colorfully beautiful – paul moosberg

Pink’s pretty passion, Red’s re-revelries
Blue’s babbling brook, Green’s gracefully glee
Purple’s past presence, Orange’s overseas
Yellow’s young yearning, your Love sets me free

Beautiful ranting, of rain color sill
Colors a picture, as image stands still
Full of all fullness, my heart’s past its fill
Loving you darling, with all of my will

beautiful rose – henry clay work

Off on the prairie, where the balmy air
Kisses the waving corn,
There lives a farmer, with a daughter fair–
Fair as a summer’s morn!
She has a nature gentle as a dove,
Pure as the mountain snows;
Say! is it strange that everyone should love–
Love such a girl as Rose?

Beautiful Rose! lovely Rose!
Pride of the prairie bower!
Everybody loves her–everybody knows
She is the fairest flower.

Rose is a lady yet from early dawn,
Labors her skillful hand;
She is the housewife, now her mother’s gone–
Gone to the better land.
Rose has the beauty–father has the gold–
Both will be hers one day;
For she is young, while he is growing old–
Old people pass away.

Clerks from the city, plowmen from the field,
Lords from a foreign land;
Each in their turn have very humbly kneeled–
Kneeled for her heart and hand.
But to them all she made the same reply–
Kindly but firmly, “No!”
And none but I can tell the reason why–
Why she should treat them so.

you are beautiful – fidelis patronus

You are beautiful
Your love shines right through me
Every time I hear your name
It makes my cheeks red with shame

You are beautiful
And I love you
Like I love music
But you much more boldly

How about you and I go down to the park?
It makes this love more mysterious and dark

You are beautiful
Your red lips make my cheeks red
Your flowing hair makes mine stand on end
Jealousy, envy, love, and lust
You cannot be more robust

You are beautiful
Now I have described it as best I can

I should be done talking to myself now
And I think I should talk to the beautiful stranger before me
Or maybe the beautiful you is not man but is this-
Poetry

Yes I believe I will go down to the park
So it is mysterious and dark
And write about you Poetry
For I realize that Poetry is far more beautiful than thee

a beautiful day – charles m moore

I walked to the cliff top to watch the sunset
thinking of you and the time that we met
I watched as the sun drifted down from the sky
a reminding reflection of light in your eyes

A myriad birds flocked from over the hill
returning to roost as the world stood still
their fawning and waving high up in the air
brought memories to me how you unfurl your hair

The sea seemed to amble as if in a trance
when reaching the rocks leaping into a dance
its light sparking rainbows in fine misty haze
a lasting encounter of how we embrace

The sun kissed the horizon like I kiss your lips
it was saying goodnight with its light fingertips
caressing the ocean and stretching my way
a beautiful end to a beautiful day.

alone – deborah ager

Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey. Nine o’clock.
You are alone for the first time
today. Boys asleep. Husband out.

A beer bottle sweats in your hand,
and sea lavender clogs the air
with perfume. Think of yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing to do

after weeks spent attending to others.
Your thoughts turn to whether
butter will last the week, how much
longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.

the images alone – les murray

Scarlet as the cloth draped over a sword,
white as steaming rice, blue as leschenaultia,
old curried towns, the frog in its green human skin;
a ploughman walking his furrow as if in irons, but
as at a whoop of young men running loose
in brick passages, there occurred the thought
like instant stitches all through crumpled silk:

as if he’d had to leap to catch the bullet.

A stench like hands out of the ground.
The willows had like beads in their hair, and
Peenemünde, grunted the dentist’s drill, Peenemünde!
Fowls went on typing on every corn key, green
kept crowding the pinks of the peach trees into the sky
but used speech balloons were tacky in the river
and waterbirds had liftoff as at a repeal of gravity.

man alone – louise bogan

It is yourself you seek
In a long rage,
Scanning through light and darkness
Mirrors, the page,

Where should reflected be
Those eyes and that thick hair,
That passionate look, that laughter.
You should appear

Within the book, or doubled,
Freed, in the silvered glass;
Into all other bodies
Yourself should pass.

The glass does not dissolve;
Like walls the mirrors stand;
The printed page gives back
Words by another hand.

And your infatuate eye
Meets not itself below;
Strangers lie in your arms
As I lie now.