"billowed" poems
The ultimate Dragon Poem and a childhood favourite of mine which still sends shivers to this day...
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Little Jackie paper loved that rascal puff
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on puff's gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whene'er they came
Pirate ships would lower their flag when puff roared out his name oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his life-long friend, puff could not be brave
So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
Pink-Haired Wildflower
I know you.
I see you.
everyday at least once
Your pedals are short
and cute
chopped off at the chin
Your clothes are loose
and indie
style, you wear so well
You walk so confidently
each stride your own.
You glitter shining vibrantly
like the stud in your nose.
You smile so easily
and laugh with no care in the world.
Pink-Haired Wildflower
do you know me?
do you see me?
each time I pass you on the way
I look at you
and try not to stare
your flowered beauty beholds me
I wonder what you think of me
This bent over gait
dark-circle-eyed
fool. I am
struggling to stay upright.
Can you see the weight on my shoulders?
The stress in my complexion?
my gnawed on nails and torn skin
Tell me, what do you see in my gaze?
I wish I possessed your confidence.
Your grace in billowed petals.
Your fragrance has a trail
that always circles back to me.
everyday I see you.
though I say nothing.
Whatever you are
I want you in a bouquet on my bedside table
as I lie there
trying not to cry
or die.
Let your rank beauty infect me
aromatic surround me.
Be mine.
Lay claim to me.
Show me your ways.
or at least learn my name
as if I knew yours
You're a stranger to me Pink-Haired Wildflower
last night your dyed your hair Blue
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC
About a year ago,
I quit smoking.
My counselor - a
Firm anti-smoker -
Told me, "Well done,"
And as I left
Her office, a thick cloud
Of bus-exhaust billowed
Up to the third story
Window, and seeped within.
"No smoking," the sign said;
"It's bad for your health."
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:19 AM UTC
Two ticks click
through my ears
fuego leapt from
steel grasp to burn
destroying as it
flares across the valley
Smoke billowed into
the clutches of
hard, purple plastic
pressing in from all sides
funneled into sacks
of tendrils. They cringe
grey swirls choking
off pipes and
blood lines
Veins bursting with
new chemicals
Spewed out over
the burnt plains
But the valley
is just a small
groove on a
burnt out, tired
brain
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
by Sara L Russell (2003)
"Who is this goddess?" Whispered the sun,
As the moon traversed the sky,
"This angel, silent as a nun,
This silver dragonfly?"
He moved in for a closer gaze,
His heart began to speed,
As through a misty, cloud-spun haze,
He watched the moon proceed;
Soft silver tresses graced her brow,
Her dress, mother-of-pearl,
billowed like sails on a dream-ship's prow,
or curved tsunami-swirl.
"Oh Lady Moon" murmured the sun,
"I burn, I swoon for you.
"Come let me kiss you, gentle one,
Before night passes through."
"Come languish in my warming arms,
To music of nightjars,
Come let me taste those subtle charms,
Dear lady of the stars."
"Ah, do not court frivolity"
He heard the moon reply.
"My purpose is to steer the sea
And yours to light the sky;"
"Why, if I languished here with you,
Tall ships would run aground,
And you must light each day anew
Or all nature confound."
The sun-god would not be deterred,
But kissed her trembling lips.
As they embraced, no sound was heard
Throughout the first eclipse;
Waves lay as mirrors where they kissed,
Until they drew away,
To drift back into heaven's mist,
As night melted to day.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:24 AM UTC
It was early morning when she descended the steps
to the porch side, teacup in hand, dressed in her nightgown.
Steam billowed from her cup, and with a swallow
she examined her garden of weeds and unexpected peonies.
It was early for blooming peonies; frost, like glass,
still settled on the lawn, reflecting sunrise light of tangerine.
The radiant glow of tangerine
cast amber trails across steps
covered in an icy coating of glass.
Between her fingers she tucked her nightgown
and gingerly treaded the garden of peonies
that melted the frost in one great flower swallow.
The barn swallow,
perched not far from the path of tangerine,
must have also taken notice of the peonies
as he took the first steps
to nest-building. She imagined that his lady bird, also in her nightgown,
would enjoy the flowerbed of glass
that he chose for their home. Sipping her glass
of tea, she admired the familiar swallow
lover as she folded into her nightgown
bouquets of peonies that glistened in the tangerine
sunlight. She took the steps
back to the house, recalling her own swallow’s peonies:
Peonies
placed in vases of glass,
peonies lining the porch steps,
peonies presented over morning tea. With a swallow,
she carefully, methodically lined the tangerine
trail with the peonies from her nightgown.
Her nightgown,
stained with the rouge petals of peonies,
dragged along the tangerine
terrace of glass,
blood red with the memory of her swallow
lover’s peony-petaled steps.
The steps to the house creaked beneath her nightgown.
The barn swallow, quieted by the rouge of the peonies,
shut his glass eyes to the skies of tangerine.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 4:49 PM UTC
*This Morning
The Golden Sun Rose
With a Midas touch
Smiled at the Skies
In Scintillating Colours
Bedewed the Atmosphere
In a Lush Orange Squash
A Rush of Pomegranate Reds
A Spread of Fiery hot Saffron Threads
Far Away
Billowed
The Feathery White
Pristine Kashmir Clouds
The Mirthful birds
On the wire , Chirped
A Mesmerised me ,
Revelled
In the Early Morning Bliss
Nature Imbues
Taking away the Sky's Blues*
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 7:45 AM UTC
"welcome to Hell, darling."
he mumbled
and I nodded
taking the poison
from his lips
and sticking it between mine
I was a chimney
the smoke billowed up
clogging the room
"isn't it a lovely view?"
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
The full moon caught a glimpse
where the billowed clouds parted
Saucer size Dogwood blossoms
echoed an urging reflection
through wide open window ;
the diffused moonlight reached in
touching the open palms
enduring in an empty void
lay down beside
Softly burnished reflections
lighten blanched flesh petals
swaying in the wakened
spring cadence
Rhinestone memories
tethered from somewhere above ;
as if manipulating puppet strings
dangling down through
the seesaw cloud gap ―
scattering candlelit sequins
like unmapped constellations
brushed by the moonlight
in the dale of your leafless *******
The fragrant breeze
of your memory
gathers a sweetest taste,
teasing wishful thirsty lips
into a gentle smile ...
Tracing unbounded memories
with wandering fingertips
upon your intimate
canvas oasis in my mind
Fallen petals floating gently
across still waters
induced by whispered breeze ;
quiet reminders that ripple
the mesmerizing silence
with the lonely breath
an unheard evanescent sigh
The open window
let the moonlight in,
illuminating lingering
shadows of the past ...
you feel the waft
of spring breathe ...
but you just can't help
where the wind blows
Jesse e. Stillwater
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 1:09 PM UTC
The stink of fish on earthen streets
A hot wind blows from ochre hills
Black faces shine with brilliant teeth
Street market ***** doth cure all ills.
Redness in her plaited hair
Rhythm in her steady tread
A harmony of balance, she carries
Water jars on her head.
A market girl is singing
As she sits among bananas
The drama in her music
Is as dusty as the street,
It fills the air with magic
As it lilts above street chatter
In the atmosphere of Africa
Where new and ancient meet.
The goat boy herds his docile flock
Through camel trains and bales
The steamer tethered at the dock
Announces that she sails
With billowed steam and mournful wail
It echoes through the town
And the planter and his agent
Bargain with a harried frown.
The bleating of the goat herd
And the stench of fish and dung
Is as ordinary as Africa
In the searing mid day sun.
Zanzibar is spices, Zanzibar is Stone.
Club Zanzibar is whiskey on the rocks
Consumed alone
Or shared upon the balcony
In the shadow of a palm
With the turquoise Indian ocean
Reaching out beyond the arm.
Do you see the dhows are sailing?
Do you see the fishing nets?
Do you hear the oarsmen chanting?
Did you see black muscle flex?
Have you watched the dripping sweat
Cascade on alabaster brow?
Have you inhaled the scent of Africa
And allowed it to allow?
Colobus monkeys in the treetops
Narrow lanes in the bazaar
Dull white walls adorn stone buildings
And the rupee is by far
The favorite tenure of the Island
Since the days when slaves were sold
By Arab camel caravaners
Who traded coin for young black gold.
East and west collide in concert
Africa and Asia blend
The Sultan's mix of race and spice
In Zanzibar, beyond lands end.
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
3rd June 2008
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 13, 2009 at 11:06 PM UTC
That tapestry,
Red, Black, Gold
A Celtic Circle--
silently bearing witness
to the proceedings
of that smoky room:
The aquariums--one with
the large eel who seemed
to barely fit the tank
that took up half the wall;
and the smaller, vibrantly
colored fish in the
aquarium with the eggshell
colored coral.
The remixed music played
at a comfortable volume,
by the DJ we knew
so well, together;
as many times
it hardly seemed like
he was working at all,
as he just sat down and
talked to us, for hours.
Looking through
those over-sized books of
old advertisements,
and explanations of
historical artwork;
discussing the contents
with strangers,
who became friends
in the process.
Smoke billowed, enveloping
the atmosphere and filling it
with the smell of many spice
racks, pleasantly rolled in a
shell of a soft breeze
flowing from the oscillating fan.
The smell of joy,
of a relaxed sense of mutual
understanding; that it was okay
not to say a word, because the
atmosphere did the talking
for us.
We just enjoyed sitting
on those red pleather couches
that your **** sank back into,
not allowing my feet to touch
the floor; so they often just
dangled, legs swinging
to the tempo of the music.
As I took a hit
of the hookah,
I manipulated the smoke
into O's, puckering
my lips, trying not
to laugh as you
gazed at me in a
shy sense of wonder.
That face always made you
want to kiss me.
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 3:38 AM UTC
The Sun, The Moon and Love
by Sara L Russell, 2003
"Who is this goddess?" whispered the sun,
As the moon traversed the sky,
"This angel, silent as a nun,
This silver dragonfly?"
He moved in for a closer gaze,
His heart began to speed,
As through a misty, cloud-spun haze,
He watched the moon proceed;
Soft silver tresses graced her brow,
Her dress, mother-of-pearl,
billowed like sails on a dream-ship's prow,
or curved tsunami-swirl.
"Oh Lady Moon" murmured the sun,
"I burn, I swoon for you.
"Come let me kiss you, gentle one,
Before night passes through."
"Come languish in my warming arms,
To music of nightjars,
Come let me taste those subtle charms,
Dear lady of the stars."
"Ah, do not court frivolity"
He heard the moon reply.
"My purpose is to steer the sea
And yours to light the sky;"
"Why, if I languished here with you,
Tall ships would run aground,
And you must light each day anew
Or all nature confound."
The sun-god would not be deterred,
But kissed her trembling lips.
As they embraced, no sound was heard
Throughout the first eclipse;
Waves lay as mirrors where they kissed,
Until they drew away,
To drift back into heaven's mist,
As night melted to day.
Sep 1, 2009
Sep 1, 2009 at 3:21 PM UTC
Squall borne aloft, wildly brewing;
Erudite words or malarkey
Bustling and rustling and howling;
This poor mooncalf's soliloquy
Snow came to lay on rolling hills
Extinguished surviving embers
Absent warmth to counter the chills
This lone, tortured soul remembers
Spring arrived, flowers grow in bloom
Butterflies morphed to razor blades
Star! Save me from impending doom!
As this replete ice thaws and fades
Summer warms trees and birds above
Kiss from the breeze of gentle sea
My lady's heart billowed with love;
Much love to give, but naught for me
Hope, a sweet promise and a sham
Such a cruel drug, a poison
Sure to put a man in bedlam
I stand, steady as a bison
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 7:10 AM UTC
maybe you may or may not see me
if you think you see me anywhere,
i may soon no longer be around,
but i may be gone into the softly air;
and in the subtle shadows,
of the flutter of the coloured leaves,
you may or may not see me,
floating in the billowed branches breeze.
maybe you may or may not see me,
this insight i shall never know,
for my life, i feel now dims to darkness,
trembling like a tiny, weakened flaming glow;
and within these dwindling hours here,
you may see me, or this may not be so,
for i am not sure if i was really there,
but, i know that shortly i must go...
________
soon me:
http://beautyineverything.com/4974900160
Oct 7, 2010
Oct 7, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
There was
none
to
listen
to her
Her words were like:
- A cry in the wilderness
that broke and shattered on woody trunks
- The howl of a lone wolf
that rose in the dead of the night
- The cry of an infant
that told the world, it was hungry
The cacophony of discordant orchestra
that left a jarring effect on the listeners
Her words sounded meaningless
To a world that spoke a different tongue
With no receptacle, her words like heated waters
Evanesced into vapor and billowed upward
Like coils of smoke to freeze into clouds
But one day it rained down,
Quite unexpected…….
With thunder and lightning!
-
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 6:17 AM UTC
Uncle Joe,
Quietly a bachelor,
All his 77 years,
Never spoke an unkind word
I ever heard.
Most afternoons,
He sat in his brown chair
Behind my Grandfather.
Two old French men,
Smoking pipes
Talking slow and low
In English, French-laced,
Laden with Quebec enunciation
Though they'd not been back
For sixty years.
I didn't think he'd ever loved a girl,
My Uncle Joe,
And then his nephew spilled the beans
One day to me.
Alice was the damsel's name,
But innocence was not her style,
And so my great-grandma,
Memere, disapproved,
Clucked her tongue,
Hands on hips,
Glared and crossed herself,
Whenever Alice came around.
Still, Joe pursued
Until the day she walked out
To the field where he was plowing
Behind a team of horses.
She didn't think ahead.
So when her dress billowed out
As she walked up,
She set the team in fright.
Uncle Joe,
Too shocked to act,
Fell feet first into the foot board,
And down the field the horses dragged
The plow and Uncle Joe.
They stopped before disaster came,
And Uncle Joe crawled out.
When he stood up,
He ended any chance that Alice
Had with him.
"Dat **** girl near got me ****
His exclamation.
So it was
He lived sixty more years
Safely and alone.
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 8:51 AM UTC
© 2010 (Jim Sularz)
Heave ** Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!
Unfurl the sails white billowed,
all pray, the stiff trade winds blast!
Men briny from white-capped oceans,
Terra Firma’s, a distant quest.
Feel the salt spray, stinging the faces,
of the ship’s crew, tossed fore and aft.
We’re compelled to sail the oceans an’ seas,
with a plumb compass an’ a ration’s tack.
Tattoos an’ a gypsy squeeze-box melody,
the gale blows on our ruddy backs.
All hands scramble, to assemble on deck,
for the Captain rings-hard a muster.
Churning waves in our rudder’s wake,
luminous, with a strange glowing luster.
Land ** A calm, deep harbor,
a smoke filled pub an’ a bonny lass.
But the sea’s, our only steadfast lover,
an’ she beckons, to call us back.
We stand proud to call ourselves - mariners,
Men without fear, we tame the high seas.
Bright stars as our comforting beacons,
fair weather with God’s given speed.
By moon beams an’ dawn’s faint daylight,
we’ll turn our ship’s namesake back.
Heave ** Aweigh, the ship’s anchor,
Lads, climb-up, the tall ship’s masts!
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
Don't fight the thunder when it comes,
let go your brick and brush.
Sop up the graying clouds with
every bit of lung, step
away from your paint.
Your labor
has always been in vain.
Surrender your body to the wind,
trust its wings, trust its landing.
Watch closely
come the tearing of the torrents,
don't be afraid
of what washes ashore.
Allow every strike of lightning,
let your bones shake themselves brittle.
You will not die.
You will not die.
Breathe in the roaring waves,
slowly sink to its depths.
Avoid the struggle if you can,
and let it be so.
Let it be so.
And when all has billowed over,
keep open your eyes
keep open your fists
and know that all this
is where spring begins.
Jun 1, 2020
Jun 1, 2020 at 2:21 AM UTC
For Basil@Egmont
Old school hotelier, conservationist, mountain man.
Festooning drapes of weeping moss
Hang damply from the trees
Cascading lengths of dripping fern
Bring wetness to your knees
The clutching boughs of gnarled branch
The olive greens and damp
The winding path meanders up
This mountain's rocky ramp
Grey boulders in the river bed
The rush of torrents fast,
The song of falling waters
Plummeting into the past.
The flash of brilliant plumage
A blue kingfisher in a dive
And the tragic death of this field mouse
Means other creatures stay alive.
The mammoth mountain hangs above
The snow is clean and white
The cornice shadow aqua blue
Ridge ice is sunlight bright
The summit wind is blowing hard
The snow is curling round
To recreate a billowed crown
Atop that seaward mound.
A dancing *** is eyeing me,
Impossibly it clings
Inverted from a totara trunk
With rapid flitting wings.
Exploding from it's hiding place
A ponderous pigeon *****
And weaves it's way between the boughs
With noisy wing tip slaps
The magic of this secret place
Is the drama in the air,
The solitude of teeming life
In green-ness everywhere.
The hardness of the freezing night
The harshness of the wind,
The grandeur of it's wilderness
Paints splendor as it's sin.
Taranaki's goblin forest
Is resplendent in it's garb
Of emerald green and turquois-ness
And rugged rocks and shard,
Cascading rivers, waterfalls
In sweeping walls of trees
Where pools of still transparency
Bring you breathless to your knees.
Where Egmont's goblin forest
Will make your spirits sing
And the urge to climb another mile
Will reward you with something
You had not bargained for in visiting
This remote and splendid place,
......It will reward you with a warm,
And knowing smile upon your face.
Marshalg
Dawson Falls Romantic Hotel
Mt. Taranaki
15th September 2008
Dec 10, 2009
Dec 10, 2009 at 8:28 PM UTC
There was one day when the dysfunctionality, obscure and fearful
left my body to slump for once, laid back almost literally,
because we were sitting on a sofa, a boring tone so no descriptive words included.
You're cold marble fingers that greyish tint touched the skin of my cheek.
being nothing but dry terrain accompanied by sudden rain storms, my cheek is pale.
puberty according to american girl dolls books never told me
my first love would bring love to lifeless,
my cheek was only the beginning.
Spinning the corners of my mouth into ringlets,
dancing with empathetic eyebrows,
sweeping my eyelashes into brown billowed bristles,
circling the bridge of my nose.
You thought I was watching as Harrison
hopped round realities
and watched himself lead lovers
to open spaces.
But the time laces were three seconds to long.
I counted 21 kisses
no wrong, just a few misses.
Now that we’re done,
I can feel the mark of your physical wishes.
My soul is love lifeless, as before we begun.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:29 PM UTC
Through purple-greyish smoke billowed from lips both mine and yours,
our eyes glazed, blacklight seen reflecting on our silver ores.
Dark purple painted walls with red designs keep calm the folks
on leather couches billowing with eyes like silver ores.
Oh you and I, the strangers here, all have our many reasons,
some came with them, some made them here, eyes glazed like silver ores.
An Artificial Reason calms our minds in this Mad Season,
crucified on G-clef staff, eyes glazed like silver ores.
This sanctuary, whispered 'round, and found through word of mouth,
somewhere, we've all forgotten in the glaze of silver ores.
Our therapy, if long or short, time counted by the songs,
recovery is measured by the glaze of silver ores.
As one leaves so another comes, replacing on the couch,
the glaze of one with glaze of other's eyes like silver ores.
(C)2013, Christos Rigakos
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 6:13 PM UTC
they lived at the edge of the sea,
they made music with pebbles
and shadows shifted,
slowly, badly calloused,
they picked their way through
the throng
****** along
pressed along
but they were not afraid
the wind billowed and raged
the sea churned violently
washing them, away it, hoped
but they remain rooted. mute
the throng
****** along
pressed along
silent statuettes, brave, unshaken
still alive by the edge of the sea
lights dance on the sea now, night
the glows, soldiers lost at sea
watching over them
scurry happily on the pebbles
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC