"aeonian" poems
Fatima Latima
I had wished I had no gift of sight
That the worst I could endure is hear you speak
And not snapshot the footfall of your gradation
You may not be a thief
Nor **** daughter of the dayspring
But definitely my heart you stole
I speak of the daughter of Arabia
Aesthetically, she rocks
The queen of the pilgrim sands
And aeonian desert stones
Beyond the hijab
Artistically knead with consummate craft
Like the relics of Mecca
Blest by the prophet’s bones
The blessed
I see torches
Beaming with intelligence
Within those mascaras
Exquisitely trimmed and vibrant
A lulu class botany
She fixes a searching gaze
As she saunters close
And the stride and tread
Beats a drum entrancing
Soothed in her solacing spell
I give in, to her lullaby
She halts her perambulation
Stands magniloquent and stupefy
Like some pop diva magazine pose
Or Victorian secret shot
A tactical derangement of her gluteals
As she rests her palm in its cleft
I feel contractions, my dartos muscles
The blew of summertime
Gently beats her exceptional form
Her belt submerge her thigh crevice
Cleft by the sundered rift of fleshy fat
Built by the dainties and delicacies
Seasoned by the finest Arabian chef
As her silken dress slithers and gowns
Under the breeze bulging and blooming
Like a rose blossom or sunflower fore
As she bends down
To assuage the burlesque
The sun specula lilts her sensational
Her smile apologetic bids me stillness
I am caught staring
Guzzling down her scent and
Feasting on empty imaginations
Of What If that accentuate the mind and
Speed a hormone
And I pray I sin no more
Next time we meet and I see her again
For I am but a writer
Learning to use my pen and paper
And hope you but forgive
My linguistic impotence
When I make my confession
Employing too plain a language
When I say thus;
Her smile is classical
Her walk magical
Her beauty celestial
Her stride sensational
Her religion ethical
Her character spotless
And that leaves me breathless
And forgive if I step on broken toe
And try speak of the unspoken
Her ****** is sacred
Her being a type that dresses up
In the milliards of brutes dressing down
And shamelessly style it fashion
I must see a priest
One confession I ought to utter
And even vociferate abroad
For once I had fallen in love
With an Arabian Beautie
A ****** of Mecca.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:12 AM UTC
i.
In the Aeonian of the lifetime's
We shalt formeth together;
Lifeline's.
ii.
We shalt be aesthete's
Museum enthusiast's;
Of chariot's, and cherub's.
iii.
Aeviternal through the ion's
Cascarilla of incense burning;
Smoke to riseth ourn hearth.
iv.
A catena of both of ourn novel's
The fireplace, wood gleamed;
Ourn silhouette's making love to the shadow's.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane nagley/ Filipino rose dedication
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
the look you gave me
when we first met
it was like you
knew me more
than anyone I've
ever known.
you looked at me
you looked at my soul,
not my face,
not my body,
not my beauty.
you looked at me
& who I am
deep inside.
you understood me
from the minute our eyes
collided
my presence was all you wanted
you ached for me
i set my heart on you
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 3:01 PM UTC
As I sip succulent absinthe
from the mouth of a cyan sea,
I succumb to a seductive grin
and sell my soul to thee.
There it is, a dappled smirk,
on your sinful lips as well,
and now that you are willing,
we have a tangled tale to tell.
Come now my sweet euphoria.
Caress me in your kiss.
Send me a twisted alibi
and wrap me in utter bliss.
I am the tainted murmur,
I am the nimbus quick,
and as one, we are miasma,
to the sickest of the sick.
Your skin a sweet oasis,
my hands a greedy verve,
the sense of touch engulfs us,
and we muster up the nerve.
No couple more visurient,
none filled with more desire,
no passion burning brighter
than that which we perspire.
We slow from our nirvana,
and slumber into mist,
dreaming of how it all began
with one etherial kiss.
By: Kevin Kurt Nepomuceno
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
Out of reach from any sound,
Beyond the highest thought,
Invisible across an astral scene, too
Aeonian home,
Forever free
The planets are like
great eyes to me,
My wife owns the moons.
The kids have turned
all fix'd and strange,
Been feeling awfully tame,
Poor things,
Remembering days
insane with esprit,
Moving willingly
through tilted palms,
On crescent waves,
Surrounded by
the clearest ever blue,
Deep under sanguinary hues
and tropic reverie that loom
to meet the sever'd, melting sun,
Arising horizons,
One hundred and one
As violent as fire,
Enough for them all!
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 3:17 AM UTC
Yet if some voice that man could trust
Should murmur from the narrow house,
'The cheeks drop in; the body bows;
Man dies: nor is there hope in dust:'
Might I not say? 'Yet even here,
But for one hour, O Love, I strive
To keep so sweet a thing alive:'
But I should turn mine ears and hear
The moanings of the homeless sea,
The sound of streams that swift or slow
Draw down AEonian hills, and sow
The dust of continents to be;
And Love would answer with a sigh,
'The sound of that forgetful shore
Will change my sweetness more and more,
Half-dead to know that I shall die.'
O me, what profits it to put
And idle case? If Death were seen
At first as Death, Love had not been,
Or been in narrowest working shut,
Mere fellowship of sluggish moods,
Or in his coarsest Satyr-shape
Had bruised the herb and crush'd the grape,
And bask'd and batten'd in the woods.
1.3k
i.
In the chamber, acoustic amour',
Me and mine Jane, sweet Jane
Mi amour';
ii.
Aeonian existence, never to depart
Thee mine Reyna, and me thine Hari,
quintessence, perfection of heart's;
iii.
Eidolon's, Effulgent in tight-knit grace
I kiss thy forehead, before ourn slumber;
Number's hath none meaning, in God's holy place.
iv.
I'll wrap mine leg's,
Over thy hips, as mine hand
Traces thine face; leaving mine
Print's, as I commit, to
Marriage of celestial race.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
*Once seen, there's*
*a depth of beauty
one never recovers
from... akin to
the swoon of an
aeonian sun.
Whereupon death has
no name to take
in vain.*
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC
up the mountain with a tremble,
no plan or gear or hope,
Sisyphus I must resemble,
endless clamber; tedious trope.
no longer; I recall the base,
the grass; the trees; the glades,
as I ascend; with unkept pace,
the path behind me fades.
looming blizzard lingers behind,
(it) taunts blowing in today,
upward; disheveled, lost and blind,
no guides to lead the way.
forced to muster a clumsy strut,
advancing; though I'm weak,
uncertain of journeys end; but,
certain there is no peak.
Dec 5, 2024
Dec 5, 2024 at 12:13 AM UTC
*The chaos of life calling in the twisting veins,
Where lifeblood pumped and the children came to drink,
Now blackened and scorched ,
The shell of our beingness,
Lies parched and cracked on this devoid land.
Silence the stillness vocalizing the null,
From the blank slate view to the ceiling of the sky.
Life for life,
Dead or deprived,
The cacophony of the carnival disregarded ,
Only shadows and memories,
Lingering in the custody of the earth,
Carried on the endless journey of the wind
We call nothingness.
Their orifices are alive with selfish yield
We have no tongue to speak.
Drained of existence,
Once we sheltered in the hollow inside.
Now we are spectres
Ghosts of the flood
Someday the rains will come again
So long we have waited
Lost between planes
Nothing but the echo of a perpetual utterance
We will dance in the gathering waters,
When breath shudders coldly,
Through the carcass of our essence,
Bringing out throats alive,
Drowning stone and dust,
We will call again.
Call to the perpetual,
Empty skies with aeonian lies,
Clouds which despise,
To whom we call abode again .*
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
*memories, sentiments, anguishes, exultations,
You dissolve them all...
Unceasing aeonian amorphous flow
you are,
You efface every life once for all..
Kings and Queens crumpled before you,
You stand grandiloquent and tall..
You took beloved ones, some ended in flames and some in clays,
You left us with a void in heart,
and dragged us into a pitfall..
You become a friend and a foe,
an opportunity takes it all..
No one surmounted you, none master did,
You mastered them all..
You are the Time, The Invincible Time,
That is what we all waul* ...
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 6:37 AM UTC
Just like myself,
My love lasts forever,
But not for just one entity,
I love everyone equally.
I should love my creation,
Should I not?
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 8:36 AM UTC
Staring right in to this
paper for days. I thought I had
lost my ability to write.
My ability to express.
A gift that I took for granted.
My feelings were just trapped
inside the cage and needed
to escape and soar high.
I couldn't bring myself to write
and the thoughts wouldn't
find words to breathe.
There was a thirst. An
aeonian ache. Heavy pounding
of my heart and an uneasy feeling
like my lungs had bronchitis.
My body unsupported the idea
of writing as I could only
write tragedies and the perpetual
pain of my once upon a time
virtuous heart. How could
I cheat on words? They had
always been there for me.
Most importantly there when
I had slit my malevolent heart
and given up.
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC
I am black, he is white,
We differ in height,
What does it matter?
If the former and the latter,
Assent to the marriage of our minds,
Love in diversity, oh! What a find!
Rather than take a solo flight,
Into a terrain of unceasing plights.
Fairness an aeonian act,
That cleanses a mind’s eye full of cataracts,
It determines the form of my imprints on the sands of time,
It measures the height of my strides, without unnecessary chime.
I am black shouldn’t make my judgement devoid of light and sombre,
He is white shouldn’t make his judgement pallid and lacklustre.
We can weld our hearts, mind and soul together in the heat of flames,
And say no to this untamed monster called injustice which has no one but us to blame,
Because underneath our skin lies the feelings
Of happiness, sadness, anger. Reeling
Us in confusion, fear, peace, guilt, innocence, contempt, love and pain.
Everyone has his or her stain,
Hence we are all the same.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 1:41 PM UTC
Wombed Dawn ascends /
Yearning to cascade /
Upon Treasured a gaian sphere, /
She is our earthly matriarch; /
O, Her aeonian epidermis /
Thirsts for aetherial droplets of dew /
That crash & quench in sonic frequencies, /
Under radiant, adamantine moonbeams, /
& Galvanic blue-hot lightning. /
The Melodious Winds beckon me /
As each susurrant breeze /
Brushes against my hair follicles /
Awakening the vagabond in me. /
Although I glean naught a zephyr /
I fathom the celestial compass of her travels, /
She spirits me away /
To surging airborne streams /
A sanctuary of life & lovelight. /
Rouse within me /
The somnolent Moonbeams /
That can only be seen /
As I glisten in the night; O, the liminal throes of twilight. /
Believe in me, /
Fathom my presence, /
Even when /
My corporeal vessel can no longer be seen, /
Be observed, in eyes bound by mortality. /
Trust in the stellar element /
Inhabiting your existence /
Upon this realm: /
You are a luminary, /
A beacon, /
A lodestar. /
Awaken to the fatidic foreordinance: /
A nascent constellation you've augured /
Upon your Beloved Creator's Mind's Sky. /
Shine, /
Shine, /
Desiderata, /
Shine, /
Shine, /
Materialista, /
Shine, /
Shine, /
Transcendentalista. /
(—Se' lah)
Oct 10, 2021
Oct 10, 2021 at 11:06 PM UTC
It's hard to slumber when your not here
without you I feel so obscure
Stagnant in heartbreak, rooted in pain
I endeavor to move on but my life's full of rain
Aeonian cerebrations of you in my mind
Transitory fine-tunes are all I can find
No one can even commence to supersede you
Despite the poor endeavors to embrace few
Desperate for your heart to open for me
Pleading for your ocular perceivers to open and visually perceive
That I can be the one to make me ecstatic
So my love is what you require so lamentably
Yet, for us, I stand alone in my mourning
The fire for me is no longer burning
I require your love so i can smile again
I optate all of you so I can feel whole again
I can't make you dote me but I will endeavor
Until the day you do
Apr 28, 2017
Apr 28, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
I don't work,
in the usual sense,
and I won't ever
do other's bidding
again, but many do
(*I had not thought
death had undone
so many*) and they
wear me out.
Mornings away,
afternoons home.
In between,
nugatory labors.
It is exhausting
to consider and
makes me want
to take a nap.
I'm weary
in general
and drowsy
in particular
and have
a great notion
to depart this
aeonian hell
of automatons
and hebetude
for some place
where birdsong
and sunlight
and kisses
are work enough.
~mce
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 9:34 AM UTC
.....and in between
the listening...
silence...
not strained
....but commfortable
an acknowledgement....
of a knowing love
.....and in between
the knowing...
years of ... learning
...to listen...
for the quiet times...
of knowing ....love
silence....profound
love.....aeonian.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:50 AM UTC
I think I may have
an aboulia
maybe even
aboulomania
but I'll give this a
pirouette
with panache
unless I come down
with
asthenia
I'll set up a balize
to guide my figurative
calamus
as words debouch
from
my thalamus
words that have been
in the eccaleobion
for a time
aeonian
it won't make much sense
as these things seldom do
a blague is a blague is a blague
completely
all the way through
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC
Is death the end
Or is there any other upend
facing past to complete the silence
filling love to make amends
was there some peace left
in all the war, crimes and aeonian theft
Is death the end
or is it a portend
to misery, hatred and malevolence
turning stone as a way to transcend
is there some peace left
or is the present bereft
Is death the end
or is it a temporal mend
one that numbs turbulence
into apathetic fragments
will there be some peace left
in our memories that are still left, yet
Jul 31, 2022
Jul 31, 2022 at 4:34 PM UTC