#intricate
“include using long, unpredictable lines, rhythmic displacement, and technical elements like vibrato or legato. It focuses on creating a "musical story" by balancing tension and release, often with 2-12 note, rhythmically varied, and frequently repeated ideas that evolve into longer, more intricate solos”
and why my poetry is so influenced,
listening to soft vibrato
that softens via disordered phrasing,
lines extended distended then
abrupt,
cutoff paused, the bridge returns to reconnect us,
Writer, Reader
Readier, Receiver,
we are ok!
though one of us has fallen behind,
but the rhythm returns
and we are connected,
rejoined,
conjoined,
and the tension is
released
together, we become an intricate melodic phrasing…
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 4:42 PM UTC
conundrum: an intricate and difficult problem
He was having conundrum
with his Life Expectations.
He had No degrees,
no diploma or a set
firm Education.
He knew certain crafts,
but people did laugh; but
he still had a firm
Foundation. He knew ABC's and
123's, For, Carpentry was his niche,
He worked hard for his degree, and
He got it with ease and now
He is making it.
B. R.
Date: 01/12/2023
Aug 22, 2024
Aug 22, 2024 at 6:52 PM UTC
.
.
what I feel is,
confusing, fragile,
and rapidly changing
I am no Shakespeare;
not good in words but,
just a person who chained themselves
and lost the key
I write to feel, to procrastinate,
and maybe to blow off steam;
Hoping that each work bleeds
the feelings I want you to feel
being a crybaby is hard,
when you can't cry;
being emotional is frustrating,
when everything is too much
you bleed inside,
when you want to
act on those feelings,
[Not everything; can be expressed freely.]
That feeling is clawing
from the very depths of your being
They want to be free, do they not?
Despite that, they'll call you crazy
for feeling such things
Better to be rational
yet, they'll call you heartless
maybe something balanced would do
overwhelming feelings is a crime,
I guess dad told me why.
Society and its reality is relentless
a few several mistakes and
everything is in flames,
before you know it
Oct 28, 2021
Oct 28, 2021 at 7:38 PM UTC
my love for him
is intricately woven
into my body.
the loose ends are
tied in a perfect bow
on top of my heart.
Feb 2, 2020
Feb 2, 2020 at 9:01 PM UTC
her hair swayed in the wind,
delicate and gentle
her eyes were like beads of honey,
just like amber and chestnut
her spirit soared like an eagle,
graceful yet powerful
she was like 'summer linen',
woven intricately;
flying in a field of sunflowers
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 7:42 PM UTC
whenever she sees him,
the corners of her eyes
crinkle into intricate origami.
if anyone looks closely,
they'll see a soft glow
and maybe even folded hearts.
that's her love for him.
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 6:17 PM UTC
A masterpiece of intricate mosaic,
a beauty underlied with chaos.
She lets them see,
what she wants them to see.
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 3:15 AM UTC
It's all just words.
I don't really have anything profoundly intricate to say - everything I write is just a stream of consciousness jotted down on a note in my phone that I load to a website anonymously hoping someone, somewhere will see it and feel something.
-t.s.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 11:07 PM UTC
I want to pick your brain for lunch to discuss the ongoings in this world and your views on controversial topics. I want to talk about the various books you read, the various shows and movies that entertain you. I want to know more about your beliefs, what appeals, riles, fascinates and triggers you. I want to know what makes you glow and dim. to watch you paint with different hues, form various constellation and explore the black hole of unexplored matter. I want to converse about the uncanny topics and the stigmatized ones. To know more about the philosophy, biology and chemistry of your existence and this world. I want to know about the intricacy, profundity and complexity around rather than keep to the surface topics.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
I'm just a lamp.
You're just a bulb.
I give you power.
You give me light.
I stand tall and strong, waiting to be used.
You roll around, fragile, easily breakable.
Together we ignite something beautiful, that makes the world a little brighter.
It's nothing magic, just how we were wired.
One day I will fall, my intricate shade will crack.
My solid base absorbs the shock, so you remain intact.
Turned loose from me, you're ******* back into the old lamp from the closet.
Amazing, it still lights up, covered in dust and cobwebs.
A little warmer, yet a little more dim.
The only problem now, is that lingering scent, of burning dust and cobwebs.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
I'm not one for recreating my mistakes repeating yourself is for the birds like hitchcock or however that old saying goes
To show that maybe this can be done right
This time, and as i plotted this rhyme out
Like Dr. Doom in comic books i grew shook like Havoc on that classic queensbridge beat
As i sat and thought, what could this mean?
Has that cloud of cynicism left and overpowered my lyricism I'm not much of a wordsmith to begin with but sxxt if this is what it takes to make what could've been great
Then around the corner I'll bend if it means we can try again...
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 12:34 AM UTC
Many days without a muse, whatever shall I do?
Too long away from heart and sans a point of view
The sunrise has been glorious as the sunset strikes me numb.
Not mourning our final screams into censorship
And strike a chord that gives a voice to verses now in me.
I close my eyes and see much more than sight can ever see.
Colors swirl behind my lids and rainbows, vividly.
Butterflies, a ship of clouds glides by
Howling in the wilderness breaking through the sky
Hanging like a scimitar suspended in the sky,
As mind is far more visual into an endless four walls still sight.
Whispering blues, the height within
A troublesome mind, trampling songs from afar
Struggling to breathe, I lie waiting not to.
Thoughts are embedded tightly in a jar
To endless voices mock me; crush, break me
But I refuse to listen a strength rises
Something I wouldn't have believed
And now I was ready to fight those dementia.
I knew I wasn't alone.
If I could love the limping ugly afraid part of me
That I drag through the mud and thorns
If I could let the transparent clawing, screaming silhouette speak
Instead of kicking it into the utmost peak
If I could put my deepest human essence onto paper for everyone to see
Then.
Then, let these new visions be free.
May 2, 2018
May 2, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
A masterpiece of intricate mosaic
A beauty underlied with chaos
She lets them see,
What she wants them to see.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 3:53 AM UTC
So much color and
So little light
The trees are jewels
Veiled by the sky
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 5:03 AM UTC
when you tell me
you love me
i don't know what to say
because with something as intricate
as those three words
i don't know what to do
without breaking you.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 10:01 PM UTC
" Poltroon " she cried,
While her knuckles were white with rage.
Perturbed, she was while her father passed away.
Solitude, she chose while earthlings left her dejected, like a stray.
Erratic, were those times when she decided to unravel the intricate stories of life and not get bewrayed.
Lost, she was in the absolute beauty of the cosmos waiting for someone at the bay.
Soon, she realized that a lifeboat would never come her way.
" You're a stalwart , get up and find your own way ".
Much did she know, rest she deciphered.
And found herself flying in the sky of aplomb, like a mockinjay!
- Swasti Jain
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
How is it? That leaves
over another night
are not to last,
but to survive the frost,
and the traffic lights flood,
of slow and fast temper,
Is the closest to fuel
the red-blooded marrow breathes.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
You used to tell me “The way you’re living is bad.”
“The way you’re living is terrible.”
You used to point out every little intricate mistake that I was making and every little small detail of my life that ****** you off.
But when I asked you “What I could do to change everything?”
You kept spewing your garbage at me.
So all I did was look at you and say:
“When are you going to realize that you have nothing left to say that I want to hear?”
“And sooner or later, you’re going to have nothing left to say at all.”
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 11:19 PM UTC
Our souls are patterns
Intricately woven and styled
Unique in their colour blends and hues
Each soul telling it's incredible tale
In the sharp curves and soft dips
Imprinted on their thin vibrant canvas.
Carefully detailed without a stroke amiss
These delicate fabricated masterpieces
Could rip in hands too careless to admire
The aesthetic beauty of the canvas
In areas magnificently simple or blank.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 5:13 AM UTC
I am beginning to wonder
how many more times
I will awake
to another sunrise
to find
that I never quite shut my eyes
yet again-
I was just spinning or
maybe swimming
in these visions of sins
and grins met upon
the second guess that
set in after that double take.
Is this
something we can make
or will it just
make everything
more tedious-
what we are is fleeting
and I’m lost on a bus
and the schedules swing
in pendulums-
when they hit the bottom
they strike as weapon
of wasted time
and I need a ride.
I might get off track
but at least
I can keep you laughing
with the things I say
behind a timed rhyme style-
I’m done with denial
of my actions of a child.
Excuse me
I just went a little wild
trying to beat the feeling
that I was mild,
just mediocre.
Compensation
for a consolation prize
I’ll play the joker.
I don’t have a spine
but I’m paying for things
that aren't mine
Don’t worry
I’ve just lost my mind
in the shrinking times
that grow more rapidly
with their progression.
The earth stands still
while heads
are standing upside down
in the sands of their dreams
and perspective realities
I’m up in the trees
or maybe
I’m just trying to get closer
to the sky
so I can feel free.
There’s where I need to be-
those dying stars aren’t fleeting.
Not immortal,
no maybe not;
but so ever radiant
in a cataclysmic death.
Finding my way
through broken phrases
and run-ons
I’m tripping towards
my glory days
wondering
if I can actually make it
or if I will be forced
into the illustrations
of exaggerated narrations
of a day last week
or last month,
does it matter if it’s gone?
I’m just like you,
trying to hold on.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 1:01 AM UTC
Intricate pattern of the night
Brought to life by silver rays
Close mesh of designs
Filigreed artistry all over
Softened sighs wake up desires
Splashing the colors of night
Dripping with passionate fervor
Both the canvases pristine
Waiting to be exploited
By the artistry of the suave artists
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC