"ambiance" poems
the Silence became
like an old lesson learned
a broken heart intones
a voiceless song
resonating a refrain of Silent echoes
in a voice that never heard a word
yet spoke so clearly ... lingering
in realms of subtle ambiance
soundless remnants
stacked neatly as
building blocks;
another brick in a wall,
already too tall to see beyond—
growing like a bunker
without a sense of safe harbor
as the Silence became
time and space,
a stillness beset the melancholy air
as if a world without song
foreboding an unpredictable storm
beget vestiges of broken windfall,
reticent leftovers hushed after a gale
s i l e n t l y
an acorn fallen — became a mighty Oak
a wind-broke twig — became a weeping willow
a neglected child — became mother nature's son
the Silence became
a blind prophet —
in its voice held forth
smatterings of truth
and undertones of an unrequited
fool’s hope
the Silence became
a strong, abrupt rush of wind
uttering voiceless exhalations of breath;
a hovering dawn mist
befallen after a summer storm—
surrounding all in all
bedewed in a feigned peace
... the unabated sounds of silence
become
Jesse Stillwater ... July 20th, 2018
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
Biodiversity, an abstract term used in natural science,
Meaning diversity of life in a diversity of places.
Tonight I really feel all the compliance,
With this term occuring in my life in so many cases.
I have both positive and negative associations,
If I relate biodiversity to my own life.
It kind of explains all the complications,
On the road to when and where I thrive.
When I look at myself in the mirror,
I see the diversity in my face.
Both soft like a mother and severe like an emperor,
And my hair looks like it's from another race.
It is curly and it is dark,
While my skin is quite pale.
Blue eyes which sometimes brightly spark,
But other times greyish and frail.
Some moments I feel hyper,
like I'm going to explode.
I talk, walk, jump and stir,
and my brain says 'overload'.
Other moments however I feel calm and peace,
I lay down just quietly watch the sun.
Concentrated on every breath I release,
A warm ambiance like that of a mum.
Some mornings I feel like I'm the sexiest girl on the planet,
I take a red dress and let it slip over my hips.
Walk on 15 cm heels like my feet are made of granite,
And merely hope to use my red coated lips.
Other times even my jogging pants don't seem to fit,
I feel like the uggliest girl in town and only see disgust.
I watch useless YouTube videos infinite,
Because everything else feels like a must.
I can go on with this poem for a long time,
But it makes no sense.
It is just that with this rhyme,
I put on paper the doubts, thoughts and experience.
The biodiversity in me,
I like it and I do not.
But what I more and more see,
Is a swarm of different butterflies rather than an intwined knot.
Life is so **** special,
Intense and deeply exciting.
I think it is crucial,
Not to do too much hiding.
Enjoy the biodiversity in yourself,
Like a beautiful forest on a hill.
So many different species,
Crowded, changing and intertwined, but together, still.
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
I will tell you a story
In all its glory
Explaining the
****** *****
Creating much more than
The eye can see
Its a story about a vibrant flower
So beautiful it needs to be to attract the buzzing honey bees
The story goes some thing like this
So you can see the flowers multiply through the years
Make two
Four and many more
The bee
flys along and sees so many Beautiful flowers
Longing to devour
But which one
So many colours
Shapes
Sizes
Flowers cascading
Parading
So shameless
Stands still
Wow
Striking
Its a big bright pink one
Circular in shape
Bold
Beautiful
Its the one
Open, with so many soft small petals
Glistening with the rain drops
Shining in the sun
Sparkling with beauty from within
Makes the bee meander to thee
The bee needs to reproduce
Suduced
Stops and fills
Spreads the seeds
Allowed to please
Pollunates
Impregnates
Recreates
What you dont see is the story
Combined with the
True glory
Of the extra ordinary *****
The beauty
Of the buzzing bee
Combined
With the gold assigned
Inside
So free
Flying
Trying
Frantically to find the
The hive
Taking nectar
Making honey, wax, all kind of f
Fascinating lines
Made from hexagon
They divide into the lines
They are full with precious delights
The story continues
The more you learn
The more you yearn
To see a honey bee
Together the bee and the ****** *****
make harmony
The vibrant flower allowed to duplicate
More beauty for all to see
For all to feel
The special honey bee procreate and makes
Wax
creating ambiance
Such a clever bee
A savont; such a worker
Magical tyrant
Buzzing madly yearning to create
the sweetest honey
A honey bee can make
Its like you to me
You're the combination
Make migrations in me
Spreading beauty from within
To others to proceed
And begin
I feel it with you;
Vibrant flower
Honey bee
Coming together
Creating so much sweet honey in me
It's a wonderful story to me
You see
The story of the flower and the honey bee
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
*I wish I didn't have these arms you scratched
This broken heart you deeply touched?
Imagine the idea of making no **** oath
If I wasn't given such a sincere mouth
What if I had no arms to hold you tight
Or I were an imbecile whose mind thought nothing right
What if I was a strengthless ******* who couldn't fight
Imagine I had no eyes to see you the day we met
If I hadn't taken that road that sealed our fate
If I was soul-less, if that makes some sense
And lived free of guilt without conscience
To walk out on every lady like you did to me
Imagine it was sold ,the much I'd pay to be so mean
What if I wasn't human to trip and madly fall
Or I had no mobile to helplessly answer your call
Imagine I was deaf to apologies or created without ears
Could I have shed these oceans of tears all these years?
Imagine I had no nostrils to master your fragrance
Or palms to get adicted to the softness of your ambiance
If I had a stiff neck which could never turn
Imagine, me without looking back the far I would run
Imagine love was already made and we hadn't made it
Imagine I could decide who charmed me, not fate's merit
Imagine I erasing all the sweet moments and enjoying the sour
Wouldn't my pride still be as high as the Babel tower?
Just take your time, take away my eyes, feet, heart, soul and mind
And see what I'd be, a dark lonesome beast of its kind
So as you're walking away and sending me into a trance
Imagine walking back and this time having no other chance*
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 1:52 PM UTC
I watch that flame
Flickering coyly
Yet so powerful
Radiance around
Wakes up the flame
Within me
Reflected outside
A silent bond
Flame sways
My eyes follow
It movements
Burns with passion
The air and silence
Adds to the ambiance
Here I sit alone
With the flame
That lights my path
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
*An upscale lounge well known,
For its ambiance and specialty cocktail,
Which includes live entertainment dancers,
On stage, in fine detail.
While a glamorous female stood in front of the bar,
With a deep sea blue martini, in her right hand,
In an ice cold oversized snifter, dipped in sugar upon the rim,
Where she leisurely stands.
With a pink orchid,
And blue twisted glow stick, placed inside her drink,
Taking rhythmical steps,
Side by side, in sync.
Dressed in a strapless dress, slightly above her knee,
Nicely fitted, in shades of purple, green and teal,
Displaying a genuine soft look,
With such great appeal.
When a young man walked in,
And gazed into her seductive dark brown eyes,
Reaching out his hand,
Asking her to dance, as he passed by.
She was absolutely stunning,
With fair complexion, short black hair, a beautiful silhouette,
And a radiant smile, reliving her early days,
An unbelievable night, quite difficult to forget.
She appeared divine,
Upon the dance floor, mainly surrounded by youth,
Dancing salsa throughout the night,
And mixed melodies, near the DJ booth.*
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 3:36 AM UTC
Your serene lips could liquefy petals of a rose
With twigs on your spine
Consuming my dreams as you lure me
Stretching as the stars shine
Tangled in the ocean breeze
Beyond beautiful you steal my soul
Our hands unify in the shade of the unknown
Tonight we step beneath the flesh
As the path of dust disappears
I want to drink from your collar bone
Every crevice I will endear
Following the maze of your fantasy
Impeccable skin inviting me in
The anticipation intoxicates my desires
As I travel your outline I stiffen for you
Eager to gratify the valley of your liquid pearls
You whimper as I dissolve your engorged delicacy
As you spasm and tremble you ignite the evening air
A Magnetic exuberance of fervor swept over me
Our swollen, lustful lips surrender again
As your majestic heart nurtures our love
I famine to have your tongue renew me
Your quivering hands beginning to stimulate me
You brush against my hardness lightly
I stir inside my stomach
Restless and blazing I await
Teasing the tip my luster rises
As your manhood swims inside my mouth
You swell my peaks, passionate yet tender
You linger feeling my need
Slipping into your enticing throat
My fingers clutching your hips
Connecting with my core as I absorb you
I quiver and cry out loud
With handfuls of starlight and luster
We create a haven just for us
You enter me so carefully
As we wither and blend
Our flesh is stamped together
A serene ambiance is swaying with us
As you whisper and writhe beneath me
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 11:08 AM UTC
*Forbidden Beauty
Velvet touch was her beauty
Sweet, nonsensical, magical sin
In her clandestine dreams
Detecting her whisper voice
In beauty times does swell
Her silence breathes come alive
With beauty to match no other ...
Her eyes had more beauty
than any rose
with dreams of supreme gifts
her man would explode
with her kiss as a pill
she sings notes of her love
voiced keys and intervals of tenor
she closes her eyes in search
of a remedy ...
She's healed his lonely heart
with only a smile
as she leaves him in awe
of her soul~he drives many a mile....
As a woman of divine
magnifications
her ambiance,
majestic with song
medicine of melody
tune ~ she is one of a kind.....
He realized with sadness
she's his lost fantasy
he escapes from the harshness of reality~
knowing oh knowing ~ she was
Forbidden for all to touch ...*
Debbie Brooks 2015
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
Four candles slowly burned
The ambiance was so soft,one could almost hear them talking........
The first candle said:
“I am peace"
"The world is full of anger and fighting.
Nobody can keep me"
Then the flame of peace went out completely
The second candle said:
"I am faith"
"I am no longer indispensable. It doesn't make sense that I stay another moment"
Just then a breeze softly blew faith's flame.
Sadly the third candle began to speak:
"I am love"
"People don't understand my importance so they simply put me aside. They even forget to love those who are nearest to them"
And waiting no longer love flame went out.
Suddenly........ a child entered the room and saw the three unlit candles.
"Why aren't you burning? You're supposed to stay lit till the end"
Saying this the child began to cry.
Then the fourth candle answered
"Don't be afraid, I am hope"
"While I am still burning we can re light the other candle"
With shining eyes the child took the candle of hope and lit the other candles.
The greatest of these is love...... but the flame of hope should never go out of your life!
With hope each of us can live with peace,faith, and love.
Mar 26, 2016
Mar 26, 2016 at 8:46 AM UTC
Every brush is a first as a spark to a fire;
though the ashes still fall from limb and leaf,
each blaze sizzles an original melody:
forever unique and soulfully sole.
A delicate comfort envelopes me,
wreathing my pieces with a gentle autumn breeze,
mending me whole when I was never broken.
Her ambiance dances as rays of shattered moonlight,
slipping beneath a sky of the arctic dawn.
She gathers my fragments,
even when they had never been chipped away.
I lay unprotected, yet entirely safe.
She bends until the space separating us is airless with tender yearning.
I taste a thin sea-foam of maple sugar.
Dyspnoea remains fluid in our slumberous desire.
When I close my eyes, submitting to the quiet rush,
I am welcomed by an island universe.
Stardust spirals as the cosmos beams above our heads.
A sylvan petrichor swirls about the fall
as I am consumed with pure euphoria.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
*Let the stars fly away
and leave the moon shining,
With You and I dancing
under the light until morning,
Hear the music playing
to the tune of heartbeats
Spiral waltz into the atmosphere
in the circle of our heat.
Swing under the moonlight
and be lost in love’s delight,
Souls in unison, while shaking,
and twisting in the night,
Fantasy performed in the body
moving from side to side,
Magical pleasure the souvenirs
reminisce with pride.
Imagine the night where the moon
glows in a fountain
The tiniest lives from natures hive
paddle in the ripples,
Lift the mind into the songs
with a picturesque scene that dazzles
And you smile in that moment
to cast a wishful token,
With one look into faith
at dreams destiny create, unspoken
The amazing aura in which
our desire can participate,
Leaving moves in photos
to embrace the ambiance found.
Being romantic; the party stood
silhouette around,
Shadows swing from the walls
unto the dance floor,
You hear the sound but your body
cries out for more.
Into the moonlight
eyes blinded by heavenly bliss,
And the glittering stars appear
in the halo of a kiss.*
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC
I've created a new genre.
Different strokes for different folks.
Colour painted memories,
Written on beautiful flowers
That blossom when only,
Visionary eyes can see.
I've created my own dusk to dawn.
Lost within time itself.
I wake up to the blessing of the morn.
I’m faded by beauty.
Counted by numerous
Living things.
I only can tell that my reality is real,
When your viewing from a distance,
Where you can’t be seen.
I’m distorted by the ambiance,
Because I can feel you’re there.
I’m lost;
Stuck to pins.
My mind’s unclear.
I’ve opened up to my dark soul,
To embrace your loving heart,
I can’t tell the traces,
Of a- once trampled on- broken heart.
So I will love you in defeat,
Until my eyes turn red.
Because I’ve counted many characters,
But your blood isn't theirs.
So I've opened up to beauty,
I lived with the dark,
Only to open up to someone,
That could take away my heart.
© Robyn G Neymour
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 12:35 PM UTC
The Dutch brought art, mud and dirt of the Kathmandu heartland,
With cigarette smoke clouding the air, and pizzas in the oven.
Not overcooked, no medium rare, slight rounded, man-made
The ambiance was now of Rembrandt and Van Gogh,
Yellow with the hint of light.
Perhaps coffee, perhaps tea.
And delight in a conversation of philosophy.
Maybe you'll pay, maybe me.
The open doors swallow in the air of the monsoon,
with the enigma of ever binding books who stuck to the wall
Like wall flowers, some folded papers like petals of an unbloomed bud.
They all had smells better inhaled with tobacco smoke.
The music played, and people dance within the security of their thoughts,
The shelter for their thoughts, the flaws of their speech.
Memories,pure and bright radiated from the lamps above the bar,
Lights which come to us only in fallen stars, but wishful thinking
is dangerous.
Hence forget it like Dutch forgot the wars.
Memories are made here, where the humidity is heavy from the perfume of heavy smiles, or folded chins and forheads from a chess game.
Not hidden, no worries, around the corner.
But yet again man made.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
A dress of smiles covered her face
as the curiosity of the taste of her
lips crossed mine.
As love lingured and the ambiance
changed from dark to light.
Rays played hop scotch on her skin
as I fell in an event horizon.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
One brisk spring afternoon, a boy found himself adventuring down a local forested path. The sun beamed down through the trees, creating golden stips of light that fought their way through the newly grown greenery. The crunch of the earth beneath his feet could be heard from a distance as unimportant thoughts drifted through his mind.
He paused and set himself down on a large rock by a bubbling stream. The water created an ambiance that made a rush of calm flow over his mind. His eyes drifted around a bit, taking in his surroundings when suddenly a butterfly flittered down and flew around his face. A smile spread wide across his features as he lifted up his hand to try to catch it.
The butterfly grazed his hand, but then flew away as fast as it could, as it was afraid of the boy. He frowned in disappointment, wanting nothing more than the butterfly itself to flutter down onto his hand so he could admire it once more; But he was left in despair.
Two more butterflies of the same pattern found themselves drifting along the face of the boy, and he tried to catch them as well, for maybe they would fill in the gap that the first had left. He caught them both, but only briefly, as all butterflies were beautiful, but fleeting.
The boy tilted his head in disappointment, and sat there alone for some time, an array of butterflies coming and going, none of them filling the void left by the first.
Suddenly, a pure white moth came into view.
The boy scowled, unsure of what to make of the moth as it was nothing like the other butterflies that he had encountered before. The moth flittered around his face, and he raised his hands slightly, prepared to swipe the creature away.
The moth found itself landing softly on the nose of the boy, its fuzzy little wings tickling his skin upon contact.
He couldn’t help but smile, but felt a little uneasy, as he was only used to butterflies.
The boy lifted the moth gently from his nose, and perched it on a nearby branch. It’s little wings lifted its body from the perch, and tried to fly back toward the boy, but he gently shood the creature away. Finally, it gave up and landed itself back onto the branch in which the boy had placed it. There the moth stayed, watching the boy chase butterflies endlessly until he could chase no more.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 10:08 PM UTC
You’re my favorite pair of sunglasses;
White rims, rose-colored lenses.
Try you on, and the world just looks better for a while.
The muddy construction sites, this massive concrete jungle,
The blemish on my chin.
Each piece of trash on the sidewalk has a story.
Wandering strangers don’t seem strange;
Everything, and everyone, seems deliberate.
No distance seems too great to run,
No weight too heavy
To be lifted.
Sappy acoustic love songs sound
Like life’s most epic
Anthems,
In my car as I’m driving.
It’s the most beautiful delirium;
Every sight seen is a portrait,
Every word heard is a song.
Though at the close the day,
That rose light will dwindle on the rims of my lenses,
Turning the soft shade over my eyes to rigid shadow,
So that then nothing at all can be seen,
And all that is heard is hollow ambiance.
With this I shed my glasses,
To look upon an ordinary world,
Until the next sunrise, when I will undoubtedly don you again.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 11:49 AM UTC
Watch as the sun
Slowly slides over the horizon
Leaving behind a touch of
Pearly pinks, dusky purples
And vibrant hues of red
Ah there,
Battered dreams quickly wither
Darkness settles in,
The crystal envoys
Paint a portrait of
Pure serenity
Hope is reborn
Our destinies are within our
Reach as our dreams soon
Come to realization
It's a beautiful ambiance
And the solid gold
Paints over the Eastern side
And it's overwhelming beauty
Is welcomed by those
With expectations of
Bettering their present
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 3:13 PM UTC
She owns a castle
Feeble as glass
crumbling walls to repel the past.
As the roots creeps higher onto the castle walls
Years passed and no one danced the waltz
Medieval old music keeps playing
She was abandoned, lost and dying.
she was an unsaved princess left alone
all her sadness never known
*a dainty flower
meant to wither*
She stared afar
Eyes locked on a nearby tower
yet she seemed distant
Vowed never to speak of love again
she was silent all these years...
*she was empty, alone, forgotten
Just like her castle*
She sits atop the velvet chair
Stood up at the veranda on the cliff
Pain was all hers to keep
what could've happen
if she'd just leap
She owns a magnificent ocean
of glistening tears
You'll hear her screams
blend with the roaring waves
On sleepless nights she wanders
The great garden
The ambiance of melachonly
The field of haze seems to widen
A ruler to all the shadows casted
A subject to her desires neglected
The doors are shut
Countless barricades will bombard you
Before you could walk up to the bridge
So brace yourself and your white horse
She wont let you get to her
Silly..silly..kinglet
She waited,
Oh how many years has it been.
Kneel infront
Of the lonely queen.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 3:30 AM UTC
the setting sun glows crimson over distant hills
people enjoy the balmy temperatures
sip their mojitos and manhattans
anticipating finger food and tapas
chatting with friends and neighbors
not everybody notices
the folding blossoms of the garden flowers
or the sweet evening songs of birds
the daring hedgehog venturing forth
to look for food
the smell of honeysuckle gaining force
under the rising moon
the beauty of our nature
often gets talked away in conversations
reduced to just a pleasant ambiance
that loosens our tongues
in our obsession to communicate
we tend to overlook the soft magnificence
the world presents to us in dusky evening hours
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
patterns pressed
in old vinyl
needle-scratched
pop and crackle
background noise
just genetic ambiance
old as the blues
smoky aftertaste
blessing curse
lost fortune
lured fate
lessons earned
the hard way
long playing
at 33 1/3 rpm
I'm humming
no resistance
my will altered
I submit
to inevitable vacillation
accept ambiguity
as sweet song
lyrics unknown
an uneven melody
I can't deny
or disown
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 11:06 AM UTC
A strange kind of intrusive ambiance; voices in several languages, forced laughter, technological functioning; human activity intermarried with machines. The volume rising perfectly in sync with my cortisol levels, I interrogate my past for signs of the path that led me here; it remains blurred. I did not dream of working in customer service; but here I am regardless, moments of my life that I will never ponder again; a cascade of the present moment repeating as long as my employment contract exists. An event-less horizon, memories are stillborn here and true ingenuity stifled. There is much and nothing that has led me here. It is hard not to feel like a horse bred for performance in this place; everything is monitored, quantified, reviewed and collaborated. Performance reports produced with the fervor of medieval scholars translating the bible. I look to the sky, what else is there to do; only to see smoke alarms and aesthetically neutral lighting arrangements. There is art work on the walls, but is generic, created to defy analysis. The colouring of the walls is chosen to exude a neutral sort of trendiness; on brand for the overarching corporate image.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 7:32 AM UTC
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR: of the EBook THE BULLIED, by Alan Johnson
(The Nonromantic Man is the art form most often described as a character sketch. It falls in the realm of poetry, which I call poessay. For it is not poetry by itself or an essay.)
The Nonromantic Man
Non-romanticism is the inability to overwhelm one’s ignorance of the opposite *** needs or desires. The non-romantic man is one who buys his non-pool playing wife a pool table and soon thereafter invites his friends over every weekend to play pool. He calls women ******* and ‘hoes. He rises late at night to fix a sandwich, leaves the spilled condiments for his woman to clean in the morning, then after a cigarette, with mustard still being on his breath, wakes her up for a ***** call. He gains weight and then demands that she go on a diet. In harmony with his poor values, he neglects to compliment the new sexed up dress that she is wearing but does notice that she is wearing too much makeup for him. He has to be reminded of her birthday or any other should special engagement. The result his gift is not well thought out, so he buys her a cheap necklace just like the times before. He has no taste for poetry, sensual lyrics or the practice of setting the ambiance which moistens the trail of splendor. He takes his woman out to dinner and complains about the dinner’s high prices, and work, and her in-sensitiveness to his problems, and…At least once a month, he rolls off the top of her and falls asleep while she stares at the ceiling and prays for a difference.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 9:47 PM UTC