"arabesques" poems
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt
Or what disfigured and unsightly
Cousin did you so unwisely keep
Unasked to my christening, that she
Sent these ladies in her stead
With heads like darning-eggs to nod
And nod and nod at foot and head
And at the left side of my crib?
Mother, who made to order stories
Of Mixie Blackshort the heroic bear,
Mother, whose witches always, always
Got baked into gingerbread, I wonder
Whether you saw them, whether you said
Words to rid me of those three ladies
Nodding by night around my bed,
Mouthless, eyeless, with stitched bald head.
In the hurricane, when father's twelve
Study windows bellied in
Like bubbles about to break, you fed
My brother and me cookies and Ovaltine
And helped the two of us to choir:
'Thor is angry; boom boom boom!
Thor is angry: we don't care!'
But those ladies broke the panes.
When on tiptoe the schoolgirls danced,
Blinking flashlights like fireflies
And singing the glowworm song, I could
Not lift a foot in the twinkle-dress
But, heavy-footed, stood aside
In the shadow cast by my dismal-headed
Godmothers, and you cried and cried:
And the shadow stretched, the lights went out.
Mother, you sent me to piano lessons
And praised my arabesques and trills
Although each teacher found my touch
Oddly wooden in spite of scales
And the hours of practicing, my ear
Tone-deaf and yes, unteachable.
I learned, I learned, I learned elsewhere,
From muses unhired by you, dear mother.
I woke one day to see you, mother,
Floating above me in bluest air
On a green balloon bright with a million
Flowers and bluebirds that never were
Never, never, found anywhere.
But the little planet bobbed away
Like a soap-bubble as you called: Come here!
And I faced my traveling companions.
Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born.
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.
And this is the kingdom you bore me to,
Mother, mother. But no frown of mine
Will betray the company I keep.
3.9k
dance with daddy
wear your tutu
spin and twirl
hold his hand
arabesques
pirouette
into his arms
and heart
you’re his little
prima ballerina
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 10:41 PM UTC
We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot’s house.
Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The ‘Treues Liebes Herz’ of Strauss.
Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.
We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.
Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille,
Then took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.
Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.
Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.
Then, turning to my love, I said,
‘The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust.’
But she—she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.
Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.
1.7k
you are the illuminated
manuscript
I, the reader
the lover
of you
show me your illuminations
your singing arabesques
the music
of you
chant your canticle
hidden in the golden calligraphy
wrapped
within you
open your pages
to me -- for
I am the reader
the lover
of you
c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 9:54 PM UTC
Stillness preceded the sonic storm.
Then the baton plummeted,
To summon low “D’s” from orchestral depths
And a hundred voices roared, “O Fortuna!”
The throbbing ritual had begun!
Rhythms drove and lurched
Through songs of Springtime, alcohol and lust.
Brasses flared.
Muted strings cast veils over the hall.
The chorus hummed and shouted
And tender solos wafted
Over graceful flute arabesques.
The thin white stick carved the air into segments
And by some mystical synchronicity
Instruments and voices reveled together -
Medieval Latin decked out in modern attire.
A baritone sang from a tavern
With electrifying irresponsibility.
The counter-tenor mournfully chanted
The complaint of an entrée roasting on a spit.
The love of my life skied her voice
To a high “D” then descended -
And we turned Fortune’s wheel back full circle
Rounding out this earth song beyond all comparing.
“O Fortuna!”
O Fortuna, indeed!
July, 2006
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
Back to the grind
I drive at the crack of dawn
Dragging yesterday's heartbreak
Lifting today's routine
And pushing tomorrow's anxiety
But steam rises from my sandwich
Walking down a pale carpet of Spam
Amid fluffy scrambled eggs and warm bread
She shivers in the car's AC
Her lithe form unfettered from all this worry
On her little stage she arabesques and pirouettes
Bathed in golden sunlight
With diffuse legs and arms
A routine written by thermodynamics
A spectacle only she and I know
This performance will last for the next thirty seconds
Already time is impatiently tapping its foot
But the steam cares not, for this is all she has
And there, waiting for the traffic signal
I am in the moment.
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 7:31 PM UTC
Cobwebs in corners.
In the rooms of my yesterday
I watch myself play
with 'action men'
'Bill and Ben' on the black and white
tea on the table and mum looks alright
and then my brothers come in
tuck in
******* the ham from my bones.
I like being alone.
My sister comes in and she's wearing a tu-tu
she goes to a ballet school
I take her sometimes and I sit like a fool
watching arabesques
quite Chaplinesque and
I try not to giggle
but I'm a boy growing up and it's hard not to wriggle or squirm.
And I turn into tomorrow where it seems
I have borrowed a few wrinkles and crinkles from Grandad
who's not doing so bad for an old one
but I hold on
to the room
it's my sanctuary
my place of safety.
In a world that's so feisty
my room is so nice
I see
how it looks when I close my eyes tight.
Your own room is waiting
somewhere
late at night at the place where the light shines
through the windows of good times.
I go back to the black and white
in the place where
it's all alright
and where dreams just might
come true.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 4:29 AM UTC
Dans la rue.
Il est un vieil air populaire
Par tous les violons raclé,
Aux abois des chiens en colère
Par tous les orgues nasillé.
Les tabatières à musique
L'ont sur leur répertoire inscrit ;
Pour les serins il est classique,
Et ma grand'mère, enfant, l'apprit.
Sur cet air, pistons, clarinettes,
Dans les bals aux poudreux berceaux,
Font sauter commis et grisettes,
Et de leurs nids fuir les oiseaux.
La guinguette, sous sa tonnelle
De houblon et de chèvrefeuil,
Fête, en braillant la ritournelle,
Le *** dimanche et l'argenteuil.
L'aveugle au basson qui pleurniche
L'écorche en se trompant de doigts ;
La sébile aux dents, son caniche
Près de lui le grogne à mi-voix.
Et les petites guitaristes,
Maigres sous leurs minces tartans,
Le glapissent de leurs voix tristes
Aux tables des cafés chantants.
Paganini, le fantastique,
Un soir, comme avec un crochet,
A ramassé le thème antique
Du bout de son divin archet,
Et, brodant la gaze fanée
Que l'oripeau rougit encor,
Fait sur la phrase dédaignée
Courir ses arabesques d'or.
874
Low beneath heavily barked, overhanging branches, leaning peacefully against the trunk of a lichen covered oak tree, crooked limbs and emerald leaves give shape to a lively canopy that shelter Love himself from misted rain. Here, amid grassy knolls, jeweled arabesques, and hallowed soil giving birth to flourishing verdure, the miracle of creation, in it's intricate balance, gives resonance to his voice which manifest itself in a faintly resounding lull that dances through his garden. If you listen closely, you can hear its solemn sigh, "Edennn".
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
I would always be by your side,
This is all l desire.
Every day, in so many ways, I can say
I am almost with you
For you I will be this great oak tree
The roots of my love grow deep in my soul
I will be your strength, sure and steady
Certainty in the face of each changing season.
I am the cool water that clears your mind in the heat of the day
My hand is the gentle breeze stirring your hair
The raindrops, my wet little kisses on the earth at your feet
so flowers might spring ahead of your every footfall.
Open this book of poetry, listen close...
My voice echoes softly in each lovers’ verse
My desire moves here in these inky arabesques and curlicues
Entwining words that seek only to touch you
To comfort you, to soothe away any storm.
Feel the texture of these pages, the soft and the smooth
This is me beneath your fingertips
Ivory skin, dark of my hair, velvet and silk
Breathe deep, here is the scent of every Rose in my garden,
Each one a promise, a wish for the future.
When day is done, close your dark eyes,
Open yourself to the beating pulse of night...
To hidden songs in the breeze that drifts through your window
There is my voice, calling your name.
I am weaving my yearning and trust around you...
Crying in your loneliness, know l am there
Taste the salt of my tears on your lips
I am waiting in the landscape of your dreams.
Distance and time may conspire to keep us apart
We will yet be together
In each day, in the secret of ways of lovers,
I will be
Almost...with you.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
I don’t like when Jane leaves the baby’s door open,
But we’re away now. This house is heavy with strangers' history,
It's peeking out of the shaded paths and gardens swollen
With verdure; hinting at the tantalizing possibility of mystery
And restorative power of air, after all, that’s why we’re here
John doesn't believe in fantastic daydreams
(Imagination is a delusion perpetuated by fools)
John says we are sleeping in the nursery for its sunbeams
But there are bars on the windows like metal rules
And it is papered in a grotesque sin of undulating chaos
It inhabits me, twirling dreadful arabesques behind my eyes
Momentarily.
Many yellowed
Almost, not quite, dead
It grows within me
Dis-
-tending my belly
No no no
This air will do me good.
I move as a somnambulist through the morning
Succumbing to sleep in the afternoon
(Moonlight brings the amber insomnia of the walls
Bends my eyes from sleep)
But it is nothing. Merely my own laziness. A hysterical tendency.
Really.
shhh..
SULFUR
Color
SULFUR
Scent
In my (inhale) lungs and
(Shoulder to the wall, follow) on my clothes
Proptotic eyes leering from crooked necks
Carious fingers reaching into-
Fireworks on the forth of July and me,
with the docile vengeance of a failed mother
Writing with the frantic purpose of a bumblebee,
…If a bumblebee was splitting
in two
two layers of the wall
One mutating concentric fungal prison
One captive-her?
(Her that creeps, her that inhabits [me] the wall)
I am tired.
But I must find the origin. Pattern. Meaning.
I know it holds someone.some memory
Hidden
My shoulder is covered in yellow pigment
My knees hurt
(faded band following the baseboard
pressure of a shoulder in orbit)
She hides, but she is mine
She who-I who shake the wallpaper-
SHE shakes the wallpaper in moonlight
I who shake the wallpaper
I who T
E
A
R
with teeth and claws
my prison from the wall
I who creep beneath the paper
(crept behind the paper)
FREE
OF-
John
oh,
J
O
H
N
You're in my way.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 2:39 AM UTC
A well-known star who performed on stage
Was soon out-shined by the rest
But she couldn't become one of the common folk
She had to be the best
And in the day, she danced with them
And danced until the night
She would wait until everyone left the theatre
Then dance in her own spotlight
And as she danced from day to night
She wasn't the most elite
So she knew she had to do something bigger
So she wouldn't end in defeat
Even though the dancers did perfect arabesques
And chased after an impossible dream
When the night fell and the curtains closed
She lined the stage in gasoline
So when the sun rose, the dancers walked in
They screamed and knew they could never aspire
To the star on the blazing stage
Beautifully burning to death, surrounded by fire
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 6:28 PM UTC
Floating in the day
today
it is today
the first day of the year
in blue
so blue
so blue
so blue
the sky is full of cloud
a roof of dew
of dew
of dew
the trees like silhouettes of black
although a darker green
of green
the houses hiding in the mist
they almost can't be seen
be seen
the weeds that stick up here and there
make arabesques up in the air
the air
and all seems in a dream
a dream
a dream
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 3:21 AM UTC
You are a beautiful pianist,
she touches my hand and says
Seventeen and horrified, maybe
Terribly sympathetic,
playing blue arabesques and
yearning for summer
-cj
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 11:30 AM UTC
My Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece.
With hair spun by the Sahara Sun
and alabaster skin. Eyes of indigo
flames and lips that have the
pop of the poppy. Her lush
body fitted in emerald
enchantments and
threaded
silver thistles.
See her sailing by the
moonlight on an ethereal sea,
upon her ship, the Tears of Joy.
The Emperor's Butterfly in her hair
with shining wings of gossamer threads.
Oh! I marvel the twilight afterglow
kiss her skin, making her a peach
rose. From her carnelian cup,
she sips the nectar -
moscato sweet.
Her first sip was of
gumdrops, then roses,
and after that, the more. Salty
tears from a mermaid's cheek, the
whispers of wisteria, the laughter of
springberries, the kisses of sweet neroli
and the tartness of plum toffee. She
passes by Aegean Ruins, her
secret retreat upon the
White Cliffs
that is west of
the moon. The beauty of
this lost history is as soft and
deep as an angel's sigh, with its
enchanting mist like graceful tendrils.
The shadows of the Black Hills bloom. She
coats herself in a cloak of midnight and
she descends down, setting foot
ashore. She walked down
the winding road of
burnt orchids
and lavender sands.
She had heard whisperings
of an unfound door and the Dream-
weavers of the Sable Heart. And so she
wanders... passed the midnight trees and their
sad serenades. The chill of sea ice and the
sharpness of pewter buds. The mist
dances. It twirls. Pirouettes.
Arabesques.
It circles and hisses.
Circles and hisses. Circles
and hisses! And there it was, the
unfound door made of crystal shadows.
Lady Ophelia of the Golden Fleece, extends her
hand and holds the **** She twists and
enters...
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
now we're in an image of the eyeball shifting
sheltered under rainbow crow's feet
iridescent
what is different?
my roommate asks me under humming bulb & breezes
in my father's kitchen
we will wash the plastic rat
black & lathered as my brother
masturbates his whiskers
individually with shampoo
this is the lord's day
forms are found and then forgotten
on the axis of my navel
I feel very
isolated in slow end-game
pictures animated just for me
they shudder/blossom
in my bathtub
arabesques with eyes closed watching
ladies jesting self-lust
obsessing winking saying
they are only watching
aloud alone anon
outside there is a
frozen rabbit
twisted in the grass embroidered
w/ one million happy diamonds
blazing primordial frosted
like flagellum in a dreamscape
all aligning to the haunted
second where I'm seeing
movies of hypostyle halls
sound of cacti calling
diet soda sounds of
thorny carbonation
born from
liquid crystal wisdom
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
À travers la forêt de folles arabesques
Que le doigt du sommeil trace au mur de mes nuits,
Je vis, comme l'on voit les Fortunes des fresques,
Un jeune homme penché sur la bouche d'un puits.
Il jetait, par grands tas, dans cette gueule noire
Perles et diamants, rubis et sequins d'or,
Pour faire arriver l'eau jusqu'à sa lèvre, et boire ;
Mais le flot flagellé ne montait pas encore.
Hélas ! Que d'imprudents s'en vont aux puits, sans corde,
Sans urne pour puiser le cristal souterrain,
Enfouir leur trésor afin que l'eau déborde,
Comme fit le corbeau dans le vase d'airain !
Hélas ! Et qui n'a pas, épris de quelque femme,
Pour faire monter l'eau du divin sentiment,
Jeté l'or de son cœur au puits sans fond d'une âme,
Sur l'abîme muet penché stupidement !
504
Fermer ses yeux si fort,
Que je peux discerner des couleurs,
Des arabesques, des tâches, puis l'incolore.
Ce soir, ce mythe se fait peu prometteur...
Rouverts comme deux portes maudites,
Mes pupilles ne regardent que la lumière
De l'étoile levante et hypocrite:
"Ah ! Quel caractère !"
Pas un rêve ne m'a émancipé.
La lune n'est d'aucun réconfort,
Mais le soleil a bien plus de torts.
Nuls cauchemars
Ne réparent
Ma lucidité...
Apr 3, 2025
Apr 3, 2025 at 3:18 AM UTC
A Liebestraum and two Arabesques
stood there holding me
between the ears
one mundane evening…
The indoor storm who knew could deject
one so boldly
cleaned its final tears
and left me be…
A new wave calm eschewed ‘til present
flooded in me
serene and aptly dear
calmness…
For a moment I felt a sense of clarity that had neglected me for ages.
My sullen blues and anxious reds faded to black,
and all manner of emotion had been evicted from my mind.
I could think about things in straight lines and deep focus
for an entire ******* moment.
Then Spotify had to ruin the moment
with an indie rock montage in my queue.
I cried.
Jun 24, 2023
Jun 24, 2023 at 4:25 AM UTC
Plus je t'observe
Plus je te contourne
Plus je te cisèle à distance
Dans le marbre de Carrara
Plus il m'apparaît
Sans équivoque
Que debout ou assise
Allongée ou dans un étrange lotus
De dos ou de profil
Nue ou endormie
Cartomancienne ou bohémienne
Tu es mon rêve fait femme
Le portrait craché de ma Muse.
Partout où le vent me porte
Je te vois flâner dans l'ombre de mes pas
Un jour tu es Madone et tu me souris
De ton piédestal de croix et de chapelets
De bougies et d'encens qui brûlent
L'instant d'après, cantatrice tu entonnes
En soprano lyrique les grands airs de l'opéra
Tu es fille de roi, tu es esclave
Tu es servante mais toujours amoureuse.
J'essaie de façonner dans la glaise
Une à une les courbes parfaites
Dont t'as doté la nature
Et je ne vois que chair généreuse et souple
Cuisses ouvertes et offertes
Nonchalantes et sensuelles
Je te vois forte et légère
Bien ancrée à la terre comme au ciel
Et même si je t'habille c'est nue que je te vois
Que je te détaille sous ton masque
Et que j'essaie de reproduire la lumière
Qui nimbe ton corps.
Et surtout je vois ton âme
Inlassablement charnelle :
Tes seins qui éclatent dans leur corset de soie
Tes yeux qui sourient des larmes de joie
Tes bras qui font des arabesques
Tes fesses pulpeuses et fraîches
Qui chevauchent les chevaux en transe
Ta bouche qui mordille la peau des nuages
Tes pieds de Gradiva qui s'enfoncent dans les sables mouvants
Et tes mains qui me font signe au ****
De chanter ta gloire éternelle.
Le creux de ta nuque qui m'encourage
Et m'invite à l'envol vers toi
Et cette vulve souveraine au delà des monts et des mers
Qui m'attire comme un aimant invisible
Vers ton royaume et me charrie dans le flot
De tes désirs les plus innommables.
Finalement jour après nuit je m'accroche
Aux fils de tes cheveux tressés
En une longue natte de poissons gigotants
Et de fruits odorants
Pour m'accueillir à ton balcon
Et je grimpe comme un funambule
Pour te rejoindre
Tu m'encourages de la parole de ton coeur
Et le vent souffle et il ne reste que peu d'espace
A parcourir pour vaincre la distance
Qui nous sépare et nous lie
Indissociablement l'un dans l'autre.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:41 AM UTC
Little Boy
You play with my heart like a
Paper Ballerina
Making it dance for you
Sending it into
Perfect Arabesques
Flawless Pirouettes
Exact Battements
And then,
When you're done,
Bored
You crumple it up and throw it away,
Along with all the other hearts you treated like toys
And then,
you beg for a new toy,
just to break it
And then,
demand another
Just like a Little Boy
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 2:34 AM UTC
I want to be alone with you
tonight,
I will switch off the moon
asking her for just one moonbeam
to illuminate your body,
I will beg the stars
to go playing with each other
further away from me
and my eyes
to never leave you.
I want to be alone with you
tonight
to stroll on you
with my hands
and to almost touch you
whispering to you with my lips
arabesques of passion
and when tomorrow
I'm left with only the memory of you,
I will ask the stars to come back
to go on playing
and the moon
to leave that moonbeam in my heart.
15.12.'15
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 1:56 PM UTC