#brilliance
~for the man who knows something about everything~
<>
but
be spoken not by me,
and go rarely used,
held in obedient abeyance,
for something one~in~a~million;
sadly, maddeningly
as in most things moderne,
via over excitement has
desultory diminished
that word
with its intended shining exceptional complementary lyrical,
deep lustre,
gone tarnished by too much uddered utterances
~~~
best reserved for diamonds;
where a scale indisputable by
Cut, Color, Clarity, & Carat weight,
are hierarchically scaled, all a measured determinable
~
my poems do not qualify!
~~~
no Brit am I,
where if the summer sky be
overcast and gloomy,
the day be greeted with a casual unsubtlety
excitable exclaim of an inhumanoid
brilliant!
just because
it is not as of yet
raining?
~~~
my workmanlike product,
with its droning~on~too~long,
with words
abstruse, obtuse,
oft missyspelled,
and illegally syllabically
hy!phen-ated, italic-ally unemboldened,
or just
rocky road old & archaic,
inconsistent, incondite,
like their authoritative author,
tendent to be
obnubilated
~~~
keep your powders dry,
fire off your claims
within a definitive quota numerations,
of
exceptionnelle! (feminine),
ones of those once-in-a while
worldly words;
please be discerning, literally,
especially when meant literately,
enuf.
choose your choice praiseworthy moments wisely, sparingly..
nml. fini.
May 3
May 3, 2026 at 3:15 PM UTC
Light glows in the dark
The brilliance of my heart
It caresses me
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 1:22 PM UTC
The world believes in the shine
A shine the stars carry as they wander,
above you, above me,
perhaps beyond all limits.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 1:55 PM UTC
Your mind, a fortress of moral candour,
Yet so adorably modest.
Smarter than she thinks.
Positionality: very much-so a word.
Your humility is truly marvelous,
As is your Humbility : also very much a word, is astounding.
Steeled resolve,
You have evolved peace.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 9:31 AM UTC
#
*Imprinted in to the fleshwall-
linings of my very spirit
resides a photo of you--
(staring at your computer screen)
with a genuine look of shock
and disbelief..
..And before I could even yell Sam
I was receiving by you
the most horrendous, publicly displayed
cock-kick I have ever received.
It only stayed out there for a short time
but online, a "short time"
..is exactly as an eternity;
So I pulled back in self protection.
I had been dickin'-around out there
in a whole 'nother poetic-realm..
playfully finding words and verse comparing
my wildly-passionate virility
to that of a well-honed precision,
high powered performance engine
And two clear babes showed up in the comments
and let me know
how impressed and affected they were
by what it was they were reading.
So naturally, me being a single man..
I responded.
I never knew them before, or ever saw them after.
End of story.*
..Almost.
*Young, beautiful Wildling--
I never knew you even gave two ficks and a ****
Until I saw that picture of you..
staring into your computer screen
in raw, disbelief--
...the wind, fully knocked out of your sails.
So.. clearly you buried yourself
in multiple two-fingered snorts
of your favourite "spurned lover's" little helper happy-juice..
and once you reached the intended goal
of full-blown, *********
You performed some of the most Machiavellian-shit
I have ever seen in my life.
(But it fell short of its intended goal.)*
Nothing can remove you from the love of you
that I feel in my heart.
*What you thought was destroyed,
was immediately forgiven
Solely because of that picture of you
that is now, forever mine. Solely.
There is a dream, beautiful girl
..And nothing you can do
can make it end.
(The restoring of you back to you
is such a central part of that dream.)
The restoring of you, young beautiful.. You.
Mm.
Shhh.... listen..*#
Jan 21, 2023
Jan 21, 2023 at 8:47 PM UTC
090222
Shine, you will shine
I will strive til it’s my time
Shine, You will shine
I rest on You, I trust in You
Oh how beautiful it is to walk with You
For all of my days, oh Lord…
I gain confidence in You each day
You take good care of my soul.
From the start, You were there with me
In the storms, You are my strong tower
At the highest peak of a mountaintop
I will still shout Your Name
Nov 22, 2022
Nov 22, 2022 at 9:10 PM UTC
Truly.........
the charisma
beguiles and challenges them
truly the sublime force is too irresistible
in attraction and confusion they fake faux condemnation
and in awe the artificialities of superficiality offers sanguine solace
as dim counterfeit pundits give counterfeit commentaries
for who dares say this is one like no other
when to be real is a crime per se
wow! that charisma
truly..........
Truly..........
his charisma
exceedingly shades all others
no one and nothing compares we know
God threw the mould away after making him
cry me a river and build that bridge over troubled waters
for a David walks head and shoulder above most
in truth we see his light but lie we must
when passion voltage overwhelms
its ebb is the afterglow
we live to die
truly.........
Oct 3, 2021
Oct 3, 2021 at 5:13 PM UTC
BRILLIANT EVENING
It was a brilliant eve... The day I first saw you. You were so rippend like a sprouting out sun on a new early day. You were beautiful then and now and each moment of life. Star fall in your lovely eyes like diamond sparkles light in the dead dark night I see your angelic eyes. Wherein beauty lies.
Apr 15, 2021
Apr 15, 2021 at 1:43 PM UTC
When we talk about meteor shower
There are so many perspectives to look unto
But there is one perspective that I really like
And that is showing its brilliance
In a very short time
Yet it lingers to our hearts
Jumping our souls up
Deeply appreciating how beautiful night is
Be that kind of meteor shower in other people's lives
Give a tiny spark in their lives
In anyway you want
And I assure you
That person,
Will appreciate how beautiful life is
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 2:11 PM UTC
Black is the seed, and black, the fruit.
The blossom of light an affront: wrought of nothing,
illuminating nothing, reverting to nothing, the blossom is—
Everything.
And a man contends, endures,
knowing, in his moment, that all that matters
matters not; that in the crowd
he is alone, that in the cosmos
he is lost, that in his writing
he is written. He is a coal, shot hot between voids.
Intense to evanescent,
each pass of a life has a spectrum.
Red is the womb.
Here, at riot’s eye, all bellows howl,
all fires bend to the harlot wind of becoming.
And the nub is a lump, and the lump accrues,
marbles dreamless, in liquor weightless, defining:
Liquid ruby, clinging vine, tallow flower in wine—
the little ogre, caught on a briar, kicks.
Comes a marvelous trophy, squirming and gory,
naked and pendent, blind and grotesque—
wound about the hollows and seams,
spat in a maelstrom:
one more shape in the window,
one more shadow exposed,
in the ****** triumph of light.
Out of the whirl, the faces gather round.
The boy has opened his eyes,
but the infant makes no sound.
Shapes loom to the sides, to the front and rear:
The faces grin, closing in…grow enormous fingers
to point, to pinch—to peel back the veil
and make his eyes scream.
In the dimness a nimbus, a prism, a pearl.
The faces part. The prism paints an image in the whirl.
The figure is a woman, whose seeming lips recite:
“Come sunder the night. Little ember, ignite.
I am mother, I am mother. I am life, I am light.”
But like oil on a rainy day,
the colors blend and wend their way
into the whirl, and there,
subdued, the voice is slurred,
the light, obscured,
and night
renewed.
Here on the lattice,
morning embroiders the tatters of night.
While tall beaded glasses
squeeze melody from melting ice,
the diced and slanting shafts of sun
checker the shadows with tangerine light.
On the sidewalks April’s children run,
but the eyes in the faces see
nephew on the august perch
of uncle’s wicker knee.
Graven in air, the faces shift,
their eyes a flickering stream.
Loosed features drift, expressions run
in subtle strokes of shade and sun.
The stream ***** him in: swirls of abhorrence,
pools of disdain. Succumbing, drawn under,
he swallows his eyes. But the eyes in the faces remain
watching.
So scrawny it grieves, he eats too ****** much;
ever absent, he is always in the way.
Sickly, quiet, submissive, shy,
he hides when the faces quarrel,
cries when they crack his lie.
Craving love, he learns early to fast;
contriving a limp, he is weaned at last.
What hold wanders here—there are no bridges,
only walls. Every scribe is a master of cant.
The learned are jaundiced, the ignorant smug.
And those who would name his demons,
when maintaining “this will pass,”
fashion their webs of pap and straw.
This animal man is a thief.
Mother,
My world is a stranger.
My eyes are wounds on a mind that will not heal.
I saw more range, more warmth, more mother,
in the dance of sun on heather,
in a single kiss of dew.
Now your urn, blessed bowel, fouls the cedar
of father’s mantel, while he grows blacker,
blending bile with grief and gin.
Those lips that never tendered,
that heart I never knew—mother,
who were you?
Ubiquitous, the emerald **** lies splayed, exploding:
from her pores an eruption, on her belly a rank,
stinking moss. She bleeds life, vomits it,
into bud, into blade; sharing with a passing star
the silent scream of spring.
But here she dreams, perfumed,
a picture of grace, her verdure in groom.
Secluded, seduced, sedated. Churls put on her face
while zephyrs attend to the scent of her loom.
Time purls. The zephyrs flit sweetly,
chasing motes in fibers of light.
Playing tag in the sun, currents weave into one,
near a still-life of mourners and fatherless son.
The figures seem rooted, unreal.
As the gust musses trees, light leaps between leaves.
The greenery breathes. As if shaken,
the scene comes to life: huddling in sync,
the faces incline, their eyes like slinking thieves.
The young man implodes. He reels.
The tension relents and he straightens. He wheels.
He limps off alone, wind hounding his heels,
the moment too eerie to bear. Sedans trickle by.
A raw widow grieves. But the faces continue to stare.
And the wind pirouettes, finds a wing,
has a plunge, brakes low on a rest,
makes a guarded descent. The breeze buffets markers,
losing vigor and bent, then slips thru the stones
toward the beckoning trees.
The draft riffles leaves, where its whisper is spent
and lost a sigh.
A stipend, a shack, a lessor in wait.
Such are the fruits of his father’s estate.
He breaks no bread, seeks no sweet;
strange dynamics govern his blood,
preclude his seed from the common fire.
Music of amity, refinement’s caress,
are brute concerns; abrasive, obscene.
In his quiet aching way he is whole.
Seasons burst and smolder, surrender and brood.
Their pageant revolves about him.
The years breathe, driving the crowd,
steeping its fevers in jasmine and sun.
Humanity brawls, exalting the flame.
But without him.
And he grays, sinking, certain his pain cannot,
could not possibly, be borne by another.
The silence condenses, sets.
At last even pain deserts him.
But near the brink he hears the nervous hum
of impermanence, feels the white pang of being’s wing
as day succumbs to the fist of night.
Dawn burns deeper, duller,
each beam towing a filament of dusk,
each round of the wheel a salvo
in the stunning of his eyes.
Now the years are mired in sameness.
The day wears on. Guests come unbidden:
Conscience, the despot. Sentiment, the leech.
Misgivings sojourn, transmigrate, return,
as Lonesomeness plumbs his moribund vein,
metastasizing.
Still he rooms with the wind, dies waking,
dreams sleepless. And it haunts him:
All this teeming while an instant, an irrelevancy,
a rube’s view of the pulse careening downstream,
working its rhyme into a billion like irrelevancies.
Here must be real, Now must be sound, and yet—
no sooner are the moments cast
than shape is shadow, and present, past.
Only the day wears on.
Blue is the evening begotten, the twilight of our lives.
Dark gathers, mooring its stain
where a dreamer weighs the deep,
his eyes in ruin, his color in vain.
Only ballast and mind, merely ego and rind,
growing blind as the day wears on.
Down this grim promenade,
a musty wind hustles gaunt silhouettes.
They are loth to be borne;
they are patiently measuring stones.
Eyes leap in their caverns, looks light and remain
on a smudge in the gloaming, a scarecrow with cane,
tapping out his tenure in a cold feeble rain.
And now the purple veins of near-night
thud sluggishly, almost grudgingly.
The black earth splits wetly, obscenely.
There: something impatient stirs, exposed—
Limbless, sightless, the lamprey rises;
her breath unbearable, her length immeasurable,
her age—
impossible!
Preening ***** hypnotic.
In one vile kiss she is sieve and abyss.
Her bruised lips are splayed, her violet mouth, made,
and her churning, insatiable craw is
pitch.
Out of the whirl, the faces gather round.
Was he hurt? Can you hear me?
But the old man makes no sound.
Shapes loom to the sides, to the front and rear:
the faces glare, stealing air…grow enormous fingers
to **** to pin—to pull down the veil
and make his eyes seize.
In the dimness a nimbus, a prism, a pearl.
The faces part. The prism paints an image in the whirl.
The figure is a woman, whose seeming lips recite:
“Come sunder the night. Waning fire, grow bright.
I am mother, I am mother. I am life, I am light.”
But like spectra from a dying sun,
the colors flare, are torn, are spun
into the whirl, and there,
subdued, the voice is hushed,
the blossom, crushed,
and night
renewed.
Thanks for reading Faces. NOW PLEASE CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS, ABOUT THE FIRST HUMAN TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE PLANET. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent, readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
[email protected]
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 7:24 PM UTC
We were victors, we were gods, we were keepers of the crown.
We had plucked the fire’s eye, we had worn the monster down.
We had pierced creation’s heart, we had brought its pulse to heel.
We had cracked the atom’s code, we were masters of the Wheel.
Yet we withered at inflections, we wallowed in our psalms,
We watched our brute reflections as we wiped our sweaty palms.
So stranger prayed for stranger, so father wept for son,
Till came that awful moment when the sirens wailed as one.
And the world went mad.
Whole nations torn, woods and cities burning.
Into the tempest life’s ashes borne;
What keeps the cinder turning?
Came the rains, relentless, deluging all.
Banshees of steam screamed—rising, rising only to fall.
Hurricane winds ever tapered, and then,
Sunshine enlightened the planet again.
And the world was seed.
Now, for every step its evolution takes,
This rock a million revolutions makes.
In seas, in pools, in hollows, in lakes,
Sunlight the author of Certainty wakes.
Eons, ages—incalculable span—
In seas, in pools, in hollows, in lakes…
In time, the journey of life began.
And the world blushed green.
Wherever life ventured, it flourished.
Fin begat foot, the land opened wide.
Through conflict, through want, brute powers were nourished.
Blood screamed its passage, fresh blood replied.
Whole species vanished, new species clashed,
Life savaged life in forests and seas.
In shadows of monsters a warm creature dashed:
Something unique was afoot in the trees.
Then one signal spring, embracing the land,
A wayfarer into the wilderness ran.
He distanced his cousins: erect he could stand.
He prowled the wide savanna,
His head held high—the Man.
And the world beckoned.
He ranged in tribes, worked wood and bone,
Built gods of loam, struck fire with stone.
One prize drove this hunter, one prey made him burn—
To break his world, to make it bend…he had to know,
He had to learn.
He wandered the plains of forgotten cities, all long reduced to dust.
He studied the fossils of iron pillars, and pondered on the rust.
Millennia passed, he courted the Wheel. His science grew apace.
Nature’s spires fell to steel, his towers took their place.
Cities blossomed, succumbed to war. Sacred trusts decayed.
Nations clashed like beasts of yore. Men took to arms and prayed.
Then one anxious fall, his slick treaties scrapped,
This warrior turned magician: the cosmos’ source was tapped.
A hero, a giant, a god would he be!
He held this power captive—this power greater than he.
So we wither at inflections, we wallow in our psalms.
We watch our brute reflections as we wipe our sweaty palms.
So stranger prays for stranger, and father weeps for son,
Till comes that awful moment when the sirens wail as one.
And the world sighs again.
Thanks for reading Masters Of The Wheel. NOW PLEASE CUT AND PASTE THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS—ABOUT THE FIRST HUMAN TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE PLANET. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
[email protected]
Feb 18, 2020
Feb 18, 2020 at 8:51 PM UTC
I see you at the moon
when it is complete and renew
I see your smile at blossom
brings at spring at happy mood
I could hear your laughter at the water droplets
making the world had life present
spreading its wings
covering the love to stand
your smart face makes me great brilliance
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 11:30 PM UTC
Beautiful brilliance
The type that ignites
A weak heart
The type that surpass
The compass
Of this earth
Beautiful brilliance
Wonderfully scribed
Painting the skies
Bright and wild
With its glittering smile
Beautiful brilliance
indescribably beautiful
Far beyond physical
That makes dying flowers bloom
And make the world feel brand new
Beautiful brilliance
That makes the grass seem greener
Beauty; so brilliantly made
Makes the stars look beautifully gray
Makes me suffer in an amazing way
Beautiful brilliance
See; my head and my heart
Are tearing me apart
Your wisdom they crave
Your prettiness they chase
The way that she shines
Makes me want to reach out to the sky
Not to touch the stars
But to whisper to the moon
How beautifully brilliant are you
Beautiful brilliance
You're my heart, my soul and my world
For the lack of better words
I can feel your brilliance from afar
I want to capture your beauty in a jar
The way her beauty glows
Even the sun can't lay it low
The brilliance she's bestowed
Gives my heartbeat a rhythm flow
And ohw; I wish you'd know
How much I love you so
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 4:18 PM UTC
Oh, the moon is at it again
What, you ask
It’s hanging around in its lofty space
Its place in the sky above us
Above us gleaming in whiteness, with the desert sky being its playground
The whiteness is disrupting the dark desert sky with uncanny brilliance
Brilliance so vibrant, and, well, bright and full
Its fullness outshines all other objects near its path
All other heavenly partners take second place when the moon is in this phase
Ahhhhh, I love this place called the desert...
Brian Hill - 2019#123
Inspired by the moon.... Of course!
May 18, 2019
May 18, 2019 at 8:44 AM UTC
Your eyes
are a million colors
Your skin
is a thousand temperatures
Your mind
goes a billion miles
You think so quickly and so often
sometimes you don't even finish a thought
before you've begun
another
You are brilliant
and it shows in every inch of you
and every crevice
oozes with potential
So why do you waste it
on people who can't even see it?
Feb 3, 2019
Feb 3, 2019 at 10:12 PM UTC
flames
out of nowhere
flowers dancing
windy night
air crisp chilly
super blood wolf moonlight
offering brilliance
flicker twinkle spark
dreams are flying
mesmerizing eyes in the distance
peddles melting away
imaginary heat radiating
being blasted
mirage of photons
tickle all senses
magical cloak
hiding the source
grateful
thankful
magic
that is you
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 12:54 PM UTC