"bedeck" poems
On the heap,
Thou dangle and screech
And bedeck, for I seemingly espouse.
The anecdotes and myths:
Engaged in a mutual pose.
There comes the hymn,
And the sway and the hum;
The abnormality and the deform
Halted on a single stance.
To dozen of the tokens
Whom I prejudged;
The prevalence of the chaos
That sleeps merely on my tongue.
To all the estrangements
From which I refrain,
Within the bawl of the tantrum, upon the hook of the day.
Farewell to all, farewell the haze
Farewell the cluster,
To the resolution found within a fane;
Where rituals confuse,
Where the practice becomes a fame.
There thou taketh solely,
A hymn and an interminable haze.
Whats the sense of the ovation
When no screen displays
A mourning motion
For which no motion craves?
I sigh, and mumble
To which mere consciences giveth
To me only, mine solely.
His to hear and his, keenly.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 8:50 AM UTC
There castles fair as a moon of June
Despite denizens 'neath a pit of despair
Like a night lit not by stars or moon.
Sweet is the silent whispers of a zephyr
When falls dew at the peep of dawn
Upon meadow boughs of emerald fair.
When heaven's ever fair golden eye
Doth sprinkle her very last fiery ray
To pave way unto maidens of the sky
That evermore bedeck heaven's bay,
In woods strange lonely things dost cry
In lament of the sweet melted olden day
Now 'neath the vale of time: In fairyland,
Where days once colorful and bright,
Where novelty gems bedeck each strand,
Where lofty towers shine than star light,
There naught remains that doth stand
And there dawns never but endless night.
Kikodinho Edward Alexandros,
Los Angels, California.
20th/09/2018
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
To one who’s name is written in the faint perfume upon my neck
Your hands gently tend my landscape with their caress
Each and every flower, you gracefully bedeck
In the richest warmth of your undress
You move your morning breezes into the darkness of my night
Until I no longer know the season or present year
Time is of no essence within my sight
Of warmth or cold, I have no fear
To one who’s name is written on every single line of my heart
In your ink flowing from the radiance of our eternal sun
Your hands tend my landscape in a world apart
Marked on a calendar of none
The cares of life, waft into silent pieces as they come to light
When your morning breeze moves upon my flowers
Each one you tend with your hand’s sight
Forgets these cares of ours
To one who’s name is written in my eyes as my master gardener
My flowers will always seek the ink flowing from our sun
My landscape will be your garden harbor
From your breezes, I will never run
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 6:06 AM UTC
There was a time when I was sane
when I used to walk among daffodils.
When they used to open up and sing
their unadorned song from hill to hill.
There was a time when I was sane
when the trees used to sway
and the leaves used to rustle
just to lay their flowers in my way.
When I was sane,the eagles
from their eyries,used to fly high
and block the sun with their wings.
Just so it wouldn't be in my eyes.
The clouds would come at my call.
And the rain would fall only for me.
The diamond drops would break
and bedeck the ground at my feet.
Looking at the night sky,
at the star studded lanes,
I would see the moon smile at me
and know that I was sane.
I used to create new worlds
with living words from my pen.
Full of marvels they used to be.
But that was all then...
Wrapt I was in fantasy
while the world moved on.
It has moved away from me
while,impassive,I looked on.
People said I was not sane,
told me that where I lived
there were no daffodils;
No promise in how I lived.
Now that I'm cured,I see
that I'd been but a fool
who believed Horton really lived
in the Jungle of Nool.
No magic rings in reality.
No wonderland or wicked witches.
No Elves nor dragons.
Not even Quidditch and snitches.
Now cured,I see reason.
The flowers never did sing.
Nor did any eagle fly for me.
Reason came but relief did not bring.
All those words I created,
All those worlds I cherished,
All too soon yea all too soon
All have but perished.
Now I see people toiling away
in richness,poverty and ignorance.
I see children bent with age;
In their eyes,everything but innocence.
Reluctantly now moves my pen
as I try to make new worlds.
Stringing letters together it desponds.
As lacking life,they are but words.
Everything used to be wonderful
when I knew I was sane.
Now that I've seen reality,
I know I must be insane.
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
Come softly
silver rain, come
softly now my thoughts,
heavy as October's reddest hue
in hours shed these patched conceits
of dry leaves, curled
along the Summer road,
become some vast appalling wilderness...
Your hands, an Autumn dream,
cast a thick red sap
upon the swollen planes of my body,
crouch in a stealth pathos
of grey leopard cells,
as they well, wild with faith
and thirsty prayer...
Come away
from these stale Summer breads,
for your kisses
are a much softer fate
than wisdom, come
the ease of rain, softly
silver rain...
Stay the solemn night
with leaves, bedeck
my perilous flesh,
let it ascend
its grey latitudes
in blizzards of dogwood,
kindling songs on paperchains...
My hands,
string an alphabet
of silence, tied
by hours of rope,
inviolate, palms
clasped to glass, two
hummingbirds, quiet...
Stilled, joined, unbind
to close into fists, come Autumn
the season of bearing,
the rich red earth darkens and drinks
our tears, and now, never
the ease of rain, falling,
come softly,
softly silver rain....
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 4:15 PM UTC
"How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob,
Your dwelling places, O Israel!"
Thy children gather,
telescoping generations,
O Jacob, what do thine eyes ascertain.
what history do they memorize?
Coalescing younger star clusters,
disparate related families uniting,
embedding as a single unity,
a star cloud,
shedding a new light,
the astronomers awed, witnesses,
a super-star cluster birthed.
The beauty of thy tents,
thy wealth, O Jacob,
is their multiplicity,
their construct and content.
The web of thy tissue,
bindings, linkages,
what resides within thy tents,
acknowledge, testify, that
the strength of thy issue,
are the Matriarchs,
managers of thy destiny,
mothers of thy dynasty,
The Sarah's, Leah's, the Rachel's,
the Fay's, the Ginger's, the Miriam's
these jewels bedeck, beautify,
brides and bridles of thy tents,
master mistresses of thy dwellings,
without them, O Jacob,
you, but, just,
another desert tribe.
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
The debutante desires her maiden dance
A farewell serenade beneath the moon
She's drifting like a Sunday afternoon
Each lazy sway a restful rhythmic trance
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
Encircling suitors pack around and soon
She gleans the grating of each nervous glance:
"A farewell serenade beneath the moon?"
She casts them all aside her heart immune
To each until one voice, one piercing lance:
"Bedeck the band and play a merry tune!"
She falters and her bold facade is hewn
And nodding shyly greets his cold advance:
"A farewell serenade beneath the moon!"
Embracing him her heart begins to swoon
A maiden sunken at her first romance;
Bedeck the band and play a merry tune
A farewell serenade beneath the moon
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
It rained last night while he slept
in the chair, waiting for her -
I mean for the rain to bedeck
the olive tree with her silver perls
and cause a stir
in his reason and imagination -
a spur.
But the rain came while he slept.
She came and came and came -
for nothing.
© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, May 17; revised on July 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 10:10 AM UTC
*Seven New Poems For Seven Days # 5: Summer Girls In Their Summer Clothes
Oh yes!
The streets of Manhattan, jewel dusted,
Summer girls in their summer clothes,
Bedeck the streets and make men say, Thank You!
To their creator.
Little black dresses, previously immortalized^,
Seasoning and sauces, halter tops and jeans cutoff,
Give thanks for the tanks, revel in the revelations,
For God created man and women in his/her teasingly bare image.
*Yo! Dude! This is number 5 in the series,
Of sad and somber, re dad and mother, ***
Have you lost perspective, not read the directive,
You're in mourning, time to be introspective,
Not dis-respective!
My mother was a beautiful women.
Till the day she died.
Yes, physically beautiful at 98.
She, was a poem.
For her exterior was suffused, burnished,
By the spirit residing within her body
I ask myself, why not judge a book by its cover?
Her cover was exquisite, but what gave her a glow,
A radiance, was her modesty, her love of humanity.
What's under our cover?
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Come softly
silver rain, come
softly now my thoughts,
heavy as September's reddest hue
in hours shed these patched conceits
of dry leaves, curled
along the Summer road,
become some vast appalling wilderness,
your hands, an Autumn dream,
casts a thick red sap
upon the swollen planes of my body,
crouched in a stealth pathos
of grey leopard cells,
as they well, wild with faith
and thirsty prayer,
come away
from these stale Summer breads,
for your kisses
are a much softer fate
than wisdom, come
the ease of rain, softly
silver rain,
stay the solemn night
with leaves, bedeck
my perilous flesh,
let it ascend
its grey latitudes
in blizzards of dogwood,
kindling songs on paperchains
my hands,
string an alphabet
of silence, tied
by hours of rope,
inviolate, palms
clasped to glass, two
hummingbirds, quiet
stilled,joined,unbind
to close into fists, come Autumn
the season of bearing,
the rich red earth darkens and drinks
our tears, and now, never
the ease of rain, falling,
come softly, softly silver rain....
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Fair rose, now that thou art picked in the prime
Of thy breathtaking splendour to go bloom
By strands of pearl of very far a clime,
Upon roads of life I deserve no room
But as the wind bids adieu unto hills,
The lonely woods, the indignant still cloud,
The silent vales, the gently rolling rills,
As such, I must vade to another world;
But hark! Fair star, though snowy angels fair
In countless numbers bedeck heaven's shore,
Eternal flames of brightest love so rare
By my soul shalt blaze for thee evermore.
So, until then when we shall meet again,
My love for thee as fresh as summer rain.
© Kikodinho Edward Alexandros. 13th.July.2018.
#Shakespearean sonnet
#decasyllabic
#iambic pentameter
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 2:51 PM UTC
मैं लिपट के रो लूंगा
तेरे यादों के साये से,
मगर संभव नहीं है ये
तुझे आवाज दूँगा मैं ||
मोहब्बत का प्रणय आग्रह,
प्रथम दिल से किया मैने|
तेरे हर नाजों नखरों को,
पलकों पे लिया मैने।
आज भी मुस्करा के तु कभी-
जो हाँ अगर कह दे |
तेरे हर एक गीतों को,
हँसकर साज दूँगा मैं ||
मगर संभव नहीं है ये
तुझे आवाज दूँगा मैं ||
जो दुख भरा ये गीत,
मेरे लब पे आया है।
एक एक हर्फ कहता है,
ये दिल चोट खाया है।
जिवन के किसी भी मोड पे-
जो मिल गयी फिर तु।
अपने सारे अश्कों का,
तुझे हिंसाब दूँगा मैं।।
मगर संभव नहीं है ये
तुझे आवाज दूँगा मैं ||
दिल तोड जाने क्यूं,
तु खुशहाल हँसकर है।
मेरे आँखों के कतरों मे,
तडपता मन का लश्कर है।
छोडो इश्क की गलीयों के-
पेंचिदे से रस्तों को।
तु सिधे कत्ल कर दे तो,
ना नाराज हूँगा मैं ||
मगर संभव नहीं है ये
तुझे आवाज दूँगा मैं ||
ईतर इन गम के चोटों से,
जिसे मैं रोज सहता हूँ ।
गुरूर तुझमे है गर तो,
टशन मे मैं भी रहता हूँ ।
अगर आबाद हो जाओगी -
तुम मुझसे बिछड कर के |
तो बर्बाद होकर भी,
कोइ सरताज हूँगा मैं ।।
मगर संभव नहीं है ये
तुझे आवाज दूँगा मैं ||
The translation is given by Karisma ji
Thanks to you dear
I’ll cry silently
Hugging the shadow of your memories
However, it is not possible
That I will call out to you
I first insisted at
The amour of love
I cherished all your wiles and tantrums
Even today, If you would but smile and say so
I will laugh and bedeck each song of yours
However, it is not possible
That I will call out to you
If this sad song has
graced my lips
each and every syllable says
this heart has hurt
If at any turn of life
I chance to meet you
I will give an account of
Every tear of mine
However, it is not possible
That I will call out to
After breaking heart
I wonder why you laugh happy
In the drops of my eyes
The tortured battalion of my mind lies
Leave the lanes of love
These backward roads
Even if you were to **** me
I would not be angry
However, it is not possible
That I will call out to
Differently from the hurts of this sorrow
Which I bear everyday
If you have pride then
Even I have attitude
In the event you prosper
After separating from me
Then even after destroying myself
I’ll be a crowning glory
However, it is not possible
That I will call out to you
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 9:56 AM UTC
The clock was protected from change in your house.
No Daylight Savings Time admitted to your routines.
We who bordered your life had to adjust or miss your timing.
Your farm the antipodes of ours...straight and neat,
Everything where it ought to be,
No duplication or mess....
A feast for my order-hungered eyes.
I had not yet learned of obsessive-compulsiveness;
I only despised my father's clutter,
His refusal to wear time upon his wrist,
His stubborn old World ways.
I shoveled barley half a hot and muggy day
To load your truck,
Emerged tired, covered with dust,
Raging in a million itches
To receive fifty cents
"To take your girlfriend out."
Most ungrateful, I chafed,
Told anyone who listened...
But now, I smile,
Wishing my labor to have been
A gift, now long ago.
I fell in love with John Deere tractors, gleaming green,
Colored television,
Fresh paint, white and red,
Because of you
Standing in striped Osh Kosh bibs,
Penultimate farmer.
Lydia, your wife,
Danced to the metronome
Of your orderly life,
Escaped only in Harlequin novels
Stacked by her chair.
Until the day everything changed,
Pink drool trailing from your mouth,
Gears grinding as you lost
The memory of clutches,
Tractor care,
Crops to plant
Be ******
A stroke was taking down another man.
A Saturday we moved your wife to town
Near where you convalesced;
Monday, the Baptist preacher found her.
You ordered mahogany, rich and prime,
For us to bid your Lydia farewell,
Then followed, true to form,
Within the month.
Your children ordered oak, solid and strong,
Wheat sheaves bedeck the top,
Inlaid and waiting,
Ready for the coming harvest.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
Thus she pulled tautly
Against his well worn jerkin
Free of woes and clothes
And skin without sin
Removing the veil of enchantment until she rose
Like a full ripe moon high
Upon his radiant earthly body
The welkins were pleased
Sighed with relief
So silken was she within
His richness and majesty
They adorned her with
Their supernatural jewels
To symbolize her graceful submissive gentle nature
They removed from her the chains erasing her paint
This transforming her scars
Into bejewelled stars
To bedeck the ashen midnight of her past with dawns beauty and light
Presenting them both
With a present of eternal
Passion and fulfilment
Mary C Puls
Thus she pulled tautly
Against his well worn jerkin
Free of woes and clothes
And skin without sin
Removing the veil of enchantment until she rose
Like a full ripe moon high
Upon his radiant earthly body
The welkins were pleased
Sighed with relief
So silken was she within
His richness and majesty
They adorned her with
Their supernatural jewels
To symbolize her graceful submissive gentle nature
They removed from her the chains erasing her paind
This transforming her scars
Into bejewelled stars
To bedeck the ashen midnight of her past with dawns beauty and light
Presenting them both
With a present of eternal
Passion and fulfilment
Mary C Puls
Vashti Ayla Miria
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:38 PM UTC
My soul rests amongst whispers and phoenix feathers,
I pirouette upon mellifluous petals;
My locks weave into sun-kissed cobwebs-
On a crepuscular moon my head does rest.
I chant lullabies with God's own angels,
And soar through streaks of ivory ocean;
My heart embraces minute wings-
I bedeck a dress of finest gossamer.
For a canvas I use the melodic night,
Whilst the smiling stars my paint;
And the alternative for ink is my laughter-
Of which I inscribe onto delicate parchment.
From my necklace dangles a thousand songs,
Within my eyes lock orbs of glitter;
And my mind is free to fly with the doves-
A diamond tiara is perched on my hair.
Dulcet dreams are conjured from these.
My soul battles a war with the devil,
I perform a dance upon a bed of nails;
Merciless hair twists round my neck-
Ebony beasts spy me in my slumber.
My refrain is released as a scream,
I glide up to zenith then plummet;
And my heart shrivels up to hide-
My outfit is creased with fear and smoke.
My ripped canvas is the rain-slashed hell,
My own blood comes in use for paint;
The sweet poison seeping from my heart is ink-
Engraved into my lucid flesh.
The tunes lie shattered at my feet,
My eyes clouded with tales of the voiceless;
The mind is trapped within a cage-
Surrounding my head is a crown of thorns.
Wicked nightmares are created from these.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:18 AM UTC
Static crackling ecstatically; manic pop
Transistor hissing and spitting; sideboard atop
First when there’s nothing…
But a slow glowing dream…
Pirouette such as whirling dervish makes
Adolescent prancer twirls; leg warmer fakes
All alone I have cried…
Silent tears full of pride…
Breathless incantation; future forged in dance
Performance fascination; leap upon the chance
What a feeling...
Bein’s believing…
Neon flashes bedeck wrists and bonce
Peers laughter flash like fire; a ponce
Take your passion…
And make it happen…
The music shields, deflects. Antacid; taunts abate
Rhyhmic dreamer energized; blind to all the hate
Pictures come alive…
You can dance right through your life…
As Bergen-Belsen ghost yet still aware
Lost dreamer segues silently on fetid air
Bruised and battered, I couldn’t tell what I felt…
I am unrecognizable to myself…
Shuffling as garish Geisha; white but not with paint
Breathless as fifties bombshell; heaving sick and feint
At night I could hear the blood in my veins…
It was black and whispering as the rain…
With steel partner; straight firm and slim of hip
Rigid in rigor’d waltz; moving labouredly with drip
I walked the avenue, ‘til my legs felt like stone…
I heard the voices of friends, vanished and gone…
Faithless rusting engine combusts toxic blood
Failing sack of sinew lies where dancer stood
Night has fallen, I’m lyin’ awake…
I can feel myself fading away…
Monotone white noise; assuring beep
Dancer dreams in endless sleep
There was a time when men were kind…
There was a time when love was blind…
©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness – 2018 – All rights reserved)
Acknowledgements:
1. Flashdance… what a Feeling (1983 – Giorgio Moroder, Keith Forsey & Irene Cara)
2. The Streets of Philadelphia (1993 – Bruce Springsteen)
3. I Dreamed a Dream (Les Miserables – Claude Michel Schonberg, Herbert Kretzmer & Alain Boubil)
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
The kitchen table, dimly lit, at which
Sit I, with book propp’d up upon the edge,
And in my hand, a mug bedeck’d with owls,
To the brim fill’d with sweet cinnamon chai.
The room as warm as summer, walls protect.
And I look out at the surrounding black
Becoming lost deep in the rain and wind
Which whirls without, just like a dancer wild
Would swirl a ribbon round and round their head.
But i sit in my isle of warmth and light.
While they are locked outside, in fath’mless dark.
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC
For I have restrained from the light above
Thou, in the ogling reflection, stood, awaiting
Amorphous reiteration of the rue singes the flesh
For I ,ere sewing the sin on my flesh, was inebriated from passion and from those I regret.
The eons of dust arched the back of the wind,
Integrating through, never did they collide, only swiveling.
For I missed the light flickering,
Beyond the hues of tears clear on my skin..
Only in this meandering path do I bedeck my complexion,
With sins ,adjoining skin over skin
I have never admired
The way they nestle over sin.
Thee; The patchy and rough branches,
Sew beyond the bones under,
Inexorably calling to terminate
This pain over and under
For i have sinned, please tune me out
Discerned from the peaks of higher mountains; Apart.
Though the stars shine upon solely a dust,
For a jiff, merely descends the armour, down
Caved in, clemency seems away in clouds,
Billowing up towards the luminary.
Did I crave it or did I not?
Does flesh ache a lot.
I stood in front of a mirror,
Abhoring the adversarial and metaphoric matter
Ethereality strikes over my flesh,
When I commemorate the sins I have flecked
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
lemon and lime fill the air
bedeck the boughs with sunshine glare
deck the earth with golden stair
before Lord Winter lays all bare
Nov 14, 2021
Nov 14, 2021 at 2:14 AM UTC
My eyes capture a glimpse
of a Robin Red Breast
who lay at my feet
his breath labored
as is mine
I sink to my knees
my spirit crushed
as is his
we mourn as a pair
His wind ceases
eyes lock
I bury him
under a Sourwood Tree
with raw hands
and blanket him
with rich soil
Fall leaves flow
to bedeck his grave
Nov 3, 2019
Nov 3, 2019 at 4:30 PM UTC
By green and windblown rippled slopes
where cattle graze in summer sun;
beneath blue skies where larks sing shrill
and rabbits by the hedgerows run.
When meadowsweet and columbine
bedeck the grass like ocean foam;
we soft return like shadows lost
to seek our old ancestral home.
Within the tree-lined borderlands
we wait until the day is done;
‘til passing fancies leave us be
and once again our time is come.
When doors and gates are closed and locked
we slip within as night winds roam;
and talk in whispered secrecy
of times in our ancestral home.
No more within cold fireplace
do fallen logs burn bright and fair;
from panelled walls in sullen oils
dark portraits of the long dead stare.
On bowing shelves of oak repose
the toils of men in leathern tome;
unread and lost for centuries,
hid deep in our ancestral home.
And through the watches of the night
we drift from room to balcony;
recalling days of childhood lost,
and laughter of sweet memory.
Yet all too soon we must be gone
‘ere birds again chorale the dawn;
and disappear like shadows soft
that fly from our ancestral home.
Apr 9, 2020
Apr 9, 2020 at 7:02 AM UTC
The lake looked luxurious,
Opalescent folds of china blue,
Twinkling stars upon water,
Gold russet rushes gently swaying,
Lime catkins freshly woven onto dangling branches.
A Moorhen wades in the riverbed,
Diamond ripples orbiting its sillouhette.
Plump new leaves bedeck the low horse chestnut trees and their fingers stream in steamy shallows.
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 1:43 PM UTC
The eerie darkness of the day haunts me,
Hence I know hell is an eternal abyss,
So I search my memories to find the key,
To begin new wonders with no remiss.
The gleaming stars bedeck the sky,
So I gaze at the patterns to find my future;
It’s riddled with misery and the day I die,
Thus I surrender to a reckless adventure,
My heart lays latent as the echo blows away,
And the warblers dance in their chaotic throng,
Hence my heart wanders in a stormy fey,
The babel of discord ails my song;
I'm lost in the wilds with a broken compass,
As a zephyr blows my name into the rumpus.
May 3, 2019
May 3, 2019 at 10:59 AM UTC
By green and windblown rippled slopes
where cattle graze in summer sun;
beneath blue skies when larks sing shrill,
and rabbits by the hedgerows run.
When meadowsweet and columbine
bedeck the lea like ocean foam;
we soft return like shadows lost
to seek our old ancestral home.
Within the tree-lined borderlands
we wait until the day is done;
‘til passing fancies leave us be
and once again our time is come.
When doors and gates are closed and locked
we slip within as night winds roam;
and talk in whispered secrecy
of times in our ancestral home.
No more within cold fireplace
do fallen logs burn bright and fair;
from panelled walls in sullen oils
dark portraits of the long-dead stare.
On bowing shelves of oak repose
forgotten tales in leathern tome;
unread by men for centuries,
hid deep in our ancestral home.
And through the marches of the night
we drift from room to balcony;
recalling days of childhood lost,
the laughter of sweet memory.
Yet all too soon we must be gone
‘ere birds again chorale the dawn;
and disappear like shadows soft
that fly from our ancestral home.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC