#phoenician - Hello Poetry

Love is a Phoenician breeze, Purest abjad of Tyrian purple and royal blue, Pillow bearer of golden consonance between kings. Love is a Phoenician trader over deepest-sounded seas, Far-blown nomad that still wants for the thunder of golden drums And the rain that comes in rounded vowels of water. Because love has no tribe but is the purest nomad.

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May 28, 2019

May 28, 2019 at 12:17 AM UTC

ChrisSaitta

Love is a Phoenician Breeze

Love is a Phoenician breeze, Purest abjad of Tyrian purple and royal blue, Pillow bearer of golden consonance between kings. Love is a Phoenician trader over deepest-sounded seas, Far-blown nomad that still wants for the thunder of golden drums And the rain that comes in rounded vowels of water. Because love has no tribe but is the purest nomad.

7

At school I had trouble socializing, And still, The Owl, comes all too late? My formative years are spent deep within caves searching, Yet The Owl is never found there? The failures and sadness accumulate over time, Leaving The Owl traversing some other’s sky, I feel life slipping away each day, And still The Owl never manifests! Where is The Owl? Does it not come with time? Will cleverness induce her, perhaps woo her with rhyme? Quell restless mind, The Owl reforge me so I’m freed! Grant me your talons so that I may succeed! And still, The Owl, who never manifests, And still The Owl never manifests. I curl chalky fingers into travertine-grip, Aged ruin takes a hold, in my despair as I slip, Sans which The Owl never did manifest, To wit, sans The Owl, pounding sand as I jest, So what, The Owl, never did manifest? And still The Owl never manifests. Life without The Owl, was no life at all, No solemnity of greatness, a life of doltish pit-fall. And still The Owl never manifests. And still The Owl never manifests.

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Jun 6, 2016

Jun 6, 2016 at 8:02 AM UTC

david-john-mowers

Sans The Owl

At school I had trouble socializing, And still, The Owl, comes all too late? My formative years are spent deep within caves searching, Yet The Owl is never found there? The failures and sadness accumulate over time, Leaving The Owl traversing some other’s sky, I feel life slipping away each day, And still The Owl never manifests! Where is The Owl? Does it not come with time? Will cleverness induce her, perhaps woo her with rhyme? Quell restless mind, The Owl reforge me so I’m freed! Grant me your talons so that I may succeed! And still, The Owl, who never manifests, And still The Owl never manifests. I curl chalky fingers into travertine-grip, Aged ruin takes a hold, in my despair as I slip, Sans which The Owl never did manifest, To wit, sans The Owl, pounding sand as I jest, So what, The Owl, never did manifest? And still The Owl never manifests. Life without The Owl, was no life at all, No solemnity of greatness, a life of doltish pit-fall. And still The Owl never manifests. And still The Owl never manifests.

24

At the money table, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac, And neither one cares how you’ll pay as long as it is not a check, Brassy appendages obversely curl to abruptly angular truncated legs-upon-his-lek, And the proof of who he represents hangs weightily about his Plouton neck, See the cotton-wafer stacks shuffled as bricks in rows to the translucent deck, The waiver now giving its woe whence once wished-for upon the Great Molech? Mr. crooked hook-nose at his compose will take on any bet, As Sheol will have it, many lament, being in his debt, A Canaan cursed and tribal descendant, the relative of Set. For with misery and suffering well you get what you beget!

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Jun 14, 2016

Jun 14, 2016 at 3:42 PM UTC

david-john-mowers

The Gamble

At the money table, Cain and Abel, Abraham and Isaac, And neither one cares how you’ll pay as long as it is not a check, Brassy appendages obversely curl to abruptly angular truncated legs-upon-his-lek, And the proof of who he represents hangs weightily about his Plouton neck, See the cotton-wafer stacks shuffled as bricks in rows to the translucent deck, The waiver now giving its woe whence once wished-for upon the Great Molech? Mr. crooked hook-nose at his compose will take on any bet, As Sheol will have it, many lament, being in his debt, A Canaan cursed and tribal descendant, the relative of Set. For with misery and suffering well you get what you beget!

10