#eloquence
8:30am
many several poems w~righted into extant existence,
after rising with opened eyes,
many hours ours prior, the outside, a wall of fog
go to wake my beloved with cofee and treats
she rises and embraces me
with tender firmness, eyes clos-ed,
she-
window facing
17th floor
the towers of manhattan have been seized from existence
and I say look outside
the hair of the world turned
wise~white overnight!*
she opens here eyes and says with
quiet surprise; Oh yeah…wow
and I smile
for who can advise,
whose eloquence is the greater?
end.
8:46am
nyc
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 8:48 AM UTC
Really every lie
does need a decent wardrobe --
of nice eloquence.
May 20, 2025
May 20, 2025 at 2:17 AM UTC
No words shall please my soul,
if not from deep within.
In life we laugh and weep,
as moods with time do spin.
Even a poet does need a flare,
to devise his ringy rhymes.
To sculpt a verse from solid words,
is a masters work, sublime.
When fine words mingle and mix,
with sweet lovely emotions,
a lady’s heart will surely yield,
without showing a notion.
Delightful words do cast a spell,
on people where they stand.
Being a charmer may pay your rent,
to the lady of the land.
No torrent is strong or tough,
to sweep a poets will.
And no drought is harsh enough,
to dry a poets well.
Eloquent words,
soft and smooth,
too far from being absurd.
When spoken loud,
they steal the show,
on every stage and stand.
Aug 22, 2024
Aug 22, 2024 at 6:29 AM UTC
I praise the wise and respect the wisdom of every old and young, for when they speak they pave the way to every poem or song.
There is a charm in all their words and phrases short or long. In what they say you should believe until you prove them wrong.
When wisdom speaks I always listen to thoughts of brilliant minds,
just like a gem or precious stone or gold in haunted mines.
I feel the words and see them spark in corners everywhere, sometimes I even smell their scent floating in the air.
A set of words in form of art could take your breath away,
for classy words will make you feel in heaven you want to stay.
I wish I was a famous scholar or a poet who plays a part,
I like to think I have a say in themes that steal the heart.
Even the blind wisdom they see gleaming in the dark,
but ignorant words from a stupid fool could tear your life apart.
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 7:33 AM UTC
I am robbed
of eloquence
Measly words
that doesn't seem
sincere enough
To prove
my affections
My thoughts
and
emotions
Hidden behind
closed windows
Neither light
nor spark
can shed
some clarity
Of grief
and pain
The unbidden
hurt I
have inflicted
on me
A thirst
for sympathy
and wordless
understanding
Oct 4, 2020
Oct 4, 2020 at 10:16 AM UTC
Caveat
by Michael R. Burch
If only we were not so eloquent,
we might sing, and only sing, not to impress,
but only to enjoy, to be enjoyed.
We might inundate the earth with thankfulness
for light, although it dies, and make a song
of night descending on the earth like bliss,
with other lights beyond—not to be known—
but only to be welcomed and enjoyed,
before all worlds and stars are overthrown ...
as a lover’s hands embrace a sleeping face
and find it beautiful for emptiness
of all but joy. There is no thought to love
but love itself. How senseless to redress,
in darkness, such becoming nakedness . . .
Originally published by Clementine Unbound
Keywords/Tags: caveat, eloquent, eloquence, sing, enjoy, enjoyment, inundate, earth, thankfulness, praise, song, light, welcomed, enjoyed, enjoyment, bliss, joy, love
Caveat Spender
by Michael R. Burch
It’s better not to speculate
"continually" on who is great.
Though relentless awe’s
a Célèbre Cause,
please reserve some time for the contemplation
of the perils of EXAGGERATION.
Stephen Spender in his best-known poem wrote: "I think continually of those who were truly great." This near-limerick suggests that Spender may have exaggerated the time he devoted to hero worship. Keywords/Tags: caveat, spender, truly, great, think, continually, hero, worship, exaggeration, contemplation, awe, fawn, fawning
Apr 2, 2020
Apr 2, 2020 at 5:08 AM UTC
Night is the poet,
Of eloquent silences,
In darkness and light!
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 8:09 AM UTC
~~~
for our children and their children
~~~
the reason we say so oft,
in whispers emboldened,
I love you
to our children
is not the utility of
its summarizing brevity
no, no.
it is because
the eloquence of simplicity
supersedes any other poem
we could ever write...
~~~
July 26 2015
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Eloquence
doe(s) not always
conve(y) what
(M)ostly (pa)rts my mouth
remember
(t)he (h)eart is
reall(y)
the most
articulate of
all
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
I am sorry that I am unable to speak
with the eloquence that can paint pictures and move mountains
but instead my words trip over one another or get lost
once they leave my lips
so I’ve chosen to stay silent
because it is easier to bear than fumbled words and mumbled apologies.
Jun 20, 2018
Jun 20, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
such eloquent eyes,
her luminous spirit's dance;
love, to him gifts two wings!
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
Dances in the shower,
Oh so late at night.
Blasting the music loud,
swimming in the soft light
mouthing the words
eloquence thrown out the door
no need to wear a mask.
When you just don't care anymore.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
It's stories above where the butterflies rustled,
Whirring between the lights in aeolian bustle.
I'm smiling spritely at a neon halo,
While my organs writhe in jacqueminot El Niño.
Wading the nightscape with a glitched simper,
I could not change nor attempt to tinker,
Just breaching the moments passing to linger.
Fingers, then palms, then lips, then black,
Then for a few seconds the world collapsed.
A breath, a sip, some wit, I'm back.
Shed the murky vision of captive cataracts.
And now,
The sylph saunters in epitomized elegance,
And I've buckled on the inside to the resonant reverence.
I follow the fragrance in her wake as paralyzed sedatives,
And anything I might say could only lack eloquence.
Then magnanimous mantras attract exact,
It seems way down the rabbit hole I've finally met my match.
There's a mesh of flesh, a smooth caress,
Then I wake and realize these were not visions yonder death.
Particles of my brain erupt,
I can't explain away the unfading elation of touch.
Every pose palatial down to the pixels,
I'd gaze deep in the sheen of her mind gleaming as crystals.
Her eyes open like daybreak in flashes,
Sunstreaks glint over the horizon of her lashes.
There's morning songbirds behind the taste of coffee,
I think she's figured I'm just a well decorated softy.
Unveiling my most human of contentions stripped to the eclipse of logic,
My former self laughs in tones pitched sardonic.
Euphorically strumming at gossamer heartstrings,
Etched in the fabric as sakura carvings.
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 8:48 PM UTC
Like so many of us, surrounded by binaries and cold concrete,
he finds it hard to say what he feels, and I found it hard
to understand, for a while, that he loved me just as I did him,
when he never vocalised his feelings completely, and I did.
It took me some time to realise he shows them instead, and maybe
that is all the more eloquent than anything I could ever
materialise on a piece of paper filled with smeared ink.
His love manifests itself in lingering gazes and the lightest touch,
in private smiles and the softening of his eyes when I laugh.
Like a child resorts to pointing at things they cannot name,
he ends up holding close what he cannot verbalise he needs.
- “You make me happy,” I tell him. He looks vulnerable and smiles. c.s.
Apr 7, 2017
Apr 7, 2017 at 9:17 AM UTC
I can write wonderful words of eloquence
Describing in detailed elegance
the pictures in my mind.
But when it comes to speaking aloud,
Especially in front of the smallest crowd
There are no words to find.
That's why I pick up my pen to write,
To let all of my dreams take flight
And go explore the worlds.
Then perhaps while they explore
They'll listen to my heart as it implores,
"Find me that perfect girl."
Off soar my dreams with the stroke of the pen
To search for the girl that my heart seeks within
To find only a broken blue heart.
So they search for and gather some of the pieces,
For the ones they can't find, their sorrow increases
Their eloquence falling apart.
With what small courage I had, my heart tries to speak
But it fumbles and falls, and feels like a freak
Our weakness fully revealed
Yet touching my heart, she helps it to stand
My own broken pieces enclosed in her hand
And nothing left to conceal.
The rest, you could say, will be history
But 'til then it will stay a mystery
I can't wait to be told
For now my dreams are straining more,
While I just sit here waiting for
My story to unfold.
1/30/16 12:01am
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 12:02 AM UTC
They say there are two sides to every story,
Try putting yourself in my hat!
It's irrelevant,
You wouldn't know how it feels,
No clue.
I put away my eloquence,
But because I'll be simple!
You wouldn't understand it either,
It's incomprehensible.
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 4:06 AM UTC
Eloquence is comprehensive beauty.
Brevity shows a command and respect of time.
Wisdom breeds their concurrent existence
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
wizards of words
relish silence.
blazing stars
cry out light.
butterfly thinks
immortality can wait.
Lord of silence
oozes confidence.
sweet nothings
are most eloquent.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
With an azure drinking cup studded with lapis, wait for her
In the evening at the spring, among perfumed roses, wait for her
With the patience of a horse trained for mountains, wait for her
With the distinctive, aesthetic taste of a prince, wait for her
With seven pillows stuffed with light clouds, wait for her
With strands of womanly incense wafting, wait for her
With the manly scent of sandalwood on horseback, wait for her
Wait for her and do not rush.
If she arrives late, wait for her.
If she arrives early, wait for her.
Do not frighten the birds in her braided hair.
Wait for her to sit in a garden at the peak of its flowering.
Wait for her so that she may breathe this air, so strange to her heart.
Wait for her to lift her garment from her calf, cloud by cloud.
And wait for her.
Take her to the balcony to watch the moon drowning in milk.
Wait for her and offer her water before wine.
Do not glance at the twin partridges sleeping on her chest.
Wait and gently touch her hand as she sets a cup on marble.
As if you are carrying the dew for her, wait.
Speak to her as a flute would to a frightened violin string,
as if you knew what tomorrow would bring.
Wait, and polish the night for her ring by ring.
Wait for her until Night speaks to you thus:
There is no one alive but the two of you.
So take her gently to the death you so desire,
and wait.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
You asked if I loved you so here is my answer:
You see I didn't buy you, but here you are. Some might say I won you at a game station at a county fair. Maybe I did, or maybe I won you in a birthday party ticket raffle. Either way I'm stuck here trying to keep this gold fish alive kind of like how I try to love things, but we both know it will die soon anyway.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
the way he
tilted his head
was mesmerizing
the fact that
he actually cared
was surprising
the manner of
his eloquence
was tantalizing
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC