"balter" poems
He was my most delicate flower
My favorite peony
Who seemed resilient of harsh summer showers
He held my aurora
He was my king, my aliferous deity
A dulcet fragrance is mixed with spring’s breeze
His kalon petals would balter
I whisper “I dream of living near the sea”
He'd grin
Knowing I’ll never turn out as I aspire to be
With more love than the last
Everyday I would greet him
Nurture him, tell him wild stories of my strange past
I thought too highly of him
I took my sharpest scissors
I lacerated his stem carefully
I killed him and pressed him
In an effort
To preserve my love of him
For eternity
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
I have watched the ebb and flow of the Sea
Under the cold glow of distant Galaxies
I have tasted the rush of City lights
And all the Mornings that have come after
I have heard the Heavens move and balter
To the Music of the world underneath
I have seen the many Faces of the night
At the dawn and death of every Day
I have witnessed the Ground give way to life
And the Living given back to the ground
We are as the World that we move in
We are the Bones of the earth; Salt of the sea.
We are an eternity clothed in Transience
No Permanence is ours to hold and keep
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
balter aimlessly
let's dance infamously
no rest in the room for eternal minutes
oh just spin us
counting the rhythm on our extra digits
this movement is more like fidgeting
moonwalking with iridecent souls
the feet kick and squirm and meet the knee
a bend of the neck, of the elbow
until you're hands meet me
in the middle
the fidget winds to a fiddle,
sudden like we're syncing
a drift saved from break by interlocking steps unperformed
together the dance, never grew worn,
although it's nothing less, it's nothing more
© 2015 Kate Volk
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
Nonchalant greetings and vigilant stares,
An alluring excitement with a striking flare.
Yet all of these things seep with fear,
All hidden under a pirate sneer.
To know of something of what's up there.
To feel the joy of what hell can fear.
Wondering if earth has a chance to be great,
One more chance with a little less hate.
May I ask an angel to calm me from my nerves?
To fly me away from sorrow and pain.
Though lovely people are everywhere in this world.
I need an angel to let my love be regained.
*Blue eyes with a bow and arrow,
A halo full of light and yellow.
Wings with speed and full of skill,
A character full of free will.*
*We'd sing and dance to no rhythm and beat.
Play with harps and sandals on our feet.
Holds me close and makes me guffaw,
Being the single foolish and fair thing I ever saw.*
May I ask an angel to come for me now?
To be my salvation in this world of mine now.
To adore, to love, to cherish and to hold.
To balter to music and let our story be told.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 4:18 AM UTC
How often we drank
to our health
and discussed trips
to far-away places
like Florence
but the closest we ever got to Italy
was Olive Garden
And then there was the state
of the union
We made love
the same way we made money:
tax free and under the table
neither ever worked out for us
Once our intentions got caught
under the wheels
of complacency, it crushed
everything in its path
including the balter
of our offspring
Nov 9, 2019
Nov 9, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
I love the way books cannot be
unread, cannot erase the sweet oils
and thumbprints like black oak tree rings
they are there for all the slivers
of sunlight and literary cafune
soft knuckles pressed into their
spines
they remind me that while I am not new
I can remain unknown, that though
opened by some I am neither novel lying in wait
or closed into his old bookshelves,
a thin draft in a library of what-ifs
he did not get to k e e p you
however you did, you did
found your
way into other hands, without much grace, albeit,
baltering from home to home
a solivigant prose--
this way, and that, small bind
paperback.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 10:57 PM UTC
#verb
1. a rapid tempo beats behind my ribs, beats inside my skull. a marching drum within my skin, setting the pace. we run, we fly, twirling and leaping in the clearing around the blaze. the stars flash between the leaves above in time with your pulse. you laugh, wild and loud and full. you are a dancing creature of the wood, and i never tire of watching you.
2. we would win no prizes with our art but our movements are synced with our breathing, and is there a better definition of grace? stumbling over each other and using each other's arms to keep upright, our laughter is a tangible thing twisting along beside us in the dark on the slick, dewy grass.
3. this moment is forever, a background soundtrack of reckless, boundless joy tinged with fire and moonlight. this is the epitome of the immortal, boundless youth.
4. this moment, this dance, this one eternal night... think of this when you think of me.
h.f.m.
Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
On this starlit night I balter
Nubivagant am I, floating as I dance
Although my faith, it shan't ever falter
I can't shake the feeling of impending doom
Daring am I, for I shall bite this fruit
Foolish might I be, from the mouth I'll shoot
Devilish smiles, the owners I know
Fiendish agendas,unkempt is their false deity
Tenebrous alleyways,they are our friends
Pine I do,to retain my sobriety
All the time flies,no progress made
Alas I fear I've lost my own identity
To desert them,woe is me, 'tis a velleity
For my throat they'll slit,leave me be
Lord knows I'm guilty,come set me free
Ludic am I, in spite of my fate
The crawling anxious thoughts await
Darkly smile I do,wearin' a brave face
Ascension 'tisn't mine,demons leave not a trace
Not a soul shall avenge me
For I am stained, a heathen indeed
Judgement Day 'tis early for me
Holy light,it shines luminous upon me
Dammnation 'tis mine; Father I have failed thee
Mar 5, 2020
Mar 5, 2020 at 5:05 PM UTC
Word of the day - Balter
Meaning - to dance artlessly,
Her hand went high
and his feet went high too.
Wearing a blue skirt
with white top
and white sandals,
she soar high in the sky.
In the black pants
with a black jacket
and slightly less black shoes,
he flies like a bird in the sky.
Both of them,
dancing mindlessly
to the tunes of nature.
The birds
The honking cars
The chitter chatter of people
The sound of wind
becomes the music
to their steps.
They do not coordinate,
but they dance anyways,
one hand touching each others’ face
and the other one reaching for their back.
Without any care
without any music,
leaving their worries behind
they lose themselves
in the ecstasy that is dancing.
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC