"brume" poems
We're forced, each man, to walk a trialed path—
resisted trek, uphill through blinding daze
that shrouds with crucible's perplexing haze
till fog-white skies yield quick to black clouds' wrath.
Affliction brims a thorny pack to bear
whilst dewy darkness drenches in the night,
but where is calming lamp to lend us sight?
And who will come to give us saving care?
Here through veil is heard a whisper certain,
then o'er the mountain creeps the dawning day
and with clear eyes we see the brume give way
as God retracts His theatre's curtain,
unsheathing velvet waves whose morning sheen
beyond grey mist splays vast and wondrous green.
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
I can't support the smell of fried chicken
or the taste of fries
I can't stand the fizzy drinks
or the muffins or the pies
all this junk food they push down my throat makes me sick
it slowly kills my good taste
it crushes my creativity
it turns me into a big fat pig
I barely remember your smell
only when the night is quiet
and the moon shines in silence
I can recall the taste of Euphoria in your neck
that perfume that used to light this brume
and recharge my lungs
that perfume that I barely remember
but I miss it so much
in the end
all I got left is this disgusting smell of mine
over that sweet fresh fragrance
by Calvin Klein
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
Somewhere at the watercourse-
Silvery brume.
Shining through, like pulsing light-
Golden iris are in bloom.
Tongues of brazen flame-
Snap their reflection against the lukewarm mirror-
This is where order looms.
Felicity-
Serenity-
Vestigial depression.
Second guesses-
Underwhelming quests in wrong directions.
Oh elixir. Oh watercourse-
Oh inanimate eloquence.
How you tempt me with your evocative consonance.
You remind me of a woman-
Her husband and her son-
To me you are a drifter-
You remind me of the sun-
You remind me of a king-
of a man with sore eyes-
Mourning late son.
In the mornings sun rise.
Watercourse watercourse-
Lazy eyed shadow.
Left handed perfectionist-
Seething pale shallow.
Watercourse watercourse-
Your body feeds the worms.
Your souls seams have torn.
Watercourse watercourse.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
A forward rush by the lamp in the gloom,
And we clasped, and almost kissed;
But she was not the woman whom
I had promised to meet in the thawing brume
On that harbour-bridge; nor was I he of her tryst.
So loosening from me swift she said:
“O why, why feign to be
The one I had meant—to whom I have sped
To fly with, being so sorrily wed,”
’Twas thus and thus that she upbraided me.
My assignation had struck upon
Some others’ like it, I found.
And her lover rose on the night anon;
And then her husband entered on
The lamplit, snowflaked, sloppiness around.
“Take her and welcome, man!” he cried:
“I wash my hands of her.
I’ll find me twice as good a bride!”
—All this to me, whom he had eyed,
Plainly, as his wife’s planned deliverer.
And next the lover: “Little I knew,
Madam, you had a third!
Kissing here in my very view!”
—Husband and lover then withdrew.
I let them; and I told them not they erred.
Why not? Well, there faced she and I—
Two strangers who’d kissed, or near,
Chancewise. To see stand weeping by
A woman once embraced, will try
The tension of a man the most austere.
So it began; and I was young,
She pretty, by the lamp,
As flakes came waltzing down among
The waves of her clinging hair, that hung
Heavily on her temples, dark and damp.
And there alone still stood we two;
She once cast off for me,
Or so it seemed: while night ondrew,
Forcing a parley what should do
We twain hearts caught in one catastrophe.
In stranded souls a common strait
Wakes latencies unknown,
Whose impulse may precipitate
A life-long leap. The hour was late,
And there was the Jersey boat with its funnel agroan.
“Is wary walking worth much pother?”
It grunted, as still it stayed.
“One pairing is as good as another
Where is all venture! Take each other,
And scrap the oaths that you have aforetime made.”
—Of the four involved there walks but one
On earth at this late day.
And what of the chapter so begun?
In that odd complex what was done?
Well; happiness comes in full to none:
Let peace lie on lulled lips: I will not say.
1.5k
I
Winter's fog swirling,
settling gently on the peak.
Should I,
or should I not charge the beast?
Oh, but to climb,
that serpentine road
through this thick mystical Merlinesque brume.
II
I abandon all reasoning
and don my armor
to do battle with the slithering Wyvern,
"The Pinnacle".
My silver Steed awaits me.
And in almost Ninja attire,
helmet placed,
cleats clicked and locked into pedals,
I am one with my ride.
III
Mist now's upon me.
Mist and bone cold.
I trek upward to the proving ground.
Drifting,
as always, into a trance,
a meditation,
ignoring pain as a pugilist.
Shut up legs, I say.
Shut up and give me one more day.
Prompt me not
that I am the aged Warrior,
for with every cadence I am reminded
of my fleeting days.
IV
I crawl upon the spine of the dragon,
out of my saddle and with the fullness of might,
break loose from the fetters of the mundane,
habitual world below these clouds.
V
Mist to rain,
rain to ice.
Diamond hard shards of sleet
bounce off my helmet,
peppering this snaking path towards heaven.
Crystalline obstacles
to navigate on my surly descent.
VI
I have owned this battle before you know?
Many times past.
But like a moment,
it can't be possessed.
Still this right of passage I must pursue
over and over and over
til I am no more
and my steed has been pawned.
VII
So quiet now
high above the clouds,
so alone,
so away from the world.
What solace.
Oh, to die here.
To fall and lay, looking up at these leafless trees,
on this gray Winter's day.
And to witness my last peacefilled thought.
VIII
But not today.
No, not today
for I am near the precipice.
I step up the pace and route the enemy
and laugh in deaths face.
One more stroke, and I gut the beast.
One more turn and I am exultant.
Oh Rapture,
Oh Felicity.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
I
Dansons la gigue !
J'aimais surtout ses jolis yeux,
Plus clairs que l'étoile des cieux,
J'aimais ses yeux malicieux.
Dansons la gigue !
Elle avait des façons vraiment
De désoler un pauvre amant,
Que c'en était vraiment charmant !
Dansons la gigue !
Mais je trouve encore meilleur
Le baiser de sa bouche en fleur,
Depuis qu'elle est morte à mon cœur.
Dansons la gigue !
Je me souviens, je me souviens
Des heures et des entretiens,
Et c'est le meilleur de mes biens.
Dansons la gigue !
Soho.
II
Ô la rivière dans la rue !
Fantastiquement apparue
Derrière un mur haut de cinq pieds,
Elle roule sans un murmure
Son onde opaque et pourtant pure,
Par les faubourgs pacifiés.
La chaussée est très large, en sorte
Que l'eau jaune comme une morte
Dévale ample et sans nuls espoirs
De rien refléter que la brume,
Même alors que l'aurore allume
Les cottages jaunes et noirs.
Paddington
1.4k
I've been looking for you
you were lost from me quite some time ago now
but I think I found you today
in that moment
after you've just stopped the water running
from the hottest shower you could tolerate
and your skin is bright red
and you pull back the curtain
to a room filled with steam
because you forgot to turn on the fan
and you've forgotten to set out a towel
and the cold of the air starts to settle in
and you glance over at the mirror
all fogged up
but you can see the traces of the past in it
(you see, mirrors don't easily forget)
and you can't make out your own reflection in it
(you see, mirrors don't easily forgive)
and you stand there exposed
as the brume floats all around you
and the haze begins to settle
ahh yes...there you are...
I've been looking for you.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
This head's a space
clouded
its brume almost reaching
the insides of my irides
This hand's a tremble
from its roots
an earthquake
venturing back to an especial gob
of cardiac muscles
helplessly siphoning life through
the fragile cracks of this cage of ribs
Around my floating body
Spins the earth
Just another ornament
In a knitted blanket of galaxies
I do not question where
I do not question why
Those eyes, jaded
by stale smiles that have been
keeping them fed
and distracted
I am not one with myself
as the wavering mind threatens
to abandon this sad case of dolor
Breathing suffocates
Silence, a pain
I need a hand
to slap and punch me out of conscience
to shake and yell
live, you are alive!
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
white smoke rolled out from betwixt parted lips, soft and pale
it rolled across the golden sand as it refracted under whispers
and the sun it billowed ‘cross, now blackened by the sea
whose waves did it invalidate with hopes and fears and dreams
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
Bottled, bound in a brume blue-green,
a mist of Listerine again descends.
And slick, with what’s like shower’s
sweat, there's wipes of writing
on the wall. One thought, on
an endless loop of overcast,
warm marks on rippled sobbing glass:
o u t.
Seated, seeping. The mute little girl
fallen down the town well.
We are half-aware of the consequence
of these dreams of outside air. Clarity.
It kills me, but I suspect that now
a good deal of this vial’s moisture is mine.
Chewing cautionary label gum,
(Do Not Swallow!)
We churn the potential
over and over in our mouth--
it taunts a minty tingle.
A curved black mark.
A chasm shadowed.
A welling up of a desire to gulp.
Desire for just one breath, one vision past
this germicidal upturned glass.
To live unlost, unwet, unmasked
a lifetime halled with gorgeous mirrors,
mirrors free from fog.
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
J'ai de la pluie dans les yeux
Et de l'eau sur le Coeur
Je n'ai pas vu la sécheresse depuis que tu es entré dans ma vie
Ni le soleil caché derrière des nuages de problèmes
Des torrents de colère cascades de nos paroles
Et nos conversations ne sont que des explosions de lave
Elles coulent du volcan de notre exaspération
Et brûlent tout sur leur passage
Le doux lac de notre amour s'assèche
Et la mer s'agite chaque instant un peu plus
Mais la terre n'a plus de contrôle
Et ne tremble plus sous l'effort de l'intimidation
La pluie se transforme en brume
Et doucement le voile de la peine se lève
Pour peindre un jour plus clément.
J'ai de la pluie dans les yeux
Et de l'eau sur le Coeur
Mais je vois à travers les larmes un jour nouveau
Une vie nouvelle
Un commencement
Le début d'un jour ensoleillé
Ou je plisserais les yeux
Enfin
Pour voir un sourire sur ton visage
Et te regarder le peindre sur le mien.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 6:13 AM UTC
'Neath the Willows, cloaked in brume,
as streams the night time a deepening.
Enshrouding all in shadows womb,
I espy true loves awakening.
Eve tide slumber found a youth,
within the mead, where I do dwell.
Wont was I, to bespell, forsooth,
tis truly, one thing I do well.
Mazed, stands young swain, aside his bay,
embracing nymph, of flaxen hair.
Bedewed, were eyes, by impish fay,
for it be a swine, he holds there.
Of deep laughter, I do partake.
As disenthralled, young swain awakes.
Oct 12, 2010
Oct 12, 2010 at 6:11 PM UTC
You stir, sheets stick to your skin,
drawn curtains; shake off the spins.
A summit of buttermilk thunderheads
snap the silk threaded ilk from your covered bed;
a flurry of cats and dogs in Elysium,
but you’d even prefer the Devil beat his wife instead.
There’s no clarity in a mare’s tail;
can’t bear to see the day in shades of gray-scale;
exhale the sale from off the same scale.
You’d rather play jail than pay bail so you can pray tell.
And now I’m in the dark with a snare drum background;
hounds drowned barks turn heads, twiddle thumbs, and lack sound.
And a drenched cat just wants the home with the furnace:
the blankets, the treats, the tone; only earnest.
I’m learning.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
The violence of roses tangled
In redolent blooms throughout her hair.
“Forgive me,” Venus said to herself,
As she struggled with the piercing layers.
She parted her tangled strands
Like the turbulent sea had parted her shell,
Within this brume around curly waves
Of blood and blonde so frail.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Si vous croyez haha
Que c'est marrant, mignon
D'être jeune et vif, detrompez-vous detrompez-vous
Si vous pensez que la jeunesse c'est le printemps vert et joli
Fleurs et petales, cuicui et gouttes de pluie
Non non, détrompez vous
C'est l'orage et le tonnerre
Oui la jeunesse c'est chiant
Mais alors vraiment tres chiant!
Si vous trouvez ca marrant
D'etre sans cesse enfoui dans la brume
Sans savoir, sans comprendre
Sans direction, sans but, sans chemin
Si vous trouvez ca marrant
D'avoir un cerveau de foudre
La jeunesse, c'est pour vous!
Et puis etre adulte,
C'est pas mieux, non non!
L'automne, feuilles d'espoirs qui tombent
Et qui craquellent sous le poids de regrets
Le mensonge qu'on donne aux gamins
Qu'etre adulte, c'est trop bien
Des mensonges, des mensonges!
Detrompez-vous detrompez-vous
Les factures, les impots, le boulot, la famille
Le vin, les clopes, le stress et l'ennui
Et la vieillesse,
C'est pas mieux!
Le os recouverts de glace
Qui crépitent et craquellent a chaque mouvement
Qui grincent comme un plancher épuisé
Les bras pendant comme des branches mortes
Le scalp chauve, et lisse comme un étang glacé
Non la vieillesse,
C'est pas mieux
Les lèvres qui bavent, les mains qui tremblent
Les pensées qui se pâment, les souvenirs qui clinquent ensemble
Le cerveau qui chancelle et s'écroule
Tout comme le corps qui chancelle
Et s'écroule
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
The dock weeps the song of the chilled waters;
Staining the air with stale salt and wetwood with every croak.
Street lights peer ominously
through brume that sits on the Earth.
My heart is a fist.
Mesmerized
Were the Captain went down with his ship.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 12:25 AM UTC
As the murk
in the daedal
sky endured
and the
finespun
brume upon
the headland
peaks wound
all around
in a
helicoid
shape,
the fluttering
winds carried
aloft
a bouquet
of ions
that were
immured,
but still
danced about
in an undulating
figure of eight;
and when the
distent distant
cloud could
no longer
wait,
it's rain
fell upon
my
wilted form
so desolate.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
...A blue aurora full of brume, an atrabilious expression of grief
A haunting sight watched by the moon, sheltered by the cobalt reef
An arrantly perfidious man, where arrogance lies beneath
Distressing her and even then, apologies never escape his teeth...
‘Tis a broken song to sing, a bleak melody to ponder
The aching loneliness does bring, wounds not healing any longer
Tune flows out like streams of blood, lyrics sharp and somber
A poet’s hurt such as a flood, waves crashing ever stronger
Teardrops of the mighty flood, have now trickled to a river
Feet treading through the layers of mud, in their failing feat they quiver
A siren weeping ripples here, mourning love you refused to give her
That plangent song caresses ears, touch chilling as a shiver
Her throat burns yet she goes on, soft enough to make the earth quake
The very ground you step upon, rumbling with her tragic ache
How do you turn a blind eye, she’s been torn by your mistake
Her very soul does cry, while you can hardly even shake
She exonerates all you have done, furthermore she does beseech
Perhaps she’s lost but you’ve not won, alas her heart you shall not reach
A precious gem amidst the coal, enchanting those who wander near
The scene is stirring as a whole, dulling any calm presence here
A storm has passed tonight, though you still do not repent
Siren sings beneath blue moonlight, of the love she does resent
A lullaby to make you tremble, deep beneath the twisted torment
No longer shall she dissemble, all but you shatter at the poet’s lament
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 12:46 PM UTC
Dans Venise la rouge,
Pas un bateau qui bouge ;
Pas un pêcheur dans l'eau,
Pas un falot.
Seul, assis à la grève,
Le grand lion soulève,
Sur l'horizon serein,
Son pied d'airain.
Autour de lui, par groupes,
Navires et chaloupes,
Pareils à des hérons
Couchés en ronds,
Dorment sur l'eau qui fume,
Et croisent dans la brume,
En légers tourbillons,
Leurs pavillons.
La lune qui s'efface
Couvre son front qui passe
D'un nuage étoilé
Demi-voilé.
Ainsi, la dame abbesse
De Sainte-Croix rabaisse
Sa cape aux larges plis
Sur son surplis.
Et les palais antiques,
Et les graves portiques,
Et les blancs escaliers.
Des chevaliers,
Et les ponts, et les rues,
Et les mornes statues,
Et le golfe mouvant
Qui tremble au vent,
Tout se tait, fors les gardes
Aux longues hallebardes,
Qui veillent aux créneaux
Des arsenaux.
- Ah ! maintenant plus d'une
Attend, au clair de lune,
Quelque jeune muguet,
L'oreille au guet.
Pour le bal qu'on prépare,
Plus d'une qui se pare,
Met devant son miroir
Le masque noir.
Sur sa couche embaumée,
La Vanina pâmée
Presse encor son amant,
En s'endormant ;
Et Narcisa, la folle,
Au fond de sa gondole,
S'oublie en un festin
Jusqu'au matin.
Et qui, dans l'Italie,
N'a son grain de folie ?
Qui ne garde aux amours
Ses plus beaux jours ?
Laissons la vieille horloge,
Au palais du vieux doge,
Lui compter de ses nuits
Les longs ennuis.
Comptons plutôt, ma belle,
Sur ta bouche rebelle
Tant de baisers donnés...
Ou pardonnés.
Comptons plutôt tes charmes,
Comptons les douces larmes,
Qu'à nos yeux a coûté
La volupté !
1k
Because I Am Indigenous.
There’s always a brume of skepticism (of fear) that will loom like a fly,
Slightly past 9:30pm on a Friday and the twilight is taking the sky
I find myself reciting; “It’s too dangerous. It’s too dangerous.”
I feel this way because it’s another day with another alert on the news broadcast; another “missing person’s” poster hanging on the bleak walls,
The articles are increasing while the fight to battle against it is decreasing,
We attend more social gatherings where we mourn more than we celebrate;
We mourn, can’t you hear us?
Our missing indigenous women;
Of injured sisters, mothers, Aunty’s and cousins.
Of our murdered women.
There’s so much injustice and shame in our system,
Our voices get silence and we get dismissed with one wave of your ******* palm and no second glance.
Shame.
Because I am Indigenous,
My cultural beliefs are frowned upon; my healing ceremonies that takes away the discrimination toxicity, my herbs that help heal my throat that’s yelling at you to listen,
My prayers in my two native tongues for those effected by your colonialism.
My cultural heritage that is label as witchcraft and locked away in shelves cloaked by their leatherback book that they hold so close to their sinful chests
And dangling cross.
Colonialism.
Discrimination.
Because I am Indigenous woman,
I am afraid to walk alone.
Because I am Indigenous,
I am afraid to be a victim of a hate-crime.
Because I am Indigenous.
I am also resilient.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 3:40 PM UTC
Octobre venira, et il trouvera
Nous ensemble,
Perdue dans la brume blanche.
Je tiendra ta main
Nous nous reposerons dans les feuilles
Y aura partout.
Nous croiserons le soir, et
Je t'offrirai ma cœur et tu la prendras.
Nous tiendrons la lune d'Octobre et
Nous volerons part ****
October will come, and he will find
Us together,
Lost in the white mist.
I will take your hand
We will lie in the leaves
That are everywhere.
We will walk in the evening, and
I will offer you my heart and you will take it.
We will hold onto the October moon and
We will fly far away.
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
the weather confuses me
as so do you.
the way it's clear one moment
then clouded the next;
how uncertainty is thicker
than that of the brume.
constant rays of sunshine show up
from the irises of your eyes—
still, i stand my ground,
as slight drizzle falls
scattering down
from the fogged up skies.
hesitating to pour everything out.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
The memory of her face you held so dear, has gone away...
That gentle caress that calmed your fears, has gone away...
Heavy onslaught, clouds of cinder made a brume above.
The stars in the sky that navigate frontiers, have gone away...
Bleach white canvas, metaphorically cleans the slate.
The painted past, the way your brush veers, have gone away...
Empty your pockets, take everything, give it your all.
The energy, desire, the charisma and cheers, have gone away...
Skyscrapers tall, city streets, flashy lights and cars.
Thousands of trees, tranquility, forests for years, have gone away...
Crippling car crash, broken soul, fingers frozen.
Their musical genius, symphony for the ears, have gone away...
I take nothing for granted, for life is far to short.
Countless walls of whom etched “I was here”, have gone away...
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 6:02 PM UTC
une semaine serpentine,
des pommes empoisonnées pendent d’un arbre perché,
j’en ai mangé jusqu’à la rupture,
et puis sept soleils sont morts, l’un après l’autre,
mais l’horloge ne s’en est pas rendu compte
et depuis
des poussières ont envahi ma poitrine,
ce qu’il y avait avant, je ne sais plus,
mais je n’arrive plus respirer …
mes poumons sont gonflées par une fumée noire
pendant qu’une brume funèbre m’enveloppe le cerveau
et ces jours-ci je n’avale que mes larmes
peut-être ….
quand je ne serai plus qu’un squelette,
je pourrai disparaître en toute tranquillité
de cette terre étrange
où les bêtes parlent à l’envers dans une langue inconnue
entre-temps, j’avale la mienne dans l’espoir de m’étouffer
d’où vient l’homme primordial
d’où vient cette femme lâche
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC