"burnish" poems
Alluring courage is complicated
The voices not wanting to circumvent,
And the people who aren't appeased
Makes the pressure even bigger and stronger
I need to burnish my confidence,
But the arboreal confidence is stuck on a vine
The affronts given to me, their expression is what's frightening
The archaic words I receive everytime when I go up, I don't wish for it to repeat
I just wish I was able to avert when I really needed to
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
I don't want to be a knight in shining armour.
There's dignity in scars and old leather,
The badges of a long campaign.
We are wrinkled, yes, and sunburned,
Full of crows-feet and lines.
These are trophies, my friend.
Wear them with pride.
Our grey hairs emerged in our twenties.
Why? Because we fought!
We still fight the good fight.
Walk tall with your notches and your rust!
This grey is the grey of battle-steel,
The burnish of a well-used blade.
Your life is a tale worth telling, my friend.
Please, do not think you're not beautiful.
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 6:21 PM UTC
Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.
On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.
On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.
Posses, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.
For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger's feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.
2.9k
1387
The Butterfly’s Numidian Gown
With spots of Burnish roasted on
Is proof against the Sun
Yet prone to shut its spotted Fan
And panting on a Clover lean
As if it were undone—
2.7k
***Fundamentals of madness
wraps the skin around my brain
miter'd head splits wide open,
like blue skies wanting to thunder
dark heart leapt out from under
blinded burnish'd eyes
world looks annihilated
from the validity of upside down
birds have severed vocal chords,
butterflies shed their wings
there's no dance left, aside from
ghost steps of a psychotic menacing waltz
& one dark raven hauntingly swaying***
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
*I sip your essence, it rushes through me,
swells upon a quiver of my mind
blushing up against my burnish'd lips
boldly filling my ***** with warmth
reminiscing the surrender of our souls
traces of your lingering aromatics
musky scent of sandalwood and lust
my eyes drew you in of dire ecstasy
drinking in your sweet fragrant notes
surging high above memory's intoxication*
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 8:00 PM UTC
this devilish craft
by which you lead me down the wet road
down through the spent leaves littered along the side of the pavement
some with their open faces upwards
fine lines intercepting
trace them with fingertip and craftsman's eye
paste them in scrapbook
keepsakes of a fall romance now that its spring
but they resurface
bakes a sunday morning bread filling the house with earthen tones of scent
and filling the mind with cravings from childhoods fable
and i pass this dark bread to her
but she refuses it
i eat of my own conversation within my mind
going over and over the exchange of ideals
that have never been held
beyond the borders of thought
its within this madness she foils my defences and
pulling me forward into the afternoon's slow lazy breath
and rifled through my brazen pocket treasures
thinking to have daring crimes of her own
from which she would someday
be an old hand like me
foiled by my poormans lint
out of my pocket and into
her device of night
its forced lock lay broken against the breached wall
but she is the pretender's delight
and make great noise and show of denial
seating me at a banquet for hungry hearts
her healed hand burnish and clean
leaves me at last
sitting among my peers
with a rolls royce of romance
she just laughs
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
Close your eyes
***picture butterflies
escaping from a meadow of wildflowers
feel a gentle zephyr hug your cheek
imagine it's someone dear,
let the mind flow of babies breath
and first love's fluttery kisses
speak to the moon in enchanted tongues
feel the power of the majestic seas,
sing with birds on a captivating morn'
watching the burnish'd sun enrapture the earth
the world is easily our oyster'd pearl
if we seek the joy within our hearts,
find the ecstasy in simple things***
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 6:01 AM UTC
I see you as a burst of ocean mist
******
Into a nestled and worn monument.
Breathing over a humming terra nova
slowly etching away the noveau stone
You are the water tipping
about the crystals
of lone rock husk
freezing and seizing at precise locus
Then expanding about the form
Edging it to molecular capacity
before it heaves heavily - wedging
A simple puzzle lain right beside its obvious match.
The edges might be roughened
but you can tell they belong
They lay there beside one another
echoing curve and angle
of that which they once clung crystallized
Now they lay beside one another
braving the same storms - and shifts of land
but having different drops of rain fall
about their own dynamic crystallization
and different animals walking over them
and different blades of grass clinging densely
in the padded earth beneath them
brushing
Sometimes bridged together
by an animal astride the two
they are together once more
Over time they burnish into fragments
and dance about the creek beds
and about the base of grass beds
and again - though maybe temporarily,
are together again
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:26 PM UTC
***...i wish my pen could capture last night's fancy,
flight of divergent apparitions took my breath away
hallucinations of a dream so real it made me weep
for i saw your face high above the clouds
you appeared as an angel with chimerical wings,
in their flutter released thousands of butterflies
each one carried a smile of incandescent light
promised posies of an altered moment & space
where poetry becomes reality traced on lofty clouds
amidst trances of tranquility & enchanted frivolity
so here i await on ink's flow with a fool's faith
of glinting endings and freshly burnish'd beginnings...***
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
***...i wish my pen could capture last night's fancy,
flight of divergent apparitions took my breath away
hallucinations of a dream so real it made me weep
for i saw your face high above the clouds
you appeared as an angel with chimerical wings,
in their flutter released thousands of butterflies
each one carried a smile of incandescent light
promised posies of an altered moment & space
where poetry becomes reality traced on lofty clouds
amidst trances of tranquility & enchanted frivolity
so here i await on ink's flow with a fool's faith
of glinting endings and freshly burnish'd beginnings...***
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 12:08 PM UTC
import: the northern tongue bespoke of the didgeridoo with the larynx as akin. północ ze mną... reszta gnije! a ja w twym oku jak dziób kruka wydłubie prawde raz - kraka - raz jeszcze na pokaz chociaż raz! bo ze mnie nie kura... jeno kruk! czemu? bo ty swym tłumaczeniem grzechu równasz gniew naprzeciw: w okolicy reprodukcji z tłumaczeniem orgnanizacji społeczenstwa jako wedle znaku (=) ktory też jest równaniem jako krzyż... a wiec jest naprawde wiarygodne to aby kontynuować wybaczanie niby grzechów i tak naprawde praw w rubryce niespełnionych pierw zamiarów?
why then peer into the past without imagination,
and try to peer within the present with memory,
surely the present will not conjure any memory
had the opaque past any imagination,
i’d swear the burnish bush be nothing more
than what could be imagined,
not excess of skin on my phallus
as the shaft known as the female circumcised bit...
but i guess truth sidewinds while lies have the fortune
of walking a straight path into nowhere...
if there is imagination in the past i find it hard
to conceive phonetic images, i.e. letters being allowed in there,
and if future forsee such circumstance
i find it hard to let the future project images
as recognisable without a - z being recognisable first...
in order that they might be used... in order
that they might be used for ignorance’s sake if only that...
man remembers skeletons easier in terms of usage
rather than fully embodied canves of a van gogh
to say **** all... as most men do,
dating their mistresses for the first time in art galleries;
the fault of the past is that in terms of imagination it
cannot be re-imagined... but the future can be twice
remembered... given holocaust deniers...
simple... it can be simply denied because
what imagination would have conjured
reality conjured too much iron acidity of what went on;
please be intelligent when you read this,
i don’t have many readers and it’s already insulting
to ask my readers for intelligence; sorry.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
I was once
Your rose,
Lap of bloom,
As we laid
In the meadows,
Water beading
On petals,
Your breaths
Opening
My flower.
And rains
Linked down
From heaven
Into the cup
Of my love,
Held on a stem,
You grew
Into the sky
And I fell,
Frail, deeper
Than you,
Yet higher we
Climbed,
With thorns
Under bud.
We came to
Shudder in light,
To see dawning
Destroyed, move,
Into mold days,
We past, grew,
Such flung scent,
Fragile beauties,
By burnish blush
Of faded bloom.
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 1:52 AM UTC
Dim lights
They burnish
The nestling day.
Round the bend
Sits
Days end
Crickets chime in
The symphony
Grows comforting
Natures
Lullaby.white noise.
Hello serenity.
Whisper in aud ib ly.
A quiet storm. (Thanks Smokey)
Melodious smoke.it closes my eyes
Like a dubious sandman?
To sleep.perchance
To dream.
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 12:54 AM UTC
Red Maples do burnish woodland alleyways ..
White sugar snow vies for immortality ,
Deep blue dreams , the visible breath of
my youth , ice giving way beneath water soaked leather boots..
To bear witness of natural forestry , the rattle of peckerwoods , fluster of
pink Azaleas , Pines riding windswept fury as acorns crackle , River Birches standing noble o'er Hill Country brooks , RedTips receiving
their nervous sunny advances ..
Cattle trails lead homeward , sunlight on a Winter day that lays on
brown grass , quietly drifting away ...
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
Oh,
blessed muse
who are you?
How can
you be
so real?
When
I
sense
your
presence,
a quixotic
erotica;
a
soft
burnish
more
friendly
then
silk
envelops
me.
The folds
of your
warm
*****
press
my face
into
coy
riddles;
more mysterious
then the secrets
of ancient
Oriental
Dynasties.
Do you have
eyes to see,
arms to hold,
legs to dance,
ears to hear
and a voice
to sing?
How
do you
touch
me?
You
enter
my dreams
as effervescent
vapor.
You
frighten
my
imagination.
You
open
doors
to me
my
heart
felt
long
closed.
You
gently
chide
my
prejudices,
in raptures
with
mythic charms
as you goad
and trick me.
You speak
magic words
and etch
fantastic
landscapes
in my head.
You
playful
nymph.
You
appear
in the
night
as a
purring owl,
whispering
something,
about
something,
then
wing away,
into the
glossy night.
Where do you go?
I'll
patiently
wait,
for your
mysterious
return.
Music Selection
America, Three Roses
Oakland
10/98
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 10:29 AM UTC
Rotator cuff strung across tea leaves,
Or “Spring”
Knights the Dream with
Letters conscript
To brandish, burnish sleepy drifts
With tinsel brass tunings and wit
In the key of youth
Diluted
With whiskey rye; bell jars; vermouth
The brute is
Bell’s Palsy comping white thighs
And salt air choking the night
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 3:09 PM UTC
with burnish of false veneer
he spouted words
to thine ear
as an unknowing
dill one listened
one had succumbed
to the warbler's charming
sound
that time honored adage
doth hold so true
be of guarded view
whence a dodgy line
is sold unto you
ne'er settle for a spurious
claim of love
the warbler
unto your heart
states his undying devotion
yet there is no substance
to his currency's
valuation
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
Detention in the ministry
this school of life will finish me,
**** me or diminish me
and polish me until
I shine like gold
and wealth brought up from underground,
pounded into greedy eyes,where
everybody dies to be, trapped into
the dynasty of chains.
Links forged in the furnaces
life until it finishes,
burnish me until
I shine like gold.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
One day I met with Iqbal
My head was bowed, my heart dejected
I said to him in a low voice:
"My life seems to me meaningless
I am a tiny being in this vastness of time and space
My existence seems to me false."
He smiled, and said in a voice bigger than life.
"Are you a mere particle of dust?
Why have you not tighten the knot of your ego.
Hold fast to your tiny being
How glorious is to burnish one's ego
And to test its lustre in the presence of the Sun !
Re-chisel, then, your ancient frame;
And build up a new being.
Such being is a real being;
Or else your being is a mere ring of smoke."
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 9:33 AM UTC
the sun's dazzling rays
highlight every piece of bush
in a bright burnish
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
**she pretends~polite irascibly
enquires:**
“So far, and so early,
when your day begins,
when the main brain
rebels with that creature of energetic ether,
be it midnight or any hour
thereafter,
before daylight
brings you new clearer
and brighter brilliant visions of the
hereafter,
and the earnest hours allow your disquiet
pre~tense that you’re going about you busyness, which is a plain brown paper wrapper guise,
to write more poetry’s
that thy thine, your
“eyes~command, nay, demand?”
“And where are my love poem daily promised, premised that it’s a requirement
for our cooperative living arrangement?”
“I am familiar with your many ways, poet,
all your names, viewpoints, specialties,
your secret personas, insider insights that
fool no one, so start your every twenty four on a left foot forward, questioning us, yourself, where shelter lives, even inviting any and all passersby to come inside your scheming mind, and stay awhile, jointly**
compositing
upon your uncomfortable
Adirondack thrones, while permitting the sun to burnish brown caramel your inner sweetness, and the wind to bring you scents
from faraway places, to pluck and insert in a variegated languages plurality, to spice up
those written words you ridiculous store in your tiny iPhone, typing one letter at a time,
trying not to fall behind what the mind is
churning and breeding?”
“Furthermore and finally. confess, confess,
your shame, shame,
shame!!
it is my
name
that
deserves the unvarnished truth,
without my
everything,
your poetry will
wither like
a week old roses,
that she/me/da boss
is the one true
authoress
behind the
boy/oy/toy/pretender
to whom I give my very
soul’s inspiration…
Nov 16, 2024
Nov 16, 2024 at 8:21 AM UTC
Monday, January 27th, 2020
The crux of spiritual efflorescence originates from the seat of the soul. The self is the nexus to transcendence. Humanity has historically looked outside of itself for the change it hopes to sire.
We must ameliorate our ailed cognition before our words can wax healing. When we genuinely ease the suffering within, light shall exude & emanate from our entities. Therefore, introspection, a spiritual mandate, is enquired from the firmaments.
Though pain can at times burnish a fervid sting upon our sensory crux, we must allow this to penetrate us fully. Before the healing can genuinely burgeon, angst must take its course. Moreover, layers of hurt must be processed before reaching our luminescent heart.
The Heavensward loves us aeonically so: Jah, the Cosmo- Plexus of Empyreal Love. Therefore, trust that in the silence of solitude, our spirits will be dovetailed with the Most High God. The Great Apothecary knows our maladies. The God of Freedom is also conscious of the instant upon which to unfurl manumission.
Liberty, or much of freedom, finds its inception upon the Mind's Sky. How can we be free unless we truly fathom it to be? What a fallacy, a probabilistic impossibility! Without awareness, one cannot seize that which is rightfully —their birthright.
Trust that you are free and always be just so. When you do, no soul will be able to expostulate otherwise. Belief, therefore, is power, is emancipation.
Love endlessly. Liberty never leaves the one who bathes in the Baptistery of Esprit d' Amour. Know your worthiness to honor, heartsease, what's more, the grace, the virtue, & the excellency of life. Carry on, surrender naught, fight the fine fight, run fully the race. —Se' lah.
Rise Heavensward,
Transcend fear & doubt,
Banish all hesitation,
Elysium is Within,
Jan 29, 2020
Jan 29, 2020 at 8:46 PM UTC
the sun's shining beams
did burnish the bushland stream
in a glossy gleam
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC