and bird seed to help him through this spell
I hope he gets enough from me to keep him feeling well.
Cause when the snow has lifted and winter months have past
Little Robin Redbreast disappears very fast.
An English Rose
My english rose a flower so devine.
Gods inspiration sent down from up high
only ever matched when pretty girls smile
Pretty as a picture, precious, sublime
natures picture, perfect mona lisa
My english rose a flower so devine
Silk flowers who's aroma is sublime
whos petals capture english summer time
only ever matched when pretty girls smile
The classic symbol of love undying
even the most beautiful girl would prize
My english rose a flower so devine
A flower treasured by our kings and queens
a rose can say sweetest things,i love you
only ever matched when pretty girls smile
the english rose inspires loves true desire
summers english rose true flower power
My english rose a flower so devine
only ever matched when pretty girls smile
Villanelle Me A Flower or Flowers - Poetry Contest
contest entry 09062016
KNOW THIS YOUNG LADY-THIS IS ME
A night to remember and the possibility of you being the
newest friend to enter my time and space,
And to me meeting you was love at first sight.
Small minded men’s first thought would be of the physical
manisfestation before even the first embrace
But I wish to expand our minds, search for and find a new
universe to explore together as a kite
Fly’s off into the wind.
I want to be different with you, treat you as a mighty Queen
and use the head that runs my body, soul and mind.
I want to know what you think, massage your inner peace and
discover a new world inside of each other.
To other’s you could be pretty as a picture or you could not, my
goal is to bypass physical attraction and see if we will find
A mental connection that will propel our souls to another universe
ignoring those who through sheer ignorance never bother
To look inside of your mind and soul.
Reid J. Lewis
Flirting With Death, Gods And Devils
Blonde, blue eyes, tall and slim
Pretty as a picture without the wings
They go by the old names; “Lucifer’s minions”
Fellow demons on the Earth
Flirting with the boys and girls
Today, in black suits, they pray in church
Prey afterwards on lost souls
Found in corporations
They win the hearts of everyone with a wink
Gentlemen under the skin with hidden sin
As the gods they are
Never have to go too far from heaven
Gods and devils are the same
They simply operate under assumed names
We are their armies in training
Flirting with death
Is a dangerous undertaking
Created on 1/19/15 for - “Gods and Devils” – Poetry Contest
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