"airily" poems
ghagras twirling
veils swirling
anklets tinkling
silver at her neck
how she adorns herself!
regal as a queen
but cannot conceal
her banjara soul
gypsy blood flows in her veins
a thousand stars alight upon her veil
fuchsia and orange set fire to the dusk
twilight is thick with her magic
she sways with the grace of a peacock
bends like a willow to the breeze
dances in celebration of her soul
her smile a universal knowing
none can slow her pace
beauty this wild leaves only a trace
slips airily past eyes
drunk with desire
to beguile the moon in his heaven
she answers the call of the wanderer within
casts only laughter on the restless wind
this desert rose
this woman child
this gypsy queen
this banjara
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 12:01 AM UTC
Is this how happiness feel like?
Oh, the way my lips gently curve upwards is like..
Sleepy eyes kissed airily by sunshine,
buttering toast on a bitter cold winter's day.
When it is so very cold,
every breath feels like toothpaste and mint.
It is the worries being unknotted.
Little inexplicable sparks that can light even the darkest souls.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
ONE time he dreamed beside a sea
That laid a mane of mimic stars
In fondling quiet on the knee
Of one tall, pearlèd cliff; the bars
Of golden beaches upward swept;
Pine-scented shadows seaward crept.
The full moon swung her ripened sphere
As from a vine; and clouds, as small
As vine leaves in the opening year,
Kissed the large circle of her ball.
The stars gleamed thro' them as one sees
Thor' vine leaves drift the golden bees.
He dreamed beside this purple sea;
Low sang its trancéd voice, and he-
He knew not if the wordless strain
Made prophecy of joy or pain;
He only knew far stretched that sea,
He knew its name-Eternity.
A shallop with a rainbow sail
On the bright pulses of the tide
Throbbed airily; a fluting gale
Kissed the rich gilding of its side;
By chain of rose and myrtle fast
A light sail touched the slender mast.
'A flower-bright rainbow thing,' he said
To one beside him, 'far too frail
To brave dark storms that lurk ahead,
To dare sharp talons of the gale.
Beloved, thou wouldst not forth with me
In such a bark on such a sea?'
'First tell me of its name.' She bent
Her eyes divine and innocent
On his. He raised his hand above
Its prow and answering swore, ''Tis Love!'
'Now tell,' she asked, 'how is it build-
Of gold, or worthless timber gilt?'
'Of gold,' he said. 'Whence named?' asked she,
The roses of her lips apart;
She paused-a lily by the sea.
Came his swift answer, 'From my heart!'
She laid her light palm in his hand:
'Let loose the shallop from the strand!'
2.2k
Across the dimly lighted room
The violin drew wefts of sound,
Airily they wove and wound
And glimmered gold against the gloom.
I watched the music turn to light,
But at the pausing of the bow,
The web was broken and the glow
Was drowned within the wave of night.
2k
I dance in circles holding
the moth of the marriage,
thin, sticky, fluttering
its skirts, its webs.
The moth oozing a tear,
or is it a drop of *****
The moth, grinning like a pear,
or is it teeth
clamping the iron maiden shut?
The moth,
who is my mother,
who is my father,
who was my lover,
floats airily out of my hands
and I dance slower,
pulling off the fat diamond engagement ring,
pulling off the elopement wedding ring,
and holding them, clicking them
in thumb and forefinger,
the indent of twenty-five years,
like a tiny rip of a tiny earthquake.
Underneath the soil lies the violence,
the shift, the crack of continents,
the anger,
and above only a cut,
a half-inch space to stick a pencil in.
The finger is scared
but it keeps its long numb place.
And I keep dancing,
a sort of waltz,
clicking the two rings,
all of a life at its last cough,
as I swim through the air of the kitchen,
and the same radio plays its songs
and I make a small path through them
with my bare finger and my funny feet,
doing the undoing dance,
on April 14th, 1973,
letting my history rip itself off me
and stepping into
something unknown
and transparent,
but all ten fingers stretched outward,
flesh extended as metal
waiting for a magnet.
1.8k
warm wine flowing through my body
(Cabernet being ironically the same color as what gives me life)
directed me to my room
at approximately 11:25 pm that Wednesday.
A light in the left corner painting a pleasant and inviting
gold
I tumble into my queen bed
laughter airily escaping my lungs, exhalations of exhilaration
Ruffled a string of words into a message.
Borne of unadulterated joy and hopeless seclusion,
radiation from my center came out of my fingers as
**** me like the angel I am. I am true beauty and divinity and deserve to feel like a goddess"
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
There's something I desire like
Dripped honey on strawberrys
It's scent delicate and ravishing
We are the universal harmony
Through which human warmth
Survives hidden from cosmic wind
Celestial incantations float airily
Beyond everything inessential
Being joyful of the incidential
And we should treasure each sip
Thoughts running in time like grass
Reflecting lifes own peace endlessly
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 4:07 PM UTC
I thought sirens were voluptuous women,
Who sat upon rocks and sang to men,
Who couldn’t think past,
The tips of their *****
I was sure they had the longest hair,
I had ever seen,
That swore to you,
It had met with eternity.
Through rose-scented ears,
And rose-budded drapes,
I had heard of their full, soft *******
That breathed airily beneath,
The green beads of the sea,
Speaking, softly, of impending agendas.
"
But, I found out yesterday,
Their hands are great,
Yielding rough spears,
Rather than white sarongs.
They’re not sitting at all -
They actually stand tall,
Looming over you,
With ***** of their own.
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 8:14 PM UTC
walking down the street airily,
up comes a man so hairily
telling me how unsofairily
the world has been to him.
you see my dear friend,
our lives we must mend
for we never know our end
thus we pretend we live forever.
death left its mark,
a hardy spark,
deep inside our heart
vulnerable til the end.
a stillness occupies the brain,
an illness with all there is to gain
that causes unfathomable pain--
mental illness, will I ever be the same?
What I elected is fresh perspective:
the world is not so defective,
it just needs a new directive!
one that is protective,
completely unselective,
and infective with love.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Come here
Sit down, knee to knee…. ;-)
Sense the grass , feel the breeze and talk to me ;-)
Merrily a coffee for our wearily eyes
Warily a walk , airily a hold… ;-)
‘N momentarily a Nosehi5 ♥
NO BYE’s, what if it stuck my memory on replay ?
Come here !! ♥
∼Narayani©
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
fierce
fierce
blows the wind
across this island
off the coast of Africa
sittting on the slope of a volcano
I keep listening to the sound of things
street signs clatter to each other
empty beer cans roll noisily
through midnight streets
doors keep slamming
to make their presence known
plastic bags hiss airily
and fly away
like they never thought
they could
the ears
of the little dog that thinks
I am his master
stand at odd angles
while he is grooming himself
on my lap
warm bodies
in a blustery place
the patio chair
scrapes its way
across the tiles
inch by windy inch
my wine slushes in the glass
I share fiesta music
from half a mile a way
coming to me
in gusty fragments
and almost feel the rush
of low clouds chasing each other
under a star-studded sky
here I am
on the slope of a volcano
listening to the sounds of the world
* * *
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:21 AM UTC
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ***
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, *****
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
****** pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 3:12 AM UTC
The Gypsy Girl
I like the quiet lakes and their reviving breeze, where the water’s eyes are always sleepy. You can't imagine his red cheek in the winter nights. I remember when my mother had made a nice hat for him. My mother is so expert in the seasonal souls and she told me that the autumn is a gypsy girl. I didn't see autumn, but I am sure that my mother saw her because she described her face precisely. She told me that Autumn is flying between the trees’ branches as a small bird and leaving her veil weaving airily in our souls. Sometimes I feel that Autumn is a fairy and you may see her stormy tale swimming deeply in our dreams’ water.
A Gypsy Tent
I am not a hippie, but I seriously had thought to live in the forest without cooker or air-conditioner, just wood for the fire, and if you don’t agree, I will leave the fire for you. I will drink the river water with the birds and eat the greens with the deer. I will sleep under a tent without walls or doors. I will leave all your walls and all my closed doors for you. I will take a gypsy tent because I wish to dream at the night widely and chant at morning loudly.
A Gypsy Wagon
My grandfather had a beautiful horse with a heart filled with compassion and kindness. I didn't see her, but they said that she was legendarily clever and brave. My family might have possessed a wagon. I don't know and I didn't ask about this, but I think if we had one, it will be closed as the desert’s soul. I am an Arab man and you know there is nothing here but desert, so I decided to bring a gypsy wagon to my home to learn my children the freedom.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
Crawling to repair my median voices,
I bump my lumbering head along the curtains
Picturing a light evaporating out of masses
A sculpture modeled in my deep-seated mountains
I'm about to begin a brand-new journey,
as all my letters and signs are falling airily
Grit is granting me with a glowing crown
No slices are left from my earlier dawns
A rapid switch hit on my pavement,
like losing memory and diving in
a lake full of velvet and blinding diamonds
My lot is sleeping in covering wings
Another morning emptied of tongues
I do a humming like bambino birds
My pen blushes when seeing my pump,
as wine of this pulp turns into dust
I steam to tie the stars, and I sink
in a giant maze of origami planes
I pinch every no-man's land, in a blink,
pour them like milk in a pan sitting on flames
When snowflakes rise as bubbles of calligraphy,
and symphonies catch back their delicacy
My wizard's iris drinks the clouded chords
Veins wrapped in purple, as it snows in my globe
I'm bordering the gate, into writer's crowning sun
I inscribe this poem, to salute ladies and gentlemen
my hand waves to you, as eclipse calls
This is not a break, just a swing of my bipedal poles
My silhouette hikes in an elevated air,
like a pat ballerina climbing up the stairs
Bolting bulldozers, with feeders into the orb
A crystal punch radiates downtown's corpse
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
“He also saw the cook’s cat which could do somersaults.”
At least that’s what the cook said,
a claim the cat, shapeless sack
of snide, deigned neither to confirm
nor deny, content to ****
long afternoons in desultory
elongation, stationed
on the window sill above
the blackened eight burner Garland.
Once, when the cook stepped outside
to smoke, the cat, mood sour,
expansive, airily confided
the corpulent cook could climb
stairs on his hands while whistling
“Parlez-Moi d’Amour”
then spat in the soup, dispelling
any lingering incredulity,
his stomach duly nailing
a flawless double backflip.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 9:26 AM UTC
she.
rising with the sun, she rubs her eyes and peers gently at the figure beside her, breathing softly and in time with the delicate morning
waves.
her lips curl lightly at the edges from the sight of the watery morning that peaks through the blinds and paints peach-colored lines on his
back.
********* the string to her tea sachet her love steeps throughout her ribs like the flavor of bergamot throughout tea water.
shifting her gaze to the ocean, she basks in the salty aroma wafting in
from the sea.
it sends a breeze, caressing her cheeks, airily lifting her unruly waves, and dancing around her fingers.
a muted chuckle escapes from under her tongue.
misted, cerulean, and undulating, the sea beckons her presence.
she finds no resistance in her heart, so, light as the morning, she scoops up her worn journal and pen, and sets about the open beach.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 1:16 AM UTC
(whose video powerfully, profoundly, and
positively affected this southeastern residing
Pennsylvania papa)!
Afflicted with Cystic Fibrosis since her birth
contagious exuberance, gung-ho,
infectious jubilance noah dearth
which eye opening (then tearing)
podcast link sent tummy
FaceBook account,
she distilled and
didst poignantly blog the
purpose driven life,
no matter...hmm...
her existential time
nearing thee finis
line on planet Earth
though upworthy defying
deathly clasp of grim reaper,
who scythe lent
lee doth await
she (titled lass of poem) established
a substantial supportive network,
via such an up
beat aura, charisma,
persona, et cetera create
ting global bond sans,
world wide web, aye equate
chance lucky opportunity
to witness airily especial
and gutsy acceptance
of her (congenital) grim fate
while this healthy
(as an oxymoron) lix
spit tilling chap doth hate
sweaty palms (a minor,
though tolerable inconvenience)
versus being irate
at an accursed disease
still no cure as of late,
yet...state of
the art revolutionary treatments
provide longevity, and... YES
possibility to discover a mate
though consigning severe limitations
but...WOW, that girl (unknown
til yesterday) doth narrate
positivity, which amazing
will power didst permeate,
within thine noggin
triggering sincere flowing tears
bursting forth at an unstoppable rate
hence this attempted rye
ming livingsocial tribute
to go for broke
esprit de corps elan trait
completing a bucket list
while eternal sleep will wait!
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Watch life bloom where it wasn't
in the patches of fragrant wildfire
that sway airily in the calm arms
of the wind at noon sun.
( Our plans always fell as hasty child's scribble, but every farmer knows that a garden takes a season of storms and worms to bloom. )
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC