"afterglows" poems
*Bonding beneath a Bloodmoon
Stuttering starlight of June
Waves that trace a salted line
Ever-changing sand with time
A loon calls from afar
As the wind responds in kind
Whispering wonders of the stars
Projecting our peace of mind
Bodies shrouded in darkness
If not for the afterglows
Speaking words in silence
Ruby kisses on the nose
Two silhouettes on the horizon
A glorious, glistening red
With nimble waves to guide them
They'll continue to forge ahead*
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Shut the doors
and drift the words away
we act like rascals
toiling with our frays
weakening to the knees
idyllic river feels,
reaching an ominous sea
longing our moments
as our tale would breathe
She adores many
may it be pretty in pink
or baby in blues
but I like most a lot
how she paints prism hues
unfailingly she tells me
—that she's in love
and I could tell
in her gleaming smile
extending up above
She's the Juliet
I would never trade
the starlight in between
my midnight eyes
the snow I would trail
A poem and A prose
everyone's dying to sigh
a binding might
our hearts of ribbons tied
and we sat to an oriel
—above the bedroom floor
touching hands
grasping each other’s core
a common connection
the afterglows of love
a better reason
as we left kisses to depart
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
My days at Penlandia definitely reached its afterglow
Now it’s hard for me to find my rhythm
Hopefully, the soul of some of my poetry will find their mark
If not unto someone’s head, then to somebody’s heart
I hope my words are not just vandals on the wall
Nor merely a stain on the paper
I created them to touch, stab, **** and make love
To bring peace unto hell and create fire in the sky above
It’s up to your eyes now, my dearest readers to magnify
Hate my stuff or love them
What's the reason why I’m inches away on parking my pen?
Voices from the other side echoes within my ear again and again
That’s why I’m writing this poetry as if my last
But if one day you’ll see me deploying another poem
I hope you enjoy stories with an unexpected ending
Besides, even the afterglows have a little radiance remaining
Mysterious Aries
11/19/2015
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
twilight piles its scorn on sun
dim where we usually live
not in light nor dark
just that in - between part
that's gray, which is real life,
now's life,
death's life,
not bright
nor black and white,
good nor evil
just civil;
but how drab it feels
not to drink warmth anymore,
those glows,
afterglows,
after wet kisses
after summer rain
caught us laughing
quivering skin
still remembering
blood lingering
thumping heart beats
her heart beats
my heart beat
beautiful, musical beats
two beings synchronized
recalling breathless copulations
replayed ever in imagination
as new days unfolded,
unencumbered by fears
our floors were never sterile enough
and must always be washed
just once more
because it's too hard to see
dirt in twilight
and real life,
real love,
reality
is always messy
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 6:24 PM UTC
What's the point
In wasting time and wasting ink
When I can't verbalise the thoughts I think?
That night with you,
I learned the secret of it all.
The secret of love and how to fall.
In case you wonder
How you ever will know,
Spend time in silence and love should grow.
For we shared a glance,
A glance that pitifully pleaded.
And with that we knew that no words were needed.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 5:40 PM UTC
there are echoes of christmas chimes
in the midsummer dreamscape she has
woven on our bedsheets with
her photographs and pencil sketches
there is much to be done and little time to keep
she gently sweeps away such frail notions
and with sparkling wonders
shining in her eyes she unwraps the day
with her girlish laughter's and warm joys
there are christmas chimes in the beautiful light of her eyes
i am there in her afterglows and tender kisses
im there to kiss the bells in her dreadlocks
as stillness once more settles like a ****** snow
soft and silent gently while we slept
im there in her afterglows
with english schoolboys charms
to dazzle and delight
because i live for her smile
because i live for her joys
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC
not to mimic the absolute tenderness of
the truest roses in Heaven,
afterglows of trust have their own
identifying features
they squint and glimmer and envelop
one's dearest aspirations
with such wonderful splendor and blessing,
that wise owls and ripe trees
easily capture these moments of fruition
entire forests and countless owls
live for this nurturing magic
~~
..(C)2003/2012 Spiros Zafiris
..channeled; spirit Ram
~~
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 8:51 PM UTC
It's always in those moments of afterglows fade it all turn's to ****
When silence is cut by razors of thought.
And what just happened finds way to guilt of another's regret.
Maybe we should find a place to go but maybe we should just take it for what it never was.
Broken dreams were built upon good intentions and I for one have to many
burnt bridges to cross this rivers distraction my dear.
I can't say I will share in nothing more than a action .
It's just not something I can do .
She listens in pain yet knows truth's seem less intrusive under passions spent.
There's no happy ending just a moments release.
I never promise what I can't even believe in myself.
I know emptiness but sometimes the drunken bliss finds me weak.
Maybe tomorrow will change a hardened heart.
Good thing I wont be here to entertain it's well intended lies.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
Many years ago I tried
to leave time behind
in its hunt for the journey's end
we had forgotten the afterglows
and so we parted ways, leaving
trails of colliding sparks
only–––––––––––
–––––––––––it was I
who was left behind
When time gave up on lost causes
the wish for forever sinned.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:19 AM UTC
As fog rolls in
dark contrast on the city falls
blending in lights and afterglows
singing tones that show the flight
of birds and their patterns they take each way
when the sun comes out to play
And Only freaks seek the moon
eclipsing doom making shadows over streets and gloom
moving their feet and try to emulate
the pretty fate of
daywalkers while they sleep
we give the worth our home and keep
as mother earth weeps
as it gets steep try to clean out the shaded spirits at our feet
while they feed on the one's who yearn to live out and learn
Innocence is ****** dry what can we save
while the vampires see slow motion after the grave
taking the blood and making us grey
when push comes to shove we're put to shame
no more veins no one's sane
Dec 19, 2010
Dec 19, 2010 at 10:39 AM UTC
I have loved
swollen at times
to the size of mountains
over the brooks and streams flowing
warm 'tween my arms
issuing
the life flows
pleasures and sighted
of afterglows.
If then the sun stopped
shining,
I would never
notice.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
Pale, bloodless forms, untouchable forms
On beams of whiteness, snow capped
Forms, vague translucent forms,
A sacrificed vision....
Forms of a prophetic body, virginal
Bright innocence in the fire of Saints,
Wandering the silences drenched
In illusion of slow agonizing temptation,
Incandescent harmonies like fallen angels,
The color of blood moons and patron gods,
Suspension of memories in the hesitant
Afterglows of the soothing sight, silent....
Crying the psalms of ecstatic angels
In sensual malices fertilizing the innocence
In a subtle cascade of last moments,
The light just over the darkness, dawn's mystery
Infinite forms, ethereality of sobbing sounds,
The ideal form of death and birth,
The dream is an exalted stanza,
Sterilization of the mind, exotic forms....
Requiem of the private sufferings,
Form of the lonely charade,
Magnifying the essential need of the other,
Form of chastity for the *****
The the golden pollen fall upon the dance,
The dancing form of a black swan,
Luminosities under the lunar glistening,
Deeply, subtlety....
Primal forms, animalistic in the body
When the aura is sensually appealing
Gilded upon her ******* and curvature
Like rolling hills under a storm,
Forms like crystalline glory under
Said light with a court of stars,
Vibration of light currents flawed by
Peculiar prints of the flesh
Forms of courage, gusts of love,
Crimson depths of the soul,
Forms like vanity into the black dress,
Conquest of lustrous desires.....
Forms like yours, forms like mine
Bleeding into foreign rivers,
The Dream is a fantastical whirlpool,
The form is confusing and terrifying and
Wonderful....
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 9:55 AM UTC
My Masterpiece
If I had the hands
of a Master Sculptor
I would mold the lines
of your face to my mind,
where for all time
I could visit and admire
what I behold
when I looked at you.
Should these painters fingers
find the deft
Of ability to paint in naked hues
a destiny
in twilight afterglows long denied,
I’d paint two,
one for me and you.
If I were a maestro of music
I would play
One Solitary note
that awoke a worthy world
to a breakable breathless heart,
shattered
but still collectible.
If I were an adequate poet
I would share in pictograph
of parnassian light
your certain savoir-faire
so all could read
you as I do,
so untamed and exquisitely rare,
claimed by many
but never
will you ever...
be truly owned.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
There were midnights when I could still tell you about my dreams. Of course, they were always about us — marvelling at the colors of the sky. With you, standing under the sun and getting lost in the afterglows and collapsing with the black holes sounded romantic. One night, I would dream about reading the books we collected together. Other nights, I would dream of kissing the tips of your lashes inside our blanket forts in terry cloth robes and Birth of Venus and Starry Night socks. Regardless, we would be up at 5 am — you with your whole bean coffee, listening to the tales authored in my sleep.
Except that in my dreams, it still feels like her instead of you. It always does. So tonight, I hope you keep yourself warm and touch the dream catcher tattoo on your nape and not think of me anymore. I know that I'm the reason for your sleepless night and memories dressed in nightmares, but tonight, I hope that you go back to sleep and no longer dream of the love I fabricated. And when it's 5 am, I hope you realize that you need something a little better than my dreams. I hope you brew your coffee to the right strength and no longer look at where I used to sit to tell you my daytime stories. So go back to sleep now. You'll be okay — without the what if's and the dreams and the happy ending written in our name. You'll be okay, darling.
You'll be okay without me.
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 12:50 AM UTC
The way I would take, say,
Contraband
Something I'm not allowed to have
But best administered in small doses
Not even on a regular basis
Drawn to you, like faint, bright lights on a dark night
Blinking at the far end of the road
Waiting, but
I'm not even sure if they're real
I'd take you all in
Clear waters I would drown myself in
And never having to come up for air
I'd rather breathe you in
Sweet familiar scent of 3am walking around the city,
Endless 2am rooftop conversations,
And the 4am anticipation of sunrises
In last night's clothes of drinks and dancing
To the music of our laughter filling the air and
Shots of attraction that burned our throats,
Quenched our thirst
But left us still
So parched and wanting more
Than electric shocks of desire quickly coursing through our veins
Giving me nostalgic chills twenty years down the road
In tomorrows we won't share
Because we'd rather fall off cliffs now and
Dance around the inevitable
Tonight
And all those nights
As we break free of all our memories
The photographs, little notes in library books, restaurant receipts, and movie tickets
All the little snippets of all those moments
We'll always have
But can never take to
Tomorrow and
All the way down that road
So here we'll part
Sometime
When you're lost
In another long story you're recalling
In great detail, for my sake
I'll take a left
And you won't even see me disappear
Hey,
I'll tell myself
Over
And over
Again
At least I get to keep you
In the faintest of afterglows.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
Creamy pale yellow moths,
translucently glom the buttery
mists of sunlight's skin, hers.
Naked with vision, redefining
outlines of afterglows...prickling grids,
as if she could shed the body.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 12:42 PM UTC
The Holy Land neath hammer blows -
is this what Jesus prophesied:
when sad-sack’s hanged like mistletoes
the sightless see a suicide;
when thousands fall like dominoes
the blind deny it’s homicide;
when women fry in thermal throes
the gents reject it’s femicide
when rockets slaughter embryos
the fools forget it’s feticide
when children die and decompose
the dullards doubt infanticide;
when bodies burn with afterglows
no one concedes it’s genocide.
Whichever way the west wind blows
leaves morals dangling, crucified…
Oct 31, 2024
Oct 31, 2024 at 1:25 PM UTC
an April head of hair
in dispositions of wind--
institutional greens
swept away by exponential
growth.
outright wiry (mind be still).
when color roasts its
pigment strange things
happen.
as balloons loosely held
by children,
with ice cream dangling
from their chins.
rains begin to sputter in
afterglows of building
warmth.
dogs rub their spines on
the grasses of parks, tongues
limply aside in pardons
of speech.
raving aliveness.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC