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Ira Aug 2018
The Fire-Brush is alive As The wind blows around,
Causing there seeds to be flung abound.

The wind turns red and seeds shred the sky,
My face is filled with ****** specks and I see the wind dance with the red and blue July.

The blush of the tree I sit in shakes,
As the firey skies make the blue trees bark quakes,
And the crimson seeds overtakes.

The wind then blows pass with all the fire brushes spawn,
Letting the sky clear beautifully like a new dawn.
I, swaying in the blue trees red leaves smile,
as I take off all the seeds from me.

Then I looked up to see the cloudless sky,
And gaze at magnificent red, yellow and blue sunset.
The seeds then glow red in my hand, and I smile,
because now I have a night light waiting for the dawn.

I look down at the brush and see the red gone,
All taken by the wind, all the seeds to be spread on,
All to be thrown across the world for the brushes lineage to give spawn.

Now I wait for the dusk and the moon,
Letting the Fire Brushes seed shine,
As I wait for that faithful dragoon.
I based this off a picture I was shown by some random internet ******* Chatous. So I dedicate this poem to her.
Eleanor Rigby Feb 2015
You looked me in the eye
With the same smile you gave me
A long time ago.
You let me order your coffee for you
I knew which one
It's still the same
From a long time ago.

I laughed about the jokes you told me
You laughed at how unfunny
Mine were
And you playfully hit me
I frowned, you laughed,
I laughed, you laughed again
And said sorry
Just like you did
A long time ago.

The worst of it all
Was that when your hand
Accidentally brushed mine
I shivered
Just like I did
A long long time ago.


-- Eleanor
ryn Jul 2014
Windows to the the world through which I see
Images of shortfalls and views of perpetual inadequacies.
Shut my lids ever hoping for a change in scenery...
But only pictures of emotional chaos, mistakes and uncertainties.

Visions I can't ignore and they can't be severed;
Like a splinter that's embedded but can't be retrieved.
Reluctant at first I wish to have them captured...
Capturing all the disorder, but have the beauty all sieved.

Beauty and light engulfed by this visual turmoil
From windows to canvas, I paint but with a sombre brush.
Vicious strokes represent the feelings that roil;
Devoid of pardon; sing of pressures that crush.

This brush that I use; I've taught it all too well.
It could paint even when running on the subconscious.
It never does relent, nor never will it ever quell,
It'll keep on painting the dark side of the senses.

My canvas just lays receiving the brunt of the strokes.
It lays there quiet; accepts it all without struggle.
Like fuel to a bonfire, it provides and also it stokes;
It lays there ready to accommodate the dust and rubble.

Again the brush finishes with its last deft touches.
Producing the same painting it's painted over and over...
They will never depict meadows with the farthest of reaches
But a portrait of me; staring mournfully into forever...
September Roses Jul 2018
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets

Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire

Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet

Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song birds chorus
And the blissful sun

Bask in it
And relax
Alyssa Underwood Dec 2016
O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own

O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand

O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss

O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross

O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast

O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”

O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”
~~~

"The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world."  ~ Psalm 19:1-4a

~~~
Cné Oct 2017
The surf provides lullabies
as ocean echoes roll.
Too soon, the sunlight glitters
as the dawn turns gray to gold.

I wake and I rub my eyes
beside the sandy beach
My love beside me, languid lips
within an easy reach.

I whisper, sweet good mornings
as your dreams I brush away.
You stretch and yawn, responding to
requests to "come and play".

Lingered memories caress,
of last night's rising moon
with silver waves and ripples,
beyond the dark lagoon.

In shades of colors that mix and smudge
you take your time, no rush
My ******* tingle, at the thought
upon my skin, spreads flush.

In reverie, flutters reminisce,
your wanton body on mine.
Whispered moans in my ear, you ******,
"I'm yours", I hear on rewind.
When last night's... turns into this morning's
Cné Nov 2016
sometimes,
i like to dance
with the devil
burning eyes upon me
in hypnotic dazzle
my toes easily
sweep away inhibitions
quieting my angelic
voice's suspicions
as whispered words
brush thine ear
my entranced ego
has no fear
endangering
as it may be
our bodies entanglement
appears free
with soaring thoughts
of ecstasy
we ebb and flow
in ****** mystery
seduced in music
playing rhythmically
ecstatically,
i dance willingly
Amanda Jun 2018
Please do not be alarmed if I
End up needing more than I should
It's just that life has whittled me down
Rarely do things feel this good

A simple brush across skin
I forget about my past
I cannot think of a single reason
You wouldn't want this to last

Look how much things have changed
I am ready for something real
Take my hand, pull me away
Show me what it means to feel
Written 11-1-11
CK Baker Oct 2017
dust cloud heavy
in an apricot sky
cottonwood mucker
under ambrose pale
whippet and shepherd
mill at the earth patch
yellow birch hangs
over red bench park

combine shavings
in ***** rust brown
scissors chips
fall to the back stop
whiskey jack looters
sing patented chords
siblings (and 2 wheel enthusiasts)
give thanks

joyous retrievers
master the criss cross
bare maples stand
at settlers way
barred owl and blue jay
whistle the fore-wind
ghosts
and goblins
pull at the seeds

wind gusts belt
over the west gulch
blood rush churns
in a chilling fall morn
hallowed grounds still
at the midday
quiet reflections
of the afghan
and hound

jumpers unite
at the oxbow
route runners bend
(on a sultry foray!)
meadows exposed
in the framework
ball park empty
with pennants past

barrel dirt favors
the brew house
crimson and copper
find bracken ridge gate
harvest hands savor
the honey and hops
blankets of color
for a winter's hatch

brush fire kept
under steady peruse
bark bites fly
and embers glow
pine cones drop
from timber tops
3 wick candles
set the dinner place

shiver and ******
at the piper's call
cob web dew
on shadowy gates
a chilled mist mellows
the season's return ~
poets and artists
and dreamers awake
Samuel Hoffmann Mar 2018
From my perspective the world is flat
because I've never been to space,
and love seems like a ****** idea
having only ever kissed my mom's face.

A college degree just seems wasteful,
but I don’t have one yet.
And coffee seems so distasteful,
but that's true, don't fret.

My world doesn't have unicorns
or cotton candy clouds.
Extremely fantasized love movies
plague young teenage crowds.

I know I might seem all together,
please trust me when I say thats not true.
I take a shower, brush my teeth,
And go to bed broken and blue.

I know I might seem stoic,
and yes, most times, that's true.
But honestly, I do love many things,
one of which is you.
CK Baker Feb 2017
late night by the holland sill
white framed and frilled
alongside the meadow
down by the grand
where cat fish
and cow pies
and silly yellow bees
make their stay

there are swings now
and an empty barn
(with quiet corners
and broken walls)
echoing chambers
that speak to the past
...and little dogs
not big ones

the plaster cracks
and wheat sways
from a warm west wind
it’s about time
for that late afternoon pour
you know how it cleans the soul
old percy would say

and flanders
the holder of those pigs
who fed us good
with sow and milk
as we plowed the
dusty fields
into the
hot summer sun

i can still hear the screams
of river dreams
the grand slams
and flints run dry
the barks
and breaks
and bends
a world past
with forbes
and dolls
and crab apple trees

think i’ll take a trip
up the back lane

they’ve cut the brush
and opened the line
Kara Jean Sep 2017
I'm empty
The rhythm ripped from my veins
No more angst
No more anger, I have gained
My enemies no longer hate, they create
I feel my bronzed hair starts to drape
My desire for great,  it smiles
I will always have a fire
A world of desire,
for now I run wild
Amoy Mar 14
Mystical cosmic brush strokes of sprinkles,
Pink marshmallows and blue cotton candy
Left streaks across the sky, so magnificent
Each puff of cloud glowed as if kissed by a unicorn
The sun simmers softly below the horizon
painting the sky pink
September Roses May 2018
I run myself a bath, I put fluffy bubbles and soothing soaps in it, I light candles and turn down the lights, and make sure it's the perfect temperature
To cry in it

I drag myself out of bed, brush my teeth and get dressed, I tediousely organize my room, alphabetical, by colour, I get out my books, I dust the smooth pages
To cry on them

I pick out a fresh shirt, pants, shoes. I tie my hair and dry my face. I put on a nice jacket
Just to soak it with tears

Just to cry

It's seems most of my time these days, is spent on things that stray to sobs
Stray to crying
CK Baker Mar 2017
fischers rap
on a hot tin roof
bristol creek pools
over rock and seed
english wolfhound (and the barkbuster)
stroll pine lane
vibrant colors
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
forest green

field mice squander
in cotton wind
goats and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and ****
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
hidden
in swollen grey logs

creepers fill the
cut stone walls
coy wolf high
on a frayed white rope
eagles perched
at trudy’s bend
catamounts laze
on a snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent  
through a failed ground rock)

brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the spirit jamboree
quizzical squirrels
***** their nuts
as pillow clouds float
over telegraph trail

12 point dances
on talus and scree
hen hawks float
in a big hard sun
clydesdale and coach
trot copper smith road
(glancing down
on finch and the warbler
whistling through
colander row)

lavender fills
the peat soil box
mountain cats
guard the heavenly gates
black eyed ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
slay Jan 2018
1
brush my eyelashes out from yours
clasp the nape so not to wake you
purged my blackheads from your pores
i gently exfoliate you
my hair is growing from your head
your nails are shooting out my beds
i file and i shape you

arms and legs unhinged from mine
bares his weight so not to wake me
closed a loop with both our spines
said he wants to figure eight me
i feel his heartbeat in my chest,
and our skin blends with each caress
his presence mediates me
Nat Lipstadt May 2013
Three Minute Warning

A messenger delivers
A three minute warning
As I lay in bed at 10:30 am
(Resting in preparation for,
not from, our oops, early morning hike).

Breakfast will be ready in 3,
Get your **** in gear or else
It will be cold, I'll be mad,
And you will answer to a
Higher Authority.

No problem cause I already know
All I need is two.

Splash water on my face
Now I'm presentable
enough to the human race,
current company probably won't be happy,
But I ain't telling her, are you?

Shave! You crazed?
It is a three day weekend,
Every day a July Fourth,
Celebrating freedom from the European tyranny,
Of shaving smooth  every day!

Splash water on my head, count with me,
Five brush strokes as you can plainly see
Is a classic case of overcompensating
In my geling n' hair stylin'

Brush my teeth, well,
I hope 2 full minutes of rinsing with  CVS
Green stuff, mouthwash, will have to suffice.

Blast my deodorant both sides,
Long and strong, wearin' now
My bold blue *** husk of musk,
Cause I am a very considerate fellow
Who happens to really have stunk.

Clean T- shirt and shorts,
Yes, clean underwear too,
Leaves me a whole minute to write this scribble.

My flip flop noises coming down the hallway,
Are the butler announcing our joint arrival,
Me and my poem.

Lest you think this is paean to men
Another grand male boast,
Be advised this ditty be writty
By a man who, while no longer gritty,
Just put jelly on his scrambled eggs
And ketchup on his toast!

Mmmmmmm there might be a poem
Lurking in that too...
Sigh, a true story.
Mufini She Frost Nov 2018
Fully blasted scenery, where i once called home
Tweeting of birds resting in the tree as a tone
Another chaos has to began
Cover! Hide! —said the woman to her son

Clear water turned into red, how could we conquer the world with no more dread
I wished the i could repent
I wished, I didn't left

Messy world I created,
Are once the world I wished I have painted.
Random thoughts. Come and share yours with me.
Nat Lipstadt Mar 2014
Everything in quotations marks and italics was written by TS Eliot.

eyes knowing glossy men,
sheer women, creatures,
not all artists, but artists,
always thus,
centrifugal, simple

from their core,
emanate, resonate,
expand the exterior
with interior precision sculpting

to the interior delve,
via brush or limb,
pen or music,
the exposition, the exploration,
the reconstruction of composing
one's self, creation and destruction
of your own myths

movement of arms and legs,
sparseness of simplicity
subsidiaries of centricity,
tributaries of complexity,
oriented to their locality

the simple purpose of inhalation,
to exhale, after transformation,
the calculus of thought into emotion:

"the tongues of flame are in-folded
into the crowned knot of fire and
the fire and rose are one"


the dancers hear the music:

"so deeply that it is not heard at all,
but you are the music
while the music lasts."


**”Quick now, here, now always –
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well"
"Immature poets borrow, mature poets steal." T.S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)

Inspired this evening by the Martha Graham Company, the words and wisdom of TS Eliot, from whom she took inspiration in her choreography of modern dance
Cné Aug 2017
Fragmented lives entangled
but asunder in our journey
as our paths cosmically connect
in a romance of the arts

And who's to say what's real
to touch or deeply feel
what will truly last
or simply where to start

So I’ll
paint you alla prima
as I feel you playing me
in warm colors of merging ardor
a wet blending of artistry
my brush strokes of your body
painted in my mind
of impressions blushed in passion
in hues I can’t describe

Suspended in the moment
floating on a breeze
I revel in this picture painted music
almost in disbelief, unthinking…
knowing every nuance of our love
found only in our dreams

Like children in parallel play
I’ll finger the keys
and slip the locks
of all your orchestrations
filling the walls
of my concerts halls
with deep
splattered tones
in pinks and blues
the hues
that forever
bind us

And we’ll not look back
nor forward
but hang here in the moment
to display our
Painted Song
in the eyes
of giggly children
both doing
our own thing
together
on a string
curated
A collaboration with Howard Hilde
https://hellopoetry.com/u693528/
unidentified Aug 2016
.
Honeybees, birds and blooms unfurl
an enchanting spell
when spring comes by here

Memories waft 'neath burled rustic trellis
where flowered tendrils grasp fleshly
like the newness a love once tenderly embraced

Songbirds in your garden sing
of swooning memories rapture.., of velvet eyes,  
the fragrant spicy nectar hidden within her walls                            

A song of honeyed bees'  sweetest stinger,
and the poignant ***** of intoxicating surrender
lingers, bemused spellbound by a thorny heirloom rose

Sharp beauty beloved like a blameless trap
caught blissfully, breathlessly inbetween
all you wish for and all your wanton needs

Desire 's wellspring an unspoken passion
coquet swollen buds adorn blossoming,
sensual, untamed carnal grace

A picture perfect natural beauty;
sunlit chassé … feathered brush, demure blush
dancing with basket of lace petal’d perfume

For to colour a heart's blank pages
rapt in the poesy a joyous ecstasy ..,
enrapture with rainbow's luscious taste

What seems lost is but a tender vestige unfound
a passing moments innocence lost
to steal away like rumors of gold

These silent reveries seep from a hole in my heart,  
as if ripe strawberries of yore, gently weeping sweetness
when pricked by a thorny rose  

The ides of spring do still bleed a timeless ache
onto the page ... sweet naivety stung
by a mesmerizing dart to the heart

Songbirds in your garden do sing
of sweetest things immersed in nature's nectar
blissful memories sleeping in the petals of a rose




Sung to the wind by a song sparrow — ♪ ♫...✩ ☼✩ ✩☺✩
If only now in dreams of yore
a sky full of stars shine brighter,
a garden of flowers fragrance more pungent,
and songbirds in your garden from yesteryear
sing tantalizingly more beautiful ...,
when you were near

.
CK Baker Mar 2017
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore

the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect

children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn

the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge

harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light

cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
O morning sky of endless blue
Tinged with purply-pinky hue
You tell me of His mercies new
Whose heart pursues my own

O geese in wingèd winter's flight
Your honking cries arouse delight
And lift my gaze to seek thy sight
As wooing from His hand

O softest breeze which skims my face
And stirs with such mysterious grace
My soul to reach for Love’s embrace
You brush me with His kiss

O snowflakes falling to the ground
You pierce my heart without a sound
To crave a purity only found
Beneath a bloodied cross

O setting sun in half-light glowing
Waning day’s last glorious blush showing
You paint with fire my spirit’s own knowing—
This life is fading fast

O stars of midnight’s blackest sky
Paraded forth, you pull my eye
Toward One Who speaks this ceaseless cry:
“I’m coming back for you.”

O creeping fog to dawn’s light clinging
You whisper, Love’s veiled message bringing,
With haunting echoes faintly singing,
“Lose all of you in Him.”
Lizzy Apr 2014
I've written about the wind
More than countless times.
I've always been so envious
Of it's freedom.
But now more than ever
The jealousy burns me

The air
How it moves and turns
It's free
And it can touch you.
It gets to brush those lips I miss,
And swirl around in your lungs.

It's ubiquitous limbs
Brush up against your arms
And weave between those fingers
it can hold your hands like I used to
it can do everything I can't.

but what I'm most covetous of
how it can watch you
and rest it's head against you
how it can twist in between the cracks in your smile.

the wind is my enemy
she is the temptress that mocks me
she laughs while I cry
because she lives in your lips
and you have no idea
The wind is a ****
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