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21.5k · Apr 2014
The (k)night
Wass Apr 2014
The burning flowers underline the sunset and 
Dash before the fire (k)night catches them.
Ripe berries cheaply
but hopefully their vitality won't burst the pulp pulsating

Crumbling flowers
crumb the floor
And Prisms of catching silver refract rose quartz and petal
and crimson

Bejewelled in Scarlet,
the air,
as the (k)night approaches, grows colder,
Unsure of whether he will bring
solace or strife.

In his chariot
he flies faster than the bees which buzzed around the fruit flutes
in the morning and among the trumpeting bluebells.

Stars fleck the (k)night
like freckles
and the milky ways resins stain his spouting steams lovely. 

The (k)nights kind onyx reaches his crescendo and the floating moon danced drowsily through the cloud's spiralled tendrils

Which diminish as dawn
so their Tentilcles
droop to crinkled tissue paper sheathed in pink.

And so the (k)night
rides on into
The frivolous sunrise.
The lowing, glossy calves
in sage beside the ***** fields
cast a beloved ambience 

As though
we are safe
in the knowledge
that the sky will remain
topaz and the leaves
forever emerald.
17.2k · May 2014
Wass May 2014
Golden calm flows through me as the glittered dragonfly's frame and fairy wings buzz over pooled Monet oil.
11.0k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
The guilt is so great
it's gilt in gold.
It shouldn't be.
But my gilded guilt 
was gilt in gold by me.
8.3k · Apr 2014
Spring x2
Wass Apr 2014
Blueberry bluebells
sing, imperceptibly
against a backdrop of
quiet cerulean.

You know
it is Spring when
their hazy grasses
sprout beautifully
thick in the blades
between the primrose,
and when the sun
infuses shafts
of bronze to the lilac
through the giant
ash's baby
7.8k · Apr 2014
Hymns of the lemon pips.
Wass Apr 2014
I'm sat in a pearl 
on your lips
Mouthing sweet hymns
Of the lemon pips
That you spit from your lips
I'm stood in ruby
In your hair
Hearing bitter chorals 
of beetroot stalks
That you hang from your ear.

I'm struck in amethyst 
Through your pupil
Tasting great lilacs
And smelling supple, 
Subtle lavender.
7.2k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
Pearl swans shatter
the ice,
and glide swiftly through the
stars sparkling
on the mirror lake.
Twilight falls to the night
and the air
creates glistening
twisted crystals which climb
up the trees and freeze
the antique summer remnants.
The spindled sprigs of silver
birches drape their lustre
wantonly, forming long
ripples in a lengthy cascade.
Then the darkness retreats as
the pale blue haze of dawn approaches
where the robin's breath
sighs tangibly on the air.
First poem I've written seriously! Rather excited by it all and can't stop writing. Any feedback would be greatly welcome.
6.3k · May 2014
Wass May 2014
My freckle flecked love
      stirs the speckled paintbrush soft, dousing it's hairs so that,
    as I pull it back,
all the bristles bend
     seamlessly, and when I let go
they ping forwards,
a scattering of stars,
         onto snowy canvas.
6.2k · Apr 2014
Sea walk
Wass Apr 2014
The lantern bunting
Is looped between the street
Lamps against the sea
It is gorgeous
When you walk among them
And see
The dusk
When horizons
of ultramarine and seaweed
collide with cantaloupe and dusty red and honey .
5.9k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
Cinnamon peppers
the rooftops in December
and the shattered
whispers over the hills.

It makes you sneeze
and your fingers
which causes
evermore solace
with the warming fumes
of myrrh.

The bubbles
which circle the edge
of your tea, darling,
pop on your nose
as the steam rises

we sit in rose,
while outside
the horizon is smudged
with ash, and coal
and dirt.
one of my favorite poems that I have written :)
5.6k · May 2014
Materialistic love
Wass May 2014
I instagram 
Your heart on the wall
And let the love stew.
Materialistic love
Of cupboards and
vermillion hue.
4.7k · Apr 2014
Trees and Sunsets
Wass Apr 2014
The braches of the faint oak were bewitched to a dark gold under
the orange, thick silk sunset. 
The wood, as the sun lowered, changed from apple green
to golden billow
which swept foamy,
rose clouds along a now cucumber, blurry horizon.
Plump plums and fruit rinds
litter ripe walkways alongside the flower beds who's tickled buds
are closing slightly as the fickle sky, gone nine, turns to a majestic
Indian blue and the June monastery's milky swirls are lit by the sugar lump stars.
Just love writing about trees and sunsets!
4.7k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
Delightful march
breathes in on the sound of the swallows
chirp, and in the pungent scent of lemonade.

Daffodils brave the curtain call
and splash in yellow fountains which
powder the grass canary
and rich caramel.

Boughs of cherry trees burst
once more with indulgent,
fatuous blossoms of sugared coral,

Their marbled paper florets billow
in the gusts rising and falling like
the flocks of starlings.

The future is close, wide and happy.
4.7k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
It's 5:11am. A pretty time.
The street lights outside, in my dipped  valley lane,
glow orange against the soft, warm, gloomy shades of morn.
The pretty pitter-patter of rain I can
hear on the roof is adorning the bluebells in crystals which will twinkle when the wild wide world wakes.
Wrote this this morning from bed:)
4.5k · May 2014
Stifled spring
Wass May 2014
The purple haze
of heather had
dwindled in the sunshine.
Bluebells were breaking too,
their florets a flutter.
Smoggy incense rolls in
off the horizon smoking
over the crumbled mountaintops,
their peaks unable to break the surf.
4.4k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
February is brighter.
It's pale blue
aura juxtaposes
the deep purple
of January.

It stutters
in, reminding us
that the adamant doors
of winter have been closed
to ajar.

Only the thin confetti
of snow now lines
the streets in
it's final celebration.

Blue smoke from the slates
thaw the crystals
and the bluebirds
have returned
to the sycamore tree.
4.1k · May 2014
Wass May 2014
Pearl flakes, delicate shards scatter,
shatter. Woven silently, heavily softly, slowly, wafting. Swirling into sparkling sundials.
3.5k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
The wild blackberry
plume bursts,
effervescent under briar
and brambles,
brilliant indigo and magenta prior.

We picked the posy
and sweet fruits
which scalloped along the ditch
until our baskets were full and rich.

The bronzey leaves quiver gently
but do not fall
however thick thorns plenty
tear our long skirts
and scratch our pasty legs.

Stained with dirt
And blood and mud
We skip home through thyme.
Through our childhood as
The blackbirds caw.
3.3k · Apr 2014
A gloomy stroll
Wass Apr 2014
My eyes search
the navy air
but are unable to
depict the
soft features of the rabbits
loping tentatively
through patchy glebe.

I wish it was spring with
bright white fruits.
Just ripe.
Not summer, because 
in the summer we cloy 
under the fat cream trees.

I want to see you,
and the wild hares,
but the twilight's 
its secrets from us.
Went on an evening walk yesterday in the evening and there were lots of rabbits but it was too dark to see them properly! It inspired this.
3.3k · Jul 2014
Mrs Unknown
Wass Jul 2014
This is Mrs Unknown.
She likes to roam
the rainbow
at night
or in her dreams
And fly with her razor fingers
splayed like the falling stars 
whos dust cascades
from the Heavens
into her fried egg eyes.
She likes to ballet
dance across the unwinding
circled junctions, like the moon, and
Sing song while her trainers jog
in rhythm to the bells and belts of starlight.
Haven't written in ages! I do enjoy mixing up random words together
3.1k · Apr 2014
Poem from bed
Wass Apr 2014
It's annoying 
That I write fullest
As the moon is breaking
At midnight noon
And when the stars
Fleck a paintbrush sky.

Annoying because
I want to be 
In beaming
sun dials and
Marshmallow clouds
Which swallow me up 
Into a rosy pearl.

Annoying because,
Just as I do with the words,
I want to escape the day
Which I can't handle and 
in happy

But this
form of
makes me sleepy 
and the creeping,
Inescapable day
Ever more... difficult
3.1k · May 2014
Drip dry on my bed
Wass May 2014
I swirl the loose skin
of my forehead like the swirls
of stars, in weariness of the world.
My lashes beaded with drops,
from the shower that I was to tired
to dry, blur my vision like the floating boat clouds which blur
the moon to a
of smoke.
I lie, wet in my towel uncaring that
my body is forming a silhouette
of shadowed dampness on
my bed.
Can't be bothered to change after my shower so wrote a poem about it instead :)
3.0k · May 2014
The buttercup.
Wass May 2014
The sprouting buttercup
dangles into the purpled,
doting sky. It's waxy spangles
nuzzle the moist,
crisply dewed, fluff
whilst billowing across merry air. 

The yellow buttercup
dozes in spiced, lean dapples,
setting its soul ablaze in sumptuous echoes at the sheer
drape of dawn.

The teacup buttercup
outspreads it's wings
amongst tall spiked grasses
and wild flowers.
Shifting shafts and shards
of grass and glass
and forever awaiting the larks cry
which means its time to die.
2.9k · Apr 2014
A mood for sunsets
Wass Apr 2014
Golden shawls envelope
flushing, blending fabrics
which billow 
under the waxen blackbird's
silky braided feathers.
Heaven's vault, a celestial sphere of blue yonder,
a swirling palette of oils
suffusing and dancing,
wrapping their ringlets
into one thousand spirals
which signet shadows onto the 
slender impressions in the sog.
Illuminous, voluminous salmon
bleaches blushing black tissue
to pale primrose promising the cobalt then marrying to aquamarine.
Stained glass fingers barely protruding from aurelian pews.
2.8k · Apr 2014
Christmas excuses
Wass Apr 2014
I wish
It were Christmas 
Because I love the frenzy
And excuses it brings.

It's a beautiful 
Excuse to not do 
The ******* things 
In life that we spend 
Our lives doing.

The fairy lights 
Entwined in the trees
Cross continents 
With the buzz
of electricity.

I wish it were 
Christmas because
It brings the beautiful 
Excuse to love

Just as we love
The icy daisies
Of spring I love
The warm branches 
Of bare Christmas Trees

I wish it were Christmas
Because I want to 
Hang the rosewood
Baubles round 
And see the glitter of sequin
Bunting strung happily
About the bedrooms.

I love the beautiful 
Excuses brought
In the gifts bought 
And how love is sieved 
Through in the snow.
I miss christmas ok!
2.6k · Apr 2014
Stained red
Wass Apr 2014
The coffee cup is stained red
From strawberry chuppa chups and your lipstick, honey.
The salty liquid from its fibres
Evaporates under your fierce breath. Despite this, your voice is thin, ragged
And worn. How has life been treating you?
2.5k · Aug 2014
Autumn approaches
Wass Aug 2014
Pretty soon the conkers would be falling, she could already see their
plump, cherubim bodies
spiked and dangling
like baubles,
or those underwater bombs,
from the oak leaves,
hanging limp.
2.4k · May 2014
Speckled polka in heaven
Wass May 2014
Speckled polka
pointillism in the sky,
in lime and apple green,
caress the jagged, jaded
jade summer oak.
And smiles down
like the angel
rays, which
cast my soul to heaven.
And insignificance.
As I steal through
my sunshine archways.
2.3k · Apr 2014
I love
Wass Apr 2014
I love the quick ***** of china cutlery when I close the plastic dishwasher

And the comforting sizzle
of the butter, which sun bursts
in the pan, as you are frying our dinner.

I love the way you say 'Nah'
and the way
my heart's pace 
Increases at your sight.

I love the way the steamy light
makes shapes and shadows
on your face
as we lie together on grass.

I love the slam
of the front door after a rain day
and the lock
of our eyes
in the hall way.

I love mundane high croak 
of the curtains
when I peal
them back as if I am 
opening my eyes 
for the first time. 

Opening to see you;
China cutlery, 
my steamy light, 
and rain.
2.2k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
The nightingale gives way
to the ruddy dawn and foam blooms
overhead among the early watercolour

I hear a blue-*** (or robin) whistling it's tune
through the bulbs which rise bouncing
from the rippling sea of soil,
growing in seamless swathes beneath
the leaves silken pink.

The sun dapples through, reflecting
a rosy hue into the glass
dew drops fast melting
into the thirsty earth, and peeps
over the treetops before
gradually bowing his glinting head.

Old daffodils turn russet
in the golden day
and wrinkle
as the clouds blush.
Another one of the first poems I have written. I just love spring!
2.1k · May 2014
My walk
Wass May 2014
The silver
Birch trees flaunt
Their glitz as I 
Stroll through 
Deep pearl 
And sand

Gorgeous green
Mansions swirl
Around and
Blackbirds pick
Seeds from 
The posy bunches
And sparkled

I pass a 
Pink butterfly house 
With large Daisy 
Heads protruding from
The diamond fencing.

The next house, a rather
Pretentious 'Cordillera',
Sounds like a disease.
A farm gate shields 
4 by 4s and I'm 
Now passing the weird
House with the crocodile
And gorilla and 
Coloured Cow 
And dog statues.

Coming to the
End of the lane
Of silver I pass
'Lane end'
Cottage with its viney
Stature and freshly 
Manicured front lawn. 
High cube hedges forming 
A pathway to the porch.

In The final 
Mansion if
Nosy passers
Have a peek you
Can see a 
Swimming pool,
Fluffy Towels draped over
The Silver pool chairs.

Flitting to 
The end of the 
Dappled birches,
A wide country green
Covered in bunting
Bathed in buttercups.
2.0k · Apr 2014
Micro world
Wass Apr 2014
Honeyed icing-sugar
sun melts the snow caps
on the mountains
hair and grates the tough
green, soft

In Caramel pastures,
In sunken hills,
Under the seaweed,
Cowslips grow,
With rubied spotted
Ladies crawling up blades,
And the bumbles rumbled
buzz, a continuous growl,
Sways the floating gold.

The dark spider darts
Spearing crumpled
Flies in its silken steel
Thread. Thread which sparkles
amid the Bronze knives 
which spear it too.
1.9k · Aug 2014
Hay bales
Wass Aug 2014
Down to the deep south
I trudge
down through the snow
with the pink,
pink clouds
scattering their
over spangled, darkened
farms and hay bales.
Across early orange
styles and frosted
footprints, into
fielded horizons.
Wass May 2014
The fish jumped out of it's tank 
this morning. It was a shock to 
see the empty bowl and hear
my gasp as I saw its sticky 
body, wet on the counter.
It was oddly poetic.
that's the second fish I've had 
jump out of its tank.
I don't understand
how it mustered the energy.
Maybe it was a suicidal 
fish, if fish can experience those
I treated it alright though.
Maybe it was sick
of being trapped in a glass
life and wanted freedom even
if the price was death.
My fish literally jumped out the tank!
1.8k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
The rain
slops upon
the concrete,

It washes
away what we
cannot see
and sloshes
the ground
in merriment.

I hear it
the toughened
soul and
soften the

The drumming
hum of rain
on the sill
to even
the restless.

And the soft
after a fall
in which
the world
even the hardest
hearts to glow
1.7k · Apr 2014
Coffee stains
Wass Apr 2014
The coffee stain
would not come off
the wall, dear, when i scrubbed
it only the peeling wallpaper
came off in my hand.

It flaked down like
snow onto our rug.
Do you remember, darling,
when we bought that rug,
it was an old place
in Clapham with
walls and the old man smoking
a pipe asked if we were together.

We didn't know what to tell him,
babe, but when you asked me
the other day
where I had put the
lost keys I thought of us.
They have been lost
a few years now,

We lost the keys somewhere
and I cannot get in.

The coffee stain will not
come off the wall, dear.
Not sure about this poem but was trying to convey relationships that have got lost somewhere.
1.7k · Apr 2014
The leaf frays
Wass Apr 2014
The leaf frays under chaste
turpentine which fractures
it's skeleton and tumbles
to bed whilst
raining silver strikes
air raids to the wind and fires
the sirened sun
who was soaking asleep 
in a bath of roses as the moon blossom glided down the slippery *****.
1.6k · Apr 2014
October days
Wass Apr 2014
Cold days and snowy nights
dissolve into the glow
when we come home from the sweater weather.
In from the cozy autumn day.
In from a day in which sunlight
dappled the tree's bark
like the zig-zagged icing
and french dough.
A day of mittens so only your thumbs protrude.
A day like kittens which tumble in
happiness and innocence.
Into the oak, with the window
in which tear drops
chase themselves away
down the pane and
the cool air is made hot
with cocoa frothy cream
and pumpkin.
We smoke on curled cinnamon sticks
which splinter like burnt logs
on an fire of embers.
The silhouettes of our shadows
catch on the horizon
as we watch the spectrum
scatter from the warm
cream to the dusty
pumpkin to cocoa.
1.6k · Apr 2014
Walking to school
Wass Apr 2014
The sun
And scattered blossom
And bursts of fruitful leaves
Are mocking me this morning
As I glumly tread to school 
Thinking how I hate 
Lol wrote this on my way to school this morning. Pretty much sums it up
1.6k · May 2014
Suprise of Spring
Wass May 2014
Tightly curled
leaves gracefully unfurl from their
grey cocoons into beautiful pastel shaded lime.
It's a surprise when used to 
the barren, pre-spring wilderness
to be ****** into the flourish
of fertility.
1.6k · Aug 2014
Wass Aug 2014
I love this weather so much.
There's such a calm like no other 
that descends
over the quiet, big house
when the sky outside means
we have to turn on the low lamps
even though it's the middle of 
the day and
all you can hear
is distant classical music
upstairs and the soft,
crescendos of rain.
With chai and cinnamon
still on my lips
and heavy breath.
1.5k · Jun 2014
Wass Jun 2014
Today feels like November.
Not quite the festive November, however the post exams should-be-happiness may be causing a
small sense of internal gladness, 
but the November which
foreshadows-  Time's eerie hourglass is long and hangs in the gloom
and you wonder 
where the light is.
1.4k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
November dazzles
In its mundanity.
The month between the
Russet autumn and blue winter.
Skeletal leaves
on the lyre are strung
In azure frosts
in emerald forests
and encrusted with rubies.
Novembers reclines in its throne.
In a minute,
a minute or so
It will slip to salt
and December's long
bequeathed chorus will begin
And so I will savour
these few shining seconds
a little longer.
1.3k · Mar 18
Spring from quarantine
Wass Mar 18
I can see Spring
and her fine colours
from afar.
I long to stand under the
cherry blossom tree as
it rains confetti down on me.
Instead I stand in real rain, hazy,
pattering, smatterings of daffodils
pressed against barbed wire.
So they closed the formal garden at wollaton Park but I could look in on it from outside
1.3k · May 2015
Pretended love
Wass May 2015
I search for love
A definite sort of love
The feeling someone wants me
The feeling that I'm worth something
But I can't find it anywhere
So I'm getting cheap thrills
From men who don't care
As long as my short is skirt
And I'm young whatever
But I'll take it,
Use it, pretend
That their lips caress mine
Because they love me
Rather than just
Because I am there.
First poem I've posted in ages, sums up my feelings about life right now
1.3k · May 2014
Golden river
Wass May 2014
5 am in mid July
and the sun is raising
golden trails in sky
and in the pools, following the
golden signet's flaming
vapour trails which, in polka-
dotted summer spawn, calm 
the water's satin, rippled peaks. 
Subsiding and gliding
into the stillness of emerald pond.
The signets move to the glistening
side of the river bank,
shafts of light catching
the lens forging ghostly 
golden sickles
which lengthen
amongst the dust hovering
aglow above silver cove 
and English lagoon.
1.2k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
Vivid forget me nots feign sleep,
their tired eyes tinged pink.
The soap and chlorine
at Lyme Regis bay
doth stand to make me think

About the way the rushes grow
and what lurks amount the reeds,
what gently dazzles
behind closed doors
and what we doth concede.

Is the laurel leaf unfathomable?
Is nature that way too?
For I feel that I don't understand
what every body seems to.

The humbled bumbles rumbled buzz
Satin saints upon our door
We wonder what was here,  
And what was there before.

The streaming stained glass
waterfalls, were they always there?
The sickled moon stands amorous,
clotted clouds about his hair.

Stately sit the beaded stars
in a wash of sky,

And still I sit, Still I sit,
Sit and wonder why.
1.2k · Apr 2014
Early January
Wass Apr 2014
The aconites
sing of us
in Early January.
Sing their first
song of candled
Sing to the time
between midnight and noon
where coy clouds wake the world
and water reflects medallions
in its glass.

In Early January,
lark the dormant
hedgerows hanging
like pearls
from their delicate
stems. And sweet dew paves
the meadows
in jewellery.

Its cold in Early January.
Sometimes the 6B pencil shadings
of the sky
leak petal-snow
which, despite our coats,
coat us in silver chill.

Early January to me
is in the smokey firework
dust swirling from the
London chimney-stacks.
The tired world is
still sleeping.

Early January
is you.
Squished in your white
blanket while you pour
cereal, morning
breath still misting the
glass on the sill.
1.2k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
Tinctures of orange beam around
the stuffy air

Every thing is still,
and dark emerald

The suns yoke at high noon
casts a fiery shade
over vast valleys
rolling into eternity

The roses wilt as they bake,
crisping under the ever glorious
rays, creeping from vermilion
to chocolate.
There is a bit of a seasons theme running here.
1.1k · Apr 2014
Wass Apr 2014
The dull leaves
cry and crackle as
the sharp winds strains
their stalks.

They flutter through
the wayward wood
like the ever searching cuckoos.

Ochre, the sad oak gleams, barer
in the morning rays.

Diamond frost melts once more
into the crisp leaves which,
from crunchy embers, soften
as they drench

Satin turns to pumpkin
and mahogany
as melancholic
November approaches.
1.1k · May 2014
The reception room
Wass May 2014
Rose light streams
through the large cove of bay
windows like skinny,
taut ribbons, or
glinting spider webs,
onto the wall. Highlighting a
creamy expanse of cornicing
rising higher into
the infinite.
Just a poem bout my play room :)
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