"briefness" poems
the moon is hiding in
her hair.
The
lily
of heaven
full of all dreams,
draws down.
cover her briefness in singing
close her with the intricate faint birds
by daisies and twilights
Deepen her,
Recite
upon her
flesh
the rain’s
pearls singly-whispering.
57.7k
~for L3igh~
the briefness of brevity,
the quality of giving
and indeed, it is a-quality,
a luxury item so affordable,
yet, so totally, rarely purchased,
When
giving up the
requisite,
only the lonely, but
always the critical,
relevant or necessary
exquisite
in a few words
Let us practice:
I love you,
but only the very
first time, in a memory
bronzed and burnished,
putting to shame the way
too short modesty of
forever…
uttering a precious
precision of a soulful
thank you
to a passing
stranger, who runs
into your home afire,
saving all of your
family's lives
could go on, and on,
But that would not be,
A Concision,
instead,
a concession, to the
very few times in a day,
in the world's entirety,
when those are the words,
are only the only,
a sufficient holy,
a devout summary
spectacular,
akin, but only a
just, derivative of,
a sincerely uttered:
Thank You God^
nml
Oct 5, 2025
Oct 5, 2025 at 8:02 AM UTC
into the strenuous briefness
Life:
handorgans and April
darkness,friends
i charge laughing.
Into the hair-thin tints
of yellow dawn,
into the women-coloured twilight
i smilingly
glide. I
into the big vermilion departure
swim,sayingly;
(Do you think?)the
i do,world
is probably made
of roses & hello:
(of solongs and,ashes)
22.4k
What Hope Remained?
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When putrid plumes dulled morning into night
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent,
As mortals wept and earthborn angels went
With downcast eyes to clamber heavens height.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When panicked sirens wailed a lost lament
And backs were bowed beneath ungodly weight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent
As boots bore souls up treadmills burnt and bent
To scale a void devoid of dawning light.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
For those in sight of angels heaven sent
Atop the world to aid their mortal plight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
When wingless brethren conquered feared ascent
To gift last hope to all who saw their might:
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
In The Fall
I chanced upon a stranger in the fall,
Cosmetic garb of office black and white
Portraying calm demeanor of his plight
As shadows panicked on a stricken wall,
And oft' I find my mind in numb recall
To look upon that helpless human kite
Who tumbled from the terrors of a height,
Yet graceful as an eagle in a stall
Before it plummets earthward -- 'Neath the pall
Of twisted steel rended by follied flight,
That stranger lives forever in the light
Suspended in iconic timeless sprawl.
I wonder, in the briefness of his fall,
Did he derive the meaning of it all?
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
These optical illusions
Create an optimal confusion
When eyes are a welcome intrusion
To the brain's inevitable conclusion
We stared into the mystic mirror
I witnessed everything I ever wanted in life
All you witnessed was just two people standing there
The transparency you cast upon me
Reminded me of how the plumes of **** smoke
Were never as thick as my problems
And as those clouds left my mouth and dispersed into the air
I saw your image
Preserved in briefness
It's a shame how my magician's mind
Summons smoke and mirrors
Nobody else believes me
But magic is the only way to explain you
The way you turned me invisible
Was spectacular
Your methods of sawing me in half
Certainly weren't natural
And your teleportation demonstration
Left me suspended in ice
So I guess I'm to Blaine
For the mirrors I erected
And the truth they reflected
Because now I'm lost
In what I refuse to call a funhouse
As I search frantically for some ancient tomb
That might reveal your brilliant incantations
Attempting to ignore the horrid revelation
That every spell I learned
Had been based in your arcane aura
And all the power I had gained
Had been based in your enchantment
I want a magician
Not an illusionist
So what does it mean when your illusions are so magical?
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 5:43 AM UTC
His head kept bumping on my shoulder
and he was not my father
or anyone I knew
he smelled as if a bath was overdue
and slept like wasn't a place better
than the ***** briefness of my shoulder.
Breaking down was my brittle patience
needled by his bristled cheek
brushed by his shabby dress,
was for rest the man hard pressed?
Wouldn't I have been nudged by pride
if the head on my shoulder was my father
happy to have him by my side?
as he gets older
does his blurry mind miss
a place where he is not alone
one or any shoulder
for an untimely nap in peace
a quiet stranger to rest upon?
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 10:31 AM UTC
About a week or so ago,
I fell in love with a man
when I went to sleep
in a boy's bed.
His chest
read "weird"
in black-block ink
his self acceptance
made me smile.
His eyes,
puppy dawg brown,
breathed in every edge
of my body
knowing exactly
where they
were going,
but never fully
meeting mine.
Up my hips
on our dance floor.
Down my tummy
on his bed.
His distant
self assurance
consumingly
relaxing.
His
freckled face
and dimpled smile
only implied
deep sincerity
matching
his overgrown
words.
In adolescence
I'd forced myself
to give up the idea
of being with a boy
whose fingers read "bad."
But
When he came
to me
his hands
over
my body
his silence
over
my mind.
He
enjoyed me
The whole night
The way I did him
He took in
my stories
grabbed my shoulders
with shaking
enthusiasm
with reaction
to my action
with interest
in the questions
of my own life
I'd barely explored.
He took in
my toes
my ankles
my hips.
He acknowledged
the marks
on the skin
of my backside
i became
self conscious
and uncomfortable
But he noticed.
He tinkered
with the ring
of my belly button
grazed
the edges
of my breast.
He breathed
in my ears
He wanted
badly
for me
to feel good.
He didn't play games
in either his loving
or his company.
They were both
giving
gentle
and distantly
warm.
So much
sincerity
from a man
I accidentally
fell in love
with the briefness
of a boy.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
inspired by e.e. cummings’s 'into the strenuous briefness’
how many hellos
has the earth heard?
how many beautiful beginnings
has she seen?
how many roses has she bloomed,
and how many of them have been gifted?
how many hellos
have given way to friendship and
love,
how many of them have turned into light?
she keeps them all,
the roses and hellos,
turns them into poems
and turns them into time,
sunrises and sunsets,
beginnings and farewells,
you and me
in between it all.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 10:58 PM UTC
and what of depth in dwarf heart
may man keep his balance
for emeralds of knowledge sought,
and knowledge neither emerald
nor sought, be that the eternal quill
of the sharpened elven ear guided
to hear its master's race:
for the darkened elf known as the yrc,
sauron the mighty dark elf,
who's eternal guise was not felt for the wave
upon wave of migrating elves into
the western lands... thus the story a story
of dwarfs who against the canvas of man
where men likened unto gods revealed
the partake of dwarf concern for knowledge
akin to precious gem stones lost kept with
a breeze's briefness emotionally superior,
second's lasting partake in minute, in hour,
but what of day of year?
none be congregated in such assumption,
in such an asylum of kept suntan...
this tale of dwarfs and darkened elves who
would never reach the immortal western shores,
on the canvas of men's story likening themselves
to the gods, here we dug up the ground
by the tree which confused our loot of prohibition
transgressed with neither knowledge of good
or evil; given the bias of numbering a singleton's loot
for a welcome praise unheard.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
I
An orange overcast this
evening splayed pink
hues stripes and
saccharine beads. The
twilight caricatures live golden years.
Restless becoming in the garden of
her drunken sons their flowers
soaked in brass, seams
bursting in uncontrollable
laughter we pause. To
admire the briefness
of that era exploding
its petals peppering
spraying saliently we spill
indoors churning across tabletops.
My arms hang dead by my sides.
Her eyes gaping sway
swiftly biting deeply the dottedfaces
lurch. Streets fall unconditional
amidst tears we comb lips
sharply distinctly
her stubborn *** stumbling
handles loosening she holds
my hand my arms hang
dead we pause.
II
Children babble sunlight across
lawns; I hear sirens traffic icecream nips
our tongues twinge on windless
pipes gust our hair flying smiling
at laughter from the
playground behind us.
Placid smiles stain enamoured
halls; for glimpses
we mumble necks crooked
sheets flap draped over bars
her eyes waver glisten
shiver. A warm breeze
dries my hair.
III
Wallowing I oscillate utmost trep-
-idation entangling grappling but
hushed beneath foliage eyes
downturned soil clings when her
fingers impress deeper through
to where rivers end.
Glowing dawn I turn further
lighter almost her hair caught
between the floors;
gently feverish we see turgid
lines the tinniest cracks we pray
on tranquil mornings.
Window panes blemished it was
spring only darker from
deafened rivers throbbing;
under lucid eyes I fold
and heralds blare. We consume
the silence sounding from still lakes.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
I've been wondering where you'll show up
If you surface as a hum in the wind,
faint but reassuring, touching the exposed skin of my face,
your briefness would match ours,
you'd scatter my thoughts,
laughter trickling away from me like the days
that stand between me and the time I touched against slowness
and saw it as something beautiful,
You'd be gone as soon as I saw you
...Just like I'm afraid of
Maybe you'll be a cat, wandering around corners,
wise, mesmerizing eyes
I already feel like there's something you know
and I'm desperately craving it
Perhaps I'll stumble upon you,
in the form of a sprout, reaching into the air from the earth
green and vibrant and alive with a freedom my
chest hasn't felt since your lips left
me breathless
It certainly won't be you as your real human self, though
no tall form will fall out of my dreams and into reality
Much as I've spilt my desires into you (without your knowledge),
built you up into my angel
my fallen-from-the-sky lover
trapped in my never-ending thought bubble,
You won't save me
much as I'm sick of the loneliness
My metaphorical angel,
I'll leave you as a memory
let you gently remind me of soft times
and hope to meet you again one day.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
Dear and gentle friends
May I speak of life and hope?
Of what I wish for you,
That in this life you each may cope.
Your faces come to me at night
When I would seek my rest,
Tis then I ponder all our goodness
And wish for you the best.
The solitary moments of regret,
My words oft left unsaid,
When I should have spoken candidly
Of those who now are dead.
Life briefness goes unnoticed
And silence is a thief,
As tears are brushed away from eyes
And none can find relief.
O' Tender hearts and dearest souls,
Let not one day go by,
Without the time of friends embraced
For too quickly we may die.
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
rien qu'une lumerette,
cette brièveté
la pêche l'été
le jus plein les mains
la langue adoucie
rêver de toi
à en brûler
même s'il fait noir
étincelle légère,
cette brièveté
~~~~~
Blurred
just a spark,
this briefness
a peach in summer
juicy hands
sweetened tongue
to dream of you
to burn in there
even if it's so dark
a frothy spark,
this briefness
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
i have a problem
i fall for females then rob them
not of material things
but of surreal feelings
they love me
i leave it be
they cannot believe the thief in me
the griefs briefness my only weakness
the bleakness
sees me sleepless
i do not want to leave
the next tree leafless
i want to wear my heart
on my sleeve
and never go sleeveless
im asking forgiveness
for my greediness
you are free to believe
these words mean less
then meaningless
which would be
my guess
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 3:54 PM UTC
Knuckling under weatherworn predictions, the salt is down. There is a limit to preparedness and at some point, faith that the break shall come to a blizzard's infamy, must supersede. It's just fluff and slush after all. Barely, this white blanketing is made, before the brine trucks are revving, ready to tear up the sheets. Shall I slumber too long, I may miss the hush of placidity. Who will be the first to break silence? That inevitable metal scrape against cement, I dread its' brashness. Can the missies' ice morning not roll by without delusions that these snow damsels must be shoveled off? Let the winter lassies lie for briefness of their coolness brings me to a dream scene. Colleens of a cold front, you blew upon me so softly this way, how dare I snow blow you, away?
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 9:05 PM UTC
We sit in the shadows of the mountains
Under the quivering aspen tree;
The rocks older than all mankind
Watch over you and me.
The constellations unfold, one by one,
And stars twinkle, as if they knew,
Despite the briefness of existence,
The love I feel for you.
Diptesh Ghosh
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
I walked through a burning house
and found I was alone -
all the others had fled,
yet forgotten to warn me.
The mirror is the only one who speaks to me now.
It tells me of my beauty,
and bemoans my fleeting youth.
It curses the briefness of my body,
and of my supple bones and bare *******
I envy the trees and the butterflies,
who found their beauty too acute to share with me.
I envy the lakes and rivers,
whose beauty will only grow with time.
As I wilt and fade in color,
the world shall grow ever fairer, ever nobler.
Such is life,
and such is time.
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC
Knuckling under weatherworn predictions, the salt is down. There is a limit to preparedness and at some point, faith that the break shall come to a blizzard's infamy, must supersede. It's just fluff and slush after all. Barely, this white blanketing is made, before the brine trucks are revving, ready to tear up the sheets. Shall I slumber too long, I may miss the hush of placidity. Who will be the first to break silence? That inevitable metal scrape against cement, I dread its brashness. Can the missies' ice morning not roll by without delusions that these snow damsels must be shoveled off? Let the winter lassies lie for briefness of their coolness brings me to a dream scene. Colleens of a cold front, you blew upon me so softly this way, how dare I snow blow you, away?
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
often i ask of my cigarettes that
they last forever. they always answer
in ashes, smoke the moonlight slow dancer
arching out of its own transient act
as if parting came easy to creatures
that dream of eternity, and wake up
again craving its adumbration, butts
spilling out of the tray, pale these seekers
their beauty not betrayed by their briefness
but by the dream, for some things are only
enjoyed by virtue of their vanishing.
it will free if it makes time for stillness.
be patient with what is strange—there, the opening.
breathe, and know nothing but fascination.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 4:46 PM UTC
From the honks of cars and smell of fumes
I slip into a small green patch
with birds and their wafting plumes,
moments I would die to catch!
A calm that filtered the noise
let me listen to the rustling leaves,
the birds' chirping and such joys,
in their briefness the heart grieves!
As they frolic and in air dance,
I softly trudge as an alien,
one who is there perchance,
and can't for long remain!
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC
I’ve been caressed and loved, Many a time before. But this.
This is my ecstasy.
This moment.
This memory now.
I could not have crafted any more beautiful moment.
There were so many different paths I could have traveled
in order to arrive at this most wonderful paradise,
but I look behind me and smile at the road I have taken.
For this exact path,
is what brought me to the wonderful perfection
that has come into reality.
There were so many different events that may have come into being from my own mind and heart,
but what has come to me is more beautiful than a full moment.
Its briefness is what makes it so dazzling.
That fleeting moment of extraordinary and wonderful.
It was the glimpse of flawlessness that my heart needed to fall.
It was subtle and soft, such as a wilting blossom just touched by the morning dew,
still tender and fragile,
but still a beauty in its own form.
There was perfection.
There was paradise.
It was that moment,
and that moment is ours.
On a constant repeat in my mind,
never wanting this feeling of wonder to ever fade.
Although the moment was brief,
I was awake and aware.
Ready to cling on the the perfection
that I knew
would only last an instant.
I wonder if it was perhaps,
as lovely as I have imagined it to be.
But perhaps it’s better to perceive the amazement where there doesn’t call for any,
than to have never felt it at all.
This exquisiteness is a gift,
either from the God of Love
or the God of Fools,
or even perhaps, the God of Hope.
Whichever you pick,
I keep it locked away in my heart.
Safe from the torment of the conscious mind and the world of doubt.
It remains there,
as a light shining for me to feel,
and perhaps,
for all to see.
That moment.
That will be mine, forever.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
for now on, i will pretend that you are at arms
distance from the black hole that ****** you in.
i will pretend that you are mercury and i am
venus, that the sun shows me that i don't need
to expand my line of sight to find you.
sometimes, you will be on the other side of
the sun where that black hole is and i will
have to trust those animal instincts.
i will pretend that the black hole that can ****
you in at any moment does not exist for me.
the next time we meet, you will act indifferent
about hanging out around the black hole that
keeps my gravity on it's toes. you will ignore it.
you will remember the briefness of the doubt
i confided in you, about how i am terrified of
putting our planets at risk of sinking into a
darkness i am very familiar with, like old
friends who threatened your safety with
a meteor shower. the astronauts do not show
the meteors and what damage they cause to
these vulnerable planets. you see, i am very
concerned for your safety, so i threw myself
in front of the meteors. no matter what,
nobody could tell the difference.
i am the shadow of mercury. i capture things,
like flies and hearts and still we are lines that
are perpendicular, we meet once and do not
meet again. maybe my shadow hasn't lingered
long enough for you to realize that i will secede
from this position if you just let me get lost in
your darkness. i will let you see the craters
you have left in my carbon dioxide world.
you will realize that i cannot breathe without
you and that is not something i want to get
a gold plated medal for. let me forget this
orbit and practice orbiting around you again.
i want to create pretty constellations and
solar systems inside of your skin. i want
you to believe it is happening. the only
gold plated medal i need is simply put: you
- kra
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
I was sitting quietly
just outside the city
beneath a starry sky,
contemplating all that is
in this strange 3d life
and enjoying a cool night.
Knowing that once
the night ate the day.
Then the sun ascended
in an orange expanding blaze,
reaching out to touch the blackness,
allowing the dark streaks
to sneak away.
I was slightly blinded;
Dry eyes sore and blurry
from the light a shining
as people hustled by.
It was a change you see
from my normal
nightly duties
of guarding empty factories.
Even so,
I still know
they are both
great places
to ponder the briefness
of our human existence.
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
A bird released
Three ethereal notes.
Perhaps it's the briefness
That lets them float.
Sep 21, 2019
Sep 21, 2019 at 10:07 AM UTC
Our life consists of
little more
than round figures of
days, years, and decades.
Utter unawareness
of early days
is followed by
helplessness
of latter days.
We become conscious of
the briefness of life
and a desperate
need to survive,
when we love.
The chill of the cemetery
stalks every bed of love,
between breaths of passion
it pants coldly.
it is love's paramour
and partner.
It is everywhere ---
in the waters of spring
in the wayside flowers
in the crowns of trees
in every sensual encounter
in the darkness beyond
in the trails left behind
and in everything
we dream to achieve.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 7:34 PM UTC