"adorned" poems
Drunk as drunk on turpentine
From your open kisses,
Your wet body wedged
Between my wet body and the strake
Of our boat that is made of flowers,
Feasted, we guide it - our fingers
Like tallows adorned with yellow metal -
Over the sky's hot rim,
The day's last breath in our sails.
Pinned by the sun between solstice
And equinox, drowsy and tangled together
We drifted for months and woke
With the bitter taste of land on our lips,
Eyelids all sticky, and we longed for lime
And the sound of a rope
Lowering a bucket down its well. Then,
We came by night to the Fortunate Isles,
And lay like fish
Under the net of our kisses.
74.7k
~for those who will read this and weep~
*the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience
localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!*
*the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life ***** advertisement
I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs*
*summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created
so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)*
*but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early*
got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind
these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 5:45 PM UTC
593
I think I was enchanted
When first a sombre Girl—
I read that Foreign Lady—
The Dark—felt beautiful—
And whether it was noon at night—
Or only Heaven—at Noon—
For very Lunacy of Light
I had not power to tell—
The Bees—became as Butterflies—
The Butterflies—as Swans—
Approached—and spurned the narrow Grass—
And just the meanest Tunes
That Nature murmured to herself
To keep herself in Cheer—
I took for Giants—practising
Titanic Opera—
The Days—to Mighty Metres stept—
The Homeliest—adorned
As if unto a Jubilee
’Twere suddenly confirmed—
I could not have defined the change—
Conversion of the Mind
Like Sanctifying in the Soul—
Is witnessed—not explained—
’Twas a Divine Insanity—
The Danger to be Sane
Should I again experience—
’Tis Antidote to turn—
To Tomes of solid Witchcraft—
Magicians be asleep—
But Magic—hath an Element
Like Deity—to keep—
40.2k
It seemed the space between us became torn and
Profoundly distanced....................
Jamming bony knuckles and spread eagled fingers,
Lying their mapped out journey.....direction on point patrol....
Adorned by silver decoration, delighting in their skinned habitat
Shafted, deceit punching the recipient of the poison digits
Prodding and pushing their intent....dare you contradict
The intended carved out dose of punishment, Risk and
Safety......not yours and never would be; stooped
Down under the assailing bony palmed attachements
That delivered penetrating power, cupped around
Your arm til it became discoloured, pressure points
Backed you into a corner, up against the grain of the
Brick wall, cold and damp, the odour reaching
And scolding your nostrils with its stale internal vows
Refuse, stretching and protruding its foul remnents
An earlier life, when you were not under threat fades
Your very existance in jeopardy, your eyes pleaded for
Normality, willing someone to hear your silence, grip you
Tightly, not with malice, but with bravery and valour
Right now you need that shining knight, that white
Horse galloping down the blind alleyway, yet you
Know that won't happen for you're already sinking
To the floor, the blow comes sharp and stings, warmth
Exudes and trickles a path downwards, leaving your
Body, finding the cold concrete beneath you, travelling
Outwards................
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC
Galaxy gardener sailing a ship,
through endless horizons it makes a trip.
She/he looks into the inky canvas blend,
then scatters some seeds in the spacial rend.
What does await this brave lovely soul,
when we see the universe's gears roll.
Ionizing radiation penetrates through,
while watering can always holds true.
Space turf gingerly shovelled over seeds,
her/his forehead adorned with water beads.
Nitrogenous nutrients now nuzzled into,
the serene slumbering seedlings to be.
Galaxy gardener greets growing greens,
lively lushscious leaves forward leans.
Wormhole worn star systems she/he fixes up,
as does she/he proudly prune her/his wondrous crop.
Many a plant has grown under her/his care,
yet she/he never feasts on the fruits they bear.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 1:49 AM UTC
Don't "talk ***** to me.
I don't want that,
Not nonchalant naughty nouns,
Or violent verbs,
Or anxious adjectives.
I want to be drippingly adorned and intrigued,
By adjectives that ache and torment,
By verbs that are vibrantly vital and tantalize.
I want to be left longfully lusting after lambent language.
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
*Shards of broken glasses
Strewn all over the floor
Shattered dreams all over
Jagged edges of regret
Once held with affection
Held the fragrant flowers
Special Cymbidium Orchids
It’s pristine presence felt
Adorned the corsage
Now, lay shattered
No place for the Orchids
Wailing of broken dreams
Now, memories linger*
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
For he's a jolly good fellow,
adorned in yellow and love,
it was hard to see his face through the smoke of a three blunt rotation, but I could feel his heart beating from across the trailer.
Worn out eighties music was the unofficial theme of the night and I think we lived up to the expectations Eddie Murphy set for his.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
A pink kimono
yukata
Adorned with velvet flowers
Standing there in the Springtime mist of Japan,
Guarded by Sakura trees.
Skies are blue,
Singing a beautiful song,
Pink lips like adorable flowers on a spring day,
A most beautiful, kind and loving princess to ever
walk Japan.
Your beautiful face,
Your kindest soul,
Your adorable lips,
You smiled at me.
You have the prettiest voice,
that calms my soul.
You're the most beautiful and loving princess,
ever to walk Japan...
© 2014 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
MELANIN BEAUTY
She was adorable in her coffee tinted skin
Her beauty as rare as the clustering of dragonflies
Amazing to look upon like the gathering of butterflies
Through her eyes stars felt closer than ever
Her lips was as beautiful as the opening of petals
My heart paused when our eyes came in contact
I felt like i have seen the queen of all that is beautiful
The envy of every woman there is to be
She was thin tall and adorned in elegance
Endowed with charisma of an Ethiopian princess
Her smile was first born
Her beauty always suffocated the crowd
All i could see was the wonder of her skin
I have fallen under the spell of this black queen
She was a fragile treasure, the elixir of beauty
She sparkled like she was kissed by the morning sun
She was never satisfied with her perfection
Trying to fix what GOD has personally certified
Denting you to wear a skin that isn’t yours
Like sharp sand i watched her beauty sink rapidly
She was deep rooted in self-doubt of her skin pigment
Not knowing the magnificence of her existence
She never knew she was a gush of glamour
Glorious to behold and graced with melanin
Gradually she became high on inferiority complex
She became lost in a world she was created to own
Your beautiful brown body is a work of art
Dipped in black gold and coated with brown sugar
You define an indestructible uniqueness
Your black skin is a badge of superiority
Black is magical and above comparison
Black complexion is the new religion .
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
.
And her arms enfold me,
I lay my cheek
against her breast.
The shaking starts,
the tears fall,
as sobs emerge unhindered.
Cries from way down deep,
and I hear her heart,
slow, steady, metronomic.
So I follow its rhythm
along a path richly bathed
in warm sunlight.
Through an archway
and across a threshold shrine,
the cemetery of the Ancients.
A hundred thousand names,
carved in marble,
adorned with statues and plinths.
Holding knowledge of old,
and the sound of silence,
like an abandoned library.
The shadow of love hovers close,
driving through midnight mists
and leading me on.
Practising narrative necromancy,
reanimating old words,
giving them life newly born,
upon the first carved marbles,
its names burnished with wisdom,
and the anonymity of obscurity.
There glows one name
in forgotten script
and I know my deepest identity,
the weight of the aeons
flows free into my mind,
histories of the millennia.
I know
my Forest Lady holds secrets
that belong to me.
And she gestates them all,
a coveted pregnancy.
A path-working, an etherical dream,
and her heart skips a beat,
as another part of me
crumbles and dies,
to mingle with the dust
of ancient knowledge.
© Pagan Paul (11/07/18)
Jul 12, 2018
Jul 12, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
Paint the night sky with twinkling stars, distant from one another but collectively emitting a spectacular glow;
Paint the spun ivory clouds across the interminable blue, watching the softness suffocate sunlight streaming below;
Paint your frayed chocolate braids beside curved, smiling full lips in the middle of a vivid, adorned cottage;
Paint the passionate red of blood that stains our hands as they clasp together like imperfect puzzle pieces, and the jagged breathing that fogs the dusk;
Paint yourself where you are loved--
Paint yourself with me.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
whish whish is the sound of a suffering
the sound of blood as it squirts
the most exquisite and horrendous fountain
loaded with a despairing call
a siren's ring
because it stings the depths of the heart
to the very end, from the dreadful start
whish whish is the sound of suffering
the sound of wheels turning
because there was an exit before, there always is
most often it's more than I'm willing to give
whish whish is the sound of suffering
it is the sound of those crying
there is pleading, wailing, sighing
'fore the fates bring forth dying
and there is death in life, thoughts, wisdom, courage
it comes with age, but time's the liveliest gift received
we are deceived if we think we turn each page
whish whish is the sound of a suffering
it's the sound of what's missed
if we had asked before
we mightn't be adorned with the weight
the burden, the baggage, the fate
the mystery is missing
there's hissing in the past
those last faulty choices have played with our cast
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:32 AM UTC
Healing leaves are now disrobed branches
on the edge of this wilderness.
Many tall Douglas Fir stand sentinel
over 100 foot tall amazing grace — the fleeting leaves
expose the beauty of the moss clad scaffolds
adorned with a lime-grey lichen lace
Nature is my refuge — solid ground to stand
in this harmony and peacefulness.
Jesse Stillwater — December 2018
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
I pull your ******* to my chest
And feel your heart beating oh so fast
I cup my hand upon your ***
And mash your mound into my mass
I hold you captive in my grasp
As I spread you legs apart
I savagely kiss your trembling lips
And bite the plumpness I find there
I pull and tug upon your hair
Force in your mouth down with care
BETTER NOT CHOKE or I will glare
As you finish up with sips
I throw you over and grab your hips
And enter you from behind
You are gasping but I surely do not mind
I pound your rim and one more time
And *** once more as you reach behind
To touch my finger tips
I twist you around and grab your knees
And pull you into to me
I raise you up and sting you like a bee
And I put my thorn in so easily
I take my fill for free
And toss your shivering hulk back across the bed like you are nothing now to me
You lay upon the crumpled sheets
You lay used and oh so worn
You hair a sticky mess , that of a baby born
You lip bleeding softly , while I look on with such scorn
You slowly spread your legs like butterfly wings adorned
Saying,"Won't you come back and do it all again ."
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
*We all
Dance around
A fire with lipstick
On our cheeks in lines
Powdered in patterns that* will
Accentuate the contours of our bodies
Symbols written in eyeliner so daintily
Adorned like ink meeting paper we are
*Decadent 287 temptation 285 ****** 307* flame 300
*The savages you have created with media we chant
Eninimef eninimef eninimef eninimef we chant*
In a circle circulating the world with our starving
Bodies that whisper of synthetic beauty and
Neglect naked and perverse we are posing
For your cameras capturing exploitation
And degradation because ****** 307 we
Are ****** 307 temptation 285 the savages
You have created with media eninimef we chant
We are the heat of broken records and burnt out cigs
Play us like your out of tune guitar our G-strings are so
Much more loose unlike the noose of your hands grazing*
Our skin we sing what you want no matter how deep
No matter how long the song we are exactly what
You want *the savages you have created of me –
The savages you have created with media –
Eninimef eninimef eninimef eninimef
We chant – we chant – we chant – we
Decadent 287 temptation 285
****** 307 flame 300*
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 3:48 AM UTC
September's child is special
born in autumn's gold;
brother to the pumpkin
sister to the cold.
September's child is lovely
the heart's in the right place;
born in the changing leaves
adorned with God's own grace.
September's child is full of love
for family and for friends;
granting each an honored spot
with love that never ends.
September's child is filled with life
for enjoying nature's touch;
relishing the autumn rains
not too little, nor too much.
September's child is special
between the heat and cold;
graced with special beauty
graced by autumn's gold.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
A duality of elan vital, two people
Spectres of emotion
Intertwined by a fuselage of bruised skin & tendon
Tissues become orbital, gushing towards grafts
Helixes of snot, **** and lymph
Boy & girl
As they embrace the animating principle and eachother, they fuse
A one piece tapestry adorned seamless with no hem, beginning or end
Always was, always is
Patiently turning to liquid as their being unzips
Lying figures of runny makeup and genetic *****
Quintessence, a texture of synaptic potential
Corpus Callosum
An entirety of self, lost in imbued disintegration
Theory of mind, looped & bound
I will water the thought
Roots envisaged in dystopian amygdala
Piercing data packets with a frost-like intensity
Forgetting our obsolescence moments ago
A neuron dipped in nylon
Theta waves and the non-euclidean crux of dissociation
Ghosts in the machine, your macro god
The sympathies of fractional distillation
Digitised/assimilated unto the nanosphere
Cold hands and brass backs galvanised in oscillated tears
Commodified, sold out and bought
Stretching, from purple, white and black
slowly losing its colour, amorphous in shape
brushed across a smudge, ambiguously chromatic
Monetised flesh god
An eternity bathed in starlight
Cutting an incision in the sky to allow entropy
Divided dimensions of energy
Fleeting and intangible
No longer a delirium of seperation
All semantics become light
As a rusted vehicle passes overhead
And all the worlds questions fade out of existence
Flutters of red tape and foregone growth of practice
Sinew flayed, integrated towards information
Our minds shared
In circuits and resistors
Photons and electrons
We radiate
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
***If I were a Rainbow
The children would run to me
Turning upside down, I would be an iridescent swing,
The children would mount my rainbow wing
Swaying high up in the starry skies ascending on the moon
The children do bunny jumps, counting stars till noon
Awestruck and desirous they pick a few
The colours pink purple orange magenta and blue
Swaying down to the flower garden
They would pick flowers from the boughs laden
Threading in a star and a flower into an ornamental garland
Adorned as neckpieces , running around ,making one happy land
If I were a Rainbow
I would dismember all the semicircles making one hula hoop
The children would gleefully twirl and sway into the enormous loop
If I were a Rainbow
I would become one big ramp
The children would joyously roller skate up and down
Lighting up the ramp
If I were a Rainbow
And all of these came true
I would turn upside down making one radiant smile across the sky
The children would happily smile back at me , waving me good bye***
Aug 25, 2017
Aug 25, 2017 at 11:49 PM UTC
This is the night of the distant circles.
Tonight the gulls are in meditation.
Senora, tonight, I find your tracks
disappearing on the shores,
though the tide is afar.
I saw you, draped in a garment of colours, and
adorned of the golden dot on your forehead
vanish at the horizon.
In the morning when you
emerged fresh from the shower of mists
with your clouden hair still wet,
I was the wheezing breeze flying West.
I was the bumblebees returning to roost.
Now I am conversing with the echoes.
I want to decipher the language of the waves
whispering to the stars.
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
*Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall
I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."*
- Matthew the Apostle
I
Seventy-seven bottles of gin
lie in the guts of sensuous men;
seventy-seven I forgive you's dissolve
in a fanatical mind's resolve.
II
What offence occurred under Saint Constantine's priggish eye?
Was it specious as a Samian's thigh?
Or Sumerians receiving alien diplomats?
Maybe somewhere far under Moscow Putin's massing cloning vats...
III
Whatever discursive and belligerent milieu
church authority finds most tried and true
seems to be the most important decider
in the future of things like the Large Hadron Collider.
Perhaps, unfoundedly, they find it funny that Higgs
(though it seems much like calling the Liberal Party "Whigs")
is a name shared by a man and a theoretical particle
(though it be libelous in any journalist's article),
and thus label similar advancements as "blasphemous".
I guess that this is what it is: believing just because.
IV
Who can know blasphemy from piousness?
Maybe all Luther did was obfuscate a prior mess.
V
Seventy-seven palm-branch-adorned, donkey-riding kings:
an automatic-ring-making-machine beleaguering proselyte rings.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
1:11am:
in my lungs you breed a pale disease
you are even in the air I breathe
3:29am:
heart in half chasing electronic dreams in technicolour screams
your claws in my teeth as I drown out my whims
3:45am:
and all the nights I spent lying in the freezer
and all the little lies we wasted telling each other
and even as you left I had not come around
I was the reckless wrecking havoc on wicked ground
4:59am:
last night I was flying around
dazed and dazed and dazed all over
awaiting my jewelled crown
adorned with the prestige of an empire
even in a new cage I could not throw you out
5:27am:
even as the sun rises surely troubles stay the same
even if you came back now I would gladly play your games
even after all this while all the daze you left me in
still you are imperial and my grailed heart it shakes like porcelain
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 8:39 AM UTC
The fault of our reality is not written in our stars
And it will not dance across unfavorable constellations,
Or dissolve into inconsolable fragments.
The fault, my love, is not written in our stars.
It is written in ourselves.
But how fortunate would it be?
To cast the providence of our unlucky affairs
Into the gloomy twilight,
Where the sky is so unilluminated
That we could close our restful eyes
And fathom a world where it does not exist?
But the fault, my love, is not written in our stars.
It is written in ourselves.
We are heavily folded sheets of stationary:
A collection of utterances
Bound into melancholy novels
By our mangled hearts,
And though spoken words
Still fall onto my turning pages
As tears do fall from my reddened cheeks,
I have yet to forget
The chapter you have left unwritten,
Because an unwritten chapter is one to be adorned:
It cannot end
For it does not exist.
And so we fumble through an amorous affliction,
Fabricated into a bittersweet infinity.
And at midnight,
When my restless fingers
***** the empty air for you,
And the reality of our desolate fault
Seeps into my hands,
I wish you were here.
But the fault, my love, is not written in our stars.
It is written in ourselves.
j.s.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 3:28 AM UTC
The Sight of Black Stockings on Pale white Legs
Framing and showing off the Thigh, That Begs
Softly to be touched, in gentle Admiration
Women in Silk, Lace, and Satin for Excitation
Camisoles of Lace, Garters and Penoirs
Corsets Laced up, and Short Babydolls
*Lace Demi Cup Bras, with ******* Adorned*
Without the Pleasure of this, life is Forlorn
*There is a Certain ****** Passion*
For these Fine Lingerie Fashions
Lust and Loved for Centuries
*It Brings forth ***** Sensuality*
Curve and Crevices tease the Eyes
Releasing ever Passionete Sighs
Until Entwined they Finally Find
The unyeildings of Motions Devine
All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 7:00 PM UTC