"benignly" poems
*She got star dust sprinkled evenly
Within the shorelines of her ravishing eyes
And stardust, pristine naïve look benignly
Creasing her soft supple aristocratic face no need to accessorize
Her posture upright and poised
Elegance, charm and grace effortlessly effused
By her, emotional hazards posed
By a presence so spell-binding, one will be amused
At the hypnotic effect experienced by
All and sundry
Though she turns a blind eye
A scathingly sultry
look suddenly evident on her sweet face turned sour
She undoubtedly is a toxic flower.*
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC
woman
you are
dazzle,
powdered
stomp of
colours,
mist dew
bright of
song,
melody
of a hum
when you
speak,
clear eyes
sparkle on
the surface,
delicate,
serene,
today you
said softly,
budge a little
in the path of
an evening sun,
it gets into my eyes,
you shall be
the death of me,
should I be left
with words and
rhyme,
these stiff
laces of device
I call poems,
of what use
are they,
you will
not be
here,
my heart
gnaws,
twists,
caught
in perils
of desire
oh garbage
words,
you are a
beggar's
lament
be away,
let me
gaze at
her while
time benignly
spins a top,
soon it
is bound
to topple
this alphabet
string,
pearl scatter
of a necklace,
be away,
verse,
futility,
to live in
a papered
world when
loveliness
shrivels
to another
lost moment,
be away,
illusion
let me see
it as it is
her yellow
dress,
gathering
light,
her terse
shades,
her yellow
dress
let
dreams
tarry a
little,
speckled,
hypnotized,
sunshine,
her
yellow
dress
shall be
the death
of me
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Compass of steel and chain,
Around your neck you sit.
The points you show feign,
They never fit.
Lying so gently,
Laying so gently,
Benignly fading,
Mentally.
I can't fade the North I know,
Evident are the seeds she's sown.
If only if only
I weren't so lonely.
The Ocean
exists.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Oh wilderness' soul ― I Beseech thee !
I feel your deepest awakening secrets stir
Whispers uttered in immortal Winds
Calling to the Fountains of my soul
Standing the hairs of comfortably numb
Spilled breath bestrewn upon frayed Mortality
Oh wilderness' soul ― I Bequeath thee !
The ashes the deepest Oceans my heart
As circadian Tides have ebb and flowed
Forsaken feigned love’s misbegotten guise
Now chastened sightless before an unseen labyrinth
Beset by a human blindness that decays all light
Oh wilderness' soul ― I Entreat thee !
Cleanse this molted flesh ― time shed ―
Artifacts of perfectly imperfect traces
Reminders of things we strive to forget
For in the self-loathed aching Silence
I feel the urgent pull of Wilderness' Soul
Reaching out ― Benignly
to Entomb my Heart and Soul
Someone you used to know April 1st, 2017
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
Picture it when in a flash of a description, brought you the news
it said was your derelict.
when in becoming we ultimately fail
our being championed by our unbecoming
seeking the real scathed by a sizeable truth
like a persimmon in your tender hand.
This is the default
sketched over a sagging paper, plugged within the air
the motes depart and is as easy as it is explained: an elusive
thing that may never be captured. Something the arriving
betrays then assuages with a word treated benignly:
a transit.
let gray define the day: let the file describe the motive:
let presence soil where we stood our place
like a monument: let it seek a real object
or a found language
a wafting presence is lost somewhere gliding over unnamed territories
commencing a displacement said was our undisputable location
roads becoming roads vehicles becoming salvage
birds becoming orchestra shambles becoming complete
thus dearth becoming us before our denied image
from a source that was our implacable place like a deadspot discovered
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 3:03 AM UTC
Saying your name will always hurt.
I believed you when
you said that you would love me
forever.
I nodded benignly through my tears
when you said you never
wanted to hurt me like this again,
and that's why
you did it then.
I wanted to kiss you
when you reached
for my hand and told me
this was only because you wanted
to be there for me.
I tried to forgive you,
so we could be friends
like you wanted
because until then
I was amazed by the way
you knew and understood me,
you were my safety blanket when
I hadn't felt safe before
and because of this I was
blind to the ropes you tied to me
like I was a broken marionette.
Now I can't believe
you saw my scars and didn't kiss them,
let alone allow me to tell you their story.
I can't believe you ****** my friend
two weeks after
you took knives to the places in my heart
you knew would hurt me most.
But mostly,
I can't believe you expected me
to crawl back into your arms after all this.
I want to throw at you
all the notebooks I've wasted
writing about you.
I want to scream at you for
treating my heart like either
(I can't decide which is more true)
a playtoy or something that
you could save,
neither of which were right.
I realize you're worth none of this.
You're not the girl I fell in love with,
you're not the girl I trusted with all of me,
and I don't miss you
I miss that girl.
I tried to hard to forgive you,
but you don't deserve that.
All I can do is forget.
(Sincerely) **** you.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 3:18 PM UTC
*The world is glazed over
It blurs as it blows
‘‘The man’’ is so rigid
Wash him away in the flow
Reason burns benignly
Just like paper cranes
Thinking’s sinking slowly
Mouths are moths to the flame
Feeling the empty
You must fill the space
It’s not there, believe me
Still you feel so misplaced
For you fly high above
And you run the streets
Looking for love
And seeking your sweets*
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 4:00 AM UTC
2007, revised May 2nd, 2013
How neatly northerly she points her tail,
With fluffsome front paws pointing to the south;
Whiskers point west and eastwards, without fail,
Each side of her benignly-smiling mouth.
She navigates from rockery to pond
And slyly measures distances ahead,
With whiskers poised, behind a ferny frond,
Waiting to stalk fishes, with stealthy tread.
A water pistol thwarts her cunning scheme,
Fired from the door with some accuracy;
And like one rudely wakened from a dream,
She leaps into the air, and bolts to flee.
But soon her equanimity returns;
She's back smiling at fishes, through the ferns.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
The snow drops keep coming
Insisting their way
Through the matted detritus
of memories;
A dolls arm with a biroed tattoo
& flattened empty
colour points
Of crisp packets fading,
Wind-blown papers
& plastic ragged shamblings
Decorating the hedges
Sprawling with thorns and freedom
& the snow drops keep coming
The snow drops keep coming
Placating the gardener
Now sitting benignly
Tending own life
& net curtains blur the sepia view
Of the children once playing
Of the beer cans and bricks
& the solitary shoe nest
& the apple tree still giving
Now casting wasp grass cocktails,
& the clichéd swinging gate
Warns of a dog dead before Lennon
& the milk bottle earwig crèche
Sits quiet beside the snow drops
lamenting
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 2:38 AM UTC
Divinely I dream
Benignly I live
Sublimely I gleam
Shyly I give
My heart on a platter
Begging to flatter
A people to whom
I do not matter
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 1:18 PM UTC
Triumphant am I when I see you stumble
Impishly witnessing your short fall from grace
My ego is puffed up with your simple proof of humanity
Your hands flailing as your feet benignly betray you
Gathering my own importance close, I feed on your shame
I take frantic pleasure in your failure
My lungs inflated with harnessed laughter at your plight
I move closer-taking all of this in...my skin humming
My mind keenly focused on your suffering
I have no expendable sympathy for you
I register your cries-they dust my ears with echos
I won't offer you the help you so desperately need
Giddiness-crawling up; determined, hot in my throat
Tasting bitterly...suspiciously like the bile of my own flaws
Straining to recapture my ignorant bliss, my eyes root for you
Recognizing my self-reflection, I swat it away with a fervor
Swallowing, I clamp it there locked in place-I begin to choke
Questions of my own imperfections threaten to suffocate me
Who am I to relish in your demise, when I carry this stained heart
My hands tainted, anointed by the trembling of my secrets
With a wretched mind, denial forlornly guides my tongue
Flushing out the haphazard judgements I cast on you
As I stand here stricken by my will to desparage your choices
Am I not solely responsible for the poisonous kiss of my words
My shame mounts, my dignity absent in the wake of this purge
Standing exposed my arms in disconnect, legs lead and water
And then euphorically the words become less insistent, quieter
Slowly my throat releases, my gasping breaths regulate themselves
Realization settles in heavy but clear
Could it be when I am judging you, I'm truly critical of me
And if so, I am forced to wonder almost reverently...
Were you ever really here at all?
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 5:07 PM UTC
The sun scours her
Snow scrapes her
Frosts feasts her
Mist munches her
Fog freezes on her
Dew develops and dries on her
But she is resilient
Like gigantic ancient hills
She is caring Mama still
Rearing her kids will
Like cedars that straight stands
In Lebanon’s forested lands
She is a shady giant old oak
She does not wither
But stronger she withstands
The hurricanes, the sad storms
With cools and calms
She has no qualms
But a strong will-determinations
Mama, my strong woman!
All alone she shoulders
She does not complain or blame
In silence she just sings
Her strong woman’s songs
Blessings to her sons and man:
To her daughters and children
That time may pass by well
With a hand of sacred spell
And their future good foretell
Curses and causes erase complete
Diseases and damnations delete
Mama, a strong woman!
Nine months she carries with passionate cares
With no scares, sorrows or grumbling sorry
She cares for her bulge with a compassionate worry
Daily she gently it rears
Minute by minute
She fondly feels it
Her foetus forming
Stroking, it calming
Her other duties still perfectly performing
Mama, my passionate woman!
In pains she benevolently bears
Me she benignly beholds
Young as old-still her child
Till either, sadly and sorrowfully is no more
Mama, my strongest woman!
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 4:05 AM UTC
you take the fall’s seriousness
like you were a leaf from the bough
of this tree called love –
as you were nearer to me than any other
light with its hands clasped, starting rivers in me;
you, whose mouth benignly twitch to utter
such glibness that even the stinging fragrance
of newness sings in me
the darkness swallowed slovenly as if all of the world
swims past the squalor of my blood – new to old wholeness
bones to a gleam of washlines,
wherefore there is nothing left to guess
in such hypothetical kisses when you looked at me
with two strutting cities for eyes that
churn to fade out such articulation of sibilance –
it is like this is never a better fate than plunging,
the moon between the hill and my body
within your body.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 8:31 AM UTC
the white-haired patriarch
beard and moustache
a bit colonial
benignly smiles
at the United Nations building
at Times Square
and at 8th Avenue
where hot-pantied women
in buzzing crowds
date strangers
to share their loneliness
humidity is high
on muggy summer afternoons
at the core
of the Big Apple
* * *
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
Swimming with only the eyes showing
Like a predatory crocodile
Stealthily circling the pool
With the sound track from'Jaws' gathering pace in my mind.
Moving in for the ****
In charge, in control, peeping out just above the surface,
Ready to strike at will.
And then a glorious stillness envelops me
No gaudy happiness
But a silver - blue peace;
An outcrop of sorrow.
The buoyancy holds me benignly
Expecting nothing.
The water covering my face cools the heat in my eyes.
With force I push my arms down towards my hips
And feel the corresponding ****** forward.
All my doing - my propulsion.
Down, down into the depths
With my eyes wide open now
Knowing that I will re- emerge,
That I can swim above and below
And that I need not fear the depths as
The deeper I go
The stronger I become.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 3:38 PM UTC
She was intricately
deliberate
with textures
& attitudes
& colours
combined
Conciously
random
when bathing benignly
in media
materials
& moments
Strong
yet so vulnerable
in just the right
measure
ethereal
but grounded
Beautiful
blue wide eyes
opening
to order
& closing
to sleep
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 10:03 AM UTC
behind thick curtains
drinking hot tea leaving
swirling trails of smoke
and carefully combed hair
benignly denying the fact that
behind his beard
behind her glasses
is love and only love
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 12:18 AM UTC
Riddled
Unblemished, She appeared so suddenly.
Her eye's claim a poem my words couldn't write.
My dear.
She whispers benignly, A slow drip I.V. Echo.
A seductive darkness, soft and low.
If this is hell, I wanna sin.
Is this love I'm falling in?
This blue that I've been riddled with.
Grip her neck to feel her writhe.
The trickster taunts me.
Dangerous.
Sold my soul to dream a kiss.
Until the day our hands can meet.
I'll live inside a fantasy.
Dig me a little love coma.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 2:57 PM UTC
The ground appeared level, but no
minor bumps eroded the sanctity of evenness
at odd pockets where the soil sustained repeated injury
there lurked creatures of all sorts.
Few were long nosed, impervious blood suckers,
others like two horned underground creepers that snitched
and larked on fellow mates found solace in company.
Further down racists blended with the beautiful
and both white and dark temperaments moulded
together, as if, sustained by a creed and greed.
Further afield there were hangers-on who ruefully
were iron-fisted and aplenty, lurking amongst the poor
and wretched, ******* solar power from the weak,
fiddling with the filth and holding back on sustenance.
These were the parasites of the field.
Turning to the left of centre, the holy melted in the crowd
of doomsayers, prophets and penitents, preaching
a word distorted to draw attention to themselves
under the guise of royal purple robes and stolen sceptres
pompous idiots who claimed to own the field, but
wore egoistic hot air and lead balloons of pride
and prejudice.
On just the one small section of the field you could play
delightful soccer, kick the ball or backsides and feel proud
you played a fair game, in spite of the pale bellied creatures
that roamed the tunnels and turrets of the level playing field
ready to draw you in for dissection. Of course, they smiled
benignly, when you passed by them, watching you slyly,
but all the time with hands at the back of them
clutching razor sharp daggers to shed your dignity
and lay waste to your humanity.
All of us are listed on this game. Some play, some referee, some refuse,
mostly spectators, watching and cheering, unaware
of how the level playing is set out in layers of deception.
Have you purchased your tickets for the next game?
Author Notes
A huge metaphor for injustice and greed. Play the game as you are expected to unless you want to be part of the underground network of deceivers. Pick a part in this game, which involves everybody. The colour of your skin dictates the price of the ticket to the game. Please take part. If you are a spectator
in this stadium with bright lights and pom-pom dancing girls, you will know what I'm talking about.
The game begins everyday at sunrise!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
Reach your hands out to sea
I’ll take them willingly
If you would so benignly please
An unworthy host as me.
I could believe in hope elsewhere
To run a hand through other soft hair
But I am far too unaware
Of strength residing deep down there.
You meant too much
I felt too little
When I was with you
All along
Called out of border
To carry the fears away
Of the peoples’ dreams
Seaside homes, under a great
Dark
Cloud.
Unbeknownst to me, I left
With you behind, I hardly wept
You tried to hold me close
With eyes beseeching
Won’t you love me?
With me breathing,
Can’t I love her?
You tried, I failed
You believed that love would dwell in my heart for you
I had missed any intentions
Of a future
Bright
Between the spaces of our fingers
Holding on
To the other.
Dreams have soared through my nighttime mind
Your hands may still stretch out
And I could perhaps
Dream of a day where it would kick enough sense around
In this
****
Brain
That I should have loved you when I had the chance.
But for now across this sea
A life is lost
My only companion is this gray dog
He never leaves my side
I should have never left yours.
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
it is the night
lit by the moon
best if it’s full
that gives strange shadows to familiar things
when poets are supposedly inspired
to write about their pain their love
often the same
important thoughts of life and death
their joys of the quotidian and
that you catch the day
and live it like it were your last
you never know
just a split second
and your life has turned into your past
benignly, though, the moonlight introduces softer thoughts
of passion and of the beloved
distant in space but always close in mind
romantic moments lingering in afterthoughts
some times I think that if it were not for the distance
that always separates those who have pined
for their reunion
the world’s treasure of poetry might just be half
of what it is today
the same may well be true for all the lines
penned under tears about that unrequited love
addressed to those unwilling subjects of desire
who often in the course of writing
turn into objects of the writers’ ire
the moonlight’s pristine shine
in fact a mere reflection of the sun
for a few hours of the night
changes our vision
opens up doors to different worlds
full of desire, hope, and desperation
allows us glimpses of ourselves
that daylight never shows
we feel we can speak words
under the pale light of the moon
or the dark corners of the night
that would not make much sense
under the brilliance of the sun
the quiet splendor of the moonlight’s grace
lets us experience that other space
we tend to close and keep apart
in our hasty tour of every day
that’s why
in our few calm moments
we all should listen to what they
our poets
have to say about the night
the moon’s strange light
and how it keeps their thoughts in flight
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
Seth awoke in a terror sweat
engulfed by flames
licking at his bed.
His cries of final anguish
piercing the midnight silence.
His shaking three year old frame,
would not, could not
assimilate the coos and solace
from deluded parents -
speaking ******* of nightmares
while the whole universe
blazed with terminal fire.
A yard or so across the room,
illumined by a night light's slender beams,
a child's plastic raceway,
decaled with crimson - yellow flames
benignly rested on a table.
May, 2008
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
Air was cold and present while also gentle and serene
Streets were empty with the exception of myself
Wind rushed over the exposed skin of my face and hands, a fine caress of indifference
A lone bus quietly hummed past me, lights dimmed, passengers docile
Almost a humorous sight was the great mechanical beast, large in physicality, miniscule in mindshare
The green of the grass in mid December almost could deceive one into believing it was summer if not for the biting frigidness
Benignly, I wondered if I could make this place my home come Summer
Doted upon the idea, knowing that eventually I had to return to the Land of the Sea
It was not some great death of hope to my heart, this truth,
Merely a four month gap of nothingness in between an otherwise pleasant and enjoyable existence
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
Reach your hands out to sea
I’ll take them willingly
If you would so benignly please
An unworthy host as me.
I could believe in hope elsewhere
To run a hand through other soft hair
But I am far too unaware
Of strength residing deep down there.
You meant too much
I felt too little
When I was with you
All along
Called out of border
To carry the fears away
Of the peoples’ dreams
Seaside homes, under a great
Dark
Cloud.
Unbeknownst to me, I left
With you behind, I hardly wept
You tried to hold me close
With eyes beseeching
Won’t you love me?
With me breathing,
Can’t I love her?
You tried, I failed
You believed that love would dwell in my heart for you
I had missed any intentions
Of a future
Bright
Between the spaces of our fingers
Holding on
To the other.
Dreams have soared through my nighttime mind
Your hands may still stretch out
And I could perhaps
Dream of a day where it would kick enough sense around
In this
****
Brain
That I should have loved you when I had the chance.
But for now across this sea
A life is lost
My only companion is this gray dog
He never leaves my side
I should have never left yours.
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
Every so often,
When I find myself in peaceful solitude,
I face my looking glass in reverie,
Reflecting on my past,
Contemplating my future.
All is tranquil.
Then the clock strikes midnight,
Rendering apparitions from their slumber.
They effuse benignly from the darkness,
Only to pounce on my limpid mind,
Stupefying me with shadows of yesterday.
They transport me back into lonely squalor,
Encapsulating me in an arid existence.
Here I battle neglect,
From both myself and others.
Torment bubbles within me,
And like Hamlet,
I cry for the agony to melt me,
Eradicate my soul,
And reduce me to air.
But before I slide to the point of no return,
Hope pries its way within despair’s rigid gasp,
Releasing me from my trance.
The clock strikes again,
And I’m relieved to find morning
Peeking through my window.
The shadows recoil in sight of the light,
And all is calm once again.
I forget where I’ve been,
And remember where I’m going.
The sheen of tomorrow beckons me onward.
And all the while,
I hold my looking glass close to me;
A constant reminder that I’m a survivor.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC