"bejewelled" poems
The burning flowers underline the sunset and
Dash before the fire (k)night catches them.
Ripe berries cheaply
tremble
but hopefully their vitality won't burst the pulp pulsating
beneath.
Crumbling flowers
crumb the floor
And Prisms of catching silver refract rose quartz and petal
and crimson
dust.
Bejewelled in Scarlet,
the air,
as the (k)night approaches, grows colder,
Unsure of whether he will bring
solace or strife.
In his chariot
he flies faster than the bees which buzzed around the fruit flutes
in the morning and among the trumpeting bluebells.
Stars fleck the (k)night
like freckles
and the milky ways resins stain his spouting steams lovely.
The (k)nights kind onyx reaches his crescendo and the floating moon danced drowsily through the cloud's spiralled tendrils
Which diminish as dawn
approaches
so their Tentilcles
droop to crinkled tissue paper sheathed in pink.
And so the (k)night
rides on into
The frivolous sunrise.
The lowing, glossy calves
in sage beside the ***** fields
cast a beloved ambience
As though
we are safe
in the knowledge
that the sky will remain
forever
topaz and the leaves
forever emerald.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 4:05 AM UTC
JANUARY
Delightful display
Snowdrops bowing pure white heads
To the sun’s glory.
FEBRUARY
Fresh green buds appear
Indicating spring will soon
Energise us all.
MARCH
Lambs gambol in fields
Frisky with the joys of life
Bleating happily.
APRIL
Bluebells stand so proud
Beneath trees now sparsely dressed
Fresh green leaves unfold.
MAY
Much awaited sound
Echoes heard amid dense trees
Cuckoo has arrived.
JUNE
Parks and gardens burst
With sounds and vibrant colours
Perfect harmony.
JULY
Beaches become full
Of families having fun
In sand and big waves.
AUGUST
Ripe golden harvest
Burning sun in azure skies
Labours rewarded.
SEPTEMBER
Swallows congregate
On telephone wires ready
To migrate down south.
OCTOBER
Red and gold leaves fall,
Crunchy as cornflakes beneath
Feet on a crisp morn.
NOVEMBER
Frosty webs sparkle
In the early morning sun
Brightly bejewelled.
DECEMBER
First few flakes of snow
Dust gardens like icing on
A chocolate cake.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 12:44 PM UTC
#*The Arabian Sea
A sprightly sight to behold
The cascading Sunbeams veil the sea in a platinum shimmer
The gusty wind blows
Sparkling diamonds roll up on the ocean waves
The golden Sun unravels the beauty of the bejewelled Sea
The picturesque Mumbai Skyline
Gloriously, rises up in the evening Sky
The mellowed Sun ,beauteous as an orange Rose
Leisurely dips down at the horizon
The Sky cools down to Prussian blue
The stars glimmer across the sky in the dim lights
It's showtime
Bedazzled
I quietly sit and watch the magical scenes unfold*#
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 4:16 PM UTC
EᔕᔕᕼI
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The kitchen's air is redolent with spices,
peppers and cinnamon, all-spice and star
anise, thyme and curry. The cooks are
shouting orders; taking rose-silver pots
and copper pans; each having the print
of the Lily of Aurelinaea; from the wooden
shelves, plates and bowls from the cup-
boards; some are stirring soups over
coal-fire stoves; others are dicing carrots,
potatoes, fresh poultry and more.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Esshi, in a light-green off-the-shoulder
dress of rose-silk with a triple ruffle trim,
lined with yellow ribbon, a thigh high slit and
white lilies beadery, is speaking to the head-chef
who nods. "Certainly, Lady Esshi." he says
and turns to his busy staff. "Bring out
the paella pans! We have orders for the
Queen Mother!"
"Yes, chef!" a woman says as she pulls
out a rose-silver paella pan and places
it on the stove. The head-chef turns to
Esshi. "You need not worry, Lady Esshi,"
he smiles. "I will make the dishes with
care."
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
"You always do, Bael," Esshi chuckles as
he washes his hands and she walks to
the corner, sighing. 'My Lady...'
she thinks worried.
"Lady Esshi?" her thoughts are broken
by a woman's voice. She turns to see a
florist behind her. *'So lost in thought,
that I did not hear the door open.'*
She thinks as her eyes fall on the flower
vase.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The vase is art noveau style; a deep emerald
green with a maiden in flowing silks, her
hair bejewelled with lilies. Esshi's eyes then
rise to look at the flower arrangement - white
lilies with lilac kisses, purple roses and
several stems of lavender.
"Lady Ainhara said I should bring this to you."
"It's lovely," Esshi sniffs the fresh flowers.
"Very beautiful! You certainly outdid yourself.
It's for our young Queen, I take it?"
"Yes. And Lady Ainhara said I should bring
you this also."
She sees her place some paper, quill and ink down
and Esshi smiles.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 3:41 PM UTC
can’t stop the waves
wane until they dissipate
caressing your bleach blonde waves
crave until it dissipates
everything is impermanent, imperfect
until you came into emergence, unearthing
roots that travelled deep towards the centre
i did not think i could ever have a happily ever after
but your potency feeds my possibilities
your royalty fuels my bejewelled dreams
there is no competition, no adversity
Aug 12, 2023
Aug 12, 2023 at 9:14 AM UTC
Whirlwind demonic dervish, lights flash,
Psyche rides alive!
Schizophrenia bites, jagged knife blade, soul caught, brain flavour caught, snatched by diathermy wires...!
Burning always,
No, not me, someone long ago once known, dead in body...don't know how deceased..!
Found alone in chair, cold stone!
Left bejewelled gift,
Pure treasure chest ,
Legacy of dream escape,
Female child now twenty three!
Livvi Kent27/04/2013
(no he was actually really sweet just very messed up Not the demonic man from "Secret Conception", that was just a write!)
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 5:57 AM UTC
Spring blossoms gentle acceptance
Of vagaries of desperation
Like variegated autumnal leaves
From the core of the stone of floods
Undeclared truths
Affirmative requests
There is chaos as a whole
In the expanse of the unending.
Fear fades mystically.
Death and boredom leave your lungs ...
There. Exists
Justice and pleasure... .
.... thoughts of living, laugh in the face of Death.
all the thoughts of failures
Conglomerate and are cast away
Into a deep trench
the soothing currents lull
Sinking green verdure.
Embraced by the biosphere
And forming a reef,
Thereby even your failures succeed.
Even now your image is being painted on the dull white canvas of my love.
Violent storms may rend the world
scattering lesser unions,
There is endurance in our madness...
Laughter, the golden bird, with bejewelled feathers,
Leads to the oasis of truth, in this desert of deceit
Reciprocation of sensation
Every intention to remain
And the rapidly ascending choir of broken angels sing the song which massacres despair.
And the body I wish to settle
Caressed by the deepest dark of night
Birth of the morning
The genesis of pleasant daydreams
Calm, hope ...
..... And a sense of success
Blue morning justice cascades
With dispelled illusions, and realized wishes.
Everyday upon wakening
I discard hate
As love, is mildly colored supple flesh
Withdrawn and plunged, into the crack of a stoney heart
Space infinitum opens before us,
On the petals of the lotus
Space through which two beings connect
No matter the distance.
We know that beneath this dull white nightmare
Dwells a vibrant black dream,
That is neither evil or good,
But just is.
On the workbench of despair,
Disassembled hearts are heaped.
In this pile I dwelled for an age of pain,
Until you plucked me from the pile
And made me whole again.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
Two strangers in a rickshaw in Varanasi:
Two strangers who never felt like strangers.
Two people lost and alive in the moment,
The same moment
With every sense standing, antennae bristling..
Two in a bubble
Together, held apart.
Caught up in a parade and surrounded by shy , smiling faces
Waving modestly at the fair haired strangers,
Laughing
At their surprise and joy.
Knowing that moment's awe
Delighted to share the festival.
Rickety trucks gaudily decorated blare out the tinny music and
High pitched voices distorted by the tannoy add an urgency
To the motion.
Shimmering saris glisten,
So in tune with the music that trembles with joy.
That joy spills out from the
Scents, the colours, the gleaming grins and the shy waving that marks our welcome,
Till every sense tingles
With life.
And then the sand storm
Swirling and circling the speeding rickshaw
Arrived mysteriously, magically,
Like dry ice in a theatre.
The air now tangible;
Surrounding us like the skin of a bubble
Lifting us out
Of ourselves as the scene comes and goes.
The sand screen clears to reveal
An elephant
A beautiful, smiling elephant
Dressed in splendour
Accompanying us on our magic carpet ride.
Close enough for us to touch his hide.
Bejewelled and glorious
Smiling too
And all is one in that moment
And each looks at the other and feels enchanted and wants the parade to go on forever
Just like this;
With motion
And music
And colour
And smiles
And laughter
And
An elephant.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 4:04 PM UTC
The snowy lilies gird her pith - in wake;
bejewelled love reposed in truest sleep
as Floras' wreath outdone by sorrow's make,
then thought; what comfort worth are stems - to weep?
Could petals glint upon her sombre plume
and sorb bereaving rain - of mourning kin,
or priestly Latin's timbre out of gloom
and Schuberts' toned refrain - a lighter hymn.
Although, a striking; flowered plush pervades
as fragrance spliced with copal - yields in heart
and over each an ashing pyre cascades,
begotten times and seasons - death not part.
Embraced the blossoms, now upon her lay;
a sweeten lilly - kissed by loves defray.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
Step into my universe
You'll see only words
In my mind, flurry of feathers
Hurricane of riled up birds.
They amass and circulate
Searching to break free
Storm of ink; doesn't abate
Bleed out for no one to see.
*Hidden inside my heart
Forbidden words I long to convey
Teach me how to start
With you I foist to play.*
Words veiled by silent secrecy,
Cloaked words I long to shout
Bordering the point of heresy
Tabooed words without doubt.
Almost an eternity I've whispered
With care and only hushed tones
Well kept secret undiscovered
Laying quiet under unturned stones.
Thought myself alone when I heard another
One that sings choral to my own
A mournful call that sang together
Grey melodies embodied in skin and bone.
*The cravings of my heart
Your words I wish to fill
In my head occupies the biggest part
Our declaration's the only seal.
A vow you and I made
A love we wish to last forever
Dismissing that opportunities evade
Who would need a supporting paper.
Hidden softness within me
Only you can tap and enjoy
The only one that holds the key
Heart and mind meet to employ.*
Our hearts, like kings, would've risen
Adorned and bejewelled on their crests
Let us sing in unrehearsed unison
Crowned words we've locked in our chests.
IamMsIves
rhymesmith
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 8:21 AM UTC
she opens a pack of
sheffield english type number five cigarettes
i rest my head in her lap
as she reads a french newspaper
its raining in paris and theres a girl there who is unhappy
dreams of romantic places never have sad girls in them
she must be a tourist
she sips some strange brew of teas
that has a heavy bouquet
loam and flowers..like a sweet wine
she suddenly laughs and translates a piece of the
french news for me
but i dont hear what she says
i only hear the rich beauty of her voice
i only hear the captivating beauties of her
i lean up and kiss her
she tastes of the sea and english cigarettes
i am lost in her essence and her her girlish delights
she pokes me and makes me look at a photograph in
the paris newspaper...its the sad girl
she looks english
that graceful beautiful elegant sadness
that only english girls can speak without ever saying a word
jezebel sips her tea and smokes her english sheffield cigarette
holding it like girls hold cigarettes in that dainty way
i forget the english girl and her sadness
as i lay looking into the eyes of this dreadlock hippie queen
janis joplin plays softly from her mp3
shes tapping her bejewelled toes to the ancient music
bachelors in literature she loves the written word
she has read everything ever written by anyone
she has read her way through forty years worth of poetry by me
and corrected my atrocious spelling along the way
this is morning in her arms
now you know why i am so in love with her
now you see why she is everything to me
she leans down and lays a single tender kiss on my cheek
and tells me she loves me
this is heaven
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 6:44 AM UTC
Time threads her necklace patiently,
Choosing carefully the colour and shape of our experiences,
Here, a tumbled quartz - luminous and rosy,
There, shards of darkest onyx - tragic and uncompromising,
Every now and again, a perfect sphere of sacred turquoise to mark a special occasion.
Finally, satisfied with her handiwork Time ties off the strand,
And weaves the precious metal of our dreams - unrealised - into an intricate clasp,
As she places the memento around her bejewelled neck she sighs to herself and whispers:
‘Such promise, such pain, such beauty, such loss; I will treasure you always.’
Then reaching for her spool of silver thread, she begins again to thread her golden needle.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 11:02 PM UTC
Curious lovers venture within, to the very darkest strands of the spiders ties.
Willingly they are seduced there; wrapped, by the temptations of Bliss.
Gossamer perfections of silk enchant them to search deeply inside.
Beholden eyes lustily devouring Her bejewelled fragile abyss.
Revelling in such perfect beauty, they sigh.
Weaving amongst silken pleasures, tender touches spin their sense modality.
Held in perfect lofty abandonment, they sway entwined, with lips open in whispers calling.
Cocooned unison becomes entangled as the softest breeze sends them falling;
Earthbound, ignoring the deadly poison of their reality.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 3:03 PM UTC
Stargazing
Come with me to the roof of the world, look up, see the clear, velvet night bejewelled with thousands of twinkling stars
glittering the heavens, shining so bright
The night garden’s star flowers glow in the darkness
at the roof of the world, come stargaze with me
I will catch you a falling star for your posey
sparkle your hair with her diamond bright light
glitter your eyelids with starlight and moon-dust
if you stargaze with me in the dark velvet night.
07/01/19 JG
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 6:44 PM UTC
--To M. M. M'B.
Above the Crags that fade and gloom
Starts the bare knee of Arthur's Seat;
Ridged high against the evening bloom,
The Old Town rises, street on street;
With lamps bejewelled, straight ahead,
Like rampired walls the houses lean,
All spired and domed and turreted,
Sheer to the valley's darkling green;
Ranged in mysterious disarray,
The Castle, menacing and austere,
Looms through the lingering last of day;
And in the silver dusk you hear,
Reverberated from crag and scar,
Bold bugles blowing points of war.
2k
I.
I have fallen in love with
the mid-June evening skies, and
It's volatile shades of grey
Like a temperamental canvas of inky blacks
And blotted blues, lines of translucent paint drizzle down
From the canopy of clouds, marred and bruised.
II.
Lovers separated by atmospheres and seasons,
A torrent of raindrops ravishes
It's earthen companion,
caressing the jagged scars across it's parched skin.
I have fallen in love with
The heady scent that permeates the humid air;
The love-child of storm and soil
Infused by the sweet, rich aromas
Of a 6pm cup of chai.
III.
I have fallen in love with
The rivulets of rainwater that
Trail silver maps across the ridges and contours of bottle green fronds;
And the dewy droplets that adorn the Gulmohars and Cassias that are strewn beside my bare feet;
Like a bejewelled carpet of scarlet and gold.
IV.
We are words
Ricocheting off one another,
Relief, catharsis and a safe space after a long day.
We are the comfortable silences, the content sighs,
And the barefaced truth
Between mother and daughter.
I have fallen in love with
The tapestry of words that we weave.
V.
I have fallen in love with
Coming home.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 1:41 PM UTC
I
here alone apart
I realise
we are marked by the tide’s turn
and that drawing back
long aching inhalations
intakes of more than breath:
the very filling of lungs
with white and various
sounds
of beach
of foreshore
floating
in the heavy air.
Its constantness,
everywhere
together
its everywhere and together
oneness,
though with such difference
scoured into the sand
by weather’s hand
by the wind’s rough play.
II
Shield the eyes
against the glare
against the pressing wind
spinning down and past us
out of the light noon-distant high-sunned
light,
glancing the tips of bejewelled waves,
dancing, only to fall to translucent hollows,
only to rise and follow
the wave before itself,
that, even now and finally,
breaks into a foamed lace,
a fragile flower spreading
across the sand and shore,
a coverlet for this bared flesh of land,
wet glossy shiny sun-lit wet,
yet drying beneath our gaze,
leaving the infinitely-tiny
grains of sand’s
dew to glisten,
to sparkle.
III
No pathways here
after the entrance
of footprints splayed
down the slight dune
through the ammophila
down to the hard sand the littered stone.
Only up and down
across perhaps
to the sea - from the sea.
Otherwise it’s up:
to sunward windward,
out out along the jigged line
of surf meeting sand,
a self-similarity,
a symmetry breaking on the shore.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC
Curious lovers venture within, to the very darkest strands of the spiders ties.
Willingly they are seduced there; wrapped, by the temptations of Bliss.
Gossamer perfections of silk enchant them to search deeply inside.
Beholden eyes lustily devouring Her bejewelled fragile abyss.
Revelling in such perfect beauty, they sigh.
Weaving amongst silken pleasures, tender touches spin their sense modality.
Held in perfect lofty abandonment, they sway entwined, with lips open in whispers calling.
Cocooned unison becomes entangled as the softest breeze sends them falling;
Earthbound, ignoring the deadly poison of their reality.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 5:26 AM UTC
Clogging real life,
lost in the Great Barrier Mind.
It's attacking,
Again.
Never seen,
Never touched.
Yet this affection,
Grows stronger.
Everyday.
Inquisitiveness
Of his whereabouts,
Appearance,
Temperament and
His love of religion.
Who is he?
Descendant?
Age?
Every detail,
Unknown and
Unseen.
Yet I profusely yearn.
Yearning for his bejewelled devotion.
Yearning for his inimitable self.
Yearning for his yearns for me.
That is
If it subsists.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
#*Black and white palette
Stringing words, pearls of wisdom
Bejewelled poetry*#
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 6:34 AM UTC
You be my sailor' and I'll be be a boat for you.
We'll sail off to adventurous lands together
Buy silk, sweet smelling woods and magic fruit
We'll bob on the waves under the silvery moons light
And tell tales to each other of imaginary worlds
We can adopt animals and birds from strange islands
Buy exotic spices measured by Chinese pirates
Maybe I shall rescue you from their ship on the high seas
When they try to sell you as a bejewelled slave of love
There will be pools of turquoise to swim in under blue skies
Beaches of white glistening sands set with mother of pearl
Birds to watch and listen to as we swim and bats to fly overhead
Foods of many lands to enjoy savour and wonder over
You and I shall have so much fun throughout life together
Even though our lands are no more than the duvet
And our adventures are nothing more than dreams in our heads.
Then will come the day we must go our separate ways
Adventures of our own on our own but knowing
That we will be once again be reunited to explore each other
Our adventures no longer held by the duvet or imagination
To be allowed to stroll along beaches, to truly fly in the skies above.
To be together forever and held in each other's arms and free.
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 4:33 AM UTC
Standing straight in the swirling straits,
A bridge - now outdated - whose chains bear great weight and history,
Bejewelled with diamond raindrops that glisten in the winter sun,
Lending the old bridge the look of a semi-submerged crown.
This bridge is a source of pride to the islanders,
Many stories are told of it,
Some are true and some are legend,
But one tale lies inbetween:
That of a giant King chased from the island.
Forced to leap across the boiling straits,
Barely making landfall,
Falling backwards as he did so,
Watching in horror as his crown tumbled to the ground,
Falling into the grey waters.
Many years went by,
And modern ways demanded a bridge.
As foundations were laid a discovery made!
Upon the shore, deep in ancient mud,
Poked out a colossal rusting iron crown,
News broke!
Everyone spoke!
The story was true!
A giant King had once ruled!
So, in honour of this ancient King,
The design was amended to honour this crown,
And that is why this bridge, in profile,
Resembles the ancient coronet,
Found on the shore of the waters that the Romans failed to cross.
Of course, naysayers claim there was no crown,
Merely publicity seekers who found an old iron fence,
And who contrived a tale with willing locals.
Whichever is true,
The bridge is part of a glorious view,
And stories abound of its construction,
Like the man who walked the length of the chain,
Stopping halfway to take in the view whilst making a shoe!
Or of the maiden who swore that all who crossed would suffer a loss,
As great as they could ever imagine.
This bridge, whose beauty is unsurpassed,
Is now part of a glorious past of truths, lies and legends.
But forever it will stand,
And many more stories it shall inspire,
For it no longer simply links lands,
But now links truth and myth...
Am byth.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 5:05 PM UTC
A star-crossed son was born
To the father whom he would ****
And to the mother whom he would kiss
In incestuous, marital vow one day
Welts upon his feet
Found in the forest, a baby crying,
He grew wise and wrong
Unaware of a conspired world
When Oracles did speak to him
As drunken men and and as pretty women
He took their words upon his heart
Without eyes gouged and necks broken
Open eyes looking, truly seeing,
He did bear the revolting truth
Without nary complaint
To the Gods who cursed him
Thus, it was Laius who lived
And it was Polybus who died
And it was Jocasta who did not see
Her son at the bejewelled altar
Rather, it was Merope, with her head turned,
Who saw dear Oedipus at the altar
Obeying the Will of the Gods
But to what ends?
He was meant to punish; to defy; to incite all evils
Not adhere to this cruel destiny
And now it is the wrong mother-wife
Whom he kisses, unravelling, in linen sheets
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 12:17 AM UTC
The rustling of girls in nylon underskirts
And shoe buckle in bejewelled highlights
With presents so wrapped and tied bows
For bolero in angora to complete the show.
Love Mary x
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 9:50 AM UTC