Images-Perfection Ever Flames, An Endless Supply of Moths
As I am,
I'm perceived Perfection
upon my ivory pedestal
in brilliant light
crystalline.
But these are my prison walls
Uniques Glow
is Perfection's Pall
which exiles me from that outer world
of reality.
I cannot mingle there.
My existence is constrained.
As bright as my Radiant Glow,
upon approach
to your world
I would dim
and be destroyed.
We can talk you and I
in Perfection's Harmony
but the moment you gain
my speaking voice,
my thoughts,
all is taken from Perfection's Shelf
and another less perfect me appears.
Nothing will compare
to me as I was.
Should I
in coming to you
destroy that Perfection which is now so dear?
Conundrum.
Corporeal life
is Kryptonite
yet mental isolation is too numbing.
I am Beauty in the light
but unavailable;
forever Uncoming.
Sometimes
Beauty is torture
we ourselves inflict
to escape our worldly life.
But since its shape
is mental most
it cannot ever be.
Pity the person
whose countenance
is corporeal beauty
realized;
they will have the sterner test
of not living up to hearts image most.
Each prince
whom we have constructed
alas, can only live with us
til that moment first,
the single word;
then the dream slips.
Honeymoons and marriages
might last longer I think
if we did not first wed
our Perfect Prince beforehand.
Is it not truth plain
that love itself is only grown
when 1st Prince Born
is laid to rest
and Prince Now
is allowed to live?
How better ground is it
to love the flower in the garden now
than those ones first grown
in Furrows of Gold
in Dream World
where Perfection's Hoe
was Loves Seeder
and Instigator
of the visions
we now hold
of what ought to be?
How can we in flesh and blood
compete with perfect diamond visions
which never fade or rust?
Whose hand is warmer still
than the Princely hand held in our dreams?
Who is sadder than
those who loved us;
yet whose faces are shadowed
by cold, Perfection's Glow?
How to dream
our destiny
yet still
love those
'round us;
remembering these ones
are the ones who will
when we, in time, tomorrow
are no longer our Own Prince
or Princess Image;
no longer Perfection's Darling.
Rest you better in Human Arms;
while they grow old and leather
they'll not in the end
take your pride and sell it away
to Dream Land Barons
and Rock Star Princes
who all live in Hollywood.
What to do?
abandon Vision
goals and Prince;
leave aside Destiny?
No, we must grapple with
this conundrum sent:
wrapped up
Perfection and Beauty;
living along side
uneasily,
with what is merely Human,
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Related quotes
Perfection
Your cold and poor-spirited love
Was like running water upon my hands...
I did for your love, all that I could....
As an imperfect man that I am...
I offered you just possible things...
Warmth when you were cold,
And consolation when you felt hopeless...
You search for perfection
Which you will never find...
Perfect is the rain that falls
In the spring time...
Perfect are the flowers that grow
in a real garden of love....
Perfect is the smile in a child
Who plays with toys...
Perfection is a man
Who had it all
And now is getting tired and old...
Perfection are the memories
In your heart and mind...
Perfection is something
You shall never find
On me or any other man
Since perfection is just
In your dreams and imagination...
Now perfection becomes
Just like a story untold....
How sad it is
That my love you can no longer have
Neither my hands again hold...
o! Woman, wish you good luck
In your new try...
COPY WRITE©2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Yogi post-it to William Carlos Williams
Thanks for leaving one…
I can only say,
that in the passing moment
the cold perfection of that plum
reflected my perfection
reflecting all perfection
and the beauty of that moment
was but my own beauty
which must be, is, the beauty of the One
so I hope the remainder
were as perfect, beautiful
for you
so why not
write a poem about this?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Maryann's Lament
Sculpting you in Precognition's Mind
had been my special mental preoccupation
and now
I cannot abide
ever leaving you;
your vision's
become
my sustaining aberration
gleaming it is in Perfection's Glow
and now no one
I fear
will match
its silver tones
its dulcet notes
which have now
captured me;
its vision
cannot
abide
another now
even if I
meet now
its twin.
I'd have to
lash
you and he
together
in my mind's vision
but I know that will fail
I'll ask how can
flesh and blood
compete with
crystal visions;
how can
human hands
glow
as much
as the hand
of my imaginary
love?
Perfection thus
is life's enemy
if we prefer
the vision of it
to
real live
human beings
and I
older now
am alone with it
drained
only now
realizing
visions
are nice
but will
in the end
leave you alone
with this
now cold
vision;
unsustaining
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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This peach my teacher
This peach
that I’ve just eaten,
been graced by,
been blessed by,
been taught by,
been transformed by…
it’s as if some
Messenger of the Gods
had arrived, stopwatch in hand,
saying, everything holds in perfection
but a little moment -
as William Shakespeare noted:
so I’m going to arrange things so that
as the stopwatch ticks out
ten seconds to that moment,
you’ll reach out your hand to the fruitbowl,
take it, feel its yielding softness under velvet skin,
cut it carefully twice through the poles,
once equatorially… and as it falls apart,
spear one segment; eat…
this peach
was full of what even Rilke
could say no more than, peachness..
it was a living proof of Plato:
its perfection taught me
where essence meets experience,
where actuality meets the ideal of peach;
where a singular perfection speaks of
all perfections; where perfection
leaves from perfection, naught else but perfect…
how could such a perfect thing
have been invented by one
who does not love? Who is not love?
This peach is love itself, and I the worshipper
must needs make of myself a living God
to whom to kneel, to offer praise and gratitude
for all perfection known..
this peach my teacher.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Dreaming's Art
He could see
that she loved him;
no, more like Idol Worship.
'You' she said
'are the Man of my Dreams
my Prince Charming.
Everything you touch
turns to gold
including me.
I laid down my heart for you
hand pressed my soul for you,
danced round your Maypole
like a young girl in spring.
You populated my every dream;
you in my eyes-
could do no wrong or harm-
you were my dreams' dream.
He: said:
I see now my dear
this was Dangerous Praise
and Deadly Love
at least for me.
I felt in love too
but more with your
image of me,
not as I really was.
And so as not to disappoint
I pretended to believe
the image of me
dancing in your eyes
but in doing so
I participated in
the subterfuge;
creating someone
who was only a facsimile
of the real me
who
then
went into hiding
dreading to be discovered.
To you I was your hero-
the one to up-end every wrong
and we
busily,
both of us,
constructed
white picket fences
in the blue, blue sky.
She:
'I believed you were my superman,
you said so too.'
He:
'I said so because you seemed
to need me to be that fantasy,
and I had no heart to disappoint
that precious dream
you had of me.
She:
'But you did disappoint because I began
to see
that you were not superman
or perfect even.
He:
'And that disappointment in your eyes
was too much for me.
Too much for me to bear.
In time
resentment came
because why should I
live to be another's dream
even the dream of the one I love?
And you too
were not perfection's dream
you too in time
were revealed to me
as merely a woman
a person, not perfect,
not a dream.'
She:
And there we stood the both of us
pouring hurt and harm
on each other as human beings
preferring to cling to our perfect
dream scheme;
even as we came to understand
Misplaced Dreams are not dreams at all
but potential nightmares.
She looked at him,
with her deep, sad eyes
saying:
'Do you think you could love me
if my beauty fades
if my breasts succumb to gravity;
if other women to you
siren call?
He said 'Could you still love me
if in morning light
my paunchy eyes
and thick waist
become pronounced
and lumpy high?
So these two in fading light
allowed themselves
to contemplate
Irony's Twists
and the struggle between
what our dreams want
and who we really are;
so much at stake here
so little it takes
to merely
accept
that dreams are not real;
people are.
This is not to say
dreams must die.
Rather only dream
that dream
which constitutes Love’s Art
which comes with the words:
'I shall love you
til death do us part.'
That too
is a dream:
True,
True Love
imparts.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Perfect Lie/ You Are Loved The Way You Are
Stand in front of the mirror
Either boys or girls, some got depression
Try to find yourself underneath the reflection
Dissect each point, seek for perfection
Dreaming of perfection, adore some corrections
Never know the word of satisfy
Already beautiful but admire to modify
Don't you know who really you are?
You are loved by the way you are
Most of us rather see what appeared outside
always forgot to evaluate what lies inside
Most of us deceived by the open eyesight
always fooled because blinded heart-sight
Perfection makes everyone affected
Perfect one is what you wanted
Perfect lie is what you invented
Perfect word only a word that human created
A real you, that what you have neglected
Dear,
Don't feel down,
if u are blessed as jasmine flower
Why must you envy of that sunflower
I know, it is big, sweet yellow, catchy for eyes to look
But, don't you know sunflower adore the way you look?
Hypnotize fragrance by cute in white, posses its own hook
So unfair to compare the different beauty you both look
Jasmine, u never be sunflower even u dressed in yellow
The fake pigment will fade away soon
Sunflower, perfumed never make u placed in jasmine row
The artificial scent will gone before noon
No need to hear anyone to drag you down
Yet thou be like a rose, beauty guarded by thorns
Thankful to have what u have now
You always loved by who you are now
It is always good to be yourself
Better than lost yourself in your own lie
In fantasy, to taste perfection, perfect lie u got
In reality, perfection is only belong to God
And...you are always loved the way you are
*Note: U are beautiful, no matter what people say...
This is for everyone that think they are not good enough
in many aspects not limited to beauty perception
poem by Unwritten Soul
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Perfection
Hush little baby, gotta be strong
cause in this world we are born to fight
Be the best prove them wrong
A winners work is never done
Reach the top number one
Perfection...
Oh perfection
You drive me crazy with perfection
Ive worn my pride as my perfection
Perfection....oh!
I was taught to be tough
That the best that you can be aint enough
Crack the whip, sacrifice
But I found out paradise had a price
I didnt know it then
But oh I know it now
You gotta work as hard at love
To make the love work out
You know this heart of mine
Had made some big mistakes
I guess that when it comes to love
I just dont know what it takes...
Chorus:
All my life Ive been driven by perfection
Pushed it to the limit every day and night
Whoa...Ive been driven by perfection
But nothins perfect when love aint right
Nothins perfect when love aint right
Gave it all played my part
I gave everything I had but my heart
Worked so hard made a name
But the loneliness inside stays the same
When love is here to today
And then its gone today
You got a list of lovers like a resume
You gotta take some times
To make it something real
I guess that when it comes to love
I just dont know how to feel
Chorus repeat
Oh perfection
You drive me crazy with perfection
Ive worn my pride as my perfection
Im goin crazy with perfection
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Perfect of One
So if this kiss
I mean to kiss
happens and it
runs amiss
and you or I
suffer disappointment
will we forever eschew
the kissing
and its sweet intents
because we sought
that which was more perfect
than either of
us?
That I guess would be silly.
But how sweet is the love
held in our breasts
how wonderful is the kiss never made
how perfect the kiss before the touch of lips
gentle touch;
and the kiss is done;
it may or may not be the perfect gem
the before-kiss was.
Ah, life so often
interrupts my dreams
and forces me to love
me imperfectly
and you as well.
No, imperfect is not the word;
perhaps it is better seen
as the union of our two worlds
which by definition means me
and not me coming together
bringing home the point
that can perfection mate
when I am the only one in the portrait,
and a perfect of one;
which is not really
perfection at all;
or is that really
only the Perfection
of Alone?
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Actual Beauty!
Beauty without love will meet with the fate of Dorian Gray!
Beauty is the outer make up to make one look better;
Actual beauty differs from apparent one in almost all cases.
Actual beauty is inner love glowing bright out attractive at once;
True beauty is inner beauty naturally impressive in all respects.
Beauty lies in the perfection of thoughts, words and deeds in all;
Beauty is truth, perfection, love, freedom, joy and peace in one!
Art is a work of beauty as adequate expression only can complete it;
Poetry is an art as it makes beauty out of chaos logically meaningful.
Architectural work of Pyramid or Pisa is a frozen beauty of symmetry!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Perfection
I found perfection in her smile,
Her golden strands of hair,
Her peachy lips I'd kiss a while,
If we had time to spare.
I found her beauty matched her style,
The clothes she chose to wear...
Upon her heart, meant to beguile,
With love beyond compare...
I found perfection in her eyes,
Like twinkling stars of light...
And in the stirring of my sighs
And love's great appetite...
Yet most of all, I realise,
Beyond her teeth so white,
Her mouth speaks words so worldly wise,
That doubts in her take flight.
I found perfection in her heart,
She says beats now for me...
As if she's struck by Cupid's dart
And filled with ecstacy...
What mysteries love can impart
To spirits fancy free...
I found perfection from the start
And all eternity...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Perfection
(desmond child/ diane warren)
Producer for bonnie, cher & darlene: desmond child
Recorded in 1987, bonnie did guest vocals on this song for cher's self-titled lp, along with 60's session queen darlene love.lyrics taken from uk cd sleeve.
Hush little baby, gotta be strong
'cause in this world we are born to fight...
Be the best, prove them wrong
A winner's work is never done...
Reach the top, number one
Perfection...
Oh, perfection
You drive me crazy with perfection
I've worn my pride as my protection
Perfection...oh!
I was taught to be tough
The best that you can be ain't enough
Crack the whip, sacrifice
But i found out paradise had a price
I didn't know it then
But oh i know it now
You gotta work as hard as love
To make the love work out
You know this heart of mine
Has made some big mistakes
I guess that when it comes to love
I just don't know what i takes...
Chorus:
All my life i've been driven by perfection
Pushed it to the limit every day and night
Whoa...i've been driven by perfection
But nothing's perfect when love ain't right
Nothing's perfect when love ain't right...
Gave it all
Played my part
I gave everything i had but my heart
Worked so hard
Made a name
But the loneliness inside stays the same
When love is here today
And then it's gone today
You got a list of lovers lookin' like a resum?br> you gotta take some time
To make it something real
I guess that when it comes to love
I just don't know how to feel
(chorus)
Oh, perfection
You drive me crazy with perfection
I've worn my pride as my protection
I'm goin' crazy with perfection
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Woman at the Crossroad Who Laughed
As I walked up the pavement, up the slight hill
to the traffic lights at the crossroads outside the station,
I saw her waiting to cross.
Or rather, I saw first, her laugh..
She held the hand of her son
as she exchanged words with a passing friend
and laughed..
and what I saw in her eyes, her whole face,
as she laughed, was that as she laughed -
(did she know this? How could I tell her, a stranger?
Lady, lady, at the crossroad of our lives,
I’m writing this poem for you now…)
as she laughed, while she laughed,
I saw that she was in touch, the whole of her,
with her deepest self – just that… all that…
and as I saw that self, which was
(Lady, are you reading this?)
the perfection of perfection, all that’s perfect…
it was as if – no, it was just so –
her self looked at me, and so
the perfect looked at the perfect;
herself and mine together laughed,
laughed at imperfection
and as the perfect looked, it saw perfection
spreading through my eyes from our shared self
so that her son was perfect; and her friend was perfect;
and all around us, every they and it were perfect..
(Lady, Lady, at the Cross’s foot,
was it like this for You?)
the light turned green. And we were free
to cross the road; and
free to live; and
free to laugh away illusion; and
free to be ourselves; forever,
in that time which is forever.
Lady, by my faith, this by my hand;
and with my life I do yet swear
upon my life, this to be true;
Lady, hear, in this my orison,
there are no sins
to be remembered.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I am what you would call a stern taskmaster. I expect perfection. And then a little more perfection when perfection is offered.
quote by Estee Lauder
Submitted by Simona Enache
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0337Just a moment
The usual disgusting scene:
the sneezes coming one after the other
so no fun enjoying the one;
the coughs like an iron file along the lung,
coughs that just weren't going anywhere;
and as for the nose-blowing stuff -
beats any horror film in Sensurround...
and in the midst of all this carefully selected
personal misery.
a moment of perfection.
there it was, full on,
looking one straight in the eye:
perfection.
and because it was perfect
all you could do was look at it and register
and because it was perfect,
it was peaceful
and because it was peaceful it was still
and because it was still it wasn't going to go away
and all you could do was, to just be 'yes! '
and because perfection is - well, perfect -
there has to be Mr Other
saying in best TV style
'So that's it, huh? Just that? And I'm supposed to get the message?
Do me a favour...'
but it hadn't gone away.
Well that's how it was this afternoon.
You get the evidence without the commentary.
The back-up.
The instruction book in five not-quite languages.
The friend who's been there.
Or some less extreme scenario.
But no. That's it.
And you know you won't forget it.
Call you later.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Perfection
Perfection is a life-time work,
We try attaining through sheer toil,
And hardly see the peak at all,
But keep sliding down, even fall!
Perfection is akin mirage,
That dupes our senses and our mind,
And drives us crazy, crestfallen,
Like horizon that stays untrue!
Perfection is subjective then,
And differs from issues, moments,
Making man give up halfway through,
And leaving him imperfect still!
Perfection is a ghost-like goal,
That hardly can be half-attained,
Despite our best perseverance,
Defeating us well in the end!
poem by John Celes
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Music is harmony, harmony is perfection, perfection is our dream, and our dream is heaven.
quote by Henri Frederic Amiel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Primordial One
The Primordial One is immanent, while He’s never transcendent
And this existent world, at the beginning, was only His vision.
The Lord has Being to create his vision-world without lightweight
For this real world of Becoming, with His meticulous precision.
At the beginning, we were His imagination; we were a reason for creation
And, only for being with Him, He made us, in time, to become so real.
Tower of Babel wasn’t an illusion, when people suffered tongues confusion,
God isn’t an illusion in our perfection, when His plans He wants to reveal.
We are in our Apollinian illusion, when we think that God means confusion
And our own perfectionism we try to reach in the mean time.
But in the reality of our Apollinian confusion, God is no longer an illusion.
In this ache of Being and in this agony of Becoming, He’s sublime.
To reach our perfection we sing a hymn, we need to be with Him,
Because when we are not with Him, we are in the illusion of Being.
Without transmogrifying us, to transfigure Him, sometimes, we have a whim,
Because we need to understand our illusory own perfection in wellbeing.
We try to put ourselves in His place, in order to understand His grace
We need the Dionysian illusion of Being to experience the world we know.
In both Dionysian and Apolllinian illusions, we jump to our conclusions.
We are illusory Primordial Beings creating our Apollinian powerful show.
I am this person staring back from His mirror at me, I want existent to be.
I want to identify this image with myself and to realize who I really am.
Because of my sins I lost my serenity, I have a sense of my mistaken identity.
I was His dream, I am His child and for saving me He sent me His lamb.
Everyone is dreaming, but it seems that no one really believes in dreams.
One by one we need to wake up out of our own illusions of self.
The world of minds is the God's mental projection, it has interconnection.
Without this major pervasive reality, the world is not existent in itself.
The sufferings of people can be for some an illusory space, having no grace,
And they live in their own world of solely material realities without restricts.
Others believe in the world, which is non-physical and it's essentially spiritual,
They need a mental, spiritual and moral dimension to life, without conflicts.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Perfect Blame
If I write the perfect poem
then my creation
mocks me
because it is perfect
and I know I am not.
The imperfect poem
is better for me
yet perfection
haunts
and I continue to strive
for its outlines
even as I concede
imperfection's continence
is more like me.
It may be I have to concede
that I and all of us are perfect
as we are inside
but once perfection moves outside my skin
the world taints it
with its imperfections
and I have to take the blame.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Like All Things With Time Roses Whither Away
Like all things with time roses whither away,
as does the frail beauty of lingering youth
which comes to sweet perfection on a day,
the waning of life is an ultimate truth,
as life and living is not what it seem
and daily we do live and play wantonly
while like roses, life is fair as we do deem,
but destiny strikes uncommonly
while all of life, living is just a show
in which some joy and some errors are made,
while with love at times we do like roses glow,
with time everything does eventually fade,
while at a time the canker of death lies,
even in the most beautiful of eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Defining Perfection
What is perfection other than
a self conflicting inner obsession?
Perhaps the word needs new
subjective definition
Perfect seen in multi-dimensions
unique to each individual perception
perfect not being the finished product
but acceptance of progress enduring struggle
perfection in a strength and willingness to stand
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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