"aureate" poems
In the Midnight heaven's burning
Through the ethereal deeps afar
Once I watch'd with restless yearning
An alluring aureate star;
Ev'ry eve aloft returning
Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car.
Mystic waves of beauty blended
With the gorgeous golden rays
Phantasies of bliss descended
In a myrrh'd Elysian haze.
In the lyre-born chords extended
Harmonies of Lydian lays.
And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure,
Where the free and blessed dwell,
And each moment bears a treasure,
Freighted with the lotos-spell,
And there floats a liquid measure
From the lute of Israfel.
There (I told myself) were shining
Worlds of happiness unknown,
Peace and Innocence entwining
By the Crowned Virtue's throne;
Men of light, their thoughts refining
Purer, fairer, than my own.
Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision
Crept a red delirious change;
Hope dissolving to derision,
Beauty to distortion strange;
Hymnic chords in weird collision,
Spectral sights in endless range….
Crimson burn'd the star of madness
As behind the beams I peer'd;
All was woe that seem'd but gladness
Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd;
Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness,
Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd….
Now I know the fiendish fable
The the golden glitter bore;
Now I shun the spangled sable
That I watch'd and lov'd before;
But the horror, set and stable,
Haunts my soul forevermore!
13.2k
Trump and Brexit,
Two beautiful scrolls in a sync
Singing a song of white nationalism
On the crest in the Ivy League station,
Busy Muffling the **** drop sounds
On the bowls of foot-loose beggars,
A lesson for you dark son of Africa
That tomfoolery is no defense before
The rational altar of Trump and Brexit
Riding on followership’s bitter hangover
For the Nostalgia of the waning glory,
Sired by Machiavelli, groomed by ******
Festooned by Mussolini into a Jim Crow tor,
But fault not them, that is politics or religion,
Always sweet only in full gear of power-piety,
Then Nurture your tiny ***** for no pawn earns it,
To pile your wood for pharaonic winter is obvious
In paranoia of Brexit and Trumpish megalomania
Coming in a stampede with Tigre’s thorax, only
To worry us for nothing as it is the fear of change
Truly, they are not the first clouds in the sky
Of global terror and politics of self-idolatry,
Soon to vamoose in service to their nature
Of aureate appearing to whimpering fade,
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 5:24 AM UTC
roses
spurted as if from fountains atop messy beds
of lilies and lilacs,
jumbled together in a rush of colour that
seemed to have more and more detail
the more you gazed at it.
the sun shone
over the garden like liquid honey
melting over the peeling paint
of the white trellis that held
twining ivy
and heavily scented jasmine in its grasp.
and there, glazing the morning garden,
lay an aureate, flaxen
glow.
Jan 11, 2019
Jan 11, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
Hovering, its gentle, gleam a'glitter,
Sun rays hugging so daintily the plains of grass
That it could have been akin to quiet coveting
Of their transient green so far from its grasp
Then, as if in secret rising from the earth's coat,
From blades made chartreuse with sunset's caress,
There lifts a drunken, blanketed quiet that fill-
In preparation for the night- the land's every crevasse
Upon the branches arching, merging, enweaving,
Where the last few robins had been orchestrating,
The leaves give their tiny bodies up to the fading breeze;
A waltz so natural both need not bother hesitant contemplating
In dappling, splotching, sparks of amber scintillating a hue,
The trees too the sun embraces; the shades of sunlight
Creating a calico on its surface, still dull greens and greys amidst
Its autumn forgery, aureate bleeding bright
Nocturnal symphonies crescendo in harmonic chirps, croaks, and hoots;
As sunlight spools it's last golden threads to defy it's cruel god or master,
Who reigns, an even more kingly victory, wins last of battles, drags the sun down
To horizon's prison- subterranean capture.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
He could not see
What was under his nose
So he plated the thorns
On the Phrygian rose
And there she sat
Barbs glittered - not gilded
Impaled on her spit
Of aureate anvils.
And the pissy-beds
In their plain yellow trappings
Fathometer blips
On a bed of green wrapping
Their ******** halos
Trudged underfoot
As he ground them to mince
In the threads of his boots.
He could only love
What he couldn’t have
What lay free at his feet
Was too common a salve.
But it’s hard to love
What is hard to hold
Thorns will draw blood
Even if covered in gold.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
Time disappears silently like the cryptical fog at dawn!
Reality twisted for a moment without feign;
what seemed to wait for ages is now drawn
closer!
Flanked by an overwhelming urgency
Glossier!
To give and to share this flash of fragility
Were tomorrow...befits a charming after-tale of yesterday;
With summer blossoms kissed by the mild long awaited reign
Of the dusky aureate nobleness of men and women,
spellbinding-like a magnificent gold plated gemstone
Sealing this moment of a sweet clandestine
sparkle grinning in the lonesome orchid garden;
Wooing Romeo and Juliet like the equinox sun........
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:55 AM UTC
When beauty finds thee
Trapped in toiled imagination
the stars do shine more brilliant than any man hath beheld
But when beauty declines
A hole opens
And leaves thee gasping evermore
When thy to God do pray, to help thee find a way
Beauty beckons thee the very next day
Thy soul doth leap in joyous song
And thy heart does play along
But when thou doest, a revelation doth occur:
Happiness is never pure.
Even when upon the world thou sits,
Beauty may free thy mind.
Or tear at thy sight, make thee blind.
When beauty’s not but a wish,
Thou knowest nothing compares.
The worlds jealousy common shares.
When beauty plays a seductive dance,
A lustful art known by chance.
And every moment spent in beauty's grace
Leaves thee trapped in beauty's love.
The pleasure pain rest not only in thy chest
But in thine eye.
Thine nose.
Thine hand.
Thine skin.
Thine lips.
And beauty's touch is needed more
Then oxygen or water.
Thou wantest to bathe in beauty's touch
With bated breath.
Touch it.
Hold it.
But thou finds thyself blocked by a mountain made of glass.
This mountain is taller than thou could ever hope to climb,
Wider than thou ever hope to pass.
What of this?
Is thou free to climb,
Knowing full well thou will never see an end?
Or dost thou choose to walk,
Hope that a day will pass when mountains end and beauties begin do meet,
Ready to be wrapped in a loves embrace?
Or does thou journey elsewhere?
Scour the earth in a futile attempt to find something else
That can compare to a summers day?
To what dost thou owe beauty?
Nothing at all.
Even still, beauty is worth times sacrifice.
So I say, thou work hard.
Build thyself a stepping stone.
Fight for beauty and one day beauty shall be found.
Though the roads travel is like a window into time,
Endless, infinite, full of memories and regrets.
Still, journey on.
Never lose sight of beauty.
For win or loss, time is time well spent,
Chasing after an aureate phoenix.
Jul 26, 2011
Jul 26, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
Squall
by Michael R. Burch
There, in that sunny arbor,
in the aureate light
filtering through the waxy leaves
of a stunted banana tree,
I felt the sudden monsoon of your wrath,
the clattery implosions
and copper-bright bursts
of the bottoms of pots and pans.
I saw your swollen goddess’s belly
wobble and heave
in pregnant indignation,
turned tail, and ran.
Published by Chrysanthemum, Poetry Super Highway, Barbitos and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: pregnancy, pregnant, goddess, belly, wrath, anger, storm, monsoon, hormones, pots, pans
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 9:51 PM UTC
the defense of your legacy manifested into strings of saccharin
and phrases like ‘Come on in from the rain. We all need a torrent to own the storm, just- take off your clothes, don’t mind Kierkegaard.’
your sincerity is a cipher
you’re something of a conversation piece between good friends
who were artfully made of pre-engineered steel on a day Jove tremored in his bed
you’re something postured beneath a javelin
and likewise- something propelled for decorum
blackguard, black coffee and a birthmark turned into a running joke.
inevitable.
you searched the bottoms of summer pools
and found no discernible trace of your history
her sable crown whips back and forth in your head
and you maintain the chaos with aureate cries of preservation
it’s a halcyon boom, a lonely and sexless halcyon boom
it makes every yellow and red dress chimerical
it makes your neck unassailable
drugstore cowboy
they got close enough
to see you sweat
to note that heat and her magnificence could purge as quick as they reinstate
and you still beat
like they do
stubbornly.
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 10:20 AM UTC
The granular spittle that remains in my throat
A long day between winter and spring
My state known only by friends few of them
My Love felt by every creature
The ******** that sprinkles with their hatred
And those that converts their names and faith
This suffocating visible plurality of creatures and bizarre manifestations
My spiritual nervation has strengthened
Soul cells are dancing the muttered nation’s dance called Love
Those who make *** in the air as flies’ foals hatred babies
Can you **** babies is our question
We the invisible plurality of divine creatures and manifestations
We the perpetual Theophany coruscate in pure hearts
As Sun in the dews of mornings full of vetyver, ambergris, limonene, fragrance and a slight skunk of civet, moschus and the sweat men by labor exhausted
We speak we sing we paint
With the act without exhaling a syllable from our holly mouths
We sprinkle with the aureate dust
Straight we look at Saturn ring color eyes and the color of peacock tale feather
We built a cube temple and play chess in cube
We love the terrain where the guests of Moses and Lot before him had passed through
We sing with Seraph of high realms we sing in sync
Here we bring joy in hearts of those who encroached in procession through emerald macadam
Where you seldom pass
We know by heart the Al Jaffr and ten Sefirots and we read the Liber Razielis
We accompanied Adam Kadmon in his solitude prior to separation and embodiment in terrain that will be bloodied by human through centuries
We have said to John to go in the river Jordan baptize the Christ and lead him on
For those who knows a little
We said to Waraka to prepare Muhammad to become the leader of those who seek the truth
We said to Bahaullah to explain men to take after women and the mother Earth
Otherwise in upcoming millennium the solely food of them shall be kernels and water
We said to Gibran commence the Theurgy for upcoming millennium being as solely artistic repose for creative men
We said to Fahredin write as much as possible and hush as a canyon stone
Until he finds his echo point
We…
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 7:37 AM UTC
at news of her death
Not a line of her writing have I
Not a thread of her hair,
No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
I may picture her there;
And in vain do I urge my unsight
To conceive my lost prize
At her close, whom I knew when her dreams were upbrimming with light
And with laughter her eyes.
What scenes spread around her last days,
Sad, shining, or dim?
Did her gifts and compassions enray and enarch her sweet ways
With an aureate nimb?
Or did life-light decline from her years,
And mischances control
Her full day-star; unease, or regret, or forebodings, or fears
Disennoble her soul?
Thus I do but the phantom retain
Of the maiden of yore
As my relic; yet haply the best of her—fined in my brain
It may be the more
That no line of her writing have I,
Nor a thread of her hair,
No mark of her late time as dame in her dwelling, whereby
I may picture her there.
1.3k
I – the girl you observe
guilty pleasure
marching through molten black
torch ignited
orbiting phantasms in the aphotic
burning within
corruption incinerated upon ingestion
tucked behind your frame
nestling ear
lip grazing canal
zest to soliloquy
vivacious saccharine tone
ruminating in the lilt of your tongue
resting in gum scoop and jawbone (mandible) reserve
adroit pivot
humbled gaze
locked
exteroception engaged
hard swallow
pearls scooped catatonic
atop lingering breast ascension
prudent olfaction volatile
cribriform annihilation
ginger – basil - brine - ruminate
etch of lace
sailplaning flesh topographic
aureate sunlight cresting soma
intoned morning – essence of miasma
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:45 PM UTC
To hold a pen, all trembling nib and leaking tip,
At your mercy, supple in your hands,
Over the skin of soon-to-be words, people and places:
Gently exploding ink bombs of which I cherish total control –
Until I have to let them go -
until they are released and left to their own free will.
They bend and curl
And I bend and curl with them – through a place of rubble and debris,
Of clear water on emeralds and grey, creamy smoke.
A wasteland – but far from empty – a silvery mire filled with all the things of this earth.
Something both post and pre-apocalyptic that smells of old wood and heady incense,
Nostalgia and new memories.
Accidentally, messily, flawlessly crafted.
I wait for more sporadic dark poolings,
And they happen within quick succession of one another;
Splaying,
Isolated limbs and drops of a purple chemical
Spreading, bleeding, dissolving
Over the grainy paper.
The page is torn and frayed at the edges
Where almost fabric-like fibres
Were unable to withstand the impact of a knife’s blade,
Ripping all the tiny seams which bind them together,
Coming apart,
Undone,
Strand by dusty strand.
What is finished, what is done –
Is what has been given kindness,
And settled to rest.
As if drunk, sleepy, disorientated but somehow acutely aware of exactly where you are.
The feeling of dizziness where everything is hazy, fuzzy, blurry –
Inducing a comfortable, ***** slumber
In an old *** and vanilla shop.
Aureate, bronze pearls slide over each other, silky and luke-warm,
As you peer through glass and lace,
The spheres chinking together, a thousand times over.
A pen held above the paper, now still and impassive.
It is mine and I am its,
And we stand alone on the corner of a pavement,
A streetlamp
Rendering the scene golden in the rain.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
In the incandescence of this empyrean nocturnal rhapsody
A remarkably rare yet, aureate creature appeared before me
From nightfall until daybreak she smoothly crooned an infinite array
Of enamorous symphonies to which I naturally could not abstain
A subtle spark of ardency was cast upon my sauntering pneuma
Inundating me into a catalepsy of which I zestfully fancied
Her charisma suckered me in with ease, illuminating my euphoria
Masquerading my pervasive mourning, cauterizing it to ashes
Each lyric alleviates the suffering that I have so hazardously acquired
Every note speaks to me in a language unknown to the community
The tasteful euphonies that perspire, carefully assuage my heart
I raised not a finger nor did I enunciate a single word or syllable
Her musical prowess completely squandered me with passion
Jauntily I danced to the cadence of the beat scouring my veins
Ceaselessly I could bathe in the essence of her bubbling sound waves
Never shall this finely crafted music pause, It shall remain on replay
Aug 27, 2011
Aug 27, 2011 at 1:21 PM UTC
DRAFT
All that glisters is not gold. 7
(To) Those who think not: let it be told. 8
Take heed the lessons I could not grasp, 9
And perhaps your gilt chains might just unclasp. 10
End:
i realized it was (but) the the blind who told me I could not see;
For I slid off my contacts, and saw the same (aureate) world...
I had begun to look upon [] with shame, pity, and disgrace
Angelic _ _ threads no longer etched in his face
The silver lining is gone, gray and rust take its place
Now when I look upon him, 'tis not a look of love, but of pity, shame, and disgrace, because I killed him and made him a prince maybe
I created a world where the rust washed away
Crumbling as easily as freshly fallen snow
The same icy snow that melts into the hearts of the crown's next fallen victim
The sword drops from my hand as I lay in defeat
But the earth never took me as one of its own
My skin and my flesh stood fast on my bones
I laid there and cried for what seemed like a million tears
But even the purest water(add: ,the purest apology,the purest regret) from the depths of my soul could never let the earth take me
My eternal love for you, it will never let me go
Time after time, day after day
Pondering life as it all turns to gray
The leaves and the sky stay the same, always_ _
I laid all alone yet I never did fade.
Time after time, day after day,
I laid all alone waiting for something to change
As I pass though the graveyard I stop and I smile
A flower is laid on an old marble grave
The words on the stone were ones I had known very well
A familiar stone etching of words once carved in my heart
"An ephemeral limerance, ceased at long last"
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 10:30 PM UTC
a wish
flies to skies
Swims against
the star-glittery
streams
and inspires
the coolest of breeze
cincturing a mount ridge
to carve a glimpse
of an ice goddess
made of a pellucid kiss
O the flamboyant curves
of the temptress
abiding the blue-sky
shall too
one day vaporize
by the fire of a touch
to deliver
a seed of sprouts
within the dissipated
yearning of the fumes
lovers scintillate
aureate gleam
of the celestial bliss
on a non starry sky
whence becoming a home
to their eyes
the moon smiles
to exhilarate
You
by a dawn flower
born from love’s
secret meeting
unmanifest until
You have vivified
an unknown myrrh
in your dream
An aroma of
true desire
by which
I
shall be born
and reshape
most elegantly
most delicately
to dissolve
in the euphoria
of this incarnating bath
made of breath
seducing
the immaculate flavor
of nectar
glaring
like the mastic
of the pine
on your tongue
for I’ve left
my fasting heart
in vows of truth
to be able to
answer your question
about what I have meant
by my ’you are my first’
resurrecting letters now
to a whisper
clinging like a
perennial symphony
in your ears
only once heard
in the absence
of full trust
shall it too
stop
wobbling
this waking reality
from its truth
I would stay
then still
invariably
(unheard)
in your ears
to aid you create
A harmony born universe
of here
and
now
as you open and close your eyes
and teach me yogas
I shall not assume
of things and beings
Anymore but be
the one and the only
divine posture of the devi
that shall unite me to you
Eternally
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 9:22 AM UTC
there’s something uplifting about looking up at my window.
no matter the time of day, as long as the slats are open,
if you look up and out, you will see the tops of trees and open sky.
in the early evening, it reminds me of you.
the blue is fading to a duskier shade, like that of your eyes,
and the leaves of the trees shine a yellow-brown as the sun hits them;
they sway in the breeze, just as your hair does.
the light is warm and gentle and brushes against the white of the open panels
and glances off the wall to the right, painting my room in aureate hues.
I remember having all the time in the world to watch you during these hours,
having all the time in the world as you slept or fiddled around in my bed.
sometimes we would lay entwined and my fingers would brush over your stubble
as your hands grazed through my hair and up and down my side.
your lips would brush against my skin as the leaves brushed against each other outside.
no noise, no chaos. just our breathing and the dimming light the sun provided.
the early evening is the calm before the night and the madness it brings.
gold and glory and grandness and grace,
a warm haze of gradual darkness descends as the haven melts away like the hours we spent.
the sun lights up the sky in vivid pinks and oranges,
leaving bruised purples and navys in its wake.
you left as it set. your mood reflected the bruises the sun left in its abrupt departure
and I longed to paint you in pinks and oranges and the blazing, brilliant red it became
before it disappeared beneath the horizon, just as you did when the car door shut behind you.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
You are my harem's thought Siren.
The eunuchs have cleared all the others from the palace'
I've instructed them to draw you a warm scented bath
and light ninety nine candles to aureate your lovely skin.
Upon the hour I will join you and light the remaining one.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 6:50 AM UTC
there you were,
standing in your
yellow aura
and i blinked.
and all that was
left was this gold dust,
shimmering
and the ethereal
shadow of what
we could have been.
i loved you.
i still love you.
i always will.
the sunshine of your
smile will be imprinted
in the palette of my mind
as the softest and brightest
of daffodils.
your eyes will be
painted with
aureate flecks
and chocolate
and your hair a collective
shade of the deepest
parts of my soul, dark
and distinct against
the daylight
that collapses
to
its
knees
when it reaches your cheeks.
I outline you in my heart
with the clearest acryllic
so as not to ever forget
your form and the
way that it nestled to mine.
You, my darling
are the color that I used
to despise the most,
because that color represents
a part of me I could
never understand and love
before I met you
my forever sunflower.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 6:52 AM UTC
Our pretty white house; the grand grey gates stood proud,
The blood-red roses, the lilac petunias; myriad flora- every hue, every kind.
The endearing blue sky, many a vagabond white cloud,
The colors of my youth lived on, embossed in my mind…
The joyous peals of laughter in the aureate beach, as tides swept by,
Ma, her orange dress bright, tracing the path of each bubbly wave,
Mauve, ochre and yellow merged, embellishing the canvas of the transforming sky,
Of those days-vivid red love, countless memoirs- I will ever rave.
My bonny bride in her lovely white dress; exuberant, free as a bird,
The dash of pink that adorned her cheeks when “I do,” she said,
The rage, the lividity- a sinister crimson; she had left without a word,
The blues we’d painfully endured, as Ma lay on her death bed…
The aged white house-home no more, now lay brown and sore,
No more of the red roses, lilac petunias- life of any kind,
The rusted brown gates-eternally shut, stood with pride no more,
The colors of my youth fading- embossed only in my mind…
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC
Ah, this love.
Like a down
of a child on the check.
Like a waft
among roots nodulous
of a hidden forest.
Leaves woken up
in Saint Martin’s summer
of the tree
waiting for the winter.
A bell aureate
of Sundays of autumn.
Tolls …
Translator Bulgarian-English: Vessislava Savova
rarebird
© bogpan - all rights reserved
Тази любов...
Ах, тази любов.
Като мъх
на детето по бузата.
Като полъх
сред корени възлести
на скрита гора.
Лùста събуден
през циганско лято
на дървото
очакващо зимата.
Камбана златиста
на недели от есен.
Звъни...
May 30, 2011
May 30, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
thoughts trickle down like nightfall on the glass
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
you tap an aimless rhythm on my arm
laugh at graffiti on the overpass
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
a ****** of words breeze through the evening calm
they pirouette away from conscious clasp
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
catch a falling leaf in your open palm
we wander slow though the road glimmers fast
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
your eyes blur mellow and lose the alarm
aureate dream dust just beyond our grasp
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
we fade our wounds within this twilight balm
forget your feet and leave them in the grass
backstreets at dusk radiate a soft charm
beneath the urban blue we're out of harm
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 4:00 PM UTC
~
*A mouth to feed
A lawn to mow
I don't feel young anymore
If children were wishes
If their smiles, the family glue
Aureate light would reflect
From the ceiling of my heart
If children were wishes
What would become of you and me?*
~
Aug 1, 2024
Aug 1, 2024 at 4:38 PM UTC
i want you to regret everything
you've loved before me and lost
i want everything else besides me
to lose their eesome ways
everything you write aureate of me
and the sillage of when i go outside
without you to burn as if the sun was in your hands
as all your promises will be mine
mine will be yours and i will walk between these
valleys
with you and when this world burns apart
i will follow you to the stars
and despite my lustful appearence desired from your eyes
to the ****** of your hips and wrists to mine
i want you to be inside my minds, hold my thought's hands
be in my nightmares, and stir my dreams
there is no condition you've put me in
so i must ask you put yourself in the same
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 12:23 PM UTC