#precious poems on Hello Poetry

Jamie King 5d

Strolling in a labyrinth of bleeding hearts
with ghost orchids whispering forget-me-not.

Along a path paved with celestites,
the Queen of the Night unfurls by the labradorites,
with the crown carried by Firecrests,
as Lorikeets glide beneath the sky, enthralled
by the harmonious rhapsodies of the nightingale.

The sanctum — a rosette of Angel's trumpets,
alluring Snowy Egrets as Snowdrops embrace the sunset.

This is a symphony of Birds, flowers and rare stones.

#birds #flowers #precious #beauty #love #scenery

Melody Wang Jul 15

Still Life with Bees

In the dim half-light turned blue, she gazes
up at the bees who’ve trapped themselves
in her skylight, the slow hum of tired wings
beating against fat, desperate bodies.

A lone fly flits about up there, also, at ease
in its unbelonging. The bees circle
in growing anxiety, then slow to a crawl.
My throat tightens as I see my mother

grab the flyswatter. Don’t, I whisper,
but her tiny frame is already climbing up
on the kitchen table, her focus unwavering.
Oh, I won’t **** them, she grins,

her arm extending the fly swatter high,
a meager offering swathed in good cheer.
I rush over to steady her body to keep her
from tipping over in this precarious pursuit.

She waves away my offer to trade places
with her. You’re very pregnant, she says,
and her tone tells me there is no arguing
with her. My mother murmurs in Mandarin

to the agitated creatures, calling them
beautiful, letting them know she sees them,
sees how they’ve been up there for far too long
swelling with exhaustion and mistrust.

The first bee slowly climbs onto the swatter
as if entranced by her sweet, clear voice.
She hands me the swatter, and I fumble
with the backyard door, nervously

carrying it into her garden. I place the bee atop
one of my mother’s flowerbeds. It clings
to a sunset-orange bud, and I make my way
back inside. In silence, we retrieve, hand off,

and rehome each bee until all eight are
safely in the garden. Not one makes
any move to leave, content to simply rest
a while, to savor the fresh air, to revel

in the sacred space my mother holds
for every being she meets. In the fading light,
I watch her linger in the bare kitchen, a shadow
of a smile gracing her face. If only

they could see her in this light. Would anything
change? Or would she still merely be the next subway
push, another fatal stabbing as she returns home,
one more life snuffed out in a now-empty nail salon?

Originally published in Last Stanza, published as reprint in Eunoia Poetry.

#pregnancy #motherhood #journey #healing #precious #life

Rhiannon Clayton May 23

Peace

Value your own peace enough to guard it fiercely.
Regard it as something precious,
because it is.
Make no apologies for doing what you think is right to maintain your sense of peace.
No one understands you better than you,
what you must do to take care of yourself,
and you owe no one an apology for how you choose to protect your energy, your peace.

-Rhia Clay

#peace #fierce #precious #apologize #understand #protect #energy #choose #maintain

Sanji-Paul Arvind Mar 20

My Auspiciously Precious One

You are my Precious,
My love towards you is Pious,
My intentions are not malicious,
All I want was to cherish you as glorious.

My thoughts will never be poisonous,
Though there are people various,
I have taken you as a person serious,
Around you I am always curious.

Day by day I am becoming so anxious,
To be part of your life will be fabulous,
I feel being around you is auspicious,
When you are with me, I lose my conscious.

All makes sense and sounds obvious,
We are meant to be not only this but life previous,
If we are together my life will be gracious
My heart for you will always be generous…

By
Sanji-Paul Arvind

#love #romance #precious

Nishu Mathur Mar 15

Collectibles

Somewhere tucked on a bookshelf is a book.
Dogeared, yellow pages with a hand written note.

In a box, lie trinkets — gifts, a pendant of Annie, a book mark.
Hand made cards, smudged with time.

An old doll almost intact,
Broken spectacles, pictures, a watch and postcards.

Some may call it clutter, junk —
And it’ll all go when I go.

But to me, they are the reason behind my smile, an odd tear.

More precious than collectibles or art —
They are pieces of my life,
My world and heart.

#memories #childhood #precious #teens #transience

greatsloth Feb 6

Her Among the Silent Stems

She is that flower in pinkish-red hems
Blooming amidst the silent, withered stems;
She does not need any grace of water,
But pleased to tears that have fallen over

My hand trembles, I cannot pluck her roots—
She's too precious to be in worn-out boots;
Though it hurts, I'll hope there's a gardener
Who'll place her where light shines a bit kinder.

#flower #her #girl #red #blooms #precious #light #kind

Left Foot Poet Jun 21

This, For You: "One wild and precious life”

“We’ve engineered the world for comfort and ease. Most people rarely step outside of their comfort zones these days—we’re living progressively soft, sterile, temperature-controlled, overfed, under-challenged, safety-netted lives1. And it’s slowly limiting the degree to which we experience our, as the poet Mary Oliver put it, “one wild and precious life.””
Michael Easter, Substack

<>><<>

five months have expired
from when this notion
1st caught my notice
but fallow lay,
unattended, unremarked
unforgiving

of my ignorance and inattention

but it freshly, rightly,
core challenges me

guilty of the underbelly softness
so well described,
I
choose to scribe,
wrestle with angel and devil,
two~on~one human,
and yet, still a
fair fight

"wild and precious!"

how rarely we employ these
adjectives,
that conjure the edginess of an
existence

lest you think,
that we are here to implore, urge,
skydiving, remote wilderness trekking, or other physical states
that set adrenaline on fire,
I am not
afterthat for them

oh, my
wild and precious
is far more treacherous and enthralling

what I beg you to embrace is
no farther than
nubs, knobs and stubbled nibs of your fingers,
the taste buds flowering invisible
on the wily, twisty tongue,
the  tiny-vibrating little hairs of your nostril,
two extra large  eggy pupils of your two eyes,
here lies danger,
your customized throbbing throbbing your drumming,
leadings
access to the garden of
The truly wild and precious,

the poems you will scribe,
from the safety of your captains chair,,
Throwing caution to the wind compose and depose yourself with bitter questioning,
For which the answered answers must be truly be
wild and precious

  cyan sighs,
oaken cries,
furious colorless invasive tears,
steely stabbing personal truths,

yes those wild ones,
in your. chest close held,
spill them like cold coffee,
surrender the precious, and
inward confess your
shame, gains  and the relit
that you are not merely
wild and precious
but a sea borne sailor,
a navy voyaging to
to where
danger enthralls
enlivens!

Commenced Feb 9 2025
Completed June 19 3025

#lfp #leftfootpoet #wild #precious #life

Creepypastafairy Dec 2024

Star Saphire

When the sun shines
On this rare stone
Three rays crossing
Each other
Come out on the stone
As we see the three
Rays
It’s a sign of hope
Peace and faith
I don’t know what a black star
Sapphire is that
Of happiness for it
Wards off the Grimm moods

#crystals #newage #healing #poetry #stones #precious #sapphire